Wartime - Doom Metal and the Battle for Jenkabala

We were going to do something a bit different, more of a trollish doom theme, but the band we intended to warm up with, Uncle Acid and the Deadbeats, got us into a Sabbath groove. So it continued through out the night, until human sacrifice, astral projection, and craft beer proved to be the only back through the dark portal. Yup. Uncle Acid is a new band from England and we heard their 2011 opus Blood Lust. Big stoner rock vibe, but without the stems and seeds, mining thick Sabbath riffs and grooves right down to the analog warmth. Vocalist Uncle Acid sounds amiably Ozzy-like, though his vocals are buried in the background. Not big on songcraft, the focus is on groove, feel, and wah-wah, fuzz, and mushrooms. It's a good time doom record, with only a few foreboding bad acid trip-like moments. I liked this album a lot, but it did not win the night.


Chronicles of the North Part 10.1 - The Rite of Darkness

Chanthoth was sitting in the darkness when we reached him in the garden chamber of the tree bound fortress. Bloodmace and I had split our party into three groups,  Hellmaster, Deathcrush, Vorthon, Lotar and Lady Steel together with Frostor  are holding positions outside, near the entrance to this arboreal habitat. Fester Blackheart, Ophelia Skullbourne and Hell Wraith have descended to the root level, seeking the hidden machinery called the Garm. We are here with Chanthoth to cast a spell against the Wyvern that, when amplified by the Garm, will disrupt the power flow of Samur's reptilian rulers. With a warm pop, all the candles placed about the room lighted as we approached the meditating mystic. Without opening his eyes, Chanthoth addresses us."Quickly now, light the 

incense. We haven't much time." Striding rapidly to the other end of the long gallery that served as Chanthoth's garden, I grab a chunk of pink crystal from one of the shelves that line the wall and hold it over one of the candles. I drop the crackling shard into a hollowed out skull and return to my position. Bloodmace has taken his place as well, sitting cross legged opposite the bearded wizard. I placed the skull, now emitting a thick column of fragrant smoke, into the middle of the circle. Chanthoth picks up his guitar and begins to pick out the music. We chant the ancient spell "Harder Than Steel." Outside, we hear the flapping of giant wings. The Wyvern are here. From the great window that runs across the wall opposite us, I can see two of the fearsome creatures peering in. "They cannot enter." I hear our host's voice inside my mind. "Their troops will be on their way up now though. Bloodmace, use the Darkthrone patch. Eyes still closed, the weird magician raises his pick hand and a bolt of energy strikes the lizards at the window, who fall precipitously to the ground with a crashing thud that shakes the forest. From the other side of the room, Sauron and human warriors flood into the sanctuary, surrounding us. I can feel the floor tremble a bit as the organic machinery of the Garm groans into motion. Bloodmace and I share a knowing glance as we put our backs together and prepare to defend our position.

The winner of the night were doom godz Pentagram, and their proper 1985 debut, Relentless. Having been around since the early 70's, Pentagram were one of the first metal bands to run with the sound that Sabbath abandoned in the mid 70's, when they were all snorting massive amounts of cocaine. Founder Bobby Leibling, despite being a massively talented songwriter, took as many drugs as he could afford, getting clean from heroin only a few years ago. Relentless is a full on doom metal album, with a focus on song craft and massive, skull crushing riffs. The songs chug along from slow paced to mid tempo, and the attack is aggressive, like Sabbath on crank. Not many pleasant vibes running through this album. All is darkness and doom. They, along with St. Vitus and Trouble, are the true progenitors of the doom genre and this album is a certified classic, an essential document. Winner of the night. Here's the entire fucking album:


