Bury Me In Smoke - Sludge Metal With Lady Steel

Sludge Metal. Pyramid Scheme Metal. Hipster metal. Odd that sludge is the metal of choice for the hipster elite, but it can be quite accessible, and is a good platform for your uber-avant-gardness(though I find black metal better suits that kind of weirdness). I find quite a bit of it too repetitive, and not in the way I prefer. But the sludge I do like, I like alot. It is the bass guitar of metal genres: easy to play, hard to play well. Also, chicks seem to like it, as Baroness Steel had joined us for our sonic adventuring.

Let us explore.

First, we heard a band from the hipster Mecca itself: Portland, Oregon. Witch Mountain are a female fronted band and South Of Salem is their latest slab of bluesy sludge. This was the easily the most accessible band we heard. No troll gruntings here, lead singer Uta Plotkin has a smooth siren wail, recalling Robert Plant at times, reminding one of Fleetwood Mac at others. This is catchy, but most importantly heavy. Worthy of many repeat listens. Your girlfriend may even dig this. They are not reinventing the genre, but do familiar Sabbath things things very well, with a couple surprises.

Saga of the Gatemaster part 9.1 - Steeler

Lady Steel stared out the tower window of Keep Trawston. She had been watching the progress of four travelers on the backs of their theeba all morning. The lizard-borne party inched closer across the floor of the Trawston plains as the sun reached its mid-afternoon zenith. Turning to the priestesses behind her, she speaks in a smooth baritone, “Our guests are almost here. Let us greet them appropriately.” The hooded women nod in silent agreement and each take an ornately carved

broadsword from the rack on the wall behind them. Exiting Lady Steel’s private chamber, the group traverses the long stairway that leads to the keep’s large courtyard. Today is market day at Keep Trawston and merchants have come from all over Waylor to sell their wares at the region’s largest free market. All move quickly aside when they catch sight of the fearsome warriors crossing the crowded square. The gatekeepers rush to swing open the special door, carven with ancient symbols that is only used by Lady Steel and her minions. The women stride
purposefully across the grounds to the stable where they mount their theeba and gallop off in the direction of Hell Wraith and Baron Lotar.

Our next band, Zoroaster, is more knarly beast, and their 2009 opus, Voice of Saturn, is a psychedelic hellride, Cheech and Chong's weed powered spaceship, an epic jam. Not merely content to jam out stoner riffs and feedback, these weirdos churn out weird ambient jams between lava flows and psychotic chanting. This was one of my favorite albums and in my humble opinion, the winner of Metal Night, though the ladies and I think Demon Scourge were more down with the Witch.

Saga of the Gatemaster part 9.2 – Death or Glory (mostly death)

Baron Lotar was first to spy the lizard-mounted warriors on the horizon and he calls out to the others, “We have company. Get your arms ready, this may be the master of the soil giant we fought yesterday.” Hell Wraith squints at the distance and can just make out five figures astride their theeba. The two parties meet in the shadow of the grey mesa that is capped with the mighty Keep Trawston. Lady Steel rides at the head of her party and as she approaches Hell Wraith at the head of his, she

