For those unfamiliar with this oddly-named act (the name means “October” in ye Olde English), remove the more introspective moments from Fen’s bleak, Agalloch-inspired attack and replace with a melodic mastery in league with Dissection and you’ll slightly begin to grasp the majestic genius of the UK’s most valuable Black Metal export since the early days of Cradle of Filth. But it doesn’t seem fair to go at Winterfylleth with comparisons when they’re capable of casting a soundspell that has no equal. The blasting is ferocious, mechanical, perfect, yet nowhere near overproduced. Almost subtle, this blinding speed that somehow calms. The band has only one purpose when it comes to the guitars: create melody to astonishing effect that pleases the omnipotent Goddess Negativity. However, these lads do Suicidal with balls. Their expert precision and rhythmic command of any tempo ensures the intensity and professionalism often lacking in bands of the Depressive ilk. The vocals are pure, torn Black Metal throat, recorded and placed in the mix so flawlessly they double as a soothing whisper. Aggression with poignancy, fury with refrain. And I did not mean to imply that their sound is without moments of introspection. They occasionally pause for the rare treat of Folkish elements woven into the Black Metal aesthetic without the end result sounding like music created by carnies. This quartet doesn’t know how to sound contrived, fake, or happy. It just isn’t in their blood. Only being just barely overshadowed by the sheer magnificence of its predecessor —2010’s masterpiece The Mercian Sphere— prevents The Threnody of Triumph from a perfect score. Hunt down all that bears this band’s difficult-to-enunciate name. Unlike most decisions in life, you won’t regret it.

This band was one of the two standouts on the first day of Tidal Wave 2012. Dreaming Dead and Huntress really kicked some serious ass that day. I actually purchased a copy of this album prior to seeing them on the recommendation of Leon Del Muerte (Exhumed/Murder Construct/ex-Impaled), who said that they were really good. Considering his lineage in brutal music, I consider that to be a pretty golden recommendation. Once I saw them play, I had high expectations for Midnightmares. If they were able to capture half of the intensity and brutality of their live set on this CD, I was going to need to see a doctor to have the disks in my neck repaired. I was rather surprised that this album was more melodic and technical sounding compared to their live set. When they shred, they do it like an industrial-strength mulcher. When things get more technical, the band tends to lose momentum. Personally, I wished that they would eschew some of the technicality for more mayhem. When I listen to Death Metal, I want it to kick my ass and the technical aspects tend to detract from the ass kicking. It’s the reason I don’t like bands like Cynic or Pestilence. They may be Death Metal, but their music is overly complicated and lacking in brutality. Dreaming Dead isn’t in that range yet, but the same “overcomplicated” songwriting applies. This band can go two directions: they could become more technical or more brutal. If they get more technical, I can see this turning into one of those Progressive Death Metal bands that tries to appeal to the worshippers of Dream Theater, which is definitely something I hope they don’t do. If they get more brutal, have some technicality but more ass kicking, then their next release will make surgeons that specialize in repairing neck injuries rich for years to come.

So this is it, eh? This is the greatest thing since sliced bread? If you read the popular Metal mags (and by popular I mean some shit you can get at a Barnes & Noble), which I do because I enjoy reading things I disagree with for some masochistic reason, you’re aware that the vast majority of critics speak of Baroness with the same type of reverence usually reserved for The Beatles or Elvis Presley. Just the end-all, be-all of music as we know it. I finally get the chance —albeit in the form of this somewhat overbearing double-LP— to see what the fuck the big deal is. After nearly two months of rotational play, I’m still waiting on the answer. This ain’t shit! And it’s not because the quartet’s Alternative/Pop/’70s Rock hybrid is softer than a wet baby’s ass dipped in molasses and down feathers. Not everything needs to be brutal. I enjoy a wide variety of musical styles, Metal just happens to be the best. It’s that they aren’t all that good at it. As musicians, they are adept at crafting a catchy, radio-ready tune with big hooks and melodic sharpness, but when they rock, they don’t rock hard enough. When they go the pretty, shimmering, heartfelt route, it’s enjoyable but nothing I haven’t already heard done a thousand times better by the likes of Hopesfall, Theta, Jets to Brazil, The Appleseed Cast, the list is endless. Then when they take the brown acid, they lose me altogether. But this is really all irrelevant. The main reason Baroness fails is because John Baizley isn’t that good of a singer. He has his moments —I like the harmonies on “Twinkler” and “Collapse,” they should go for a Bergtatt Ulver thing instead— but he ultimately lacks the smoothness and charisma that could take the band next-level (see “Little Things” and “Cocainium”). He ruins the otherwise decent choruses of “Take My Bones Away” and “March to the Sea” with an almost tone-deaf awkwardness. So, apparently the answer to that sliced bread question: tenth-rate Open Hand.

