You can always count on Aeon for high-quality, Christ-hating Death Metal. Readers of this site may recall the reverence I have for the band’s 2005 debut full-length Bleeding the False. An anthemic classic from beginning to end, every riff and lyric on the album was memorable and has stood the test of time. However, it is with great sadness that I declare my fear that these Swedes will forever live in the shadow of that masterpiece. Each successive release since it has been slightly less memorable than the one before. As solid a record as it was, two years later I can’t seem to recall a split second of 2010’s Path of Fire, and I believe the same fate will befall Aeons Black. Once again, a great sounding album. The production is immaculate. All of the instruments —including the oft-intelligible, barbed-wire roar of Tommy Dahlstrom— sound fantastic, but even after a dozen repeated listens, nothing sticks. Despite their homeland, Aeon are graduates of the Floridian school of brutal Death Metal, easily bearing the strongest resemblance to Deicide. But just as Deicide have forgotten their once-potent approach to writing memorable DM songs at times, Aeon too have fallen into the same rut of everything sounding same-y. I can’t help but think it’s something they’re aware of, as this time four instrumental segues are strategically planted throughout the eleven cuts in an attempt to break up the monotony, but they only serve to aid the mind-wandering effect. There are a few triumphs here. “Still They Pray” is on par with past glories, with its Bentonesque verse patterns escalating towards the blast-laden hooks of the chorus. “I Wish You Death” is quite the headbanger also, as Dahlstrom vomits on the cross with growl-along conviction, while “Nothing Left to Destroy” could easily pass for some lost gem from the Once Upon the Cross sessions. Sadly, there isn’t much else worth mentioning. So much of Aeons Black sounds like a band trapped in formulaic routine, going through their well-executed motions again and again. Fairly or unfairly, I’m always going to crave another “Morbid Desire to Burn.” Another “Forever Nailed.” Another “God Gives Head in Heaven.” And these are the standards I’ll always judge Aeon by. I only expect what I know they’re capable of. While their filler may blow some bands’ A-game out of the water, it’s filler nonetheless.

This is the debut album from Germany’s Kvlt of Hiob and I have to say that I don’t recall ever hearing anything quite like this. It’s very unique sounding to say the least. Imagine a Black Metal band that is one part Celtic Frost, one part Darkthrone, one part old Abruptum (the Torture Ambient era that featured It and All, not the more modern “Militant Industrial” stuff with Morgan from Marduk), and one part Dark Ambient/Industrial. This shit is absolutely fucking insane sounding. The atmosphere on this record is genuinely creepy and dark. I’ve heard literally thousands of Black Metal albums, but it’s rare to hear one that genuinely sounds twisted and evil like Thy Kingly Mask does. The music is harrowing enough, but the vocals sound like someone being tortured into insanity (hence the reference to Abruptum). The two elements together are like the Satanic equivalent of chocolate and peanut butter - the combination is greater than the sum of its parts. Alone, both the music and the vocals are evil. The two together are the soundtrack to a descent into Hell.

The rapevine chatter is that Bombs of Hades play straight-up Swedish Crust and feature members of The Crown and God Macabre. That’s more-or-less accurate, if by “member_s_” you mean Jonas Stalhammar, and to “play Crust” you add “sometimes.” Granted, I unfortunately haven’t heard their 2010 debut Chambers of Perversion, but the bulk of this sophomore outing is too multi-dimensional to pigeonhole with a single genre tag. “Crawl Away and Bleed Forever ” opens The Serpent’s Redemption with vintage Swedeath tremolo-picking that becomes a vicious Death ‘n’ Roll stomp not unlike The Crown’s. This standout cut is proof that nothing drives home a chorus like Celtic Frost hooks. “Darkness, My Soul,” “Burn,” and “Incubus Descending” are pure Old School Death Metal with a hint of the Motorhead-fueled swagger of Uprising-era Entombed. The title track is a bit of a dud. Just a plodding Waltz with uninspired dirges that go nowhere. Despite a quirky break, “Forgotten in Graves” is full-on Crust, as is raucous D-beat anthem “Skull Collector.” The epic “Scorched Earth” closes the LP by sandwiching its Swedeath assault between an ominous, atmospheric beginning and a spooky, psychedelic ending. This record knows when to be tight and when to be loose, but no matter how untamed the music can be at times, Stalhammar’s razor sharp rasp always reins it in with Blackened, Deathly force. The only thing I don’t like is the production. They understandably went for a raw, organic feel, but it isn’t raw or organic enough. Compared to how prominent the vocals are in the mix, the drums, guitars, and bass sound miles away. Quiet, reserved, and buried in the distance, it’s almost as if they were recorded live in one take with minimal microphone usage. Tunes this morbidly filthy need to rip through the speakers like zombie teeth through brains. Luckily the songwriting is strong and interesting enough to shine through regardless. A few minor flaws to iron out, but overall a very enjoyable album from a band to keep an ear on.

