Death Is the Only Mortal may ultimately be more of the same from The Acacia Strain, but it does mark a couple firsts in their decade-long career. It’s their first self-produced record, as guitarist Daniel Laskewicz has apparently spent enough time in the studio with the likes of Adam Dutkiewicz and Zuess to learn a thing or two about knob-twiddling. It’s also their Rise Records debut, and consequently the first Rise release I’ve ever purchased. How ironic is it that one of the labels responsible for saturating Deathcore with sub-mediocrity to the point of self-parody now boasts one of the genre’s most well-respected elite? In all fairness to the band, I’m sure they’d prefer to be as disassociated with the Deathcore tag as possible, but since their music bears the extreme sonic weight of Death Metal and the groove of more modern Hardcore, I don’t know what else to call it. Maybe Hard Death? That’s definitely what frontman Vincent “You Don’t Want to Shoot Me” Bennett wants you to experience. I can’t recall ever being more on the same page mentally with a lyricist: “Stop chasing your dreams, they will never come true / Your god has fallen from grace, I wish he was real so I could spit in his face / Life is a nightmare, death is a gift / I hate myself more than you ever could / With every breath I pray for death / I welcome death with open arms / I always knew I would die alone / Let the icecaps melt, may none survive…” Doesn’t leave much to the imagination, does it? Still, these are my verbatim thoughts on a daily basis. Musically the band continues in the same crushing vein as recent output. Sludgy sewage-drenched bends, palm-muted staccato pummeling, and a bass tone that could frighten Thanos all fuel the stomp-and-chop of what is essentially a 45-minute breakdown. Now I know how those slabs of beef in Rocky felt. They do add some uncharacteristic-yet-refreshing melodic nuances this time. Check out the somber ending of “Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow,” the explosive chorus on “Brain Death,” the eerie break on “Time & Death & God,” and the swirling, atmospheric undercurrents of “The Chambered Nautilus” and “House of Abandon.” Nice touches all. Crowbar’s Kirk Windstein drops by for a guest vocal spot on “Go to Sleep.” Not a huge fan of his voice, but it works surprisingly well with the Acacia aesthetic. As with all of their albums, it’s the density and brute strength of their sound and Bennett’s sour, guttural-yet-understandable praises to Negativity that steal the show. Happy faggots beware (I hope the rats eat you alive).

To answer this Punk Rockumentary’s subtitle: in 1982 I was three years old, and not so much concerned with any music scene as I was just trying to get the basic hang of tying my shoes and wiping my own ass (two things I’ve still yet to fully master). It was about 1987-88 when I first took a shining to my mom’s Beatles, Roy Orbison, Byrds, and Bob Dylan 45s, and my love of Punk wouldn’t come until much later — during my freshman year of high school when the fat, blue-haired whore that took my virginity made me a mixtape with Bad Religion, Minor Threat, Pegboy, Operation Ivy, Misfits, Funeral Oration, and Dead Kennedys on it (which I probably still have tucked away in some closet in a box marked “FAILURES FOR CUNTS”). If it counts, I knew all the words to “Pet Sematary” at the age of ten, but I didn’t know the Ramones were Punk at the time… or what Punk was. I was way more into McDonald’s cheeseburgers and watching re-runs of Diff’rent Strokes and Three’s Company after school. What’s that, gentle reader? You don’t give a rat’s dick about a complete stranger’s life story? Ah… well then, this DVD definitely isn’t for you. It’s an utterly unbearable 80 minutes of people you don’t know talking about bands you’ve never heard (and for good reason). My apologies to all the Sweet Madness, Teenagers, Strangulon, Pop Tarts, PP-KU, Terror Couple, and Vampire Lezbos fans out there… oh wait, there aren’t any. It takes the contributors of this film 20 minutes to establish that Spokane, Washington is an isolated, dreary, boring conservative town. What a fucking shocker! “There was nowhere to buy Punk clothes, I had to buy jeans at JC Penny and scuff them up… The jocks would beat me up ‘cuz I had a pink mohawk… We would drink and do drugs and try to have sex with each other… We’d dress up in rubber suits and pretend we were chickens…” LIKE I GIVE A FUCK!!!!! Kill yourselves! That would be entertaining to watch. I spent the majority of this barely-glamorized home movie hitting the remote’s display button to see how much longer I had to suffer, until finally giving up 45 minutes in. None of these bands/people became shit, and that’s not because they were from a shitty town —all towns are shitty, all life sucks everywhere! It’s because they were dopey, uninteresting, talentless hacks that no human being outside of their desperate circle could possibly care about. After watching this, I drove to the mall and bought the new Green Day album purely out of spite.

