There was a time when I eagerly sought out every Death Metal album I could find. I’ve seen and heard it all multiple times. To this day, I still have a soft spot in my blackened heart for Death Metal. I still feel that sense of darkness and frenzy that I felt the very first time I heard Altars of Madness or Left Hand Path whenever I throw those albums on. When I hear a new band, my first thought is to compare the feelings I get to those old-school classics to see how the new kids stack up (not that the NT guys are “new kids,” having all been in many other bands over the years). That being said, They Come at Night punishes me the way I like it. The production on this is fucking sick. If Death Metal had a set of templates for how to produce an album the right way, this would be one of them. Musically, Nocturnal Torment brutalizes you from the opening second and really doesn’t stop until the last song is over. There aren’t any acoustic interludes, atmospheric keyboards or female vocals to be found here. What you get is Death Metal reminiscent of older Swedish Death Metal music with an American Death Metal sound. The formulation is especially apparent on the last track, “Primordial Existence.” The name that keeps popping up in comparison is old Hypocrisy, because they were very much like that. Peter Tagtgren spent time in Florida and when he went back to Sweden to form his band, he took the American Death Metal sound and applied it to the Swedish style and got something of a hybrid. They Come at Night reminds me a lot of that sound. If you listen to this and Osculum Obscenum side by side, they have a lot of the same qualities. If any improvement is to be made, I think what this band needs is to include a strong hook or a strong chorus part to their songs. If there is an Achilles Heel to They Come at Night, it’s in the memorability department. Every song kicks your ass, but there isn’t something that sticks in your head long after you’re done listening to the CD. This is something that takes a lot of work to develop. If these guys can get that aspect covered and maintain their brutality, they’ll be turning heads and snapping necks with the top tier bands in the genre. Even without the strong hook or chorus, They Come at Night holds up well after repeated plays. I’ve listened to this twelve times as of this writing and I’ve yet to get tired or bored of it. When you can say that about an album, it’s got to be good.

Progressive Metal isn’t a genre that I particularly enjoy. I only really like two bands in the genre: Hammers of Misfortune and Anvil Chorus (both Bay Area bands that fucking kill live). One of the many reasons I don’t like Progressive Metal is that the songs are long, meandering and overly complex. Beyond the Bridge is that in spades. Musically, this doesn’t suck, but I can’t say that I like it either. The problem is that it requires too much attention. When I listen to music, I don’t want to analyze the structures to death, trying to figure out what they’re doing. This is essentially an album for people who listen to music for the technical aspect. Yes, the production is great. The musical structures are complex and interesting. The playing is technically flawless. My problem with this album is that I don’t care enough about those things to make an otherwise long, meandering and overly complex album worth listening to. If you love Dream Theater or Fates Warning, you might get a kick out of Beyond the Bridge, too. If you’re not a musician who listens to albums for technicality and nuanced structures, you’re going to be bored out of your fucking mind in no time at all.

This Mexican Death/Doom outfit suffers from an all-too common affliction in the Metal world. A chronic disease known as Onlythefirstsongisgooditis. There is no known cure, barring painfully realistic self-evaluation and a defeated crawl back to the drawing board. It’s clearly evident after multiple listens that the opening title track contains the only really good ideas Majestic Downfall have had up to this point. The finest one being the pure Katatonia-style riff straight from the Brave Murder Day / Sounds of Decay era that ties the song together perfectly. The best description I could offer of this glorious title track would have to be the band’s name. It’s a truly majestic cut embittered by raw despondency. But that’s about it for the album. “From Black to Dead” and “An Untravelled Road” have moments of noteworthy Paradise Lost and Cemetary worship, both in their Doomy primes, but these tracks also suffer from ridiculously cruel lengths (nearly 20 minutes combined). Jacobo Cordova’s vocals just aren’t pro enough to carry that much weight. He really sounds like shit on “Dimension Plague,” which is equally plagued by overwhelmingly vaginal lyrics, and even more so on album closer “Cronos.” During the clean part of the latter… no man’s voice should ever sound like that. There’s also a mind-numbingly boring song that Cordova perhaps penned for his favorite retail outlet entitled, “Army of Salvation.” No joke, that’s what it’s actually called. In summary, download for the terrific first song and trash the rest because you’ll never listen to it.

