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
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