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 

Waylordian Magic and the Invocation of the Dead

Fiends, sycophants, gather round!!! Recently, I, Bloodmace, had the opportunity to invoke the ancient Waylorian Rite of the Dead at the Invocation Ceremony at the Dragon's Milk Gallery of Horrors and Church of True Metal. This a record of the word and the deeds of this fate event.  I take full responsibility. 

I am Bloodmace!!!!!!! Son of Bloodhammer, Brother of Demon Scourge, Warrior of Centon, Guardian of The Time Desert and the multidimensional lands, Hammer of the Wyverns and many such vile beasts, Scion of Waylor, Priest of Jenkabala Temple.

I am here to give you secret knowledge from this magic scroll called.....the Necro Laptop. I seek to give you pleasure and pain.....PAIN!!!!!! such pain with my words and....such pleasure! I learned, long ago, from the wizards of Waylor, who wear the foreskins of their enemies around their necks as magic totems of power, the vile secrets of Waylorian magic. You see, Waylorian magic is a form of necromancy. In order for Waylorian magic to work it's vile essence, a life must be taken, and it's soul transformed through the patches of power, and unleashed back into the body of the victim, turned forever into a soulless husk to be directed by the whims of the Waylorian wizard. Through such a vessel are the Spells fo Power enacted, to be used by the Wizard as a Zombie of Revenge!! I am such a Waylorian Wizard!!! And I shall now perform an act of Waylorian magic, for your entertainment. Who shall be my victim?? Who among you gives yourself willingly to the my evil gnosticism and dark art?

Yes, my friend, come to me!!! Stand here. Do not move. Don't be a dick!

I shall now begin the ritual. You have given yourself to me completely.

THROUGH THE VENOM PATCH, I RELEASE EVIL SPIRITS FROM THE REALM OF THE DEAD!!!!!

THROUGH THE SLAYER PATCH, I CALL UPON THE GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD TO UNLEASH HIS SWORD AGAINST THE WILLING VICTIM!!!! DIE BY THE SWORD OF THE DEAD, THOU VICTIM!!!!! DIE!!!! DIE!!!!!! DIE!!!!!!!!

THROUGH THE DEATH PATCH, I COMMAND YE DEAD SPIRITS TO ENTER THE LIFELESS CORPSE OF MY WILLING VICTIM!!!! IA!!! IA!!!! GO FORTH!!!! GO FORTH!!!!!!! RISE OH WILLING VICTIM!!!! RISE!!!!!! RISE!!!!!!

THROUGH THE ENSLAVED PATCH, I COMMAND THEE TO BE MY SERVANT FOR ALL TIME, UNTIL THE SKIN DROPS FROM YOUR BONES TO BE DEVOURED BY WORMS!!!!

TO COMPLETE THE SPELL, I SAY THE WORDS IN THE LANGUAGE OF THE ANCIENT UNDEAD KINGS OF WAYLOR!!!! HOSH CA MA THA CLUTTU MAKKA RYE!!!! WAYLOR SAN NECROTTA NISH GINTU HAKKA LIE!!!!! ARISE!!! ARISE!!!! GET OFF YOUR ASS AND RISE!!!!!!!!

As you can see, this willing victim is now my magic vessel of doom, ready to fuck your shit up at any time that I please. ahahahahahahahahaha!!!

BUT WAIT!!!! WHAT IS THIS???? This cannot be!!! Why are you going to Necrobaby??? She has no power here??? You are my servant!!! I command you to desist!!!! Desist!!!!! THE NECROBABY HAS TAKEN OVER MY WAYLORIAN ZOMBIE!!!! She is more power than I possibly could have imagined!!! WE ARE DOOMED!!! DOOMED!!!! FLEE FOR YOUR LIVES!!!!!!!!! FLEE!!!!!!!!

OH, DESPAIR CENTON!!!!!! DESPAIR!!!!!!

