Pain of Days - Make-Up Madness and Zlendar's spell

For Impaled Nazarene's sake!! It's been too long. But Metal Night soldiers on, regardless of whether we get off our asses to write this fucking thing or not. Metal Night is eternal. It has always happened, and always will happen, even before our births, and even after we die and are rotting in our graves, still conscious, and feeling the agony worms burrow into our flesh. It was and always shall be. Cuz we just get together and listen to music and drink. And this is what we listened to, man.

Into the Necro Lands Part 19.1 - One With Fire

The moon was bright enough to light the wide path that led to Zlendar's house. Rygar the Seeker led us through the jungle wordlessly and with great caution. Bloodmace and I, deprived of our magical battle jackets since we left for Sekran, were on high alert. In the shadows around us we could hear at least three or four animals stalking us and my heart jumped when I saw a flash of eyes from the trees ahead. The trail began to curve and Rygar held up his hand. The spear he held began to glow and with a spark, produced a flame from the tip that revealed our hunters. All around us, large black cats had gathered. There were fifteen, perhaps twenty vicious looking felines, hissing and croaking out their warning. Bloodmace brandished his club, but Rygar stopped him “Easy, barbarian. We want to get there in one piece.” The seeker took a lanyard from around his neck and held it aloft, “Danyana Karcasta extasius ghabin” The cats cease their hissing and before us, the largest of their number approaches. Rygar begins speaking to their leader an an incomprehensible garble. The beast sits on its hind quarter for a moment and scratches its ear then emits a loud yowl, dispersing the hunting party back into the shadows. Rygar looks back at us, “The right persuasion.” He swings the charm up into the air, catching it with his other hand. Continuing into the darkness, I notice the number of cats around us has not decreased, they are everywhere. At long last we come to a fork in the path, “This is the way.” Says Rygar , “Hurry on brothers, the Molnaar chief has granted us passage, but if one of them gets hungry...” We step up the pace through the smaller fork with the fragrant brush encroaching ever more on the path until we are at last cutting through a bramble where there once was a path. Then, suddenly, we are in a clearing. A garden opens out before us, flowers glowing blue in the moonlight. Scattered around the grounds are statues of the great chiefs of the lizard tribes in northern Jenkabala. I gasped out loud at the rush of memories from home that flood over me. Straight ahead, an ivy covered cabin presides over the serene landscape, windows glowing cheerfully with yellow light. Rygar turns to us, “We have arrived.”

Yesterday, Demon Scourge and I, along with Lady Bird Blood and Rangar The Sectaurian, took Metal Night on location, and took in am underground black metal show at some hidey-hole on the inner city called The New Church. Barghest, from Baton Rouge, LA, headlined, with Grand Rapids Discarnate and Dakhma opening. All three bands put in stellar, intense sets. The three piece Dakhma is a brand of atmospheric blackened crust was hypnotic and face melting. These kids inserted lots of raw passion into their set, with the drummer and vocalist in a deadlock for our souls, while the guitar player laid down layers of hateful texture. Vocalist Clair screamed her fucking head off until I though her head would explode. It did not. Great local band. Next, Discarnate roasted our flesh and sucked our souls with a solid set of old school black metal, with a crusty edge. Grand Rapidians love their crust, that's for certain. They were tight and evil, the riffs were delectable, and the singer wore an evil hood, and the red lighting evoked an atmosphere pure fucking hellocaust. Their last song inspired the first mosh pit. Barghest roared into their set and into our black hearts with their roaring brand of slightly sludgy blackened death. Metal as fuck. Several thousand blast beats later, our small, unholy coven disbanded into the night, to spread discord and bloody mayhem. Barghest ate sandwiches at Two Beards in the morning, before invading Chicago.

