I’ve got to hand it to Relapse’s advertising department, they knocked out almost a whole sentence of this review for me. Gore fiends who have long been craving a new General Surgery album will have to starve a bit longer, because A Collection of Depravation is merely “a collection of the Swedish Gore-Grind outfit’s out-of-print singles, vinyl-only EPs, comp appearances, and a few unheard demos.” Thanks, guys. Shit, I could just slap a rating on it now and call it a day, but that wouldn’t be prudent. I feel it’s my duty to let everyone who dropped a load in their pants when they read that quote know that this is about as far from essential as a release gets. I do consider myself a fan of these guys, but admittedly I am a very selective one. I love the classic Necrology EP from 1991 and their breakthrough, magnum opus, 2009’s Corpus in Extremus: Analyzing Necroticism. However, the stuff in between I can live without, and this comp is pretty much all the stuff in between. It features all the material from their splits with The County Medical Examiners, Filth, and Machetazo, but good luck even telling these “songs” apart. It’s all just one indiscernible 90-second blur of noise after another that’s pretty difficult to stay awake through. I was able to make out the Carnage, Repulsion, and Carcass covers… barely, and there’s also a block of demo songs from Corpus that, while recognizable, pale in comparison to the mighty album versions. I think I know exactly why they went “unheard.” So, unless you absolutely must own everything that bears the General Surgery name, you really don’t need this. This will be a collector’s item that collects dust. I realize this is a completist’s wet dream —believe me, I have a plethora of releases just like this, and if there were anything even resembling quality here I wouldn’t be bitching like a 70-year old with kids on his lawn— but my days of owning something just for the sake of owning something are over. Save your dough, and more importantly your time, for the band’s new album, assuming they ever finish it.

I salivated at the opportunity to review this third album from Finland’s Soulfallen, as 2007’s World Expiration and 2009’s Grave New World were two remarkably solid albums to start a career with that went virtually unnoticed. Quite a shame, really. The band’s symphonic take on Doomy Melodeath may not be the most unique or original item on the menu, but a large portion of their material proved to be heartily memorable after repeated listening. But of course this is my luck we’re talking about, so it’s no surprise that The Promise of Hell significantly lacks it predecessors’ mournful glory and catchiness. Album opener, “The Birth of Newfound Death,” gets things off to a great start, combining headbangability and gloom in epic fashion. However, just as it seems they’ve picked up right where they’d left off, the album slips into a coma. Not a second’s worth of music is remembered beyond the first song, even after months of searching for anything even slightly resembling appeal. It’s not as though they’ve gone and written the worst album ever made —they haven’t wimped out, or drastically changed style, or embarrassed themselves with a myriad of genre cliches— they simply wrote one terrific song and phoned in the rest of the record. Whether at Death/Thrash speed or a Doom crawl, the riffs go nowhere, the synths are on auto-pilot, and the melodies don’t come close to hurting enough. “At the Heart of Dying” attempts to close things out on a heartfelt note with it’s swaying depressive dirges, but it’s far too little, far too late. A dreadfully mediocre statement from a band already mired in obscurity.

Metal supergroups generally tend to be hit or miss, but not so with this Finnish all-star team boasting members of Swallow the Sun, Amorphis, Kreator, and Moonsorrow. Their debut EP (2009’s Our Twilight) and LP (2010’s Curse of the Red River) weren’t monumental recordings, but they did hint at a ton of gloomy, Folk-tinged Melodeath promise. A strong balance of downtrodden yet epic, heavy yet graceful, with roughly equal parts standout material and filler. One had to figure with The Devil’s Resolve, the band was either poised for total greatness or ready to head the other way. It doesn’t take too many listens to determine the outcome. Following in the footsteps of Amorphis —the band’s most prominent influence— Barren Earth have decided to abandon the heterosexual constraints of Death/Doom in favor of rainbows, pretty flowers, sunshine, campfire ditties, Moogs, and the assholes of children. This album owes more to Disco than it does to Metal. Swallow the Sun vocalist Mikko Kotamaki’s deep and powerful Death roar is the only tie to extremity not severed, serving as a mere aberration here. Imagine KC & the Sunshine Band with occasional Death Metal vocals. Okay, so I might be exaggerating a bit, but there is absolutely no pain here. Noodling. Aimless. Forced dramatics. Prog for the sake of Prog. Just a white river of interchangeable musical arrangements that reek of happiness, fun times, dancing, and the lighter side of The Doors. And of course by purposely sounding dated, everyone will proclaim that they have progressed. Such is the irony of Prog Rock. Alas, with nothing more to offer a life of emptiness and misery, yet another band is dead to me. I will be avoiding them from here on out, as they will only continue to reflect the Amorphis lineage. Expect a forthcoming album of Gloria Gaynor covers.

