Prohibited Angels - Sex Metal and the Gate of Light

In a Metal Warriors loins holds the future of mankind. Yes, ahhhh, the stench of sex. We propagate our seed all over the landscape and all over the computer screen. Wench's bow before the unholy alter of our carnal lust. Our axes....our raging hard-ons!!! And upon this night we thrust thusly into the wicked carnality of........Sex Metal!!!!!

Sex Trash-Funeral Serenade is a worth successor to 1989's epic ode to debauchery, Sexual Carnage. I don't give a fuck what the nerds on Metallum say......this a is a righteous and wicked death/thrash album. This album hold little subtlety. The riffs diddle you senseless. The pummeling rhythm section sodomizes you without mercy, without prophylactics, and plenty of sand in your Vaseline.  But most  precious are the lyrics. They may lack the the explicitness of a Cannibal Corpse or the 100's of porn grind bands out there, but, what they possess is all the grimy ardor of an authentic pervert. So this one was the obvious winner of the night, though events grew much seedier as the evening progressed.

Adventure in Samur Part 17.1 - Wind Assassin

The crystal canyon in the wilds of the Dantorian Mountains, home of Vecton the Bard and the gate of light. The walls that rise from near the banks of the river Asdid are aflame with blazing colors and impossible shapes. From every quarter, strange geometric configurations jut from smooth surfaces in a kind of insane perfection. Mistress Crowbastard, Jarkon the Inflamer, Lars the Berserker, Bloodmace and I, Demon Scourge have made our way across the treacherous plains of this hostile dimension to defeat Centon's greatest enemy, Lord Headron. Hovering in front of us as we make our way down the polished floor of the canyon is Vecton the Bard, long armed, winged sentinel of this secret passage into the belly of Headron's fortress. Turing to address us, he says, "When Headron

drove the people of this land into the mountains, he never expected that we would thrive here in this rocky wilderness. This canyon is the secret jewel of our new kingdom. It is the power that drives the Sectaurian empire and provides it with a natural gateway to the adjoining dimensions." Mistress Crowbastard pipes in, "How is it that Headron cannot detect the magic from the gateway here. Surely it is close enough to his fortress that he could easily find the source of such a powerful emanation." Bloodmace, thoughtfully tapping his signature weapon against his hand speaks up as well, "Indeed, how can such a powerful wizard not detect the magic that must be very hot in proximity?" A smile breaks across Vecton's face and he gestures as he speaks, "This is the mbeauty of the crystal canyon. The gate is naturally occurring, that is to say that there was no magic involved in opening it and thus, none to detect." Lars the Berserker looks around in wonderment proclaiming to no one in particular, "This is it, I thought it was only legend but..." He trails off as our attention is commanded by the great flapping and hearty caw as the raven haired mistress of the night turns into her animal form. Leaping

into the air, she soars high above us, perching upon an impossibly distant outcropping in the translucent cliff face. Again, our host speaks, "Ha ha! The healing powers of this place are known to our people. You each will feel an increase of your powers as you travel through this strange grotto. Come now," He says, motioning with his hands, " the gate is very near." We follow Vecton as he squeezes through a small opening in a massive quartz, Mistress Crowbastard turning back to her human form as she reaches our position. Inside we behold a breathtaking sight. We are standing inside what seems to be a geodesic enclosure of light emitting crystal, whose shade and brightness fluctuated wildly, creating a bath of multicolored luminescence. The smooth floor of the impressive chamber was barren save for a black stone statue of Rangar, first emperor of the gate of light. Vecton, speaks loudly, in a commanding voice, "Ready yourselves, my friends, we are about to begin the final battle for the liberation of Centon. Hai!"

We next listened to Japan's Sex Machineguns and their  1998 self titled debut pretty much because they had sex in the band name. Nothing about this band is really remotely sexy or deranged, for that matter. What we got a was a competent if long metal album that skulked rather blandly between power metal and thrash. Nice chunky guitar sound, but bland in the vocal department. Nothing really awful about this album, just nothing really special about it either.And it deeply disappointed on the perversion level. Come on, Japanese Metalheads!! We Americans depend on you to be innovators of squick! More tentacle porn, less heroics, please. Thanks you.

Rockbitch were easily the worst band of the night and one of the worst bands we have ever bothered to listen to. Their epic live sex shows, featuring oddles of nudity and live sex acts, were the only reason this all psuedo pagan whore band ever got any attention. Nothing about their boring late 90's alterna-rock had any redeeming value. You've heard all these over produced rock moves from Stone Temple Pilots and Creed before, ad nauseum. Boring songs, hackneyed open chord riffs, ect. If you check out their website, there are tons of wank worthy pics. That's about the only value this band possesses.