Captor of Sin - Big Four Thrash and an unexpected ally

I grew up in a conservative home and the first metal band I was allowed to listen to was Stryper, who are a Christian metal band. But since they were the only Christian metal band in the cassette aisle at Meijer, and Petra are as boring as shit, I bought Yngwie's Trilogy, KISS' Asylum, and Maiden's Somewhere In Time. I liked those albums, but something was missing. They weren't hard enough, crazy enough, bombastic enough. Pretty soon, I discovered the Big Four of Thrash, and was soon squirting my teenage jism to staccatto riffs with difficult time changes. This was my soul music. This spoke to what I was feeling and I was feeling pretty pissed off about life and really didn't have much of a sense of humor about it. The Big Four; Metallica, Megadeth, Anthrax, and Slayer, explained my youthful rage. Recently, I turned 43. For my birthday, I requested a Big 4 night, because I am apparently going through a mid-life crisis. I am not getting any younger. And I'm still pretty pissed off about life. My anger has deepened. My rage is a fine, barrel aged whiskey. I savor it.

First, we heard a certified classic that is nearly immune to criticism. What can you say that hasn't been said about Metallica's Ride The Lightening? Just the facts, I suppose. It was released in 1985 and it was the breakthrough masterpiece that catapulted them to eventual domination. This is their best album. It eschews the cliches of the debut, and it lacks the ponderousness of later thrashsterpieces. It is a sleek metal machine, a mighty meeting of riff and song, of dark atmosphere and foreboding that they never really expressed again. There is an evil vibe here. There is death. Hetfield is in his lyrical prime, expressing directly, without metaphor, the many exciting ways to die, whether by your own hand, the hand of God, by nature, by the state. And after all that, we are sucked into the primordial ooze with Cthulhu. If you can't appreciate this album, then you will never fully appreciate life itself. This would have been winner of the night, if I wasn't such an asshole.

 Into the Necro Lands Part 11.1 - Creeping Death

I produce a marker from my pocket and begin to draw, tracing out the Mournful Congregation patch from memory. Again, the bell rings, "Arvid?" Intones the tired-looking Sargent. We rise and follow him down a shabby hallway lined with tiny offices. "Have a seat, please." The gray bureaucrat motions to a couple of cheap plastic chairs on he other side of his desk as he shuffles through papers in the file cabinet. Bloodmace and I look at one another, knowing we will have to hide the sigil somewhere in this district of Sekran, as per Chanthoth's instructions. We begin the paperwork for the assassination request. Endless droning questions to witch we give false answers fill the air. "May I be excused?" I get up and walk down the hall towards the bathroom, but I walk past the wooden door and straight to the Sectaurian at the front desk. I discreetly slip the note to her as I pass and put the clay button with the magic sign on the desk. Looking at the note, she quickly grabs the forbidden object and drops it into the pen holder. I walk back to the office to answer another hundred queries before I am presented with a license for a murder that will never happen. The desk Sargent dismisses us and we amble down the hall to the receptionist’s office. Passing her desk, I spy her side a piece pf paper out in our direction. Without looking at her i snatch it up, burying it in my front pocket.

Marred by a crappy cover song, Megadeth's Peace Sells...But Who's Buying is still one of the best thrash metal albums ever made. Dave Mustaine sustains much of his tarnished reputation on the achievements of this album, where he perfected his jazzy, difficult, crack cocaine, guitar solo driven thrash metal. It's a collection of inchoate rage songs, a few devil songs here and there, a vague political mumbling. You don't listen to Megadeth for lyrics. You just jam it the fuck out and appreciate the tricky riffs and manual dexterity. It was a rare moment, since it is one of the few good albums in the whole goddamn ouvre. Take away this album and Rust In Piece, and Megadeth are a crap band. Indeed!

