It’s a grey day, 109 degrees and rainy. Since I had the AC fixed for the 7th time this year, all the lights in the house flicker. I’m gaining weight and losing interest, not to mention hair and sex drive. It looks like I have new neighbors, and it sounds like they have a dozen small children unable to control the volume of their voices. I hate my job like Hitler hated Jews, and I’m on a vacation that’s going by at lightspeed. I did score a rare piece of ass last night, but in an overzealous attempt to impress, I threw out my lower back and will spend the remainder of said vacation hobbling in pain, needing EMS to get off the toilet. All this and the Braves can’t beat the god damn Giants! Yet as I dim the lights, open the night’s first beer, light the day’s 21st cigarette and press play on the stereo, the opening chords of “Atra Mors” —the title track from Evoken’s long-awaited follow-up to 2007’s Caress of the Void— drown all of life’s meaningless bullshit in a sea of oppressive sorrow. When it comes to Funeral Doom, Evoken have no equal on American soil. Think of all the Death/Doom bands that started around 1994. Now how many of those bands still sound the same 18 years later? Not to say these New Jersian misery merchants haven’t progressed as musicians and songwriters. They have by leaps and bounds. But the formula remains the same. Soul-crushing heaviness at the speed of an empty existence. The mournful melodies atop cheerless dirges found on the aforementioned title track, “Grim Eloquence,” and “An Extrinsic Divide” render me thankful for depression and grateful for prolonged isolation, as these dismal hymns of despair just wouldn’t sound as otherworldly without them. Needless to say, Atra Mors is their most melodically adventurous work since 2001’s Quietus. The spoken bits on “Descent into Chaotic Dream” bring to mind a time when both My Dying Bride and myself were still hungry. Now John Paradiso’s bleak growls and occasional screams consist of the only discourse I solicit. This album is a warm, fuzzy blanket in a frozen wasteland of eradicated dreams. A downcast masterpiece of woeful perfection from the legends. New Evoken, new Katatonia, now all I need is the apocalypse (preferably the day after my vacation ends).

Not quite sure I grasp the concept of a 25-minute EP from a Deathcore band that has yet to break the 35-minute mark on a full-length, nor do I normally condone the download-only-unless-purchased-at-Hot Topic format. It’s not easy for a balding, grown-ass man in his work uniform to walk into that place, guys. Thanks for making me feel like a dinosaur/child predator. On the other hand, I do grasp the concept of the EP itself, and I proudly condone a Deathcore band unafraid to play Deathcore despite the current smear campaign from the popular Metal press (i.e. the real child predators). The EP’s title is no coincidence, as this is the sound of a band driven to shake that Suicide Silence-clone tag. Despite the more weighty presence of keyboards, things open on a no-frills note. “The Second Coming” is a triple-guitar-heavy, breakdown-laden assault on Christ that succeeds in kicking down the door, but it isn’t long into follow-up cut “Lillith” that frontman Alex Koehler breaks out the clean vocals for the first time. The clean-sung chorus is surprisingly pretty damn good. This kid —already an accomplished screamer/growler— can actually carry a tune. Let’s see Mitch Lucker do this shit, eh? But even more impressive than this emotive burst is the breakdown behind it. I’m all for mixing it up, especially when none of the oppressive heaviness is compromised. “S.H.O.T.” and “Confession” are more standard, mosh-inducing Chelsea Grin fare. Perhaps they aren’t ready to ditch all those comparisons just yet. However, the record ends on a standout note with the despondent-yet-crushing atmosphere of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” replete with oddball keyboard ending, and the bonus track, a remix of “The Human Condition.” You know, I never realized it until hearing this version, but I’ll be damned if that isn’t Ray Miller himself on low growls! HA! Seriously! Listen to it. [That’s not me, but they might be infringing on my roar-tone! -Editor]

