Metal Night at The Westside Palace: The Sludge Beyond The Shadows: Neurosis and Serpentcult

Demon Scourge sees the future.

The road to Samur is located just beyond Witches Valley, north of Jenkabala palace. We had been traveling the rocky north country with Master Raknar who recently saved us from certain death at the hands of Lord Hedron of Dantor. He was leading us on a quest to find the blood of a wyvern, just the thing we needed to enter into the realm of Dantor through the dimensional gate. The grey sky wept a light rain on us as we passed through this solitary landscape to the lush valley that acted as a gateway to the mountainous region we were seeking. Raknar and Bloodmace were passing the time discussing the merits of leather versus armor in battle while I rode in silence behind them. Our last battle with Hedron almost ended in tragedy and it weighed heavily on my mind. Fortune, as always, had smiled on us but what obstacles would the gods of this world place in our path next? Though we pay them tribute, our eyes are upon their thrones and scepters. Perhaps this is not unknown to those with so many eyes.

I am jarred out of my daydream by the booming voice of Bloodmace, who beckons us to stop. He gestures to a grassy mound at the next hilltop where a group of goats are ambling about. Puzzled by his caution, I step forward and hold my field glasses to my face. Atop the little green hill, just to the left of the sleepy eyed animals I could clearly make out a figure. It was a man, but a man covered in lichens, a face of stone gazing out of eyes without pupils. Alarmingly, as I handed the binoculars to Bloodmace the creature darted with a frightening and unnatural speed to bear down on its nearby prey. The goat let out a cry so brief as to be almost inaudible as the stone man drained it with a terrifying cry and then he was gone.

“What the fuck was that?” Raknar, also alarmed by the uncanny speed this strange creature devoured its prey with had unsheathed his sword, a fearsome beast of unknown alloys given to him be the time masters.Silence fell over our party. This strange predator could be upon us in a moment and every muscle tensed at the prospect of a confrontation with danger. The open sky and treeless landscape yawned around us, as if we were drifting on the ocean. Slowly we begin to make our way forward, down the hill and around the next. Laughter bursts from everywhere, echoing in the empty landscape.

Voice of the flame.

When music is labeled, it is cast it down into the muck of genre, diminishing the music, reducing it to mere commodity, like soap and tires. As a music critic, as The Judgement of Metal Night, I do this all the time. Human beings have this innate need to label, to categorize. We can't help it. We are this weird kind of ape, part lone coyote, part herd animal. This is the fundamental dissonance in human nature: do we retain our individuality, or do we follow the herd? There are advantages and risks to both.

Bloodmace with his bloodmace

Neurosis is a band defying easy categorization. Labeled and widely know as the quintessential 'sludge' band, they started their existence as an ok hardcore band, distinguishing themselves as particularly jagged and aggressive. In the 90's, they forged a sound build on a murky , dissonant guitar sound, and repetitive tribal drumming. They sound like no other, the closest comparison being Godflesh, but sounding much more organic.

Time of Grace is the last stage of evolution in this period. Their next albums would go in mellower direction, but we at Metal Night were bowled over at the power of this album, making it the easy winner. It is a perfection of contrasts, and like geology, a study of pressure and time. It is a long album, and you become sucked into a vortex where time has no meaning; where pleasure and pain, life and death, are one in the same. You'd swear they were playing the same goddamn riffs over and over again, but are they? Every molten note seems to stand alone in its own universe, every chord another dimension. Bits and pieces of moog organ pop up here and there, impossibly. Neurosis would go on to influence such hipster icons as Sunn O))), Khanate, and Isis, but are vastly more enjoyable. This is the winner of Metal Night.

All weapons are drawn. Our party stands at the ready to draw its first blood and then something strange happens.

“Hey, put down your weapons.” Raknar is slowly returning lady death to her home. He motions for us to do the same. “Do it now.” His eyes are serious and there is much urgency in his voice. Was this another trick by Hedron or some jealous god? Bloodmace and I share a tense look, but there is something else in his eyes, something that makes me put the ax back on my belt as he slings his mace. In the hill behind us a door none of us had seen opens up and a caped figure emerges from the doorway.

“Enter travelers, hurry, the yerda will not take long to return and if I know your temperament you will not last long.” The tall stranger with a generous mustache and top hat beckons us into the hill.

We enter the dimly lit structure, warm with the smell of bread at the hearth. Electronics are stuffed into every corner, ancient instruments, games. Our host produces four strange vessels, the size of a teacup and uses a grinder to fill each cup with a translucent pink salt. From a cellar on the table he spoons several grains that look like oblong seeds into the cups.

