The Road to Hell - Solo Metal and a Trip to the Forbidden Kingdom

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!

Until next week, brash invaders,

Horns