Let me preface this review by saying that I’ve never been a fan of Fates Warning. Personally, I could never see what the fuss was about them. I tried to listen to them many, many times over the years with little success. I could never get into them, much in the same way that I can’t get into Dream Theater or most other Progressive Metal bands. To me, Fates Warning was like Queensryche, just without any hit songs or even memorable riffs. But all of my friends who played guitar and listened to Metal loved them. Inside Out was initially released back in 1994, however if you love Fates Warning, there’s plenty of additional stuff on this “expanded edition” to entice the money out of your pocket if you already own this. The album is completely remastered and comes with a second CD of live and demo tracks as well as a DVD that has concert footage and interviews on it. Since the label decided not to include the DVD footage with the review materials, I can’t tell you if any of it is worth watching. The live audio tracks on the second disc sound like they are soundboard recordings so they’re almost studio quality. There are some uneven bits (usually in the vocal department) but for the most part, they sound very much like the studio versions. The demo tracks definitely sound like demo recordings, sonically nowhere near as good as the final album versions. The quality is definitely lower, but when I hear a demo recording with audible bass guitar, it always makes me take notice. I imagine that if I actually liked Fates Warning, I would think this was an awesome release. Even after years of trying, I’m still not a fan. They don’t suck, but I don’t like listening to an album for technicality or for the “little things” that a musician would notice but a casual fan wouldn’t give a flying shit about. If you like Fates Warning, this has plenty of stuff that you’ll enjoy. If you’re like me and wouldn’t buy this anyway, nothing here will change your mind about the band. Metal Blade went the extra mile and added quite a lot that a fan of Fates Warning would definitely want in a re-release. I wanted to give this one a five on just the music, but because I got my bachelor’s degree in marketing, I had to add extra points on because of the quality of the bonus materials and because the label cared enough about the fans to give them something extra. I just wish someone would’ve done anything like this when they re-released Possessed’s Seven Churches years ago.

Usually whenever Ray hands me a…
Bag
Bag of shitty demos
Full of rotten demos
Bag of shitty demos
…I often contemplate A) murdering us both and leaving a note that reads “excuse all the blood,” or B) lighting the discs on fire and rolling around in them until I achieve a zombie-like texture. But I always decide to C) listen to them for 30 seconds each in search of something cool or gay enough to actually write about. Sadly it’s rare that I find either, and I’m often left pondering what the goal of an unsigned band even is in the piracy age. Do they hope to sign to Metal Blade and make $87 in t-shirt sales one day? Regardless, this time one band in particular made the most of their 30 seconds, as I’ve probably listened to this fucker 30 times since! Brazil’s Lacerated and Carbonized have absolutely floored me with their refreshing sound, exceptional skill, and a take-no-prisoners style of songwriting that goes straight for the jugular. A mixing/mastering job from Andy Classen (Krisiun, Belphegor) certainly never prevents a self-released album from standing out from the pack, but it’s the band’s energy and talent that truly propels The Core of Disruption to the top shelf. A fast, fierce display of Thrash-infused Death Metal from quite possibly the last band on the planet with the balls to use traditional E-tuning. Okay, this could be E-flat, but the point being these guys get more out of it than some bands that use 19 strings or whatever the norm is nowadays. For the most part, they keep their songs short and speedy, load them with razor-sharp, addictive riffs and a baby-bear’s-porridge Death/Thrash roar, while frequently decorating them with bursts of Behemoth-level blasting and occasional left-field percussion —some sort of Brazilian bongo drum?— that successfully conjures a tribal atmosphere without sounding contrived or corny. I can’t say enough about the riffs! A worship of early ’90s Floridian Death Metal, and Thrash giants from the Bay Area/Germany collective. The kind of riffs their countrymates in Sepultura used to make. Hunt this pleasant surprise down at all costs, and would some label please give them $87 before somebody figures out a way to download shirts?