If this wasn’t recorded at Sunlight Studios, it sure sounds like it was. The Chills has all the hallmarks of old-school Swedish Death Metal, but from an American band. The guitars are sick. For a second, I thought I’d accidentally thrown on some old Entombed or Dismember (Carnage or Nirvana 2002 if you’re a Metal hipster). Then the vocals kicked in and I thought I was listening to Asphyx. Horrendous has multiple singers, but the main vocalist sounds a lot like Martin Van Drunen. If you can imagine Martin fronting Dismember during their Like an Ever Flowing Stream days, it would sound like seven of the nine tracks on The Chills. One of the songs, “Sleep Sickness,” is a keyboard track that serves as an into to “The Eye of Madness.” The other track, “The Ritual,” has a different band member on vocals so it sounds more guttural. The pacing is a bit slower than I expected, but in a way, that’s the only possibility for the riffing to make any kind of sense. If they played faster, this would be a giant ball of distortion. This is a solid release, and fans of old-school Swedish Death Metal will surely enjoy it, even if the band doesn’t come from Sweden.

For those unfamiliar with The 11th Hour, this is longtime Death Metal drummer extraordinaire Ed Warby (Gorefest, Hail of Bullets, Ayreon, Demiurg) trying his hand at Doom Metal, and doing a damn fine job of it I might add. This is his second full-length offering, Burden of Grief being one of the more pleasant surprises of 2009. Now, when I say this is Ed Warby’s baby, I mean it. He’s doing drums, guitars, bass, keyboards, and singing. And yes, I do mean singing. His voice is actually quite good. A work in progress, perhaps, but sounding even more improved this time around. He’s kind of like a poor man’s Patrick Walker (Warning, 40 Watt Sun), and his operatic style gives half of the project’s sound a more traditional Doom feel. What about the other half, you ask? The added dimension of guest Death Metal vocals takes Warby’s ideas to new heights depths. It accentuates the heaviness of the compositions and exposes the heartache that lies within, taking things from “meh” to “whoa!” On the first album it was Rogga Johansson doing guest Death Metal pipes, proving he can do more than write the same kick-ass Paganizer/Ribspreader album over and over again. This time around it’s Pim Blankenstein from longtime underground Death/Doom mainstays Officium Triste. A wise choice for Warby considering Pim knows his way around a forlorn tune like few others. He fills Rogga’s shoes seamlessly, his mournful Death roar in perhaps its finest form ever, adding even more poignant weight to Ed’s contrasting clean croon. The melodies flow like crimson from slit wrists underneath a blanket of monolithic heaviness, while the two vocalists trade light and dark to near perfection. A couple tracks miss the mark slightly, but you can’t do much better than “Rain on Me,” “The Death of Life,” “Reunion Illusion,” “Nothing but Pain,” and “Bury Me” on a rainy, alcoholic night of solitude, when the street light coming through the window and a lit cigarette are all that illuminate the room.

In 2006 when ex-Nasum drummer Anders Jakobson first emerged with Coldworker not long after the tragic, untimely death of Mieszko Talarcz, it was a powerful thing to behold. What better way to mourn than with the brutal and catchy Grindcore tour de force that The Contaminated Void was? But follow-up LP, Rotting Paradise, was one of the biggest disappointments of 2008. Still fast, still heavy, but about as memorable as your first piss. Unfortunately The Doomsayer’s Call follows in its footsteps. There’s just nothing about these seemingly indiscernible 13 cuts that stands out whatsoever. Oddly enough there isn’t one obvious, identifiable reason as to why that is. The production is perfect, Joel Fornbrant’s vocals sound as bestial as ever, there are decent riffs, the songs have good structure, and the drumming is spot-on. Still, it’s all immediately forgettable. This is a record that begs the mind to wander, creating those awkward “what-am-I-listening-to-again?” moments. It’s an album that, despite it’s coherency and stellar musicianship, becomes a wall of background noise after the first handful of tracks. It’s completely baffling considering this is one of the guys who brought us Human 2.0. The news isn’t all bad on this front, however; Nasum will very soon be embarking on a reunion tour with Keijo from the mighty Rotten Sound filling in on lungs! I was fortunate enough to see Nasum play the Milwaukee Metalfest circa 2000. Jakobson was pummeling his kit so hard that people had to sit in front of the kick drum to keep it from moving! On that note, perhaps these more recent works of Coldworker might fare better in a live setting as well? Regardless, on disc it bores to tears.

