KON!!!!! You fiend! Another one? Already? It’s well-documented that I only read while shitting, and a new book from my favorite author every handful of months means a vicious cycle of binge-eating and rampant defecation that has me one Bacon Habanero Quarter Pounder away from cardiac arrest. I was 175 lbs. of solid muscle when Psycho began his publishing career. Now I can only score with chicks who have an inner-thigh boil fetish. I think it’s time Jon financed a personal trainer for his biggest fan (literally and figuratively speaking), or at least got me a pallet of that military-grade Lipozene that killed Pete Steele. Truthfully, there are worse ways to get fat. The second I opened Thunderbird and saw chapters titled “Hate-Fucking Shrimp Platters on Groundhog Day,” “Bearded Women Shitting on Glass Tables Is Sort of My Thing,” “Just Because I’m a Pisces Doesn’t Mean I Want to Watch You Eat a Whale Fucker Sandwich,” and “Death Metal Taco Bell,” much like Rafael Carlos Revel, I was able to see the future, and it involved many nights of my legs falling asleep on the porcelain throne ahead. I didn’t know how Psycho was going to top 2012’s Sleep Has No Master. Come to find out, he doesn’t have to. All he needs to do is maintain the untouchable level he’s already reached, and with this new tome he’s done just that. (That’d be like me trying to enhance masturbation by doing the David Carradine when I already get that perfect Peter North load every time just by using John Smoltz’ split-finger fastball grip.) Konrath’s fiction is absurdist delight. These stories are funnier than rear-view motorcycle accidents and more disturbing than watching someone chew lettuce thoroughly. I’m actually tired of talking about how good this guy is. Chances are if you aren’t aware of his talent by now, you’re too much of a douchebag to deserve experiencing it. The only thing holding Thunderbird back is an alarming number of typos. This book has more errors than a Chicago Cubs infield. Kon needs to kidnap one of those Jewish kids from the national spelling bee and harvest it for copy editing and/or the sex-slave trade. In his defense, portions of this book were written in the back of numerous Uncle Kenny’s Sex Dungeons throughout London and Germany, and we all know the European franchises aren’t always as well lit. Mistakes aside, this is still a can’t-put-it-down read. Lucifer Our Lord funny with frightening attention to detail and a sex drive that’d make Michael Douglas seem gay.
Note: Don’t even think about reading this one on your gold iPhone, you snooty cunt. When you buy the paperback version you get the bonus zombie chapter, and if you’re gay enough to not care… welcome to the world of AIDS.
Note to self: Start Death Metal band called The Shotgun Abortionist.

I’ve been hating life + afraid to die since the 3rd Grade. Needless to say, I’m always on the lookout for quality Suicidal Depressive Black Metal. Truth is, it’s a rarity. There isn’t a ton of middle ground when it comes to this genre. Albums usually get thrown into one of two piles: “fucking awesome” or “fucking joke.” Lately it seems that latter pile is stacking up much higher and faster than the former. Half of these acts don’t even have vocalists, and the other half… well, you wish they didn’t. (I can’t remember the group, but a recent demo submission actually featured a singer whose Black Metal pseudonym was Stinky.) So, when a band like Hateful Agony comes along that, ironically, does tread the middle ground somewhat, it’s hard not to grade on a curve. This corpse-painted trio brings absolutely nothing new to the table —I honestly have a tough time even telling their songs apart— but they play the style the right way. That means sadness, sadness, misery, sadness, hate, sadness, and then more sadness… the way of all life and the way of all music that doesn’t suck balls. They have the melancholic sensibility of an Indie Rock band filtered through the bitterness and rage of Black Metal at a Doomy pace, all tied together with a filthy lo-fi bow. They do have their fair share of boring instrumentals as well —four to be exact; an intro, intermission, outro, and Xasthur cover— but when those bleak melodies break through the wall of crispy Necro and Lord Doryan Wolf’s acidic Burzumesque rasp blankets every last vestige of hope, it’s an undeniably enjoyable spin. I’m perfectly okay with them sounding like every other SDBM band as long as it’s every other SDBM band in the aforementioned “fucking awesome” pile. Perhaps the only thing truly unique about Hateful Agony is their locale. Sao Paulo, Brazil? Really? Suicidally depressed Brazilians? Well, I’ve always been a firm believer that anyone can be miserable anywhere, and this is unequivocal proof. Even in the land of sandy beaches, bronzed bodies, and waxed pussies there are hooded miscreants hoping that big statue of Jesus falls on the country’s best soccer player right before the World Cup. Todos saudam a nossa Negatividade Deusa!

