Every Monday night, between the dusk and the dawn, thus commences the ritual of Metal Night. I, Joseph "Blood Mace" McIntosh and Chris "Demon Scourge" Eddy, scrutinize Metal albums old and new, while drinking adult beverages and rocking the fuck out. Special guests shall be invited to our lair of despair. Can you take the heat, the fire that lives in Hell? I don't think so!
Every now and again, there
comes a metal night that cruises smooth, like an iceberg drifting
silently along its deadly path, crushing all who defy it. This cold
October night was just that kind. The temple was filled with a warm
glow as Vecton the Bard arrived in his carriage and strode through
the great sourwood doors that led to the inner sanctum. Blazes were
lit in the hearth and offerings were made to the hundred gods. It was
decided that this golden twilight deserved some German hard rock to
see the boat of day into the ocean of night, so without further ado
we give you a peek at the mighty Cacumen!
I can't remember where I
first heard Cacumen, but the self titled first album from 1981 has
gotta be one of my most played albums to this day. The lyrics are
charming in the way that German bands seem to be so good at, the
riffs are monster and the vocal harmonies add just the right amount
of sheen. I can take or leave the slower tunes, but the rockers are
smokin'. Riding Away and On the Rocks, the two songs that close out
this obscure hit factory are beasts of Scorpions worship swagger and
questionable translation. Winner of the night by a landslide!
Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 6.1 - Magic Spell
The Heraea Agoge in
northern Samur was a dismal place, a fearsome kind of boarding school
that was forced on the women of the Samurian court. From a very young
age, the girls would become wards of the school, competing against
one another daily in war games and learning the dark secrets of their
people's magic. The cruel instructors routinely incited the pupils to
deadly violence against one another, for the very purpose was to
create warriors capable of defending their land from the T'Chah
Karnac and their servants, the Wyvern. To this end, generations of
northerners created and upheld this institution that provided them
safety in the form of the most fearsome army on Centon,
but at the
cost of their childhoods. By the time Nithsa Crowbastard reached
reached school age, the unthinkable had already happened. Samur had
been dominated first by the T'Chah Karnac, then later by the Wyvern.
Many ancient traditions were lost during this transitional period,
but the Heraea Agoge survived, a proud and scornful relic of times
past. Nithsa stared blankly out the window of the inn, watching the
fluffy snowflakes float gently to the ground, hands wrapped around a
rustic bone mug of marlyroot tea. She was on a journey home to meet a
family she barely knew, a ritual performed by all students the year
before they graduate. By rail the journey took one day, but the
station was down the mountain from the school and the only way to
reach it was by foot. Halfway down the rocky path lies the village of
Turig, a small, charming place where many of the teachers found
quarters. It was here that the pale young woman stopped to board for
the night. Through the thick, warped glass of the window, Nithsa
could see the path coming out of the woods, passing before the door
of the inn and disappearing again into the gloom of the mountain
pass. Down this narrow walkway came a hunched figure, cloaked in
black and carrying a woven basket of the same dark hue. Slowly, the
lurching traveler came to a halt before the window of the inn. When
the old man took off his hood and hat, she glanced briefly to the
side, in case he saw her looking, but when her eyes returned to the
window, he
was staring directly at her. When their eyes met, the
student saw a flash of bright light, followed by just a glimpse of
herself, much older, perched atop a great edifice of bleached bones,
staring out at the great mountains from some sort of throne room.
"Here's your porridge miss." A voice startles her out of
the waking dream and she looks up. The gray-haired innkeeper is
handing her a bowl of lapid porridge, topped with perfect slices of
hard cooked bafa egg and royal nectar cut into a fine dice. She
smiles silently at the middle aged woman, admiring the flowing
ruffles of her simple dress. "Will there be anything else?"
The lady of the house regards her anxiously and hurries off when
Nithsa shakes her head. When the black clad student turns to glance
out the window again, the man is gone.
Bad Widow, the second
full-length from the furious five, comes out swinging with the NWOBHM
style face melter, Ain't Got No Woman. The sound is very much more
metallic, the guitars more focused and aggressive. In my mind this
band can do no wrong and I like this one as much as the first. The
songs, though heavier sounding this time around, carry over the
smooth twin guitar riffage and sweet harmonies that make the first
one so listenable. The title track is a real highlight, with some
nice talkbox guitar throughout and You Are My Destiny makes me feel
like I'm at the roller rink in 1983. It is also of note that once
again they load up the end of the album with some of the faster,
heavier tunes. Now all I need is a cassette of it to jam in the
car...
Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 6.2 - Riding Away
The snow continued to drift
lazily from the gray sky above as Nithsa made her way down the pass
that morning. Although she was nearing the bottom of the mountain,
she was still high enough to get a good view of the plain that spread
out before the foothills below. She was stopped before one of these
little clearings, observing the tremendous birds wheeling in the sky,
when the little old man from that morning appeared, laboriously
making his way back up the trail. From beneath her hood, the curious
youngster made a closer examination of the strange character who
seemed to have transmitted some sort of vision to her. His clothes
were nothing more than rags sewn together into a rough cloak
comprising many layers of tattered fabric scraps. Atop his head,
however, sat a
magnificent wide-brimmed hat. Squared off at the top,
the band was made of interlocking metal circles, each with a rune
that even Nithsa, with her knowledge of magical symbols from all over
Centon, could not recognize. When the stranger had hobbled close
enough, he lifted his head. Radiant blue eyes shone out from the worn
face around them and she was hardly surprised when he began to
approach her. Peeking out from below the hat, the elderly wanderer's
mouth was moving, speaking something quietly. Nithsa could easily
have killed the suspicious stranger but she was curious about the
vision and his strange appearance. She readied a spell as the man
walked into striking range. "Gatemaster, gatemaster" The
haggard forest dweller whispered, "Gatemaster Crowbastard"
He did a shuffling circle dance before her. Her annoyance growing,
the dark-eyed Crowbastard intones gravely, "Fool! Who are you to
speak my name?" Her fingertips begin to tingle as she focuses
the magic. The beggar falls to his knees and lifts his hat off his
head in a gesture of submission, but as he looks up the blinding
flash strikes Nithsa again and she sees a tremendous crow flying into
the peaks of the Kradiken Socrat and a ghostly castle of bones where
phantom soldiers drifted in and out of bleached
turrets. The vision
of the throne room returns to her mind but this time, she is not
alone in the cavernous chamber. On the floor below the massive seat
of skulls, hundreds of white robed figures chant, "Gatemaster,
gatemaster" There is another flash and her vision returns. The
old man is still kneeling and he takes a feather pen from the band of
his hat. As the confused young woman takes hold of the black quill,
the bearer falls to the ground, struck by arrows. Behind him, in the
woods, the warrior's sharp eyes catch the sight of two sauron
archers, mounting deadly shafts on to their bows for her. Without
hesitation, her hand releases a bolt of energy that knocks the
lightly armored lizard men to the ground. In a flash Nithsa is upon
them. Perhaps if she had not been so hot tempered about the
interruption, she would not have just killed the interlopers, but the
deed was done and the perspicacious youth already knew what to do
with the feather. Drawing up her sleeve, she deftly marks out two
complex symbols and throws the instrument off the cliff before her.
Making percice motions with her fingers Nithsa Crowbastard closes her
eyes and pronounces "E'amat tercata! Serasarat!" Flying
above the valley, Crowbastard had a feeling she had never known
before and it terrified and exhilarated at the same time. She headed
north, up the mountains, following the inner compass that led her
into the snowy peaks, to the palace of the gatemaster.
Finally, we came to Cacumen's last album, the awesome Down To Hell. Magical fires were burning in the braziers and voices of the spirits guided us on the last leg of this journey into the B-side of Teutonic hard rock. Anthems of youth unheard,
strutting blues rock and dramatic heavy metal riffing were the bread
and butter of this great band and they delivered the goods in spades. Yes, they sound too much like their
more famous counterparts, but these guys have a knack for writing
songs in that style and frankly, having recently listened to the full
discography of those German giants, I can say that some of these tunes
out scorpion the Scorpions. A great night all around.
Words of the Elders
Behold, children of the
night, the glory of the moon and sky. Celebrate the glory of the
perfumed darkness where dreams and spirits collide with flesh in a
hothouse of strange fantasy. The skull throne sits there among the
peaks of the Kradiken Socrat, waiting for the one, the next
gatemaster. Hail Mistress Crowbastard, shape-shifting dweller at the
top of the world!