Seth Putnam liked Earache better when Dig answered the phone, and I liked Forgotten Tomb better when it was just Herr Morbid. However, …and Don’t Deliver Us from Evil is a step toward a darker tomorrow. In truth, this Italian Depressive Black Metal unit only have one completely flawless album (2002’s Songs to Leave) and one truly awful album (2007’s Negative Megalomania) to their credit, while the rest tread on the more worthwhile side of the middle ground. Last year’s Under Saturn Retrograde showed signs of a return to suicidal form, and this prompt follow-up is even better yet. Of course you wouldn’t know that judging by album opener “Deprived,” which showcases the same greasy Sleaze Rock edge that made Megalomania so unlistenable, but the ensuing title track sizzles with the bitter melodies, scornful rage, and lyrical misanthropy I’m in search of when I reach for a Forgotten Tomb record. “Cold Summer” and “Love Me Like You’d Love the Death” are decent bleak tunes, but not great ones, and at 8+ minutes each they’re officially declared filler. Meanwhile, “Let’s Torture Each Other” reeks of Garage Rock/Gutter Punk influence. Perhaps last year’s Stooges cover and GG Allin tribute didn’t quite exorcise all such demons? In all fairness, it should be noted that Morbid & Co aren’t completely terrible at the whole Rock/Punk thing. It just sounds like a BM band having fun… which is unfortunately somewhat of a detraction from the Suicidal Depressive vibe these guys are masters of. By the way, there’s a reason dirty Punk songs aren’t normally six minutes long! Luckily the LP ends on a we’ve-saved-the-best-for-last note with the one-two punch of “Adrift” and “Nullifying Tomorrow.” The former being the best song they’ve written since the immortal “Alone.” Sharp morose tones, a mournful sonic weight, and a highly improved clean singing voice. Admittedly, it might be a touch too much on the Depeche Mode side of things for some, but I love the way it drives the profanity-laced chorus into the memory banks. The latter is just a pure anthemic wrist-slicer, with many a nod to the miserable magnificence of early-career Katatonia. If you ask me, Morbid just needs a side project to blow his Hard Rock load with. Fill the Tomb with only sadness. (This pleases Negativity).

I’ve never been a serious student of Kabala or any other form of ancient Messo-Arabic mysticism (mostly due to lack of time or available resources), so the lyrical content of Death Scroll of Seven Hells and Its Infernal Majesties is somewhat out of my depth. My only real references to things like the Qliphothic Tree of Death are from other Black Metal albums (such as Blood Ritual’s At the Mountains of Madness or Black Grimoire). Of course, this isn’t a college dissertation on an obscure mystical topic so in-depth knowledge of this stuff isn’t necessary. Musically, Hellvetron sounds like a Black Metal version of Disembowelment or Corpse Molestation. The guitars have a similar dark and fuzzy sound and their playing style is definitely in the old Doom/Death style that Disembowelment and Corpse Molestation had. I’ve also heard people compare this band to Thergothon because of the riffing and atmosphere. I would say that while Hellvetron does have similarities to Thergothon, they don’t have the same atmosphere. Death Scroll of Seven Hells and Its Infernal Majesties is primarily focused on the delivering dark, brutal Doom/Death with occasional atmospheric stuff. What hinders this album isn’t the musical content or the lyrics, but the sound. This isn’t horribly produced, but I wanted more definition. This whole album sounded muffled to me. The drumming was all right, but the guitars, vocals and the occasional keyboard work needed to be louder and clearer. I’m not expecting crystal clear production, but I do like to hear what is going on. This is a solid debut album that has me interested in seeing where they take this sound and style.