Into the Necro Lands Part 11.2 - Evil Has No Boundaries   

The chaos of the daily market has subsided when we leave the assassination office. Only a lonely janitor, languidly sweeping up the remnants of the day's work remains in the cavernous chamber. Bloodmace and I wander down the corridor toward the exit but as we pass the great doors that give entrance to the hall of commerce, the Sectaurian who aided us walked swiftly in front of us. Her hands, clasped behind her back, relax for a moment and make a discreet motion to follow her. Walking swiftly, but well behind our guide we move through the imperious checkpoint at the exit and into the gusting stormwind outside. Weaving through the onyx and alabaster gates that separate the business district from the city's dwellings, we behold the city's strange architecture. Metal and crystal structures bubbled up from the multicolored sand that covered the ground, all domes and spikes that towered above us like great thorny plants. We step up our pace, feeling the gaze of the patrol officers wandering about. "Bloodmace," I say, "Do you think we can trust this one? She did recognize the

Mournful Congregation symbol, but..." Bloodmace, looking straight ahead, replies, "Too late brother, we gotta follow on now, I think we got a tail though." I pretend to drop something, when I bend down and sneak a look, there are indeed a couple of nautical looking necromancers loitering on the corner. "C'mon, hurry." Bloodmace motions to me as the strange insect woman disappears around a corner. We stride briskly after her as a heavy rain begins to pour down. The street she leads us down is lined with many more modest and uniform dwellings. We break into a run as she ducks into a doorway on the right. We hear a splashing behind us and even as we approach the doorway we are flanked by our swift pursuers and pushed into the apartment. The Sectaurian we were following has a worried look

on her face, "They followed us," She says to the corpsepainted men who had jostled us on the way in, "Follow me you two." We run after her with our unknown hosts in tow, up flights of stairs and on to the roof, where we climb down a rope ladder into a second apartment, with lush white carpets and leather walls. From a closet in the luxury suite, we descend stone stairs for what seems like an eternity. Deeper and deeper into the ground we travel until we finally reach a door at the bottom level. Our guide motions for us to stop and be silent. We all listen intently for any motion or sound, minutes pass and our six armed benefactor quietly opens the steel door and slips through. We find ourselves in a richly appointed office. dim lamps illuminate the black walls and carpet enough to see the monochrome chairs and desk. Bleached white skulls of many different beasts contrast the inky backdrop on the walls and tables. "I am Sauntra, Scrollkeeper of Narn. Chanthoth has told me of your quest." The graceful sectarian before us speaks in a quiet tone, "We will help you place the sigils in the five positions, but we must hurry. Someone or something was following us on the way in. We may have lost them for now, but they make it harder for us." She pulls a map from the desk, "I will show you the way to your goal within the castle and the way out. We meet at midnight on the north dock."

Winner of the Night (for me anyway) was Anthrax's Persistence of Time, their last with Joey Belladonna and their last good album, period. This is the 'serious' album; the one that seeks to combat their image as a cartoon metal band that writes about comic books and invented rap metal. They succeed. It is easily their darkest album, and their most ambitious. The riffs stick to your craw, and for once, Joey sounds like he would not rather be in Journey. Even the Joe Jackson cover song is good. The songs are lengthy, but not ponderous. There are a few nods to Pantera and the newly emerging nu-metal genre, but this is still a thrashster piece. I voted this for winner because I was impressed by how well it stacks up against the certified classics, this nearly forgotten album by a band that would try to sound as much like Helmet as they possibly could for the rest of the 90's. 

Weirdly, we decided to have Slayer's live EP, Live Undead, as the bonus album. I don't remember why. I was drunk. This is a good document of thier early period, when the Priestness of their songs was most obvious to the point of near plagiarism. Evil, youthful energy abounds. Not nearly as vital as their late 80's albums. I was drunk. It was my birthday.

  
Words of the Elders
Let us contemplate the strangeways, the cruel and beautiful pendulum that is time and tide of this uncanny world. None can know the exotic fancies of those gods and goddesses that play stones on the fates of mortals, none can reckon the end of one game or the start of another. Yet in the darkness, we call. Like a beacon for whatever entity may answer, we call. Lift up the sorrowblade and strike the sky young kings! Smite the brow of fate and crush the gods that defy you! Remember Narn, remember the T'Chah Karnac and the indecent at Mount Raven! Graafenweisen Kalik'ch! Otqara Machak!