So it came to pass that
Bloodmace was called again to the Time Desert to perform his rituals
for the humans of the hinterlands, leaving Vecton and I to carry out
the sacred duties of the temple. Tonight, we offered up our
supplications to the gods of metal with a look at classic Finnish
riffmasters Tarot, OZ, and Ironcross. Take a step back with us, back
to the days before frolicking folk metal and generically evil black
metal. These bands are old fashioned, taking the usual elements of
Iron Maiden, Motorhead and Sabbath as their building blocks. Would
any of the contenders pass muster, or would we be damning the pesky
Finns into the pit by the end of the night? As Mistress Crowbastard
and Frostor the Bounty Hunter emerged from the inky darkness
outside, the ritual began. Chants were chanted, whiskey glasses
raised. The stars wheeled dizzily above our tabernacle and the sound
of buzzing guitars and pounding drums tore the night sky. Welcome to
another metal night!
Tarot started things out on
a high note with their Maiden worshiping debut, Spell of Iron. While
not high on the originality scale, they satisfied my craving for the
metallic equivalent of a meat loaf dinner. Hearty stick to your ribs
fare, comfort food. This reminded me at times of Cloven Hoof's
classic, A Sultan's Ransom, another great metal album that came out a
little too late. The competition proved too stiff for these talented
fellas to sweep the night, but this is a superior NWOBHM type
collection that I would recommend to anyone interested in the
melodic side of heavy music.
Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 5.1 - Harder Than Stone
On the western coast of
Centon, far beyond the mountainous stronghold of Bloodmace and Lady
Steel, there lies an extraordinary patch of ruins whose origins are
lost to the inhabitants of Centon in its third age. Here on the rocky
shore of the Takra sea, where the winds blast over the desolate
landscape and violent tides crash upon cliffs of sparkling black
stone, the remains of a strange domed building crouch imposingly upon
the misty heights. The few travelers who have wandered there have
told tales of crystal skeletons who attack those whose curiosity
attracts them to this place, their
obsidian swords and shields of
ruby flashing in the ever present gloom. One would never know it now,
but this dangerous place was once the home of Centon's Tauriat
industry. It was here that the crystals, so necessary for travel
after Headron burst in to this world and created the Time Desert,
were grown and harvested by Katar and Ionna Vecton. They had arrived
with the rest of the moonfolk when the great cataclysm displaced many
humans in the multiverse. Miraculously surviving their dimensional
tear, the people of earth's moon first developed the revolutionary
device, used to detect dimensional rifts in the Time Desert, when it
was found that some of the matter that had traveled with them from
their home would grow into fantastic crystals when mixed with the
Centonian seawater.
The great discovery came when Katar's hunting
party was lost in the desert to the north and barely escaped being
sucked into a timestorm's rift. During this encounter, it was noted
that the blueish green crystal hanging from the neck of one of the
warriors glowed wildly just before the ground and sky burst open in a
vortex of chaos. Not too much later, the brave moonfolk explorer
became the first in all Centon to safely travel the breadth of the
unthinkably dangerous expanse of the Time Desert. Soon, they were
selling their wares in Jenkabala, Waylor and Samur. Their villages
became towns, then cities, then disappeared. All that remains of the
once great land of Tarvac 6 is the single dome, its smashed arc
howling into the heavens, calling to vanished masters.
OZ, titans of Finnish heavy
metal, crushing riffmasters and masters of bizarre lyrical turns.
Fire in the Brain, the band's 1983 offering is an album that truly is
a joy to listen to. At 27 minutes, it doesn’t wear out it's welcome
like so many post 1988 sixty-minute-plus endurance tests and the
material here is all strong, straightforward metal in the
Motorhead/Accept mold, though I hear more than a little Exciter in
the human sacrifice paean, Black Candles. Having heard all three
albums before, I thought this would be a shoe-in for the winner of
the night spot, but even the mighty OZ, witch held us enthralled for
its length, fell before the final album...
Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 5.2 - Black Candles
It was barely dawn and the
domed form of the crystal house was barely visible as Larn set out to
check the mineral levels in the water tanks. As he reached manhood,
he had been left more and more in charge of the everyday duties while
his mother, Ionna ran the machine shop where raw crystals were formed
into tauriat and his father, Katar traveled across the countryside,
selling their wares. Crossing the open yard between the milky and
angular crystal of his dwelling and the rounded grow room he flexed
the wings on his back, extending the prismatic appendages out to full
flight length
and snapping back several times. The brisk air carried
a faint smell of flowers or perfume, he couldn't quite place it. The
raven haired youth climbed the ladder on the resivoir tank that held
water pumped from the sea below. Looking out he could see the
scattered houses of the other moonfolk nestled into the rocky land
along the cliffs of the Takra shore. A hymn of the Chevelargo kept
going through his head. His father had been helping him collect songs
of the human folk here and he had grown especially fond of the music
of the north. Spells, chants, supplications, even mating songs were
stored on crystalline disks by Katar as he traveled, recorded for
transcription by Larn. "Youcant-stop it-thesignsofwararecoming"
The words roll over and over in his mind as he checks the water from
a hatch in the roof of the silo. Climbing down, he rounds the base of
the dome barn and slides open the door panel, but as soon as he
enters the tall hothouse he can tell something is wrong. The smell
here is stronger and the young man's keen ears can detect an
intruder. In the dim phosphorescent glow of the stone structure his
eyes scan the crystal tanks, brimming with crystals, ready for
harvest. Larn's
hand moves to his sword, but he is startled by a
strange humanoid striding quickly out of the shadows. Its body was
glossy and greenish black and was topped by an insectoid head with
faceted eyes that stared out from above dangerous looking mandibles.
The teenager brandishes his blade but the attacker knocks it from his
hand with an overpowering blow. Grasping Larn's wrists, the adversary
hisses, "Still, young Vecton, still. I have something for you.
Something you will need soon" with its free hand, the sectaurian
touches Larn's temple and the raven haired farmer was carried away by
a vision of the future. He saw terror on human faces as tribes were
ravaged by the Wyvern rulers. He saw a king with no subjects in the
desert sand and sparkling crystal cities where his people lived. A
shadow passed and there was a flash of the ruined dome. Screams
echoed through his brain as he beheld his brethren torn apart in a
massive timestorm. The melody he heard in his head became louder and
the smell of flowers overtook his senses. "Sourwood" A
voice whispered. "Study well the bard songs of Samur, they will
show you the gate." Flashes of unfamiliar faces filled his head
but one caught his attention. A face he had seen in a nightmare, that
of a small child with profane magical symbols tattooed on its infant
flesh. A searing pain visited him and consciousness slipped
mercifully away. He was awoken by a tremendous barbarian shaking him
violently and splashing water on his
face, "Wake up! Hello?'
Opening his eyes he beholds one of he faces from his dream filling
his sight. " I am Bloodmace of Waylor. I think we have some
business." Dangling from his outstretched hand is the most
exquisite tauriat mount he has ever seen. "The Necro Baby"
Bloodmace intones, "You dream of her too?"
It may have been the
whiskey, or the evil spells of Necro Baby and Iron James, but when
Ironcross came blasting through the speakers, the congregation went
wild. Bloodounds, their debut full length, from 1982 won the night in
a breathtaking victory. It might have been when Vecton started to
examine some of the lyrics to the organ drenched acid metal of their
opus, Cross of Iron. Perhaps it was their bell-bottom shakin' hookup
jam, Let's Get Down to Business, but one thing is for sure Ironcross
represents the hard rock side of heavy metal and we were ready for a
little business of our own. On through the night we celebrated the
heshers sabbath and gave offerings to the hundred gods of the
Jenkabala pantheon. Hail to Ironcross, champions of Monday night!
Words of the Elders
Prophesy has called its
players to the stage, one by one the stories of Centon's greatest
heroes and most nefarious villains will be revealed to you, dear
readers. In this world of powerful sorcery and exotic real estate,
things are never what they seem. Harken to the sound of destiny’s
wind, for understanding the past is the key to deciphering the
future. Call out to the hundred gods with wine and song, for you have
but a short, messy moment in the middle of this cold eternity to
grasp the white-hot fire!
