Do stores not carry music anymore because everyone just downloads it for free, or does everyone download music for free because stores just don’t carry it anymore? Either way, the concept of walking into a store and buying a CD has been eradicated, unless you’re looking for some Top 40/Grammy-nominated/Disney bullshit. I tried to find this Gaza everywhere. I mean, Blackmarket’s a decent-sized indie, is it not? No fucking luck, and since I’m the last upright mammal without a PC, tablet, or 4G LTE catheter, I had to suck 37 dicks just to borrow the CD from someone who made the appropriate blood sacrifices to Amazon.com or wherever. And the album is… well… okay. The chase might’ve been slightly not worth the catch. Gaza’s sound can best be described as a whole lotta Coalesce with a little Cattle Press and the more coherent moments of Botch stirred in, then filtered through an unparalleled hatred of Christianity and the kind of angry bitterness that only being from Utah can produce. Needless to say, these guys dominate the live setting, as I’ve been fortunate enough to witness on two occasions in bars the size of a one-percenter’s guest room closet. You can cut the tension and negative energy with a spork when this band’s on the stage. But somehow it isn’t captured correctly on record, and unfortunately No Absolutes in Human Suffering doesn’t buck this trend. Gaza don’t use big hooks, big choruses, or much repetition at all, really. They treat their riffs, drones, and melodies like college town bar whores: raw dog a few times and bail. It doesn’t help that Jon Parkin patterns his absolutely tortured scream around the music… which is relatively patternless. The band does excel at launching stone-cold grimness at the listener via varying speeds —Grindy, Sludgy, Doomy, mid-tempo— with reckless abandon, but it all ends up sounding like one, long, unmemorable track. So, you’ll find yourself reaching for No Absolutes when you’re after an intense, cheerless, raw vibe to get lost in, as opposed to wanting to hear actual songs. Which is fine, unless you’re a lifelong music addict like myself who has 3000 tunes trapped in his head daily. Albums like this tend to get lost in that shuffle. Still, I’ve sucked 37 dicks for less.

This is the debut album for Belgium’s Dehuman, one that their label promises to “dig, listen after listen, a place of its very own in the memory and heart of the fan with all its finely crafted production and compositional details, giving its audience something fresh to discover with each listen.” Now, I’m a guy with a Bachelor of Science degree in Marketing so when I read stuff like this, I actually check to see how closely the hype matches up to the actual product. Inevitably, I end up laughing my ass off at how much horse shit is in the press release. That being said, Dehuman’s label has written a big check that I was certain that the band wouldn’t be able to cash. I doubt that even legendary Death Metal bands like Death, Entombed or Morbid Angel could have lived up to the hype Kaotoxin promised for Dehuman. A quick listen proves that this is nowhere near as good as the label says it is. This isn’t to say that Black Throne of All Creation sucks. It doesn’t suck, but at the same time, it doesn’t fucking rule either. I imagine that these songs go down better live, because I can tell that there are some serious pit-riffs going on. They have some good melodic guitar-work in here, too. What this group really needs is a better studio engineer who can give their guitars the depth and power that they require. All too often, the riffing is buried beneath the drums, particularly in the breakdowns. Another hindrance is that their songwriting isn’t always the best. A number of tracks, “Harvest the Sun” being one that comes to mind, have riffs that don’t flow well together. The result is a song that sounds like it was thrown together at the last minute. These guys are going in the right direction, but they’re really not able to live up to their label’s hype. I imagine that Dehuman might be able to pull off that truly awesome album, but it’ll probably be their third or fourth one that does it.

