You know, if there hadn't been a Helmet, bands like Korn and Limp Bizkit might never have had the influence to do what exactly it is that they do. I don't know how to feel about that personally, since Korn and Limp Bizkit repulse me more than a call girl with the clap, but all I can tell you is that while growing up in the early 90's, cassette tapes of Meantime and Betty were never far from my portable Walkman. Back then, Page Hamilton was a God to me for no other reason than he didn't bother with phony cock-rock posturing like those L.A. glam boy pussies (I'm staring in your direction Motley Crue). To this day he's still rocking the baseball cap, t-shirt and jeans. Oh yeah, he also had one of the baddest ass voices in all of metal.

Seven years have passed since Aftertaste, which was then thought to be Helmet's swan song and most disappointing album of their career. Granted after hearing Aftertaste, it wasn't a shock to anyone that Hamilton was throwing in the towel. Earlier this year though, Helmet released Unsung: The Best Of Helmet, and all those nostalgic feelings came rushing over me like a warm blanket. When I heard that Hamilton would also be resurrecting his old moniker for an all new studio album, I wondered with feverish glee what Hamilton could offer up in this age of mediocre metal. It couldn't be any worse than the mindless drivel that pollutes the airwaves now could it? Well, my curiosities have been answered with Size Matters, and to be completely honest, I think this is what it might sound like if someone were to record the sounds of a flaming bag of dog shit and press it to disc. Half the time vocally on Size Matters, Hamilton sounds somewhere in between a gruff Rob Zombie and a constipated James Hetfield. On nearly three fourths of the verses of the songs on Size Matters, all the guitar parts that Hamilton and Chris Traynor have come up with SOUND EXACTLY THE SAME! Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I couldn't tell half the time if I was listening to track three, or track nine; maybe the repeat button had accidentally been turned on for all I knew! The lyrics throughout Size Matters are also a joke and a half. You'd think Hamilton was still a pubescent jealous teenager with dreck like this instead of a grown man well into his thirties. There isn't even a decent blazing metal track until "Last Breath" which unforgivably is at the very end. Trust me, if you don't skip to it half way though, you'll never make it before you pop this disc out of your player, then out onto the busy streets of your hometown. Someone should have done Page a favor and told him that even all these years later, quality still matters over size any day of the week. This is without a doubt one of the most disappointing albums of the year.