It was a chilly fall evening
when Vecton the Bard and Birdblood the Tyrant arrived on the doorstep
of Jenkabala Temple. Bloodmace had taken the sand skiff across the
Time Desert with his crew of plundering pirates, gathering tales of
conquest from the far flung outposts of civilization in the primitive
wilderness. Togther with Iron Dan we set our sights on Italy and it's
power metal scene. As a survey, we listened to the sampler "HeavyMetal Eruption: The Italian Way of Heavy Metal" There, our group
found a garden of unique pronunciation and galloping NWOBHM worship
that pleased our ears with its jovial familiarity, but soon it was
time for the real challenge. Iron Dan, cackling like a madman, grabs
a club and begins smashing everything in sight, screaming, "On
with the games of war! Hahahahaha!" Vecton the Bard, passions
inflamed by the thundergods lets out an animalistic howl and begins
tearing the floor to shreds as claws grow out from the hands at the
end of his long, whip-like arms while Birdblood calls the hell dogs
of Phobos to nip at our toes. The situation had reached the point of
no return, so in the chaos of flame and whiskey I call out to the
Neapolitan gods of heavy metal to sate the bloodlust of my guests and
the music began.
Gunfire is a band I had
never heard of before tonight, but their style was extremely
appealing to me for it's great speed metal sound. The drums often
veer straight into thrash territory, while the guitar blazes away in
a more traditional heavy metal/hard rock mode, very much like what
Helloween and Savage Grace were doing right around the same time.
While not as inventive as those two juggernauts musically, Gunfire
manages to deliver the goods with a cheeky swagger to their riffs and
some nice vocal harmonies. Birdblood chose this as her pick for album
of the night.
Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 4.1 - Wings of Death
Nowadays every child on
Centon knows the legend of Necro Baby, but that was not always the
case. Long before she burst into the popular imagination as the
ghostly tyrant of the east, this evil infant was Gorfun, elder of the
nomadic necromancers who stalk the plains of Meggorah in eastern
Centon. For thousands of years these wanderers have served the ruling
houses of the timepiece world, acting as their magical hit squad,
dealing death to those who would oppose the will of leaders both
tyrannical and benevolent. Indeed, even those kingdoms who pride
themselves on providing freedom for their inhabitants have, from time
to time, seen fit to eliminate those who would destroy their empires
from without and within. It was in the second age of Centon that
Gorfun came to power. He was the child of the Necro tribe's most
feared warriors, Chigoth and Samnor, but spent much of his youth
wandering lost and orphaned in the Meggorian plain when his parents
were defeated by
Parthon the Elder. The Samurian mystic had run afoul
of the Wyvern elders and was to be executed, but his powers were too
strong for even the legion of ghouls the couple called up for the
assault and he incinerated his attackers in a gust of rage. Knowing
what would happen to him, Parthon then fled to the north, across the
Kradacian Socrat and into the so-called "half spirit" world
of Narn, leaving his young son in the care of the Samurian Elders at
Lake Chawa. Meanwhile, Gorfun was learning to survive in the harsh,
cold plains, where icy winds swept bitterly over the monochromatic
landscape in the winter and the sun beat down mercilessly in the
summer, unleashing a roving inferno that would sweep through the dry
grasslands for months. He was seeking cover from one of these blazes
when the young loner stumbled into the newly formed Time Desert. He
was running from the flames and the unbearable heat on his back told
Gorfun he was about to be engulfed in the fire when suddenly, the
blistering sear ceased. Sandal clad feet stumbled on the unexpectedly
soft ground and the youth tumbled to his knees. When he regained
himself after a moment, the baby faced plainsmen beheld a line of
smoldering karci grass that stretched out as far as he could see in
front of him and behind him only gleaming aqua sand that swirled in
the hot breeze. Wonderment had barely passed from his countenance
when another shocking event took place. The dune closest to him began
to tremble and slide, revealing a frightful toad that dwarfed the
frightened magician. In a voice so low that it was barely audible,
the creature addressed him, "Gorfun, child of the savage plains,
sorrow is your path. You will be knighted by the wilderness and
crowned by the dead, for the Necro tribe is destined to rule over all
Centon." Large, wet eyes, black as a starless night, transfix
the nomadic adolescent and the croaking voice of the amphibian
continues, "Your path will be split, but the way is one. First
six, then five, then one. Remember the north, remember the cold."