This is album number two for Arlington, Virginia’s King Giant. Since I’m more of a Death/Thrash/Black Metal fan, this is the first time I’ve ever heard of this band. After having listened to Dismal Hollow, I think I might try and find KG’s debut album because this is pretty good. It has a strong groove element and the slow, but heavy, riffing gets your head banging almost right away. The Rock & Roll element really shines through when it comes to catchy hooks and memorable riffs. While this band doesn’t come from the “Deep South,” I was surprised by how strong the “Southern” influence was in their music. You can hear a bit of a twang in the vocalist’s delivery, though his voice kind of reminded me of Glenn Danzig (if you don’t know who that is, shoot yourself…). Maybe if Danzig moved down South and started playing Southern Fried Stoner Doom… Well, you get the picture. King Giant is what happens when people who grow up listening to Country music start playing Stoner Doom. The song lyrics are all pretty similar to your standard Country fare - songs about the Civil War, a woman who murders her abusive husband with an ax, etc. When you add this to the music, you get an album that is very solid, heavier than a ton of bricks, yet accessible to people who don’t normally listen to Metal. If you’re a fan of Black Sabbath/Heaven and Hell, Dismal Hollow will definitely satisfy your love of heavy music.

There was a time when I was a naive, wide-eyed, horny youngster. Days felt like weeks, the world was my playground, and the grass was greener (and got me higher). Those were the days I wanted to hear and write about every Metal band there was, and the labels knew how to take care of you back then. They not only sent you a real copy of the shit, but you got posters, bios, photos, stickers, etc. Which leads me to the only pleasant memory I have of Italy’s Opera IX, a poster of the lovely lead vocalist Cadaveria. A dark, Italian, sinister sex goddess - one of my many weaknesses. I still have that poster up by my bed. The CD I sold for crack aeons ago. Now times have changed. I’ll soon be staring down the backside of 30. Review copies are downloaded and you’re lucky to get a tracklist. All that arrives in the mail are bills. By now I’ve realized no beautiful Italian women want anything to do with me, and that I’ll never have Cadaveria’s ankles up by her ears. She’s not even in the band anymore. Nowadays it’s always just some dude. I don’t even remember what Opera IX sounded like back in the day, but Strix is a completely bland, emotionless record. Black Metal-tinged melodic Thrash with cheap synths and boring vocals. There isn’t a split second of this album that is memorable, powerful, or commanding of attention. This is a band playing instruments purely for therapeutic purposes, writing lifeless songs and chanting intros for their own amusement. No idea how anyone could derive enjoyment from this completely barren musical landscape. Embarrassingly non-threatening, unable to tap into even the most banal human emotion, and now not even any sex to sell. I’d like to provide an example as to why it’s such a dismal failure, but the level of dullness is so overwhelming, when I listen it’s hard to focus for more than 30 seconds. Try eating plain bread for every meal for a week (with water for did-doodly-dippin’). The high water mark of this band’s career is still that 12-year old, semen-encrusted poster.

