The Headron Children - W.A.S.P, revenge, and Paul Bosen as Master Raknar

Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!!! Mater Raknar rules the darkness in another addition of Metal Night!!!!!!!!

Master Raknar and Bloodmace invite you to DEATH!!!!

It was cold and the rain fell steadily over the glistening pavement, puddles reflecting neon signs and car taillights. Jenkabala city is a dark and gloomy metropolis, filled with brigands and murderers and tonight Bloodmace and I were in its darkest heart. What strange circumstance brought us down the hills to this blighted hell factory? For what knowledge have we ventured deep into the heart of this soul-eating beast? Heads covered in anonymous black cowls, we move silently into the warehouse district. Once the heart of a great shield and sandal trade, the entire area has developed a strange, dense forest about it that shields it from light, even in the day and as we step off of the concrete sidewalk and onto the dirt path that leads east to the river it shuts around us like a great, shaggy tent. From every deep shadow come sighs and soft chuckles, unseen figures, watching us as we invade their land of ruined storehouses and thick twisted brush. I turn to Bloodmace, urging haste as we close in on our destination. Gone? As my eyes dart from one dark doorway to another, the world turns upside down. Caught in a net.

A dim fire burns slowly in the ornate brass hearth. Bloodmace and I are seated in chairs, back to back near the fire in the center of the huge, dusty warehouse. Around the perimeter of the fire’s glow flit dark wraiths, tatters of translucent black held together by whatever psychic force summoned them into this plane.

“Who are you interlopers? What business have you in the shadowlands?” Our unseen interrogator barks at us. We can feel it’s cold, wet form brush close. “You are not unknown here Demon Scourge. Shall I tell Jessie the Whump you have been delivered into my hands?” I cannot see the face but I hear the evil smile creeping across its ever-changing visage. Of course! Our old enemy, Lord Hedra of Dantor! We knew he could discorporate but who could have guessed how far he had come in the arts of necromancy as well! Last time we met Hedra, we lost a companion. This time it looked like we were going to lose our lives.

“No, I think I’ll keep you two for myself. You will suffer a thousand agonies in my kingdom of pain! Long I have waited for this day, and now you will both suffer for what you did to me!” I hear laughter burst forth from the direction of a tremendous wooden door at the end of the room.

“Ain’t your kingdom of pain, its mine. “ Booms a familiar voice. “And since you’re trespassing, I have the right to whip your ass back into whatever shitty dimension you crawled up out of” A motorcycle roars to life, now two, now three. Master Raknar and his skeletal warriors burst into action! With his trademark cigar dangling from the side of his mouth, the burly warrior smashes our foe in the face with a mighty blow from his Louisville Slugger spirit bat. By this time, Bloodmace had used his dark enchantments to disperse the minions of our vanquished foe and was calling up a portal to transport us back to Jenkabala palace. Leaving his skeletal henchmen to mop up the industrial forest of undead scum, Master Raknar steps into the swirling portal carrying us all into the realm of filth and perversion.

Master Raknar is an old school rock fiend and LA glam degenerates WASP are his favorite band. WASP was always the LA glam band that were not posers, that you didn't have feel embarrassed about around your fellow thrashers. They were always harder, more metal, more like Judas Priest, if Priest had more of a bluesy swagger. Their image and stage is show is what got them in trouble, looking like a more demonic than Alice Cooper, as well as more physically imposing, Blackie being 6 foot 7. The common thread defining the sound was a hard edged gutter guitar sound and Blackie Lawless' distinctive raspy wail, always sounding like three cats hung up by their tails, ripping each others guts out. We took three albums from three spanning three decades, and let the sleaze vibe ooze out of the speakers, saturating the air with wine and wenches.

First, the eponymous first LP. This was my pic of the night. It is a bruising nothing of an album, a school bus classic, filled with naughty for the 80's metal anthems like 'I Wanna Be Somebody' and 'L.O.V.E Machine'. It is a formula that was perfected on this album, an essential distillation of the basic WASP sound. Nothing fancy, just fast and loose rock and roll turned up to 11, tongue in cheek, with a cock rock swagger missing in other classic metal bands of the era. Demon Scourge thought this album sucked, and Mater Raknar showed ambivalence, but I shall deal with their treachery later.