Until next week, whips of fate,

Horns

Revenge of the Mongrel - Shred Metal and Dangerous Spells in Dantor

Masturbation is one of the most exquisite pleasures that Satan and the Elder Godz bestowed upon humankind when they made us in their spaceships 500,000 years ago. Nothing like spewing gobs of jizz all over so many imaginary faces. This is especially true of musical masturbation. The metal guitar shred genre is the absolute highest realization of Space Satan's intentions for the human race. A combination of gigantic ego displays and fantastic finger dexterity make the shred genre the guitar the ultimate musical phallus, spewing hot jizz upon the masses ever since Richie Blackmore decided that he was the next Mozart. The following is a crusty sock of musical reportage.

 
In any genre of music, snobs will be snobs, and much abuse has been cast upon guitar virtuoso The Great Kat pretty much from the outset of her career by the metal community at large. But in listening to this album and letting its delights settle in like a nice heroin addiction, I have to say that this album, Beethoven on Speed was our favorite album of the night. It's just fun. Her songs are packed with nice bouncy thrash riffs, are fast as fuck, and are nice little spurts of aggression and speed, like grindcore for shredheads. The lyrics are goofy in a Sodom kind of way. Her abundant guitar solos are unsubtle and proceed at amazing speeds. But to me, the whole album says, "Hey, I went to Julliard", lights a crack pipe, and shreds along its lunatic way. Definitely marketed to wrong crowd back in the day. It's just a speed metal album, nerds. And the lady has a huge dick upon with which she feeds were devoted cult. Must be something there, folks. She's been around for over 25 friggin' years.


 Adventure in Samur Part 13.1 - Ultra Dead

Thirteen black candles glowed dimly in a circle around four robed figures in this underground room. Thirteen candles protecting the shape shifting mistress of the night, injured in a recent battle. Heavy footfalls of the enemy issue from the hill above, shaking dust from the concrete ceiling. Bloodmace, Lars the Berserker, Jarkon and I were each standing at a corner of the table where or injured comrade lay. Fragrant smoke poured fourth from the brass censer that hung from Jarkon's hand as we stared silently at one another in the flickering light. The weird sorcerer thrusts his arm into the middle of the circle, hand curled into the sign of the horns. We follow Jarkon's lead and he begins the galdr.

"Heyri jötnar heyri hrímþursar,

synir Suttungs, sjalfir ásliðar,

hvé ek fyrbýð, hvé ek fyrirbanna!"
I can feel the power coursing through our outstretched arms, the spell has begun to take effect. Lightning crackles around us as the world outside the magic circle us falls away. The candles are burning brightly now, their flames leaping aggressively from the wick and obscuring whatever moves just beyond them. Jarkon's incantation is slowly rising in pitch and tempo and I see that the Black Sabbath patch we each have on our denim jackets has begun to glow. Something is watching, our spell has attracted some presence that even now struggles to breach the protective barrier that surrounds us. The chant has now reached a fever pitch, it seems to go right through our bodies and shake the air around us, as if we were in water. In the midst of the chaos I hear Jarkon's voice yell out "Now, use it now!"

The next album was more polished and traditional that the others. Borislav Mitic's The Absolute. Mitic is a furious yet tasteful shredder with a tasteful sense of composition. His style is Satriani meets Yngwie, his compositions are neo-classical with a thrashy edge. But over all it is too restrained, too refined, too predictable. The first song is pretty amazing, thrashing to and fro with virtuoso flair and as many classical licks as you can throw into one song. But it gets old as the album goes on. You already heard your guitar heroes make these moves. That's when you realize that this dude has pulled out his dick and is jizzing his licks all over you. You might like his jizz. It might always taste good to you.