Century Media celebrates the career of these legendary French Canuck Death/Grind masters as it wraps up its second decade, and just in time for Christmas(sacre). This 2-disc set spans over 135 minutes, featuring previously unreleased, live, and rehearsal tracks, plus a greatest hits collection from the band’s first 6 studio LPs. We begin with 3 unreleased songs from 2011. Not the most memorable cuts, but a welcome return to the tech-frenzied pummeling and straightforward brutality that endeared them to the underground from the beginning. Up next, a cover from CM’s Covering 20 Years of Extremes comp. They do “Oh My Fucking God” from Strapping Young Lad’s City LP —the last time Heavy Devy did something relevant— and pretty much nail it, although I would’ve went with “All Hail the New Flesh.” The next 3 tracks are from 2008’s The Unspoken King. Widely perceived as the group’s Cold Lake, it’s no surprise that the songs chosen are the most brutal, clean vocal-free selections the album has to offer. Not so much awkward as flat-out boring, whether or not material from this record belongs on a “best of” is up for debate. I propose a similar argument for the ensuing 3 cuts from 2005’s Once Was Not — Lord Worm’s short-lived return to the fold. In my opinion, the most confused and least memorable work of their career, and a precursor to the Prog-Core insanity that would follow. Disc 1 closes out with highlights from the Mike DiSalvo era (2000’s And Then You’ll Beg and 1998’s Whisper Supremacy), his gruff bellow and the band’s relentless hellbent-on-world-domination energy now sorely missed. Disc 2 begins with 5 classic anthems from 1996’s None So Vile and —still to this day my all-time favorite— 1994’s Blasphemy Made Flesh. I probably still have the soiled underwear from the first time I heard “Defenestration” somewhere around the house. It can be argued that these two albums alone are Cryptopsy’s greatest hits, but I digress. Disc 2 closes out with the live (from 2003’s None So Live and the Japan-only bonus tracks from And Then You’ll Beg and Once Was Not) and rehearsal (demo songs for Whisper Supremacy) portions. A nice bonus, but nothing you can’t live without. Nothing beats actually being there, as watching Flo Mounier batter his unending drum kit remains one of my fondest Milwaukee Metalfest memories. Overall, a decent package despite some questionable selections, and the ultimate gift for the ultimate Cryptopsy fan. Word on the street is the band have a new self-released, self-titled album out now that’s reported to be a total return to form. Time will tell.

For those of you like myself who shit a brick sideways at the notion of a new Morgion album upon seeing this in print, get a wet-nap and clean yourself up. The band is still defunct, God of Death and Disease is merely unearthed demo material. Not that it isn’t welcomed and long overdue. Cheers to Dark Descent for shining a well-deserved light on the infancy stages of these Cali Death/Doom legends. What’s on display here is 1993’s Travesty demo, 1991’s Rabid Decay demo, and a live rehearsal. While the group would eventually burgeon into one of the most enchanting Doom acts American soil had to offer (1997’s crushing debut Among Majestic Ruin, 1999’s haunting Solinari, and 2004’s swansong Cloaked by Ages, Crowned in Earth are about as essential as listening gets for the gloom-addicted), they began as a pure Death Metal band. As much as I worship at the altar of Morgion, I’ll be the first to admit that GoDaD is a take-it-or-leave-it affair. On one hand you have the novelty aspect. None of these recordings have ever seen a proper release, and none of the songs themselves would actually make it onto an official Morgion offering. There’s also the time-travel appeal. Revisiting the humble beginnings of such an inspiring band makes for great nostalgia, not to mention the Peter North load blown by completists worldwide. However, the material itself doesn’t have a ton of staying power. Don’t get me wrong, it’s dark, it’s brutal, it’s primitive, it’s morbid, it sounds like circa ‘91 Asphyx and Morgoth on cheap downers and a studio budget of $3.50, but it’s a hard-boiled egg fart in the wind compared to the music they would come to make. We’re talking zero-memorability and a rough sound quality. Not Death by Metal rough, but rough enough to provoke the occasional cringe. This is demo tape-to-mp3 transfer, and while I’ve no doubt that guitarist, keyboardist, vocalist, graphic designer, and all-around wind beneath Morgion’s wings Gary Griffith did the best job he could, it leaves much to be desired. Speaking of desire, the band is playing a reunion show at the Maryland Deathfest in 2013. If you never got the chance to witness the sheer power and awe of a Morgion gig, you should book the hotel now. It will be life-affirming and LOUD! Just don’t bet on any of these old tunes making the setlist, and unfortunately for good reason.

