I’ve spent most of my time writing for Gunshy chronicling the Queensrÿche saga since I hopped aboard about a year ago. It feels like Century Media should be cutting me a check for all the shit-talking I have done about Tate’s camp because I’ve certainly put more effort into pumping up the Todd La Torre fronted version of the band than the label has.
Anyways, I no longer have to refer to the two as Toddrÿche and Taterÿche because Geoff Tate has officially lost. Yeah, there’s already an article about that on Gunshy, but I was working and wasn’t able to pump out an article when it was breaking news.
Two messy years later, original members Scott Rockenfeld, Eddie Jackson, and Michael Wilton have prevailed and can rightfully call themselves Queensrÿche after restoring dignity to the name with Todd fronting the band. Hopefully this will bring about a proper tour, which was difficult to do before with Taterÿche flooding the market with tidal waves of sonic diarrhea at all sorts of venues.
I really wish I had more venom to spit through clenched teeth, but I’ve mustered up about as much witty banter to throw Tate’s way over the last year. Now, I just entertain myself thinking about what it’s like to be Geoff Tate.
The guy was possibly the most impressive live metal singer back in 1987 (just watch some bootlegs from Montreal on the Rage For Order tour- seriously, it kicks the shit out of anything Tate ever accomplished in a studio) and now he’s a bloated wino with a blown out voice and the artistic integrity that’s as impressive as peeing your pants. I want to redo “A Christmas Carol” where Geoff Tate is the main character and Ronnie James Dio’s ghost shows him the error of his ways.
So, for the last time I’m going to write an article where Geoff Tate’s name is still associated with Queensrÿche, go fuck yourself, Geoff. Go fuck yourself because you’re so pathetic even your fat-tits wife doesn’t want to anymore.
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