So, I finally get to experience the group Joey Lawrence wouldn’t shut up about on that lame sitcom. Truth be told, this hasn’t been an actual group all that long. Beginning as the one-man project of vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Chris Grigg, on the first four releases —a demo and split in ‘07, a split and full-length in ‘08— Woe was him. It wasn’t until 2010’s sophomore LP Quietly, Undramatically that his Black Metal vision began to blossom (HA!) into a full band. Again, Withdrawal is my first time hearing them, but I’d be willing to wager that the transitional process has been a rough one for Grigg. I’m counting seven different members in five years, with two drummers and two bassists already getting the boot. This current quartet —rounded out notably by guitarist Ben Brand (Tombs), drummer Shawn Eldridge (Disma, Funebrarum), and Grzesiek Czapla (a multi-instrumentalist in his own right)— shows definite signs of competently gelling, but there’s still some work to be done. About one-third of the time, Woe dazzle and slay the listener with a scattered bevy of Bad Ass Hall of Fame-worthy riffs and arrangements —the left-field Thrash attack on “Carried by Waves to Remorseless Shores of the Truth,” and icy, melodic blast furnace of “All Bridges Burned” immediately spring to mind— but that other two-thirds is so boring you forget you’re even listening to music. I think they try to do too much, which is a common hindrance with USBM bands. The incorporation of too many different elements and vibes until all that’s remembered is a chaotic, jumbled mess. For instance, “Song of My Undoing” opens with a wicked Burzumesque stomp, then briefly turns into a Post-Metal ballad before disappearing into a swirling maze of throwaway riffs at constantly varying speeds. Similarly, “Exhausted” begins with a raw Punkish energy that is quickly dissolved by a blur of blastbeat autopilot, awoken only by an all-too brief burst of Agallochian reflection. Grigg’s Blackened scream is basic but effective, and while I certainly don’t mind the occasional clean-sung bits, they rarely have the impact they should. They’re in desperate need of refinement, then again that’s par for the course here. I’d like to hear the music reflect the abject misery poured onto Grigg’s lyric sheet more often than it does. Less is more, and more is less when it comes to Negativity worship. Woe has unlimited potential, but Withdrawal’s overall lack of cohesion makes for a frustrating, unbalanced listen. Honestly… what other rating could I possibly give this?

Hailing from the land of Ivan Drago, multi-instrumentalist/vocalist Katharos has been busier than a dyke in a hardware store lately. In addition to his work in/as Epitaph of Life, Hyperborean Frost, and Post Traumatic Syndrome, he’s also managed to put out five Emptiness Soul full-lengths since 2010. Three Days is my first time hearing any of his tireless efforts, and I must say it’s impressive Depressive. I was actually surprised to learn of this one-man band’s Russian dissent. Not to say that fertile frozen soil hasn’t produced quality SDBM in the past (All the Cold certainly have their moments), but much of Katharos’ Black methodology —vocals/vocal patterns, song arrangement, solid lo-fi production— reminds me of the Grecian formula. While most bands of this ilk take their vocal inspiration from Burzum, Popeye, or a wounded Beagle, the delivery of this low growl often harks back to the oldest coffin spirits of Rotting Christ and Varathron. Granted, the growls on Three Days are a little lower —think Saturnus circa “Starres,” Depresy, or maybe Crematory’s heaviest moments— and the music far more morose and melodic in a Blackened Doomy sense. What’s equally surprising is that this is, in fact, one dude. These epic tracks are crafted fluently in a multi-layered fashion, as if they were the result of a unit of suffering souls. The suicidal guitar melodies that blanket nearly every nook and cranny of these five songs are often all-pro enough to recall Gothic-era Paradise Lost, Brave Murder Day-era Katatonia, and Lifelover. The jury’s still out on whether this is a drum machine or not, but I suppose if I can’t tell, it’s a moot point. Of course, no SDBM record is complete without its obscure-band-covering-even-more-obscure-band closer. Luckily this rendition of “I’d Like to Love You” by Radogor —ahh, the classics— is no stylistic divergence from the album’s brilliantly downcast meat. Some songs do feel a bit longer and more repetitive than others —a few questionable structures found on “Third Day - Dying Soul” in particular— and one might be able to detect a guitar hiccup or two, but overall, Emptiness Soul’s heavier take on absolutely heartbroken Black Metal is refreshing and no chore to get lost in. Play this for your suicidal friend. If he dies, he dies.

For whatever reason, whenever the conversation about which Grindcore bands are still worth a piss arises, I always seem to forget about Spain’s Machetazo. They’ve been at it forever, I own many of their releases, they’ve done splits with the equally unforgettable Cianide and Ribspreader, oh… and some guy named Chris Reifert designed their logo. Yet, like some kind of Alzheimer’s patient, they somehow slip my mind completely. It could be an intentional subconscious move on my part. Maybe I do it so that every time I hear something new from the duo, I’ll have that, “HOLY FUCK! THESE GUYS ARE GOOD!” moment of surprise? It’s either that or decades of incarnated solvent abuse, but whatever the case, HOLY FUCK! THESE GUYS ARE GOOD! From the blast furnace and bulldozer bass of “Horca” to the Old School Death Metal with machinegun sneak attack on “Tetrico,” this listener is meathooked to his stereo with a jaw dropped to the floor like he didn’t see it coming. In all seriousness, I don’t remember Machetazo (Spanish for “machete”) being this heavy. I remember fast, furious, filthy, and fixated on Horror, but with Ruin they’ve achieved the kind of unbridled organic brutality you just don’t hear that often anymore. Dopi’s guttural grunt sounds particularly menacing, and while my Spanish is a little rusty, I’d say he’s using actual lyrics this time. And the riffs! God damn! Papi, I did not know you could do it like that! I don’t have enough space to highlight all of these monsters, but let’s just say the buzzsaw hooks on “Espectro,” “Fauces,” “Tinieblas/Ritual,” and “Desfigurado” made me want to dust off the old 6-string, tune it to Z-minor, and start violently molesting it again. Convincingly flaunting the gamut from Death to Grind to Crust to Thrash to Doom, all that keeps Ruin from perfection is a dreadfully uneventful 8-minute outro/instrumental, and a few… ahem… slightly borrowed arrangements (is “revientas” Spanish for “tormentor”?). Nevertheless, I don’t think I’ll be forgetting these dos hombres ever again.

