Just when you think that you’ve heard it all, two Italian Black Metal bands team up to record a bunch of GG Allin covers. Oddly enough, this 7-inch record comes with a CD containing all four of the tracks on the vinyl, plus one bonus song from each band. I’ve never heard of Whiskey Ritual before, but their Punk-Rock-with-sorta-Black-Metal-vocals versions of “Die When You Die,” “Bite It You Scum,” and especially “Drink, Fight and Fuck” (I used to be in a band that also covered it, so it’s long been a favorite) are very energetic and supremely well done, with a clear sound that’s just on the correct side of being too polished. Of course, I have no idea if this is anywhere close to the band’s normal sound/style, but I think that I’d better track down their 2010 album, In Goat We Trust, and find out. Forgotten Tomb is likewise impressive with their surprisingly straightforward renditions of “Expose Yourself to Kids,” “Gipsy Motherfucker,” and another of my favorite GG songs, “I Kill Everything I Fuck.” I had been very curious to hear how Forgotten Tomb would Black Metalize these tracks, but I’m not at all disappointed that they didn’t. Maybe it’s just because I’m high on a mix of NyQuil and embalming fluid right now, but I think that I’d like to hear some more of this.

I’ve lost track of how many years have dissipated into fading memory since I last saw my old friend Dan “The Maniac” Dominiak, but when I ran into him at the recent Cianide, Johnny Vomit, Cardiac Arrest, Bones show (which was fucking legendary, by the way), it was like no time had passed at all. Dan is without question one of the coolest human beings living on this wretched planet, so I was overjoyed when he gave me his band’s newest CD. Since then, I have listened to Time to Shine 666 times, trying to force myself to like it more than I really do. Let me start with the good stuff, of which there is plenty. The recording, mix, and production are absolutely flawless. Holy shit does this sound great. The playing is also phenomenal, especially Patrick’s bass work, which is mixed loud, just how I like it. The lyrics have moments of brilliance, such as “The Administration“‘s answer to Obama’s depressingly false-hope “Yes we can” campaign catchphrase: “No we can’t.” Even the packaging is impressive, with gold foil stamping. It’s just Dustin’s Pop Punk, Alternative vocals that get me. Okay, and maybe an errant riff here and there. But it’s mostly the singing, which mutates from song to song, occasionally, as in “A New Nation,” sounding decidedly like Alice in Chains. That might even be considered a compliment by some, but the track “Jericho,” with little more than sparse acoustic guitar to stand behind the most vexatious vocal performance on the album, is practically unlistenable, forcing me to skip past it 663 of my aforementioned 666 spins. If the singing wouldn’t be a problem for you, consider this much closer to a ten, since musically there are nearly zero flaws.

Negativity be praised! The Suicidal Depressive Black Metal subgenre seems to be thriving as new releases come pouring in now from all over the globe. So many of these bands continue to go unnoticed by the major Metal press, it’s almost like the tape trading days. Perhaps there is one last remaining faction of the underground unmolested by the internet’s all-consuming gayness? Although I suppose without the web we could not even begin to reach the majority of these lesser known acts. Take for instance Heartless, a one-man project all the way from the Shandong Province of China. Finding quality Extreme Metal from China is no small task, but to find quality SDBM… well, that’s like finding fried rice without happy faggot, lifeloving onions. I would assume day-to-day existence in China could have the potential to beget many causes of depression for some. That certainly seems to be the case for Lu, who is the “all instruments/vocals” mastermind behind Heartless. I’m guessing the man is a student of Burzum’s classic Filosofem album, as his style is similarly bleak, slow and repetitive, with very lengthy tracks (four cuts and an intro equaling over 46 minutes). You might also find some choice Forgotten Tomb in his collection, Ravishing Grimness perhaps, maybe even some old Katatonia, and a few Death/Doom essentials as well. The feeling strived for on Anaesthetization is pure emptiness. A totally grim and hopeless void. If you’re searching for avant-garde experimentation, technical prowess, weird-for-the-sake-of-weird posing, or flashy showmanship, you should look elsewhere. Lu will generally craft a simple, melodic riff or two out of pure sorrow and ride it indefinitely into the nearing grave. It’s far from groundbreaking or original, but it is effective. This isn’t music designed to pack coliseums and amphitheaters. This is music best reserved for no light, complete solitude, and your intoxicant of choice. Hail misery. Hail despair. Bleakest of the bleak: “Anxiety” and “Illusion.”