Chronicles of the North Part 10.1 - The Wizard of Ice and Death 

There were twenty soldiers, perhaps more staring at us, weapons drawn. From the back of their ranks a thick, fierce Sauron strode towards us, drawing an ornate Samurian pistol. Chuckling, he pulls back the hammer, "I have not forgotten how you treated our queen in the days just before your first deaths. Hellmaster will be a dead man now, fools." He pulls back the hammer but before he has a chance to shoot, Bloodmace, hand on the Darkthrone patch, unleashes a blast of cold from his mouth with an unholy scream. The Sauron commander's cries are cut short as the wind tears away his flesh, it's icy force shattering chunks of crystallized tissue into green and ruby dust. Panic breaks out in our enemy's ranks as Bloodmace continues to emit a horrible sound though his entire body has been consumed by the howling wind, his physical contour lost in the blinding release of energy. Wyverns are now circling the tree, watching their troops be decimated with a frozen blast. There is one moment of silence as Bloodmace returns to this plane in an empty room, but the clattering and shouting of another group soon fills the air. The voice of Chanthoth comes to me again, "Let your brother handle these clowns. You must get to the root level and help Hell Wraith and Ophelia with the Garm." I turn to communicate this to Bloodmace, but I can see in his smirk that he already knows. He stands defiantly before our foes, fingers just brushing the Scream Bloody Gore patch, and again fear courses through their ranks as one by one torsos burst open with a wet ripping sound, spraying guts over everything. Before the stairs crowd with more victims, I quietly make my exit.

Witchfinder General are almost in that same league, but some unintended goofiness and a fatal sense of juvenalia hindered them from becoming true doom metal gods. Their first album, Death Penalty, with its wonderfully randy album cover, is a crushing document of doom, but lyrically, it becomes a bit embarrassing.

I want a woman 'cos it's a Saturday night
I wanna make her feel alright
I'm going to lay her, do you know what I mean
I really wanna make her scream

Lyrics like these would be laughed off a Spinal Tap album. Still, the vocals are not exactly enunciated with precision, so this is a good one to turn up loud and simply let the majestic riffery take over.  There is a sense of innocence that is always so refreshing when it comes to obscure NWOBHM bands, of which these lads were considered to be on the forefront of the second wave. Ain't a bad record.

Words of the Elders

The battle has begun. For generations the T'chah Karnac have been absent from the stage of history on Centon. Their magic despised, their people imprisoned in the massive tree. Their legacy has been relegated to bard songs and fairy tales, but Chanthoth has survived. The last teacher of the old magic brought here from Earth so long ago. Here is an act of defiance from an enemy who was assumed defeated, crushed into dust. Bloodhammer knew what he was doing when he sent the brothers back to the forests of northern Jenkabala again. Now the sounds of combat fill the air and destiny is knocking at the door. Hail Bloodmace and Hellmaster. Hail to the metal godz! Put their heads on the grinding wheel!

Until next week Morpheus marauders,

Horns

Steel Meets Steel - UK Thrash and a Battle in the Forest

English thrash circa the 1980's is a much overlooked scene known mainly for Onslaught and Sabbat. But dig a little beneath the surface, and you uncover.......well, mainly punk rock and crust-core. Britain was not known for the depth of their thrash scene back in the 80's. But Demon Scourge found these worthy obscurities, and I, Bloodmace, Master of Waylor and Liege Lord of the Time Desert, pass judgement over them.

 First up is Blood Money, who made raucous speed metal in the vein of Hirax and the many screaming sirens of the Metal Blade roster of the early 80's. But add liberal does of fast and loose NWOBHM style riffing, and their 1985 outing, Red Raw, and Bleeding, becomes a tasty album indeed, hampered only by the poverty row production values. Technically, all the musicians are quite proficient, though vocalist Danny Foxx cops from Hirax a bit much, right down to his phrasing. The album kind of lags when it shifts into lower tempos, like on 'Lazurus'. But for the most part the album is a barn burner, intent on caving in skulls in the fashion of Venom and Motorhead. This gets my vote for winner of the night, by a slight margin.

