Stone of destiny - The magic of Absu and Waylor

And I was alone with Demon Scourge. A truce of sorts was forged from the dust of our former conflict. Only a strong magic could rid us of the blood lust, channel our rage. Under The Sun Of Tipareth, we travel to the Temple of Offal, to do battle with the bitch goddess Tara. Time to drink vodka and have fucking Absu night.

 Saga of the Gatemaster part 6.1 – Low tar, great taste

Baron Lotar was not pleased. Already tonight there were unexpected visitors. Lotar was a stout warrior who had spent his life subjugating the valleys below his mountaintop stronghold. His flowing beard, often stained with blood, was said to possess magical powers and many had lost their lives staring into its tangled depths. The leather armor he wore, studded with large, sharpened spikes also bore the stains of battle. Dry bits of flesh hung from the gleaming barbs that covered his body and the tooled hide was stained a deep wine color that blended in with his skin, giving the impression of a great insect, poised to strike its death blow.  The strangers disturbed him. One he recognized, Thantor the Bard, whom he had become acquainted with during his dealings with tradesmen from the north who traveled in his caravan through the Time Desert. He hired the driver to be his guide in his quest to discover the ruins of Castle Thrashstone, but who were the two strange travelers he showed up with? The soldiers who tried to stop them were mad with pain and fear; he had to kill many of them just to stop their awful wailing. Lotar was concerned about the strange powers these interlopers commanded and yet he was curious about the instruments found in their vehicle. When the knock at the door told him the prisoners were ready, he sprung up officiously and hurried down the black stone corridor. 

Absu are one of the greatest fucking black metal bands to walk the face of this scorched, hate festered earth. Natives of Texas, they were the first black metal band to be taken seriously in America by the European hordes. Aging hipsters may remember them from the soundtrack of the weirdo film 'Gummo'. The driving force, drummer, and main lyricist of the band, Proscriptor, is a dynamo of metal achievement. Acknowledged as one of the finest, fastest drummers in all of metaldom, he is also its mystical force, writing lyrics that achieve a rare occult poetry, requiring hours on Wikipedia to understand the Celtic lore that it seeks to illuminate.

The first album we heard was the 1995 album The Sun Of Tipareth. This is old school Norwegian style black metal, complete with keyboards and corpse paint and oodles of evil atmosphere. Most impressive are the lyrics, which read like the mystic chronicles of dark age, steeped in the mythology of Scotland, quite nearly poetry, quite nearly beautiful. You will spend many hours on Wikipedia trying to decipher these. This is a great album, though not as perfect as the album to come.

                              Saga of the Gatemaster part 6.2 – In the white room with back curtains

Three prisoners sat in an alabaster room, surrounded by sow-faced guards and the flag of Baron Lotar, the most feared tyrant in all Waylor. Three prisoners on a mission to convince their captor to accompany them into the feared Time Desert to resurrect dead heroes. At the other end of the long white room, a door swings open and the fearsome despot strides into the inquisition chamber. Approaching his captives he addresses them in the curt tone of a master scolding his subjects, “You are very stupid. Did you think you could challenge me here at Keep Vorn? What is your business fools?”  Vorthon the Whip of Fate speaks first, “We seek your help Lotar. To the north, the Time Desert and Castle Thrashstone are in great danger.”  Lotar raises an eyebrow for a split second then shoots back, “And what business is that of mine, or yours for that matter?” Vorthon comes back just as quickly, “Do not try to deceive me. I know of your quest and I already possess the object you desire. The Bloodmace.”  Lotar’s eyes light up, but he restrains himself. The Whip of Fate continues, “I am now the sole resident of the place you were about to pay this young man to help you loot for its sacred relics.” He motions to Thantor who shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