I’m glad to see that my old friend Brad Buldak, former main-man of Chicago’s legendary Morgue, has at long last returned to the lethal business of creating Death Metal. When Brad handed me this demo CDR at a recent Cianide show, I wanted to listen to it immediately, or at least on the two-and-a-half hour drive home. Seconds into the first track, my initial thought was that I should have waited, attributing this demo’s muddy, muffled recording to temporary hearing loss and sleep deprivation. I hate to have to report that the problem wasn’t my ears. It just sounds… bad. My old Yamaha MT120 4-track cassette recorder can honestly deliver better results than what’s on display here. I don’t know how this demo was recorded (live to jambox?), but sonically it’s a total throwback to the early ’90s, in that it sounds like a copy of a copy of copy of an original Maxell UR 90 master tape. But lack of audio quality can generally be fixed by throwing money at the problem, and the amount of cash necessary becomes less and less as technology improves, so I’m hopeful for next time. The real issue is song quality, and Absconder has no problem making these tracks heavy and intense, occasionally reminding me of Grave, but they don’t really stick with you after the carnage ends. A better recording is essential to allowing the detail and nuance that I’m sure Brad has written into these songs to actually be heard, which would go a long way to making them more memorable.

If 2011 was anything, it was the year that quality underground Black Metal returned to prominence. At least for me personally it was. Namely Black Metal of the Suicidal Depressive variety. While men who have sex with each other will probably always prefer their Deathspell Omegas, Nachmystiums, and Xasthurs, heterosexual people who have had their hearts broken had plenty of Blackened aural misery to drown their sorrow in this year. You can add this second full-length from Spain’s one-man horde to that list as well. The Austere Perpetuity of Nothingness offers up six dark hymns for self mutilation and isolated inebriation at your disposal. Aboriorth takes a very raw and primitive approach to achieving melancholy misanthropy. I’m guessing he is a student of early Burzum, as most outfits of this genre tend to be. No complaints here. I’ll take as much classic Varg worship as you can dish out, as long as its quality, which this most certainly is. Some songs do stand out a bit above others, but the album as a whole is solid. There is a vibe of chaotic intensity ever present that remarkably does nothing to interfere with the album’s primary suicidal goal. Some people take a whole bottle of sleeping pills, I’m guessing Aboriorth would rather light himself on fire. But the end result is still emptiness and desolation. A beautiful void created from sorrow. Speaking of which, you really need to hear this cover of Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt.” I knew the song was special when I first heard it as a fucked up high school kid, but I had no idea it would have the ability to transcend multiple genres nearly two decades later. Obviously it worked well initially as a pseudo-Industrial ballad, then as a Country song when covered by the legendary Johnny Cash (which in all honesty is most likely the version that inspired this particular cover), and now has made its way to Suicidal Black Metal anthem. It definitely steals the show here as the record’s closer. Even with some of the lyrics altered to better suit the behest of our goddess Negativity. Other highlights include: “The Truth Given in Gold Vessels and Beggar Hands” and “The Shortest Doom for the Hanged in a Silk Thread.”

