Denim and Leather: Medieval, Tank, and Bitch

We live in a cynical world of instant gratification. Information, music, film, even sex; all of it available at the press of a button. This has compounded the complexity of our cyber scarred landscape, and its nice to revel in simpler pleasure, if only as a way to decompress. Metal Night provides such a sanctuary.

The mysterious (?!) cleans up some leftovers

Witch’s Valley is heavy with fog as our party trudges down the rocky slope into its heart. This is our last stop in the lands of Jenkabala before we enter the forests of Samur. Bloodmace and Nactan have gone ahead on their enchanted steeds to establish a camp near the river Trimpor, whose waters flow lazily through this valley on its way south to the Jenkabala lands and further away, the great ocean that holds this realm in its watery bosom. As we enter into the shrouded forest, wet with rain and teeming with the strange animals that inhabit the northern lands, Lord Raknar and I ready our weapons. Even in this idyllic setting we know that danger is never far behind.

As we emerge from the thick brush onto the banks of the river, Raknar grabs my arm. “Stop. This blade senses danger.”  The weird weapon of my companion has strange powers to warn him of imminent danger and he barks a terse warning. “Back in the forest! Quick!”  No sooner do we duck back in the cover of some sard bushes than we hear the sound of approaching footfalls. Hands on our weapons, we await our fate. Then two scaly humanoid figures appear on the sandy bank. With heads of lizards, their tattered robes are stained with blood. They carry in their flame-yellow, webbed hands pistols of Sumar design. One of them makes a gesture to the other and they lope sharply into the concealing leaves, not far from the very spot we stand.   

We realize at the same instant what is about to happen and tense for action. From around the bend of the river, two horses trot closer, figures astride. The reptilian ambushers make soft gurgling noises and ready their polished silver guns. Bloodmace and Nactan come close enough to see and the ambushers strike. 

 

Hellmaster ready for battle!

 First up: rewind 24 years ago to 1987, and Kalamazoo's Medieval release 'Medieval Kills', their only official full album. Cranking out punk inflected heavy metal, their sludgy lo-fi guitar tones suggest a world where thrash metal never existed, coming across as a poor man's Cirith Ungol, or possibly the US version of Holocaust. There is a ragged and innocent vibe to this album. The musicianship is rather shoddy, but the enthusiasm and obliviousness to trends hold this album together by denim and patches alone. This might be the most obscure metal band ever to grace our pages. Their main claim to fame was getting a track one of Metal Blade's Metal Massacre compilations. They are still active, and haunt the back yard BBQ's of Gun Lake and vicinity.




 

Master Raknar lowers the boom on the nonbelievers.

The wet thud of a decapitated head is an exhilarating thing for Bloodmace and as Raknar deals a fatal blow to the first would-be assassin he yells out his battle cry. Dismounting his horse he lunges towards the next attacker, but the slimy foe gets one good shot to the brave barbarian’s shoulder before being bludgeoned to death by this warrior’s namesake mace. With these dickheads vanquished, our party turns to aid our fallen comrade but from the direction Nactan and Bloodmace came, more lizard geeks appear. First two, then four and behind them a kind of amphibious barge where a pink and white creature reclined on a sparkling divan surrounded by what looked to be an elite guard who’s purple skin gleamed pearlescent in the mid afternoon sun. The foot soldiers quickly surround our party and begin heatedly conversing in their spiky, guttural language. Now one of the purple skinned warriors approaches us and speaks to us in our own dialect. “You have killed two subjects of our kingdom. What is your business here? “His hand moves to grasp the undrawn pistol in the belt beneath his robe.

Lady Deathcrush and Hellmaster stop for a little R&R.

“We are passing through this valley on our way to Samur and the frozen lands to the north.”  For a moment I hesitate as he unsnaps his holster, but there is movement in the brush and I remember our ace in the hole. “You should always be near to your lady sir; you never know when bandits might strike.”  What seems to be a look of panic passes over the grinning reptilian visage of my foe as he casts his eyes on the sight of the lizard lady encircled not by her violet protectors, but Lady Deathcrush and Lord Hellmaster of the Time Desert!  Unfortunately for the soldiers near to us, their initial bullet served only to enrage Bloodmace who takes advantage of their surprise to pulverize the nearest aggressor, thrashing him to death as Nactan produces his legendary chainsaw knife and slices into the tough hide of his shocked victim. We are merciless, sparing only the guard who I detained after our surprise attack and the lounging lady snake. “Tell your elders our party is to pass freely thorough these lands. We send her back as a gesture of goodwill. Next time, we shall lay waste to your lands and cause many deaths. Go now, before the darkness overtakes the land and the kanrn are roaming.” Hellmaster dismisses the two lonely figures who disappear quickly in the fading light. “Let us set camp now. The sooner the better, the beasts I spoke of will be hunting soon and our quarters must be secured. Nactan, can you heal Bloodmace? I will need him for the incantation.” At Hellmaster’s urging Nactan produces his powerful healing herbs, gathered from his travels to strange regions known only to the inhabitants of the wasted starcastle in Beta Minor and begins to heal the wounded barbarian. I sense that Hellmaster knows much more than he has told us of this land. My questions, though unwelcome, move our benefactor to reveal some of his hidden knowledge. “This is, indeed my home. I have been absent for many years. We may pass freely through these parts but if my clan finds out I am near they may create mischief, or worse.”  As we hurry to make camp, our sorcerers made themselves ready for the work ahead of them. Just as the last of the sacred hymns were floated into the night air we caught a glimpse of the karn. Foul looking beasts, something like a boar we might see in the Jenkabala forest but with armored plates on its torso and a vicious looking row of barbed spikes protruding from its back. This would be a long night indeed.

Mr Skull......hates.....punks.

Seeking to continue the classic metal theme, we cranked Tank's Filth Hounds Of Hades. This was my pick of the evening. Long derided as the poor man's Motorhead, Tank actual deserves credit as the thinking man's Motorhead. This album is a NWOBHM classic, featuring kick ass riffs, solid hooks, and smart yet pretentiousness lyrics. Song after song bowls you over with awesomeness. Definitely a criminally underrated band.

Paw ready for battle

But real winner with everyone else at Metal Night was Bitch's 1983 opus 'Be My Slave'. While not my personal favorite of the night, it is still a great album. It is a loud and proud, over the top heavy metal steeped in NWOBHM, their sound falling somewhere in between Motorhead and Girlschool, with just a touch of LA sleaze. This band was one of the few LA metal bands to be fronted by a female, Betsy Bitch, clad appropriately in dominatrix gear, and armed with a commanding, slightly butch, wail. Bitch were one of the biggest bands bands on the early 80's Metal Blade roster, and it is a wonder they never mad it big. This could have something to do with with the lack of a hit single, as Bitch's primary focus was to take you over with their trashy power, rather than songwriting finesse.

The rarely seen Jenkabala drink gremlin!

As we await the dawn in our encampment I reflect on this quest. We seek the land of Dantor, and it’s faceless lord, Hedron . His evil spirit enchanted our friend, the minstrel Zodron, while he was listening to the Ted Nugent of German BM, Nargaroth. We had to kill him, but we did eat his brain. From pieces of his skull we made talismans. When we collect the Wyvern’s blood that we seek, the charms will become a doorway and our party will storm the cross-dimensional lair of our quarry and slay this bold usurper who plans to flood our beloved Jenkabala with posers, pencil neck geeks, and puritans of every make and model. Death to the shape-shifting puppet master! The names of Bloodmace and Demon Scourge will be written in stone as an epitaph over your fortress of tyranny!