bids her scaly steed to stop and pushes the cowl from her head, revealing her sleek, aquiline features and variegated green flesh. Behind her, her priestesses have formed the sign of the star with their swords. Hell Wraith addresses their fearsome leader first, “I am Hell Wraith of the Time Dessert. Have you come from Keep Trawston?” With a slight guffaw of disbelief, Lady Steel takes stock of Hell Wraith, Lotar and the tyrant’s soldiers. “I am Lady Steel of Keep Trawston. Your mission is no secret to me, nor is the identity of your friends. It is dangerous indeed to travel with a despot in a free land; his enemies may be hiding everywhere.” She shoots a knowing look at Baron Lotar, who shifts uncomfortably even as his guards ready their weapons. “Bloodmace has communicated his will from the realm of demons. You are to come with me to my home. We leave for Mount Tarvo at dawn. The painter Moloch is already waiting to join us at Keep Trawston.” As she speaks, her companions dismount and stand to her side, still holding the swords in their mystical formation. “Before you can enter this keep, you must pass through the center of these swords. It is our custom.” Hell Wraith is the first to have the swords lowered over him, then Baron Lotar. The acolytes approach him and the sword star begins its descent from the top of his head. When they get down to his neck however, the star tightens into a steel noose. Lotar’s henchmen rush to protect him but are repelled by Lady Steel. Opening her left hand, she reveals the eye in the center of her palm. The burly, boar-headed humanoids are helpless, held in thrall by the unblinking green eye. Steel turns to Lotar, “You have no power here, tyrant. This is a free land and any attempts to threaten the refugees from your evil kingdom will bring dire consequences for you. We have a mission to awaken our lords from the realm of death. I suggest you keep your mind on this task. Release him.” Lotar falls to the ground with a gasp, as do his soldiers. Lady Steel and her entourage bound off on their well rested theeba and the green warrior calls over her shoulder, “Use the smaller door on the west wall, my attendants will be waiting for you and hurry, we eat before sundown!”

At last, we moved onto uber-hiptser drone band Sunn O)))). Sunn are one of those bands whose inclusion to your collection always adds hipster points(whatever the fuck that is worth), but are rarely ever listened to. If someone tells you they listen to this band all the time, they are liars. But I will make an exception for this album, Monoliths and Dimensions . It is easily their most accessible album. You have the same droning power chords, but there are layers built here, constructed from sound effects, horns, and even a choir. More akin to some of John Cage's more grinding moments. An avant-gard masterpiece, but not as good of a metal album as the previous.

Words of the Elders

Keep Trawston! Bastion of freedom in this cruel, sun beaten land where magic rules and savagery is a way of life. It is said that Lady Steel was born of the bloodline of dread Mount Tarvo, sprung from the same sandy loam that propagates the hearty vegetation thriving in this arid clime. Sister to Bloodmace and Demon Scourge, bringer of death to titan and tyrant! Chaos sweeps down the plains from the black and grizzled peaks where her grandfather sleeps, dreaming always of his revenge. Now others have come, called by her brother’s feud in the dime desert, others who seek to resurrect Bloodmace and Demon Scourge to stop the destruction they set in motion when the dimensional fabric was ripped during their battle. Hasten to arms, warriors of rose and sand! It is this land that calls to you with blood!

Until next week heshers,

horns

Maggot Infested Puke - Grindcore on the Trawston Plains

Grind-core: Bastard child of thrash, hardcore, and noise. Most grind-core songs clocks in at 30 seconds long and 3000 beats a minute. Grind-core gets no respect. It used to be the most extreme music on the planet, the heralded end of music. Music did not end, of course, but grind-core left it with some ugly scars. Shall we dance the indelicate steps in praise of Grind-core Night?

Saga of the Gatemaster part 8.1 - Trawston Bloody Trawston

The sky covered the Trawston plains like a great grey dome, dwarfing the strange band of travelers who trudged across it’s seemingly never ending breadth. At the front of the procession was Hell Wraith, demon scientist of the occult. His eyes fixed on the horizon, looking for signs of the butte where Keep Trawston perched and Lady Steel held court. Behind him Thantor the bard sauntered lazily behind, his eyes also reached for signs of the rocky rise, for he had been secretly planning to make his escape when the party reached their destination. He had been shanghaied into traveling with these untrustworthy renegades and with their erstwhile leader