The US has a major crush on Japan. We don’t just admire their culture, we tattoo that shit on our faces. I have no hate in my heart whatsoever for the Japanese, but as with most situations in life, I find myself the odd man out. I’d rather go down on Courtney Love than eat sushi, I can’t get into Anime, and I’d much rather watch King Kong than Godzilla (as I’ve tried many times to climb a building with a hot blonde only to be shot down).
[Note: Jack’s views and opinions on Japanese culture in general, and Godzilla in particular, expressed in this review are solely his own and are not necessarily the views of Metal Curse or Cursed Productions - or me! -Editor]
Takashi Miike? A few homeruns, a lotta strikeouts. And while we’re on that topic, Ichiro’s first MLB season in 2001… Rookie of the Year? No doubt about it. AL MVP? Gimme a fucking break. So, as with everything else, Japanese Metal bands tend to be severely overhyped. Admittedly, I’m drunk and it’s 1am, but I can’t recall much that is collection-worthy beyond select albums from Defiled, Vomit Remnants, Abigail, and Sigh. Judging by some of the reviews I’ve read on Tokyo’s Desecravity, you’d think that Implicit Obedience was the single greatest Death Metal LP of all time. It isn’t. It’s a sea of unmemorable riffs and blast beats with a solid but forgettable guttural growl. I’ve been listening to this thing for two months trying to come up with a review that consisted of more than, “not bad but really fucking boring.” Occasionally I hear a riff or two that reminds me of Sinister… then I think, “hey, I should go listen to Sinister.” There’s some virtuoso bass-slappin’ and ripping guitar solos all over the place, but like everything else here, it’s impressive but instantly forgotten. “Condemnation” has some nice Krisiun-style breakdowns. That’s about all I have. Not much else stands out, save for Yuichi Kudo’s excellent drumming and a few humorous lightweight screams. All that said, this album will probably win a Grammy (assuming it isn’t beaten by Gallhammer’s cover of “Stone Cold Crazy”). I just don’t hear it.

I’m still not, and may never be, completely sold on any form of Accept that does not include Udo “Bastard!!” Dirkschneider, but even I have to admit that Stalingrad is something of an improvement over 2010’s Udo-less return from the grave, Blood of the Nations. There are still too many expeditions into exhausted Hard Rock territory, like “Twist of Fate,” “Hellfire,” or the terrible album-closer “The Gallery” (excluding the jarringly excellent final minute or so), and trying to replace such an iconic singer as Udo is an impossible task. But even in the worst moments (often due to the vocals, but there’re a few clunky and even outright bad riffs) there are some redeeming qualities, and at its best, this album can cause fits of uncontrollable headbanging. By “its best,” I mean when these crusty krauts (minus one) are trying to sound like they used to when Udo was still in the band, and when Guy-Who’s-Not-Udo (non-kraut Mark Tornillo) puts forth maximum effort to sound as much like Udo as he can. Otherwise his vocals tend to get annoying quickly. At least someone knows to put the best song first, as “Hung, Drawn and Quartered” is arguably as good as things get here. The limited edition version of the CD comes with a bonus track, plus a DVD, which I haven’t seen, consisting of video clips and some live footage. Stalingrad is nowhere close to the first album I’ll reach for when I need an Accept fix, and I’m still hoping for a reconciliation with Udo (in a Mercyful Fate / King Diamond kind of way, so that Udo’s excellent “solo” band would also keep recording and touring), but if this new Accept continues to refine their sound, and more importantly, Not-Udo’s vocals, maybe after a couple more albums I’ll stop mentioning Udo so much in their reviews.

Hanging Garden was the gateway drug that led me to Happy Days. How ironic that SDBM mastermind A. Morbid is now the main man behind both projects. Fans of Hanging Garden’s 2011 LP, Goodbye Love… Hello Heartache…, concerned that Morbid was losing his Black Metal voice can rest at ease. He was apparently just “saving his best ‘riffs’ for Carcass,” if you will. It seems he had quite a bit saved up, as Cause of Death: Life is a colossal double album, and to keep us consistently puzzled, the two discs are radically different from one another. Disc One is the Happy Days I know and love. Hopelessly bleak Black Metal —owing much to the raw, repetitive simplicity of Burzum and Darkthrone— with enough Shoegaze tint to ensure maximum depression. This duo (rounded out by Karmageddon on drums) have come such a long way from their early output to where they are now. The sound quality and playing ability continually improve with each release, nowhere is that more evident than on Disc One’s re-recorded oldies (“Alone and Cold” from the ‘07 demo of the same name and “No Point in Living” from the ‘07 A World of Pain demo) which sound leagues better than the somewhat unbearable original recordings. Even the new version of “Take Me Away” is far superior to the one found on 2009’s Happiness Stops Here LP (considered by many to be their breakthrough opus). Lyrically, shit doesn’t get much realer: “Now my days are fading every time I blink / Hoping that my end will soon arrive / I don’t belong here, I need to die / Happiness doesn’t last, depression and Negativity will always triumph.” I’m sorry, but every other BM band’s lyric sheet just turned into Sesame Street dialogue. Unfortunately Disc Two is depressing for the wrong reasons. The song titles, lyrics, and vibe are unmistakably Happy Days, but something about the delivery is strikingly less poignant. The vocals are carelessly shouted, yelled, or just plain spoken, and while a few heartbroken melodies remain, the music just feels alarmingly off. Often grating and consistently unmemorable, it’s a noisy, sloppy step backwards for them. I sincerely hope that Disc One isn’t some kind of farewell to the Happy Days standard I adore, with Disc Two being a precursor of things to come, because without Disc Two this is probably a 10.

