Sanctuary Denied - US Power Metal, A Pentagram Reflection and the Tunnel of Terror

 

Welcome, dear readers, to another report from Jenkabala Temple! It's been quite a while since our last full update but at long last the new chapter of “Into the Necro Lands” is finished and we have a new video of highlights so you can catch up with Bloodmace, Vecton and I. Speaking of that glorious pervert, Bloodmace gives his opinions on some US power metal and I offer up some reflections on my experiences at the Pentagram show, so settle in, grab a beer and a hooter, or if you prefer, a Mountain Dew code red and a vegan brownie and let us tell you tales of distant worlds....

Sanctuary-Sanctuary Denied
This is one of those albums I always saw in the cassette section at Meijer's and always overlooked in favor of the thrashier pieces from the big 4. I bought it ion the 90's and was not into the oh so metal shrieking that was oh so out of fashion by that time. But returning to this album after many years, I find that it to be a pleasingly old school power metal affair. Crisp riffery dominates, informed by thrash, but rhythmically never leaving traditional metal territory. It's amusing to note how much Judas Priest this resembles Painkiller era Priest, roughly three years before that album came out.

Metal Church-The Human Factor
The Church dudes are clearly suffering from 90s-itus on their 4th album. The much too clearly enunciated socially conscientious lyrics reflect a conservative mind set, and the songs are more mainstream rock oriented. Meh. The songs are boring, the lyrics preachy, the riffs dull, and this is clearly not one of their better albums.

Pharaoh-After The Fire
Skip forward to 2003, and Pharah are a power metal band of the new school; fully heroic, highly melodic escapism in the mold of Helloween and Blind Guardian. After the Fire, their first full length, had the most polished presentation  of all the albums considered. Laser-tuned twin guitar riffs adorn the precise gallop of the rhythm section, carrying the music of the elders into the new century. Now usually, we lean more towards the raw and chaotic as more representative of a bands real sound, but this scrubbed-clean production is genre appropriate for power metal, so on the strength of their songwriting and presentation, Pharaoh wins the night!   

Into the Necro Lands Part 14.1 - Veil of Disguise

The sound of splashing water and creaking metal had replaced the chaos of this afternoon and the sun was setting. Bloodmace and I, after being captured by Bildorf the Mad and his band of pirates, had escaped to the comparative safety of a run down industrial area some distance from his hideout on the island of Sanctum. The ground in this area of the island, such as it is, consists of sea garbage, lashed together by a strange, stone like fungus. We huddle inside a little cave, drying our clothes in the last rays of light as we plot our next move. Bloodmace, staring out at the red horizon, pounds his fist against the rough wall, "We need to get back to the mainland. The Necromancers will attack this

island, or at least Bildorf's lair..." His voice trails off for a moment, then he says conspiratorially, "Look at these assholes." Loping along the beach before us, two of Bildorf's mutants are combing the shore for their escaped prisoners. The harried barbarian is about to dash from our hiding place, but I grab his arm, "Wait, there may be more," I say, "We can't see their launch from here." Indeed, as our exchange takes place, two more pair of uniformed henchmen enter our view. They cannot see us, but we both watch them motion towards our cave. The time to act was here, but then a shadow passed over the little hill, then two more. Three gliders shot across the blue sky, dropping bags of a substance that filled the air with smoke as they landed. From outside, the sound of confused shouting drifted in with the

smoke.We turned at once to search for a passage deeper into this cavern. With our eyes adjusted to the darkness already, we slipped down into a small crevasse as the sound of footsteps came from the entrance. Here below the coral-like fungus, pieces of ships, their cargo and drifting garbage had coalesced into a twisted mass of rubbish that was strong enough to support the rusting factories above. We peered into the hopelessly dim cavern ahead and our hearts raced as a light approached from the other end accompanied by a soft slithering. Around the corner came the mysterious, beam, blinding us as it approached. When the lamp had moved past us, we could see a rider just behind the waist-high snake head that pushed past us. Mounted in a stirrup atop a large snake, the bearded human figure, whose eyes and hair were hidden behind goggles and a short brimmed cap, carried a silver spear with the Chevelargo runes cast into the tip. "You are of the mainland?" He asks apprehensively,

brandishing his weapon. I step forward and reply, "We are. What do you know of us?" From above, we can hear the labored grunts of mutants working their way through the narrow entrance. He points with his lantern to a hatch in the floor nearby, "Open that door and go beneath, they are here" climbing into the hidden door, I notice that below us, the ocean laps quietly. I look up at the soldier, had he betrayed us? "Just stay around the side, this won't take long." He chuckles, the door clangs shut. Above, the light goes out, leaving us in complete darkness. Quiet footsteps enter, there is a gasp and a surprised cry and warm blood drips down on us. The light turns back on and our benefactor calls to us, "Come on up, Bloodmace and Demon Scourge!" Climbing back to the main level of this bizarre chamber, I see the stranger has taken off his headgear to reveal a more or less ordinary looking man, determined eyes gazing out below a close cropped haircut, a single tendril dipping rakishly over his face. "I am called Rygar the seeker, new master of Castle Thrashstone!" His robust laughter echoes through the labyrinth as Bloodmace and I stare at one another in disbelief. 