still missing he knew the time was now. Bringing up the rear was Baron Lotar, tyrant of Vorn. His boar-headed soldiers marched emotionlessly, weapons at the ready. Ever since Vorthon theWhip of Fate, desert mystic and pupil of the great Bloodmace disappeared at the foot of Mount Tarvo, all have been uneasy. Hell Wraith, seemingly under a trance has been leading them in the direction of Keep Trawston but without the powerful wizard to hold the group together they are drifting aimlessly in a sea of tall grass. From the back of the line Baron Lotar cries out “Hai! Under the ground!” As he goes down, his henchmen hack frantically at the grass around him. Hell Wraith is already running toward them “Get him out! It’s about to form!” Indeed, as the lanky adventurer speaks his words, the giant tears itself from the dirt, throwing the mighty Lotar back to the place where Thantor the Bard stands frozen at the awesome sight of a huge humanoid skeleton made of roots and stones as it rises wrathfully above them. As this monstrosity stands fully upright, soil from the bare patch of ground where it tore free covered the beast as muscle and skin. Atop this body, an elongated head, who’s weirdly distorted face stared angrily at Lotar and his posse. On the ground the Baron has recovered and yells out to his
troops, “Shit, fan out you mother grabbers! Spear this dick in the heart!” Hell Wraith, moving slightly out of range begins his incantation as Thantor the Bard whips out his shotgun to try and slow the wakened titan who had already swiped two of Lotar’s guards to death with its gnarled root claws. In the distance, lightning lashes the land around cursed Mount Tarvo.

First up, we heard the godawful lovely noise of a one Colombian band called Herpes. This was a true find by Demon Scourge, a gold nugget at the bottom of the toilet bowl. The EP Medellin, released in 1989, truly surprised me, as I did not know that any grindcore existed outside of Britain and the US in the late 80's . It is a wonderful piece of filth, sounding much like Scum era Napalm death, but with weirder vocals, and even lower production values. It is a howl from jungle, treading the line between music and predatory grunting, precariously echoing the state of mind of a young metal head(one man band, yo) living in the murder capital of the world circa 1989.

Saga of the Gatemaster part 8.2 - From Trawston plains I bring you death

Lotar’s helm was covered with mud and sap as he dodged and struck at the mighty creature that had risen before them. Only two of his soldiers remained, spread out behind him lobbing their magic spears into the giant’s face as their leader attacks. Hell Wraith finishes intoning his spell just as he is swept into the battle as their adversary stumbles blindly in his direction. Rolling away from the smashing stride of the huge beast, he holds out his fingertips toward the advancing threat. The monster of soil, rock and root claws at him but as its arm swings out towards Hell Wraith the spell begins to work. Whatever force holds together their adversary begins to break apart. The arm

swinging in the direction of the occultist comes detached from the torso, flying past Hell Wraith into the chest of the unfortunate Thantor. The bard hits the ground with a sickening wet thud as the rest of their foe disintegrates into its component parts until all that’s left is a perfectly domed mound. Hell Wraith rushes over to the wounded Thantor but it is too late. The impact of the heavy mound of roots and compacted dirt hit his body with such force that the entire torso of his body is ripped into shreds. Gore hangs sloppily from broken bones. Lotar is making his way across the field with his remaining soldiers. As they approach the spot where Hell Wraith is looking over the mutilated body of his companion the tyrant sees an alarming sight. The mound left behind from the body of their attacker begins, slowly, to move. Lotar bounds to Wraith’s side crying out “Look brother! That dirt, it moves again!” Hell Wraith jumps aside. The mound has taken on an unwholesome, gelatinous look and quickly envelops the body of Thantor. Then it is still.

Next we heard the Dismembered Fetus/Drogheda split from 1997. These Colorado cretins bash through some sick fucking grind. Nothing special going on here, just your average 'let's fist fuck the rotting corpse' fest.
Neat song titles like 'Whore In The Dumpster' and 'Masturbation With A Crowbar'.

Our next band were the clear winners of the night. I'm not claiming that these motherfuckers are the best band or can even play their instruments proficiently. We were just laughing our asses off at their fucktarded antics. Bands like this pretty much are the 'Jackass' of music. Festering Puke's 1995 demo I Love Rape...Jerking Off in Your Mom's Face! is, at 67 songs, 28 minutes of pure shit. But playing with your poop can still be alot of fun if you are in the right mood. Most of these songs do not even approach the 30 second mark. One remarkable thing about this album, is how much it evokes the feeling of staying the night at some coked up punker's house in Denver, Colorado and having your bed stolen out from under you. It's that same fucking feeling. Amazing. Here is the entire demo in its entirety, uploaded to Youtube for posterity. Expect some racism, misogyny, misanthropy, ect. Your hipster girlfriend will not like this. She will probably break up with you if she ever found out.


