The insatable wyverns of delight - Brazilian thrash and a Samur sunrise.

Deep from the bowels of Jenkabala Palace, Metal Night commences with pestilence and warfare at our command!

The morning sun was cold and filtered through the canopy of the forest of Samur as I looked into the fearsome maw of the Wyvern before me. I was lying on the ground after awakening from the spell cast by the mysterious being who has visited us in our camp last night. My captor speaks in a deep, resonant voice.  “Remain still and await your judgment, mortal.” I can see the rest of my party in a similar predicament. Hellmaster, Raknar, Bloodmace and Lady DeathCrush are also here, surrounded by the royal lizards, whose magic controls the great houses of this temporal realm. From across the clearing where the embers of last night’s fire are slowly dying, another one of the beasts speaks. “The elders are coming! Schmoon, Schmoon!”  Indeed, from across the field I could just see a procession made up of the brightly colored amphibian men who we battled in Witch’s valley and more Wyverns. A mixed group of the party bore a platform the size of a large room across the woodland floor. The Wyverns of the party, being about three times as large as the scaly river dwellers, carried the platform on their backs as their counterparts held large green and red banners festooned with embroidered wyverns encircling a five-pointed star, each point representing a royal family of this realm. On the platform, two wizened Wyverns and the pink and white snake woman who we glimpsed briefly during our battle in Witch’s Valley.  I think we may be in deep shit.

The black metal hordes of Norway all agree that they are the bastard spawn of Bathory, Celtic Frost, Venom, Slayer, ect. But a big influence on that scene, especially in terms of pure sonic hell, comes from the Brazilian thrash metal scene of the late. This was one of the craziest scenes in all of thrash, typified by lo-fi recording quality and ferocious attack that would influence many black and death metal bands a few years. 20 years later, these bands are still caustic to the ear. Tonight we heard three albums that typify the greatness and utter lunacy of the bands coming from there.

The sun had reached its peak when we were gathered by our captors and led to the riverbank where a crude monument of black lava rock served as a ceremonial hearth for the Wyvern. A white fire burned ominously within its pocked recesses. DeathCrush and Hellmaster have been led aboard the platform and the elders perched there were intensely questioning our friends. The lizard woman makes fierce gestures with her tiny hands. Her guards who surround us peer through their cowls with hate filled eyes. After several tense moments, DeathCrush seems to have soothed their inquisitors’ anger. Disembarking from the platform, the parties then sit down at the large stone table in front of the hearth. Hellmaster is made to lie upon it as the pink and white skinned queen stands above him holding a jeweled dagger. All of us hold our breath. Expecting to see the knife plunged deeply into our friend’s chest, we are all surprised when the queen kneels down next to the prone wizard and makes a tiny slit in his neck. From within her shiny robes she produces a bottle and begins filling it with his blood. DeathCrush, ignoring all this, is deeply involved in her conversation with the elders. She forms secret passwords with deft movements of her slender hands, the leathery nobles respond with their own. After what seems like an eternity, Hellmaster groggily rises from the table and stumbles to the riverbank. As if a giant hand had loosed its grip on us, the colorful amphibians guarding us silently turn and walk back into the forest, the rest of the Wyverns following. The royal platform is also borne into the brush also and in moments we are alone. Raknar and Bloodmace race to assist Hellmaster and return with his crumpled form between them. As I build the fire for that night, DeathCrush returns from her meditations and addresses us curtly “Strangeness is afoot. Though I obtained the blood we were seeking, it seems that we are not the only players in this game. Tomorrow we will be in Dantor but tonight we travel to castle Thrashstone. Bloodmace, please prepare the portal.”  With that she turns and walks away.

First, we heard the most prominent band to emerge from the scene, Sepultura, and their second album, Schizophrenia. This album is a motherfucking thrash classic, a blur of chromatic riffery, and gutter bellows, a document of a great emerging band defining what was heavy was, for the time. They manage to sound jungle primitive, but this is no amateurish jumble. This is a tight, controlled thrash metal band just realizing its power. The echoy vocals and low rent production, add a necro ambiance that distinguishes this album from later, more technical albums like Arise, and far removed from the world beat nu-metal vibe of Roots.