When I first heard this Swedish Melodeath band back in early 2009 on sophomore effort The Cancer Empire, I was impressed if not totally blown away. The album had a very respectable Hypocrisy-inspired vibe. Well-produced, heavy, melodically rich, and while not entirely original, it provided a handful of enjoyable listens before being archived and ultimately forgotten. After a week’s worth of spinning Arrival of the Red Sun, I’m not 100% certain if it’s the band or myself that has changed, but either way this follow-up does absolutely nothing for me. It could be that those three-plus years of living the life least imagined has lessened the allure of bouncy, futuristic-sounding Death Metal. It could be that I saw the band’s recent promo photos —dressed up as some kind of gay pride Mad Max refugees in a Photoshopped apocalyptic wasteland— and subconsciously wrote them off beforehand. It could be that the past ten months spent listening to depressive masterpieces by Alcest, Pallbearer, Evoken, Katatonia, and An Autumn for Crippled Children have made anything less seem like a Barney & Friends sing-along by comparison. Or it could be that the group’s songwriting has simply gone south. The happy faggot grooves that stain throwaway tracks like “Gunpoint Salvation,” “The Blood That Must Be Paid,” and “My Vengeance Remains” would certainly suggest the latter. Whatever the case, Arrival fails to impress on any level, unless of course you’re seeking the perfect Death Metal album to play Double Dutch to. Indistinguishable lightweight arrangement follows indistinguishable lightweight arrangement ad nauseum. Insert gay guitar solo, insert fagspeak, insert AIDS-infected synth, felch and repeat. There isn’t a split second of darkness, pain, or brutality on display here. You might as well be listening to that Kenny Loggins song from Caddyshack for 40 minutes. The absolute nicest thing I can say is that Simon Berglund’s vocals still sound fairly razor sharp. But all the decent pipes, super-sleek production, chops, and Armageddon-themed lyrics in the world couldn’t save this syrup enema.

One look at the album cover tells you that Good Mourning is going to be influenced by Goth music. Whether that is good or bad depends on whether the band is influenced by whiny Emo Goth, or the dark, atmospheric Goth music that is heavy on the ambience and eschews the eyeliner and the frilly clothes. Thankfully, these guys have kept their music free of the whiny shit. Suffer the Silence is definitely heavy on the bleak and somber atmosphere. If Katatonia was a Death Metal band instead of a Black Metal band at their inception, they would have probably sounded a lot like this at some point during their transition. Suffer the Silence may have started out as a Death Metal band, but the only remaining Death Metal element that they’ve retained in their sound is the vocals. Otherwise, this wasn’t brutal or aggressive at all. In fact, it is very passive in the same way that the post-Thergothon entity, This Empty Flow, was. The main failing that Good Mourning has is that it isn’t heavy enough. The atmosphere is there, but what this album really needed was a stronger Doom element. If a band is going to be playing in the speed range for Doom, the music really should be heavy. This wasn’t and it was glaringly obvious what was missing. I kept waiting for this album to get crushingly heavy a-la Asunder or My Dying Bride, but it never happened. Suffer the Silence has the atmospheric part down pretty well. You definitely get the emotional aspect, but what’s lacking is some real heaviness. If this band can get heavier, their next album will kick ass.

Horny virgin bitch
Deflowered by the holy ghost
Screwed by his holy prick
Bastard son was born
Swindled stupid father
Concealed sexual fraud
Breed him like his son
The big lie has begun

Holy book based on
The history of the life
Of a bastard son

Oppressive religion
Depraved inquisition
Justifying holy wars
Criminal fanaticism
Repressive commandments
That’s all what we’ve got
By the grace of god
And from a “virgin” whore

Deny this god
Crucify his son
Burn the holy book
Defile the temples

As I often ponder the gayness of the universe, namely our planet’s obtusely inane inhabitants, it eludes me how a Death Metal band of Drawn and Quartered’s caliber toils in relative obscurity. I could fill this whole space with bands a tenth as talented and intense as this Pacific Northwestern horde who seem unanimously revered. Meanwhile, this trio continues to drop solid record after solid record on deaf ears. If the meanest thing you can say is, “Boy, these guys sure do sound a lot like Immolation,” then it begs the question once asked by a grease-addicted fast food hag in the ’80s: “where’s the beef?” It’s perfectly acceptable to endorse 736 cunting Neurosis clones, but for fuck’s sake, we only need one Immolation! I can’t follow that logic at all. Especially when Feeding Hell’s Furnace is easily the group’s deadliest output since the unhallowed tandem of Extermination Revelry (2003) and Return of the Black Death (2004). Every song sizzles with demonic effervescence and blood-curdling heaviness, as diabolical melodies and abysmal riffs twist, hammer, stab and slither their way directly into the listener’s Christ-hating pleasure center. Factor in Herb’s bottomless, Craig-Pillard-meets-Ross-Dolan-in-Hell growl oozing blasphemies like, “When holy texts are ashes / Where holy soil is drowned in blood / When every word of worship is torn from every tongue… / Cum-soaked remains / Bestowal of consecration / Execrations of the holy virgin cunt,” and you have the perfect soundtrack to a church in flames at sunset. Without question, the best Death Metal album no one will be talking about in 2012.