We quit Rockbitch halfway through the album and, in desperation, threw on Faster Pussycat's first album. We were hoping these LA sleaze stalwarts would give us an old fashioned rockin' good time, but their collection of hackneyed ACDC riffs, whiney punkified vocals, and uninspired song writing hurled us further to despairing flaccidity. They are worthy of the moniker 'the poor man's Gun's N Roses'. The lyrics show some wit, but it's clear that these douchbags were simply riding a gigantic wave of hairspray in the late 80's.

Adventure In Samur Part 17.2 - Devil Wing

Carried away with the rush of power from the extraordinary crystal canyon, we follow Vecton the Bard past the gate of light and down a small stair at the other end of the great hall. Down and down we went for what seemed like an eternity until we finally and unceremoniously reached the bottom of the stair, a dank cavern, pitch black. Our guide turned on a light ahead of us and we silently made our way to its mouth. Sliding out a crevasse barely big enough to fit through, we found ourselves inside Lord Headron's domain. Everything here is greenish gray and drips with a foul slime. Making our way quietly down this passage, we peer around corners and duck behind statues, but there is not a sign of anyone here. Slowly making our way to the tower, where we know we must end up, a feeling of dread begins to settle in the group. We are not hindered by a hellish wolf wasp or fanged orc and this is indeed a cause for alarm. Where is Headron's army? Sneaking up the last flight of steps, I happen to get a look out one of the small windows that dot the walls. Down below, the sight of a galaxy of torches silently closing in on the bottm of the compound causes my heart to sink, I turn to the others, but they already know. A great battle cry goes up from the spectral battalion below and the door before us blasts open with a great gust of unwholesome wind that knocks us down the stair. I look up to behold the enemy, clad not in battle armor, but the vestments of an intergalactic businessman. He regards our party sternly then turns to the shocked table full of salesmen and accountants, "Excuse me gentlemen, this will only take a moment. In the meantime, feel free to have something from the bar." Turning back to us he wordlessly unleashes scorning blots from his fingertips. Down below I can hear the sound of soldiers crowding up the stairs below. I yell out to the rest of the shocked party, "Lose the cloaks, let's give this motherfucker what he deserves!" Shit was about to get ugly in Dantor

We quit Faster Pussycat half way through as well, and put on Abigail's Intercourse and Lust, whose punkified blackened thrash saved the night. We were humping the fuckin' air to this one. This is everything one would want to hear from a Japanese band, including oddles of incomprehensible Japanese perversion. These bad boys definitely share a filthy spiritual bond with Sex Trash. This album is as fast and loose and sloppy as a meth whores vagina after a biker rally. This album is a rancid as dead tranny's ass a Southern Baptist convention. This is a good album to fuck your bitch to after you've cut her head off. Oh, yeah, Necrobaby! You are lookin' fine right now. Lemme take off those leather diapers.

Words of the Elders

Arcatas dectorium! Myoskis Charven! The battle has begun in two dimensions, for the followers of Headron have shown themselves. Danger lurks at every turn for our heroes on both planes! Stay tuned for the desperate battle with Headron, taker of souls and lord of real estate!

Until next week, dark brethren,

Horns

Into the Nowhere - Speed Metal Comebacks and the Crystal Canyon

On the wings of a mighty steel hydra did the 80's come and go. It was decade that saw the birth of speed metal, the unholy proginator of power metal. Many bands fell by the wayside, the victims of morbid douchery, of unrelenting mediocrity, and of smothering song obesity. But, alas, near the end of the wretched decade known as the 1990's, a few worthy masters of riffcraft arose from the mire to do battle once more. So, my leather clad friends, did we undertake the quest of late 90's Speed Metal comebacks.

 Agent Steel's Omega Conspiracy tore threw the Jenakbala airwaves like a mighty wind. Sleeker, downtuned, but armed with with the same worthy songcraft and weirdness that made their 80's output such a pleasure. Out is original vocalist John Cyriis, he of the shrillness, and in comes John Hall, a vocalist of similar air raid qualities, though more polished. There are some forgettable songs, some of the riffs reek of 90's grunge and nu metal, and the new line up would not completely gel until the Order of The Illuminati, but this is a worthy comeback. 

