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