 Chronicles of the North Part 9.1 - Stand or Fall
The night was silent, dead silent.Frostor the bounty hunter, Fester Blackheart, Ophelia Skullbourne and I were huddled inside the earth and wood cavern near the tree where Chanthoth, last of the T'chah Karnac prepared the weapon Ophelia had called the Garn. We had just come from the dwelling of Iron Dan, mystic of Samur and had been confronted by the soldiers of the royal Wyverns, who Frostor decimated with his lightning pistol hand. Now the net was closing in. The reptilian masters were aware of our presence. We spotted two guards on the way up and now as we crouched in our 

hovel, we could see two more below the hidden egress from witch we issued when we set fourth on 

our quest. Cautiously, Fester Blackheart broke the silence, "We have to see if Chanthoth is alright. We can take those two and get up there before the others get up here. You know they can't enter the tree." He looks to Ophelia, who shrugs. Frostor, shaking his head, whispers, "You can't get all of us in there in time, besides do you really think those scaly bastards are gonna trust a single patrol to guard Chanthoth's Wyvern-hatin' ass? He's apparently still got the very spell that got those arrogant fuckers banished to this tree in the first place." There is a moment of silence as the others contemplate the very real possibility that this may be the end of the line. Before I can stop them the words bubble out of my mouth, "I will go." The others stare at me in blank silence. "We will be overrun soon anyway. Frostor, you asked me of the patches," the dusty soldier of fortune glances up with a smirk. "I think I may be able to get us into the tree, if I have your trust and your help." My heart jumps into my throat as I say these words, but Frostor reaches out his hand, "I'm in, hot rod." Ophelia answers as well, "Bloodmace should be here soon, let's hope there's time" Above, the flapping of great wings announce the presence of our dreaded foe. With a deep breath, I explain my plan to the others...

Next, we heard punk metalers Virus, whose steamroller 1987 debut, Pray For War, is like Ebola for the ears. Nothing pretty about this burly bunch or their sound. This is basically a crust album with more guitar solos. Simple and pounding riffs, neanderthal drum work, and a unique vocal style lend this a special charm. And I do have to to say that I liked this album, but the shoddy musicianship does grate on repeated listens, especially the drums. Lyrically, they ruminate mainly about war and its delights, with 'T.N.T being, by then, the obligatory thrash metal mosh pit anthem. Too punk for the metalheads, too metal for the crusties, this album is a semi-worthy obscurity.

Chronicles of the North Part 9.2 - Dark Tale

I walked slowly out onto the open field between our hiding place and the Sauron guards. Denim flaps in the breeze and as they fumble with their crossbows, I place my right hand on the left front of my jacket and touch the frayed Mercyful Fate patch. I feel a blow against my left shoulder as an arrow 

buries itself in my flesh. from deep within me, a force wells up, exploding out, turning my flesh to 
flame, and racing toward the terrified soldiers. I watch with a mixture of horror and relief as the fire consumes the bodies of my enemies. From behind me, three figures, like shadows dart into the night under a hail of arrows from unseen assassins. There is a series of loud cracks and the snapping of branches tells me that Frostor has thinned the ranks of the Wyvern forces again. I turn to find Fester and Ophelia in the gloom, but at that moment, a great figure blocks out the moonlight and a powerful wind knocks me to the ground. I am swept into the air by a great claw. I see my comrades from above, then feel a sudden sharp blow as the Wyvern elder drops me to the forest floor. The pain of my body is great, but when the colossal winged lizard lands in front of me, the pain of knowing that my quest is about to end is even greater. With the last of my strength I force my mangled arm over to the Motorhead patch. The creature's probing, intelligent eyes look down calmly upon me as I writhe in agony. Several human soldiers amble into view, dragging Fester and Ophelia from the forest. In a deep, imposing voice the Wyvern asks, "Where is Frostor?" He looks from one to the other, "The fate of your friend is noble compared to what you will suffer, humans." I smile to myself as I feel the patch begin to warm under 