When Gorfun blinked his eyes, the apperition was gone, but at his
feet sat a denim vest, embroidered with the patches of the sacred
black metal bands of earth. The youngster picked up the garment and
walked solemnly into the smoking grass, and the history of Centon was
forever changed.
We next jumped forward
fifteen years to 1999 to hear Tales From the North, White Skull's
third full length. At this point in the 90's power metal was a well
established genre of its own, massively popular in Europe, so it
comes as no surprise that what comes out of the speakers owes much to
the classic German "happy metal" sound. Choral gang vocals,
bouncy rhythms and major key progressions are are the meat and
potatoes of these kind of bands and the elements are all in play
here. This is the kind of jam that you get it or you don 't and I,
for one dig it. This is the album I voted for.
Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 4.2 - The Killing Queen
In the following years,
Gorfun waged a secret campagin of fear, first in the sleepy western
coastal villages, witch fell quickly to the necromancer's hordes. He
then sent his agents to the east where they discovered a new power in
the ancient land. Demon Scourge and Bloodmace, sons of Bloodhammer,
were the ascendent princes in this province and expertly repelled the
supernatural creatures that issued fourth from the west. Meanwhile,
Gorfun had forged a treaty with the Wyvern elders and a mysterious,
powerful outer dimensional force called Headron to conquer the whole
of Centon and divide it's real estate and great natural resources
between them. To this end, Headron possessed the body of Zodron the
Minstrel and made an attempt on the lives of the brave metal
warriors. This attack, however only succeed in enraging the pair, who
immediately set out on a quest to destroy the faceless king. Gorfun
was beside himself with anger and was slipping through Samur to mount
an offensive on Jenkabala when he was confronted by Parthon the
Younger, who was about to become Iron Dan in the wilds of that
mystical realm, and Vecton the Bard. A fierce battle ensued and even
the combined might of the occult heavyweights could not best the
power of the denim vestment. Just
when it seemed that all was lost,
however, Iron Dan used his psychophysiological powers to separate the
insane ruler from the legendary jacket by fusing it with some of his
own genetic material. It was thought that Gorfun died in the ensuing
conflagration, but for many years rumors circulated in the villages
of two ghosts who would appear in the wilderness as children. A small
boy bearing the old fashioned earthen name of James and his sister,
Necro Baby, an evil looking creature with the most vile and feared
symbols tattooed upon the flesh of her head. What was thought to be
just idle talk came to be confirmed in a terrifying way when the
heroes of Centon were wiped out at Castle Thrashstone, for in those
dark times a new master took possession of Jenkabala Castle. Necro
Baby was truly the worst of the worst and Headron put her in the
throne as a final insult to the fallen warriors and a challenge to
Iron Dan, for he knew that the weird infant was indeed what was left
of Gorfun, emperor of the plainsmen. When he was defeated by the
Samurian prince, the necromancer's body turned into that of a
fearsome baby whose power was seemingly unending. The denim vest had
fused with Iron Dan's DNA and created Iron James. Necro Baby held
this other being in thrall with her tremendous otherworldly powers
and forced it to commit the most sordid atrocities against the people
of Jenkabala and Samur. When Bloodmace and Demon Scourge, togther
with Rangar, Lars the Berserker and Vecton the Bard finally were able
to take back Jenkabala and end their reign the pair slipped off, but
Centon is about to hear from them again...
Going in to Derdian's TheNew Era Part 3, the decision was split, but we were about to
discover that our opinions mattered not, for as the sixteenth note
riffing and midi orchestra frenzy of these more recent power metal
contenders engulfed the temple in a vortex of fantasy, Vecton the
Bard took wing, sailing up above the courtyard then descending to the
stone balustrade of the balcony in front of us. In an imperious
baritone, he addresses us, "The mighty Bloodmace has left me to
the judgement of this affair and you will now know that Derdian are
the winners of this metal night! So it is with the ring of power that
I call to the spirit of the mace to give us strength!" He
thrusts his long arm into the air and the ring begins to glow. From
the melodic anthems that fill the air a strange sound grows in volume
and with a great white flash, the head of Bloodmace appears in the
sky. With a booming voice, cracking and rumbling like thunder the
giant head pronounces, "So mote it be, protector of the Crystal
Canyon" When the smoke cleared, Iron Dan, Vecton and Birdblood
quietly filed out from the great stone fortress and into the chilly
fall night. We had survived one dangerous night without our resident
barbarian, but what will happen next week? Will my speed metal
obsession go unchecked? Will Vecton force us to listen to more Final
Fantasy metal? Welcome to hell motherfuckers, welcome to hell...