If there’s an heir apparent to Alcest’s Blackened Metalgaze throne, it’s this mysterious Dutch trio, who have delivered an absolutely stunning work of dreary perfection with Only the Ocean Knows — their third LP in as many years. While 2011’s Everything expanded the melancholic genius hinted on with 2010’s Lost, nothing could’ve prepared me for this majestic, tear-drenched flooring. The band continue to evolve their atmospheric assault on hope, soaring far above the confines of the Suicidal Depressive genre and landing in a space all their own. If I could only use one, attention-grabbing sentence to describe them, it’d have to be something along the desperate lines of: “Imagine The Cure playing Black Metal.” Of course that’s a vague statement that doesn’t quite tell the whole story, but not too far away from the truth to work. What it implies is that the band borrows heavily from Shoegaze’s bag of wistful tricks, yet still effortlessly maintain an effective, all-encompassing SDBM aesthetic. The foundation of every track is a throbbing, center-stage bassline a la Pornography, Disintegration, or any Cure album worth its weight in tears, and they also incorporate synth, piano, and clean guitar melodies to maximum depressing effect. Still, these are all just accessories to a wall of necro guitar distortion and tortured Burzumesque screams. The drumming is an exquisitely unique balance of simple time-keeping and adrenaline-fueled aggression. A complete lack of blasting is compensated for by virtuoso footwork, as complex double-bass patterns often fill the space between traditional up-tempo beats and Doomy time signatures. These eight hymns of despair trade passages of somber reflection with bursts of suicidal rage and explosions of slow-motion sadness, all the while narrated by this voice of anguish and torment. Every dynamic anthem of woe is as beautiful and mesmerizing as its predecessor, leading to the saddest moment of all: the last song ending. This is not an album for the well-adjusted. This is not an album for an individual still clinging to even a shred of happiness in this meaningless existence. This isn’t about genre or posturing. This goes beyond any one person’s worthless opinion. If you’re still listening to music with the lights on, you’re missing the point. This is the sound of joy fading. This is a celebration of failure. This is means to find the strength to exit. This is real. At the end of your rope, you’ll find An Autumn for Crippled Children.

If your band’s name is Moonloop, I’m not going to expect great things from you. Now, if you’re waiting for me to say, “but I was pleasantly surprised to hear an awesome album,” you’re going to be disappointed. Deeply from the Earth is about as enjoyable as being crucified, burned at the stake and drawn and quartered - all at the same time. Can you say “Progressive Metal,” boys and girls? I knew you could. Yes, this is Progressive Metal in all of its navel-gazing self-absorption. The fact that this is Progressive Death Metal doesn’t make this any better. All that means is that you get some growly vocals in with your “I only play music to show other musicians how well I can play my guitar/bass/drums/keyboards” Metal. I got more enjoyment out of listening to Burning Witch do a twenty minute long feedback solo in the middle of a song that was already thirty minutes in length. If you’re a musician and you love to listen to other musicians play music with fucked up time signatures and strange chords that only another wanker could identify, you’ll probably think that Moonloop is the most awesome thing to come down the pipe in years. If you’re like me and you couldn’t give a flying shit about any of that, Deeply from the Earth isn’t going to offer you anything you want to listen to. Face it, I don’t get a hard-on over creative picking techniques like the readers of Guitar World magazine do. Progressive Metal interests me almost as much as professional curling does. There’s clearly a fan base out there, but obviously I’m not part of it. While this may be technically excellent and well produced, it’s aimed specifically at the small segment of the Metal market that worships at the altar of Dream Theater and Fates Warning. Anyone craving brutal, neck-snapping Death Metal should look elsewhere because you’re not going to find it here.