Quebecois Death merchants Beneath the Massacre just might be the heaviest band of all time. I don’t mean heavy like virgins in Alaska think Dim Mak is heavy, I’m talking about going-out-for-a jog-at-2:45 a.m.-on-Monday, August 6, 1945-in Hiroshima heavy. I’m talking about paying-child-support-for-18-years-and-then-finding-out-it-isn’t-yours heavy. This is the real shit. One of the many things to love about these guys is that they don’t fuck around with intros. From the second you press play you’re subjected to a tidal wave of inhuman speed, barbaric heaviness, a mind bending array of dizzying scales and fretboard pyrotechnics, and the ridiculously brutal vocals of Elliot Desgagnes. Dude sounds like some kind of demon-possessed Decepticon. It’s like Destro with radiation poisoning and a pitch shifter. The only drawback of a Beneath the Massacre album is that nothing else seems heavy in its wake. Try it, listen to Incongruous start-to-finish, then pop in an old favorite. Symphonies of Sickness sounds like really energetic Rockabilly after this shit. Scum sounds like 4th grade-level talent show material. Even the long-standing tradition of heavy-hitting Canadian Tech Death that surely inspired Beneath the Massacre (old Kataklysm, old Cryptopsy, old Neuraxis) seems tame by comparison. Of course, I’m speaking in terms of sheer sonic power here, not necessarily songwriting quality. Still, I’ve never heard a close-range machine gun battle from the trenches, but I’m assuming this is pretty much what it sounds like. If I had one minor complaint, it would seem to be the band have all but abandoned their trademark breakneck groove and osmium-heavy breakdowns. With the Deathcore and Metalcore tags being seen more and more as a pox on the musical landscape, it comes as no surprise. We aren’t even treated to a proper breakdown until the monstrous “Light,” at about the halfway point of the record. As the band continue to evolve towards full-on Grind, the less frequent use of dynamics and tempo change doesn’t make their potent attack any less impressive or dangerous, just a bit less memorable.

There was a time when I was excited to hear about a new Brutal Death Metal band. While I loved bands like Vile (the shit with Juan on vocals), Nile and even Incantation (live only - their albums always bored me to tears, but they fucking killed live), it’s been a long time since a band like Murder Intentions got me interested. The problem with Murder Intentions is that not only are they fairly unoriginal, but they have the same fatal flaw that most Brutal Death Metal bands have: they’re boring. This is brutal as all fucking Hell, but it just doesn’t go anywhere. The main reason for it is that everything falls into a narrow tonal range and it chugs along at a standard pace. There are literally no surprises here. One song sounds pretty much like all of the others, except for the last track, “On the Sending Out of the Soul,” which is essentially a six minute long outro. It’s long, boring and pointless - much like the rest of this album, but in a different way.

I don’t know if I’d want to live in Metalville if the bands there sound like this. I’m simply in shock at the subhuman shit sadistically torturing my puzzled ears at the moment. Easily one of the worst bands I’ve ever heard in my life. Try to imagine dumbed down Alice in Chains colliding with the ’80s LA Glam scene, combined with the modern day horrors of Buckcherry, Hinder, Nickelback, or similar genetic debris. Sleazy strip club Rock (if strippers danced to unknown, 10th-rate hillbilly bands — they do not) about as dangerous as an electric candle. Their only aspect that’s even remotely Metal is lead singer Mark Sunshine’s slight resemblance to the late, great Ronnie James Dio (if Ronnie James Dio had been an inbred talentless hack with 3rd grade-level lyrical skills — he was not), that is when he’s not disgracing the memory of Layne Staley (please see “Fool”). Some of these excerpts are priceless. “Long ago I was conceived / I was introduced to you by you / Baby, let’s get to work / Feelin’ my sweat begin to bead / Pleasin’ / Teasin’ / I’m in the elevator goin’ up / Yer savin’ the Earth from me, baby / Yeah / Yeah / Yeah / Ooh, it’s good, it’s good / Ooh, it’s bad, it’s bad!” Nothing an altar boy hasn’t already heard from a Catholic priest a thousand times. I’ve learned that any singer who repeatedly claims “I ain’t no fool” is only trying to convince himself. But the lyrics are pure genius compared to the music. The main riff in “Breed” lowered my I.Q. by 12 points. Godsmack want their lame riff back on “Crossfade.” (Yes, they named a song after a band they hope to open up for one day. For now I’m assuming it’s birthday parties, proms, and Open Mic Nights.) “Gas Station Roses” would be a sweet little acoustic jam… if I were into Jimmy Buffet — I am not.