Another day, another download-only stopgap EP. I’m going to avoid a rant on why this concept is gayer than Elton John tossing Pedro from The Real World’s dead salad because I don’t give that much of a fuck about Shining. Their brand of Depressive Black Metal has never been anywhere near depressing enough for yours truly, and the more interviews with Niklas Kvarforth I read, the more he seems like Sweden’s answer to The Situation. The only reason I’m acknowledging this all-covers EP is because they do a Katatonia song. Covering a Katatonia tune is a double-edged sword. Sure it shows you have impeccable taste, but there’s no way anyone’s going to match, let alone improve, the work of the melancholy masters. In the case of Shining, it lets me know that, while inept at creating it, they’re at least aware of how suicidal music is supposed to sound. At the same time, Kvarforth has simply embarrassed himself by trying to walk a mile in Jonas Renkse’s big boy shoes. Perhaps the opening anthem “For My Demons” from 1999’s classic Tonight’s Decision wasn’t the wisest choice. This was the second Katatonia full-length to feature all-clean vocals, and even though Renkse was still finding himself as a singer at the time, he was already on a level Kvarforth will never see. Musically, the band does an adequate job, but the end result is nonessential nevertheless. The other three covers are of bands I’ve never heard (Kent, Imperiet, Poets of the Fall), so I’m unable to compare them to the originals, but it’s all somewhat similar-sounding in a Folkish, Poppy way. The Kent and Imperiet selections are both cleanly sung in Scandinavian which sounds really fucking goofy to me. Not sure if that’s due to Kvarforth’s minor league delivery —just listen to him stumble through that Psychedelic Furs attempt on “Kung Av Jidder”— or me being a stupid American, but either way I’m not on board. Grading on the Shining-cover curve, I’m guessing that Poets of the Fall might be pretty good. If this EP has done anything, it’s made me want to check them out. As an appetizer for a forthcoming Shining LP… lots of albums not gonna get bought.

Death Metal live albums are something of an anomaly. Death Metal is one of, if not the most exhilarating styles of music to witness in the live setting. Or at least I fondly remember that being the case, as in my old age I can’t seem to tolerate a gathering of more than five people. Whether it be of the melodic, technical, brutal, or even ultra-brutal variety, it’s tough to beat a good Death Metal show. That said, live albums within the genre tend to be as exciting as watching dustmites fuck. By some white wizardry, the experience does not translate well on record. Does, “hey man, check it out, new album by… oh wait… never mind, it’s live,” sound familiar? Of course there’s always exceptions. Deicide’s When Satan Lives and Unleashed’s Eastern Blood immediately spring to mind. Then again, I probably haven’t dusted those off in a decade or so. Speaking of forgotten gems, how long has it been since you thought about Morgoth? Sure, I wore out my Odium cassette in the ’90s, but a relative lifetime of inactivity since slightly raises the question of the need for a live album now. Especially considering this was a reunion gig featuring a lineup that only boasted two original members. Recorded last October in their native Germany at the Ways of Darkness festival, these 15 cuts are pooled mostly from the first two EPs and 1991’s classic Cursed LP (hence the title). Sadly, despite the best efforts of a Dan Swano mix job, this particular performance is sorely substandard, which only adds to the irrelevancy of the total package. Marc Grewe’s voice sounds terrible. I mean downright awful. Just listening to his battle-worn throat crack and blister right off the bat on “Body Count” fills me with sympathy for all in attendance who still had another hour to suffer through. Hats off to Mr. Grewe for the effort, but it sounds as if time has caught up to him with a vengeance. Morgoth will eternally hold a place in most Death Metal lifers’ hearts as the best Swedeath band from Germany during their brief reign, but —officially defunct or not— Cursed to Live plays like a posthumous release if ever I’ve heard one.

This is the third full-length album from Carach Angren, the follow-up to 2010’s Death Came Through a Phantom Ship (however, there were three EPs between this album and the last). Though this band is described as Black Metal, there is very little that is Satanic about them. The lyrical focus of this album and most of their previous output has been more horror based. Their lyrics are like reading a book of old ghost stories (or maybe reading the lyrics to an old King Diamond album, which is kind of the same thing). Musically, this is very much comparable to listening to Cradle of Filth, but without Dani Filth’s high pitched wailing. The Gothic atmosphere is very strong throughout these nine songs. The best way to describe this would be to call it a dramatic reading with musical accompaniment. I’ll give Carach Angren credit for surprising me. When I saw the cover art, I was expecting this to be a clone of Cradle of Filth with a lot of whiny Goth lyrics. Though they do sound a lot like CoF, they have all of the good qualities and very little of the parts that most people detest. If there is one flaw in their product, it is in the vocal delivery. As a dramatic reading, this works. The vocalist’s style is brutal but understandable. You can follow along with most of the action even if you don’t have a lyric sheet or access to the internet. But the vocals don’t flow as well as they should with the songs. There isn’t any melody or attempts at “singing.” This is a relatively minor flaw, though. If you bother to listen to the vocals, you almost automatically start thinking of this as a dramatic reading because you can tell that there is a story in there. For a jaded Metalhead like me, finding something like this makes being a music critic worthwhile. Even though 80% of the stuff in my review queue is absolute crap, the hidden gems are worth their weight in gold. Where the Corpses Sink Forever is one of those gems. It isn’t flawless, but it’s pretty damn close.