 

The hearth at Jenkabala palace roars and crackles. We are seated across from Master Raknar, his eyes glowing red, sharp teeth exposed by his exultant grin. W.A.S.P. blares from the speakers and he regales us with tales of his pleasure dungeon, renown in many dimensions for its unusual selection of concubines drawn from the very furthest reaches of space and the deepest recesses of the forbidden dimensions.  His is a life in service to pleasure and he is the very best at what he does.

“Your friend Hedron is a real asshole. He was causing problems for me for months, but I could never track him down, I guess I owe you guys one.”  Raknar pulls long and thoughtfully at his black cigar. “Now that I think about it, what were you doing there in docktown?”

We explain our last encounter with Hedron, and how he took over the body of our companion Zodron, a mere boy in this world of metal and mayhem. We show him the talismans we have made from his skull. Then comes the difficult part.

“We need you to anoint these charms with the blood of a wyvern.” Bloodmace states bluntly “with this blessing and one more ingredient, we can enter to Dantor, home of that fuckwad Hedron and give him the ass whippin’ he’s been asking for” Now the blood of a wyvern is no easy thing to come by. First you have to find one, that’s where Raknar comes in. He happens to be the finest tracker this side of Ka-narg and if anyone can help us locate our quarry, it’s him. The other problem is the fact that, for this spell to work, you cannot merely kill the creature and take its blood. You must be given the blood by this fierce, but intelligent creature.

“What’s in it for me?” Master Raknar is also known for being a shrewd businessman. “I have an empire to rule over and I can’t just traipse into yonder forest for a hunting trip.” We were ready for this though and I spell out our offer.

“How about this, Bloodmace and I will open a dimensional portal in your realm that you can use to travel through time and space freely for the period of ten years.”  Eyes narrow and the bargaining begins. When all was said and done Master Raknar had a fifteen year portal and we had a guide in the forest of Sunam.  To close the deal, we listen to his favorite W.A.S.P. album.

Raknar displaying battle flag

Bloodmace threatens the colonel

Fast forward to 1997 and 'Kill, Fuck, Die' and WASP is a harsher, angrier, but more derivative beast. To keep up with the new jacks, Blackie and crew employ a self conscious industrial sound that makes them come across as Marilyn Manson's trailer trash older brothers. These pretensions are superficial, though, since this still sounds like WASP, just a souped up, methed-out version, with more bells and whistles. But, somewhere down the line, though, Blackie lost his knack for catchy hooks, which this album sorely misses. Still, this album is not without merit, as 'Kill Your Pretty Face' is intriguing, and lingers in the brain. Demon Scourge and Lord Raknar loved this album, thereby making it the pick of the night.

“Get prepared boys, Sunam is no resort and its forest teems with danger, we need more than just luck in that freakin’ hellhole. What do you guys have for spells and weaponry?”  We begin to list off our powers and possessions but before we can get to the end, a terrible crashing sound explodes from the chamber of the sacred gazing pool. Rushing down the spiral staircase to the oaken door, we see the wood bowing, about to burst outward. Our party clears the door just before the splintering wood explodes, embedding itself in the stone walls as If they were putty.

“I think you may need my help too” Another familiar voice speaks to us through the settling dust. A figure we can’t make out. Could it be Tolar the Mystic, come to aid us in our quest? A squat, diminutive figure pushes its way through the debris. This is indeed the voice of Tolar, but his features differ from the tall mysterious man who visited us last week. We question the stranger.“I have many forms, mortals. You may call me Ragnam in this one” His features soften as he offers his companionship on this dangerous journey “I too know something of Sunam. Let us prepare for this quest by drinking this potion of fermented blood and mushroom water. Warm greetings are shared all around, save for Raknar, lost in thought at the window.

“Long has it been since I have visited my childhood home. I must retreat to my realm to prepare. Meet me in one week at my pleasure dungeon. We have much to do.” And with that, the regal master of forty pleasures turns and departs. Bloodmace, Ragnam, and I return to the reflecting pool’s sacred chamber to meditate and gain strength on this journey. 