This EP is a two-song vinyl 12-inch (though to be accurate, this actually sounds like four songs but they aren’t separated and there are only two song titles) that is released in 1,000 copies with the first 100 being on marble vinyl. That should tell you that this is a release entirely for collectors who absolutely must own everything. Celebrate the Dead covers all of the various phases of Beherit, starting with the weird droning Ambient stuff and gradually making its way over to the Black Metal sound that most fans associate with the band. The first track, “Demon Advance,” is divided into two segments. The first half is a droning, somewhat Industrial sounding piece with whispered vocals, repetitive guitars and mechanical drumming. It could easily pass as a guitar-based cover of one of their old Electronic songs. The second half of “Demon Advance” is the part where the keyboards come out and the guitars go away. This section of the track is still droning and repetitive, but this time the music is best described as Dark Ambient. The vocals on this section are very strange. It sounds like they were done in a way that was intentionally zoned out and off key. Of the four distinct parts of this EP, this one is the hardest to get into. The second side, “Celebrate the Dead,” is more in line with what we expect from Beherit. It’s dark. It’s evil-sounding. Most of all, it’s Black fucking Metal. The first half of “Celebrate the Dead” sounded strangely familiar and I think it was because the drumming and guitar parts were essentially the same as the first part of “Demon Advance.” The addition of growled vocals and keyboards made this part far more listenable than the first part of “Demon Advance,” though. The second half of “Celebrate the Dead” is the best part. This section of the song is more complex and interesting. The addition of acoustic guitars to the droning guitar and eerie keyboards makes the music sound much darker. If Celebrate the Dead had been a 7-inch EP with the title track split into two separate songs, this would have been a fucking ten in my book. The second half of this EP is, for a longtime fan of Beherit, worth it. I couldn’t say the same for the first half. “Demon Advance” doesn’t totally suck, but it’s far too weird for most folks. The first half of this EP (particularly the part with the zoned out vocals) takes a lot of getting used to. Even now, after I’ve listened to the whole thing about a dozen times, I don’t think it is nearly as good as “Celebrate the Dead” in terms of musical quality. If you can find “Celebrate the Dead” on iTunes or some other MP3 site, I’d buy just that song.

Germany’s Kissin’ Dynamite started off as a Power/Traditional Metal band, even having the legendary Udo Dirkschneider from Accept/U.D.O. do a guest appearance on their second album. That was all in the past. At some point, these guys somehow took a wrong turn and ended up driving down Poser Lane and checking into the Butt Rock Motel. Money, Sex & Power has more in common with Guns and Roses, Motley Crue and Poison than Accept or Scorpions. This is Sunset Strip sleaze in all of its spandex-covered glory (if you can call it that). If there’s one redeeming quality that Money, Sex & Power has, it’s that it is fucking hilarious. This album was probably intended to be serious, but this shit outdoes Bad News and Spinal Tap in terms of comedy value. There are plenty of laugh out loud moments on this record. Just listening to “Dinosaurs Are Still Alive” and “Sex Is War” made me laugh so hard I practically coughed up blood. And don’t get me started on the press release that accompanied this album. Seriously, you couldn’t create a parody band this funny or stupid. As good as Pants Noizee was at goofing on ’80s Butt Rock, Kissin’ Dynamite somehow managed to do it better. I gave this one way more points than it deserved because I needed a good laugh and they gave it to me.