 A smile breaks across Baron Lotar’s grim visage, “Then you must be Hell Wraith.” He directs his gaze to the emotionless physicist, who closes his eyes as he nods. “Well the players are all here aren’t they? You have brought the guitar I see, a very nice one as well.” Lotar motions to his personal guards, who hand him the instrument and its leather strap. “Release these men.”  Guards rush to remove handcuffs from Vorthon, then Hell Wraith and finally, Thantor the bard. Baron Lotar bids the three travelers to follow him down the dark hallway, past windows draped with tanned skin of those foolish enough to have challenged him and into a vast dining room, empty and unlit. The Baron snaps his fingers and disappears, but soon servants appear with dishes of cold meat and bread. As the party eats in silence, Lotar returns to the dining room. “Vorthon, the only reason you and your companions still breathe is your connection to the Bloodmace. I know what you want from me, but I will have the Bloodmace, be it from your living hands or dead. I have heard talk of you and I know your magic is strong, but unless you desire your own end and that of your companions, do not try to cross me. We set out in the morning for Keep Trawston to retrieve Lady Steel correct?”  Vorthon nods and turns back to his dinner. With a rush of wind, the baron is gone again.

But then, we heard a bunch of demos, chronicling the pre-Proscriptor death metal days, ranging from sub-garage recordings to professional. The best of these demos, Temple of Offal, is serviceable death metal; ferocious, but nothing special. That's it, that's all. They would have to change genres to ultimately carve their niche in the blackened soundscape.

The next and last album we heard, Tara, is a masterpiece, one of the most devastating pieces of music committed to space and time. A lyrical classic and as well as musical wonder, it is a true incantation, an honest and authentic commitment of occult ideals, a literal collection of spells. The lyrics approach a poetry resembling Ezra pund and TS Eliot. The music is fast, precise, brutal, and eclectic, peppered with thrash riffs and black metal atmosphere, yet transcending mere genre. It's a true work of art that merits much study and appreciation. Jaws agape for most of the listening experience, it fucking kicked our asses, enraptured by its raw beauty, mystery and authenticity. Winner!

As the Waylorian night swings into full bloom, as beaks caw and snouts snort the song of the predator triumphant, three worn warriors hang their bodies in wooden beds. Three dreams that are one. The wanderer appears three places and the second one is in the tree! Like a whisper that gets louder until it drowns out all thought and obliterates self this message comes to the tossing trio until the dawn’s rays break the spell of darkness that calls to them from deep within the mysterious forest. Bloodmace, do you hear? Hellmaster, can you penetrate the shroud of death and guide these mortal madmen on their insane quest to save this doomed capital of interdimensional commerce? A wall of green rushes at the sleepers and they wake up with a gasp. Vorthon, Thantor and Hell Wraith, hear now the words of the elders! Heed the signs sent to you from beyond! 

Until next week metal maniacs,

Horns.

Baron Lotar Presents...The Letter L

Bloodmace and Hellmaster keep watch over Thrashstone

Sometimes, after snorting heroic amounts of PCP and lighter fluid; we, the masters and overlords of Metal Night, just get fucking weird.

"So what should we listen to tonight, dude."

"How about bands that begin with the letter L!"

"Cool."

L is one of the least represented letters in Metaldom. L is a fey sounding letter, ready to lisp away into the realms of Posuerland at any second. Metal bands sound MASCULINE (yes in fucking all cap). Metal Band names are best when loaded with gutteral vowels and hard consonants into harsh and aggressive words. Names like Gorgoroth, Vader, Megadeth, Manowar, Dio, ect. And if you load your name with X's and Z's, fuck, then you are GODSZZZZZ and nothing will stop you, not a battleaxe, not even Lemmy!!!!!!!!!!!

But we decided it would be fun to pay tribute to the lesser letters. L metal it is.