my hand. From just outside the moonlit circle Frostor's raspy voice calls "You want me?" Two shots 

ring out and two soldiers fall to the ground. The Wyvern looks on impassively as the uncanny mercenary strolls into the open, beheading the final guard who challenges him with a his sword. "I ran out of bullets" Frostor grins. From his inside pocket, he draws a cigar, but before it touches his lips, his body crumbles to the ground like a discarded doll. I think the noble dragon sensed something was about to happen, because as it was drinking in the pleasure of torturing Frostor, it looked over at me for a moment with a questioning expression. An electric crackling filled the air and a hurdling transport burst out of the dimensional fabric, smashing through hide, tissue and bone and skidding across the forest floor before crashing into a root sticking out of the ground and bursting into flames, filling the air with the rank stench of burning flesh and diesel fuel. Out of every available exit friends old and new streamed, Hell Wraith, who began to heal my wounds, Baron Lotar, chatting with his old schoolmate Frostor, Vorthon, the Whip of Fate, setting to work purifying the battleground. One after another they piled until at last the figure of Bloodmace lumbered into view. "Just in time again, I see'," my brother jabs at me. "Let us repair to the tree before the other Wyvern arrive."

 Third up were a band more typical of the thrash metal sound, Hydra Vein and their 1988 album Rather Death Than False Of Faith. Sabbat is the first band that comes to mind when bouncing your head to these thrash infected tunes, since the singer is a Martin Walkyer clone, but also some Slayerism's filtered through German thrash. These guys do not have the most original sound, but the attack is relentless enough, and the performance enthusiastic enough that this does not become a problem. This is an above average thrash album from the late 80's.


Words of the Elders
So Bloodmace and Demon Scourge have finally come into conflict with the powerful Wyvern, masters of Samur and blood relatives to the great houses of Jenkabala. These opponents are ruthless and wise, but the indefatigable brothers have a small army of magic users and legendary warriors who seek to wrest control of Jenkabala from Lord Headron of Dantor. Call the name of Hellmaster children, call out to Raknar, Deathcrush and Vorthon! Together you shall reap the sweet harvest of victory and quaff the foaming blood of your enemies from their hollowed-out skulls. Size the day O young and foolish, for death drapes its cloak of darkness over the world as we speak! 

Until next week, brotons and matoms

Horns

Master of Disguise - Explorations in Speed Metal and Iron Dan's Hut

 Welcome, children of Atlantis! Welcome to another beastly battering of burly bombast! On this bloody evening of torment I was visited by my old friends Fester Blackheart and Ophelia Skullbourne who traveled down D'yangi Mountain to the east that we might sample the rare delight of U.S. speed metal. Ours is a genre that loves to subdivide itself in ways that might seem oblique to the casual listener. What is the difference between death thrash and blackened thrash? Sometimes it's the drums, sometimes it's the lyrics, sometimes it seems like only the album cover differentiates one type of metal from another. We started out looking for the link between thrash and power metal forged by bands looking to marry the songwriting style of classic hard rock and metal with the lightning fast drums and snotty attitude of thrash and punk. On the table was a fifth of potato vodka and a bag of oranges. The needle dropped into the groove, and our journey began.

The first album we listened to was Savage Grace's 1985 classic, Master of Disguise. The album starts off like a speed metal wet dream, blasting out of the gate with the one-minute Lion's Roar. The Maiden influenced opener then gives way to a few measures of rumbling bass before exploding into Bound to beFree. From the first note to the last, 'Master of Disguise' is a deluge of molten steel, one of the primary documents of that exotic bird known as American speed metal. The hyper-fast rhythms fueling the music of their more discordant contemporaries (Slayer, MorbidAngel) are here, but yoked to the more melodic sensibilities of NWOBHM they take on a completely different feeling. Songs like FearMy Way, Sons of Inequity, and the title track point in a straight line to later speed/power bands like Helloween and Blind Gaurdian. Guitarist Chris Louge really shines here, crafting some crisp and speedy riffs that benefit from the concise playing of drummer Dan Finch and bassist Brian "Beast" East. The great trad metal vocals are provided by Mike Smith, who possesses that perfect balance between Dickenson wails and Hetfield rasp. These guys pack an hour of riffs into thirty-five minutes of speed metal bliss. All in all an amazing fucking album. 