It’s a grey day, 109 degrees and rainy. Since I had the AC fixed for the 7th time this year, all the lights in the house flicker. I’m gaining weight and losing interest, not to mention hair and sex drive. It looks like I have new neighbors, and it sounds like they have a dozen small children unable to control the volume of their voices. I hate my job like Hitler hated Jews, and I’m on a vacation that’s going by at lightspeed. I did score a rare piece of ass last night, but in an overzealous attempt to impress, I threw out my lower back and will spend the remainder of said vacation hobbling in pain, needing EMS to get off the toilet. All this and the Braves can’t beat the god damn Giants! Yet as I dim the lights, open the night’s first beer, light the day’s 21st cigarette and press play on the stereo, the opening chords of “Atra Mors” —the title track from Evoken’s long-awaited follow-up to 2007’s Caress of the Void— drown all of life’s meaningless bullshit in a sea of oppressive sorrow. When it comes to Funeral Doom, Evoken have no equal on American soil. Think of all the Death/Doom bands that started around 1994. Now how many of those bands still sound the same 18 years later? Not to say these New Jersian misery merchants haven’t progressed as musicians and songwriters. They have by leaps and bounds. But the formula remains the same. Soul-crushing heaviness at the speed of an empty existence. The mournful melodies atop cheerless dirges found on the aforementioned title track, “Grim Eloquence,” and “An Extrinsic Divide” render me thankful for depression and grateful for prolonged isolation, as these dismal hymns of despair just wouldn’t sound as otherworldly without them. Needless to say, Atra Mors is their most melodically adventurous work since 2001’s Quietus. The spoken bits on “Descent into Chaotic Dream” bring to mind a time when both My Dying Bride and myself were still hungry. Now John Paradiso’s bleak growls and occasional screams consist of the only discourse I solicit. This album is a warm, fuzzy blanket in a frozen wasteland of eradicated dreams. A downcast masterpiece of woeful perfection from the legends. New Evoken, new Katatonia, now all I need is the apocalypse (preferably the day after my vacation ends).

Not quite sure I grasp the concept of a 25-minute EP from a Deathcore band that has yet to break the 35-minute mark on a full-length, nor do I normally condone the download-only-unless-purchased-at-Hot Topic format. It’s not easy for a balding, grown-ass man in his work uniform to walk into that place, guys. Thanks for making me feel like a dinosaur/child predator. On the other hand, I do grasp the concept of the EP itself, and I proudly condone a Deathcore band unafraid to play Deathcore despite the current smear campaign from the popular Metal press (i.e. the real child predators). The EP’s title is no coincidence, as this is the sound of a band driven to shake that Suicide Silence-clone tag. Despite the more weighty presence of keyboards, things open on a no-frills note. “The Second Coming” is a triple-guitar-heavy, breakdown-laden assault on Christ that succeeds in kicking down the door, but it isn’t long into follow-up cut “Lillith” that frontman Alex Koehler breaks out the clean vocals for the first time. The clean-sung chorus is surprisingly pretty damn good. This kid —already an accomplished screamer/growler— can actually carry a tune. Let’s see Mitch Lucker do this shit, eh? But even more impressive than this emotive burst is the breakdown behind it. I’m all for mixing it up, especially when none of the oppressive heaviness is compromised. “S.H.O.T.” and “Confession” are more standard, mosh-inducing Chelsea Grin fare. Perhaps they aren’t ready to ditch all those comparisons just yet. However, the record ends on a standout note with the despondent-yet-crushing atmosphere of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” replete with oddball keyboard ending, and the bonus track, a remix of “The Human Condition.” You know, I never realized it until hearing this version, but I’ll be damned if that isn’t Ray Miller himself on low growls! HA! Seriously! Listen to it. [That’s not me, but they might be infringing on my roar-tone! -Editor]

Something tells me I’ve heard this band before, but good or bad I don’t remember, and I’m too lazy to check. Whatever the case, I do think I’ll remember Southwest Doom Violence. Not necessarily for being a memorable album, but for having an extremely memorable vibe. We’ll start with what they get right, that being first and foremost a perfect guitar tone. A crystalline yet grime-infested replica of the classic Sunlight sound. I never get tired of this timbre, and Catheter are right up there with the likes of Black Breath and Trap Them as far as top-shelf Core-based bands using it as a weapon. For this band, that Core is Grindcore, although their remarkably seamless juxtaposition of styles within that frame —Sludge, Powerviolence, and even lethal doses of Mental Funeral-worshipping Death Metal— is another area they excel in. My complaints are few and relatively common for bands of this ilk. With 21 tracks in 28 minutes, the record flies by with no truly discernible tracks. Luckily they mix it up well enough that it’s enjoyable as a whole. The bigger hindrance here is a plethora of vocal styles with only a couple being winners. The low growls are terrific, almost Assuck-like in their sheer might, and the Putnam-esque shrill scream compliments them perfectly. But everything else needs to go. I’ve sadly outgrown that goofy Spazz bellow, and the bevy of limp-wristed, minor league Punk yells significantly detract from an otherwise invigorating listen. I could’ve also done without the PETA rant on album closer “In This Moment,” and I’ll leave it at that to avoid a pointless rant of my own. Nevertheless, a solid album that unfortunately could’ve been a lot better.