Into the Necro Lands Part 19.2 - Fade to Insanity

Across the neatly manicured garden we strode to the entrance of the little cabin. Rygar raps on the heavy door with the demon headed knocker. After a moment, the portal creaks open. Standing before us is not the wizened crone I had expected, but a vigorous mystic, draped in a sparkling sharn after the fashion of Jenkabala's saurian tribe. A long smile crept across her exquisitely scaled face as she greeted our guide warmly, “Rygar, welcome. I see you have bought our young princes.” She nods to us, sizing my brother and I up with inky eyes. Rygar answers, “Yes, but time is short. Necro Baby and Bildorf the Mad are in pursuit. They were fighting one another when we helped these two to escape, but it won't be long before they track us here.” The mysterious Zlendar nods in response and silently beckons us to follow with a swish of her cape. Inside the small room, shelves are sagging under the weight of the dusty, leather bound tomes in a hundred languages that line the walls. Everywhere, magical objects are piled, pushed and stored in stacks. She motions to a gilt table on one side of this enchanted library, “Sit here,” She says, clearing jars, bottles and scrolls from the surface before us. “I have to get some things before we begin. Put on those cloaks.” She motions to a rack near the door where drab, blood spattered robes are hung. Our

host disappears through a door and we can hear her rummaging and cursing as we nervously don the musty garments. Returning to us, she unrolls a large map, holding down each corner with smooth, greenish stones. I can pick out Jenkabala within the shape of Centon, but that is only a small part of the map. The constellation of islands that spray out in the middle of the ocean are not familiar to me though. Even further beyond that there is a large island I have never heard of. My head reels with this new knowledge, but it's not the most curious feature of the cartograph. The other half, once unrolled, is a mirror of the first image, but the power lines of each different form of magic are represented. The lines are luminous, with strength of magic represented by brightness, so it is clear to see the green magic of the inland forest gets weaker, but does not disappear over the ocean, and so it was with the many forms of esoteric energies in the world. Each had waxing and waning power in the varying geographic areas, but there was one bright web that stretched all over the map. Behind us, candles flare and pungent incense curls fill the room with a bracing scent as Zlendar readies her magic. Stepping up to the table, she addresses us, “Please stand. We will need to join hands.” The candles brighten in response to our contact. “Pyrna ooleck chakakst,” She begins to chant, “Erka amanti gornah!” Over and over, she chants words turning over and over. A goblet is passed, the drink has a strange, metallic taste. The chant resumes and the drink begins to take effect, twisting the words inside out and backwards. The bright lines that cover one side of the map begin to glow with a firey intensity until they are filling my sight. I hear the voice of the witch, “Think of the battle vests, think back to the day you parted. Where are they?” The images rush into my head and I feel like my skull wil split open with the energetic force they create. I am screaming, Bloodmace is screaming, and above the din Zlendar's voice barks a command to Rygar, “The bag! Use it now!” Hot liquid is pouring everywhere and darkness envelops me.

      *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

I came back to consciousness with a start. Everything in the small room where our ordeal had taken place was as though nothing had happened. I am laying on a couch looking at the table across the room and Bloodmace laying under it. I rise to waken him and feel something strange around my torso. Looking down I see the greatest thing I have lain eyes upon since our ordeal began on centon. Our battle vests. Once again our mystical vestments protected us. Once again we had the means to defeat Necro Baby and Bildorf the mad. Light was streaming through the windows of the ivy covered cabin, I had a feeling today would be a good day.

The previous Metal Night was spent in the Jenkabala Dungeon, mortifying our flesh to brand new death/doom. Paradise Lost's new album, The Plague Within, is a fantastic return to form and was the winner of the night. This album most resembles Draconian Times and Icon, but with a return to death growls by vocalist Nick Holmes, along with the Gothic tunefulness. Nothing really new, but the song writing is topnotch, the atmosphere doleful, the riffs solid and satisfying. Next, Forgotten Tomb singed our ears with their blackened sludge fest 'Hurt Yourself And The Ones You Love'. This is easily their best since 'Songs To Leave'. Nice doomy sludge meets esoteric evil Italian style. This is a level of hate you need special training for. But rest assured, we survived with our souls intact, which is disappointing in and of itself. Great album, but did not capture our sullen hearts like Paradise Lost. Lastly, the appropriately monikered Crypt Sermon tried to get us right with God, Trouble style, with their 2015 debut, Out Of The Garden. Throw in some Candlemass for good measure. This album was pretty ok. If you are into The Skull era Trouble, and Candlemass, this album will be your cup of mead. Nothing very memorable, though.

