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!
Unfortunately, the first bird band we heard (heh) was Pelican and their very boring first album, Australasia. This is pretentious sludge metal with the evil intentions scooped out, making it acceptable to dudes who really couldn't give a fuck about metal anyway. It's entirely instrumental, featuring much delicate sounding arpeggiated strumming; a dense, if somewhat polite, guitar tone; and riffs that really try hard to be heavy, but seem too airy to hold much weight . The song structures are semi-complicated, Rush-like affairs. Demon Scourge said it reminded him of Slint. Fucking hipsters!
Into the Necro Lands Part 10.1 - Human Foot
To the casual traveler, the smell of
Sekran's suburbs is only just bearable. The sickening odor of the
crematoriums, where the city's necromancers come to dispose of their
rotting servants, fills the air with a foul haze. Everywhere there is
death, from the sickly bone gates to the moaning corpses in their
stables, waiting for their master's orders. In this place of
suffering there is but one thoroughfare, Ra'l-Torth. From the stone
wall of the castle it winds down the hill, past the houses of
gatemonks and merchants, whose stark dwellings betray little of the
bustling chaos below. At the port, where the clean sea air sometimes
manages to banish the city's stench, the road turns west and
descends to the shore. Along this stretch is the market, where
supplies are traded and deals are made for
assassinations in far off
lands. Merchants, whose faces are stained with the traditional
corpsepaint of the Necro Tribe, stand patiently under their drab
canvas tents. Salted meats and potable water are stacked alongside
casks of loose bones, exotic feathers and the region's famous orcite
beads. Sailors have long shunned the strange town and are known to
stay aboard ship save to unload their cargo. If supplies are needed,
they always travel in groups, for many among their number have
disappeared into the labyrinth of dirt paths and foreboding huts
throughout the years. Just past the bustle of the city's markets, but
before the land meets the ocean, the outer suburbs skulk across the
hillside. Here are found the worst of the worst, a monastery of
perversion that few who enter ever leave. The economic fuel of this
wasteland is a drug known as teffiv, manufactured from a kind of
coral found only in the shallow waters nearby. When refined and
combined with the dried scales of the lapin, a powerful psychotropic
drug is formed that causes the users brain to function at many times
its normal ability, but the onset of addiction is inevitably followed
by death, usually within a year. Most of the denizens of this cursed
place are those unfortunates who are living out their last year,
working at one of the many refineries that dot Sekran's lower hill
and performing unspeakable acts upon any that might come under their
hands during the night.
We finally got the night off the right way when we put on NWOBHM progenitors Raven's sterling 2010 thrashterpiece, Walk Through Fire. What really amazing about this album is how it is just the same as their early 80' classics, and just as exciting as those early classics, and in some cases exceeds those albums, especially on the production, which is modern, updated, and in your fucking face like a big hairy arm pit. Raven piss all over Anvil, who they resemble the most in spirit and relative IQ. There is not a bad song or embarrassing moment on this album. This was my personal winner of the night, though the others digress.
Into the Necro Lands Part 10.2 - Theme of Loudness Part II
Bloodmace and I, moving under cover of
the day, when the necromancer's powers were not as keen, had made it
this far without detection. By not using the main road, we hoped to
avoid any
confrontation with soldiers, who were undoubtedly looking
for us by now. All around us, the high pitched rattle of coral being
ground into dust could be heard. Low, black buildings were scattered
in with clusters of makeshift tents. There were few pedestrians this
time of day, but those who did show themselves were quickly repelled
by a flash of our weapons. The desolation soon gave way to the
markets, where we purchased some bones and beads to look more like
Necrites. It was almost dusk when we made our way through the quiet
district of severe little gray and black houses that stood before the
city gates. Silently, we approached the towering edifice that stood
before us and the castle. A small sign be the roadside pointed in the
direction of a small entrance to the right of the massive aperture
where two humanoid wolves stood guard. The larger one holds up his
hand to stop us, "What is your business here?" I reply, "We
have an assassination contract to be witnessed in the great hall."
Wordlessly he waves us through. Inside the vestibule, more guards
search through our belongings before handing us each a piece of
paper, "You must present this to any member of the security
forces upon request." We both nod at the desk officer and pass
through the carven door into the great courtyard of Sekran where
necromancers, dignitaries of every land and the great throng of city
folk who lived within the safety of this fortified complex mingled in
the gathering darkness. The business day was about to begin and we
walked through a row of vendors with steamed buns and fresh fruit,
past an area where old men drank their dusk cocktails and argued over
the daily papers, right to the door of the great hall. Beyond this
worn wooden gate was the economic heart of the city, where teffiv and
other agricultural futures were traded. This was also the place
assassins and their clients came to have their agreement ratified and
made legal. This was the first place we were to conceal one of the
sigils. We pushed our way through the crowd into the long hall. To
our right was the marketplace. Screens ticked off figures as the
early traders began their cacophonous dealings. We hurried down the
large
corridor until we spotted the sign for the clerk. Stepping out
of the din, we enter an almost empty waiting room where several rows
of benches stand between us and a tall counter and a breathtaking
sectaurian is typing on several keyboards with her six arms. Aside
from the extra appendages and translucent wings, her figure was very
human-looking and covered with a shiny armor of exoskeleton. I
noticed that Bloodmace was also surprised to see one from such a
far-off place. We approached and with a little smile, the clerk said,
"What precinct please?" I froze for a moment, forgetting
that they would ask me where the killing was supposed to take place,
"Ar...Arvid," I stutter."I haven't seen you around
here before," the smile on her face turning suddenly
mischievous, "Where is your office?" Bloodmace pipes up,
pounding his chest, "I am me, alone. My office is here,"
pointing to his heart.