Nactan the wanderer does his stuff

“Let me introduce myself. I am Nactan, the wanderer and you have a problem in this region. I’m surprised you made it this far.” The salt in the cups begins to smoke, a woody, spicy smell. “The yerda will eat anything but they thrive on the taste of battle” The smoke clears, leaving a clear, citrusy liquid in its place. “One will engage you in battle while the others hide and drink the psychic energy until you become exhausted, then they swoop in by the hundreds and kill you.”

“You need Lady Deathcrush.” A voice from the shadows, form slowly drawing together, changing, changing again. “It is she who controls these beasts” The voice takes the form of a flame, burning soft and blue above us. “You know me; it is I who has called his form Ragnar. It is I who gave you guidance in the body of Tolar the mystic. Heed my words mortals!” With that, the flame dies and a fox stands in its place. “Follow me.” The voice whispers. All follow as the beast trots down the earthen path that leads away from the main room of Nactan’s underground hovel. The air gets warmer as we go further down below the rocky plains. Stone and dirt give way to flagstones and marble. The air is hot and muggy here, the lights dim, greenish. Our host is visibly nervous as we reach a large open chamber containing a dozen stone pools. A low electric buzz permeates the air. Nactan, right behind the fox cries out and draws his dagger. Stone doors slam shut, blocking our exit.

Fighting giant spiders on the road to Samur.

Serpentcult are a damn cool band, though. These Belgians are also thrown in the doom/sludge ghetto, but like Neurosis, are more individualistic and hard to peg. They share the love for thick, droning chords, slow tempos, but diverge from there. Serpentcult are a more tradition doom outfit, with a sound steeped in Black Sabbath, but with a few weird twists thrown in. The title track, 'Raised By Wolves', features vocals that are layered, half sung and half chanted, with a few death metal growls thrown in, giving it a ritualistic feel. The next two songs are long, proggy instrumentals, Troll vocals return for 'Growth In The Soil'. The album is unconventional, and weirdly low key, for something so loud and heavy.

Bloodmace and I had dealt with wolves before in our nocturnal ramblings in Jenkabala forest and our adversaries looked very much like the wild canines who roamed near our homes but these creatures were polished metal, laser eyes sunk deep in their skull like visages. Diamond claws tear at leather and denim, Bloodmace and Master Raknar are smashing crystal fur and iron hides while Nactan, cape flapping in some unseen dimensional hurricane casts spells imploding the vicious metallic mongrels. Blood and gears litter the floor of the room between the multicolored pools whose surfaces reflect images of mortality. So engaged are we in the battle that none notice the figure rising from a pool set off from the others.

Lady Deathcrush, bassist and singer in Death Oven, overseer of the fifteen paths into Narg, enemy of posers everywhere. Together with Lord Hellmaster she has decimated the ranks of Hedron in the battle of Tendron in the time desert, and now she rises from the pool before us as we smash the last of the robot wolves she has set upon us.

“What is this treachery?” Demands Bloodmace, his eyes narrowed. “Your legion hounds us, yet we have a common enemy.”

“This is only child’s play compared to what you will face in Dantor. Besides I was on tour in Taznaria, I came as soon as I heard of your plight. I hired Zodron to write spells and invocations last month. He wandered off and became lost in the forest near your lands.” We show her the charms made from the skull of our mutual companion. Anger rises in her face. “Have you the blood of a wyvern?”

“Have you a safe way to get to the forests of Samur?” Lord Raknar steps forward with a bold tone in his voice. “All this time we waste gets us no closer to our goal. Let us pass and we shall storm Dantor and make Hedron pay for his infamy”

“Your way is clear now if you wish to go, but you will be fools.” Snaps Deathcrush “You forget that you cannot simply kill the creature and take its blood, you need to ask it. Who among you will ask the fearsome lizard bird to give freely of its lifeblood? None but I have the skill. Hellmaster and I will meet you in witch’s valley in one week. “ A splash in the pool. Lady Deathcrush is gone…for the moment

Death Oven rules!

And so our forces align. Nactan the wanderer, Lady Deathcrush, even the mercenary Master Raknar. All gathered together to storm the death dimension and free Zodron from its icy clutches. Some are on this quest for adventure, some for gain, and some to regain a lost companion. Danger lies ahead, a journey so perilous that the future of the five realms is in jeopardy by our presence on this path. We shall not falter in our quest. We will never surrender to the faceless one or his minions. Look out into the stars, where is your pride? Out in the cosmos? In a stone building? Pride is inside the heart, the mind, pride is the fire inside our soul that smolders with a thousand flames and burns away the past. We shall unfurl the jenkabala flag across the sky and the metalheads will rejoice! Let it be written in the mountains, Nactan the wanderer is born!