Something tells me I’ve heard this band before, but good or bad I don’t remember, and I’m too lazy to check. Whatever the case, I do think I’ll remember Southwest Doom Violence. Not necessarily for being a memorable album, but for having an extremely memorable vibe. We’ll start with what they get right, that being first and foremost a perfect guitar tone. A crystalline yet grime-infested replica of the classic Sunlight sound. I never get tired of this timbre, and Catheter are right up there with the likes of Black Breath and Trap Them as far as top-shelf Core-based bands using it as a weapon. For this band, that Core is Grindcore, although their remarkably seamless juxtaposition of styles within that frame —Sludge, Powerviolence, and even lethal doses of Mental Funeral-worshipping Death Metal— is another area they excel in. My complaints are few and relatively common for bands of this ilk. With 21 tracks in 28 minutes, the record flies by with no truly discernible tracks. Luckily they mix it up well enough that it’s enjoyable as a whole. The bigger hindrance here is a plethora of vocal styles with only a couple being winners. The low growls are terrific, almost Assuck-like in their sheer might, and the Putnam-esque shrill scream compliments them perfectly. But everything else needs to go. I’ve sadly outgrown that goofy Spazz bellow, and the bevy of limp-wristed, minor league Punk yells significantly detract from an otherwise invigorating listen. I could’ve also done without the PETA rant on album closer “In This Moment,” and I’ll leave it at that to avoid a pointless rant of my own. Nevertheless, a solid album that unfortunately could’ve been a lot better.

Funny story how I discovered this self-proclaimed Black Horror Metal band. Being such a pathetic Katatonia fanboy in the mid-to-late ’90s, all it took was a quick glance at a photo of Anders (or Blakkheim as he was known back then) in some long-forgotten Euro zine wearing what I thought was a Denial of God shirt. Through the power of not having any bills, I had a copy of Klabautermanden a week later. Turns out it wasn’t a Denial of God shirt, but I kept the EP anyway because… it wasn’t bad. They somehow fell off the face of the Earth to me after that and, like clockwork, every few years I consider selling it. Then I listen to it again just to be sure and always end up keeping it because… it still isn’t bad. Fast-forward a couple decades and I’m staring at new LP Death and the Beyond in total shock that they’re still a band! What’s equally amazing is that their sound has been, for the most part, completely unmolested by time. Sure the production’s better, they’ve condensed from a quartet to a trio, and the pace isn’t quite as consistently speedy as the old days, but the attack and feel are still identical. Mid-paced to fast Black Metal in the style of the Second Wave (of which they were arguably a part), with symphonic elements and a flair for the theatrical. Don’t think Cradle of Filth or Dimmu Borgir, it’s a bit more grim and dirtier than that. Closer to Ancient and Darkthrone hanging out in their primes. The album’s greatest strength might be the gravelly yet intelligible voice of Ustumallagam. Vocals in league with any church-burner you’d care to mention. If there’s one flaw it’s the ridiculous length of the songs. Eight tracks at 62 minutes? Guys, I got shit to do. Maybe cut back on the narrative bits a little? Play me a song, don’t read me a story. When they go straight for the throat, as on the downright Doomy “Funeral” and the anthemic riff/melody parade of “Behind the Coffin’s Lid,” they’re at their deadliest. Sadly, not long after this effective one-two punch, the record (along with its listener) falls asleep. It’s not as though it’s ever terrible, just boring. Most likely because it’s about 20 minutes longer than it needs to be. I’ll probably still hang onto it though… it isn’t bad.

Albums like this are the reason haters get out of bed in the morning. I can’t wait to see the media’s angry-virgin response to this bruiser. But while they’re waxing nostalgic over which Isis song had the most meaningful open E-chord, or pretending they can tell Pig Destroyer and Gaza songs apart, those of us who like our Hardcore hard —and just so happen to miss the shit out of Despised Icon— have cause for celebration on our hands. Real motherfuckers, rejoice! The highly anticipated debut from Obey the Brave is finally upon us. Featuring ex-Despised Icon throat Alex Erian, Young Blood can best be described as a near-perfect amalgamation of early Hatebreed’s Metallic rage, the Old School primitiveness of Terror, and the breakdown-laden thuggery of Bury Your Dead and Until the End. It isn’t all brute strength, however. There’s a fair amount of melodic sensibility brought to the table as well. Some of these arrangements bring to mind emotive Metalcore’s heyday (e.g. Poison the Well, etc.), while others recall the heartfelt simplicity of ’90s So-Cal Skate Punk (it is, after all, an Epitaph release). Either way, nearly every song here is an anthem. The record successfully achieves the perfect balance of knuckle-dragging brutality and poignancy. So dumbed down it’s genius, this one has blood, sweat, and tears in full effect. There’s also a slew of guest vocal appearances, most notably Scott Vogel (Terror), Kevin McCaughey (Ion Dissonance), Keith Holuk (ex-Ligeia), Liam Cormier (Cancer Bats), and gang vocals featuring Erian’s Despised Icon co-growler Steve Marois. I can’t say enough about this LP’s energy, aggression, and instant likability. I also can’t wait to start an argument with some fucking nerd over how much more technically diverse this is than Cynic’s entire discography, how much more experimentally psychedelic it is than recent Nachtmystium, or how they use way more polyrhythms than Meshuggah. Y’know, just for shits and giggles.

