The toughest part about returning to form is keeping it going (just ask My Dying Bride). You can turn in that supreme effort that reminds everyone of why they love you in the first place, but if the releases that follow can’t maintain the gusto, then you might as well have kept on making Jon Secada records. For me, Dark Tranquillity delivered their supreme effort with 2007’s Fiction. An album that not only re-lit the fire but could stand toe-to-toe with any of their ’90s classics, and has stood the test of time. 2010’s follow-up, We Are the Void, was by no means a bad album, it simply wasn’t quite as good, and the same can be said for this stopgap EP. If I had to take a guess, I’d say Zero Distance is probably one new song (most likely the title track) and some stowaways from the …Void sessions, possibly re-recorded. Worthless? No. Rather unnecessary? Unequivocally. The title track is a catchy tune with all the band’s signature trademarks present —soaring melodies aligned with mechanized chug, carried by overcast keyboards and the instantly recognizable bark of Mikael Stanne— but could have done just as well on the band’s next full-length. The remaining three songs and instrumental are phoned in by DT standards. They almost sound like the band going through some warmup exercises before the actual game. Practice? We talkin’ ‘bout practice? To be honest, Stanne’s voice is so good, the band’s melodic interplay so expertly honed, that even their filler tops mortal bands’ A-list material. But I expect more from them than this pointless tease. Not bad, but far from essential.

This band has been around since 1995, but I’ve always had trouble keeping up with them. Part of the reason was that their albums were so hard to find. Seven Bells is their latest release and is this one sick! Musically, this is similar to Celtic Frost (Monotheist) and Triptykon in style. I’m not sure how much influence Tom G. Warrior had on the sound of Seven Bells (he is listed as a co-producer), but his presence looms large. My guess is that Secrets of the Moon wanted to sound like this and decided that the best way to do it was to bring in the person who knew the Triptykon/Celtic Frost sound the best. Seven Bells is avant-garde, but not in the “we’re free from the bounds of Metal” kind of way. Seven Bells still has a solid Metal core and the experimentation and avant-garde elements are more to add atmosphere than anything else. If there is one flaw in this album, it is probably the fact that the Celtic Frost/Triptykon influence is a bit too apparent. From the first note, I could tell where these folks were going with their sound. That isn’t a serious flaw in my opinion. Very few bands can be both heavy as fuck and avant-garde at the same time, but Seven Bells is that from the beginning to the end. I love dark music and the more twisted and evil it is, the more I like it. If you’re like me, you’ll be listening to Seven Bells a lot.

In the womb
A sea of vomit
Nurturing the false prophet
His mouth of blasphemy
Spreading forth the creed of the infidels

His spit on the flaking emblem of Solomon
A schism of confusion, weaken the Trinity
Foresee the death of the holy alliance
The withering corpse of Christ

MOCK THE CROSS!

Thieving throughout the ages of man
He has come to claim the eternal prize
Antichrist of flesh and blood
Overseeing his domain with tender care

The foul taste of deceit lingering upon his lips
Fools entranced by divine intellect
Enslaved and scorned for eternity
The long awaited rise of the usurper
A new world order taking form

Hordes rejoiced in eternal solstice
Honoring the true kingdom
Possession of the gullible souls
Mass death in the name of dog

MOCK THE FUCKING CROSS!