Stunning. Mesmerizing. A monument of grief. Crushing. Amazing. An irrefutable classic. What a masterful debut from Bell Witch, and what a remarkable year for Doom 2012 has been. From the opening notes of “Bails (Of Flesh),” Longing’s morose magnetism instantly pulls the listener in and simply does not let go. A 20-minute epic so captivating it feels like half that length, or it could just be that the band’s sonic maelstrom of incredibly slow Funeral Doom creates a languor in which time no longer exists. This duo (featuring a member of Samothrace) come off like the manic depressive offspring of Mournful Congregation and Pallbearer, as if comparisons could even begin to scratch this surface. Pure melancholic alchemy atop layers of Earth-shaking heaviness. Melodies capable of melting broken hearts intertwined with dirges capable of melting icecaps. A multifaceted vocal approach seals the deal throughout these soul-crushing 67 minutes. The first style we’re treated to is a morbidly desolate, long-winded growl. As compulsory as the death knell of a prehistoric beast, this is just one of several tools. It’s the clean vocals that push this beyond the boundaries of sorrow as we know it. Whether it be the graceful, choir-like pitch of the opener, the chanted evocations of “Longing (The River of Ash),” or the fragile, delicate croons of “Rows (Of Endless Waves),” it’s the clean vocals that transform this from music to magic. There’s also the occasional Blackened shriek of the utmost torment. I don’t know what more could you possibly ask for. What’s that? You want a Vincent Price sample as well? How’s The Masque of the Red Death for you? Yes, “Beneath the Mask” is a cheerlessly foreboding instrumental set to an excerpt from the Poe classic. Bell Witch has crafted that rare opus that does no wrong, and when you think it can’t get any better, it does just that. The album’s ending creates an instant void that can only be filled with more of itself. Longing doesn’t beg for repeated listens, it demands them. Somehow there is consolation in its plodding emptiness. Beautiful. Sullen. An unparalleled worship of Negativity completely void of all hope. What a tremendous year for Doom, indeed.

If there’s a more under-appreciated band in the pantheon of Death Metal’s elite, I’d like to know about them. All Sinister have done is kick ass for 20 years —amidst a small-town phonebook’s worth of lineup changes no less— yet they aren’t spoken of with the same reverence as the Swedish, Floridian, or East Coast all-stars of their era. Taking a look back and realizing that every album has been quality material, you begin to see just how remarkable this run has been. Classics like Diabolical Summoning and Hate shaped my youth, and I will argue that Aggressive Measures deserves consideration for the best-Death-Metal-album-of-all-time conversation. Hindsight reveals I’ve been listening to this record steadily for 14 years! I can practically recite the damn thing from memory! How many Death Metal albums from 1998 can you say that about? True, some records have been better than others, which unfortunately leads into The Carnage Ending. Not a bad record —I don’t believe Sinister could make a bad record if they tried— but it isn’t the one I’ll be reaching for when the day comes that the carnage does end. Once again, lineup tumult factors in. Aad Kloosterwaard (drums 1988-2003, vocals 2005-present) is now the only remaining original member. Even longtime bandmate Alex Paul —who just as recently as 2008’s The Silent Howling wrote all the music and lyrics— is gone now. With respect to Aad and his newly assembled cohorts, you get 110% of what they’ve got. Songs like “Transylvania (City of the Damned),” “Regarding the Imagery,” “Blood Ecstacy,” and the title track sizzle with that familiar Sinister riffing style and Aad’s trademark bestial roar. Newest drummer Toep Duin (ex-Unlord, ex-Melechesh) is a fucking demon from Hell on the kit as well. But in terms of memorability, this can’t even hold a candle to 2010’s Legacy of Ashes. Too much of the LP feels like a legendary band going through their legendary motions… if that makes any sense at all. It ultimately lacks the staying power of their army of classics, which, fairly or unfairly, I’ll always judge them by. Speaking of legendary classics, it might help to track down the Limited Edition for its bonus disc featuring five deadly covers. The best of which include Massacre’s “Succubus,” Possessed’s “Swing of the Axe,” and Celtic Frost’s “Dethroned Emperor.”

Fact: I’m running out of shit to say about Rogga Johansson. Cut me a little slack, dude’s in 45 bands that all sound like Grave. That’s enough to give any reviewer Rogga block. I guess it wouldn’t be an issue if all of those bands weren’t totally fucking awesome, but a collective releasing schedule more relentless than an Ultimate Heat Corn Nuts/MGD dump at 4am only adds to the difficulty. Example: this is the fourth Revolting album in as many years. Now throw in multiple Paganizer releases over that span, plus new Ribspreader, Putrevore, and 11th Hour records all in 2012 alone, and you begin to see my plight. Does Rogga even own a bed? How about a TV? Can we at least get the guy a snack in between albums? It’s a truly amazing level of DEADication that’s hard to keep up with, but I’ll try. I get the sense from album #4 that Revolting is definitely Johansson’s fun outlet. Not that Hymns of Ghastly Horror is a joke by any means, but certain elements reveal the man letting his hair down (and if anyone’s earned the right…). The foundation here is unsurprisingly Old School Swedeath, but it’s highly dosed up on Punkish energy and even a traditional Heavy Metal lick or two. Opener “The Mother of Darkness” leads off with such a nod before launching into full-on Crustiness replete with intro-melody-mutated-into-Dismember-hook chorus and Crossover break. Wailing Rock leads infiltrate the otherwise straightforward “Their Thoughts Can Kill” and “Ravenous Alien Spawn,” while the sample-ridden instrumental “The Thing That CHUD Not Be” and strutting chugfest of “Kinderfeeder” are downright danceable! However, when the boys take a more stone-faced approach to the meloD-beat fury, as on grim standouts “Lair of the Black Queen,” “Prey to Katahdin,” and “The Hatchet Murders,” the record is at its strongest. Rogga’s beyond bestial growl —in particularly legendary form throughout— also helps keep the album honest. Summary: this is a much more cohesive effort than 2011’s In Grisly Rapture, and while arguably not as essential as Johansson’s other 44 bands, not a bad time either.