The last fucking album we heard for the night was Carcass' classic Peel Sessions from 1989. Now, everyone knows that Carcass is the superior band, having invented grindcore and deathgrind and then later on melodic death metal. This little slab captures the band in peak form, embodying rot and decay with a deadly smirk and a bit of virtuosity. Horrifying horror from the bowels of terror. Absolutely the most extreme music out there circa 1989. Still holds up today. It just did not have the sense of putrid fun that suited our mood on this Metal Night.

Words of the Elders

A day of judgment has come upon our heroes, a cruel punishment from Mount Tarvo whose black peak menaces the plains beneath the keep of Lady Steel. Evil gods of old, jealous keepers of secrets untold! Your powers reach above and beneath. Thy supplicants fill the shadows and marshes, thy servants rule the air and rock! Can none challenge the power of the formless masters who sleep at the tops of mountains and at the bottom of the deepest seas? And what of Vorthon? What of Tolar and the strange dwelling where his warriors prepare their attack from outside the temporal universe? Was the viscous mound that enveloped the poor bard after his death part of Tolar’s strange network? Beware fathers and mothers, beware of the insignificant creatures you mock, for what you think is nothing might be something after all. Beware o lords of sky and deep, your children tonight are vengeful as ghosts of Saturn’s devoured children and tonight they ride!

 

Until next week tyrants,

Horns

Vampire's black mud - French black metal and a swampy encounter

Fuck the French, they say. Bunch of braggart baguette surrender lemurs, they say. I must admit, there is a lot to criticize about the Frogs. Their language is perhaps the least metal sounding, a collection of effette tongue clucking on soft pallettes, not harsh and manly, like German, Norwegian, or English. But the French have struck back. There is a surprising number of diversity and quality of metal in France, totally in line with the European affinity. Today we sample from the black metal scene, which, until recently, was very underrated by the evil hordes.

Waylor is a mountainous land, full of hidden valleys and foggy mountaintops. The shady lowlands are teeming with strange wildlife, while the rocky peaks are home to mystics, madmen, barons and kings. On the highest peaks, the Waylorian masters have their fortresses and on the northernmost outcropping of the Gol range, the fearsome Baron Lotar holds court next to the mysterious Time Desert. Together with Vorthon the Whip of Fate, Hell Wraith, and Thantor the Bard, Lotar has traveled a day’s journey from his home at Keep Vorn on the way to Keep Trawston where they will meet Lady Steel, keeper of the Sludgetron, a magic object Hell Wraith seems particularly anxious to inspect. Their party has reached a particularly foreboding spot in the tarvo lowlands, an area between the outer reaches of Lotar’s lands and the Trawston plains. The marshy terrain has slowed down the reptilian theeba, upon whose backs the party has traveled since they left Thantor’s transport at Keep Vorn. The supine lizards, with their soft pearlescent scales and huge gripping claws make the perfect

beast of burden in this predominantly rocky area but the soft ground here offers no resistance to their talons. Looming in the distance is the black peak of Mount Tarvo, cursed gravestone of the titan Bloodhammer, father of Bloodmace and Demon Scourge. Thantor, Vorthon, and Hell Wraith have gone ahead to an island of sorts, formed of the knotted roots of the gnarled trees that grow in this fragrant marsh. Behind them, Baron Lotar and his servants trail along, stopping here and there to mark the areas they planned to annex to the lands of Keep Vorn. Across the hazy marsh the travelers can see the beginning of the dry, rocky land that leads to the base of Mount Tarvo. Smoke rises lazily from the makeshift chimney of a simple hut near the bank. “We should just go around” Thantor offers to Hell Wraith and Vorthon, “Can you imagine what a problem this is gonna be if laughing boy back there brings up the infantry with him?” Vorthon nods in agreement. The Whip of Fate looks sternly across the wetland and turns to his companions, “backtrack and try to lead Lotar around the hut, I must go alone.” Whirling around suddenly, the weird mystic disappears into a swirl of red mist.