Throwback occultist Rockers The Devil’s Blood have become quite the beloved darlings of the Metal scene and for damn good reason. While they may owe more to AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, Heart, and Coven than they do to any Extreme Metal band, that isn’t stopping anyone, including myself, from jumping on the bandwagon. This highly anticipated second full-length LP is already generating Album of 2012 whispers and perfect scores in all the major mags, but is it really all that? Well, let me start out with what’s right about The Thousandfold Epicentre. “Die the Death” is the first great song. Harmonious guitar licks that waste no time putting the Hard back in Hard Rock. This leads to the addictive “Within the Charnel House of Love” with it’s syrupy Blue Oyster Cult-tinged melodic hook. But the best track on the album might be “She.” It has such an authentic late ’60s/’70s vibe (as all their songs do really) with an anthemic chorus that comes radio-ready. In fact, many of this album’s standout cuts would not sound out of place on your shitty town’s Classic Rock radio station, were it not for the Satanic lyrics and imagery. “Fire Burning” is right up that alley also, with its guitar-hero solo and Bluesy grit, as it transitions into the title track which is equally amazing. A bit longer but absolutely spellbinding. Now, as for what’s wrong with the record. Basically if I didn’t just mention it above, it’s total filler. Whether it be the uneventful album-opening duo of “Unending Singularity” and “On the Wings of Gloria,” the endless Journey trot of “Cruel Lover,” or the overwhelming length of certain songs (all in all this beast clocks in at 74 minutes even), a huge chunk of this record leaves a lot to be desired. Come to think of it, 2009’s breakthrough debut LP, The Time of No Time Evermore, was the same story. A whole lotta killer, a whole lotta filler. Oh well, there are much worse fates for bands I guess. It should be noted that Satan’s sultry sex goddess, known only as The Mouth, does her part to make every note sung on the album outstanding and spectacular. With a falsetto that might even make King Diamond a little jealous, the power and range of her voice shine through on even the dull tracks. The truth is you can actually do a lot worse than Devil’s Blood filler, so there should be nothing stopping you from tracking this down.

It kind of worries me that Cronos and his little brother, Antton, apparently can’t coexist in the same band. I’d understand if Antton had wanted to really strike out on his own and do something different, but he joined Mpire of Evil, which is essentially another version of Venom, featuring former bassist/singer Demolition Man, and original guitarist (and Grandmaster of Hades!) Mantas. In any case, Dante, Venom’s new drummer, isn’t bad, but his playing seems somewhat restrained and simplistic at times, with the kick drums often buried. The bass is loud, as expected and appreciated, but a little different mix might have helped considerably. A colleague of mine who suffers (actually, I think that he enjoys it) from multiple personality disorder, so I never know by which of his many names to call him, said that Fallen Angels has Cronos’ DNA all over it, and that is very clearly true. And I don’t mean that he jizzed on the master tapes (or the hard drive containing the Pro Tools files), although he may have. This lucky 13th Venom full-length studio album is essentially a Cronos solo LP, and not just because of the constant lineup changes. To compare Fallen Angels to the band’s most beloved work (up to At War with Satan, let’s say) really isn’t fair, but this is at least in the same league as the most recent two albums, although there is no immediate standout cut, such as Hell’s “USA for Satan,” or the excellent title track from 2006’s Metal Black. Fallen Angels has grown on me, slowly, with each listen, and I’d bet that these songs work better live. Hopefully Cronos can hold a lineup together long enough for me to find out.

When I first found out about Mpire of Evil, at the time still called Prime Evil, I was extremely looking forward to hearing them. It’s no coincidence that the band initially took its name from a Venom album, since all three of these guys used to be in Venom at one time or another (two of them on the album Prime Evil). I hope that I don’t need to introduce the legendary Mantas to anyone, so I’m just not going to. Demolition Man (or, as his friends call him, D-Man) took over for Cronos on bass/vocals for 1989’s highly underrated Prime Evil album, sticking with the group for two follow-ups, Temples of Ice in 1991, and 1992’s The Wastelands. (I wonder if Mpire plays any of those songs live…) Mpire of Evil’s drummer is none other than Cronos’ little brother, Antton, who was with Venom from 2000’s Resurrection through 2008’s Hell. Considering all that, I wonder if there were any discussions with Cronos about taking the Venom name away from his group. Cronos versus D-Man in a steel cage! The winner gets to call his band Venom! $39.99 on PPV! Order now!! But I digress. I had hoped that Creatures of the Black would bring back the sound and style of the aforementioned Prime Evil LP, which is one of my all-time favorites. (I’ve never spoken to a single person who claims to dislike the album who has actually listened to it.) Unfortunately, we really only have two new songs here, and that’s not much to go on, although the title track shows some promise. The sound is somewhat less polished, which could be perceived to mean “heavier,” but I think that it’s more lack of a budget than anything else. The other four songs are all covers, which is disappointing in and of itself, even if the Mpire guys do inject a little Venom into them here and there. Their versions of Judas Priest’s “Exciter,” and Motorhead’s “Motorhead” are passable, but can’t compare to the originals. So why bother? And holy fuck, if I never hear another take on Kiss’s exhausted “God of Thunder,” no matter how well done, it will be infinitely too soon. The less said about this interpretation of AC/DC’s “Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be,” the better. Perhaps it’s unfair to judge Mpire of Evil based on only two songs and handful of dust covers, but this is what the band chose to release. The legacy of Venom is a deep shadow to try to get out of, but I’ll give D-Man and company the benefit out of the doubt and cautiously check back in with their debut album whenever that happens.