Though this is titled II, it’s actually the debut album for Russia’s Hisstönend. The oddity of the title doesn’t end there, though. Get this: it’s their third release. Their first demo was entitled I, which is understandable. Then came a second release, simply entitled Demo. After that, we have this album, II. It’s strange, but I guess if you look at it from the standpoint of this being the band’s second release containing new and original material, it works. The two tracks on Demo were re-recorded songs from I. Musically, Hisstönend is very much in the minimalistic Black Metal style that was the hallmark of old Burzum, Xasthur or Judas Iscariot. It’s dark and dissonant, with lots of reverb on the guitars and on the vocals. The reverb-laced guitars give the music some atmosphere, which helps cover up the fact that Hisstönend is beating one or two riffs into the floor in each one of the six songs on this LP. This works for the most part, but the dissonance on “Whisper’s Cry” is just too harsh. That they play the same annoying riff for eight minutes doesn’t help either. The next song (“Dissonance Bird’s Song”) is almost as bad, having a riff that is only marginally less annoying than the one on “Whisper’s Cry.” The closer, “In the Depths of Forest Abyss” is an epic seventeen and a half minutes long, and it’s essentially a torture test to see how long you can stand to listen to the same riff. Luckily, that song doesn’t continue the trend that is started on “Whisper’s Cry” and has a riff that is less abrasive. Still, seventeen minutes is a long time to listen to one riff. If you’re into minimalism and dissonant Black Metal, Hisstönend will give you all that you can handle and more. Personally, I thought that this LP needed some variety in a bad way. After two songs that essentially had the same structure, I wanted something different. Even the inclusion of some keyboards or adding another layer to the basic one-riff minimalism would’ve spiced things up enough to keep me interested. If it hadn’t been for the abrasiveness of “Whisper’s Cry,” I would’ve tuned this band out after the third song. II started out promisingly but the overall sameness of the music kills this for me. Maybe next time…

Shit. Is it that time again already? Another predictable installment of bouncy Melodeath songs about Nordic mythology. Now before any of you Amon Amarth overnighters want to give me shit about giving them shit, just know I was rocking Sorrow Throughout the Nine Worlds while you were stealing money out of your babysitter’s purse to go buy a copy of Three Dollar Bill Ya’ll, so zip that fucking lip. Truth is, I remained happily on board this one trick pony ride up until 2008’s solid Twilight of the Thunder God. But on 2011’s Surtur Rising, I began to detect signs of a band as tired of writing the same song over and over again as I was of hearing it. I liked three cuts on that LP — two of which had the exact same hook, the other being a System of a Down cover. With Deceiver of the Gods, the results aren’t even that promising. At what point did Amon Amarth’s brand of Death Metal become backing music for step aerobics? This is Viking Death Metal Soul Train for fuck’s sake! You think I’m kidding? Cue opening title track: Danceable melodic riff, standard At the Gates beat, double-bass driven chorus with tremolo-picked melody, chug break, rinse and repeat. Next track: Iron Maiden lick, danceable melodic riff, double-bass driven chorus with tremolo-picked melody, chug break, fade out. Next track: Sped up “You’ve Got Another Thing Coming” beat, Iron Maiden lick, danceable melodic riff, shout-along chorus… Tired of this yet? Next track: Bouncy melodic chug, verses with same hook as danceable melodic chorus riff. Next: Bouncy melodies, double-bass driven chorus with tremolo-picked melody, upbeat danceable refrain. Next: Holy shit! A sample! Standard At the Gates beat with danceable melodic riff… I’ve already checked out mentally at this point and want to listen to something else. Next: “You’ve Got Another Thing Coming” beat not sped up this time, danceable chug with bouncy melodies, White Zombie’s “Thunder Kiss ‘65” riff just slightly altered… Odin help me! Next: “You’ve Got Another Thing Coming” beat, bouncy chug, danceable melodic riff, guest Butt Rock vocals from ex-Candlemass dude… That’s it! Done! No more Death Metal for lifelovers! If this isn’t a tired band going through the motions, I don’t know what it is. Johan Hegg’s roar still sounds great —as brutal and intelligible as they come— but he hasn’t said anything new in 17 years! I’m tired of fantasy lyrics and I’m tired of bullshit marketing gimmicks. There are 72 versions of this LP, ranging from 10-song CD to picture disc housed in gunnysack with toboggan, halyard, and mason jar of Ted Lundstrom’s baby teeth. One of the versions comes with a 4-song bonus EP of AA doing parodist renditions of other bands’ styles. That EP should’ve been called, WE’RE FUCKING BORED! These guys need a break, and they need to spend that break listening to Once Sent from the Golden Hall, Versus the World, and With Oden on Our Side on an endless loop.