Make a wish, a star is falling. And holy fuck do I mean far. I had a feeling when this former Emperor frontman began his pursuit of a solo career that things would not end up well. So far, said solo career has produced one essential song, and it owes more to Mikael Akerfeldt’s vocals than anything. Plus, let’s not forget the historical pattern of the Inner Circle’s Shemp: each album gets worse. Not sure how it’ll get any worse than Eremita, which can only be dissected via track-by-track analysis. Opener “Arrival” sounds a lot like a Stryper song, and not the really good Stryper songs like “Holy Trinity Four-Way” and “Takin’ My Saviour Balls Deep,” I mean their big-in-Japan era. “The Paranoid” is reminiscent of R&B group Jodeci with an Emperoresque tinge and a stunning guest guitar solo from Ralph Macchio. “Introspection” is the LP’s sincere Mr. Big moment, while “The Eagle and the Snake” is actually a cover from the Beverly Hills Cop soundtrack. I forget the artist, but then again haven’t we all? “Catharsis” is a collaboration co-written by Sully from Godsmack and Miles Davis, which features amazing guest timpani work from Scott Baio. “Something Out There” once again rekindles the Emperor church fires, albeit with a slight Barnum & Bailey Circus slant, while “Grief” is an instrumental dedicated to Fred Savage and Nancy Kerrigan. Remember Tackleberry from Police Academy? The gun-crazy cop? “The Grave” sounds a lot like his band did when Mahoney threw that party but sent the two dickhead cops to the gay bar instead. Which ties in perfectly to closer “Departure,” a New Wave take on the Blue Oyster Bar theme music featuring a duet with Amy Grant (who I’ve always wanted to fuck in the ass). I’m just kidding, folks. Eremita isn’t anywhere near that interesting. It’s total Prog garbage for lifeless souls. With ease, the worst album I’ve heard in 2012. Maybe ever.

When I see the name “Conan,” I think of Robert E. Howard’s barbarian king. Everything about that name conjures up images of brutality, savage warfare and epic fantasy storytelling. If you have the stones to call your band Conan, you’d better be able to produce. Sadly, this New York Doom band doesn’t. [Correction: This band is from the UK. Liverpool to be exact, if anyone cares that much. -Editor] The only thing “epic” about Monnos was how boring it was. Every song chugs along at the same basic tempo, and outside of the track “Golden Axe,” all of them were basically the same in terms of structure. “Golden Axe” was essentially an interlude that went nowhere. I wouldn’t even really classify it as a song. It’s just five and a half minutes of the same boring riff and repetitive drumming. This isn’t Robert E. Howard’s Conan. This is Faux-nan the bore-barian. Crom is not pleased.

