Killing Joke
– Killing Joke
They waited 23 years to self-title an album again, and it wasn’t out of nostalgia – it was a warning shot. Killing Joke (2003) is a volcanic rebirth, soaked in oil and screaming at the sky. It’s not subtle, not polite, and certainly not interested in easing the listener in. This is the sound of a band that saw the 21st century arriving like a brick through a window and chose to respond with fire instead of reflection.
Best of…
Jaz Coleman doesn’t sing – he prophesies. His voice is a rapture-fed sermon broadcast over scorched earth. And the band? Monolithic. Dave Grohl, guesting on drums, hits like a hammer in free fall. Geordie Walker’s guitar doesn’t shred so much as grind – like factory gears worn and rusted, still turning out raw menace. Every track pounds forward with industrial precision, but there’s humanity writhing inside the steel.
Unlike their earlier mechanical post-punk dread, this album sounds alive. Brutally alive. There’s structure, sure, but it’s built like a bunker, meant to outlast catastrophe. The rage isn’t performative – it’s earned. These aren’t teenagers pretending the world’s ending. They’re middle-aged survivors, telling you it already did, and you just didn’t notice.
Choice Tracks
The Death & Resurrection Show
Everything about this opener is ritualistic. That chant, that beat—it’s like a summoning. Coleman is possessed, the guitar like barbed wire ripping across the mix. It’s not just a statement—it’s an exorcism.
Total Invasion
A wall of rhythm and distortion with a militaristic stomp. The title says it all—this track doesn’t walk in, it kicks the door off its hinges. Grohl’s drumming is relentless here, pushing the tension without ever letting it spill.
Asteroid
It repeats one word for nearly four minutes, and it never gets old. That’s sorcery. The riffs keep circling like vultures, the groove pulsing like a siren. It’s obsessive, maniacal, and utterly hypnotic.
You’ll Never Get to Me
A rare breather. The song still simmers with tension, but there’s a melodic thread that almost feels… graceful? For a moment, the band lets a crack of light in—before slamming it shut again.
Seeing Red
If you’re still standing this far into the album, this one finishes the job. It’s fast, furious, and full of bile. Coleman howls like he’s clawing out of his own skin. The guitars spiral around him like smoke.
Killing Joke (2003) isn’t just a comeback—it’s a detonation. It stands among the best late-career albums ever made, not because it softens the band’s edge, but because it sharpens it to a point. They didn’t adapt to the times—they forced the times to meet them at full volume.