The Count let the cat out of the bag in an interview where he confirmed his massive financial debt owed to Norwegian authorities. Hence his third release in just under a year. Belus was solid, a damn fine return. Fallen not so much, a little shakier. Perhaps it was a tad rushed? Maybe? Just a smidge? Now we have a re-recorded classics piece focusing on the first two albums, a brand new full-length already in the works, plus we can expect another one of these things with tracks from Hvis Lyset Tar Oss and Filosofem. Man, that’s a whole lotta Burzum in a short amount of time. I’ve said it before, I’m glad to have the man back, and I realize there’s lost time to make up for, but he’s putting out records at a Gucci Mane pace… and that frightens me. That said, it is good to hear these songs again, with highly improved sound and production to boot. Re-recorded oldies have become standard issue for Black Metal’s veteran heavyweights, none more justifiable than this presentation. Obviously the energy and passion of the original records cannot be duplicated, not even by the man himself, but he was wise enough to not change much, if anything. I like knowing nearly two decades later that Varg can still tear through these tunes with the same velocity and fervor, vocally and instrumentally, and that he embraces his past. I despise it when bands shun their beginnings! It’s also nice to finally have songs from Det Som Engang Var on CD, as I own the Necropolis cassette pressing exclusively as only the trve kvlt shall. Unfortunately only “Key to the Gate” and “Turn the Sign of the Microcosm” made it, as the selection of tracks is heavily tilted towards the self-titled debut. If anything you’ll find yourself, as I did, wanting to go back and listen to the original recordings, which is always cause for celebration. I never got to review the first couple records when they came out in the early ’90s. I was busy skipping study hall to go smoke pot and play Marvel Super Heroes at the nearby gas station. Taken for what it is, an autobiographical tribute album, From the Depths of Darkness succeeds on most levels. It’s damn near impossible to find any fault with the actual material itself, proven timeless yet again. I just don’t know how often I’ll reach for it.

This is my first time hearing this diabolic duo (that also make up half of the Father Befouled attack) and, while it’s nothing I haven’t heard before, I am undeniably impressed and slightly in awe at the depth of the sub-atomic heaviness emanating from my tortured speakers. The sound of Encoffination’s slow motion crawl can best be described as being slowly fed to a woodchipper in a dungeon completely filled to the ceiling with raw sewage. Imagine Incantation, Loss, and Disma surgically connected mouth-to-anus a la The Human Centipede. The vocals are inhumanly guttural in the style of the three aforementioned bands. It’s like Craig Pillard, if he were force fed toxic waste and shot up with HGH for 666 days. Every once in a while though, the throat of Ghoat (guitar/bass/vocals) collapses under the strain of this over-the-top, gargling-battery-acid style and he sounds momentarily human. It’s important with such a demonically possessed tone that you never let any light shine through. It goes from demented to silly pretty fast when this occurs, but fortunately it doesn’t happen too often. There isn’t much going on here musically aside from the cryptic drone of barbaric heaviness, but that’s almost all this album needs. My only complaints are few and very minor. There’s a gay laugh on “Rites of Ceremonial Embalm’ment.” Gay laughter in Metal is something I’d like to see done away with once and for all. It especially doesn’t feel right on an album this bleak and sinister. There’s some spoken word on “Ritual Until Blood” I don’t care for, and these guys are also madly in love with sampling the sound of old-vinyl-record hiss. I get it… but I don’t get it. It’s overdone on this album and overdone in general. Besides, the ancient feeling here is alive, well, and plenty authentic enough on its own. So, just some small hindrances that don’t quite belong in their morbid aesthetic, nothing that would impede repeated listening. Best riffs: “Elegant in Their Funebrial Cloaks, Arisen” and “Crypt of His Communal Devourment.”