And now, a journey into the distant past, as previous Metal Nights have been drunken debaucheries and I just can't remember all the bands we heard. But here, it is, all the shit that I can remember:

Enforcer-From Beyond: New School old school speed metal is hot right now and Enforcer leads the vested pack. Demon Scourge likes this band more than I do. When I want to hear old speed metal, I'll just put on some Exciter. Not saying they are a bad band at all, but I just don't find this album very memorable. Into The Night was better. I think this won the night. My memory is foggy.

German thrash masters Vendetta won our hearts when we heard their 1988 album Brain Damage. It is excellent technical thrash, and definitely an unjustly ignored album. Think Destruction at their most nimble, toss in a little Voivod, and Coroner, and heaps and heaps of fucking thrash. The level of playing is staggeringly good. Great album. I think it won the night. We drank like Germans.

Ok, that's it. We'll try to keep up. But we are such terrible alcoholics. It's over for us. It's all over.


Words of the Elders 
Behold a world of doors and mirrors, a world of tense pauses that widen out into a limitless gulf of black. How can you understand the song of space? The voice of infinity cannot be measured in beats or bushels, drachmas or drams. We have no apparatus to comprehend, and yet our ears are still pressed to the ground, waiting for the sound of distant hooves. To travel is to move, and so we do, traveling with hearts and fangs. Meat sticks, marching to the unheard beat, a lilting call from space. Icy claws grasping greedily at the edges of perception. 

Until next time, bestial sorcerers, 


Horns 

Unchain the Night - Hard rock, hellishly bad rock, and cleansing black metal

We here at Metal Night, most of us, the older ones, the elder gods, are creatures of the 1980's. We were suckled on the hard tits of hard rock, rocked our cradles to Van Halen, lost out cherries to Warrant. Actually, more like ass raped to Warrant, because they sucked, but we had no choice in the matter. We are products of our environment. Therefore, we must explore the artifacts of our past, in order to chart the path to our future, which is full of pain and suffering and woe and fucking metal. Onward to glorious, sweet death!

The first hard rock night was bitchin. First up, Krokus's Headhunter was a delightful album, and not the AC/DC knock off that this band was said to be. This is pretty hard edged for the early 80's, but not too hard edged. And the ballad 'Screaming In The Night' is lighter worthy party metal for your 80's retro kegger.

Armored Saint's Raising Fear is the more blatantly metal, but there is a tuneful edge that just might lure your GF to backseat of your Chevy Nova, though she might have been there already. Odd that this band never made it big, because this is a collection of tunes that leaves most of the poddle metal from that era in the fucking dust. But alas, a lack of hairspray and power ballads was this band's commercial downfall. John Bush had to join Anthrax just to get some pussy.I'm not sure he did.
. But Dokken won the night, because Dokken rockens. Under Lock And Key is my favorite Dokken album. It was Demon Scourge to taught me how to appreciate this band, during a rather lengthy interrogation involving a flaming hot poker. It's a collection of slick tunes livened up by George Lynch's flaming licks and Don Dokken's flaming heterosexuality. Truly, this was the soundtrack to Saturday nights in the late 80's while cruising on the strip, right before that bout with chlamydia put a damper on things. Owww!

Into the Necro Lands Part 18.1 - Boyz are Gonna Rock

The moon had just risen over the grove where Bloodmace and I were listening to the tale of Rygar the seeker. The bearded warrior priest was telling us of how he came to be the new master of Castle Thrashstone. A soft, warm breeze was rustling through the trees above as he told of his mission to assassinate Hellmaster, who took possession of the castle after being exiled from their tribe in northern Jenkabala. After becoming lost and wandering for years in the Time Desert, gathering lost souls all the while, they at last fount their quarry, but fate had other plans for these nomads.