Saga of the Gatemaster part 8.1 - Face the Wicked One

I had been through a living hell in the root and leaf caverns of Iron Dan. Lord Headron of Dantor who had taken over my body and caused me to slaughter my friends at the battle of Castle Thrashstone had not gone away when Bloodmace killed me before being swept into the death dimension. The faceless king had coiled his psychic tentacles around my nervous system and was waiting for another chance to attack when Iron Dan drew him out like the venom of a snake. Now I sat in the early evening gloom and pondered what I had just been through. There was another body with my brain. I clearly felt the terror and confusion of one who has no clue how to comprehend what is happening to them. When I connected with this other side, we squeezed Headron out. "But how..." I asked to the twilit air. I am startled to hear a deep, raspy voice reply, "Did you think about the patches?" Wheeling around I fix my eyes on a disheveled man in a worn leather jacket. His eyes squint at me a little from behind his wire-rimmed glasses, witch are perched atop boyish cheeks. Atop his head is a leather helmet and as he steps toward me I can see that there an additional pair of goggles surmounts the headpiece. "I'm Frostor," he says, offering his hand. "I was just visiting laughing boy in there," 

jerking his thumb in the direction of Iron Dan's chambers, "and I heard we had a visiting dignitary so I thought I'd just wait around to shake your hand, maybe see if you were interested in some...professional help." His unctuous manner made me uneasy and I offer my hand with trepidation as I reply, "I know not of dignitaries, I am here alone. What business brings you here to the forbidden forest?" Frostor, taking half a step back, sizes me up with his sleepy eyes and breaks out in a big grin. I grip my sword as he reaches into his coat pocket, every muscle springing into action at once. The mirthful mercenary drops his smile for a moment, raising his hands into the sky, "Just a smoke my friend, but if you prefer I don’t..." He shrugs and cocks his head. "No, sorry, go ahead..." I keep my hand on the steel while he retrieves a cigar from his coat pocket. The humor again returns to his face as he strikes a match on a rock nearby. "Awful nervous there bud. You have a rough time in the funhouse?" In the distance there is a rumbling growing louder. A sputtering cacophony that drowns out our voices as it grows nearer.

From the moment Lock Up Your Children blasted fourth into the Jenkabala listening chamber, we knew we had veered from the speed metal path by jammin' out Morbid Saint's Spectrum of Death. The proto-death vocals, the evil sounding riffs, we had strayed into the thrash zone (that's what you get for doing research on Wikipedia.) Ophelia and Fester were delighted, as sixteenth-note rhythms and aggressively chromatic riffs were part of their people's traditional music. As disappointed as I was that the album was not more theme specific, Morbid Saint really comes through with some devastating face stompers. There are no slow parts and a limited amount of dynamics, but damn these guys do it well. Crying For Death, Burned At The Stake, Assassin, these guys never let up. Morbid Saint are gonna be playing the Ragnarokkr Apocalypse fest in Chicago this spring with OZ and Eldtrich and we will be there thrashing the fuck out. 