                                     Saga of the Gatemaster Part 5.1 – The Road Hesh Traveled

Bloodmace passes judgement

Thantor the Bard had been driving his battered transport for the better part of the day, carrying Vorthon the Whip of Fate and his companion Hell Wraith south from Jenkabala palace to the palace of Baron Lotar, who was rumored to be one of the four masters of Waylor. The Glowing tauriat, thrown carelessly on the dash, signaled that the road was not far away.  Hell Wraith turns to Thantor, “I’m afraid the crystal in your rebuilt tauriat will not be terribly accurate. Be very careful as we approach the dimensional rift, don’t overshoot the road.”  Thantor opens his mouth to offer a stinging retort but he is cut off as the vehicle lurches on to the pavement…and over the other side. Jade sand sprays into the waiting abyss on the other side as the bard pumps his brake and turns the wheels to try and avoid the traction of the gaping chasm. The dusty grey lorry is still for a moment as they careen to a stop just short of the divide but after a moment of stillness the pull from the opening to some unknown dimension begins dragging them, along with the whole patch of desert they occupy, towards certain death. In the rear compartment, Vorthon puts his fingertips to his temples. Hell Wraith begins hitting Thantor’s arm, “Gas, gas! Go! Pull out now!” A heavy foot slams on the accelerator and the wheels spit ruby sand at the receding fault line. Then came the reassuring feel of solid pavement beneath rubber wheels, speed, freedom. From the back seat, Vorthon chuckles, “To Waylor driver, your fate awaits you there.”

So first we heard Japanese metal titans Loudness and their 1984 album Disillusion. One of the biggest metal acts to ever come from Japan, they had a cult following here in the US. Their sound is basic NWOBHM, with lots of shredding. This is the main pleasure derived from this album, they come across as a less wanky Shrapnel band. The songs are decent, the riffs elegant and heavy, and the playing superb. Worth a few neck wrenches.

                                   Saga of the Gatemaster Part 5.2 – Enter Lotar, Tyrant of Vorn

As the sun rises on the kaleidoscopic sands of the Time Desert , Thantor the bard opens his eyes and  stretches. “You guys been up long? “ He shoots an angry glance at the stone faced mystics, Vorthon and Hell Wraith, still sitting in their seats. “What, you guys don’t sleep? Gimmie a break.”  The irritated driver opens the door and deposits himself behind the wheel.  The long black ribbon stretches out before them. All day they ride on until the mountains of Waylor can be seen rising in the distance. Boulders and tufts of dry grass spring up with increasing frequency. By the time the road abruptly ends in the grassy foothills of Waylor, the sun is quickly vanishing behind the mysterious, rocky cliffs. Hell Wraith breaks the long silence, “The castle of Baron Lotar is near. Keep your eyes on the hilltops.” Indeed, after only a few moments the three seekers catch sight of a massive stone structure atop a tall hill to their west. As they round the base of the hill, however, their jaws drop. They have indeed found the entrance to the hilltop fortress but before them stands a regiment of weird soldiers. Vaguely humanoid, but with disproportionately long arms, their faces are distinctly porcine, with long snouts and vicious looking teeth. Their uniforms, made of drab leather, bear the symbol of Lotar, a cross with four roses. The leader lopes to the car and motions the interlopers to get out. “You…What Wanting” The head soldier intones in his halting, snorting speech.  Thantor steps forward, “I am Thantor the Bard. Your master has sent for me.”

Baron Lotar examines an enemy

 Untrusting, the stout soldier points towards Vorthon and
Hell Wraith, “you no bring them. They stay.”  Behind them, Vorthon waves his hand and produces a glowing orb. The guards realize too late what is happening. Vorthon tosses the orb into the air and the regiment falls to the ground, writhing in pain. With their adversaries immobilized, the three travelers walk silently up the stone steps that lead to the boxy fortress. At regular intervals along the stairway, the decapitated heads of Lotar’s many enemies have been made into lamps. Silently, the party approaches the top of the gruesome stair. Thantor turns to his companions, “Now what? I hope you have enough magic to get us out of here. That was only the first wave of guards. We’re fucked.”  From the shadows a voice booms, “I would say that is an accurate assessment of your position fool!” Standing at the top of the stairway is a fearsome warrior, stout and caped. His hand, making shapes in the air points down at them. Vorthon falls back, almost knocking Hell Wraith down. The weird scientist holds up his partner and starts to make his way to the top of the stairs. But, coming out of the darkness, soldiers grab hold of them from both sides, and along with Thantor, carry them to the top of the hill. Their captor looks back at them, “Your mistake was to challenge Baron Lotar! I am the tyrant supreme, last of the royal blood, destined to rule this world and the next!” Again the Baron’s hearty laughter echoes across the valley below as our heroes are borne by strange henchmen toward the black stone tower that is Keep Vorn, home of the evil Baron Lotar.