 

Adventure In Samur Part 16.1 - Awaken The Swarm

On raven pass, high in the black mountains of Dantor, there is a small camp for the few travelers that wander here. Just a stone fireplace and a small piece of flat ground, but for aeons it had served as a temporary home for the occasional wanderers that pass this way. On this night there was a fire in the hearth and Bloodmace, along with Crowbastard, Jarkon, Lars and I had camped here, hoping to find the lair of Vecton the Bard, but it appears that he has found us. He stands before us in his billowing pinstriped suit, wings flexing slightly as he chuckles at our state of alarm. Having introduced himself,

he walks toward us from the rocky precipice where he landed out of the darkness. "You seek the crystal canyon?" A smile crosses his face and I answer him from my place near the fire. "We were sent here by Rangar, he says you can show us the way to Headron's fortress." Vecton now throws back his head with hearty laughter. "I bet he did! That old scoundrel. He finally found someone to carry out the mission he cannot. Well, good for him and good for you for helping an old man's dream come true. We shall embark in the morning." One by one, the others filtered off to bed until I was once alone with the long armed stranger. He says to me, in a low voice, "You are the one who was made by Headron to destroy your friends, are you not?" I feel my eyes tense into slits, "I am. What is that to you?" He reaches into his coat pocket, "I must give this to you, it's from Rangar." He hands me an embroidered patch that sparkles in the bright moonlight. I recognize the lettering from the walls of Keep Trawston and the tree prison of the T'chah Karnac. It is a Mournful Congregation patch, one of the infamous lost works by the Huiskitel masters of long ago. He puts his hand upon my shoulder. "Tomorrow, my friend, all will be explained." He turns, stretches out his wings and gracefully leaps over the side of the mountain, flying into the mysterious darkness.

Hirax's New Age of Terror is a bit of a disappointment, in that the punkified power violence guys have polished up a bit, and the glorious thrash cheesiness has settled into a more power metal vein, but there is still lots to like about this album. Vocalist Katon W. De Pena balls seem to have dropped, and the nasally tone is gone. But, this is a thrashy riff beast, and quite satisfying in it no apologies old schoolness. Highlight of the album is Hostile Territory, a speedster that demonstrates that this band operates best at high velocities. Alas, I do pine for the days of yore with the one minute songs about Satan. And Katon was always the best yodeler in metal.
 

Adventure In Samur Part 16.2 - Shadow Thief
The morning air was thick with fog as we set out along the yellow rimmed path. It was hard to imagine as we were walking among the clouds that we would soon be fighting for our very lives in the valley below. Up here everything was silent, frozen in time like a painting. Mistress Crowbastard was walking on her own today, recovering from her near death experience at the hands of the Vorm when we arrived in Dantor. We followed Vecton up a steep climb up an almost sheer rock face and

hoisted ourselves up into a cavern. When our eyes became accustomed to the dim light, we realized that the same moss carpet we saw in the lair of Rangar and the Sectaurians also covered the walls and floor of this very passageway, except there were no brave he heroes depicted on this living tapestry. Here, scenes of their gods and demons battling for souls and bloody scenes of torture glared out at us from every side. Our stretch-armed, winged host motions us on, "Hurry, this is no place to tarry. I always say 'don't mess with the Sectaurian curse.' It's not far now, come on." we hurried down the cursed rock throughway until we came to a large gallery, with tunnels leading in every direction. Across the eerie chamber we skittered to another, smaller cave, then through a labyrinthine series of twists and turns that left us feeling disoriented and lost, but on we went into the darkness, following our strange guide. We finally end up at a small chamber with a pool in the middle . in the center of the pool is a statue of Parthon with an obscure inscription on it's base. Vecton turns and speaks to the group, "We must dive in. When you get under, swim to the light and we will enter the crystal canyon. Quickly, we dive in to the pool, swimming past the sculpture of our friend from Narn and toward the bright spot beyond him and on the floor of the spring. I swim down and into the aperture where I see Vecton going, but as soon as I swam into the lightI started falling as if what was once below me was now above me. With a thud my body slams into the hard ground, then one by one, my comrades fall through the same hole in the ceiling. Shaking my head I peer out of our landing spot and, with the others gasp. Looking down into the canyon, we could see that it truly was made of crystals. Shining, faceted stones that concentrated the light into a glittering beam. Suddenly, Vecton flaps up from below the egress that looks out on the canyon. Be careful here kids, the plaza of errors is almost finished."

Jag Panzer's -Age of Mastery was the Winner of the Night. I have to admit, I never was fan of this band, especially their much lauded 1st album, 1984's Ample Destruction. I never cared for 'The Tyrant's' hoarse, slightly atonal caterwaul. But that dude was long gone by 1998, replaced by the confident power metal wail of Harry Conklin. Oh wait, same dude. Well, I guess his balls dropped. This is simply a great heavy metal album, full of majesty, meat and potatoes riffery(though there are some symphonic tinges here and there), and inspiring melodies. It kicked our asses, dude. 

 

Words of the Elders

Tears of gods fall upon the barren dirt in this wasteland of fate. There, above, do you hear it? The call of the wyvern, the smell of sourwood! The power of Centon shall rise! Stay tuned next week to learn the secrets of the crystal canyon!