All you damn kids out there hearing this band for the first time, this is not your father’s Malignancy. No one was more stoked than myself to learn of these New York semi-legends’ Willowtip signing and subsequent first new output in what seemed like a gazillion years. This ultra-brutal Death/Grind unit began as a Mortician side project before the creation of time, but would end up garnering a cult underground following all their own by way of incorporating more complex songwriting and hella chops into the inherent, over-the-top brutality of their main band. But after hearing Eugenics, the concept of a minute-long sample + 45 seconds of aimless guttural blasting sounds absolutely fucking brilliant. I don’t know what this is, but it’s not Malignancy. I’m guessing there has been significant lineup changes. Like maybe one-to-zero-original-members overhaul. But I’m way too bummed to do any requisite review research right now. Here, you check for me… metal-archives.com …Was I right? Mostly all new people? I don’t want to know. And I guess it doesn’t really matter. Any way you slice it, this album is a schizophrenic noise clusterfuck. Technical to the point of batshit insane, listening to this record is like watching a skateboarder do highly advanced tricks for a half-hour. Nowhere inside this twisted sound mesh is anything even remotely resembling a song. Now I know how a pinball feels. It’s like trying to put together a 200,000-piece puzzle of a diarrheic shit, except none of the pieces fit. Occasionally something human will surface —an actual riff, the acoustic guitar arrangement, an actual drumbeat— but it’s soon swept away into a chaotic, Acid Jazz maze. For all I know, these eleven songs 3-minute-random-noise-experiments were improvised. Not like anyone could tell. I saw a Tech-Death band when I was a kid, but now they’re everywhere. The scene went and got itself in a big damn hurry. If you feel like hearing patternless growls and screams atop some kind of Martian fretboard algebra while an octopus on meth hits drums at random, here’s one for your year-end list. If you’re an old crook like me, Eugenics will only make you feel old, confused, angry, bitter, and alone. I want this album off my lawn.

To say that England’s Paradise Lost has been around the block a few times would be a vast understatement. This is their thirteenth album. They’ve come along way, starting out as a Doom/Death Metal band and morphing into countless different forms over the years. They dabbled in Electronica and Goth Metal, but gradually made their way back to the realms of extreme Metal. Tragic Idol is the first Paradise Lost album that I’ve heard in totality since 1995’s Draconian Times. I’ve listened to bits and pieces of their other albums after that one, but they never compared to their early material. I used to worship at the altar of Gothic and Shades of God. Somewhere along the line, I stopped caring about Paradise Lost because they’d gone a musical direction that I had no interest in. Now, listening to Tragic Idol blasting Gothic-tinged British Doom Metal at me like I haven’t heard from Paradise Lost in almost two decades, I believe in redemption. This is the Paradise Lost that I wanted to hear. It’s full of dark atmosphere. It’s heavy. It’s Metal. More than anything else, it fucking kicks my ass like I owed the band money and they want it all with interest. Tragic Idol is one monster of an album. I hold this band to a very high standard, mostly because they were one of my favorite bands back in the day. Even by my (probably unreasonably) high standards, I was impressed. It isn’t absolute perfection, but it’s damn close.

If there’s a central theme to be taken away from this write-up, it’s that “Putrevore plays dark, putrid and brutal Old School Death Metal exclusively.” The band’s words, not my own, but you can’t sum it up any more perfectly. Considering this project is the result of the unholiest alliance since Tango & Cash, what else would you expect? Originally formed under the moniker Deadbreath (changed obviously to not be confused with Nicke Andersson’s Death Breath), the OSDM wet dream team-up of Dave Rotten (Avulsed, Christ Denied) on vokills and Rogga Johansson (Ribsreader, Paganizer) on guitar and bass does not disappoint on album number two. Rounded out nicely by Brynjar Helgetun (also of Ribspreader) on drums, Macabre Kingdom storms out of the gate ferociously with the blast-happy “The Mysteries of the Worm (Part I).” Rotten’s lower-than-low guttural roar sounds as filthy and torturous as being boiled alive in raw sewage and toxic waste, yet as smooth as ever. Meanwhile, Rogga is still the riffmaster general. You’d think playing in 666 active bands would run the creativity well dry at some point, but the human riff furnace continues to burn brightly. Just listen to those monstrous chug-and-bend hooks on “The Mysteries of the Worm (Part II),” “Beyond Human Comprehension,” and “Awaiting Awakening Again.” On “Universal Devourer,” he runs the gamut from barbaric Grindcore simplicity to face-smashed hammering a la Cannibal Corpse to Doomy dirge. Combined with Rotten’s demonic esophageal emanations, there simply is no stopping this match made in Hell. My one complaint is minor and entirely selfish. Here we have two of the most brutal vocalists in Death Metal, yet only one of them gets to use the mic. I realize there are multiple factors involved. Their voices are somewhat similar, Dave Rotten definitely doesn’t need any help (I certainly don’t want to be the guy who has to growl toe-to-toe with him), and with Rogga in Sweden and Rotten in Spain, this project is pieced together across the globe. Still, how fucking cool would it be to hear these two trade verses once in a while? Maybe next time.