Four full length albums into a 15-year career and this New Jersey group borne from the ashes of Ripping Corpse still have yet to fully emerge from the bowels of obscurity. The fact is they’ve never really been that good. Talented? Yes, of course. This is after all John Longstreth (Origin, Gorguts, ex-Angelcorpse, ex-Skinless, ex-The Red Chord, etc) on drums. Still, they’ve always had the feel of a band playing music just for the sake of playing music. The Emergence of Reptilian Altars does nothing to distance them from this theory. New frontman Joe Capizzi might be the worst vocalist I’ve ever heard. To even call him a vocalist is being polite. Somebody needs to teach this fucking clown what a vocal pattern is and how to use one. It sounds like he’s just angrily shouting random words with no regard for the music whatsoever. Speaking of the music, it equally blows monkey scrotum. Happy Thrash with a thousand happy guitar solos. Absolutely sickening. Yes, it’s no small feat to successfully mesh groove and technicality, but it’s all for naught when the end result is about as powerful and moving as the heaviest rendition of “Happy Birthday” on record. If you’re into upbeat, lightweight, completely non-threatening Death Metal and you want to have a one-sided, half hour-long conversation with a tone deaf Joe Capizzi, here’s your Album of the Year.

These Norwegian Black Metal mainstays have never really done anything for me. They’ve been at it since 1992 and I couldn’t tell you how a single one of their songs go. It seems their most memorable aspects happen off record. Whether it be band member suicides, legal disputes, lineup turbulence, incarcerations, band member homicides, or dudes fucking dudes, the tabloid headlines seem to outweigh the actual material by far. Now they’ve gone the Dimmu Borgir route and re-recorded one of their old albums. Well, at 26 minutes this is more like an EP, but that’s a whole different argument. What I’m hearing here is nothing like I faintly remember Gorgoroth sounding like back in the day. This is essentially Blackened Thrash with your basic, traditional Black Metal vocals and a super clean production. It isn’t terrible, but I don’t hear any pain whatsoever. The riff with one minute left on “Funeral Procession” is more like it, but not nearly enough. There’s some kind of homosexual Viking thing going on with “Profetens Apenbaring” that the slow, cult arrangement in “Odeleggelse og Undergang” just barely makes up for. Still, when compared to my strict Suicidal Depressive Black Metal diet, this is some fairly happy, lightweight shit. It isn’t until the last song, the galloping blasphemy of “The Devil Is Calling,” that pure aural darkness is finally achieved. I can now officially say I like one Gorgoroth song. Kind of pathetic considering the two decade long career though, wouldn’t you say?

Well, fuck a bowl of puke! It’s a new book by Jon “Psycho” Konrath. We don’t usually review books here at Metal Curse, but that’s only because most books are written by gay homosexuals. If you’re not familiar with Jon’s work, you should be. He’s a brilliant writer and always has been. Very few authors can be this open, emotional, truthful, witty, and painfully honest while still managing to appeal to the Death Metal demographic in the process. Make no mistake about it, this is a dangerously insane individual. However, his books always reveal a very human side of him. He can actually turn banality into an interesting read, as those who made it through his 4563-page debut Summer Rain can attest to. I may have gotten a little choked up in certain parts of that book (some of that may have been due to my own fecal stench, as I only read while shitting), but that’s because Jon’s writing is usually very personal, and I can often relate to him. You see, he used to live in this shithole I inhabit known as the Midwest, but has since moved on to New York, Seattle, Colorado, and now Oakland. Damn Jon, you’re never gonna outrun those gay thoughts, man. You might as well move back here. All joking aside, Summer Rain and the handful of books to follow were all from an almost diary-like perspective, which is fine. As I said, Konrath can turn just about any angle into an interesting read, but with Fistful of Pizza his pure comic genius is allowed to roam free. This is really not a new book, per se. These are short stories compiled from different sources, most notably his own Air in the Paragraph Line zine. Fans of this publication’s “Dear Death” column should already be familiar with the potential of Jon’s insanely unique humor. These stories are fucking hilarious, with quotable lines such as, “Stay in school and shit,” and “Gotta go, Friends is on. Hail Satan.” There are even appearances by Richard Nixon and Dokken! Well, not really… Needless to say, you can ditch the tissue box for this one. Just reach for your narcotic of choice and get ready to laugh. The last story, “They,” has almost a Tarantino-like structure (minus the hours of unnecessary dialogue) with a twist ending that I don’t want to spoil. In fact, I’m not going to give anything else away. Get your lazy ass on Amazon.com and order this book immediately. Psycho would probably even hook it up for the right bowl of puke.