Until next week sodden hordes,

Horns

On They Slay - Progressive Death Metal and an Encounter at Raven's Pass

In the dusty pages of heavy metal's hallowed history, there has always been a special place reserved for the obtuse blending of classical and pop forms that we know as "prog," or "progressive." Many of the genre’s influences spring from the primordial muck of the late sixties and early seventies, heyday of the international prog rock phenomenon. Our albums tonight hailed from the formative years of death metal, when this burgeoning scene was poised to take over from its parent, thrash metal. Many DM bands took the route of grinding out Celtic Frost inspired sludge, slowing it down to a near Sabbath-like crawl while other bands played ultra fast, but there was also a faction of bands who took more chances. Represented here are three of the early pioneers of technical death metal who pushed the boundaries of with an uncompromising take on what, at the time, was one of the most extreme forms of metal available. With Pimm's cup in hand, we tread down this meandering path of virtuosos, violence and victory, seeking labyrinthine riffs, jaw-dropping rhythm sections and mind shattering solos. Here is our report.

Atheist’s Piece of Time was, appropriately, the first contender. This was, after all, ground zero for tech death. People really get on their knees for this one and with good reason. Their monstrously tight rhythm section, Steve Flynn (drums) and Roger Patterson (bass,) are completely merciless and their incredibly fluid interactions are really impressive to behold. Guitarists Kelly Shaefer and Rand Burkey reel off one insane riff after another while leaving just the right amount of space to highlight the tastefully busy drumming. A perennial favorite among egghead metal fans, this is a band you need to check out.

Adventure In Samur Part 15.1 - Disincarnated 

The stronghold of Rangar and the Sectaurians lies under the Karlac mountains of Dantor. A massive complex of rooms, passages and halls where this reclusive society carries out its business beyond the reach of the tyrant Headron, who has brutally usurped this dimension from the spider, insect and lizard humanoids. Inside a plush bar at the heart of this great maze, Rangar the spider king sits at a moss covered rock table. Surrounding him is our ragged party, Lars the Berserker, Jarkon, Mistress Crowbastard, Bloodmace and I. Together, we are studying a brittle old map of Raven pass, a treacherous but secretive way to gain access to the mountain fortress of the evil lord Headron. The arachnoid king, pointing out a small pathway that threads the peaks, explains our route, "You will leave here by the ruined tunnel in the old town. The path is hard to follow, but look for the yellow salil flowers, they grow along the edge of the pass. When you come to the first peak, look for Vecton the Bard, he will show you the gate of light in the crystal canyon." Lars, looking in the direction of Jarkon says, "I will not go with this traitor." A rush of voices rises from around the craggy table, trying to talk the bold barbarian out of his rash words. Rangar holds his hand up and pronounces, "Lars the berserker, I know of your pain, and the loss of your village but Jarkon is not responsible for this. His creations

were taken by the Slib riders and used against your village in a desperate attempt to stop your mission from being completed." Lars says nothing but follows as the regal spider leads us out of the bar and down a hall carpeted in thick mosses, expertly cultivated to form an exquisite pattern of vines and filigree that surround portraits of heroic Sectaurians, noble insects, brave spiders and haughty lizards. The walls of the passage were impossibly smooth, polished rock, like the walls of the bar. From above our way was lit by a swarming mass of luminescent insects. We traveled on in silence until Rangar took a sharp turn into a doorway. We followed him up steep, roughly carved steps and down a passage almost entirely blocked by a cave in. Exoskeletons of fallen warriors and their weapons were everywhere among the debris. When we finally emerged into the daylight, we found ourselves in a small outcropping along the thin path that snaked along the side of the steep, rocky peak. some stunted trees grew near the misty precipice before us and a small altar with burning incense and a likeness of Eddie the 'Ead was carved into the rock near the pass. Rangar turns to address us, "when you reach Headron's lair, use your magic. We will fly down from our stronghold and attack while you take control of the gate." Looking around him wistfully, he adds, "It is fitting you should leave from here. This is the place where our people made their last stand against the forces of Headron, the place where we were slaughtered almost to extinction." Hands behind his back, he wanders to the edge of the path, and looking out with his many eyes into the fog, calls to his ancestors, perhaps the very beings we saw on the carpet earlier, or the ones we saw in the tunnel. Wordlessly and without fanfare the spider king turns and walks back into the darkened passage and one by one, we make our way along Raven Pass

Our second outing was a very different kind of death metal. For The Security by the Swedish outfit, Carbonized took us down the punk side of the mountain, ratcheting up the speed and intensity to grindcore-like levels of brutality. Again, however, the drummer stole the show. Piotr Wawrzeniuk, while not as fluid as his counterparts on the other albums we explored, shows off some serious chops as he lays down a thick carpet of double bass and crusty fills that drive this maniac masterpiece. Another aspect of this album that I enjoyed was the slightly murky production that bathes the music in a grimy tub of underground cred. For me it was a nice change from the surgical precision of the Morrisound treatment that lent sheen to the other two albums. This was my favorite band of the night, but Bloodmace had other plans...