First, we heard underground obscurities Bekhira with their only full release 'L'Elu Du Mal'. This is fairly standard, but fairly awesome, mid 1990's era black metal. All the ingredients are there: tremulous riffing, spooky keyboards, grim atmosphere, sounding nothing more than a slightly more epic version of Darkthrone or a more necro Satyricon. Its all well played and well recorded (for lo-fi) and worth a listen, but nothing really distinguishes it from any other corpse painted also-rans from the same era, except that they might be a bunch of fucking Nazis. Vichy scum!

When Vorthon stepped out from the red vapor on the other side of the marsh the first thing he noted about the structure in front of him was its unique construction. A thick moss covered the entire hovel, making it resemble a small hill with a chimney. Vorthon rounded the hut looking for an entrance and for the first time realized that he had been summoned, for he knew not what force brought him across the swamp or what he sought in this ramshackle dwelling. He quickly scanned the desolate area for the adept who sought his presence. From the edge of the marsh where he stood, the foot hills were a short distance away, “Curious,” Vorthon thinks to himself, “that one would put a house right out here in the open. So many good spots here.” Suddenly, Vorthon realizes his vulnerable position and backs up against the hut, but as he does the wall gives way. The gelatinous substance that envelops him as he falls backwards is nothing like the mossy wooden structure he leaned against seeking cover. Within seconds his whole body is inside the “wall.” Realizing his lungs will also fill with the strange goo, Vorthon uses his Waylorian magic to turn off his breathing. He feels as though he is falling, but not always down. The warm gel speeds past him in every direction until he feels a pair of hands on his shoulders and his head bobs to the surface. A blast of sound assaults his ears. Talking, crackling fire, open space. Vorthon turns on his breathing and the smell of food and sweat rushes into his nostrils as he inhales deeply the strange air. The tremendous, dim room he finds himself in is filled with Dwarven warriors, but all are engaged talking to one another or eating. One large fire burns in the center if the circular room, barely illuminating the area near the wall where he was pulled through. Turning, Vorthon is surprised to see the hands pulling him out of the mire belong to none other than the legendary Tolar the Mystic! “By the scourge and mace, walk youngster. By the Sauroped and their Wyvern masters, you will speak!” He waves his hand and Vorthon is frozen, but compelled to speak, “Bloodmace sent me.” Vorthon intones in a voice not his own.

"The nebulae in the superior sky howled like a starving hound"But next came an absolute masterpiece. Deathspell Omega's 2010 opus, Paracletus. This is blackened jazz, an album so thick with poisonous atmosphere, mind swelling composition, lightening musicianship; an album so obscure, so sideways, so fucking righteous, that Demon Scourge and I shit our intestines twice and light our asses on fire. This is high art worth of the Loueve. This is the band that Tool always tried to be but were pussies. This is a triumphant accomplishment. This is also just another album for these baguette eaters, because every album they have put out in the pastis equally a amazing. Winner!!!

Next came the absolute worst black metal recording I have ever heard and definitely the worst thing we have heard at Metal Night. Vlad Tepes is one of the most influential bands in French black Metal, but I cannot see why, unless the severe shit quality of their recording is somehow necro. Imagine a bunch of 12 year olds in corpse paint hacking out their first barely cogent riffs in a dank basement, then go to the attic of the same building and turn on the tape recorder and that is what the La Morte Lune demo is. We endured this for a half an hour. They might not have been too bad if it had been recorded better. Could not tell either way.

The voice of the Goddess is always hidden within an echo. The hard surfaces reflect truths unhallowed and knowledge unread. This is the essence of Waylor and its folk. Hear the butte and gorge when they speak their desolate litany! Hear the silent dwellers at the gates of twilight! This is the part of Centon not visited by intergalactic religious tourists, the forgotten region. Shunned by the elder council and left to its own governance this patchwork of feudal lords, technologically advanced communes, and bold tyrants formed a cultural hothouse for weird religions and new forms of magic. Hail to the gods of our fathers, the elder ones whose sleep allowed for the growth of reason and whose waking will mark its end! What was once shall be again!

Until next week wolfpack,

Horns