Let’s face it, it’s all going to be Rock from here on out. Occult Rock, Post-Rock, Prog Rock, Stoner Rock… you name it. As long as it keeps selling, every third band the big-time Metal indies sign is going to be more Rock than Dwayne Johnson watching Def Leppard play “Rock Brigade,” “Rock of Ages,” “Let’s Get Rocked,” and “Rock! Rock! (Till You Drop)” at the Grand Canyon… on crack. However, occasionally they’re going to pick a winner or two. Maybe even resurrect a few careers. Until now, I had never heard 11-year veterans A.S.G. (The Amplification of Self-Gratification), and while I certainly didn’t have high hopes going in —they did a split with the unlistenable Karma to Burn in 2009— I’m having a hell of a time finding anything wrong with the Wilmington quartet’s first full-length in six years. Just in case that opening bit didn’t clear things up for you, this is nothing extremity-obsessed brutality-addicts need concern themselves with. Blood Drive isn’t really all that heavy… not even in a heavy-for-a-Rock-band sense. But I’ll be damned if it isn’t catchier than HPV at a Midwest whorehouse. I’m tempted to make a joke about their “Southern cookin’ bein’ tasty,” but I don’t want to imply that they’re one of those awful redneck acts with Down(s) Syndrome. They aren’t. Their sound is probably closer to something that would’ve been passed off as “Alternative” in the mid-’90s. I realize this is going to be a far-out reference for Metalheads, but does anyone remember Silverchair? Seriously. The best comparison I can offer is Silverchair with way bigger balls. (I can’t believe I just typed that.) If you aren’t 100% scared away by now, you might as well take the plunge. Trust me, it’s actually a great record. These guys know big riffs, big hooks, and even bigger choruses. They have a damn good singer and they don’t do filler. There’s also nothing to hate about the lyrics. They even wrote a song about Northwest Indiana for me (“Day’s Work”). Every track here has total stuck-in-your-head-the-next-day capability, and I honestly don’t know what else a good tune needs to be. For those about to Rock… we download you.

Not all Doom bands need to achieve an ominous, soul-crushing vibe. Not all Doom bands need to tug at the heartstrings with poignant melancholy and depressive themes. Not all Doom bands need to feature the world’s greatest vocalist, nor do they need to possess a wealth of stellar musicianship. But if they’re going to be at all effective in any way, a Doom band sure as shit needs at least one of the above going for them. This Southampton trio never has and still doesn’t. On full-length #3, Moss attempt to change things up a bit, but the end result is tragically the same. They’ve simply found a different path to mind-numbing boredom. Whereas in the past, these guys would throw together a couple 20-minute Sludge drones and call it an album, they want to be Electric Wizard and Warning this year. Unfortunately, they still don’t write riffs. I admit, the guitar sound Dominic Finbow achieves is monstrously heavy. That’s never been the problem with Moss. Kudos on his amp, strings, pickups, and distortion pedal selection skills. But as some drunk old whore once told me mid-blackout sex: “You’re not workin’ it!” The man plays his instrument like he’s learning chords for the first time, just trying to get a feel for how they sound. It’s all just single strums and incohesive bridges between them. Ring out for infinity and repeat. The band is still sleepwalking through slow-motion nothing, they’ve simply cleaned up the production a bit and altered the length of the torture segments. Speaking of torture, Olly Pearson tries to sing now. Trading in his mediocre Sludge scream of old to better suit the band’s Trad Doom shift, his newfound grating croon resembles a tone-deaf Ozzy at best. So… no riffs, no songs, weak singer, for about an hour. As I said, Moss haven’t really changed much. I’m sure they’ll still do well with people who only listen to music while getting/giving tattoos, but substance-seekers will be fast asleep halfway through “Dark Lady.” Horrible Night is a horrible album.

Dying Fetus get a little too Tech for you? Not enough Suffo songs about the clink? Tired of not being able to tell Misery Index albums apart? Well now there’s Criminal Element. Formed in 2001 by then-Dying Fetus members Vince Matthews and John “Sparky” Voyles, the project was brought to life in 2005 by a rounded-out lineup of Death Metal all-stars. The current incarnation of this supergroup features Derek Boyer (bass) and Terrance Hobbs (guitar) of Suffocation, Darin Morris (guitar) from Misery Index, with Matthews still doing time behind the mic. But the end result isn’t what the uninitiated might expect given the scene royalty involved. Yes, these guys shred, blast, dazzle, and obliterate on a level befitting their collective resumes, but lyrically speaking, Criminal Element keep it straight gangsta. These joints are about the streets, bitch. As if you needed to be told, songs called “Convicted,” “Habitual Offender,” “Snitch Bitch Homicide,” “Suicide by Cop,” “Future Felon,” and “Drug Lord” aren’t delving into arcane metaphysical subject matter. A concept band, if you will, and that concept consists of crime and punishment exclusively. Musically I suppose it’s a looser gig than their day jobs. Shorter songs, simpler arrangements, Punkier attitude, more pit riffs, use of samples (the LP begins with an appropriate classic from Morgan Freeman), etc. Then again, this assemblage letting their hair down is still going to dwarf most bands’ A-game. Past drummers have included Adam Jarvis (Misery Index, Pig Destroyer), Rob Maresca (ex-Pyrexia, ex-Catastrophic), and most recently Chris Mahar (ex-Wasteform), but for some reason they’ve opted for a drum machine on album #2. It’s one of the most realistically phenomenal programming jobs I’ve ever heard, but it’s still a bit of a puzzling choice. One would think with this crew, all it would take is a phone call to get a fellow big-leaguer behind the kit. Nevertheless, talk to your doctor about Criminal Element. A quick, simple dose of Ghetto Grind might be just enough to scare you straight.
Warning: Criminal Element is not for everyone. Women with a history of domestic battery, aggravated assault, or public intoxication should not listen to Criminal Element while breastfeeding. Side effects may include dry mouth, severe neck pain, loss of hearing and vision while moshing, dizziness, property damage, and gas with an oily Discharge riff. Consult their back catalogue if you experience an erection lasting longer than 4 hours.