This is the fourth full-length from Crust Punk legends Tragedy, and it marks something of a new direction for the band -or it would, if they put out an album often enough to have a destination. A better way to describe it might be to say that the focus of this one is different. Darker Days Ahead showcases Tragedy’s mastery of brooding, ominous Crust, to a point that devotees of the ripping D-beat Punk on sophomore effort Vengeance might find disappointing. The production is clear and muscular, and Todd can still growl with the best of them (second vocalist Billy, of course, always sounds like a chain-smoking Muppet), but nearly all the tracks are content to trudge along at a healthy mid-tempo. In a lot of ways this is similar to Amebix, in that the structures are simple, generally with little variation beyond a couple of riffs, but try to create a distinct feel and space for each song. A few, such as opener “No Cemeteries Here” and the title track feature sparse synth parts in clear imitation of that venerable band; they compliment the bleak riffing so well that I actually wish they had used more. Others, like “Close at Hand,” have filthy, oppressive guitar parts that wouldn’t sound all that out of place in the right Black or Death Metal band. Standout track “Power Fades” channels early British Hardcore and Motorhead in a chorus shout-along that at first seems surprisingly uncharacteristic, but Tragedy manage to pull it off and it fits in well as a build-up to the final song.
The overall lack of dynamics, however, is the major flaw of this album. There are really only a few fast or slow parts, and while the songs don’t all sound the same, the fact remains that they’re all about the same tempo, about the whole time. This is counteracted in part by being rather short, so it isn’t long enough to drag on. But one of the best things about older Tragedy was that it would blend dark, D-beat Hardcore with heavier, more imposing Crust riffing. By focusing on the latter, and starting to show stronger influence from godfathers Amebix, Tragedy have crafted their most Metallic, and perhaps all-around darkest, album to date; but in abandoning the D-beat have left behind a big part of what made them genre favorites.
It’s unlikely that most fans will prefer this to the much-beloved self-titled LP (still my personal favorite) or the aforementioned Vengeance, and the uniform speed is a clear hindrance. But the apocalyptic atmosphere and powerful riffing keep Darker Days Ahead above water, and overall this is a solid effort that places Tragedy among the growing camp of the Crust heavyweights drifting in a more Metallic direction (such as Wolfbrigade and Hellshock). That’s a good thing -assuming that they put out another album in four or five years.
[We would like to thank OnlyInDeath for this excellent guest review. -Editor]

This Finnish duo play some of the purest Death/Doom I’ve ever had the pleasure of reveling in, and quite frankly I’m ashamed to admit that Effigies of Evil —their debut for Relapse and third album overall— is my first time hearing them. Achieving a frighteningly perfect balance of crawling, colossal Doom and slow to mid-paced Old School Death Metal, the band rely on little more than gut-wrenching heaviness, dismal melodic sensibility, the occasional NWOBHM guitar solo, and the inhumanly brutal low roar of Lasse Pyykko to create a chilling morbid aesthetic that swallows the listener whole. Imagine the first Paradise Lost album on HGH with Dave Rotten on vocals and you’ll be on the right track. The production is immense and crystalline, yet it doesn’t detract from a crushing guitar tone that is part-Sunlight worship, part-Incantation worship, and part-tow truck/cement mixer collision. Pyykko’s earthquake-like vocal pitch makes it a bit difficult to decipher what’s going on lyrically, but judging by their cover art and interviews I’ve read, it’s safe to assume it’s all Tombs of the Blind Dead movie series and EC Comics-inspired good fun. And, as if I weren’t already enjoying the band’s sprawling array of filthy drones, bottomless grooves, breakneck hooks and melodic despondency enough, they also have the decency to sample Vincent Price. God damn, dudes! Seriously, a Vincent Price sample alone is worth 7 points. Not to mention all this power and genius from a two-piece no less! This bestial, misery-drenched assault is the perfect slow-motion soundtrack to a zombie apocalypse, and I simply can’t recommend it enough. If you need me, I’ll be desperately trying to hunt down every iota of the Hooded Menace back catalog. Better late than never.
Favorites: “Curses Scribed in Gore,” “Crumbling Insanity,” “Evoken Vulgarity,” and the title track.

When the press release that accompanies an album tells me to unlearn everything I know about Metal, I usually find that what the band really wants me to do is to assume that they are Metal in the first place. In this case, Hexen wants me to assume that they’re Thrash. This is actually Progressive Thrash, which is to say that it falls loosely into the Thrash category, but there is so much navel-gazing technicality that it fails to kick enough ass. It is possible to be technical and still kick plenty of ass. Peace Sells… by Megadeth, for example, was technical as hell and still gave me plenty of neck damage [That was a fast quarter-century! -Editor]. Hexen doesn’t do that. They get so caught up on the whole “We want people to know how well we can play our instruments” thing that they forget that good Thrash kicks ass. Great Thrash, like the legendary bands (Metallica, Exodus, Slayer, Megadeth, Destruction, Sodom, etc.), gives you life-altering beat-downs that you compare all other Thrash bands to. If I judge Hexen by that standard, they’re fourth-tier at best. They’re fighting with Epidemic, Wrekking Machine and The Organization for space in my collection. They’re not even up there with lower tier bands like Laaz Rockit or Defiance when it comes to kicking ass. Maybe that’s why they want me to unlearn what I know about Metal. If I judge them by “I’ve been listening to Thrash since the early ’80s and I live in San Francisco, the place that made Thrash famous” standards, of course they’re going to come up short.