Next, we heard obscure 80's thrash icons Liege Lord and their 1987 album Burn To My Touch, who were a talented band that never really went anywhere, despite a fine pedigree that featured members of Annihilator and Overkill. They had a muscular, power metal edged sound, which may have been they reason they were ignored, since this type of metal was considered a bit passe by 1987. This point led to huge argument between myself and Demon Scourge, which led to 81 dead in the Flaming Pick Axe Skirmish of 2012. As per our ceasefire agreement under paragraph 14, section b, we declared this album to be the winner of the night.

The next album was my fault. We gave Lizzy Borden's Visual Lies a good listen. Boy did it suck. Their earlier albums were decent metal rooted in Priest and Maiden, but except for a couple decent tracks, this is for posuers. It's slickly produced glam metal, with everything you'd expect. Demon Scourge liked this album. He will be dealt with in the appropriate manner at the time of my choosing.

                                                                                          Words of the Elders

From the dimensional tempest that is the Time Desert to the mysterious land of Waylor, Vorthon and his companions have traveled. Here among the craggy peaks and blasted valleys whose boundaries form a thousand tiny kingdoms, here among the magical places of power and secret gates, here is where destinies will meet and the fate of Centon will be decided.  Hail the sacred forests of Jenkabala and the cavern-eaten cliffs of Waylor! Hail tyrant and liberator! Hail to gods of hill and dale, those hidden and those sleeping!  T‘cleorn Awaken!  Your daughters call from peaks unhallowed! Retame and Gur, your sons are waiting in the seas and deserts below!

Until next week she-demons and he-beasts

Horns.

Voices From the Past - King Diamond in the Time Desert

Thus commences another metal night!

King Diamond. The Evil One. The Godfather of Black Fucking Metal. The Painted Panther of Purgatory. The Danish Cheese Master. Gene Simmon's Legal Bitch. First known as the demonic frontman of Mercyful Fate, in the mid-80s, he went solo and released a string a classic trio of concept albums, which is what Metal Night focused upon, drawing evil power from the bowels of hell and the depths of Scotch liquor.

To read the full saga, start here

Saga of the Gatemaster part 4.1 – Hell Wraith turns on

All was darkness in the workshop of Hell Wraith the scientist, save for the slight glow of the luminous stone that made up this underground portion of Castle Thrashstone. Vorthon was moving slowly to the fuse box on the other side of the treacherously cluttered chamber. Thantor the bard cursed behind his teeth and hoped both of these fools who held him captive would be electrocuted when the power surged through the tangle of wires at his feet. Hell Wraith, feverishly making adjustments to the electronics on the table before him cries out, “Not yet! I have to make this one last…OK now!” Vorthon flips the power on and the invention springs to life again. Hell Wraith picks up the strange instrument he is lecturing Vorthon and Thantor on. “Now, as I said before, this is not so much a new idea as an improvement on the Earthen guitar. You see, this is the tool needed to play a special type of music, called heavy metal on its home planet. Often this type of music is used ceremonially, to call forth strength for battles or to open gates for dimensional travel. Additionally, this type of song is used to call demons and other spiritual beings from the dimension we know as XST0014.3, or as it is known on Earth, ‘Hell’. Bloodmace, Hellmaster, Lady DeathCrush, and I all have roots on this remote planet and this is where we must go to rescue these heroes that they may right the balance that was disturbed when their friend, Demon Scourge killed them in an attempt to open a gate to the chaos dimension and destroy the entire dimensional matrix.” Hell Wraith, while filling in Vorthon and his captive has been adjusting the six knobs on one end of his guitar. When he reaches the end of his statement, he plugs in the cord that stretches from the instrument into the box on the table. A low, mournful hum widens into a rich wail and Hell Wraith begins to use the guitar to form a staccato rhythm, punctuated with high squeals and cascades of tiny notes like sparks burning in the darkness.  Thantor’s heart beat fast against his breast as the fear and anger he felt combined into a mighty force he could feel throughout his whole body, but as he was about to turn his newfound strength against his captors,  Hell Wraith silenced the overwhelming bombast pouring fourth from homemade speaker cones.