Tengger Cavalry is a band that I was interested in checking out from the moment I heard about them. In the realms of Folk/Pagan Metal, the vast majority of bands come from two schools: Celtic Folk and Slavic Folk. When you say “Folk Metal” to a fan of the genre, they immediately rattle off a slew of names, all of whom are from Europe, either Western or Eastern. The Western European bands tend to be Celtic Folk influenced and the Eastern European bands tend to be Slavic Folk influenced. Tengger Cavalry comes from an entirely different school. This is the first time I can recall ever hearing a Pagan/Folk Metal band from China that is influenced by Mongolian/Chinese Folk music and traditions. It isn’t the first time I’ve heard Asian Folk influences in Metal (Chthonic used some on Takasago Army and other releases) but none of the bands prior to this have been exclusively Pagan/Folk Metal. The Mongolian/Chinese Folk style gives Tengger Cavalry a very unique sound. In some ways, the fusion of Metal and Asian Folk has created a style that is both familiar and exotic at the same time. You get the standard instrumentation (guitars, bass, drums) mixed in with Chinese Folk instruments and structures. I was a bit disappointed by the fact that the Chinese/Mongolian Folk wasn’t further integrated into this band’s style. The places on Black Steed that shined were the slower, Doomier parts where the atmosphere and the Asian musical influences were more prominent. When a more traditional Black Metal approach and song structure was used, the band lost a lot of what made them unique. I wanted more of the atmospheric stuff and less of the “traditional” Black Metal style. Still, this is a very solid and interesting album. If anything, the music on this LP makes me want to go out and get the rest of their discography. Tengger Cavalry is supposed to have another release later this year so I’ll definitely be on the lookout for it.

The list of bands that don’t need to exist is feasibly long enough to wrap around the globe 667 times. Germany’s Neaera —first off, what the fuck is a neaera, how does one pronounce it, and why the fuck would anyone use it as a band name?— is assuredly on that list, though it’s hard to say exactly where, as determining such rank would be like trying to grade the quality of dust. I remember taking an interest to their 2005 debut The Rising Tide of Oblivion —Germany’s Metalcore/Melodeath scene was on fire in the early-to-mid ’00s, with the likes of Heaven Shall Burn, Caliban, Fall of Serenity, Six Reasons to Kill, Mourning Ends, and Maroon crushing pussies— but that interest was quickly extinguished by the artists formerly known as The Ninth Gate’s mundane unoriginality. Eight years later and these dudes still have yet to come up with their own idea. This is their 6th full-length over that stretch. That ought to tell you just how much thought goes into these stale, copycat efforts. More like THEIRS Is the Storm if you ask me. Listening to the vast majority of this record, I firmly believe this quintet would call themselves Heaven Shall Burn 2 if they legally could. Having Alexander Dietz fill in as a live guitarist in 2008 must have been the pinnacle of their collective existence. Certain riffs on “Walk with Fire,” “Back to the Soul,” and “Guardian of Ashes” indicate they’ve also been spinning some Amon Amarth recently, while “Decolonize the Mind” and “Ascend to Chaos” storm the At the Gates with the same conviction and bravado as the 99th guy who rhymed “fire” with “desire.” You won’t find a single arrangement here that you haven’t heard a thousand times before. It is not uncommon to forget who you’re listening to during a Neaera LP. The only thing that serves to set them apart does so in the bad way, that being the vocals of Benjamin Hilleke. He is a man of many voices, unfortunately none of them are worth a piss. They range from dull and forgettable (low grunts, his best Marcus Bischoff impersonation) to nails-on-a-fucking-chalkboard annoying (a high-pitch screech that sounds like an alley cat being sodomized with a blow-torch). Whenever the band actually does pull off their attempts at refurbished rehash —which is rare— Hilleke nullifies the vibe fast. For instance, I was going to add a point for the melancholic guitar flourishes on “My Night Is Starless,” but then had to subtract two for the god-awful clean singing on “Slaying the Wolf Within.” The world of extreme music simply does not require Neaera’s participation. Can’t anyone just be a fan?