I firmly abide by the Bloodbath motto of “brutality comes through simplicity,” but when it comes to the self-titled debut from Sweden’s Decomposed, things might be a little too simple. First off, bad band name. Nothing wrong with the word itself, in fact it’d make the perfect Death Metal moniker… if there weren’t already 438 bands using it! I had to hire Indiana Jones and the Cheaters team to find out which Decomposed this was. How bad is this band name? I thought this was the new Debauchery. I admit I am borderline Downs, but it still caused a brain fart and those two words aren’t even close. Clearly it’s a cursed name (just ask the other 438 unnoticed Decomposeds), but enough about it, on to the music itself. Honestly, I wish there were more to talk about. It’s primal, it’s raw, it’s simple, it’s decent, and it couldn’t be more Old School. How Old School is it? During the verses to opener “Stench of Death,” I was constantly expecting the next words grunted out of Jesper Ekstal’s mouth to be, “Necrocannibal eats dead cunt.” I know what you’re thinking. Slaughter’s “Death Dealer,” where’s the beef? Well, I was also waiting for “Necrocannibal eats dead cunt” during “Engulfed in Darkness” …and on “Macabre Vision” …and on “Ceremonial —wait for it…— Slaughter.” Long story short: turns out it’s one of only a few tricks this dog knows. To their credit, they do surround the Strappado love with some truly headbangable, basic-but-effective Swedeath riffage. I like their energy, their grit, their filth-purity, and the vibes they conjure up literally effortlessly (see the morbidly Doomy feel of “Ethereal Landscapes”), but music this no-frills has to be catchier, more anthemic than what’s on display here. This is enjoyable, but too easily it fades into background noise, not begging loudly enough for repeated listens. A better production —not necessarily cleaner, but bigger/louder— might’ve helped. The vocals in particular could use a little work. In summary: not bad, not great, but certainly not without future poTENtial. I’ll go out on a limb and say they’re the best Decomposed yet.

“Alan hated life.
He would always stare into the mirror screaming, ‘YOU ARE SUCH A DISGUSTING CUNT!’”
How else would you expect Whoretopsy to start out a recording? While I’m a little bummed that we don’t actually get to hear them cover Stevie Wonder, I am truly thankful that we didn’t have to wait long for another peek into the deranged imagination of Australia’s most disturbed Death Metal band. Following mere months after this year’s They Did Unspeakable Things, these degenerate sickos spin four more tales of morbid debauchery. Opener “High School Sweetheart” isn’t your typical boy-meets-kidnaps-ties-up-rapes-murders-eats-girl story (“cum seeps from her swollen chapped hole / it tastes like salty onions mixed with soap”), but then again nothing about Whoretopsy lyrics are typical. Other avenues explored include human furniture (“Skinterior”), taking a circle jerk to the next level (“Seminal Torture”), and good ol’ fashioned drunken cunt-hunting (“Eviscerated Harlot”). But it isn’t just the brilliantly obscene lyrics to get excited about. The band sounds like a tighter overall unit instrumentally, and a much stronger production than the debut serves to bring Storma’s guttural growls out more as well. Whether blasting at full speed, chugging at mid-pace, windmill riffing to a double-bass assault, or completely breaking down to a crawl via lethal pit riffage, the Aussies convincingly deliver the gory goods. Sure, they aren’t reinventing the brutal Death Metal wheel, but with storytelling this depraved, they don’t have to. Thirteen minutes of (severed) headbangability that just might have all the other gorenography-obsessed lyricists sprinting to the drawing board.
“Richard slips the girl’s spleen on his knob, then he cums into it like an old sports sock. Lady of the night hidden under some sticks.”
(Curtain closes. Thunderous applause.)