Adventure in Samur Part 13.2 -  The Prize of Eternity

The four of us, psychically connected by the spell, simultaneously bring our hands up to the glowing embroidery of the ancient vestments. From our outstreched hands, the energy we have harnessed in the patches comes pouring out and in a moment, the form of Mistress Crowbastard is obscured by a blinding light. Demonic screams assault us from outside the circle of fire, tentacles and claws eagerly search for a way to tear us to shreds. We are at the most dangerous part of the spell now, for the protection of the circle is weakening and we must return from whatever bestial realm we have traveled to by using this dark magic. Jarkon, acting quickly, begins to chant the homegaldr.

"I traveled to a distant shore, I felt I had to go
an inner voice called me there, but why I did not know

I saw the evening star rise up, shining out to sea
And now I understand what it all means"
Soon the walls and floor return. Once again we are in the underground lair of Jarkon Crowbastard sleeps peacefully on the table before us and we repair to the other side of the room so as not to disturb her. Lars the Berserker is still angry and in hushed tones he growls at our host, "You are still responsible for the deaths of our people. One day I will kill you." Jarkon, exhausted from the sorcery he has just performed answers in a weary voice, "It is true that the beast that destroyed our village was one of my creations, but I did not send it. It was taken from me in a raid on the other side of the mountains by the Vorm, who you just met in battle. Lars, Headron knows you are here. He may not have been able to pinpoint your location, thanks to Parthon's cloaks, but now that the riders have spotted us it will not take them long to report our position. We must move from here, and fast." He stares into the eyes of the vengeful warrior and for the first time since we arrived here I see Lars' brow unfurrow. Bloodmace though, spurred on by his friend's skepticism steps fourth to question Jarkon, "Where are we going to go? We can't carry her for long." Bloodmace gives Jarkon a

searching look and the underground dweller answers, "She will be coming to any minute. This is a powerful spell and now even the demons of Mangar know of our presence. She will be disoriented for an bit, but I know of a place where we can shelter, and of someone who can help us gain entrance to Headron's palace, you see now is the most dangerous time for us because he knows that we will be 
much stronger when we enter the castle so he wants to stop us now. If he finds out that one of us is 
injured, he will know that we are not able to cast another Tabethian spell until we are able to rest. We will travel to the Sectaurian settlement not far from here, for the Vorm are terrified of the insect riders and their spider king, Rangar." Suddenly, the light in the room begins to flash red. "We've been breached, grab everything, follow me!" quickly, we grab our satchels and the groggy Mistress Crowbastard and head out the door of the concrete fortress and quickly down the hall. We can hear the sound of explosions from the further reaches of the grey catacombs as we climb upward and into the light. Exiting the passage we find ourselves just the other side of the battlefield, facing a rope and wood suspension bridge that stretches over the yawning canyon before us. While we hurry over the bridge, we see on the other side a huge spider, crouching above the entrance on the other side. I open my mouth to tell the others , but my words are cut short by silken cords that suddenly entangle me. The last thing I see before it goes dark is Jarkon motioning to the terrible spiders holding us prisoner.

 The last album was lots of fun, but in a completely different way. The compilation, Classical Metal Vol. 1, is an insanely pompous collection of mostly power metal bands covering classical music. Packed to the gills with arias, chorale arrangements, symphony orchestras, cheesy keyboards, and of course, much neo-classical shredding. This album features compositions by Vivaldi, Mozart, Dvorak and all the usual suspects handled and sometimes mangled by bands like Manowar, Uli Jon Roth, Therion, and At Vance. It's all almost to much to handle. This album is a gigantic fountain of jizz that rains down upon the earth, drowning the lowlands and destroying the crops, causing famine across the land will wine sipping aristocrats blather on about free market economics, causing the seeds of bloody revolution. It is awe inspiring. It is terrifying. It may not be the winner of the night, but I'm gonna get the other 8 volumes.

 Words of the Elders

What fate awaits these travelers in this land of untold horrors? Has Jarkon betrayed the party to his friends in the insect and spider kingdom? The gaping void calls out to the heroes of Centon with a sweet siren's song. Will the hammer of fate strike upon Bloodmace and Demon Scourge or Headron? Join us next time for a journey into the lair of Rangar and his cruel minions!