Wow. Black Sabbath. The originators of Heavy Metal. The originators of Doom. Where does one begin? How about 1968? Eleven years before my dad made the mistake of busting that unfortunate nut, a Blues band called Polka Tulk loses the saxophone and changes their name to Earth. Two years and another name change later, they record a self-titled album that would change the musical landscape forever. (There isn’t a single soul reading this right now who would be the same person they are today if this hadn’t occurred. How’s that for a mindfuck?) Look, I don’t have enough space here to say everything I want to about Black Sabbath. What matters now is that 17 full-lengths, 8 singers, 6 drummers, 7 bassists, and a wealth of bad blood later: Iommi, Butler, and Osbourne are on wax together for the first time in 35 years. That’s pretty fucking awe-inspiring, even if said piece of wax often fails to be. I’ll keep it simple. 13 isn’t a bad record. It’s not a great one, either —they’re in their fucking 90s, cut ‘em a little slack— but taken for what it’s worth, it makes for a warm and fuzzy novelty spin. What exactly is it worth, you ask? That hinges on one simple question: Do you think it’s okay for legendary guitarists to steal their own classic riffs? Iommi isn’t even shy about it. “End of the Beginning” is “Black Sabbath,” “Loner” is “NIB,” “Zeitgeist” is “Planet Caravan,” etc. There isn’t a whole lot going on here that doesn’t sound familiar. The album even ends with the bell. It is what it is. We don’t seem to mind everyone else plundering the man’s spoils. If anyone, he should be allowed to do so as well. I wish Bill Ward were a part of this. I really do. But the dude from Rage Against the Machine actually does a serviceable impression of his drumming style. The best overall performance might go to Rick Rubin. He set out to recapture the feel of the debut —even forcing the trio to listen to it in the studio— and he certainly succeeded. Aside from “Dear Father,” which I’m pretty sure is about getting fucked in the ass by a priest, Geezer’s lyrics remain the same archaic verses. Impending doom, life and death, and that peculiar preoccupation with religion that sometimes makes you wonder if the guy’s a Jesus fag. Don’t be a Jesus fag, Sir Butler. It’s all a lie. As for Ozzy… I mean, c’mon… Taft was in office when this fucker was born. He didn’t have much range as a kid and can barely speak now, let alone sing. He sounds as good as he possibly can at this point, and honestly it’s probably the best he’s sounded since Lemmy was writing all his songs. Just be glad good judgement prevailed and this isn’t Michael Bolton for fuck’s sake. I refuse to pick on every little flaw just for the sake of badmouthing the record. The truth is: no Black Sabbath, no Metal Curse. No Metal anything. As a harmless nostalgic frolic, 13 serves its purpose as entertainment most dutifully.

I’ve gotten some oddball releases to review over the years. A few have been interesting, but most of them have been complete crap sent to us by labels that are clueless as to what Metal Curse is all about. We don’t review shit like Justin Bieber here. The operative word in Metal Curse is “Metal.” The latest album by Klaus Schulze is clearly not Metal. This is a double-CD release of Ambient soundscape music. The first track, “Shadowlights,” is pretty dark and I guess it would appeal to fans of Dark Ambient, particularly the early works of Mortiis/Vond or Wongraven. The other tracks are more lighthearted, but the music is still in a similar vein. Both CDs are packed to the limit, so Shadowlands is a lot of music to get through. The two main tracks, “Shadowlights” on the first CD, and “The Rhodes Violin” on the second, are both darker than the other songs on this album. Of course, both of those songs are fucking epic in length (“Shadowlights” clocks in at 42+ minutes and “The Rhodes Violin” is over 56 minutes long) so they take up the bulk of the CDs that they are on. If you’re looking for music to chill out to, this is it. It’s mellow, but still a bit on the dark side. If your idea of “chill out music” is Cannibal Corpse, I doubt this will be on your list of albums to buy the next time you’re at the local record store. If you’re into Dark Ambient, this might be an interesting listen. I liked it because it was nice background music for when Metal isn’t appropriate (like at work or when you’re hanging out with people who aren’t into Metal, such as the nice lady from Child Protective Services or your parole officer). It isn’t for everyone. Fans of Vond or the all-synth era of Burzum might enjoy Shadowlands, but if you’re into more brutal stuff, I’d avoid this.

For me, Power Metal is something of a guilty pleasure. I’m not a huge fan, but I do enjoy a bit every now and then. Once in a while, I like to hear a band that actually knows how to play their instruments and produces their albums to be both heavy and melodic. My main problem with Power Metal, though, is the tendency for bands that play in the genre to mistake Butt Rock for actual Heavy Metal. They think that by incorporating Butt Rock into their sound that they will become more “accessible” to the masses. What usually happens is that they create an abomination of an album that sucks so badly that their credibility never recovers. Israel’s Red Rose makes that mistake and it shows. The press release for this album says that “Their music style turned out to be some sort of mixture of Melodic Hard Rock, Classic Heavy Metal and Pomp Rock,” but that’s just a flowery way of saying that these guys think Poison and Warrant are Metal bands. Guys, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but they aren’t. They never were and they never will be. Based on that, you can pretty much tell that this isn’t going to be heavy on the actual Power Metal stuff. Sure, there are moments of pure Power Metal here, and they shine like bursts of flame in the darkness. They give you flashes of brief hope amidst the sea of whiney bitch vocals, shitty power ballads and Butt Rock guitar riffs. Songs like “King of the Local Crowd” are absolutely cringe-inducing. Even the tracks that are musically good are ruined by Leve Laiter’s “I want to be Mister Sensitive” Emo-Fag vocals and lyrics. This guy sounds like he gets his heart broken more times a year than Taylor Swift. The difference is that Taylor Swift actually rocks harder than Leve does most of the time. It’s sad when a twenty-two year old female Pop singer can overpower the vocalist for a band that supposedly plays Metal, but that’s how things shake out. While the failings of On the Cusp of Change are many, the two big ones are fairly obvious: there isn’t enough ass-kicking on this LP and they need a singer with some balls (or an actual vagina). Seriously, Doro Pesch could kick the entire band’s asses and she’s probably fifteen to twenty years older than the members of Red Rose. After having listened to this album, I’d actually pay Wrestlemania PPV rates to see that ass-kicking. I’ll even throw in $20 extra if it’s in a steel cage. If you’re a fan of Power Metal, you should avoid this. I’d only loosely classify this as Metal and there’s less “Power” here than in a dying cell phone battery.