Chronicles of the North Part 8.2 - No One Left to Blame

Frostor and I hug the wall of the sanctuary expecting the worst. Though remote, the Wyvern masters have patrols and scouting parties that roam these desolate forests in search of human quarry. The sound is deafening now, and somewhat familiar. Suddenly, the K car of Fester Blackheart slides into its spot next to the wall, showering us with dirt and rocks. From the compartment, we can hear The Ramones singing the ancient melodies of Fester's people. The Jenkabala daredevil jumps down from the driver's seat, laughing, "Oh man, you should have seen your faces. What brings you down here Frostor? This guy don't have no treasure for you." He is shaking his head and still chuckling when a woman walks around the other side of the car. She wears the denim and leather armor of the forest people and dust billows out from the vestments with each tread of her heavy boots. "Ya park close enough to the wall brainiac? It's not bad enough I had to wade through the shitty dimensions between here and the Time Desert, but you want to trap me in that death heap. Nice bud, real nice." Turning, she thrusts out her hand, covered in a spiked gauntlet, to meet mine. "Ophelia Skullbourne, at your service. Bloodmace sent me here from Castle Thrashstone. Lady Steel and the others have stabilized the tear in the dimensional fabric, now they are driving north. We are to prepare the Garn in the fortress of Chanthoth and use the secrets of the T'chah Karnac to subdue the Wyverns who are Headron's enforcers." Out of the corner of my eye, I see Frostor's head turn slightly, as if he heard 

something. The assassin reaches in his pocket for another cigar, but when he withdraws his hand from inside his bomber jacket it's filled with a blazing magnum. He pumps off six shots before i can hear them. I look around for an attacker but all I see are the dimly lit walls of the root cavern. For a split second, there is silence, then the sound of something falling through the trees. Six bodies. Some human, some sauron, all dead. Frostor walks to the pile in the center of the room, nudging each with his foot. He leans down to look at the last one and fires one more round, dangerously close to my head. I open my mouth to protest, but the thud of another body hitting the ground stops me. Leaning aginst the battered transport the deadly hunter strikes a match on the bumper and looks up at us, "You got room for four in that jalopy? These boys know that you're here and dignitary or not all of our lives ain't worth shit right about now. I suppose you didn't see those two sauron hightail it west?" None of us had. "Let's get the hell outta here now, I have a bad feeling about this." We start toward the vehicle but remembering the mystic in the cave I call out to the others, "What about Iron Dan?" From across the cavern, Frostor's laughter echoes out and he responds, "You really are green as they say kid. Get in, that old bastard will still be here long after these scaleheads vacate the scene." Tearing off into the forest, I reflect on the other person behind my eyes, and the faceless emperor who haunts me from behind the veil of dusk.

Our third offering was Helstar's 1986 release, Remnants of War. This was a much more traditional affair that really had to work hard for the money after the cheesehead onslaught that devastated our ears just moments before. By the second track, Conquest, I was sold. Though Helstar are lower on the speed-o-meter than Savage Grace, they still employ mosh breakdowns in most of the tunes, bringing them into the speed metal family. There is much Iron Maiden in these tunes, Bloodmace and I often are thinking of bands like this when we refer to "Metal Blade" style bands (Helstar made the move to Metal Blade on their next album), but there is an essentially American component to their music. These bands were sprung from the seed of NWOBHM, but their sound is much more aggro, the lyrics more paranoid. By 1986 Slayer, Metallica, and Megadeth were already well established and audinces were hungry for more. Bands like Savage Grace and Helstar were tireless road warriors who came to the rim of fame but never were to drink of it's soul killing waters, and perhaps that is why we romanticize these bands now. Savage Grace never released a sellout glam record. Helstar will never have a 'Load' lurking in it's back catalog (though both bands are listed in Metallum as active so there's always time I guess.) Even though Morbid Angel won the night due to block voting by the punkers, both the speed metal albums will always find a place in my playlist.

 
Words of the Elders

Climb atop Mount Tarvo and ring the great iron bell, heroes of today! This is the moment for us to unite from frost line to forest and shore to shore. The battle is afoot. The Wyverns, and thus Lord Headron, have discovered the presence of Bloodmace and Demon Scourge on the material plane. Can Fester Blackheart get Demon Scourge, Frostor and Ophelia Skullbourne to the treebound Chanthoth before the Sauron troops reach him?

Until next week, astral androids

Horns