Carved Into Stone is Prong’s long awaited return album, following a lengthy hiatus where Tommy Victor spent time playing with Danzig and Ministry. This is also their debut for Long Branch Records/SPV. I remember listening to this band quite a bit back in the day and I was never a huge fan of their music. I had a copy of Beg to Differ, but even after repeated listens, I just wasn’t really into it. After having not heard from the band for so long, listening to a new album from them was something that I approached with mixed feelings. The first thing I noticed was that while I remember Prong being more Hardcore/Nu-Metal in sound and style (stop-start riffing, breakdowns, etc), this new stuff sounds like if you took all of the effects off of Peter Tagtgren’s Pain. One listen to tracks like “Keep on Living in Pain” and you can’t help but make that comparison, especially when Tommy Victor uses effects on his vocals. Personally, I prefer this incarnation of Prong to the version that released Beg to Differ. The songs are more accessible and they also flow better this time around. The one thing that I didn’t like about this album was the marked lack of aggression in the music. The songs are pretty rocking, but I wouldn’t call this album hostile or aggressive compared to their old material, regardless of what their press materials say. These guys are trying to balance accessibility, heaviness and aggression, and by retaining heaviness and gaining accessibility, they’ve sacrificed aggression. Even with the lack of aggression, this is still a solid album that holds up well even after repeated listens.

Do stores not carry music anymore because everyone just downloads it for free, or does everyone download music for free because stores just don’t carry it anymore? Either way, the concept of walking into a store and buying a CD has been eradicated, unless you’re looking for some Top 40/Grammy-nominated/Disney bullshit. I tried to find this Gaza everywhere. I mean, Blackmarket’s a decent-sized indie, is it not? No fucking luck, and since I’m the last upright mammal without a PC, tablet, or 4G LTE catheter, I had to suck 37 dicks just to borrow the CD from someone who made the appropriate blood sacrifices to Amazon.com or wherever. And the album is… well… okay. The chase might’ve been slightly not worth the catch. Gaza’s sound can best be described as a whole lotta Coalesce with a little Cattle Press and the more coherent moments of Botch stirred in, then filtered through an unparalleled hatred of Christianity and the kind of angry bitterness that only being from Utah can produce. Needless to say, these guys dominate the live setting, as I’ve been fortunate enough to witness on two occasions in bars the size of a one-percenter’s guest room closet. You can cut the tension and negative energy with a spork when this band’s on the stage. But somehow it isn’t captured correctly on record, and unfortunately No Absolutes in Human Suffering doesn’t buck this trend. Gaza don’t use big hooks, big choruses, or much repetition at all, really. They treat their riffs, drones, and melodies like college town bar whores: raw dog a few times and bail. It doesn’t help that Jon Parkin patterns his absolutely tortured scream around the music… which is relatively patternless. The band does excel at launching stone-cold grimness at the listener via varying speeds —Grindy, Sludgy, Doomy, mid-tempo— with reckless abandon, but it all ends up sounding like one, long, unmemorable track. So, you’ll find yourself reaching for No Absolutes when you’re after an intense, cheerless, raw vibe to get lost in, as opposed to wanting to hear actual songs. Which is fine, unless you’re a lifelong music addict like myself who has 3000 tunes trapped in his head daily. Albums like this tend to get lost in that shuffle. Still, I’ve sucked 37 dicks for less.

This is the debut album for Belgium’s Dehuman, one that their label promises to “dig, listen after listen, a place of its very own in the memory and heart of the fan with all its finely crafted production and compositional details, giving its audience something fresh to discover with each listen.” Now, I’m a guy with a Bachelor of Science degree in Marketing so when I read stuff like this, I actually check to see how closely the hype matches up to the actual product. Inevitably, I end up laughing my ass off at how much horse shit is in the press release. That being said, Dehuman’s label has written a big check that I was certain that the band wouldn’t be able to cash. I doubt that even legendary Death Metal bands like Death, Entombed or Morbid Angel could have lived up to the hype Kaotoxin promised for Dehuman. A quick listen proves that this is nowhere near as good as the label says it is. This isn’t to say that Black Throne of All Creation sucks. It doesn’t suck, but at the same time, it doesn’t fucking rule either. I imagine that these songs go down better live, because I can tell that there are some serious pit-riffs going on. They have some good melodic guitar-work in here, too. What this group really needs is a better studio engineer who can give their guitars the depth and power that they require. All too often, the riffing is buried beneath the drums, particularly in the breakdowns. Another hindrance is that their songwriting isn’t always the best. A number of tracks, “Harvest the Sun” being one that comes to mind, have riffs that don’t flow well together. The result is a song that sounds like it was thrown together at the last minute. These guys are going in the right direction, but they’re really not able to live up to their label’s hype. I imagine that Dehuman might be able to pull off that truly awesome album, but it’ll probably be their third or fourth one that does it.