I’m not going to lie. As little as I value the writers of Decibel Magazine’s collective happy-go-lucky, Metal-as-a-passing-fancy opinion, when I saw that Path of Totality was awarded their #1 Album of the Year, it piqued my interest somewhat. I only read while defecating, so perhaps an open anus leads to an open mind as well? Regardless, when I started hearing Tombs’ single, “Silent World,” on Music Choice eight times a day, that piqued interest evolved into an unhealthy obsession that I must own this fucking record immediately (even if it means taking human life at the FYE on Christmas Eve). This song is addictive, most notably the drumming and drum sound. If I can get snare rolls alone stuck in my head, then the album must have some other memorable qualities as well. I guess the staff at Decibel stopped playing Pattycake and 4-Square long enough to actually get something right. This is a great record. Nearly impossible to describe, but I’ll try. Imagine Unsane getting beat up in an alley by Eyes of Fire and Black Anvil while Godflesh is playing nearby. It’s Sludgey, it’s Doomy, there are subtle traces of both Black Metal’s fury and melancholy, there’s throwback Gothic hooks, and even an underlying mechanized Industrial vibe (yet it’s achieved naturally, by a 3-piece no less). Sorry, that’s the best I can do. A bit easier to describe the feel of the music than the style. Darkness. Tension. Misery. Hate. Sadness. Insanity. Isolation. Rage. It’s all that and more. The production, as I mentioned, is outstanding. I can’t remember a snare drum recorded so perfectly, hitting so hard that it results in involuntary twitching. Something should be said, too, for drummer Andrew Hernandez, who punishes his kit with reckless abandon with a truly remarkable less-is-more approach. If this Brooklyn trio lacks anything it’s vocal range. Mike Hill does a serviceable job with his subdued roar, also incorporating an occasional higher-pitched scream and a few clean vocal attempts, but I sense it’s still a work in progress. The vocals could also be a little higher in the mix, but I’m merely nitpicking now. Is this the Album of the Year? Not quite. But it is one damn fine piece of genre-defying dark art.

I’ve never been a big fan of Killing Joke. I don’t own any of their albums and the only material I’ve ever heard of theirs has been from those rare occasions where I’ve had to spend any time at a Goth club, or the cover of “The Wait” that Metallica did back when they were still Metal. Listening to them play live is an interesting affair because it reminds me of all the times I’ve been at a club or theater, watching an opening band, wondering who the fuck they were and not recognizing any of their songs. Musically, these guys sound pretty straight-forward. You have basic power chord-driven Rock & Roll that falls loosely in the Goth category because the singer sounds a bit like Robert Smith from The Cure, but not as miserable. Given that this is my first real exposure to Killing Joke in an official capacity, I have to say that I’m not impressed. Their isn’t new or innovative for me because I’ve heard more than my share of this kind of stuff over the years. In fact, even their in-between-song leftist rhetoric about putting Tony Blair and Dick Cheney on trial, etc… came off as old hat. If this had been an angry Punk band like The Exploited, this might have worked, but Killing Joke sounds flat and unenthusiastic. If you want me to get riled up about some cause or idea, you’ve got to put something behind it. If you just go through the motions, I’m not going to care. And while listening to this, I really, really, didn’t. From the sound of the music, the band didn’t care either. I’ve heard Reggae that was more pissed off than this. What I heard on this album was a glorified “greatest hits” package played by a bunch of limp-wristed old guys looking for a paycheck. That’s it. As undead as the Rolling Stones look, at least they put on a good show. Killing Joke put me to sleep faster than the last Yob album. Boredom, thy name is Killing Joke Live at Hammersmith Apollo.