That said, this album came in third, because up next was one of the craziest albums we have ever heard by a group of sexual deviants called Sextrash, band with no excuses in this life but to unleash havoc and perversity with theri 1990 debut 'Sexual Carnage'. as good as Sepultura are, this band makes them sound like Justin Beiber. It is an unrestrained blur of blackened ferocity, years ahead of its time; a regressive tardfest that is exhilarating in its necro sleaze. And the lyrics are a delight, as you would expect if your lead singers name is Pussyripper. Check out this nugget from the song 'The Insatiable Pleasure of Delight':

"Sweated bodies in a cold night
Come with me babe, just for one night
And you'll see
In the ecstasy of delight, the hardness
Of my hammer"

or this charming bit of poesy from 'Genital Tumor':

"You suck my hammer
And just see money
You open up your ass
Thinking about payment
Your cruel payment...

Now i gush inside your pussy
The suppuration of my sove(?!?!?!?!?!)
And perpetuate
My genital tumor... "

Not the most explicit or extreme lyrics out there, but the blatant misogyny has an innocence to it that makes it all the more disturbing. But they are not a joke band, as lyrical brethren The Mentors are. This is serious, vicious thrash, just tight enough to keep everything from falling apart at the seems, and simple in execution. This was the clear winner of the night.

Sextrash are so crazy they make the next band seem slightly tame in comparison and that is no mean feat. Sarcofago's INRI is a classic, and the album most referenced by the black metal elites like Mayhem. This is band obsessed with graveyards, Satan, and all thing necro and hideous. The influence on black metal is obvious from the get-go, with their blazing, tremulous hyper thrash, recorded in a third world gutter infested with cannibals and death squads. The only slowing occurs to indulge the occasional sludge riff. Arggg! Great fucking album!

The wheel of fate burns in the sky. Our mission to storm the gates of Dantor and defeat our enemy Hedron is coming to its conclusion. The final battle awaits us in a strange land where the faceless king sits in his court, no doubt examining our every move as we speak. We have tricks of our own though and this lord of posers has good reason to fear us. We are coming for you Hedron, and all the power in Dantor and the multidimensional lands beyond cannot stop the wheel from turning. WE are FATE and have come to judge you with the sword! You will never fill our realm with malls as long as there is blood in our veins. Our kingdoms are wild, untamed and free. The fire of your pride burns out of control and we are here to extinguish it once and for all.  Next week, DANTOR and VICTORY!

Ashes, Trashes and Hits - Burzum and chaos on the road to Samur

There are gaps in the tape of reality. There are dimensions best left unexplored; formless things and forces in this universe best not fucked with; demons that eat your mind like a maggots in corpse. Such are the dangers when a Burzum onslaught in consummated. Oh, yes, we had Burzum night. Oh yes, the music of the Dark Lord Grishnachk was contemplated. But, as I stated, there are gapes. The present reality melts in a disarray, the center does not hold. Weird Things happened that night, and yet there is no accounting for all that transpired. It is a blur. Perhaps Demon Scourge can clear up a few things.

The past is as much a mystery as the future. Who can say what shaped the events that happen to you? The past can reach its icy hand out and grasp you anywhere on this endless time continuum we are caught inside. The death of Zodron the minstrel set into motion a chain of events that reverberates to this moment as our party spends its third day in the forest of Samur. Our guide, Master Raknar has led us to a spot deep within the cool canopy of ancient trees where the wyverns we seek utilize a convergence of natural energy sources to perform their magical works. Bloodmace and I need to convince one of these noble beasts to give us a portion of their royal blood to anoint the charms that we fashioned from the skull of Zodron. We were forced to destroy his body when he was possessed by our foe, Lord Hedron of Dantor. We are joined on this quest by the terrible duo from beyond the burning sands of the Time Desert, Hellmaster and Lady Deathcrush, who just recently saved us from doom at the hands of reptilian hordes. Also joining us is Nactan the wanderer, who aided us in our battle with the yerda creatures of northern Jenkabala .

For the uninitiated and ignorant, Burzum is the one man band of convicted murderer and crypto-nazi Varg Vikernes, who spent 16 years in a Norwegian prison for the murder of his fellow Mayhem bandmate Øystein Aarseth aka Euronymous. His music a truly a reflection of the soul and mystical philosophy of a true sociopath, but his music is compelling beyond the mere tabloid aspect of his story. Burzum is a true pioneer of Norwegian Black Metal, and has inspired countless corpse painted imitators.