It doesn’t seem that long ago I was reviewing the Crypticus/Scaremaker split, bedazzled by the latter’s versatile frontwoman, wondering what would happen if the faster arrangements were shed and the Doomier aspects solely focused on. I pretty much have my answer in the form of Wooden Stake. Fronted by the lovely Jill Nocera with a little help from Scaremaker bandmate Wayne Sarantopoulos, this project is indeed a witching Doom affair that allows the sinister siren to spread her demon wings and more effectively show off her range. At the Stroke of Midnight is an odds and ends compilation following hot on the heels of 2010 debut Dungeon Prayers & Tombyard Serenades, featuring one new song, the Black Caped Carnivore and Invoke the Ageless Witch EPs, the Vampire Plague Exorcism demo, plus the splits with Druid Lord and Blizaro. Production qualities vary from okay to bad, yet a super-polished sound would probably only rob the band of its b-horror charm anyway. New cut “Night of the Banshee” easily has the best sound and is arguably the best song. Jill’s vocals are pure Stevie Nicks, which works perfectly with backing growls and a morbid Doom aesthetic if you ask me. The demo/7-inch material is hit or miss at best. While the vocals are consistently impressive, some of the structures seem a bit thrown together and often incoherent. A few of these riffs are just plain clunkers (“Curse of the Funeral Mistress,” “Death Reads the Black Tarot,” “Forbidden Oath”) and, at an unrealistic 71 minutes, this begins to feel like an impromptu jam session existing only to serve as a vehicle for the voice after a while. Nocera’s talents ensure an enjoyable ride throughout —just listen to that Wanda Jackson swagger on the Cathedralesque bounce of “The Legend of Blood Castle”— but the lack of cohesion unfortunately results in a trip taken less frequently. With better songwriting, this singer could cast her spell on any Doomster within earshot.

Not sure what’s happening with Agalloch, but I get that sinking feeling that I’m losing one of my favorite bands. I had a sneaking suspicion that member(s) of Ludicra might fuck things up somehow, though I can’t recall exactly why, as that band is nowhere near interesting enough to listen to twice. 2010’s Marrow of the Spirit was a solid record, not much of a departure from glorious past works, but nothing I reach for too often. And, alas, as bands begin to inch near the end of the creative rope, we get novelties like 20-minute song/EPs (at least we can be thankful this isn’t another meandering instrumental teaser). Initially, this obvious concept piece is cursed by an inhumanly annoying spoken narrative that wastes no time farting in my dinner. Spray fart. I’m not looking to peek into Ancient’s abandoned bag of tricks when I put on an Agalloch album. Musically things start out decent, if not ultimately remarkable. Thankfully Haughm’s patented Blackened snarl sounds as bleak and razor sharp as ever. Sadly, things don’t really get exciting until about 6:14, when the band embarks on a despondent journey melodically reminiscent of For Funerals to Come-era Katatonia. However, two minutes later this dissolves into nothingness and we’re again plagued by lines from a play no one is watching. From there the song explodes into full-speed Black Metal, the clean guitar melodies beautifully woven into blasting fury creating a brief but effective highlight. Wandering ensues as the drummer takes a breather, then at 14:50 the epic track settles in to a mid-tempo melancholic comfort zone, as the band showcase their melodic mastery for the remaining 6+ minutes — the final 40 seconds stained by the recurring fagspeak. For the most part this recording is rescued by the brilliance that is Agalloch, but one can’t help but think how perfect this could’ve been minus the intrusive narration and about 6-8 minutes of fat trimmed away. We’ll see where they go from here.

There was a time when the words “featuring Kevin Sharp on vocals” would’ve incited great curiosity and excitement. There was a time when Brutal Truth ruled the world, and their iconic frontman was a huge part of that. A very cool, down-to-earth dude with pipes that used to intimidate Thor. However, I’ve fallen for the Kevin Sharp-side-project trick once before with the horrendously awful Venomous Concept, and now that Brutal Truth’s once-mighty Grind assault has gone completely batshit, these days flip a coin. Still, I thought for a second that Primate might be a potential conduit for the primal ooze that’s been sorely lacking in Brutal Truth since their reformation, and hoped Draw Back a Stump would be that back-to-basics Grindcore rager. Then I remembered that hope is a one-night stand that gives you AIDS. This is total shit. Phoned-in Punk slop meets Crust for Dummies, and Sharp’s voice sounds terrible. When he doesn’t sound like a backwoods Deliverance hillbilly, it’s second rate Kirk Windstein, or Jeff Clayton’s dad at best. I would gladly benchpress the effects on Kevin Sharp’s vocals if he would promise to use them. The kids at my high school who went to the “special classes” had better Hardcore bands than this (see “Drinking and Driving”). I’m told this project also features someone from Mastadon. I thought I sensed the foreign presence of light. Harmless to the point of embarrassing, this happy —possibly impromptu— jam session reeks of nothing but a good time, and I don’t need Poison lyrics anywhere near my Grindcore. That Venomous Concept is sounding pretty good right about now.