The mysterious "Ragnam"

Master Raknar dines with us

WASP's latest, Babylon, released in 2009, closed out the night. A few industrial flirtations and a couple concept albums later, this album marks change in attitude in Blackie Lawless' outlook, with a born again attitude and God centered lyrics, though not explicitly so, and never preachy. The music, though, is a return to their roots, sounding like a cross between 'The Last Command' and the more melodic moments of 'The Headless Children'(my favorite WASP album, by the way). The change is refreshing, but sadly, Blacky's neglect of catchy hooks is obvious, and for the most part, nothing really sticks to the wall, Babylon's Burning being the exception.


 

As the fiery dawn breaks over the horizon this triumvirate of seekers retires to the cavern of sleep to gather our strength for this great quest. Revenge for the possession of Zodron has been on our minds much since we had to kill him and eat his brain, and now we are poised to burst unsuspected into the realm of the formless one and tear asunder the dream-gates that protect this tyrant in his lair. Will the battles never end? We probe endlessly into the depthless night, a night illuminated by brilliant stars, wheeling eternally in the skies above. Our master is the cosmos and its cruel lessons guide us through this life of sorrow and triumph. Our master is the darkness, its warmth enfolding us in Morpheus arms. Our master is nothing, and nothing is all in this void of chaos. A vacuum of emotion that we break through by force of will, and on the other side embrace one another in a show of humanity. Where can these great grey gods hide from us? They cannot, and we cannot stop fighting them. We are destined to sit beside them and rule this realm for metalheads! We shall sit upon the basalt thrones in dread R’yleh! FHTAGN!  

Ragnam holds Bloodmace at bay with only a Gates of Slumber shirt and the colonel

Fuck it!!! Behold WASP's grand shining moment of metallic steel and thundering hooves. BEHOLD THE HEADLESS CHILDREN!!!! AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Until next week brothers and sisters!

Hail metalheads everywhere!

Pagan Altar, Acid Witch and................YOUR FUCKING DOOM!!!!!!!

Warlords of doom quell the hopeful rebellion. Bleak oppression reigns supreme. We, the conquerors of the dark lands, chortle at their prayers for a savior, which are for naught. Under these malevolent tides do we gather.....once again, we shall have..............METAL NIGHT!!!!!!

Indeed, this was a special night for bloodmace and I. After our adventure across the forbidden sands of the time desert and our grueling journey through the wasteland that lies between Castle Thrashstone and Jenkabala Palace, we have returned! The forest shakes with the chanting of druids, celebrating the return of their masters. Hollow skulls pour forth the blood of posers as toasts to our pagan gods float to the heavens on jasmine-scented winds. This was a night of celebration and solemn prayer, a chance for us to give thanks for our great victory in the forbidden lands and distribute the treasure we have plundered from sacred altars of the rival gods.  Little did we know, a storm was on its way.

From the great hall came a great din. The sound of metal clashing with metal. The wet thud of bodies falling to the stone floor. Throwing open the great oak doors, we are confronted with the bloodied corpses of some ten druids and a lone warrior, covered in steaming gore, who carries with him treasures from the past. Tolar the mystic is among us. Indeed, we had heard the stories of this fearsome warrior who uses magic from the ancient times and fights with a blade of obsidian. We had always thought he was a legend told to sleepy children, a song sung by bards at the tavern to provoke bravery from young soldiers on their first march into battle. This was no figment of our imagination though. Tolar was here, and now we had to discover what business caused him to invade our castle and slaughter our druids.

“posers” Said he. “I have come from the dimension beyond death to warn you of posers on the march, they will water down your metal and try to steal your girlfriend. I have come to pass to you a spell of destruction that will devastate their armies and lay waste their lands. It must be used by the living, and so I have come here to fortify you against these usurpers, these lovers of fake metal, and these insects who crawl across the ground and devour the bounty of your realms”  

Waving his hands, he brings our henchmen back from the realms of death and produces two vinyl slabs that glow and shimmer in the firelight. 