Well well. Since we were on a hard rock trip, reliving the our youths before the 1990's stripped all the joy from our lives, we thought we'd extend our hard rock trip by having a diel of the kiss guitarists....Ace Frehley vs. Vinnie Vincent. In this, we brought shame upon Chateau Jenkabala. Mostly, except Ace's KISS solo album is pretty righteous, and pretty much accepted as the sole redeeming album from that debacle. Indeed, it is an enjoyable collection of hard rockin' tunes, not too complicated, always a good times, especially after a few cheap American beers. 10 years later, Frehley's Comet is a little more of a guilty pleasure. It's pleasant enough. It rocks righteously, occasionally. But goddamn, lyrically Ace Frehley makes Gene Simmon's look like fucking Tom Waits and Paul Stanley like fucking Nick Cave. And half the song's feature the other guitar player, who has a bland 80's AOR type voice. Ace's can't sing/don't care approach is rather endearing.

Vinnie Vincent was a disappointment. The problem with 80's hair metal is that the bands always ended up sounding like fucking pussies by whoever was producing them. Dokken was one of the few to transcend this problem. The Vinnie Vincent Invasion did not. Despite lots of awesome guitar solos, the 80's bargain basement song writing is a turd shined up by a stellar major label production. It's party rock if your party is raided by cops after someone steals all your weed, and your sister is date raped.

Into the Necro Lands Part 18.2 - War

Rygar the seeker continues “I walked through the night with Lady Deathcrush, following the billowing cape trailing behind her through the city of tents and lean-tos. Past fires surrounded by drunken revelers and circles of solemn supplicants, praising the hundred gods. Through a vast field where ancient music echoed on the soft breeze and under a moss covered bridge illuminated by a weed-choked streetlight in the strange forest that had sprung up here almost overnight. Finally, we came to a low building, partially underground, in a clearing of the wood. Descending the rough steps, we entered the dimly lit chamber. The room is furnished simply, a table, chair and fireplace are the only furnishings in view. The chair, facing the fireplace is an opulent throne that looks out of place in this spartan shelter. A cloud of vapor rises into the air over its tall back and I am greeted by the king, 'Welcome traveler, I heard you might be looking for me.' I walk around the other side of the room and behold the end of my quest. I had found Hellmaster. His eyes size me up as he puffs on his vaporizer, 'You are Rygar of Samur, are you not?' I nod my head, 'Are you going to strike me down? I am unarmed and that is what you have come here to do.' Images swirl in my head, a mist of confused emotions and possible outcomes. I close my eyes

for a moment and gather the will to do what I must. 'No,' I can hardly believe the word even as it exits my mouth, 'I will not kill you. For too long we have been lost in this brutal wilderness. We have no nation, no tribe and thus no obligation to any but ourselves.' Hellmaster smiles and rises from his chair. Crossing the room, he stares out the window as he begins to address me. 'Not too long ago, the spot where we stand was a wasteland of prismatic sand, constantly being torn apart and rebuilt by the savage dimensional storms, but now look upon it. I see life springing up everywhere, though not necessarily new life. It's almost as if the time desert was a cloak that fell over the land and when Bloodmace healed the rift, the heavy fabric of these strange times was lifted, allowing us to see the world as it really is. Rygar, You say you have no tribe or nation but you forget the tribe you have known in your years here and the nation you have built out in the time desert. We are leaving this place, Lady Deathcrush and I, all that I can do here has been done. Tomorrow, at sunrise, we will depart for the Necrolands to the west. Rygar, I have summoned you here not as an enemy, but as a successor to my throne.' I have never felt such terrifying exhilaration as the moment when Hellmaster held out the secret talisman of Castle Thrashstone and when I took hold of the sigil, the sense of purpose I had sought in the Time Desert asserted itself.” Rangar looked again to the darkening sky and paused, squinting into the distance. “Now I have told you my story. Let us go to Zlendar and she will give us the knowledge we need to defeat Necro Baby.” Bloodmace and I glance at one another and silently agree. We fade into the dusky forest with Rygar, ready for whatever may come next.