I’ve heard Metal mixed with almost every other kind of music out there (including Flamenco - a local band called Flametal did a Flamenco/Metal fusion that was kind of interesting in a live setting, but ultimately they were more of a novelty act than anything else), but this is the first time I’ve ever heard Metal fused with Swing. Diablo Swing Orchestra is more Swing than Metal, so if you’re expecting a Metal album with a Swing garnish, you’re going to be disappointed. If you don’t like Swing music, you’re going to hate this album. For me, this is a “listen to it once and that’s it” band. Once you own one album by this band, you’ll never need another one because this goes just about everywhere it can go. In fact, you can get essentially everything you could ever want out of this band after listening to a small portion of Pandora’s Pinata. Personally, the only real reason I can see to even own this is to show your non-Metalhead friends how “open-minded” you are. It might even get you a blowjob from some hairy armpitted, blue dreadlock encrusted college chick. Of course, you could probably get that same blowjob if you just let her smoke some of your pot, but that would be a waste of good weed (and you’ll be able to play the Diablo Swing Orchestra CD again for a different hairy armpitted, blue dreadlock encrusted college chick). Swing appeals to a small number of people and none of those people are Metal fans. The fusion of the two genres is pure novelty, much in the same way as mixing comedy and Metal is. Once the novelty wears off, there’s nothing left. I’ve given Diablo Swing Orchestra a couple of extra points for at least trying to be different and original, but that’s just me being generous. This might be good Swing music, but that’s not a selling point if you’re a Metal fan.

These guys are lucky I dig them so much. It wasn’t easy, but when they covered a poser band only faggots like that shall go unmentioned on their little download-only EP last year, I looked the other way. I was pissed, and ready to invent new slurs for homosexuals with my slander, but the faux pas went unpunished. Why? With a ferocious triple-guitar attack responsible for the heaviest breakdowns known to man, and a vocalist whose deep roar is so demonically bestial it has been known to provoke involuntary bowel movement, Whitechapel had created three near-perfect Deathcore albums until that point. Plus I saw them pull it all off convincingly in the live setting, so I wasn’t ready to negate all this history over one terrible mistake on an EP that only exists in theory anyway. However, after sitting through this highly disappointing self-titled album several times, I’m a bit closer to being ready. Clearly when bands start deciding it’s a good idea to cover Glam songs, it’s a fair indicator shit’s about to head south. And while I can’t say Whitechapel is that bad of an album, it sure isn’t all that good of one either. Certainly not by their lofty standards. This is the sound of a Deathcore band neutering themselves to appease the wavering masses. Breakdowns are out because the burgeoning neophytes of the Metal press who spend all day listening to awkward, lightweight drivel like Baroness and Torche say they’re out. Henceforth, no more big bad Whitechapel breakdowns. The band’s molten, oppressive heaviness has been significantly sterilized, most likely to appeal to a wider range of fans (who illegally download all their music anyway). The guitars aren’t half as heavy as they once were, and Phil Bozeman’s voice has gone from demon to drill sergeant. Ironically, the only real standout cut is from the aforementioned EP of ill repute. Not sure if it’s time to stick a fork in this band just yet, but it’ll take some serious regression for me to give a fuck again.

This is Cancer Bats’ debut for Metal Blade Records and their fourth album overall. The press release describes this as a mixture of Thrash and Hardcore. Outside of the vocals, I don’t really hear the Hardcore influences very much. The Thrash bits are more apparent in the faster tracks, but even then I don’t think Dead Set on Living is hugely influenced by what I would consider “Thrash.” For me, Thrash is Exodus, Possessed, Slayer and Cliff Burton-era Metallica. Hardcore for me is Sick of It All, The Exploited, Extreme Noise Terror, Crass, Discharge, Agnostic Front and Minor Threat. Cancer Bats is nothing like any of those bands. These guys are more Mallcore than Hardcore and more mainstream Rock than Metal. The production here is really slick and polished. From a purely technical perspective, this is a very well produced album. I wish more Metal albums sounded this good. Musically, though, this doesn’t really do much for me. The songs that the accompanying press release described as “focus tracks” were pretty generic and really don’t stand out from the rest of the album. Usually, you want your “hit single” to be the best track on the record. “Old Blood” and “Road Sick” don’t qualify as hit singles simply because they aren’t any different from the rest of the tracks. They don’t stick out, and unless someone told you that they were focus tracks, you’d never think of them that way. This album is lacking in several things. The first one that I immediately noticed was that there are no catchy riffs at all. The closest we get is on the second song, “Bricks and Mortar,” which blatantly sounds like Rob Zombie until the vocalist starts screaming. The second thing that I noticed was that the songs don’t have any hooks or choruses. On top of that, none of the tracks have the least bit of melody in them, either musically or vocally. The net result is an album that is essentially a polished turd. Dead Set on Living is superbly produced, but musically crap. Maybe these guys kick ass live, but this album is a loser in my book.