Twenty-Five Buck Spin: Reflections on a night with Pentagram

The denim and leather crowd was out in force, along with a heavy contingent of aging rockers and the usual denizens of this downtown landmark. When I walked in back to the venue, there was a dad rock band tearing off blues licks and throwing shapes at the 8o'clock crowd, who were dutifully staking out their places for the main event. I wandered around the edges of the crowd, greeting familiar faces and soaking in the boozy ambiance. Wandering back out into the front of the bar to commiserate with the crowd just arriving from a downtown film festival, I reflected on the film about Pentagram's Bobby Liebling with it's story of an artist's September redemption through the rediscovery of his work. Having just finished a biography of misunderstood film auteur Andy Milligan, who's story has a much less crowd-pleasing ending, I soon lost myself in ruminations on what it means to truly believe in your vision. Staring at my reflection in a flashing

pinball backboard, I let my mind wander in a reverie of the dangerous cauldron of creation, boiling there within us all. How can some manage to communicate the secret story from within while others are overcome by the hypnotizing aroma of this heady brew? Is the purest art made by those who give themselves over completely to their inner world, performing for an audience of their own creation? I am stirred out of my daydream by a costumed throng, storming the bar from a bus parked outside. Just as the last of the revelers has crowded around the bar, the between set smokers from the back stampede out to the street, creating a surreal logjam that for whatever reason reminded me of the famous denouncement of The Beyond. Writhing bodies, trapped in hell forever. Across the river of humanity flowing through the main aisle of the bar, I spot an acquaintance. Dressed like Norman Bates, mom corpse in tow, Iron Dan is traveling with the party bus. We join some of his fellow filmmakers for a cocktail. All of them have been drinking since noon and it's hard to determine what anyone is even saying. I head to the back again, leaving the tower of babel to check out the third band, Radio Moscow.

Coming in about halfway through this Cream style power trio's set, I settled in to a dark corner and let the boogie blues wash over me like a warm bath. While not really my cup of tea, their bell bottoms and fur vest type sound fit snugly on the bill. Having positioned myself near the back, I slipped out before the mass of smokers stumbled through the bar and into the night. The filmmaker table has grown and I stop to ask people about their screenings while gawking at the parade of outfits on display. I spot a couple battle jackets, a bearded guy in an incredibly elaborate 70's rock getup, plenty of punx and crusties and one exquisite hand-painted leather with the cover of the self-titled Acid album. The ceaseless activity of Saturday bar night ebbs and flows. Shouted conversations, harried barbacks, Big Black blasting above the cacophony and I'm layin' in the cut, Travis Bickle with a battle jacket. Once again, my thoughts begin to drift, but then I realize it's Pentagram time. In the venue, mic check has just ended and the intro music starts. A couple years back, I heard Pentagram at Maryland Deathfest and they were good but there were problems with the sound and they had to cut their set for time. I almost stayed home, thinking about how I had seen

them already, but something made me go out and it was beyond worth it. I have never been a big Pentagram fan, my taste is more Sarcaofago than Sabbath, but when they took the stage, they owned the place. The band was tight and Liebling was in amazing voice, swooping over the churning grooves with just the right amount of grit. The crowd was transported, exultant in the moment. One thing I appreciated was Bobby's energetic performance., it was a real treat to see him in this more intimate venue. Being able to see clearly those great, expressive faces that are something of a Liebling trademark added a subtle but effective ingredient, unifying the musical flavors with a sprinkling of theatrics. It seemed only a warm, sweet moment that we were lifted into that heady realm of musical pleasure, where the crowd seems to melt into one, and then it was over. Parishioners from this Saturday night service at the church of heavy metal fill the air outside the bar with smoke and excited conversation, incense of the damned floating skyward in supplication to the ancient gods of night 

Words of the Elders

Hold steady gentle friends,for our sworn quest continues on this checkerboard of nights and days. We are keepers of the magic scrolls and forever we quest on, mapping the scorched topography of our beloved Centon and the endless minutia of heavy metal's galaxy of subdivisions. Look to the heavens voyagers, look into the eyes of the gods for majesty is your birthright and glory your legacy. 

Until next week, haunted headbangers, 

Horns