For a band whose sonic brilliance and sheer might I did not fully realize until the late ’90s, I’ve quickly come to expect nothing less than near-perfection from NYDM legends Immolation. That’s just downright unfair, but who the hell can blame me? This is that rare breed of Death Metal band, cut from the same cloth as Morbid Angel, that can chill the listener’s spine through little more than brutality, ominous vibe, and the power of the riff. They’re one of the genre’s all-time heaviest and most insanely technical bands, yet have written some of its all-time catchiest songs, and they’ve had a beyond-remarkable run. Seven straight nearly flawless LPs. Seven!! That’s amazing! Unheard of! Put your thinking caps on, people. That’s an unprecedented feat in the annals of extreme music. By the way, it’s eight if you want to count 1991 debut Dawn of Possession —I think it’s a good record, not a great one— nine if you want to count this new effort… which I’m having a hard time doing. I can’t seem to put my finger on exactly why, but after 666 listens in 33 days, Kingdom of Conspiracy is still an in-one-ear-and-out-the-other affair for me. I have a few conspiracy theories of my own, none of which are probably strong enough to hold up in court. There’s the Super-Modern Production Theory. The same hindrance that plagued 2011’s Providence EP (still can’t find that bass guitar) is ever present here. The drums overpower everything, beastfucking the other instruments with a mix so polished it somewhat stifles the group’s inherent primal ferocity. Then again, I’d also be bitching if it was lo-fi for the sake of lo-fi at this stage of the game, wouldn’t I? There’s also the Lyrical Change Theory. Opting for a more doomed-society-of-slaves approach, perhaps the absence of anti-Christian narration for the first time on Immolation wax slightly lessens the dark, malevolent feel? Then again, how can I not consider lines like “The sadness of wasted life / The sadness of silenced dreams / Sorrow for these unwary victims / Witness the loss of all identity” to be the most pimp shit a motherfucker ever wrote down? No, I think there’s a logical explanation: It’s really fucking difficult to make brutal music memorable. So difficult that even the masters sometimes falter. It’s not like this is a horrible record. Ross Dolan’s bestial growl still sounds terrific, Robert Vigna and Bill Taylor’s atonal interplay is still awe-inspiring, and it’s all still oppressively heavy on an inhuman level. It’s just not as intoxicatingly hook-laden as efforts past. Vigna’s riffs usually have hooks that have hooks that have hooks. Here it seems as though he’s on guitar wizard autopilot. This could very well end up being Here in After 2 —an album that took a couple years to truly sink in— but as of press time, Kingdom of Conspiracy fails to live up to its dynasty of otherworldly predecessors.

Emir Togrul, the main guy behind Yayla, is one busy dude. On top of playing all of the instruments, he apparently is a filmmaker and puts the materials for each CD together by hand. He also apparently hand paints each Yayla t-shirt that is produced. I say “apparently” because this comes from the band’s press release. I don’t doubt that Emir Togrul does a lot of work for his band, but when you consider how much absolute horse shit is put in your average press release… Let’s just say that I have my doubts about it. Trust me, I’ve seen some press releases that were so full of it that you wonder who wrote them and if the writer actually listened to the album they were promoting. Yayla’s newest release is going to stand or fall on its musical merits, not what’s written in their press materials. Nihaihayat, the follow-up to last year’s Sathimasal LP (unless you count the soundtrack for Togrul’s film Fear Through Eternity, from later in 2012), is much in the same vein as its predecessor. Like Burzum, Yayla is a band that prefers the epic length song. There are three actual songs, each one clocking in at over twelve minutes. The intro and outro tracks (“Integumental Grasp” and “In Senility”) are a hair over five minutes each. The three songs are very repetitive, beating riffs into the floor in the same way that Burzum, Judas Iscariot and old Xasthur used to. While Sathimasal was more “cold and empty” sounding, Nihaihayat has more of a “wall of sound” feeling. The guitars are more prominent and also fuller. It’s definitely noisier, with a raw, dirty feeling similar to Darkthrone’s Transylvanian Hunger LP. I normally want a more polished recording, but Nihaihayat has definitely grown on me. I like that this album, while structurally similar to Sathimasal, has a more in-your-face attitude. It’s more “immediate” where its predecessor was distant and cold. That “immediacy” made a big difference to me, because otherwise I would’ve said that this lacked progression or any major changes to the band’s style.

It can be argued that Orchid’s Mark Thomas Baker is a bit of a trendfucking cunt. In the mid-’80s, when the Bay Area was booming, he had a Thrash band called Rabid. They never took off, and anyone who’s actually heard 1986’s Thrash Metal Attack compilation can vouch for why. Fast-forward to the early ’90s and the explosion of Seattle’s Alternative Rock scene. Nevermind, Ten, Badmotorfinger, and Dirt are flying off the shelves at a rate that dudes playing distorted guitars will never see again. Around this time, it just so happened that Baker resurfaced in a Grunge act called Liquid Sky. What a coincidence! I’d like to be able to give you the skinny on how bad Liquid Sky was —they did have a gay enough name to get signed— but I’ve never heard them. Nobody has, and perhaps that’s all we really need to know. After one more failed attempt at stardom in the short-lived Hard Rock group Bomber (gee, I wonder who they tried to sound like), MTB threw up two middle fingers to the music biz and walked off into the sunset, not to be heard from again for nearly a decade. “Screw you guys…home.” I can only assume the guitarist spent that hiatus eagerly waiting… watching… anticipating the next big thing. “Which bandwagon looks like the safest landing?” Then it finally appeared to him, like a vision in so many dreams: ripping off Black Sabbath. “That shit’s easy to do, never gets old, and people seem to eat it up! Where’s this been my whole life?” A call was made to ex-Bomber frontman Theo Mindell and Orchid was born. Listening to their sophomore full-length, it becomes quickly and clearly evident that this is the work of a songwriter who’s never had an original idea in his life. There isn’t a single arrangement on this entire hour-long album that hasn’t already been written by Tony Iommi & Co. The Mouths of Madness would at least be fun in a trivia kind of way —as in trying to guess which Black Sab songs Orchid borrow their riffs and solos from— if you didn’t have to deal with Mindell’s wretched Sunset Strip howl. This man’s voice is the sound of leopard-skin spandex pants, and his words are so obviously cut-and-pasted from other bands’ lyric sheets it’s ridiculous. Not sure if “Loving Hand of God” is about worshipping the king of Jews or a vicious men’s-restroom glory-hole handy-j, but either way I refuse to partake. However, this musical Mr. Pibb isn’t just another completely worthless album that no human being needs to hear. It’s a beacon of hope for all creatively-challenged musicians the world over. If you just hang in there long enough, and steal the right shit from the right people at the right time, you could end up moving 400-600 units for Nuclear Blast someday. Never stop following other people’s dreams.