Demon Scourge wards off good

1986's Fatal Portrait is King's first solo album, and in my humble opinion, his best album, aside from his work with Merciful Fate. I'll be honest, I love Merciful Fate, and nothing in his solo repertoire comes close to capturing the  blackened majesty of that band. Except for this album. The individual songs hold up better than the other albums, which much be taken as a cohesive whole to truly appreciate. This is also the only album that is not a complete concept album, though there are five songs that make a short story. The band has a sound of its own, , distinct from Merciful Fate, though more in sync with mid-80's metal.

Part 4.2 – The Money Shot

Bloodmace explains the facts of life

The walls of Castle Thrashstone reverberated for what seemed like an eternity as Vorthon the Whip of Fate and Thantor the Bard stared mutely at Hell Wraith, who was still holding his reverse engineered relic from across the galaxy. After a time, Vorthon turns to Thantor and speaks gravely “We must seek the four masters of Waylor who can work the other four instruments. You, Thantor, are the one who must call the poor, dead bastards from their prison in XST. You have felt the power now and I am certain you are the one my vision has led me to. You are a bard, song is your craft. We need you to perform for the very fate of our realm. Say you will join us…brother.” Vorthon the Whip of Fate reaches out his hand to the surly bard who regards him with great suspicion.  “You took me prisoner and now you want to call me brother?”  Thantor’s irritation, at the powerful mystics is apparent in his voice, “You will be my master when it is convenient to you and my brother when you need my help then? Ha! Kill me now or let me go.” Vorthon and Hell Wraith share a darting glance and the robed scientist, putting his invention on the table speaks calmly to Thantor, “Let us say you will be our guide across the time desert, to the castle of the tyrant, Baron Lotar. That is your mission is it not?”  A look of surprise crosses Thantor’s visage. Hell Wraith continues, “Lotar is one of the four masters we seek, how does 500 dions, down payment, sound? You take us there and we will see what happens when you sing with a real master of this instrument.” Hell Wraith reaches out his hand and produces a bag of shining coins. Thantor takes the translucent sack and puts it in his front pocket. “I’m ready. You have a spare tauriat or are you going to fix mine?” Suddenly at ease with a pocketful of money Thantor takes a deep breath, sweeping his gaze from one of his customers to the other and continues on, “Fellas, I think we are gonna get along just fine.”

The next album, Abigail, is the one that truly defines what King Diamond is all about. A total horror concept album, the music is more expansive and operatic than the previous one. King also expands the use of  his sharp falsetto, making it more dominating than ever before. The story is also his most concise and accessible, a classic ghost story. The songs do tend to ramble a bit, leaving behind the tight songwriting of his previous band. This was the winner of the night, though I voted for the previous album.

Lord Beltane and the silver skull of Dantor

1988's Them was my least favorite of the three. Though considered a classic, I find it to be a long, rambling mess, with unfocused songs that eschew verse/chorus completely, and King's most annoying, shrill vocal performance. His vocals are an acquired taste, anyway, but go down better when mixed with his mid key growl. The playing is top notch and there are a lot of decent riffs on this album, saving it from total crapdom.

