Temple of the King - Early New York Metal and Fester Blackheart

New York metal brings to mind many things, but in my mind it mainly brings to mind hardcore influence thrash bands like Anthrax, Nuclear Assault, and Overkill. Not to mention lunkhead metalcore grandfathers like Cro-Mags and Agnostic Front. And also brutal fucking death metal bands like Suffocation and Immolation. But dig back a little deeper, and you'll find a legion of traditional metal bands who haunted the bars and clubs from Queens to Hell's Kitchen in the early 80's. Tonight, we looked at the some of the cream of the crop from that scene.

First up, Riot's Fire Down Under. This was the most NWOBHM inspired and also the winner of the night. It's a Priest/UFO inspired riff fest with an emphasis on AOR radio anthems, though they were probably just a little too rough edged for the masses, back in the day. There really aren't many surprises on this album, just a straight forward set of rockers, and not a ballad to be found. The lyrics focus on heavy metal concerns like fighting, livin' fast, swords, and with swords comes Tequila, of course!  A pretty good document of HM circa 1981. But what's up with the cover? A man with a white, furry seal head as mascot? Really?

Chronicles of the North Part 3.1 - Of Woods and Trees

The candlelit chamber where we enjoyed an evening’s repast with Chanthoth was small and glowing yellow. Bloodmace sat to my right and across from us was the mystic stranger who should not be. Chanthoth was the last of the T’Chah Karnac, a line of sorcerers who once ruled Jenkabala through their power over the Wyverns. They had bound the wizened creatures to the bloodlines of the ruling houses of the land and thus held sway over this whole region. Blue eyes gazed out of a dark hood at my brother and I as we enjoyed our rice, a rare variety cultivated by the lizard people of northern Jenkabala on the banks of the river Trimpor. As the solemn wizard finishes his grain he begins to speak to us in our ancient earthen dialect, “Your father was here. He was a friend to the order long ago and so I shall honor our promise to him and teach you the secrets of the denim and leather you now wear. You,” he says looking directly at me, “have fallen prey to the foolish trap of overestimating your power in this realm. When your friend Zodron the mystic was taken by Headron, you rushed blindly into his trap, dragging your friends and the rest of this blasted world with you. 

Yes, I will teach you the power of the vestments and more, but you will never unlearn them, do you 
 understand this?”  He looks gravely at both of us and we know that great trials await us both. Bloodmace opens his mouth to speak but Chanthoth raises his hand in a gesture of silence and continues, “You, Bloodmace must go back into the Time Desert and mend the tear in the dimensional shell that continues to disturb the spiritual dimensions. Your special skills will be augmented by your father’s jacket. Take the one you call Lady Steel and travel across the arid wastes to defeat the hordes of interdimensional beings sprung from this rupture. Demon scourge, you have much to atone for and I will personally see to it that you are mentally ready to do battle with the thief of minds but first we must visit another of your father’s acquaintances.” Chanthoth puts his bowl on the low table before us. “Come, the hour soon approaches when he will awaken” Through empty halls we rushed, down endless staircases illuminated by tiny, dim lights. Finally, we reached our apparent destination. We were in a room that differed from the others. In sharp contrast to the tidy appearance of the rest of the hidden complex, the floor was covered with junk. Cast off remnants of generations lined the floor. Through the middle of the chaos, a path had been cleared that led to another door. Chanthoth steps lightly across to the entry and raps forcefully upon its surface, scrawled everywhere with ancient curse words and rude pictures. From behind the door we hear a hoarse shout. “Graaagh! What the hell?” The heavy door swings open to reveal a tall, unshaven human holding a beer can, squinting into the light of the chamber, “What the fuck you guys want? You got any beer?”   

Virgin Steele's 1982 self titles debut is a bit disappointing. All the sword and sorcery elements are there; the songs are epic; and the musicianship worthy; but the production ruins what otherwise might have been a stellar album, making the guitars clanky and tinny; they keyboards too resonate, and the bass too trebly. It's like the production guy was mixing a Chaka Khan album instead of  the screaming iron fest that it should be. Virgin Steel would go on to correct these mistakes. This is an album that screams for a remix; otherwise, it's a decent power metal album.