1991-1993, 2005-present is an unusual active timeline for any group. For those unfamiliar with the story, Sweden’s Evocation put out two amazing demos in ‘91 and ‘92. Filthy, brutal, and understandably drenched in what would come to be known as the Sunlight sound, these recordings were on par with the likes of scene contemporaries Entombed, Grave, Dismember, Unleashed, etc. However, just as it seemed this young band was poised for Boss-Heavy-Metal-pedal greatness, they split and vanished into thin air. But 11 years later, when Breath of Night Records contacted the band about reissuing the now-classic demos, the creative juices began to flow again and the reunited group has been on a tear ever since. While recent solid offerings such as 2008’s Dead Calm Chaos and 2010’s Apocalyptic have inarguably sounded more Gothenburg than Stockholm, they’ve opened up an entirely new chapter altogether with Illusions of Grandeur. There really is no way to sugar-coat it, folks. Album #5 sounds so much like Amon Amarth it’s borderline comical. I’m not talking about a slight influence here and there, I’m talking about a carbon-copy clone. Tracks like “Well of Despair,” “Divide and Conquer,” “Metus Odium,” and “Crimson Skies” could easily pass for lost songs from Surtur Rising with a different singer! Some of that Gothenburg fury is still present (see the At the Gates-fueled “Perception of Reality” and “I’ll Be Your Suicide”), but just to alleviate any possible doubt about the band’s intentions, Johan Hegg himself drops by to lend his pipes on standout cut “Into Submission,” which —like the whole album, really— is derivative of his band to the point of plagiarism. I can’t help but find this move puzzling. How often does a well-established band flip a bitch mid-career and begin sounding identical to another well-established band? I guess from a business standpoint it makes sense given Amon Amarth’s success, and truthfully Evocation convincingly pulls off the impersonation to a tee, but it still leaves me wondering who the real Evocation is? Are their hearts even in it, or are they merely a mirror image of what sells at the time? Tough to assign a rating, as the material itself is undeniably enjoyable, but the total lack of originality and sincerity leaves a bit of a bitter taste. The odd ride continues. Wonder who they’ll sound like next.

UK-style Punk Rock so cheap and generic it should be on the shelf at Aldi’s. 35 years as a band, 14 albums into their career, and Canada’s D.O.A. are still on a Sex Pistols-first-practice skill level. While most Punk bands see fit to break up before they suck, the ones who’ve never been any good in the first place can’t take a hint. Is there anything sadder in this world than 60-year-olds dressed up as Punk Rockers, still whining like little bitches about the government? Is Canada’s government really all that bad? Don’t they all have free healthcare and something like 13 gun crimes a year? I honestly don’t know because I don’t give a shit about things I can’t control. It’s wasted energy to cry about politics. You want to escape your master’s hand? Kill yourself! You think Nick Drake or Ian Curtis worry about unjust wars and poverty? Do GG Allin, Kurt Cobain, or Jonas Bergqvist seem to be concerned about the upper 1% or foreign policy? Nope, they’re all free. And luckily for them, they missed hearing the low point of Jello Biafra’s storied career. His guest vocal spot on the corny “We Occupy” is downright nauseating. You’re better than that, Jello. Political lyrics are such an easy way out. Complaining about the government certainly isn’t hard to do, but what good comes of it? Do you really think some crooked politician or corrupt banker is going to hear a shitty Punk song and change his/her ways? We’re all slaves, always have been, always will be. Deal. Speaking of easy, this band’s music is so simple and basic it makes Skrewdriver sound like some kind of mind-boggling alien Prog. It’s total Punk-Rock-for-beginners, replete with the occasional first-guitar-solo-Chuck-Berry-ever-wrote. And when it isn’t grade school-level Punk rehash, it’s completely sickening happiness and fun. I vomited blood when I heard the bagpipes on “Dirty Bastards,” the Reggae-inspired “Walk Through This World,” and the Spaghetti Western vibe of “Man with No Name.” My, these blokes sure are jubilant and jolly for being so politically oppressed! Meanwhile, “Lost Souls” sounds like a Glam ballad, only to be outgayed by the weakest Beatles cover (“Revolution” of course) ever recorded. Fitting, as this is quite possibly the worst Punk album I’ve ever heard. Occupy a coffin.

This is a band that is composed of members of Nachtmystium, The Atlas Moth, Gates of Slumber and Leviathan. I don’t know if it is a full-time group or not, but given what we have on this record, I hope they continue with it. This EP, clocking in at just under a half-hour, is very cohesive and when you consider that all of the members are also involved in so many other bands at the same time, I was surprised that this didn’t sound sloppy, or worse, like a compilation album. Given the bands involved (particularly Nachtmystium and Leviathan - although I think that Wrest only plays bass live, so I don’t know how much, if any, input/influence he had with the songwriting), I was a bit surprised that Chrome Waves has a Gothic atmosphere mixed in with their Black Metal assault. By “Gothic,” I mean a somber, depressive air, not Cradle of Filth-style music with overblown keyboards and angst-filled lyrics. I guess the best way to describe how it sounds would be to take the atmosphere of The Cure but with Black Metal music. It’s dark, but in a melancholic way, kind of like a faster-paced version of old Katatonia (maybe Dance of December Souls-era or the demo). It kind of has a Doom edge but it stays just over the line of going into true Doom territory. The use of acoustic guitar and also guitar effects does a lot to create the atmosphere. Some of the tracks reminded me of Thergothon (but without the band’s trademark “Swamp Thing” vocals) or the post-Thergothon entity, This Empty Flow, in the way they used their guitars. One thing that I would have liked would have been a heavier guitar tone. With the music being more atmospheric and Doom oriented in places, a heavier guitar sound would have made this darker. Other than that, it’s a very good debut. The songs are solid, and though there is plenty of room for them to grow musically, there really aren’t any obvious flaws in their delivery. I’ll definitely be on the lookout for Chrome Waves in the future.