Reviewing a new Katatonia record is never an easy task for yours truly. They are, in my opinion, easily the greatest band of all time, and it seems unfair to rate these Godz among men on any mortal grading system. For me, the Katatonia scale would start at 10, as even a disappointing album from them would be five points higher than a perfect effort from some pedestrian outfit. It’s also a bit of a stretch pretending that anyone who doesn’t already worship at the altar of these Swedes deserves to breathe air, but I digress. It is worth noting that, amazingly, Dead End Kings did not blow me away at first. As is my common ritual for new Katatonia material, I shut everything else down and spent a solid 48 hours just listening on repeat. But nothing stuck! Never in my 18 years of adoration and exaltation —from the Blackened Doom past to the Depressive Rock present— had this occurred, and I began to wonder if this was the katastrophe the Mayans foresaw. Befuddled and concerned, I took a break for a few days. During this period, the grand alchemy of the masters came to fruition. Every morning I’d wake with a different song stuck in my head. At first it was the chorus of “The Parting,” the opener that picks up right where Night Is the New Day left off. Next it was the soothing “eh-he-ay-he-ya” from “The One You Are Looking for Is Not Here,” with guest choral assistance by The Gathering’s Silje Wergeland (the first Katatonia song to feature female vocals, not counting Mikael Akerfeldt). Then the chorus from “The Racing Heart,” then the Great Cold Distance-like “Ambitions” and the Viva Emptiness-reminiscent “First Prayer,” then the swirling Toolisms of “Dead Letters,” and so on. Before long, this entire, flawless body of work had supplanted itself into my subconscious. I will never doubt again. If there’s one minor complaint, it’s the absence of a singular suicidal anthem. No “Departer.” No “Journey Through Pressure.” No “Evidence.” Yet it’s the mournful grace of Jonas Renkse’s beautiful voice and his brilliant patternization of wordplay that carries the album to perfection. Every song is an ingenious exercise in light and shade, quiet and loud, hope and despair. Rest assured, any negative review you see of this subtle masterpiece was hastily submitted by someone who didn’t take the proper time to realize its magnificence. I nearly made the same mistake.
Note: As of press time, I’m still waiting on the $978 deluxe edition —which contains two bonus tracks, 47 10” vinyls, a War & Peace-sized booklet, two lightsabers, a Toro weedeater, and a plaster caste of Anders Nystrom’s scrotum— so the bonus material was not factored in. But who am I kidding? It’s a 10 either way.

I knew this Swedish hyper-Grind outfit was dangerous when I first heard their split with Relevant Few back in 2007. Their hard-to-find releases since then have unfortunately eluded my grasp, so there was no one more thrilled than myself to learn of their signing with the solid Willowtip. A very fitting home, indeed, as the Pennsylvanian label tends to cater to the most extreme side of the spectrum and, quite frankly, Grindcore doesn’t get more extreme than Afgrund. Inevitable comparisons to Nasum, Gadget, and Rotten Sound will be forthwith and justifiably so, but could someone please tell me how that’s a bad thing? To have one band in a lifetime kick that much rectal padding is something special. How is it anything less than extraordinary that we are allowed four? Obviously this is just how the Swedes do it, and when it comes to Grindcore, Swedes do it better. The Age of Dumb boasts 18 power-packed, full-force, high intensity songs that play like one raging 26-minute anthem. With a band that plays this fast and ferocious, it’s the little things that produce eargasmic heart palpitations. Little things like varying gears of blastbeat speed (“Life and Death of a Broiler”), a slower Hardcore riff thrown in to make the speed speedier (“HAARPY,” “The Carrier”), letting the drums go solo at key points in the song (“Repaint the Truth”) and great use of samples within those key points (“Le Grand Illusion”), a thuggish breakdown capable of causing multiple circle pit fatalities (“An Aggression of Misfortune”), and enough Napalm Death and Terrorizer-worthy riffs for Shane Embury to shake a vegan sausage link at. If my sources are correct, this is also the first Afgrund material to feature English lyrics. Just another added morsel to an already-overflowing plate of Grindy goodness. The lack-of-originality argument is the only thing that keeps this from a perfect score (and I may very well regret that decision later).