Until next week, brain thrashers






Horns

Tower of Spite - Technical Thrash in Unholy Dantor

Here at Metal Night.......we are the night!!! We ride the winds!!! We vomit forth the chaos!!!! We have iron muffins and stage psychosis. We don't take take no shit!!!! We do not make sense!!!!!! We are ambivalent about the use of contractions!!!!! But most importantly, on this important night of all nights, when the wild animals scream the names of the Metal Night elite, we have..........Technical Thrash Night!!!!!!!





Believer's 1990 opus Sanity Obscure is a blazing technical thrashterpiece, a trend setting motherfucker at the beginning of a decade of trend setting motherfuckers. Lumped in with the death metal hordes due to their ferocity, Believer were convincing enough to keep thrash metal alive when the scene was dying and bloated. Also, can you believe this a Christian metal album, and were actually on Christian Metal label Rexx Records before getting picked up by Roadrunner, which was a cool record label back in the day before they started making tons of money by sucking cocks all day long. Plenty of impressive thrashing, supplemented by some obscure chordage  and weird time signatures here and there. The end of the album has a huge progressive classical genre fuck featuring violins, which in 1990 only Celtic Frost had ever done before they went into dick sucking mode. Clearly, these dudes were smoking weed in the back of the church bus. Great album, but not the winner.


Adventure in Samur Part 11.1 - Enter the Turmoil
 Mistress Crowbastard is lying on the dusty ground in human form when Bloodmace and I arrive. Nearby, Lars the Berserker leans against the massive form of his quarry, exhausted from the trance of violence from witch he has just emerged. the shape shifting guardian lifts her head and speaks to us in a quiet voice, "We have to get out of here, there are more of those things on the way." Bloodmace and I look apprehensively around us. There are no signs yet of the other mounted attackers, but we know 

it won't be long. Lars the Berserker has ambled towards us and takes a seat on the ground. I look around and say, "I think we can find shelter in some of those caves we saw from the air, they should be just a short hike from here, then we can decide what to do. Let's find the Memporian and..." Looking around I can see that the beast has disappeared. "Shit" I say "we gotta get out of here, let's try that hill over there, we can at least get a good vantage point and locate the enemy." We help Crowbastard to her feet and trudge over the short distance to the hill. The arid landscape contains many strange, spiny plants growing low to the sandy ground, their woody appendages clawing at the heavy air. Crowbastard can walk, but the side of her cloak is wet with blood and though I can sense the great pain she must be in the injured magic user still stoops to pick some unusual leaves and bark for her conjurations.

For the second album, we heard Cerebral Fix's 1990 thrashsterpiece Tower of Spite. You know, I thought we were going to be listening to some technical thrash. This is just some thrash sprinkled with a few blastbeats here and there. So there goes the whole fucking theme of the night! Fuck it. The lyrics are occult centered and stay on the death side of things. The tempos vary enough, the riffs are heavy enough to keep it interesting, and the band doesn't really sound like anyone else. It's a good album, and will satisfy whatever death thrash cravings you may be having at the moment.

Adventure in Samur Part 11.2 - Wisdom's Call

We soon mount the hill and look out for signs of our opponents on the horizon. Indeed, across the desolate landscape, I can see a group of five warriors headed our way. Lars growls and grips his club, ready for battle and declares, "I am ready to meet the fathers. Let us crush these bastards!" Bloodmace, full of his own barbarian fire, holds his signature weapon to the sky with a terrible shout. Just as both of them are about to run down the hill to glory, a voice comes from behind us, "Stop!
There are more of them waiting to ambush those who attack now!" Whirling around, we behold a

lean figure, clad in denim and leather. Under the hood that peeks out from the heavy jacket, a skull printed cloth covers most of his face. Mounted atop his nose are a pair of glasses fitted with two moving lenses that whir softly as they adjust while he speaks, "I am Jarkon, of the hillfolk. Parthon the Elder has told me of your quest. Come now, before..." Just as he is about to finish, two laser bolts slam into the side of the hill, pelting us with dirt and rocks. Jarkon motions to us and we grab the now unconscious Mistress Crowbastard, walking her down the hill behind the faceless stranger. I can hear the heavy footfalls of the lumbering mastodons coming closer as our guide peels back a portion of the hill to reveal a doorway witch we all hurry through as the skeletal warriors flood the hilltop, the clicking syllables of their language creating a rhythmic cacophony above u