First up, the thick, molten riffery of Pagan Altar laid waste the sonicscape of the Westside Palace. A NWOBHM band that initially recorded an album in 1982, only to see it released not until 1998, this is a band that takes it cues from Black Sabbath. Lord's of Hypocrisy, released in 2004, is a rerecording of older, unreleased songs. There is virtually no difference in the sound quality of either album. They still sound like Witchfinder General's older, more pissed off brothers. If anything, vocalist Terry Jones' Ozzy inflected whine is even more nasally and creepy. This, my creatures, is true doom. Four minute songs might as well take hours. 10 minute songs fill all eternity. The lyrics are a straight forward depiction of man's inhumanity to man, a catalog of crimes and trepidations. This is a sweet fucking album.

Before that, we sampled a 7 inch by Reverend Bizarre and Ritual Steele. This was pretty fucking sweet, short and sweet, though it took us centuries to listen to. You enter weird time when listening to doom metal. The drugs needed to produce such heaviness channel another spiritual realm, manifesting itself in the sound waves, which is lost in anything else but analog.

A horrible sound from outside the castle walls. Black rain falls. Tolar’s spell has worked! From the gardens comes the sound of hidden assassins being relieved of their cowardly skin. Glasses of mead are raised to our new comrade and we praise the dark gods for their blessings. Our guest then sups with us our simple meal of meat and bread, the conversation turns to doom metal as it often does, and Blood mace loses control. Again, chaos reigns as the rage of bloodmace spends itself upon the sparse furnishings that surround us. Chairs and tables splinter into nothingness as the berserker frenzy of our barbarian friend explodes into an orgy of violence. Tolar, always composed, always mysterious produces from his bag a magic powder which he wastes no time in deploying on our dangerous friend. A sprinkle of the sparkling powder and the evil Bloodmace begins to float, still thrashing and striking out with his obsidian blade at the air. From nowhere, the sound of Acid Witch envelops us and Bloodmace sinks gracefully into the last remaining chair. A beatific look of pure calm crosses his face, once contorted with rage, now animated and schooling Tolar on the dirty doom metal that assails our ears from the very air that surrounds us. Truly the magic of this strange traveler has no equal in this world or the next!

Tolar asked us to turn his ass onto something, so we obliged with trippy Detroit Rock City death doomsters Acid Witch and their 2008 debut 'Witchtanic Hellucinations'. This album is a dollop of death encrusted psychedelia,  accenting the crushing riffs and demon growls with lots of flange and reverb. Acid Witch's debut is, indeed, a good fucking doom album. The riffs and guitar tone are massive, the vocals gargly and creepy, the lyrics campy without being too self conscious, and it's all punctuated by some sweet psychedelic touches here and there. This band never takes itself too seriously, and the playing is loose, but not sloppy. Heavy stuff, man. Lot's of fun. This album is fucking awesome, but not quite as otherworldly as Pagan Altar, which won the night.

And so with all things good and evil, our enchanting visit with Tolar had to end sometime. Bloodmace and I were indeed sorry to see this mystic fade into the night and wondered what we could do to repay the kindness he had done for us on this black and starless night. “Keep the flame” says the cowled  figure, receding into the darkness (or was the darkness enrobing him in it’s velvet cloak ?) I looked then to Bloodmace, and when my gaze returned, he was gone.  How did Tolar know Bloodmace’s anger could be sated with Acid Witch? How could have he known about the virtual army that was about to plunge us into a long and deadly battle? Magic is all around us, everywhere, and in everything. Every Monday night is a door and behind it awaits strange and terrible adventures. Our mission is the total domination of this realm, and together with our brothers and sisters of the metal hordes, we will cut a swath of destruction through the poser lands. Who can know our feelings? Who can look upon the dark lord and still see the alabaster sky? The roads we travel are crooked and forgotten, as all things pure and free are and we trudge through the nights of sadness and solitude to open this door. When this portal is open the other worlds become clear and we can pass from one to the other as easily as you might walk from room to another in your home, but there is danger. Enemies lurk, beasts of fang and wing dip from trees and hidden caves and, worst of all, untold numbers of shambling posers destroying the lands we love. Who can know our pride in the face of ridicule and shame? We are guardians of the vast forest! We are strangers on the threshold! IA IA Let it be known to the hills WE HAVE COME TO KICK ASS!

 

Go fuck thyself if you think I'm lazy!!! I shall feed you to my starved Komodo Dragons!!! Have a spiked pentacle spear in your guts, you knave!!!!