From this critic’s perspective, Dark Tranquillity albums are always something to look forward to. Hit or miss, there’s usually plenty to write about, and full-length #10 is no exception. That said, even I couldn’t find the right words to sum up 2010’s We Are the Void. An undoubtedly solid effort, yet somehow missing that certain something; perhaps just simply overmatched by the might of its powerful predecessor and my all-time DT fave, 2007’s Fiction. I’m pleased to report that Construct is much closer to Fiction in terms of beginning-to-end enjoyment. In fact, it might even be more well-balanced overall, with arguably the finest production these Melodeath originators have ever achieved. It’s time to start giving major props to the ears over at Fascination Street Studios. Why anyone goes anywhere else to get their album mastered is beyond me. Listening to Construct seemingly non-stop since the second I tore off the shrink wrap, I get the sense that the band’s creative core —the amazingly still-intact-for-a-staggering-22 years foursome of Henriksson, Jivarp, Sundin, and Stanne— took a step back, viewed their remarkable body of work as a whole, and attempted to make the perfect career-encapsulating record. On just about every level, they’ve succeeded. There’s something here for every type of Dark Tranquillity fan. For those who’ll always prefer the band’s Thrashier, more aggressive side, you have super-melodic hard chargers like “The Science of Noise” and “Apathetic.” For those who can’t resist the clean-vocal balladry of the Projector/Haven era, you have heartfelt standouts “Uniformity,” “What Only You Know,” and “State of Trust.” (Something must be said for the quality of Mikael Stanne’s singing voice. As instantly recognizable and all-pro as his Deathly rasp, it has grown on me significantly over the years. As the contempt of my youth fades, I no longer consider the band’s aforementioned 1999 and 2000 LPs as musical wimp-outs.) Then there are songs that convincingly echo that mournful Gothic tinge through a heavier approach, such as “Weight of the End” and the emotionally wrought bookends “For Broken Words” and “None Becoming.” Yet with all these different vibes abound, the album feels completely cohesive. A couple filler tracks aside, the only real design flaw with this Construction is on Century Media’s end. Good luck tracking all of it down. I was fortunate to score the US Edition and its two bonus tracks —one being a brief instrumental— but there’s a Japanese pressing out there with 146 extra tracks, and I’m told the Peruvian Edition comes with 147 tracks, a spice rack, and a set of Lionel Train collectible dinner plates. I give up! Still, based on the material at hand, Construct is a satisfying and deliciously meaty Gothenburger with cheese.

Do you worship at the altar of old-school Swedish Death Fucking Metal? Do you love that Sunlight Studios guitar sound so much that you’ve burned holes in your old Entombed and Dismember CDs? Necrocurse sure hopes that you do. Why? Because that’s what they’re all about: old-school Swedish Death Fucking Metal, nothing more and nothing less. With three former members of Masticator (two of whom were also in Runemagick, the drummer was also in Sacramentum and Swordmaster) and Hellbutcher from Nifelheim in the band, the members of Necrocurse aren’t a bunch of kids who’ve only heard of the old Stockholm scene. These guys have been around for a while. In fact, this band has existed since 2004, though they’ve only been seriously putting out material since 2011. With that much lineage, you would expect Grip of the Dead to fucking slay. It definitely kicks ass, which is always a good thing. What it doesn’t do is break any new ground. Grip of the Dead treads well trodden paths from the beginning to the end. If you own most of the “classic” Death Metal albums from the old Stockholm scene, you’re not going to be surprised by anything on this LP. What I thought was lacking, though, was the strong sense of melody that you found in early Entombed and Dismember. Even though those bands knew how to be punishingly brutal, there was always an underlying melodic element that made their music memorable and listenable. Necrocurse is good at laying the smack down, but without that melodic element they sound a bit generic. The no-frills approach works to a degree. The amount of ass-kicking is very high. After this album is over, though, you’d be hard pressed to remember any of the songs individually. It’s like being at a beer festival and sampling loads of different beers, getting absolutely smashed in the process. You wake up the next morning knowing that you had a good time, but if someone asked you which beer was your favorite, you’d never be able to tell that person with absolute certainty which one you liked the most. If these guys can work some of that melodic element into their music, their next album will be one to look out for. If they stay with the “no frills” approach, they’ll disappear into the sea of clones and be forgotten.