These guys have been on one hell of a tear since signing to Victory in 2010. By my count, The Time of Great Purification makes three albums in just shy of three years. What’s remarkable about this run is all the lineup changes they’ve endured. This band has had more singers than Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath, and Van Gaylen combined! Well… maybe not that many, but it’s been a few. Luckily newest frontman Jonathan Huber (ex-I Declare War) appears here to stay, but this release does mark the departure of founding guitarist Tim Tiszczenko, leaving drummer Dave Astor (ex-Cattle Decapitation) as the sole original member. Rather than seeking a replacement, they’ve decided to forge on as a quartet. Fortunately guitarist Kevin Schwartz has more riffs and solos than Utah has Mormons, as he takes over as Astor’s writing/arrangement partner. Speaking of Astor, dude’s a fucking machine! His skill level reaches its apex on Purification, which boasts another immaculate production job via Daniel Castleman at Lambesis Studios. The group scourge through a half-hour of relentlessly punishing Death Metal like Bruce Lee used to take out bad guy henchmen. Huber’s inhumanly guttural growl and beastly pig grunts may not be for everyone (and by everyone I mean queers), but they’re most certainly for me. Don’t think of it as a voice, but as another instrument of torture through which the brutality is inflicted. Speaking of brutal, who wants pit riffs? Plenty here for everyone, but proceed with caution, as the monsters found on “Corporate Harvest,” “Remnants of Freedom,” and “A Bleak Future” may provoke bodily movement that causes permanent spinal damage. Overall, I think the band sounds tighter as a four-piece, although it may just be their individual growth as musicians. If there’s anything to complain about, it’s the lack of true standout cuts, yet the album as a whole has no weak spots whatsoever. Much of that may be due to the pace — 13 quick songs make for a quick record that sadly flies by before you know it. Still, Pathology just might be the best actual songwriters in the ultra-brutal market today. And they’re only getting better.

It’s somewhat of an obstacle for any music critic when they encounter a band that simply refuses to change. Although when it comes to North Carolina’s Daylight Dies, I most certainly am not complaining. It’s just that over the course of their solid 12-year recording career, chances are I’ve already said all there is to say about them. Still, perseverance, consistency, and songwriting of the utmost quality ought to be worth a lot more than they are. After all, these sorrowful Death/Doom tradesmen have been proprietors of the mighty Brave Murder Day/Sounds of Decay approach longer than Katatonia at this point, and have carved their own truly masterful niche with it. Indeed, something has to be said for knowing what you’re going to get, and frankly, when it comes to dark, depressing Metal, I for one am not seeking Cracker Jack prize appeal. Album opener “Infidel” wastes no time letting all the hope out of the room with those familiar downcast riffs, dejected melodies, and a starkly soul-crushing chorus. While the Daylight Dies formula remains unmolested by time and passing trends, the production and musicianship have been infinitely refined, and one other difference worth noting is the more prominent use of bassist Egan O’Rourke’s clean vocals. Introduced on 2005’s Dismantling Devotion, the band has leaned on his contributions increasingly with each release. On A Frail Becoming, his soft croon sounds significantly honed and more professional than ever. He brings a subtle dynamic that, when juxtaposed with the harsh bellow of Nathan Ellis, creates instant standout tracks out of “Sunset,” “A Final Vestige,” and “Ghosting.” Meanwhile, the intro/outro riff of “Hold on to Nothing” is a signal for all life on Earth to cease. Even this song’s guitar solos bear mournful fruit. Surrounded by these heavyweight highlights, “The Pale Approach,” “Dreaming of Breathing,” and epic closer “An Heir to Emptiness” almost feel like filler by contrast. But that’s only in the context of this excellent LP. Place any one of them on a compilation next to new material by The Devin Townsend Project, Ihsahn, or Vision of Disorder and they’ll seem like the most meaningful songs ever recorded. This would be a great record to gas yourself in the garage to, and ironically, albums like this are one of the few reasons I haven’t (yet).