  

Part 4.3 - Words of the elders

Three. A trio of travelers, a Triad of turbulent agendas trekking across the torrid topography. What awaits this unlikely combination of allies in the Time Desert, where the gods play and death is always, always waiting. Everywhere in this blasted furnace, life is drained by heat or fissure, by starvation or thirst. Slowly the color fades out of everything that lives the time desert until nothing remains except the bleached, ghostly shroud of life, passing unnoticed through the windy forests of Jenkabala, or the lonely mountain passes of Waylor.  Everything that is except for the ruined Castle Thrashstone and it’s weird inhabitants. Let it begin o winds of mayhem! Come blow from peaks unhallowed! Let it begin o sword of Raknar! Your skeletal hordes await command!

Until next week hypersapiens…

Horns.

Watts the truth - Hell Wraith invents the amp and we get blind (gaurdian.)

A Gehenna fan.

Across the devil-fruited plain, we ride our flaming steeds with furious vengeance and righteous steel. Through the raging gates of Jenkabala Palace, we devastate the infiltrators, the wicked poseurs, and embark on another motherchunkin' METAL NIGHT!!!!

The innermost sanctum of Castle Thrashstone was a large room with carved wooden benches around a low table. Though most of the castle was in ruins, this room survived intact through the great disaster that overtook the Time Desert when Demon Scourge betrayed and killed his companions in the great hall below. Books of occult knowledge and scientific theories lined the walls. The ritual altars stood at each cardinal point, according to the calculations of the infernal Hellmaster, who invented the multidimensional compass to traverse the fearsome desert in the days before the road appeared in his realm. When Thantor the Bard awoke from his dream of the planked stage and a looming grey figure, he was greeted by two staring figures; He knew Vorthon, the Whip of fate.  Yesterday he was practically shanghaied by the menacing hermit when he crashed his transport on this wrecked castle. The other face was as yet unfamiliar.  Looking out at Thantor from under the dark cowl was a pair of glasses, and somewhere in the shadow behind them was the face of Hell Wraith, the missing cryptophysicist responsible for reverse engineering the Tauriat, a detector that locates dimensional rifts.  In a gravelly voice, the slight scientist introduces himself to the groggy Thantor. “I am Hell Wraith, stranger. Sorry to have to detain you here but, we need you to help save this realm. Please come with me.” Vorthon’s companion rises and motions Thantor to the eastern wall. The dazed traveler, assisted by Vorthon, walks the hundred or so paces to the bookcase, which becomes increasingly translucent as the three men approach it, then disappears as they walk through it and down the stairs behind it.

Another Gehenna fan. 

Our first album was Seen Through the Veils of Darkness (The Second Spell) by Gehenna.Gehenna is your classic mid 90's second wave Norwegian black metal. Lots of cheesy keyboards, corpse paint, lots of grim atmosphere, and mid tempo funeral marches. It's good stuff, though an acquired taste. This kind of black metal was fashionable to laugh about in the Aughts, but over time it turns out to be a good listen.

The legendary Nactan contemplates mortality.

The second album we heard was Japanese grindcore legends SOB's What's The Truth Formed in 1983, they were a big influence on the UK grindcore scene of the late 80's and especially Napalm Death, who covered a couple of their songs for the Peel Sessions album. Released in 1990, this is by the book grindcore, not quite as fast and chaotic as Napalm or Carcass, but it is still a hellish din, an ultra caffeinated nightmare. This is just furious grindcore; fast, loose, and face peeling


.