Sad Wings of Northern Darkness - Lost in the Time Desert...

The sun beats down mercilessly. Bloodmace swigs at the water skein. Our parched throats are silent and we carry our packs across the burning dessert that separates us from our beloved Jenkabala palace and it’s forest lands. Three days into our journey, we spot a fortress looming on the horizon. This mighty compound, black on the silver sands, belongs to the mighty Hellmaster! Cries of joy explode from our cracked throats. This evil master has crossed our paths before and we know him to be a true metal warrior. His castle is festooned with the heads of posers who have tried to challenge him or stop his plans to dominate this strange region of magic and super-science. Greeted into his realm of gloom by the cloaked druids who inhabit his dungeons, we are ushered into his secret chambers for an audience with the master. Then he lets the bomb drop. Lamb of God. Tonight we journey to the dark side of modern metal and come head to head with a band despised by some and revered by others. Bloodmace passes his judgment…

 

Yeah, it was ok. Basically, Lamb Of God’s 2006 opus, “Sacrament”, already considered a classic of New Wave of American Heavy Metal by disciples of the genre, is a pretty good thrash album in the eyes of Demon Scourge and myself. The obsessive dorkwads at Metal Archives have berated this album needlessly, mainly because of their negative fixation on the application of ‘breakdowns’. Breakdowns are when the music slows into a heavy rhythmic groove, and are as vital to certain genres of metal, such as metalcore, as blastbeats are for death metal. To slag this album for having breakdowns is just ignorant, and displays a form of musical bigotry that should be punished by fire whips. You can like a particular musical form, but still acknowledge its skill and worthiness. Sacrament is a worthy album, but just not my cup of tea.  I find the vocals a little monotonous and screechy. The riffs are well constructed thrash riffs, and are the main positive attribute. It is easy to see where Metallica copped some of these riffs for St. Anger and Death Magnetic.

Laughter echoes throughout the dank chambers of castle Thrashstone. The master is pleased with Bloodmace’s final word on his champions. Glasses of fine ale are raised and the screams of prisoners reverberate from the walls of Hellmaster’s sanctuary. He orders the druids to lend us his battle steeds and provisions for the remainder of our arduous journey through his infernal realm. Bloodmace has not yet finished though. Climbing to the highest battlement of the darkest tower of this bastion of power, he pulls from his satchel a magic item he has been concealing from even me. Holding his enchanted sword to the sky, this master of the macabre harnesses the very wind that blows cold and icy at the top of Jenkabala Mountain. Snow begins to fall, now a flake, now a blizzard. Through the inter-dimensional portal a terrible scream penetrates the darkness and Bloodmace tosses the shiny object high into the angry sky. Then we hear another sound, quiet at first, then growing louder and more violent. Immortal had arrived.

The winner of the night was clearly Immortal’s Sons of Northern Darkness. Fuck Fuck Fuck!!! What an epic motherfucker of ice sculpted brilliance and power. The blizzard beasts leave behind the pure black metal sounds of previous albums for a slightly more death metal infused attack, creating riffs and rhythms that speak to a new pantheon of icy terror.  This is one of the greatest metal albums of all time. This is the one that made me finally made me throw aside any allegiance other than to true metal. This album is heavier than Jesus Christ and Odin sacrificing pumas on the altar of Satan. The atmosphere of cold will leave you with a deep shiver that binds your soul and makes ice boulders spray out your ass. All of this coming at your through a wall of sound, though sounding like the hooves of a 10,000 hell steeds, constructed by a mere corpse painted power trio. This album will make you power orgasm through the top of your skull for seven days. Judgment has been passed. We highly recommend it.

In time the heat returns, the sky clears and Hellmaster sends us on our way with our spirits restored and our path cleared of danger by his metallic ravens. Bidding us a mighty farewell as we race towards the reddening horizon and our forest home, our fearsome host shakes the very ground with his bellowing laughter. His voice is a warning to some, a call to arms for others. This realm we inhabit is a fearsome place where life can turn to death in a matter of seconds and enemies cloak themselves with smiles but for us, Castle Thrashstone will always be an oasis of truth in a sea of lies. So ride on metal warriors, you can’t win without a fight. Battle on metal brethren, like glass you shall shatter the night!