The sectaur before us chuckles as she
indicates the waiting room with one of her delicate hands, "The
sergeant will see you in a moment." We turn and walk back to
one of the long benches. Several cloaked figures are loitering around
the room, some standing, some seated. At the end of one of one row,
seated far from any of the cloaked figures, were two Samurian
businessmen, one saurian and one human. They looked nervously about,
as if they were afraid of being seen. It was, after all, not unheard
of for those who came to order a death to be targeted themselves
after being seen here. An electronic bell softly tolled and a chilak
emerged from the inner offices. His many stubby legs propeled his
stout, transparent body across the carpet as tiny eyes peered out
from the rigid flaps of bumpy skin that covered his head. "Kratath?"
He says loudly in his strange, pinched voice. The nervous Samurians
hurry after the creeping civil servant, followed by two of the
cloaked necromancers. I am inadvertently staring at the Sectaurian
behind the desk, half daydreaming, when an idea hits me. I turn to
Bloodmace, "Give me a sheet of that paper."
Then we heard the Swedish power metal godz Falconer and their 2002 album, Chapters of a Vale Forlorn. This is powerful metal in full He-Man mode, with Nordic Viking vocals work that steals your woman and pillages your land with a clean yodel. The riffs are mighty and strong. The production is nice and shiny. The drums and bass and keyboards are well...they are there to paddle the longboat to Valhalla in a workmanlike manner. These Vikings smell clean and fresh. Amon Amarth.....they are not.
Lastly was the novelty album. Hatebeak is not a serious band, or a good band, but they are a band that releases product. But they do have the advantage of having an actual avian, a goddamn African grey parrot called Waldo, as lead vocalist. Thier 2005 split EP with Canius, a band who just so happens to have a pitbull as lead vocalist, is good for....ahem.... a hoot. It's a good for one listen at a party with your inebriated friends......and nothing more.
Words of the Elders The secrets of the Necro Lands are prodigious and not learnt without forfeit of this mortal coil. Here in the realm of death, the currency is souls and the law is strength. Necro Baby and Iron James sit upon the throne of skulls here, their icy hands moving the pieces on this checkerboard of nights and days as the hundred gods watch with bated breath. Zagrieb, carry us in your pouch of might!, Lorko, fill the air with song! Let this incense carry our prayers beyond the realm of gods and find purchase with inscrutable fate!
Everyone knows that lead singers are the biggest attention seeking ego maniacs in every band and especially in every metal band and for some reason it seems that the really good ones have to go off and prove their bad selves in the silly solo artist domain of rock music. I'm not really sure why they don't just go and join some other fucking band put they just have to put their own fucking name on the goddamn album because they are obviously such a big deal now because they guitar player and the drummer can't tell him what to do anymore because he pays the fucking hack he hired out of his own pocket now and he gets the all the fucking royalties because he writes all the fucking songs so everyone shut the fuck up cuz we all know the big fuck deal is now don't we??? Ok, onto the reviews. We listened to solo albums from members of established metal bands, ok?
Well, it worked out pretty well for King Diamond, though I like his first band, Merciful Fate, a lot better. Both bands seem like collaborations, though, and King's 1990 opus, The Eye, is my favorite of his oeuvre. I prefer MF for the cool, concise, evil tunes, as King's tunes tend to be these disjointed monstrosities that sound like retarded monster musicals. But this one is much less so. The amped up keyboard sound is nice touch giving the album an exotic, gothic cheesey magnificence. The album is about witch hunts in France, but who cares. It's about as scary as Vincent Price yelling boo in an empty theater. I really wish that King Diamond would just go back to singing about Satan in high falsetto. That never gets old. But all in all, this album is fucking awesome. Winner of the night!
Into the Necro Lands Part 9.1 - March of Kings
Bloodmace and I were perched atop the
olive colored lorry that Lady Birdblood had given us after we routed
Necro Baby's forces and returned to her the fabled Nest of Evil. For
the last two days we had traveled west, driving in the early morning
and finding a hiding spot before dusk to avoid the patrols that were
now quite frequent as we neared the border with the Necro Lands.
Munching thoughtfully on the frond of a candle fern, Bloodmace points
to a thick tangle of river bramble that covers the banks of a nearby
creek, "We can cut a passage in there and hide the truck
underneath as well.