First, we checked out Burzum's latest offering, 2011's 'From the Depths of Darkness', a collection of re-recorded songs from the first two albums, 'Burzum' and Det Som Engang Var'. Gone is the lo-fi aesthetic by 'true cvlt' fantatics. The songs are richer, more vicious, more powerful for it, though they do lose a certain grim atmosphere that made the first albums so charming. Sonicly, for better or for worst, would sound like the natural successor of the next album we listened to. True cvlt fundamentalist fans are undoubtedly howling in despair.



 

Now it’s night and our party has come to rest in this cathedral of leaf and limb. Master Raknar places another log on the fire and briefs Bloodmace and I on our route for the next day. Hellmaster and Deathcrush have retired to their makeshift sweat lodge where they are meditating and working magic. I search the firelight’s perimeter for Nactan but he has wandered off into the night, as usual. Movements in the shadows bring our group to attention. The deep shadows on the northern side of our camp begin to swirl together and slowly they begin to take form. Clouds of black congeal into a purple cloaked human form. Tolar the mystic! Our friend is still a bit blurry from the transition into the physical world, but we can clearly see he wears the corpsepaint of battle. This is a serious matter and we await his words, but no words come. The fire’s flame burns brighter and leaps upward, as if to singe the branches that shield it from the sky. From the very air comes the sound of Burzum, and our ears burn with the white hot melodies, half- remembered tunes from before the weird cataclysm that turned our world into an ocean and most of our forest into the Time Desert. The fearsome, grimacing Tolar turns his gaze on Bloodmace. Eyes locked together, the weird mystic begins quietly speaking, “The desert is growing. His face is with you even now.” Almost whispering, he comes closer. “His face is with you, with you. Call the door with seven.” His eyes open wide, almost peeling back. His voice raises to an evil, trollish screech. “Seven sacrifices! Seven eternities in doom! Beware your past!” A terrible, inhuman wail rises from all around, becoming a hellish choir. Blood gushes up from the ground, extinguishing the fire. A thick, silent jelly engulfs my being and the last thing I hear is the voice of Bloodmace. “Sweeet, I gotta learn that one” 

I open my eyes in a state of battle, sunlight blinding me. Swinging, lunging, and falling at nothing. 

Darkness.

I awaken once again on the ground near the still smoldering fire from last night. 

Wait….last night…A deep voice addresses me, “Demon Scourge?” I look up to discover a pointed, dragon-like head. Fearsome, noble eyes stare out at me. The Wyvern has found us.

'Fallen', released earlier in 2011, is Burzum's latest collection of original music. This is much more mature, forward thinking Burzum than his previous offering, his first post-prison album 'Belus'. Returning is the experimental ambient nature of his older material, but new his the sense of dynamics, especially in the vocal department. The familiar (if aged)screech is there, but spoken and half sung parts find their way into the mix. As always, the guitar work is intriguing, not so bludgeoning and slicing as mesmerizing.

  The future is a mystery of the past. Now is a riddle solved tomorrow by looking at yesterday, and so it goes down the line. We hunted our prey in the forests of Samur, but we were the quarry in a larger game. Who was with us in the forest last night? Even now those words echo in my head. Were they help from a friend or a warning from the unseen tyrant? Lord Headron has vanished to the world, but only to grow stronger in his moldering keep, hidden within forests of dream. His forces are legion and oppress the lands of Samur and the northern peninsula mercilessly, forcing obedience to their puritanical religion with deadly force.  HEDRON! You will tremble when you stand before the treacherous posse gathered against you!  Your kingdom of fear is about to topple and we will mosh on its ashes!  Until next week metal breathren, HORNS UP!

 We would have liked to have heard more of the album, but when you fuck with demonic forces this powerful and evil, when you piss off the Nordic gods just once too often, unpredictable elements begin to take hold. Couches are stabbed. Cats are harassed. Liquor is consumed in ridiculous quantities. Psychosis rules the night. We had to get our mystic home. Thus ends this edition of Metal Night.