Chronicles of the North Part 3.2 - I Believe in Anarchy

Chanthoth steps forward, past the lonely dweller and motions for us to follow. Inside the room, bedding is pushed into one corner, next to an antiquated tape player. Cassettes are piled everywhere. The stranger and our host exchange greetings in the doorway, then Chanthoth turns to us, “This is Fester Blackheart, sons of Bloodhammer. His realm is the underground, where his people were driven by the Wyvern many years ago.” Bloodmace and I exchange a look of amazement, and my brother gives voice to our thoughts, “I have never known the Wyvern to attack without provocation. What quarrel did you have with those noble beasts?” Chanthoth has produced a can of beer and offers it to

Fester who sits down among the stacks of brightly colored plastic cases on a bench attached to the wall. As he pulls back the metal tab, he begins to speak, “That’s bogus, The Wyverns fuckin’ suck. You’re way too young to remember but it was back in the days of your father,” he pours the contents of the can down his gullet in one quick swig then slams the empty can down on the bench. “We used to live here near the river, along with the Sarcon. When the Wyvern made their power play, they elevated the Sarcon above us and made them our masters. Most of them became dicks right away, they took our homes and made us live outside the city. Some humans went along with them and accepted the Wyvern as gods. Your friend, Hellmaster, his family was one of the ruling houses before his journey to the Time Desert. Some of us would never go along with this. We said fuck that, and rebelled. Now we are scattered throughout Jenkabala and Samur, living in fear of the Wyvern’s minions.”  Chanthoth produces another silver can from inside his garment.  Fester rises, grabbing the beer in one hand and picking out a yellowed cassette case from a nearby pile with the other. Chanthoth addresses us, “My people held the minds of the Wyvern in their hands, but we had not reckoned the consequences of such control. As we put more energy into manipulating the royal houses through the creatures, they were becoming stronger all the time until they no longer needed us to control the royals, their minds were one. When their revenge came it was like a swift blade, sharp, separating us from everything. We were held prisoner here in the forest canopy for generations, until there were only a few of us left, unwilling to leave what was now our home. Fester found the passage to the inside of the tree while being perused by the religious zealots and made it his new home.”  Behind us, the tousle-haired Fester Blackheart has clunked down the play button on the cassette deck and the raucous music blasts the small room.

Shoot you down again and again
want to live, your biggest sin
Fight the system, only to die
it’s hard to live with hate and lies

Settling back on the bench he shouts over to us, “You ain’t heard nothin’ yet!  I ain’t even got to the part where I waste some guards and escape the camp!” Chanthoth produces more beers and hands them to us. It’s going to be a long night.

Lastly, we heard Twisted Sister's 1982 debut, Under The Blade. This surprised us with its no bullshit approach, a far cry from the 80's cartoon metal band that they would become in a few years. This is a stripped down version of Judas Priest filtered through punk raucousness, though Dee Schneider's rugged baritone keeps them from being clones. It's an enjoyable album, a bit lunk headed, as the lyrics can be un-consciously misogynistic. But these are just rock n roll anthems, meant to be shouted drunkenly at live shows, where this band is truly in its element.

So the truth about the Wyverns and T'Chah Karnac has been revealed to Bloodmace and Demon Scourge. The illusion of history has been peeled back to reveal the skull beneath the smile. There are no good rulers. Their power must constantly be challenged and broken that the voracious appetite for control  does not devour everything. Call out to the elders! IA! IA! Lord Headron's empire is but the pebbles you crush down as you trod across the cosmos! Now Bloodmace and Demon Scourge must go their separate ways and raise an army against the threat that has been looming over them since that fateful night when Headron took over the body of Zodron the minstrel. What terrors will befall them and what revelations will be unveiled as they travel the breadth of Centon?

Until next week, children of Morpheus 

Horns