Words of the Elders
Brothers and Sisters of
metal, beware! Necro Baby is no myth. This tiny terror might find you
in your nightmares or your waking life, but you can be sure she is
always lurking in the darkness. As much tragedy as the first reign of
Necro Baby brought, her new campaign may extinguish the Centonian
heroes once and for all, but have heart brave warriors, there is a
rumbling in the forest.
First, we heard Norway's black metal occultists Kvist and their only full album, For Kunsten Maa Vi Evig Vike . This was an unusual and sweet find, an overlooked black metal gem from 1996. At first glance, they may seem like another of the keyboards and corpse paint ilk, a trend that nearly drowned the entire genre in the 90's. A closer listen will reveal another layer of complexity, that this band owned a fucking time machine and simply got a peak at where black metal was in 2005. The drums are oddly bass petal driven, and if you take away the keyboards and add jazz chords, this could be mistaken for 'Northern Darkness' era Immortal. The production is crystal clear and not slathered in a layer of white noise, so you can hear the thick intricacies up front, letting you dance away the night to the death waltzing melodies. It's well produced without sounding sterile, as organic as coffin rot. It's fucking epic and fucks your face with ten thousand Satanic dicks. Winner of the night.
Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 3.1 - Cursed Earth I Go On Jenkabala City is a teeming
metropolis, situated near the Lomorian Ocean on the great River
Trimpor, the largest trade route in Centon. It is the oldest human
settlement in this strange realm, having been founded in the first
age of Centon, the time of the Chevelargo and husketel . In the
northwest corner of this bustling center, there stands a dim
neighborhood whose streets and lanes are made of old fashioned
oppenstone, it's greenish gray hue reflected in the faces of its
inhabitants. Indeed, even on clear days there seems to be a pall cast
over the ten block collection of antique storefronts, crumbling
dwellings and gambrel roofed warehouses. It is here that, for
generations, the last of the Centonian mystics have studied the
ancient texts and music of the elder humans. It was a drab afternoon
in the
month of Havat that a lone adolescent human, clad in a long
black coat wandered through the stone archway on Parthway Street.
Long brown hair cascaded over the worn collar of his jacket and when
he took his hands out of his pocket to light a cigarette, his lanky
arms protruded too far out of the sleeves. Heading north with a
purposeful yet awkward gait, the youth makes his way through the
monochrome landscape. From under the brim of his hat, the stranger's
eyes dart furtively about, as if weary of hidden attackers. Just past
the square at Anton Street, where the hundred gods were represented
in sculpture, he stops before the window of a small storefront. The
plain gold lettering on the dingy glass reads reads "Tomor's
Books." He peers into the store, pressing his face against the
pane, searching for signs of life in the darkened emporium. Wiping
hands on his dirty jeans, he tries the doorknob and seems surprised
when it opens into the shop with a tinkling of bells from above.
Several cats scurry about as he searches the room for a clerk. The
long room extends into darkness before him, two tall bookshelves in
the center that split the space into three hallways. Catiously, he
begins walking down the center, stopping every now and then to
examine the spines of the volumes that line the shelves. From the
black distance, a light appears, growing closer and closer to the
squinting shopper. Slowly the flicker widens as it nears the young
man, revealing a husky human in stretch pants and a T shirt. His tall
blonde mane sits proudly atop his head, terminating near his belt.
Staring out from heavy lids, a cigarette dangling from the corner of
his mouth, the candle bearing shop keep introduces himself in a lazy
Samurian drawl, "What'cha lookin' for, son? We ain't got
nothin' here for you young folk, now get on." The adolescent
wanderer rolls up the sleeve of the ill fitting trench coat,
revealing the sacred symbol of the Jenkabala elders, "I am Demon
Scourge of Jenkabala Castle, and this is what I seek." With his
other hand, the prince reaches into his pocket and produces a
shriveled hand, an ornate crystal ring hanging from the tattered
middle finger and drops it on the thick red shag carpet before the
shocked book dealer, who hastens back into the darkness. "I'm
goin' now" He calls behind him with a smile, "This is gonna
be a helluva year son!"