Very unorthodox but effective one-man SDBM from Russia. I am reminded of Vinterriket, Skepticism, and Summoning. Not necessarily in style, but in feel and approach. Much like those bands, Annorkoth achieves a unique vibe through unconventional production. A mysterious and unearthly vibe where the instruments seem to exist on different plains, giving the songs layers within themselves, dynamics within dynamics. It’s certainly an odd mix, but I’d assume it’s intentional and it definitely works. The vocals and drums are buried faintly in the mix, while the keyboards, cymbals, and guitars are mastered so high they make the speakers pop like a campfire. The keyboard might play the most prominent role of all the instruments. I wouldn’t be surprised if the songs were built around them. The harshest thing I can say is that the drum programming leaves a little to be desired. And on the off chance that main man B.M. is playing real drums, he sounds a lot like a badly programmed drum machine. But the atmosphere saves the album. It’s damn hard to deny the somber, mournful elegance of “The Mysteries of Winter Forest,” the suicidal Waltz of “The Last Chance to Escape,” the total Burzum worship of the aptly titled “Shades of Misanthropy,” the gentle blasting of “Autumnal Remembrance,” or the beautiful clean guitar passage of instrumental “Dawn.” He even wrote a song about me (“An Insignificant Life”). There are moments of mind-wandering boredom, but they’re few and far between. At his best, B.M. invokes feelings of dejected misery through moments of epic majesty. Proving there is more than one way to cut a wrist.

Pact is the latest horde that the Moribund Cult has discovered lurking in the foulest depths of the USBM scene. Musically, this is some pretty fast, crazy Black Metal that rips your face off almost immediately. The guitars are deadly, the vocals are rancid and the atmosphere is oppressively evil, but what kills it is the horrible drum sound. The bass drums are abominable and the snare isn’t much better. The bass drums literally sound like a light switch being flicked on and off rapidly. The only time I’ve ever heard anything comparable was when a local band called Infestation played live. The drummer had a quarter or some other small piece of metal glued to his bass drums so that when he used his pedals, the drums would produce a high pitched clicking sound instead of a deep bass tone like they should have. And the snare tone… It literally sounds like someone banging on a trashcan lid. Granted, it isn’t nearly as bad as the bass drums, but in combination, it fucks with the atmosphere and the flow of the music by adding a disruptive element that works against it. If Pact had someone working the engineer’s booth that knew how to get the best drum tone, this album would be a fucking ten. The music is that sick. I can totally see why Moribund signed this band because the talent is there. If Pact can get their drum tone sorted out, their next album will fucking slay. The Dragon Lineage of Satan is almost there, but technical issues pull this down from the top spot.

Aborted vocalist and sole original member, Sven de Caluwe, is the first to admit the band phoned in a record or two during a mid-career dead-end phase that saw them leaning more towards breakdown-fueled Metalcore than the ferocious Gore-Grind unit they began as. Given that agreeable statement, a revamped lineup, and their flawless return to de-form in 2010 (the Coronary Reconstruction EP), it’s safe to say that Global Flatline is undoubtedly the most anticipated release of the Belgian Death squad’s 14-year career. A preliminary scan of the tracklist reveals nearly all of the 2010 EP has been re-recorded for the album, as well as “Nailed Through Her Cunt” from, arguably the band’s finest hour, 2001’s Engineering the Dead (the Palestinian version also contains another re-recorded cut from that LP as a bonus track, but I was not fortunate enough to track that one down). So discounting the intro (“Omega Mortis”) and glorified 6-minute outro (“Endstille”), we’re only getting 8 new songs here. No big deal as long as it kicks ass, right? But does the album live up to expectations? Yes and no. First and foremost, it doesn’t have the same level of addictive filth and blood-curdling grime as the EP did, which the re-recordings certainly prove. It could just be the album’s immaculate production. Perhaps crystalline to the point of sterilization? Just a theory. I guess I’d also be complaining if it sounded like it was recorded via answering machine. Still, it’s difficult to identify what else could be the problem. It’s definitely not the band’s playing, which is tighter than Natalie Portman’s wormhole. However, weeks of repeated listening have failed to expose a standout track or a defining moment. There’s assloads of guest vocal appearances including Trevor Strnad (Black Dahlia Murder), Keijo Niinima (Rotten Sound), Jason Netherton (Misery Index), and Julien Truchan (Benighted), but the album’s such a surgically precise blur of no-frills Death/Grind that it’s hard to pinpoint who is where and when. Sven’s wide vocal range (gargling embalming fluid to throaty scream) makes it even tougher. This is by no means a bad record -the band’s revitalized sense of purpose and passion is evident in every chug and blast- but that lack of standout material and an absence of dynamics within the crush/kill/destroy framework does make it seem as though regress has been halted. Or maybe I’m just pissed that there’s no Left Hand Path covers…