Lastly, we heard the supreme mammoth gigantic epoch-spanning thrashterpiece spawned by the unfortunately monikered Canuck band DBC aka Dead Brain Cells. Their 1990 concept album Universe is a stab at prog glory, with earnestly scrawled lyrics that sound like they were written by a science loving Asperger's Syndrom victim trapped in community college English 101. In other words, it is a glorious clusterfuck of imaginative Voivod inspired riffing, weird monotone vocalizations, and conceptual overreach. It's kind of like this: you take your slightly above average thrash band, which DBC was by nature of their crossover influenced first album, and put them on the road for a few months. Their chops improve a bit, they start getting attention from ladies other than toothless hookers, and pretty soon they think they are the next King Crimson of Thrash and will be making the next ....And Justice For All. That was not the case. This album was mostly panned by critics, ignored by fans, and DBC soon went the way of Violence and many other bands into the thrash heap of history. Hell, I hated this album when it first came out, back in the day. But as Demon Scourge and myself kept being bowled over by this bands sheer audacity, inventive riffs, and highly entertained by the very special lyrics, we kept looking at each other, nodding in agreement that this is a lost classic. This is the kind of discovery that makes Metal Night so fucking awesome. Winner of the night. We ride the winds, motherfuckers.

Words of the Elders
And so the life of Mistress Crowbastard hangs in the balance. What terrible trials await our band of heroes in the outer world?  Will the ever watching Lord Headron discover their plan before the four renegades put him out of business for good? Things are changing fast in Centon and beyond, powers once dormant are now awakening in their faraway castles and on some distant shore a lone raven heralds the new day.

Until next week, loomers in the dusk





Horns

Raging Steel - Of Power Metal and the Ice Beast

  I am riding my blackened steed. No wait, that sounds too gay. Ummmm, I am grinding my axe in your face. Nah, too death metal. How do I sum up an entire genre with just one pithy yet cheesy yet bombastic yet ironic remark and/or paragraph? Demon Scourge is the power metal guy around here! So here we go.......let's get some real life manna points, fan boys, and let's listen to the ORIGINATORS OF POWER METAL!!!!!!!!

Blind Guardian's first album, 1988's Battalions of  Fear, is the point A for power metal as we know it. An update of speed metal via Agent Steel and something quite new for the time, with more varied mood and textures, featuring a fair amount of acoustic guitar. Blind Guardian has always had a unique sound, and all the typical blind Guardian elements are there: furious thrash riffing, happy Germanic choruses, medieval interludes, Hansi Kursch's raspy opera singing, and epic songwriting. The main thing dragging this album down is the emphasis on slower, quieter songs, a kind of  slight Led Zeppelin influence that would fade away on the next album. Great start, though.

 Adventure in Samur Part 5.1 - Forgotten Heroes

Lars the Berserker sat before us, his long beard still glistening with melting snow. We had come here to the land of Narn with Mistress Crowbastard, who had disappeared after we transported to this land from the gateway atop the Kradiken Socrat in northern Samur. The bold human that sat across from us at this roughly hewn table of sourwood was the one who we had come to see. Lars the Berserker was, with ourselves and Crowbastard, one of the keepers of the denim and leather armor. We needed 