1. Phil Anselmo Gave Seth Putnam AIDS
2. Dying from AIDS Is Gay
3. R.I.P. Funny Bastard
4. I’m Gonna Miss Your Crazy Ass
5. In the End It’s About Not Giving a Rat’s Dick What People Think
6. I Also Don’t Give a Rat’s Dick What People Think
7. Henceforth, Anal Cunt Songs Made Me Feel Warm Inside
8. That Was Taken from Me Like Your Kid At the Supermarket, Bitch
9. Posthumous Releases Are Gay
10. This Compilation Is Gay
11. It Sounds Like Total Shit
12. Noise-Fart Songs #1-467
13. It’s Because These Songs Are Older Than Betty White’s Pussy
14. That’s Why They Called It The Old Testament (Which Is Also from a Book About Christian Mythology)
15. Anal Cunt Didn’t Get Good Until Top 40 Hits
16. I’m Paying Homage to That Release with This Review
17. People Who Think That’s Dumb Are Gay
18. You’re Gay
19. So Is Your Dad
20. You Have a Gay Dad
21. That Glam Rock Anal Cunt Album Was Really Gay
22. That’s Not How I’ll Remember Seth Putnam
23. Seth Putnam Was an UnderGrind Legend
24. He Just Happened to Be a Comedian at Heart
25. His Heart Stopped (That’s Gay)
26. Noise-Fart Songs #468-587 (Live in a Carl’s Jr Bathroom)
27. This Compilation Isn’t How I’ll Remember Seth Putnam Either
28. It’s an Unrealistic Amount of Fucking Around to Try and Process All at Once
29. My Friend Paul’s Band Toured with Anal Cunt in Mexico Before Cordless Phones Were Invented
30. He Still Won’t Shut the Fuck Up About It
31. Shut Up Paul
32. Noise-Fart Songs #598-654 (split w/Inverted Bitch Fister)
33. I’m Gonna Give This a 7 Because Seth Putnam Is Dead
34. It’s Probably More Like a 4
35. Your Mom Fucked a Gay Guy and You Were Born
36. Seth Putnam Did Not Go to Heaven When He Died
37. You Don’t Go Anywhere When You Die, You’re Just Dead (There Is No Heaven)
38. His Heaven Was Entertaining Fags
39. My Favorite Anal Cunt Song of All Time Was Their Cover of…
40. American Woman (The Guess Who)

Full disclosure: I’m from San Francisco and I’ve been in and around the local Metal scene for 20+ years. I’ve known John Cobbett since he booked shows at the Covered Wagon (Lucifer’s Hammer night!) with Aesop (currently drumming for Agolloch). I’ve seen this band live any number of times (with several different line-ups), starting back when they were known as Unholy Cadaver. I don’t normally listen to Progressive Metal, but I make an exception for only two bands: Anvil Chorus and Hammers of Misfortune. I’m a biased in favor of this band and if you don’t like that, I apologize. But remember: I did fully disclose my bias so you were warned. If you’re still reading, here’s the review. Like previous Hammers of Misfortune albums, the songs on 17th Street are steadily becoming more Progressive and less Metal - though there is still plenty of heaviness on display. This is a direction that they’ve been going for ages and one of the hallmarks of their albums is that you really have to listen to them several times to get your head around where they’re going. There’s a lot of melody and though the songs are technical, the playing never detours into that “technical to the point of absurdity” zone that Dream Theater and Fates Warning call home. Lyrically, Hammers of Misfortune has always had something to say. While there isn’t a central story like on The Bastard , the songs on 17th Street revolve around the primary theme of life (or whatever passes for it) in the city. I guess living in San Fran-sicko is endless inspiration when it comes to how fucked up living in a major metropolitan area can be. While the lyrics are on the depressing side, the music is never boring. If you like Progressive Metal, I think you’ll enjoy this album.