I realize it’s a bit early to call Album of 2012, but honestly unless a new Katatonia record sees the light of day this year, this is going to be it. For me personally, Alcest is rapidly approaching Katatonia territory. And if you didn’t know, that means the greatest-fucking-band-of-all-time bracket. Vastly different styles, but both bands are similar in that they manifest human emotion with their music. We’re talking about musicians who can create that same feeling you had when you looked into the eyes of the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen and fell in love with her instantly. Heart palpitations, stomach butterflies, goosebumps and all. Also present in their tunes is that ache in your chest when you realized she would never be yours. What’s remarkable about Alcest mastermind Neige, is that the man has made me cry numerous times without singing a word in English. That’s right, it’s all in French. I can’t understand a single word he’s saying, but lo and behold 2:20 into album opener “Autre Temps” and my eyes are already tearing up. Equally remarkable is that Alcest’s music turns me into this sobbing, quivering shell of a man without the use of negative energy or dissonance, but with uplifting, delicate, heavenly passages. This would easily appeal to any fan of music, even those far outside the Metal spectrum. In fact, no band has given such legitimacy to the term Shoegaze since The Cure. Neige’s Black Metal voice does make itself welcome on the epic, “La Ou Naissent les Couleurs Nouvelles,” and the soaring “Faiseurs de Mondes,” however, it’s safe to say Alcest the Black Metal band’s days are well behind them. But with flawless LPs like this and the two that preceded it (2007’s Souvenirs d’un Autre Monde and 2010’s Ecailles de Lune), quit bitching, bitch. The title track has literally made every hair on my body (which is sadly a lot of fucking hairs, barring the scalp, of course) stand straight the fuck up on multiple occasions. That feeling is why I buy records. There simply isn’t a single moment of this absolutely perfect album that doesn’t sweep you away to the innocence of childhood, only to reveal the infinite sadness of decaying agony that the present day’s mirror bears. I hear some folks saying that Alcest’s music is becoming predictable. To those people, all I can say is vous etes un homosexuel heureux!

I’ve been militantly avoiding this band for well over a decade. After the absolutely abysmal Satanik Terrorism CD, I swore that I would never spend another penny on this band ever again. Satanik Terrorism (or as I referred to it back then, Satanik Hearing Damage) was so bad that I wanted to give it a rating in negative numbers. In Nomine Odium is a million times better than Satanik Terrorism in that you can actually listen to this album without wanting to surgically extract your eardrums with whatever is conveniently available. In Nomine Odium still has sound issues. One of the cymbals is still too high and the guitars seem to lack definition at times. The combination of the two with the distortion-laden vocals results in a ball of sound that borders on white noise. Another thing about this album is that it seems to have a lack of identity. It sounds like old Mayhem as played by Transylvanian Hunger era Darkthrone, but without the distinctive songs. Most of the tracks have that old Mayhem feel in terms of sound, but they could easily be the same track played over and over again because they are structurally very much the same. While this isn’t the abomination that Satanik Terrorism was, it isn’t enough for me to rescind my boycott of Haemoth.