We atoned for our sins the next week by listening to some righteous French black metal while drinking red wine. Satan forgives. First, we heard a band from an area that used to be part of France, but was conquered by Germany long ago. Maladie was, oddly,  a bit of a disappointment. Tight, technical, and definitely more German than French, their 2012 album, Plague Within, suffers from the infamous 'not being evil enough disease'. Too many bright sounding post black metal chords to impress the hipsters to impress this metal nerd on this Metal Night.

Blut Aus Nord's latest album, Memoria Vestura III: Saturnian Poetry, however, was a ripping blast of old school hell frost that we desperately needed to redeem our desperate souls. This album, oddly, lacked the industrial hell scapes that marked their previous albums, and harkens back to Emperor and Dark Funeral, without the keyboards. Cvlt as fuck.

But not as cvlt as Baise Ma Hache, who won the fucking night. Le Grand Suicide made us peel off our faces with dull butter knives.This album was trippy, depressive, avante gard black metal, and was exactly what I needed to get right again with the devil. And I don't need the skin on my face. Just vasoline.

Words of the Elders

So the tale of Rygar the seeker has been told, but what of Necrobaby and Iron James? What of Bildorf the Mad and the small army that even now combs the ocean for our hunted heroes? The cosmic ear has opened and fate calls the tune where balmy winds carry weird songs to dimensions unknown. Hail to Sampowt, to Gorn and Ixtatha! The holy bread and Miztoratha!

Until next time, swashbuckling legions,

Horns

Infested With Worms - A Tale of Vecton, Goofy Death Metal and Rygar's Remembrance

We here at Metal Night feast on danger, and dine on death. Especially death. With all the trimmings and drippings. We are gourmands of gore. We also like sandwiches. Just sandwiches, with bread and meat and sauce. Special sauce. Blood sauce. With Scotch bonnet peppers. And your fucking liver. Death to all herbivores! Here are some goofy ass death metal albums.

Tales of Vecton Part 1

A star cries in the night and a temple falls to its knees. The sun is lost to another world and every written world speaks madness. In this chair I sit and recount to myself the events of the past evening (or years?) with confoundment and incredulity apparent. The clock tells that I’ve been repaired to my stead only hours since which I was hastened off, yet I have experienced ages of escapade, hazard and derring-do. I am shaken, inside, yet I hold my bearing with more certainty than I have ever felt. I have undergone a harrowing advance though alien worlds and a time that folded in and out of itself itself. Mountains climbed, warlords silenced, dimensions confounded. Now still, in this room, my mind spins like the bloodthirsty twirlblades of Sha’rrik Naarh. Were my adventures truly at an end? Did the dark heroes find respite from the ever-lapping waves of turmoil churned by the malefactors of the Time Desert? Is my return a sign that Demon Scourge and Bloodmace have finally let down their sunswords? Have those challengers of Jenkabala relayed me back to my home in light of their final championing against the Close Darkness? Or was my return a product of that bitter dimensional fissure we had thought repaired? Are the sands of the Time Desert still troubled?

Now it is my world that burns. I can see now, as I regain my bearings after the dimensional transfer. I see the Leigionairs, Horccarain, Broamsmer.

The clearer my mind grows, the more penalty pays my fear. Outside, the world cries fear from the strangeness of monster armies who clamber out of tears in the very fabric of timespace. No-one, though, grasps the true threat, the true horror that could be wrought.

Except me.

And I am really tired.