Next, French Canadians Sui Caedere fucked our unholy faces with an atmospheric and slightly more necro approach one their single album, 2009's Threne. This is a mid-tempo evil with tasteful keyboards, Burzumy drone guitars, and also hellish crossfire on wooden coffins double bass approach, although not nearly as proggy as the previous album. All the songs bleed into the next, average 7-8 minutes in length providing the perfect atmosphere for lazing away the day in a stinking crypt. Good stuff for the tough.
Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 2.2 - Shoe of the Dead
Night had fallen on the
River Trimpor when Demon Scourge choser a place to camp. He pulled
his canoe ashore and pitched a tent. Lighting a small oil lamp, he
began to examine the book he had traveled so far to obtain. Though
this mark on his arm had been a burden to him up to now, he found it
made him very interesting to people in Jenkabala City, sometimes too
much so. For the last day he spent in the crowded city, he swore he
was being followed by an elderly sauroped. Perhaps word of his
presence had gotten back to the elder council of the great city. They
had many reasons to be
concerned about his presence among them, for
as Demon Scourge had learned in his seventeenth year, he was the true
heir to Jenkabala castle and all the lands around it. The book was
bound in red with an ornately crafted spine and the angular lettering
was in old Samurian. Upon the cover was embossed a pattern of fruit
bearing boughs twined with five fanged serpents. To his surprise, the
frontispiece was a portrait of his father with two young boys. He
recognized himself and his father from portraits his uncle Vod had
given him when he was of age, but what of the other boy? Obviously it
was his brother, but why had his guardian not tell him of this also?
A twig snaps nearby and instinctively the hand of the Jenkabalan heir
grasps the handle of the short sword on his belt. A rasping voice
comes out of the darkness behind him, "So, they have sent you
after all, the fools." Demon Scourge leaps forward and whirls
around, sword drawn. Into the dim light of the small lantern steps
the mysterious sauroped he had seen before, "I am unarmed, son
of Bloodhammer, let me speak." The youthful warrior sheaths his
blade and the two legged lizard continues, "You have no Idea of
the things you have set in motion, and that is good for you. All you
need to know right now is that you will venture south to Castle
Thrashstone" Puzzled, Demon Scourge shoots back, "What is
this Castle Thrashstone and why should I listen to you? Even as we
speak your brothers are rounding up humans to be enslaved for the
building of
temples to their infernal masters." The long snouted
elder becomes aroused, "You must go now. Go south until you
reach the hills of Samnor and find Krem Argoth in his keep, he is a
friend." The elder takes off his cloak, revealing a leather
jacket covered by a denim vest, sewn everywhere with embroidered
patches. He reached out and touches one with his scaly hand.
Everything goes dark and suddenly Demon Scourge can see a bird’s
eye view of the landscape. He can see the spot where his body stands
with the sauroped then moving to the north a great number of torches.
As the bird swoops closer he can identify the armor of the elite city
guard. They have found him out. In a blink he is on the ground. "Go!"
Yells the sauroped standing across from him, "Go while you have
the chance!" The hunted teen, terrified now, grabs the book and
the canoe and shoves off into the river, heading south. "Bloodmace!"
Calls the voice from the shore as the figure grows smaller and
smaller, "Bloodmace!"
Lastly, Gallowbraid crushed our collective nutsacks with their slighly folksy, rather upbeat black metal ep, Ashen Eidolon.(It's strange that 40 minute albums are considered eps these days.) This is the sound of celebration after warlock goblins eat the flesh of white wizards. The rhythms have a slight disco feel, some acoustics are strummed and the occasion piano is tinkled. Reminds me of Nargaroth. This is a pretty good album, but failed to capture our attention as our drunken antics progressed beyond the point of no fucking return.
Words of the Elders
Demon Scourge! Master of the
starways and evil defiler to sacred temples of all and sundry! The
orphaned youth who spent his youth in a fantasy world has awakened
into the realm of possibility and power. Prepare world, prepare for
the return of the vanquished! Prepare for the coming of the brothers
three!