This is hardly the same band I saw play the 2nd Annual (and apparently final) South Bend Metalfest with Decrepit Birth, Neuraxis, and The Faceless in 2008. Back then their claim to fame was a Symphonic Black Metal/Metalcore hybrid replete with hot babe keyboardist (who has since departed, as they all eventually do, for bigger dicks and more money, AKA: Cradle of Filth). What I’m hearing now is a completely different animal. Becoming immediately signals a shift in style and approach with 11-minute leadoff track “Ascension Sickness.” No more fast hooks and brutal breakdowns with big production and driving synths. Try lush atmospherics tangling with subtle blasting. A somber, depressive vibe seems to have taken the place of youthful exuberance. Still, the song is too damn long. Especially considering at about 6 minutes in, it dies completely, only to be reborn in a sea of incoherent voices and ambient noise. A return to structure with roughly three minutes to go is by now too little too late. The next two tracks, “Radiance” and “Elestial,” serve to be slightly more palatable. Both serviceable attempts at SDBM, albeit with somewhat anti-climactic finishes and beginnings that take a while to get off the ground. By the way, that’s a reoccurring theme with this album, taking a while to get off the ground. There’s a lot of time spent staggering through the frozen wilderness, wounded, leaving nearly half of the record feeling like an intro. “Infinite Fields of Mind” is 10 minutes of boredom. Again, a feeling of meandering… searching… where is the song at? “Three Days of Darkness” is just segue filler (thanks, just what the LP needed) that leads to the sadistically 17-minute closer, “Beyond the Veil.” That’s a pretty cruel length, guys. It’s especially unfair to subject a listener to a 17-minute epic from a band going through such a drastic stylistic transition. The song begins with violin, then slowly goes nowhere. Finally at about four minutes in we get a few somber melodies that eventually build up to some speedy Emperor worship. But then the song retreats again and we’re back to standing still. As someone who was familiar with the band in the past, but not really a fan, I have to wonder if the same audience used to getting pummeled is going to be receptive to being lulled to sleep by amateur dynamics night. I do like the direction Abigail Williams is headed in, but they’re not there yet. And I pity the son of a bitch driving behind them.

I don’t know if I like this because it sounds like De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas era Mayhem, or because it’s some sick-ass Black Fucking Metal. It’s probably a little of both, because I really loved De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas, and this is some sick-ass Black Fucking Metal. The thing is, this really, really sounds like old Mayhem to the point where you think you have the wrong CD in your player. The singer even sounds like Attila, especially on the first track. If the “new” Mayhem had continued in the same direction as De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas and retained Attila instead of going with Maniac, Wolf’s Lair Abyss would probably sound a lot like this does. The main point deductions here come from the lack of their own identity. When you listen to Open Hell, all you hear is Mayhem. The playing is good, the sound is a bit drum-heavy (but not to the point where you can’t hear the guitars), the atmosphere is dark and oppressive - all of which are net positives. I like the music and I think this band had a good influence. What they need, though, is to find their own musical identity. This is their first actual album (their previous releases were a demo and a rehearsal recording) so they have room to grow and to experiment. If they can come up with some way to differentiate themselves from “clone” status, they could be a serious force in the Black Metal scene.

Like a lot of Stoner Doom albums, To Solemn Ash has a strong Hard Rock/Heavy Metal vibe running through it. The music is pretty rocking and most of it is full of riffs that get your head banging. The vocalist isn’t the greatest, and that is the band’s main Achilles Heel. He isn’t really a good melodic singer and there are times where his style works against the band’s music. You have to give him credit for trying, though. What this band needs is a strong lead vocalist that can do something other than shout in a semi-melodic way. The music is definitely strong enough to put them up there with the better Stoner Doom bands out there, but with the current vocal situation, they just don’t cut it.

It’s nice to know that Ripper Owens (ex-Judas Priest vocalist) can still find work. Charred Walls of the Damned is a supergroup of sorts that also features Richard Christy (Iced Earth), Steve DiGiorgio (Sadus/Death/etc.), and Jason Suecof (Crotchduster), but unlike the average supergroup, Charred Walls of the Damned has a stable lineup. With the amount of talent in this band, two things are striking. The first thing is that there is a lack of wankerdom. The music is not overly technical, but it isn’t the average power chord-driven Metal. Most of the time, when a group of “name” players gets together to form a supergroup, there is a tremendous amount of ego and wankerdom on display. You’ve seen albums like this, I’m sure. Everyone gets to show off how well they play, and unless you’re a musician the music is essentially unlistenable. Charred Walls of the Damned doesn’t go there and that is a net positive for them. The second striking thing about this album is that it really lacks aggression. It’s just “blah.” The playing is good and the sound is great, but the music never grabs you by the throat. It kind of reminds me of Empire by Queensryche. After their awesome Operation Mindcrime album, Empire was too passive and it lacked all of the things that made Queensryche great - passion being the greatest commodity missing. With talent like this, you expect more and want more. This is a good album but I want a great album.