A 5-year hiatus is a scary proposition for any band and their fans, but in the case of Philly Post-Metalcore crew A Life Once Lost, it’s even more worrisome for a few reasons. The group was seemingly at the peak of its popularity after two grueling years of touring in support of 2007’s Iron Gag when a freak bicycle accident put guitarist Doug Sabolick on the shelf with a shoulder injury for a month. This brought plans to a screeching halt and eventually resulted in three longtime band members jumping ship, leaving only Sabolick and vocalist Bob Meadows to forge on. So, here’s a band that’s been known to mutate a time or two —beginning as a more straightforward Metalcore unit that would use a strong Meshuggah influence to morph into something far more listenable than the Math Metal of their idols— now writing as a duo amidst this lengthy hiatus, armed with a new drummer and new record label…gulp…Season of Mist. No disrespect to SOM —a quality source of extreme music for two decades— but as a Death Metaller at heart, I’ll forever be weary of any already-established band’s debut for this particular label. (TOO EXTREME!!) Luckily there’s nothing radikult here, but as expected this is a somewhat different ALOL. The foundation remains the same: cold, unfeeling riffs chug and bend in strict unison with a similarly mechanical rhythm section, serving as the canvas for Meadows to paint with his crazed-madman scream, which thankfully sounds as venomous as ever. The difference is a new pervading atmosphere that envelopes the band’s attack, and I’m not just talking about the occasional Hammond Organ. I’m talking about the guitar leads. This album is completely covered head-to-toe in constant leads! Leads over the verses, leads over the choruses, leads over the leads between the leads! Leads, leads, leads — to the rhyming and the chiming, from the jingling and the tinkling, to the swinging and the ringing of the leads, leads, leads! Psychedelic leads, Stoner leads, ’80s Cop Show leads… what a tale their terror tells of despair! These leads transform the songs’ heavy, aggressive structures into robotic background noise, nullifying much of their ferocity and creating an actual ecstatic trance. It’s all very well-played and hypnotic, but makes for an album that could potentially take a lifetime to truly sink in. Not the place to begin for new fans. Start with A Great Artist or Hunter first.

Hey fellas. Wow, this is even harder than I thought it was gonna be. Umm… I know we’ve had some great times together. Back when we met in ‘94, you put the UK on the map as far as the Second Wave’s concerned. I’d never met a Black Metal band like you before. You were charming yet savage, intense yet exquisite, so different from all the others. I knew I’d found someone special. You guys got so big over the next decade! Black Metal on Sony? Hello! But it was still such high quality shit. At the height of your Hot Topic popularity, it wasn’t always easy to admit what we had to my friends, but you know I ain’t never been one for posing, and haters are gonna hate regardless. That’s just what haters do. I didn’t care what they said, everything up to and including Nymphetamine was fucking tits, bros. And an honorable mention for 2008’s Godspeed on the Devil’s Thunder while I’m at it. But, it feels like we’ve grown apart. You haven’t been very attentive to my needs lately. I don’t know what this shit is you’ve been putting out for the better part of six years, but it sure isn’t us. When I saw your recent promo photos I felt sorry for you. Here we are pushing 40 and you’re still dressing up for Halloween? My mother was right about you. This new album is total fucking garbage! Dani, your voice is shot, home slice. Why do you think so many band members have bailed on you? Musically it’s decent… I guess. Some okay Punkier riffage (“For Your Vulgar Delectation,” “Succumb to This,” “Manticore”), nods to trad Heavy Metal (“Illicitus,” “Pallid Reflection”), and the occasional glory days throwback (“The Abhorrent,” “Frost on Her Pillow,” “Siding with the Titans”), but it’s nothing like the songs you used to write for me. Every time we try to enjoy a nice meal together, Dani has to come and put his dick in the butter with that pitiful new cleaner singing style and those anti-memorable vocal patterns. I’m leaving you. It’s over. It’s been over. I have to do what’s best for me. You’re never going to grow up, and I need a real band. Don’t bother coming after me, we’re through. I hope you’re happy. (And just so you know, I was seeing other bands the whole time!)
P.S. I faked all my goat horns.