Adventure In Samur Part 15.2 - Reflections of the Dark

The day had slipped away. We were closing in on the spot where we were instructed to seek out Vecton the Bard, but the light was quickly fading. I knew we were on the right path, for the yellow flowers grew abundantly along the edge of our route, but we were getting restless looking for a spot to bed down for the night, for we had been warned against traveling too late by Rangar. Higher and higher we climbed into the frigid sky until finally, in the dusky purple twilight, we came upon a flat spot among the midget trees and porous volcanic rocks. There was no sign of Vecton here, but we set up camp and prepared our rations. The night crept over us and Jarkon used his fire magic to create a small blaze to illuminate our little base as we each took guard duty. It was my shift, deep in the lake of midnight, when there came a great flapping of wings from the darkness. I grabbed my sword instinctively and searched the night sky for any sign of the enemy. The commotion woke up Lars and Jarkon, who sprang up, weapons in hand, ready to confront the unseen attacker. "There are only two more things you need to do" a voice booms out, "that you should not do." Into the light steps a tall, wraith like human dressed in a pinstriped suit. His beard and mustache are groomed into points, long brown hair cascades over his shoulders. From the back of the suit protrude wings that curve up above his head and down almost to his feet. Inordinately long arms terminate in sharp black claws that come nearly to the ground. Crowbastard and Bloodmace have awakened from their slumber and have also armed themselves against the startling night visitor. "What do you want from us?" I inquire of the stranger. "What is your name?" A smile breaks over the his face and he replies, "To some I am the polisher of grain who walks by night. To some I am the voice that speaks in the wind. This mountain is my heart and the raven is my sight. Some call me the lurker in the twilight, but you can call me Vecton, Vecton the Bard."

By the time Gorguts' first slab hit the platter I had begun to have second thoughts about my idea to spike our tennis cocktails with extra gin. Vecton the Bard had gone off on a Colonel Sanders tangent, Bloodmace was smashing out the windows of the Jenkabala throne room (again) and all around us the spirits of the dead gathered, crooning their seductive chant like sirens and waiting for us to smash into the rocky shore. We made our best effort to listen carefully to Considered Dead, the Canuk Quartet's debut long player, but I have to say that I feel like I'm hearing it for the first time as I write this. This was for sure the most traditional death metal album we heard, looking at it through the prisim of the twenty two years. Back in '91, however, this was the cutting edge shit. Guitar pig squeals were not yet the death metal cliche they are today and there was no Nathan Explosion. In short, though these guys were the band we discussed least, they were the ones who wrote the most chapters in the book of the way you do it now. The end of the evening came and Bloodmace, drunk on gin and power, mounted the golden throne and donned the mask of judgment. He held aloft the jeweled scepter and lightning came down from the sky. With a terrible cry, he made his pronouncement, "I declare the winner of metal night to be...Athiest! Tremble before me mortals! Hahahahahahaha!" 

Words of the Elders

The voice of midnight calls dear, gentle readers. The voice of the wolf is the voice of our people who cry out for freedom from under the yoke of commerce! Headron must be stopped in his quest to sell the world of Centon to religious zealots all over the galaxy. Night is ours though, sweet children of the timepiece world. The shadows will forever hold fear for those with evil in their hearts and from the pure, inky black of the star spattered sky, judgment comes, swift and silent as a tempered blade!

Until next week, metal minions,

Horns

Nowhere to Run - Hard Rock Hell and Rangar's Swanky Lair

Demon Scourge and myself are not always necro fiending to the most necro of necro black metal or sword fighting to the most epic of epic of power metal. No, sometimes we like to kick back, gather up some bitches, chug some light brewskies and throw on some of the sleaziest of sleazy 80's hard rock. We're a couple wind cutting gear jammers, slicing our fists into the night with the power of rock 'n' roll, baby. Unfortunately, the three hard rock hard-on's that we chose did not live up to our highly wrought low standards, making it, perhaps, in its own special way, the most brutal and treacherous Metal Night of them all!!!!!!

First up was the one to have the proud mantle of worst winner of Metal Night and that was Venom axe grinder Mantas's solo excretion Winds of Change. This Yamaha DX7 keyboard laden nightmare is actually a relic of a lost age, when briefly, hard rock bands thought that the way to riches and pussy was to drown out the guitars with the worst keyboard sound imaginable. Such AOR putridity was quite in vogue between 1985-87, until Gun's N Roses killed it dead. Even Poison had a tougher sound than this. What saves this album are the three instrumentals, which are unexpected and not half bad. You can pretend that this is some sort of prog band, and not Night Ranger wannabe's. You will never forget nor forgive that this is what fucking Mantas from fucking Venom thought he should be doing with his career. Winner of the night by virtue of instrumentals. Quite a prize.