I don’t know very much about this band. The review copy/download was lacking in information and actually had the band’s name spelled wrong, so it took some Internet research to even figure out who this is. What little I initially knew about them came from the music itself. The best way to describe Deathronation, who I would eventually discover are Bavarian, is to say that they play slow-to-mid-paced Death Metal in the older Florida style. This is a compilation of demo material, with the first six tracks from 2010’s demo, also titled Exorchrism. (Or is this a reissue of that demo with bonus tracks? Is there a difference?) The next five songs are from A Soil Forsaken, which was released in 2006. Even without this information, you can easily tell the two sections apart. The songs on Exorchrism are longer and the sound is definitely better. It still sounds like a demo recording (mostly owing to the “recorded underwater” drum sound), but compared to A Soil Forsaken, everything’s clearer. Oddly, I liked the songs on A Soil Forsaken better, though. They were shorter and more to the point. It didn’t meander as much as Exorchrism did. These guys learned to play their instruments better and wanted to show that they could write better songs with more interesting guitar-work. The net effect was that they lost a chunk of their memorability. There’s still plenty to like on this album, though. It has enough brutality to make your head bang and it doesn’t get overly technical. It’s straight-out Death Metal that delivers the goods where the goods need to be delivered.

Very impressive Hardcore with Grindcore tendencies and occasional melodic genius. It may surprise many a Metalhead that Enabler features drummer Andrew Hurley from Pop sensations Fall Out Boy (“…I’m goin’ down, down on a guy named Jim Brown / and brotha his fuckin’ dick’s swingin’ / I’ll be your number one with a bullet / I’m gonna take my cock out, stroke it and pull it…”), but Hardcore lifers won’t bat an eyelash as the Straight Edge anarcho-primitivist cut his teeth in many a Hardcore/Punk band before hitting it big. He provides an exceptional performance here, working well-timed Nasumesque blasts and unbridled double-bass fury into a traditional, fast Hardcore style (see “Save Yourself”). Elsewhere, big mid-paced riffs such as those found on “Speechless” and “Fuck Today” add a dynamic contrast to the frantic, Crust-like vibe that permeates throughout. Frenzied ragers like “The Heathens,” “False Profit,” and “Funeral Dirge” are sure to give Converge fans a healthy collective boner, while deeper cuts like the otherwise Slayer-worshipping title track, the melody-laced “True Love” and “Trust,” and the Doomy “They Live, We Sleep” hint at a despondent sensibility often elusive to bands of this ilk. Most tracks check in at the two to three-minute mark, making the subtle stylistic shifts all the more effective and palatable. Is it just me, or is Southern Lord slowly but surely turning into a Hardcore label? No complaints, guys. I’ll take the venomous ferocity and infectious bite of Black Breath and Enabler over bands that sound like radio static any day.