Engorged's Where Monsters Dwell started things off the right way with a blast of horror movie obsessed death grind, though more death than grind, with somewhat lengthy songs for the genre. The vocals are nice and gurgly, the guitars grindy, the pace frantic, the playing tight and satisfying, the riffs catchy and interesting. The songs are punctuated with some bad-tasteful samples, which compliment the insane horror movie lyrics perfectly. This was my pic for winner of the night. Demon Scourge and Vecton digress.

Into the Necro Lands Part 17.1 - Insane for Gore
Though this island that Rygar the Seeker had led us to on our escape from Bildorf's island could never compare width the beauty of the Jenkabala forest, I felt a peace out here among the tall palms that I had not experienced since we left our home so many weeks ago. Sunlight filtered down through the canopy above as strange, rainbow-winged birds flitted beneath the green dome. We had been walking for a bit when our guide motioned for us to follow him off the trail and into a small clearing that held some sitting rocks and a fire pit. “Here is the halfway point. Let us rest a moment and have some water.” Rygar takes a bottle from his belt and offers us some. “You knew the great Hellmaster and Lady Deathcrush,” looking back and fourth

between us, “You adventured with them you slew foes together...and you killed them.” His eyes burn into mine, and I knew it was true, for I had killed them and the rest of our party when I was possessed by Headron of Dantor. I quickly retort, “I was also there when we took our revenge in Dantor. You forget that I was also dead.” Rygar's face softens a bit as he replies, “I have not forgotten this, nor have I forgotten the other deeds you have done here on Centon. I know you both must be wondering why I went through all the trouble of coming to your aid and further, why I have brought you here to this island.” Bloodmace, between hearty swigs of smuggled necrobrandy, chimes in, “It had crossed my mind, seeker. A young whip such as yourself needs to have respect for your elders.” With a dramatic flourish, the bearded leader of Centon's weirdest army hikes his battle worn cape over one shoulder and begins his story.

Because Blood Freak were pretty amazing, too. An even goofier death grind band, their debut, Sleaze Merchants, is a fast romp through the graveyard. The songs are short, the tempos are blazing, the samples funny, the playing fast and lose. The band loses points for slight lack musical proficiency, since the riffs are rather generic, and the songs rather blend together. But it's a fun album if you are a ghoul and a death dealer and that's what we are all the fuck about. After a several death duels, we agreed to disagree.

Into the Necro Lands Part 17.2 - Werewolf Militia
“I met Hellmaster in the days after the great battle with the Wyvern in Samur. Already the Time Desert had begun to heal itself and many of us who wandered those phantom sands had begun to congregate on his estate. Hellmaster ordered that the castle grounds be opened to all who came and soon a small town grew up in the shadow of Castle Thrashstone. The master of the lands did not know me or my brothers. We had been sent to kill him many years previously by his tribe in northern Jenkabala. We were lost in the Time Desert for what seemed like a hundred lifetimes, many of our number perished. Those of us that survived did so only because of a tauriat we took from a corpse as we made our way into the churning desert. Many of the warriors who ride with me to this day are travelers of the rainbow sands who joined with us as we

searched for a way out of this ever shifting landscape. After a time, we simply accepted this nomadic lifestyle for our own. We were like ghosts of the wasteland, or perhaps monks would be more apropos, gathering our flock from the blasted dunes and inky caverns. Our mission was far from our minds when we wandered on to the first piece of solid ground any of us had seen in years. Castle Thrashstone was still standing, though it was nothing like we had heard in the legends. The massive bulk of the structure, damaged from a cataclysmic battle and neglected for years was still impressive, plants grew here, we drank water from a spring. My party set up camp when we heard that Hellmaster had invited all to stay, but there was a nervousness among those of us who still held our mission at the back of our minds. That night there was a heated discussion between the remaining members of the original party with some insisting we assassinate Hellmaster and return to Jenkabala while others wished to stay and abandon the quest we set out upon so many years ago. In the middle of our debates, Lady Deathcrush announced herself and strode into the room. Amid protests from the

rest of the party, I went with her to meet Hellmaster.” Rygar stared up into the foliage above us, lost in thought for a moment. From his belt, he takes a skin of wine. “You have tasted wine from the grapes Thrashstone, no? I think you will agree that we are, in our own humble way, bringing back the glory of Hellmaster's kingdom.” He takes a long swig and hands the drink to us. He is right, the wine is dark and mysterious, like a combination of paka dates and vorsar, but with overtones of hai bean like the temple wines at lake Chawa. When he sits down, I ask, “So what of this meeting with Hellmaster? What has become of our friend?” Rygar takes another long draught from the pouch and fastens it to his belt, “This is where it gets interesting"