Despite the fact that Running Wild has been around since the dawn of time (i.e. the early ’80s), I somehow managed to never hear much from them. The first time I listened to Therion’s cover of “Under Jolly Roger” (from 1997’s A’arab Zaraq Lucid Dreaming odd-and-ends album), I instantly loved it and wanted to at long last check out Running Wild. But that was almost a decade before you could fire up YouTube and overdose on whatever band you want. Even Google was still more than a year away! Back then our options were limited to listening to a friend’s CD/LP/tape, or driving to a thing we called a “record store,” and there were a few that I knew of back then that specialized in Metal. Now we can hear anything, no matter how obscure, with just a few clicks, but I used to travel hundreds of miles to buy music. A couple friends of mine owned a small Metal/Rock store about 50 miles away, so I drove over and they played quite a lot of Running Wild for me. After a few hours of not really being all that impressed, I bought a cassette (at the time, I only had a tape player in my car) -I don’t remember which one- and left. I listened to it on the way home and probably another few times, but for whatever reason, it simply didn’t stick in my brain, and that was that. Fast forward to 2012 and Shadowmaker. I played this once when it first arrived, likely in the background while I was doing something else, and then promptly forgot all about it in the avalanche of new releases I wade through every day. Months later, I rediscovered it in my “review” list, and thought I’d give it another try. Seconds into the first track, “Piece of the Action,” I realized that I was kind of singing along, and wondered how I could possibly know the song. Same thing with the next one, and the next… Thinking that maybe Shadowmaker was an all-covers album (although covers of what bands I could not imagine), I looked it up on the ever-helpful Metal-Archives.com only to discover that it wasn’t. All these Running Wild songs had wormed their way into my memory without me even realizing it! The Hard Rock elements take over in the kinda goofy “Me & the Boys,” which is a guilty pleasure at best that I wouldn’t want anyone to hear me listening to, but mostly this album is a near-perfect blend of traditional Heavy Metal with just a little Thrash, wrapped up in an absolutely flawless production that is supremely clear with a thick, heavy guitar tone (for this style - it’s not fucking early Entombed). And instantly memorable songs! I defy you to listen to Shadowmaker, especially the Thrashy title track, or “Into the Black,” without banging your head and singing along! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got about 30 years worth of Running Wild’s back-catalog to finally listen to.

I really wanted to like this new Pig Destroyer. One of the cunts I stalk is totally into them, and I was hoping to play this for her when the day eventually comes that she’s bound and gagged in my guest bedroom. Alas, I’ll have to find a different record to put on while I make passionate postmortem love to her, because there’s no way I’m going to be able to keep a hard-on with this non-threatening, noisy garbage on the stereo. Seriously though, people. What the fuck is so great about this band? I just don’t hear what all the fuss is over. I’ll never understand the blindfolded dart toss that determines whether an underground band becomes popular or not, though I imagine much of it is strictly business. Think hard: when’s the last time you saw a scathing, negative review of a Relapse release in a major Metal mag? Never. You’ve never seen that because it has never happened. Know why? When’s the last time you saw a major Metal mag without a full-page Relapse ad? A-ha! That’s how a mediocre-at-best Grindcore band’s mediocre-at-best records get spoken of as if they were some lost, deeply meaningful, spiritually moving Mozart symphonies just now being freshly unearthed. Gimme a fucking break! It’s a shitty Grind band with a shitty yelling vocalist playing shitty one-minute songs that are completely indiscernible from one another. They don’t even have a fucking bass player for Lemmy’s sake!! There’s a guy in the band just doing samples, just randomly slapping his dick on a keyboard now and then, but no bass player?! What the fuck is that shit about? Look, maybe this is good background noise for answering emails or updating your Fecesbook page. Maybe it’s fun at parties, on the right combination of drugs. Maybe the unfortunate reality of how successful an Extreme Metal band is comes down to how many dudes secretly wanna fuck you. Either way, Book Burner does absolutely nothing for me (and neither did Prowler in the Yard while we’re at it). All things considered, this might be the most overrated band of all time. I like real Grind, bitch. Negative. Brutal. Pounding. Relentless. No trippy groove parts, bra. No Dirtnap Darrell riffs, bra. I like Grind that has —what’s that thing called again?— oh yeah… BOTTOM END! I like it the way Brutal Truth and Assuck used to make it. The way the Swedes in the Nasum camp still do. Yes, this is fast, chaotic, and aggressive, but at its core it’s happy music made by happy people for happy people (who need people). No Barbara Streisand Core in this house.
Note: Rating upped one point for this being available on cassette.

Is it just me, or did that Anvil movie spearhead a trend of documentaries about bands no one cares about? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t say no one… a few people like Alice Donut. I’m guessing all of whom are featured in this DVD. It shouldn’t be a surprise that one of those people is Jello Biafra —as the band has spent virtually their entire career on his Alternative Tentacles label— who calls them “the missing link between R.E.M. and The Butthole Surfers.” I’d say that’s an apt description, if not a flattering one based on my musical preferences. I for one cannot stand this Punk/Indie/Alternative/Noise/Psychedelic/Pop/Jazz/Rock act, in particular lead singer Tom Antona who has one of the most annoying voices and stage personas in the history of Rock ‘n’ Roll. It’s fun music for happy fucks, and while I can’t deny the band has talent, there’s nothing more disturbing, pathetic, and wrong than trying way too hard to be unconventional simply for the sake of being unconventional. Granted, I’ve only heard a handful of songs over the course of many years, but what little I have heard sucked enough raw ass to keep me as far away as possible. That said, after watching Freaks in Love, I’m now aware of every innate detail of the group’s 25-year existence. From their humble mid-’80s beginnings as The Sea Beasts in Brooklyn’s CBGBs-fueled Punk scene, to their random re-naming and signing to AT, to their arduous touring schedule and multiple lineup changes, to their breakthrough, break-up, make-up, and where-they-are-now, etc. It’s all incredibly boring and mundane, and ultimately nowhere unique enough to warrant this level of spotlight. Even if I worshipped the band this wouldn’t be all that entertaining. A summary: this band sucked for a long time, nobody bought their records, they didn’t make enough money so they split, eventually got bored and hooked back up, now they suck again and have kids. There you go, just saved you 100 minutes of your life. You’re welcome.