Adventure In Samur Part 14.1 - Unchain the Night
I open my eyes to see two figures sitting at a bar. Light filters up through multicolored bottles of cordials and liquors, but the rest of the room is dim. Even with the back light, I can make out the figure of our betrayer, Jarkon. Next to him is a serious looking humanoid with long feelers protruding from his insect-like head. Every few moments, he would move his head and I could catch a glimmer of light from his faceted eyes. I couldn't move my head much in this cocoon I found myself encased in, but I could see Crowbastard and Lars on either side of me and what looked to be the figure of Bloodmace, suspended from the ceiling. jarkon and the other figure rise from their seats and wealk

around the room, examining their prisoners. Just as they are about to approach me though, somjething draws their attenion to the area behind us. I can hear or captors greeting the unseen figure with much ceremony. There is some laughter, then quiet footsteps and into my line of sight walks Rangar the Sectaurian, spider king. Upon his broad sholders hangs a long black cape and on his chest is armor made from living spiders, a mass of tiny legs churning uopn his person, topped by one giant spider clutching his torso and protecting his chest. Mounted atop his humanoid body is a ferocious looking arachnoid head festooned with eyes and two hairy mandibles that move as he speaks. "So these are the heroes of Centon?" From the cape, he produces a silver dagger "Let us see what they really are." He approaches me, dagger drawn and plunges it into the cocoon that surrounds me.

Next up was Dokken guitar wizzard George Lynch's loser excretion solo project Lynch Mob and their first album, Wicked Sensation. This collection of psuedo-bluesy ham and egg rock mediocrities sounds like a collection of songs that Don Dokken refused to sing. This was the sort of album that would set 19 year old Bloodmace into a killing frenzy that would end in shameful tears. I can handle it now, but this was the sort of thing that dominated the hard rock airways of the late 80's until it was rightfully flushed down the cultural toilet by grunge like a festering turd.  Here we find Lynch downplaying his masterful chops in favor of the mediocre songs and blues. Thanks, George. Vocalist Oni Logan sounds like ever other glam rocker of the period, only with less character. The sound is nice, shiny, and overproduced. Yes, there is a power ballad. The only bright moment was the obvious Dokken reject 'Street Fighting Man', which only serves to remind one on how badly George needs Don in the confines of the monument to the 80's that is fuckin' Dokken. Together they are best kind of cheesy magic. Apart, this is the result. I'm not familiar with Don's solo work, and frankly, I could really give a shit.

Adventure In Samur Part 14.2 - Secretly Cruel

I feel the weapon pierce the webbing that holds me prisoner, but there is no sharp pain, as I expected, instead I feel a tug on the denim vestment to witch the magical patches are sewn. He examines the garment for a moment then makes a high pitched clicking sound and a motion with his hand. With a swipe of the jeweled knife in his hand I am cut down. I hit the carpeted floor with a thud and the

spider king is above me, cutting away layers of web that hold me fast. When I am finally free, I look anxiously around me and find that we are all accounted for. Bloodmace and Lars shoot sullen and angry looks in the direction of Jarkon, who is helping to carry the still recovering Mistress Crowbastard to a small couch nearby. Rangar, sensing we do not trust him, speaks to us as Jarkon and the insect humanoid take their places by his side, "Please excuse the conditions of your entrance to our kingdom." His lilting northern accent surprises me with its soothing timbre, "I am Rangar and you are the ones we have been waiting for. I understand that you have used your magic and were located by the minions of Headron. Now that he knows you are here, he will stop at nothing to destroy you before you can use your powers to break his hold on Charbad pass, the portal that leads to your world. He has been disrupting the flow of time here with his attempts to control your world. If he is successful in his bid

for domination over Centon, witch is the most crucial link between all dimensions, he plans to sell it to developers from all over the galaxy so religious travelers from every planet can enter the realms of their gods." Bloodmace, who had not yet softened his harsh glare, bursts in in a loud voice, "We can deal with Headron on our own, let's get out of here." He stands up and motions to the rest of us, but Rangar holds up his hand and the guard standing next to Jarkon moves to block the door, hand on his laser gun, "please my friends, let us be of one mind on this." The spider king moves closer to the barbarian and puts a hand upon his shoulder. "The forces that destroyed Jarkon's home and have been killing his people are just a small part of this tyrant's arsenal. We can crush his army easily, but we cannot depose this evil king without your magic. Join us and save your world." The strange sectaurian holds out his hand. From across the room, Lars' booms out, "Rangar is known to me, let us join with him." Bloodmace looks around the room, Crowbastard and I give him a nod and he grabs the hand of the arachnoid ruler. Rangar looks over to his guard, "Send word to the armory, rally the troops. The end has come for Headron."