Gorelust finished the night with some pretty standard death metal. We Are The Undead is a fine album, does all the death metal things, and was the most typically brutal. But it lacked that special panache that we .

were looking for. And there were no horror movie samples. So boo on Gorelust. The album cover is pretty great though

Words of the Elders

The hundred gods wait in the darkness with bated breath, all watching the actions of the mortals below. Bloodmace and Demon Scourge, traveling on the black wings of fate soar into the endless void of futurepast, unraveling the secrets of this timepiece world while the eyes of the firmament stare helplessly. Elmor, lift your eyes from the book of names and speak the word! Haslett, open your mouth, let the tongue of fire wrap around the cosmos! We beseech the pantheon in vain, for Necro Baby has gagged them, but the heroes of Centon will not relent! You are our quarry, ancient child of evil and we shall lead you to your perdition at the end of our swords! 

Until next time, molotov munchers,  

Horns

Into The Thrashosphere - Slayer, Necrodeth and the Forbidden Island

We here at Metal Night believe in giving you a good thrashing. Thrash was what Demon Scourge and I suckled on as babes, it was what was for fucking dinner as teens. Our father Bloodhammer thrashed us to sleep at night with his razor studded blackjack. In Waylor, it is the music of making sweet love to hideous wenches. As you can see, thrash is a way of life in the Centonian world. Now let me tell you about these sweet melodies.

First, in order to understand thrash, a primer course in Slayer is necessary. Demon Scourge has always been quite fond of early Slayer. Show No Mercy and it's companion piece, Live Undead, is primitive,

traditionally grounded hell thrash that fucking scared the fucking shit out of everyone with its sheer brutality and naked Satanic power. It is an evil brew of quality riffing meets insane speeds meets whammy bar heroics meets the devil himself that set the basic Slayer formula, to be expanded upon subsequent albums. Cunts in the night.

Into the Necro Lands Part 16.1 - Fight Til Death

The beasts of burden favored among the tribe of Rygar the seeker were impressive animals. Their bodies bore a resemblance to snakes, but from their hind quarters, two wiry legs terminating in fearsome claws helped them to stand and take flight with the large feathered wings in front. The reptilian heads came to a beak-like point at the front, and their mouths were filled with hundreds of small, sharp teeth. From the back of their skulls, and continuing in a ridge along their spines, were red, yellow or blue feathers, sometimes in combinations and sometimes monochrome. These amazing creatures could fly, climb, swim or slither with equal facility making them sought after by those who dwell in remote areas, but they bred infrequently and were famously temperamental. Bloodmace and I had been strapped on the saddles of two such rare specimens through the night. We rode along with the troops of Rygar who helped us escape from the clutches of Bildorf the Mad and Necro Baby. This mysterious warrior claimed to be the new master of Castle Thrashstone and wanted desperately to take us back to the mainland, but for what purpose and who had sent him? It was dawn when we suddenly began to descend to a small, green island below.

Thier next proper album, Hell Awaits, blew the fucking gates of hell open. This a riffacaust. A million riffs are thrown together, and your mangled corpse is left to pick up the pieces. This album is probably the single most influential of their oeuvre, as this approach has been copied, cloned, and refined by 1000's of thrash and death metal bands. Just write a shitload of riffs, throw them together, and maybe a song will happen. Songs happened here. So did your demise in the moshpit, you fucker.