If there’s an heir apparent to Alcest’s Blackened Metalgaze throne, it’s this mysterious Dutch trio, who have delivered an absolutely stunning work of dreary perfection with Only the Ocean Knows — their third LP in as many years. While 2011’s Everything expanded the melancholic genius hinted on with 2010’s Lost, nothing could’ve prepared me for this majestic, tear-drenched flooring. The band continue to evolve their atmospheric assault on hope, soaring far above the confines of the Suicidal Depressive genre and landing in a space all their own. If I could only use one, attention-grabbing sentence to describe them, it’d have to be something along the desperate lines of: “Imagine The Cure playing Black Metal.” Of course that’s a vague statement that doesn’t quite tell the whole story, but not too far away from the truth to work. What it implies is that the band borrows heavily from Shoegaze’s bag of wistful tricks, yet still effortlessly maintain an effective, all-encompassing SDBM aesthetic. The foundation of every track is a throbbing, center-stage bassline a la Pornography, Disintegration, or any Cure album worth its weight in tears, and they also incorporate synth, piano, and clean guitar melodies to maximum depressing effect. Still, these are all just accessories to a wall of necro guitar distortion and tortured Burzumesque screams. The drumming is an exquisitely unique balance of simple time-keeping and adrenaline-fueled aggression. A complete lack of blasting is compensated for by virtuoso footwork, as complex double-bass patterns often fill the space between traditional up-tempo beats and Doomy time signatures. These eight hymns of despair trade passages of somber reflection with bursts of suicidal rage and explosions of slow-motion sadness, all the while narrated by this voice of anguish and torment. Every dynamic anthem of woe is as beautiful and mesmerizing as its predecessor, leading to the saddest moment of all: the last song ending. This is not an album for the well-adjusted. This is not an album for an individual still clinging to even a shred of happiness in this meaningless existence. This isn’t about genre or posturing. This goes beyond any one person’s worthless opinion. If you’re still listening to music with the lights on, you’re missing the point. This is the sound of joy fading. This is a celebration of failure. This is means to find the strength to exit. This is real. At the end of your rope, you’ll find An Autumn for Crippled Children.

If your band’s name is Moonloop, I’m not going to expect great things from you. Now, if you’re waiting for me to say, “but I was pleasantly surprised to hear an awesome album,” you’re going to be disappointed. Deeply from the Earth is about as enjoyable as being crucified, burned at the stake and drawn and quartered - all at the same time. Can you say “Progressive Metal,” boys and girls? I knew you could. Yes, this is Progressive Metal in all of its navel-gazing self-absorption. The fact that this is Progressive Death Metal doesn’t make this any better. All that means is that you get some growly vocals in with your “I only play music to show other musicians how well I can play my guitar/bass/drums/keyboards” Metal. I got more enjoyment out of listening to Burning Witch do a twenty minute long feedback solo in the middle of a song that was already thirty minutes in length. If you’re a musician and you love to listen to other musicians play music with fucked up time signatures and strange chords that only another wanker could identify, you’ll probably think that Moonloop is the most awesome thing to come down the pipe in years. If you’re like me and you couldn’t give a flying shit about any of that, Deeply from the Earth isn’t going to offer you anything you want to listen to. Face it, I don’t get a hard-on over creative picking techniques like the readers of Guitar World magazine do. Progressive Metal interests me almost as much as professional curling does. There’s clearly a fan base out there, but obviously I’m not part of it. While this may be technically excellent and well produced, it’s aimed specifically at the small segment of the Metal market that worships at the altar of Dream Theater and Fates Warning. Anyone craving brutal, neck-snapping Death Metal should look elsewhere because you’re not going to find it here.