Lastly, we heard Kiss' mid 80's embarrassment, Asylum.  This album actually has a special place in my heart, since it was maybe the 4th or 5th cassette I ever bought in the discount bin at Meijer's. And I loved Kiss as a tyke and still do, but his album has not aged well. Kiss' propensity for hack songwriting is on full display and there are way more misses than hits on this one. The adolescent misogyny of the lyrics, along the fact that these were dudes pushing 40 at the time, is simply fucking creepy. The 80's were not very kind to Kiss. The make-up was off and nobody cared. Gene looked like a fat, pissed off drag queen. They were touring this album from hockey rink to hockey rink, from summer free fair to summer free fair, from bowling alley to bowling alley. Still, Paul and Gene have a knack for melody and hook, so you will be remembering these songs way longer than you really want to. Tears Are Falling is a guilty pleasure quasi ballad. Uh All Night is fun after 5 beers. And there is some decent axe work on this album, courtesy of Bruce Kulick, almost making up for the fact that the songs lack in the riff department. Geez, no wonder Frehley's Comet was getting more attention.

Words of the Elders

Rangar! Spider king and unholy savior, lord of predators with a thousand legs that creep unseen in the black recesses of a thousand worlds! Who can behold your minions without terror? The venom drips from waiting mandibles as our heroes close in on their quarry. Stay tuned for an encounter in Raven Pass!

Until next week, dead riders,

 

 

 

 

 

Horns

Revenge of the Mongrel - Shred Metal and Dangerous Spells in Dantor

Masturbation is one of the most exquisite pleasures that Satan and the Elder Godz bestowed upon humankind when they made us in their spaceships 500,000 years ago. Nothing like spewing gobs of jizz all over so many imaginary faces. This is especially true of musical masturbation. The metal guitar shred genre is the absolute highest realization of Space Satan's intentions for the human race. A combination of gigantic ego displays and fantastic finger dexterity make the shred genre the guitar the ultimate musical phallus, spewing hot jizz upon the masses ever since Richie Blackmore decided that he was the next Mozart. The following is a crusty sock of musical reportage.

 
In any genre of music, snobs will be snobs, and much abuse has been cast upon guitar virtuoso The Great Kat pretty much from the outset of her career by the metal community at large. But in listening to this album and letting its delights settle in like a nice heroin addiction, I have to say that this album, Beethoven on Speed was our favorite album of the night. It's just fun. Her songs are packed with nice bouncy thrash riffs, are fast as fuck, and are nice little spurts of aggression and speed, like grindcore for shredheads. The lyrics are goofy in a Sodom kind of way. Her abundant guitar solos are unsubtle and proceed at amazing speeds. But to me, the whole album says, "Hey, I went to Julliard", lights a crack pipe, and shreds along its lunatic way. Definitely marketed to wrong crowd back in the day. It's just a speed metal album, nerds. And the lady has a huge dick upon with which she feeds were devoted cult. Must be something there, folks. She's been around for over 25 friggin' years.


 Adventure in Samur Part 13.1 - Ultra Dead

Thirteen black candles glowed dimly in a circle around four robed figures in this underground room. Thirteen candles protecting the shape shifting mistress of the night, injured in a recent battle. Heavy footfalls of the enemy issue from the hill above, shaking dust from the concrete ceiling. Bloodmace, Lars the Berserker, Jarkon and I were each standing at a corner of the table where or injured comrade lay. Fragrant smoke poured fourth from the brass censer that hung from Jarkon's hand as we stared silently at one another in the flickering light. The weird sorcerer thrusts his arm into the middle of the circle, hand curled into the sign of the horns. We follow Jarkon's lead and he begins the galdr.

"Heyri jötnar heyri hrímþursar,

synir Suttungs, sjalfir ásliðar,

hvé ek fyrbýð, hvé ek fyrirbanna!"
I can feel the power coursing through our outstretched arms, the spell has begun to take effect. Lightning crackles around us as the world outside the magic circle us falls away. The candles are burning brightly now, their flames leaping aggressively from the wick and obscuring whatever moves just beyond them. Jarkon's incantation is slowly rising in pitch and tempo and I see that the Black Sabbath patch we each have on our denim jackets has begun to glow. Something is watching, our spell has attracted some presence that even now struggles to breach the protective barrier that surrounds us. The chant has now reached a fever pitch, it seems to go right through our bodies and shake the air around us, as if we were in water. In the midst of the chaos I hear Jarkon's voice yell out "Now, use it now!"