I have no idea what everyone sees in this band. Are they the worst band in the world? No, not at all. If they were, they’d at least memorable in that sense. They’re a band to be filed under “nothing special,” yet somehow are downright worshipped not only by a diehard legion of adoring fans, but by their peers as well. Perhaps they dominate the live setting? Could it be they hypnotize the crowd with spiked armbands and long black hair headbanging in perfect unison, like the zombies distracted by fireworks in Land of the Dead? The right look does go a long way. Maybe it’s because they’re from New Orleans —the cradle of overrated Metal. Whatever it is that endears them to the Metal masses is definitely not revealed on Blood for the Master, the group’s fifth full-length, which is about as memorable as my first nap. A fountain of generic Thrash riffs forgotten the instant they’re played. Can this honestly be the same band that Matt Harvey of Exhumed said had better Celtic Frost riffs than Tom G. Warrior has written in years? Really? What am I missing? Are there two Goatwhores? Ben Falgoust isn’t a terrible vocalist —sort of a poor man’s Chuck Schuldiner— and I appreciate good Satanic lyrics as much as the next nun-rapist, but calling him one of the greatest frontmen in Metal seems like more than a bit of a stretch. And yes, they also have a great drummer… but so do Inverted Bitch Fister! At this point I’m convinced that Metal Blade has to be paying people to say that kind of shit. There’s no other explanation. So since I haven’t seen a dime, I’ll call it how I see it: Goatwhore, on record anyway, are not bad but far from great. Don’t drink the Kool-Aid. Don’t stare at the skyflowers.

This is one of those bands where the hotness of the band’s vocalist is usually the gist of any reviews or interviews done about them. With Chthonic, it’s Doris Yeh. With Arch Enemy, it’s Angela Gassow. For Mortad, you have Somi Arian. Yes, she is hot. Terrorizer magazine is probably going to have a poster of her in an upcoming issue unless whoever is constantly fapping off to Doris Yeh can somehow figure out a way to sneak another poster of her in instead. Still, this is a music review so unless you have a good imagination (and you’re willing to fap to Death/Thrash Metal), we’re only going to concern ourselves with what’s on the CD. The first thing about Somi Arian that you need to know is that she isn’t a singer in the Nightwish or Lacuna Coil vein. She’s fronting a Death/Thrash band and unless you saw a picture of her growling into a microphone, you’d never know that the singer was a woman. The vocals are harsh and corrosive. Think of her as the Persian version of Angela Gassow. I just wish the rest of the band’s output was the same caustic and aggressive brew. The thing that struck me about The Myth of Purity was how bland the music was. It chugged along in a very workman-like manner, never getting overly aggressive, brutal or heavy. It was there but it really didn’t reach out and grab you. I think part of the problem was that the drums buried the guitars most of the time. The guitars really need to be turned up or the snare drum turned down significantly. Maybe all they need is a rawer production. One of the hallmarks of the best Thrash or Death Metal is the ability of the band to get your head banging and your adrenaline flowing. They really need that here. The most exciting parts of any of Mortad’s songs are the guitar solos. That’s the only section of the song that kicks into high gear. Somi’s vocals are aggressive enough on their own but she can’t override the fact that the rest of the band is sleepwalking through their performances. I really wanted to like this album, but the lack of any seriously kick-ass songs and the general “blah” music kept that from happening.

Few Death Metal bands have gotten more love from me over the last decade than Germany’s Lay Down Rotten. They first caught my ear in late 2003 with their classic Paralyzed by Fear debut and have been flattening me ever since. The list of Death Metal albums that might have topped Reconquering the Pit in 2007, or the star-studded Gospel of the Wretched in 2009, is very short. As rotten as Ribspreader, as consistent as Bolt Thrower, as stubborn as Asphyx, and often yielding the melodic genius of Edge of Sanity, these guys are among simplistic brutality’s elite. All that said, I can pull no punches… clearly Mask of Malice was phoned in. There’s no other way to put it. I’ve given it months of spinning and about a dozen last chances, only to keep arriving at the same conclusion. This is unequivocally inferior to past works. There’s certainly nothing wrong with Jost Kleinert’s vocals. One of the smoothest bestial growls in the business, not to mention criminally underrated. The production is immaculate and it’s not like the music is terrible… it’s just a boring record. It’s a series of underwhelming riffs at varying monotonous paces that lends itself to a going-through-the-motions feel. For me, only two cuts stand out. “Swallow the Bitterness” and “The Devil Grins” are premium Lay Down Rotten anthems —fast to mid tempo, loaded with barbaric groove, desolate melodies, and brutal hooks— sadly treading water in a sea of filler. Hey, even the best Death Metal bands are entitled to lay an egg once in a while. Musicians are human and playing in a band can be taxing, especially when your labor of love isn’t paying all the bills. And while it doesn’t quite seem like their hearts were in it this time, I’m not ready to write them off just yet. I accept Mask of Malice for the anomaly that it is. A significantly less awesome album from a genuinely awesome band.