But why are there no forefinger drives?  Why, why, in the name of Western Digit-Skull?
 
 

I don't intend to rate or review the festive Gunmetal Black Crossfade LPs.  I wish only to say what Head-fi's strangely inclusive database will not -- that I owned them ever-so-briefly but no longer do.  
 
You can admire the look, build and accessories, but in order to keep the headphones themselves, you have to actually enjoy the way they sound.  
 
Let that be a lesson to me.
 
I wanted to like the LPs -- really, I did -- only they triggered scary feelings from childhood sessions with a false memory syndrome therapist.  Either he chained me up in his basement and inserted angry bees into my hospital gown while forcing me to lip-synch to "Dirrty" or he made me sit in his office long enough for me to notice clumps of glue in his tiny hairpiece and that's why I'm like this. 
 
My rating is neutral because it is intended to have no effect.  Let foonts who feel strongly about these headphones affect their status.
 
Only, if you wear them in my presence, please don't point to them and yell Simba.  I'm trying to forget.
 
 

How can any human, living or otherwise, fail to appreciate the Santa-Claus-furred-ear-cradling Luftwaffe severity of these utterly closed and bright side-intelligencers?  They deliver the analytical groceries with icicles to spare.
 
Trust me when I tell you they'll sound even brighter once you're dead.  Sonic knife-tossing is especially prized among the black gas etherea of Chaos, and these phones, what with their forward-looking miniplug and backward-staring deco cross grilles and tinted B&W Color Scheme of the Dead, throw auditory shapes as deliciously brittle as this humble skeleton with xylophone-tong bones could possibly hope for.
 
Yes, I happen to love mine and doubt I'll ever sell them.  Dig me up in a few years if you're fiending for a listen.