God Forbid haven’t really rocked my world in a long time. As the ferocious Metalcore assault found on their first two albums gradually morphed more with each release towards a safer, less threatening, more marketable NWOAHM approach a la Lamb of God and Chimaira, my collection reveals that I stopped caring after 2004’s Gone Forever. With the departure of founding guitarist Dallas Coyle, will a revamped lineup serve to ignite the fires of old? Opener “Don’t Tell Me What to Dream” certainly hints at that possibility, with its crushing breakneck rhythms fueled by slick double bass and a massive production. But “My Rebirth” follows with everything I’ve come to dislike about the band. Lightweight melodic Thrash with a clean-sung chorus that screams PG-13 Action movie soundtrack. Equilibrium then plunges into formulaic boredom as heavy filler alternates with ballad filler, raping the good cop/bad cop blueprint on the altar of predictability, culminated by the PSA lyrics of the title track. Yes, freedom may not be free, but this record damn well ought to be. Nice Bon Jovi guitar solo on “Overcome” (and additional kudos for such an original song title). By the time Byron Davis repeatedly screams, “I can’t take no more” on “Cornered,” this listener is echoing that same sentiment. If there’s a declarative message intended to be conveyed on “This Is Who I Am” —which sounds like third rate, Jones-fronted Killswitch Engage— it’s received loud and clear. This band is done. Coffin nailed shut. Dallas knew it. A decent first song, but the head quickly goes from banging to shaking.

Apparently this Los Angeles quartet have been spreading the Sludge mustard for over two decades now. Somehow I’ve missed out on them altogether. I guess there’s just too many bands and not enough time, or it could be that every time I’ve come across them, I simply thought, “Why the fuck would you name your band 16?!” and moved on. Tough to say, I can barely remember last week. Deep Cuts from Dark Clouds might be as good a place to start as any, however. Musically speaking, I really like what the band does. Basic, no-frills, dropped-D fretboard abuse with a deathbed-sick bass tone. It’s very heavy yet contained, simplistic yet sharp, barbaric yet slick… it’s essentially a squatter who hasn’t showered in a year, but with a couple splashes of Preferred Stock. Seriously though, there is some major Helmet and Unsane worship taking place here, yet it retains a thick coating of Sludge-infested grime. It isn’t easy to achieve the proper balance of refreshing and filthy. It’s the vocals that lose me. Cris Jerue doesn’t have the worst snarl in the world, but we’re talking over-the-top one-dimensional. No range, no bombast, no emotion, no payoff. Jerue falls short of Lemmy and ends up squarely in post-relevant Max Cavalera territory. A dull scream that sterilizes the music’s energy to the point of television static. (Can TVs even get static anymore? Fuck.) Tunes that coast this effortlessly on awesome-autopilot need lungs with balls. Looks like I haven’t been missing out on too much after all, but maybe I’ll catch them on tour with 8, 17, 33, and 24.

This one-man Black Metal band hails from Turkey and this is Yayla’s second full-length album. Outside of the novelty of a Black Metal band from Turkey, this album is essentially Burzum worship. All of the songs are epic length (the shortest song on this album is slightly over seven-and-a-half minutes) and very minimalistic. If you remember what Hvis Lyset Tar Oss sounded like, you have a good idea what Sathimasal sounds like. This is another band that should be sending Varg a royalty check. I imagine that there are some folks out there who believe that sounding this way is how you keep it “true” (or is that “trve”?), but as far as I’m concerned, aping a legendary band (I’m not going to comment on Varg’s most recent material…) doesn’t make it so any of their mojo rubs off onto you. It just makes you a clone. Sathimasal isn’t anything you haven’t heard elsewhere. In fact, the droning, repetitive, aspect of it makes you tune it out. When you’re sitting there thinking, “Hey, maybe I should throw on some music,” and then you realize you’re actually listening to something already, it means the album isn’t engaging enough to hold your attention. Even for minimalistic, droning Black Metal, that’s a bad thing.