The next album was more polished and traditional that the others. Borislav Mitic's The Absolute. Mitic is a furious yet tasteful shredder with a tasteful sense of composition. His style is Satriani meets Yngwie, his compositions are neo-classical with a thrashy edge. But over all it is too restrained, too refined, too predictable. The first song is pretty amazing, thrashing to and fro with virtuoso flair and as many classical licks as you can throw into one song. But it gets old as the album goes on. You already heard your guitar heroes make these moves. That's when you realize that this dude has pulled out his dick and is jizzing his licks all over you. You might like his jizz. It might always taste good to you.

Adventure in Samur Part 13.2 -  The Prize of Eternity

The four of us, psychically connected by the spell, simultaneously bring our hands up to the glowing embroidery of the ancient vestments. From our outstreched hands, the energy we have harnessed in the patches comes pouring out and in a moment, the form of Mistress Crowbastard is obscured by a blinding light. Demonic screams assault us from outside the circle of fire, tentacles and claws eagerly search for a way to tear us to shreds. We are at the most dangerous part of the spell now, for the protection of the circle is weakening and we must return from whatever bestial realm we have traveled to by using this dark magic. Jarkon, acting quickly, begins to chant the homegaldr.

"I traveled to a distant shore, I felt I had to go
an inner voice called me there, but why I did not know

I saw the evening star rise up, shining out to sea
And now I understand what it all means"
Soon the walls and floor return. Once again we are in the underground lair of Jarkon Crowbastard sleeps peacefully on the table before us and we repair to the other side of the room so as not to disturb her. Lars the Berserker is still angry and in hushed tones he growls at our host, "You are still responsible for the deaths of our people. One day I will kill you." Jarkon, exhausted from the sorcery he has just performed answers in a weary voice, "It is true that the beast that destroyed our village was one of my creations, but I did not send it. It was taken from me in a raid on the other side of the mountains by the Vorm, who you just met in battle. Lars, Headron knows you are here. He may not have been able to pinpoint your location, thanks to Parthon's cloaks, but now that the riders have spotted us it will not take them long to report our position. We must move from here, and fast." He stares into the eyes of the vengeful warrior and for the first time since we arrived here I see Lars' brow unfurrow. Bloodmace though, spurred on by his friend's skepticism steps fourth to question Jarkon, "Where are we going to go? We can't carry her for long." Bloodmace gives Jarkon a

searching look and the underground dweller answers, "She will be coming to any minute. This is a powerful spell and now even the demons of Mangar know of our presence. She will be disoriented for an bit, but I know of a place where we can shelter, and of someone who can help us gain entrance to Headron's palace, you see now is the most dangerous time for us because he knows that we will be 
much stronger when we enter the castle so he wants to stop us now. If he finds out that one of us is 
injured, he will know that we are not able to cast another Tabethian spell until we are able to rest. We will travel to the Sectaurian settlement not far from here, for the Vorm are terrified of the insect riders and their spider king, Rangar." Suddenly, the light in the room begins to flash red. "We've been breached, grab everything, follow me!" quickly, we grab our satchels and the groggy Mistress Crowbastard and head out the door of the concrete fortress and quickly down the hall. We can hear the sound of explosions from the further reaches of the grey catacombs as we climb upward and into the light. Exiting the passage we find ourselves just the other side of the battlefield, facing a rope and wood suspension bridge that stretches over the yawning canyon before us. While we hurry over the bridge, we see on the other side a huge spider, crouching above the entrance on the other side. I open my mouth to tell the others , but my words are cut short by silken cords that suddenly entangle me. The last thing I see before it goes dark is Jarkon motioning to the terrible spiders holding us prisoner.

 The last album was lots of fun, but in a completely different way. The compilation, Classical Metal Vol. 1, is an insanely pompous collection of mostly power metal bands covering classical music. Packed to the gills with arias, chorale arrangements, symphony orchestras, cheesy keyboards, and of course, much neo-classical shredding. This album features compositions by Vivaldi, Mozart, Dvorak and all the usual suspects handled and sometimes mangled by bands like Manowar, Uli Jon Roth, Therion, and At Vance. It's all almost to much to handle. This album is a gigantic fountain of jizz that rains down upon the earth, drowning the lowlands and destroying the crops, causing famine across the land will wine sipping aristocrats blather on about free market economics, causing the seeds of bloody revolution. It is awe inspiring. It is terrifying. It may not be the winner of the night, but I'm gonna get the other 8 volumes.

 Words of the Elders

What fate awaits these travelers in this land of untold horrors? Has Jarkon betrayed the party to his friends in the insect and spider kingdom? The gaping void calls out to the heroes of Centon with a sweet siren's song. Will the hammer of fate strike upon Bloodmace and Demon Scourge or Headron? Join us next time for a journey into the lair of Rangar and his cruel minions!

Until next week, brain thrashers






Horns