Tomorrow we travel by foot into Necro Baby's
stronghold." I nod in time with the Venom tape blasting from the
stereo beneath us. Squinting my eyes in the bright sunlight and
surveying the woods around us, I reply, "Are we going to follow
Chanthoth's instructions? going undetected into the stronghold means
no magic." I look down at the laser blasters charging on the
hood, "If these rickety old pistols fail, we could be fucked. I
realize that most of their warriors are on their way to the Nest of
Evil, but there will still be plenty of guards to contend with. He
wants us to plant the three bronze sigils inside the fortress, a task
made all the more dangerous by our inability to utilize our greatest
asset, the battle jackets." Bloodmace furrows his brow and
strokes his stubbled chin with rough fingers, "We must find a
way to hold the power of Necro Baby and Iron James in check while
Chanthoth repairs the Garm, the battle jackets are powerful, but this
is no ordinary enemy. Necro Baby has lived in many forms for
thousands of years and we are only partially trained in the ways of
the Huisketl and Chevelargo. To use sorcery without the Garm to help
would be folly. We have battled without the jackets before and
tomorrow, we shall again face what fate the hundred gods have
intended for us." Just at that moment, as if in answer to our
conversation, a tremendous butterfly, known in the Necro Lands as a
solaadgraf winged down and landed on the hood of the truck. Its long
wings of iridescent black and whit e moved slightly as the majestic
insect regarded us with faceted eyes. The trunk like proboscis
extended and pointed in our direction and just for a moment, the
sound of Celtic Frost emerged from rustling tree branches and
chirping birds, then vanished as the creature took wing and
disappeared into the blue afternoon sky.
Second album was one Fenriz of Darkthrone's many endeavours, Isengard, a weird viking/folk/black metal basement project, this being being the 1995 album Hostmorke. It's an acquired taste, especially if you have heard viking folk metal recorded and performed better, but, hell, on second and third listen, you'll be won over by its clunky, lofi charm. Surprises abound; there are weird synth textures here and there, some English language lyrics, and the last two songs are Darkthrone. The most significant thing about this album is how, despite the lofi qualities, it achieves a significant quality of epicness, like it's Amon fucking Amarth without the high and mighty production values. Demon and Vecton prefered this album over King Diamond, but they are not they Judgement of Metal Night, ARE THEY????
Into the Necro Lands Part 9.2 - Eye of the Witch
All through the night we heard the
patrols shambling down the road, ghastly voices crying out to mark
the hours of the watch. Even though we could not use our magic,
talismans and signs would not attract the attention of the watchful
necromancers as mere symbols used no magic of their own, so the truck
was plastered with Bloodgood and Stryper stickers to hide its
presence from the undead guards. After what seemed an eternity, dawn
came blazing over the horizon and we emerged from the brambles and
set about our task. The palace where Necro Baby ruled her lands and
the town that stood within its sooty black walls was known as Sekran
and it would take a days walk from this place to reach its suburbs.
Already we began to smell the ocean, but the forest we traveled was
dense and almost none of the sun's intense rays could penetrate down
through the tangle of thorny branches and pointed leaves that
emanated from the squat, evil looking trees that took their
nourishment from the rocky landscape, bursting out of stones where no
plant could grow. Our journey was frequently interrupted by the
Sekran guard making their rounds, causing us to climb into the
foliage and wait for them to pass. Just as the sun began to set
however, we reached a precipice that looked out on the Dakti Ocean.
Carefully, we made our way along the cliff's edge until, as the ridge
retreated sharply inland, we
caught a glimpse of Sekran itself. The
land of the other side of the bay sloped gently down to meet the
beach and along this rise were clusters of huts and hovels that
housed the rank and file of the Necro Tribe. Though we were too far
away to glimpse any of the inhabitants, the smell carried by the
faint breeze told us all we needed to know of those who dwell outside
the city walls. Atop this first rise, another cliff rose to roughly
the same height as our position where the jagged black walls of the
keep were silhouetted against the luminous purple of the dusky sky.
Bloodmace and I made camp in a small clearing and meticulously
applied the corpsepaint that would hopefully disguise us as we made
our way into the very heart of the kingdom of death.
The last album was from a certified solo Metal God himself, Bruce Dickinson. His much then lauded 1997 return to form, Accident of Birth, in hindsight, still suffers from 90's syndrome. It fucking slogs from riff to riff like a Soundgarden album. Ok, that's harsh. There is a lot of good stuff on this album. Bruce's voice soars, the riffs (ala Adrian Smith) are metal as fuck and there are some great tunes here. but pity the fucking slow tempo and pace.
Words of the Elders
Kasar-thuta, what do you see in the
cosmic mists that swirl in the limitless void? Raspin, Taroxit and
Mathin, we beseech you in this dark hour! Caught in a game they do
not understand, Bloodmace and Demon Scourge plunge into the most evil
place on Centon. Black ducks quack and foreboding stars wheel in the
night, omens to all who would tread there in the Necro Lands!