A warning to all, this Depressive Black Metal unit from Germany cannot exist in happy faggot realms. If you are enamored with your insignificant day-to-day existence, this beautiful music will go through one ear and out the other. But for slaves to Negativity and Her supreme will, this should be well worth seeking out. As far as one-man bands go, I personally was shocked at the level of quality and professionalism on display here. Eklatanz (ex-Fetus Christ, ex- Wintersturm) successfully channels the power of souls (the somber elegance of Alcest, the desolate Folk vibes of Agalloch, and even at times the pure melancholy of old Katatonia) into a new god. It certainly does not feel like your typical one-man Black Metal affair. Due in large part to the fact that one of the most effective weapons in the Heretoir arsenal are the clean vocal harmonies. They are almost Byrds-like in their timeless grace. To think he achieved this all on his own perhaps gives answer to why it took five years to produce this debut full-length. Not to give you the wrong impression, by no means is this only a gentle, reflective piece of downtrodden art. There are plenty of more traditional, more aggressive Black Metal arrangements interspersed with the misery. Of all Eklatanz’s many talents, his impressive blast beat competency should not go overlooked. If there’s one flaw on the record, it’s the order of the tracks. After a short intro, we are blessed with the suicidal “Fatigue,” an initial in-depth glimpse of everything this album has on the table. But then two instrumentals -one long, one short- disrupt the flow. They are fine pieces of music, but maybe placement towards the middle or end would make for a better feel? It’s not a big deal. The despondent power duo of “Weltschmerz” and “Graue Bauten” more than make up for this virtually nonexistent blotch. And by the end of the epic, 10-minute, eponymously titled closer, I’m ready to leave as well. I highly recommend this album, as I also can no longer exist in happy faggot realms.

Revocation is a band that probably sounds better live than on CD. The music on this album definitely lacks in the aggression and brutality departments. I’m going to be generous and assume that this lack of aggression and brutality is due to the studio sanitization of their sound. Chaos of Forms sounds like a band trying to become more mainstream by incorporating some “Hard Rock” (read: LA Butt Rock) riffing and Bluesy guitar solos in with their Death/Thrash. What they get is a form of neutered Thrash that isn’t fire-breathing enough to get my head banging, not technical enough for the Metal hipsters who dig Dream Theater and Fates Warning, and not metrosexual enough for the Hot Topic kids. When I want to listen to Death Metal or Thrash, I want it to kick my ass. I don’t want to listen to a bunch of songs that sound like a more technical version of “we don’t play Metal anymore” Metallica covering their favorite Motley Crue cuts. Guys, cut the bullshit and go for the fucking throat. Death/Thrash Metal is supposed to be brutal and aggressive. Diluting it with more “accessible” riffs doesn’t make things better and you probably lose more fans than you gain. Technical playing is great. Megadeth had some fucking deadly Thrash albums that were technical, aggressive and brutal all at the same time (Killing Is My Business… and Peace Sells… for those born after 1986), so it’s not only possible - it’s been done.

Root has been around forever. I remember hearing about this band when I first started listening to Black Metal’s second wave (Bathory, Venom and Mercyful Fate were part of the first wave, for the younger kids out there). Hell Symphony and Zjeveni / The Revelation were both considered cult releases even back then. They formed in 1987 and like many bands from that era, Root has their influences coming from old Heavy Metal and Hard Rock. There are elements of newer Black Metal thrown in, but the riffing is definitely old Metal in style. The album is a mixed bag of songs with some kicking ass, such as “In Nomine Sathanas” (which is not a Venom cover, by the way), and others just being weird, such as “Son of Satan.” The one thing consistent about Heritage of Satan is that there is no musical consistency. The songs are all over the place and you go from good song to bad song seemingly at random. The vocals are everywhere, going from the standard Black Metal style to a more Cronos-inspired Hardcore style, to some gravelly clean stuff. Like the music, you never really know what you’re going to get from one song to the next. I don’t mind changing things up but this is just too chaotic for my taste. There is no musical direction other than a general overarching “Black Heavy Metal” banner. On an individual basis, most of these songs aren’t bad, but when listened to in context of a full-length album, the inconsistency sinks this.