Yet more Gehenna fans

“Hell Wraith,” Thantor interjects as the three dusty figures make their way down the gently sloping hidden stair, “Can you repair my tauriat? I need to reach the Waylorian Mountains as soon as possible.  I suppose the help you seek is a ride out of the desert. Well we ain’t goin’ nowheres until I can find the damn road.”  Hell Wraith looks over his shoulder sternly, his words come out clipped and forceful, “I know of your mission. We will accompany you when the time is right.” As the group swings open the stone door, luminous like the rest of the underground portion of Castle Thrashstone, they enter a workshop, cluttered with weird projects in various stages of completion. Across the wall opposite them though,three large boxes sit atop an expanse of table. Hell Wraith leads a single file line through the tangle of wires and electronic detritus. When he reaches the repair bench, he begins to attach cables from one box to another. As Thantor neared the boxes, he realized what they were. Speakers! From behind one of the large cabinets, Hell Wraith produces an instrument Thantor has never seen. Six long wires stretch across a long piece of wood. At one end there are six adjustment knobs, at the other, a strange, horned body adorned with two knobs. Hell Wraith addresses his audience, “As you know, Vorthon, I have been developing a way to call to the most elder gods that Bloodmace and Hellmaster might return to this dimension and repair the rift in the dimensional clock. To this end I have developed, or you might say, improved upon a tool.” He brandishes the strange instrument. “With this, and you, Thantor, we shall restore glory to Castle Thrashstone and save the entire belief system of every known race in the galaxy.” Thantor looks from one of his captors to another. Vorthon, grimacing, his eyes sparkling in the weird luminosity of Castle Thrashstone’s glowing rock basement. Hell Wraith, eager as a schoolboy, looks to him with unbridled enthusiasm still clutching his invention in his hand. Thantor the bard, town crier or Melnor, caravan leader and ballad singer looked at these grinning kooks and voiced his concerns out loud. “You guys are fuckin’ wacky. I don’t know what the crap kinda jive you jackasses are tryin’ to hand me but I want no part of this foolishness.” When Hell Wraith touched his hand to the strings of his invention, everything went black.

BLIND GUARDIAN! Or I smash apart this computer with my face!

Next, we heard Texas tech thrash progenitors Watchtower and scrutinized their first album, Energetic Disassembly. Their second album, Control and Resistance, is a certified classic, much worshiped by prog heads. The first album is nearly as amazing, and thrashier, sounding like a bastardization of Fates Warning and Coroner. Socially conscience lyrics keep this album grounded in the real world, somewhat, but the music climbs into the ozone. You want time changes? This has more than the usual quota. Jagged atonality? Jazzy interludes, ball crunching riffs, scrotum pinching high vocals? Yes, indeed. This was going to be my pick for Metal Night, until Demon Scourge threatened us with a lasso spear unless we heard the next album.



Blind Guardian's 'Imaginations From The Other Side' is Demon Scourge's favorite album. If you say anything bad about this album, Demon Scourge slits your throat, no questions asked. So I won't say anything bad about it. But, there really isn't a whole lot bad you can say. It's one of the greatest power metal albums ever made. It set the basic Blind Guardian formula, heroic songs, epic arrangements medieval beast master instrumentation,  butt-fuckingly heavy thrash riffs. This was the winner of the night. Wanna escape the cage of reality into the realm of fantasy? Let the Blind Guardian lead the way.......noooooooo Demon nooooooo i'm sooooory I was cheesy ahhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!

When the masters return, what will happen to the malls that have sprung up overnight in the absence of Bloodmace and Hellmaster? What will happen to the great horde of posers who crowd the halls of the sacred Jenkabala palace to spend money on things they believe will get them laid? Where have the heroes gone when the world of Centon needs them most? Trapped. TRAPPED! Trapped in the dimension of formless dread. Lost among the shadows that flit at the edge of vision in the twilight hours. There is one who has heard the call from beyond though, one who will never rest until the very gates of reason fall before his legion!  Vorthon the Whip of Fate! It is he who shall champion our heroes in the realm of the gods. It is he who will risk all on the roll of the dice in the place where the wind of mayhem blows cold thorough Olympian peaks, calling to account those who have tried to usurp the last bastion of metal for their commercial concerns. HEADRON! Your day of reckoning is at hand!

Until next week, Bros and Broettes

Horns.