Reign In Blood is Slayer's contribution to musical immortality, their one album that ranks as a world crushing classic in all of music, next to Miles Davis' Kind of Blue or The White Album by The Beatles. It is that monumental, that basic of an element in music. The album, produced by Rick Rubin, strips Slayer down to the essentials, ramps up the hardcore punk elements, introduces a new level of hardcore reality to the lyrics, and never, ever fucking relents and barely gives you breathing room before the last of the poison gas fills your lungs and your heart is ripped from your chest by the evil priest. It's only your blood that is raining down from the heavens, because you love to be tortured to death everyfuckingtime.You are going to hell.

And when you get, South of Heaven will be album of choice for the Dark Lords. It's is, in many ways, subtly superior to their previous output. Much controversy was to had back in the day, as Slayer did the

only thing they could do to remain artistically viable.....they slowed down. They also refined their songwriting byadding another dark, Sabbathy layer. This was truly the album that made me dread the fires of hell, back in my teenage warrior days. The melodies(yes, melodies) are quite seductive. Give your soul to the devil. This was the winner of Metal Night.

Into the Necro Lands Part 16.2 - The Flag of the Inverted Cross

On the beach everyone began to dismount, I unfastened the straps across my chest and legs and joined the rest of the group, who had begun to gather around their leader. Sixteen in number, Rygar's followers were a motley bunch consisting of human, reptilian and android beings dressed in shabby cloaks that looked to be the same garments as Vorthon the Whip of Fate and Hell Wraith had worn in their days at Thrashstone. Their weapons, however, were exquisite silver spears that matched the one Rygar himself carried. Each one was etched with a different runic enchantment in the Chevelargo language. In the center of the group stood the mysterious seeker, clad in his tattered purple cloak and close fitting cap. He addresses the group in a loud voice, “We will make camp here tonight. Arrak and Hilm, you gather some firewood here near the beach while I take our guests to Zlendar. The rest of you, teather and feed the acarews. We will be back soon.” He beckons to us and turns to walk into the woods when one of the saurians steps up and calls out, “Rygar, I am to go this time. It was to be me.” Bloodmace and I stop for a moment, even though his attitude is one of hurt and not aggression towards us. The bearded warrior smiles as he replies, “Yes Hilm, you too will go with me into these woods, but do you not remember what the hour of the ceremony is?” The others in the group begin to chuckle and speak to each other excitedly in a tongue I do not wholly understand, slapping the errant Hilm on the back. “Now come with me Bloodmace and Demon Scourge, we have some business deeper in the woods.” Rygar motions to us again and we follow him down the narrow path into the cool, dense canopy.

And because our souls crave thrash, the next week was also thashathon, if somewhat more random. Italians heshers Necrodeath started us out and thrashed our fucking faces off, winning the night. They are like a less complicated Possessed, especially with the mid-rangy guitar tones, but taking vocals cues from the Germans. Into The Macabre is a primitive affair, those not without technical flourishes, and something deeply and intangibly Italian emerges from the atmosphere. Could be the Giallo influences.

Next, Leeway thrashed us moderately with it's New Yawk flava crossover. Born To Expire pleasingly does all the thrash/hardcore moves, but goes on for too long ala ....And Justice For All, and contains a dated rap metal tune, complete with funk metal bass pops. It's ok, but it's just not DRI or Nuclear Assault or Anthrax. That's all.

Sentinel Beast closed out the night with Depths of Death. It's standard Bay era type thrash with the chick from Znowhite on vocals. It's not great but not bad, a thrasher to mildly wreck thy neck in the cold of night, but nothing very memorable.

Words of the Elders
Urak! Telecart Zepher! The villains are in the garden and the hydra spits her foamy goo into the night sky. In the south, the cats dream of sighs. Our wine is squeezed from midnight and the crepes we dip into it ae flavored with bone! Call to the night, run and tell the shadow king. Let the name of Huisketl ring from the highest peaks of the Necro lands! 

Until next time, stormlords,




Horns