Ever wish you could go back in time, sit down with the person you used to be when you were young and slap the living dogpiss out of yourself? As an ignorant know-it-all teenager, I shunned the early works of Incantation for not being memorable enough. What I didn’t realize at the time was that records like Onward to Golgotha and Mortal Throne of Nazarene possessed a pure aural darkness unlike any other. An ominously heavy, evil sound so sacred and rare that countless bands are still trying to recreate it to this day. So what if there weren’t any “hits?” Listening to this newest offering from the band, it dawned on me that not even Incantation can match the brutality of old Incantation! Don’t get me wrong, I love this record, and over the last decade, mainman John McEntee has solidified matters in the memorability department with some of the finest songwriting in the genre. Vanquish in Vengeance serves as a testimony to that, as the opening three cuts flatten the listener with rugged ferocity, primal intensity, and actual hooks! “Invoked Infinity” charges out of the gate with a sizzling tremolo-picked riff straight out of the World Downfall handbook. Abysmal delight ensues as high-speed, otherworldly heaviness carries us to a patented Incantation breakdown, replete with squealing pinch harmonics, that transitions to a Slayerific solo before collapse. Drummer Kyle Severn shows off his Sandovalian blasting chops on “Ascend Into the Eternal” and “Progeny of Tyranny,” which bring to mind the divine pain of Covenant-era Morbid Angel. McEntee’s riff crush and devour at any pace (see “Haruspex”), and while he’s no Craig Pillard, his iconic bestial growl is right up there with the best of them. If there’s one flaw it’s that after the monstrous title track, the album’s energy seems to fizzle. The last four tracks don’t pack the same punch as the first six, with the tediously dragging “Legion of Dis” closing the LP out on a very anti-climactic note. Even McEntee’s vocals appear to tire towards the end, and —while I despise the snide remark as much as any Death fiend— when McEntee’s a little off he literally sounds like the Cookie Monster. Still, Vanquish in Vengeance is way more killer than filler, and another remarkable entry into the legendary catalog of Death Metal’s most vicious.

As far as a map of My Dying Bride’s failures is concerned, it seems everyone wants to point the finger at 2011 (the mind-numbing Evinta experiment and the rather worthless Barghest O’ Whitby EP), but if we’re being completely honest with ourselves, the last record from this legendary UK Doom outfit to genuinely floor their legions was most likely 2001’s The Dreadful Hours. I’m not saying the subsequent follow-ups were bad albums, but do you remember them? Can you even remember one song? I can’t. I only remember not disliking them. My point is, they haven’t written a “Your River,” or a “Crown of Sympathy,” a “Cry of Mankind,” or even a “For You” in a long time. Songs that made you want to pick up a guitar and not put it down until you learned them. Sadly, you won’t be finding any such gems on album #11. In fact, this is downright boring, sub-mediocre drivel by My Dying Bride standards. There are a few kingly riffs scattered about (“The Poorest Waltz,” “A Tapestry Scorned,” the title track, “Within the Presence of Absence”), but overall it sounds as if Andrew Craighan is merely going through the (slow) motions. For every one good riff there are ten duds, some of which are so lacking in melancholic weight they almost feel improvised. Speaking of improv, when the band reach into their old bag of classic tricks —short bursts of Death Metal fury circa ‘91-‘92 (see “Kneel Till Doomsday” and “Hail Odysseus”) and the trademark violin— it often doesn’t tie into the songs very well. It’s like they’ve been randomly pasted on after the initial take. Somehow the band has forgotten how true misery sounds, and I’m afraid “adequately gloomy” just isn’t cutting it. Perhaps a much larger deficiency is the continued decline of Aaron Stainthorpe’s singing voice. The man can no longer hold a note without the crutch of some varying level of vibrato. This makes for a wobbly, over-theatrical performance that is incredibly grating throughout. He sounds like a drunken ghost haunting a cheap Karaoke dive. Quite frankly it feels as though he’d rather be reading poetry to us… and on many a track he does read poetry to us. Here and there he reaches fragments of glories past, but I simply do not put on albums from the masters with the intent to wait around for a decent melody or a vocal line that doesn’t sound like Jeremy Irons talking about his cereal. Clearly the band has gone creatively bald, and this desperate comb-over isn’t fooling anyone. Go listen to Turn Loose the Swans, then listen to this, then tell me this is good. Gents (and lady), you will always be legends no matter what, but please don’t wait too long to throw in that bloody towel. That’s how Apollo died.