Let’s see… the band is called Sarcophagy, they’re on Sevared Records (final description totals for Sevared’s latest half-page ad: “brutal” - 9, “guttural” - 6, “ultra brutal” - 3, “tech” - 3, “slamming” - 1), and they feature members of Gorgasm and Human Filleted. For ten million (theoretical) dollars… can you guess what style of music this band plays? …no, I’m sorry, the answer is not Post-Bluegrass. Death Metal, we were looking for Death Metal. Thanks for playing. Make fun of Sevared all you want, but you don’t need to hire a P.I. to find out where their hearts lie. Who cares if all the album covers are made with MS Paint? Most of the stuff rules and Sarcophagy is no exception. I shouldn’t have to tell you this is brutal, but I’m going to. Fortunately it’s not the kind of brutal that turns into an unmemorable blur by the third track. These guys write great riffs and know how to structure them to keep it fresh. It’s not all blinding speed all the time. The majority of the album slams at mid-tempo, even slowing to a sick crawl at times (see “Grisly Homicidal Butchery”). There’s a definite East Coast flavor to the timing. Think Suffocation, Internal Bleeding, and Pyrexia with the occasional tech flair of Cannibal Corpse. Anthony Voight does a very Bentonesque job of syncing his growl patterns with the riffs, another way to keep things interesting. Noteworthy guest appearances include a classic, Cause of Death-style guitar solo from the legendary James Murphy on album closer “Crucifixion Masochism,” and Gorgasm’s Damian Leski lends a helping hand to his bandmates by adding an extra guttural voice and a sexy solo of his own to the clean guitar passage on “Cut to Pieces.” The Summoning is an all-pro affair, well-deserving of any DM fiend’s attention. Sure, you’ve heard this before. So what? I’ve also watched porn before. That’s not going to stop me from rubbing one out later tonight.

Where has this band been my whole life? Seattle’s Anhedonist present a debut full-length to be reckoned with. The juxtaposition of primal, filth-ridden brutality and cataclysmic, funereal dirges found on Netherwards perfectly defines all that is the Death/Doom genre. This album is strategically crafted —four songs, forty minutes, two Death Metal cuts, two Doom slabs— to leave the listener in a bloodied, broken, and numb state of post-apocalyptic languor. When the band rages on the Death Metal-dominant side of things (“Saturnine” and “Carne Liberatus”), it’s pure Old School bliss. Fans of Autopsy and Incantation take note, this guitar tone and vocal pitch are heavier than 666 tons of human detritus. However, it’s the Doomier tracks (“Estrangement” and “Inherent Opprobrium”) that truly steal the show. The band conjures a desolate atmosphere that swallows hope whole, as the smothering heaviness resonates in your constantly-decaying brain. The slow-motion bludgeonment often lends itself to intoxicating clean guitar passages that recall Disembowelment’s lone masterpiece. These are the moments when Netherwards is at its most haunting. One could argue that the material here is derivative, and that’s a difficult proposal to defend. It is entirely derivative… of shit that kicks ass!

Italians. Sure we’re great at food, tanning, cunnilingus, and Hammer Horror, but did you know we also excel at being miserable? Take a listen. For the last decade or so, the best music emanating from The Boot is of the sad ‘n’ pretty variety. Everyone should already be familiar with Novembre’s otherworldly-emotive Metal mastery, SDBM veterans Forgotten Tomb have picked up a few fans along the way, and the debut from Gothic Doom kings The Foreshadowing is as essential as they come. But not enough folks are aware of the country’s quality Post-Rock output. Do yourself a favor and track down some Room with a View, and if you have the stomach for heartbroken Emo, Klimt 1918 do it better than most. You can add Arctic Plateau to that resume to a certain extent. After a 3-year hiatus, this second outing from Gianluca Divirgilio shows promise, occasionally hinting at greatness. Heshers be warned, there is little Metal here, if any. This is pure Shoegaze, but it might be reflective and spacey enough to label Prog if that helps you sleep at night. Whatever you want to call it, these are dreamy, featherweight ballads that ache with melancholic melodies and lyrical introspection. If Divirgilio has anything going for him, it’s a smooth singing voice reminiscent at times of Novembre’s Carmelo Orlando. The problem is, for all of their somber, ethereal atmosphere, most of these songs don’t go anywhere. They float in and out, like a gentle breeze, without that big hook or enough pain to be remembered. However, Gianluca does get it right on the poignantly sorrowful title track —replete with Black Metal vocal-aided crescendo— and the beautifully morose “Loss and Love.” Two of the best songs of the year, unfortunately surrounded by enjoyable but ultimately forgettable filler.