This is a four-track EP (two songs, an intro and an outro - roughly 13 minutes of total playing time) so getting your head around where these guys are going is a bit tough. Things get off to a slow start right away. I don’t know why bands do this, but there was at least thirty seconds of dead silence before the intro became audible. Worse, the intro didn’t seem to go anywhere even after you could start hearing the Ambient effects. Given the “spacey” nature of the intro and outro, I guess that there is some “cosmic” theme going through their songs. Musically, this band is atmospheric Doom/Death Metal in the vein of Thergothon or maybe Chorus of Ruin (how’s that for an obscure reference…). They have the ability to create some atmospheric music, that’s for sure. What really hinders them is the rather uneven songwriting. The first actual song, “En Void,” goes off without a hitch. Everything sounds okay. The guitars could have been a little heavier or a bit louder, but in general the sound was fine as far as being able to hear everything. The other song, “Syntaxis Ecliptica,” starts off with fast and furious drumming, which is always a bad thing for a band like this. Their style is slow, not fast. Worse, the drumming drowns out everything else. Once the song gets going, though, things are better and the sound improves to the point where we’re almost at the same level as the first song in terms of clarity. Why they decided to have the drumming be so intense for the first minute or so of “Syntaxis Ecliptica” is a mystery. It doesn’t fit the band’s style and it doesn’t do anything for the song. It seems so out of place that it just leaves you wondering what they were thinking. To me, that’s a clear sign that a band isn’t ready for the big leagues. They have the right idea for the most part, but there are still some areas that need to be worked on. Almagest has the potential to be great. When I researched the band, I found that this was their first release. For a debut, this isn’t bad. The songwriting needs to improve, but it isn’t something that can’t be fixed. I’d recommend a lot more rehearsal time and definitely some peer review before releasing anything else.

Well, it’s official. Prog is the new Deathcore. Breakdowns, blast beats, and growls have been traded in for 40-minute fretless bass scales, saxophone solos, and big words that no human being has ever used in their daily lives…ever. Every album will be a concept album. Every vocalist will either sound like John Denver or the guy from Dream Theater. Thanks. I saw this coming on the last Faceless record (Planetary Duality), which was significantly more head-up-ass than the solid, brutality-drenched debut that preceded it (Akeldama). When bands start going crazy with a vocoder, it’s a sure sign they’re already bored and shit’s about to get weird. With Autotheism, they’ve almost completely checked out. Their sound retains only enough Death Metal to justify a huge headlining tour with other Death Metal bands. Rest assured with forthcoming releases —assuming the band doesn’t just throw in the towel and join a monastery— the Metallic extremity will become more and more scant until they reach their ultimate flaccid goal of ukulele, tambourine, that flute Kenny G played, and yodeling. The vocalist —I’m not going to look up his name because I don’t care; I assume he’s the front-and-center pretty girl wearing the Nine Inch Nails shirt in Sumerian’s latest ad— sings clean about half the time now, and his clean voice is terrible. Imagine a soulless Mike Patton fronting a Power Metal band from Nebraska. As is usually the case with Progressive Metal releases, there’s about 10-15 minutes of solid music here, but no working class Metalhead with a shred of libido remaining has the time nor the patience to sift through the 30-45 minutes of noodling space travel and advanced calculus problems. I listened to this album beginning to end three times. All I remember is a Stephen Hawking soundbite and the urge to listen to the entire Ramones discography while jacking off to every porn with Belladonna in it that I own.

People have accused me of being misogynist in the past, which makes no sense to me whatsoever as I’ve always been nice to cunts. I kid, I kid! Truth is, women have always wanted to be treated as equals in the workplace, and deservedly so, the Death Metal genre being no different. So, it seems the most sexist thing I could do would be to automatically heap praise on something merely due to the parties involved being female. Take for instance this debut album from Old School Death/Doom unit Derketa which took an amazing pair of decades to see the light of the day. I could say it’s the most awesome thing ever recorded just because I find the ovulating all-star quartet responsible —Mary Bielich (ex-Mythic, ex-November’s Doom) on guitar, Sharon Bascovsky (ex-Eviscium) on guitar/vocals, Robin Mazen (ex-Demonomacy, ex-Impure) on bass, and Terri Lewis (ex-Mythic) on drums— to be an eyeful. I’m not going to do that, it simply isn’t fair. Truth is, In Death We Meet is average at best. It’s average now and would’ve been average in 1988 when the band originally formed. The slow, plodding riffs that accompany every indistinguishable, drawn-out song are uninspiring to say the least. The station-to-station drumming is uninteresting throughout, and for me to say that Bascovsky’s passable-yet-mediocre Death growl is just as good as any dude’s passable-yet-mediocre Death growl… well, I don’t see how that’s a compliment. It’s an A for effort, and a steadfast lesson in perseverance, but at the end of the day, it’s just an unmemorable Death/Doom album… with boobies.