Piling on all manner of clichés, from Tecchio's grotesquely drawn out syllables, punctuating numerous lines with "yeah", on to piano ballads and a closing track titled "Widows and Orphans", Seven Witches reach for dead models with aging limbs, having neither the skill nor strength to make one note of it believable. These empty hard-rock aesthetics masquerading as classic metal are the kind of dulled down, pseudo-purism that fit into the Eighties' mainstream conception of heavy metal (a few riffs that brutally ape Judas Priest cannot change this). Praise for added depth within the lyrics rings just as hollow. Seven Witches may invoke certain issues, but never do they say anything original, interesting or clever regarding terrorism, honor-killings or celebrity, and the way each of these topics mingle with such cheesy, artless sound borders on offensive.

But which came first, guitarist Jack Frost's sterile riffery or Tecchio's contrived voice? It doesn't really matter. On style alone, Tecchio's words prove both impotent and shallow. (Rhyming "meningitis" with "encephalitis" is as thoughtful as this gets.) That all this is performed with greater inelegance turns the album swiftly into a nauseous communion of ideas. If I'm allowed my own queasy conclusion, the only response should be to burn these witches at the stake!