him to accompany us through to the world of Dantor to defeat Headron, who was planning to sell our beloved Centon to intergalactic developers. We have settled in to our seats, and our host begins to speak, "I know of what you seek Bloodmace and Demon Scourge." The cold winds are howling across the vast spirit lake outside, blasting the walls of the stone hut. "It is possible to defeat Headron with our denim and leather, but it will be dangerous. The gate to his world is located upon Va, an island that will be several days journey from here by boat. This village is the last stronghold of your people, the Huisketel. We have shed our flesh to live here in the frozen spirit world, where the problems of the mortals cannot touch us. With the coming of Headron, however, this is no longer true. If mortal powers are allowed to control the flow of magic and spirituality in he world below, terrible changes will happen to both worlds. We shall find Parthon the Elder, father to the one you call Iron Dan. He guards the gate on Va with Jarkon the Inflamer. They will reveal the final secrets of the armor to you. For now, steel yourself for a cold journey through a fearsome land." Just then, through the whipping of the wind another sound rises, a terrible screeching followed by a sickening thud. Our curious trio scurries up the stairs to the door and into the gray afternoon gloom.

 Helloween's best album of the 90's, Better Than  Raw, was a full return to form after their weak alternative rock experiments from the early 90's and a couple of weaker power metal albums. Similar to Blind Guardian in approach, they are less interested in epic fantasy based landscapes (despite the awesome album cover) than being  Iron Maiden with double bass drums and thrashier guitars. Catchy as fuck, inspiring, positive, power metal made for heros and mighty men of yore.

Adventure in Samur Part 5.2 - Nightstalker

The wind has picked up since we went inside the lair of Lars the Berserker a few moments ago and it lashes us with an unwholsome force. Upon the howling fury floats a storm of fluffy snowflakes, 

creating a gauzy mist. Looking in the direction of the terrible scream, we behold an awful sight. From the depths of the vast spirit lake, a beast has arisen. Vaguely arachnid in form, it towers threateningly above us, a single leg still thrust through one of the hovels in Lars' settlement. The creature looks to be covered in barnacles green and gray, giving it the appearance of living rock. The head, however is shiny black, with luminous eyes glowing blue in the pale midday light. Lars the Berserker brandishes his battle ax and shouts out, "It's Headron! He has sent his minion for us! Use the Destruction patch!" With that he rushes into battle. Bloodmace grabs the Infernal Overkill patch on the front panel of his denim and a wave of energy bursts fourth, more than either of us expected. The giant sea spider stumbles momentarily, giving the fur clad warrior his chance. With an evil cry, Lars launches himself straight at his adversary. A venomous pincer glances off his ax as he darts beneath the titanic foe. With a single blow from the enchanted weapon, the end of a leg falls out from under this demon of the sea. There is an earth shaking crash the spider falls to the ground. Scaling it's back with incredible speed, the dark warrior plunges the flaming hatchet into the skull of the fearsome devil with a wild screech. A geyser of blood explodes form the gaping wound, freezing in midair, ruby crystals that rain down upon the snow covered ground. The thing's body heaves terribly as life is yanked out of it, throwing the warrior to the ground like a rag doll. The craggy monster topples, one of its legs landing atop Lars the Berserker. Bloodmace and I rush over to help. Pulling the huge leg away, we find this heathen from the north bloodied and bruised. Without a word, he rises and walks in the direction of his home. With a faraway voice, he speaks to us, "You will stay in the hut while I mourn my fallen, then we will leave."

 But indeed, if you want to seek the true origin of modern power metal, seek no further than this album, Judas Priest's 1990 reboot, Painkiller. This album still fucking kills. Priest had not been this focused since 1980 and British. New drummer Scott Travis's thrash influenced drumming really inspired the other members to top themselves performance wise. The lyrics are pure fantasy cheese, but it's the steroid enhanced performance of this album that pushes what might have been just another Priest album (like Ram It Down was) to classic status. White hot steel for rivet heads with battle jackets and leather. Winner of the night!

Words of the Elders

Stare not into the lightless void, dear traveler, for the ways of the multiverse were not meant for you to behold. Forces from beyond the reaches of time grasp at this world already and the gaze of humans only sharpens their hunger. Like a dagger from space, these forces will rend apart this strange world of magic and super science. Beware Demon Scourge and Bloodmace, the greatest dangers are yet to come!

Until next week, Battalions of Fear,

Horns

Black Winter Day - Amorphis Night and Lars the Bereserker

 The Black Steeds of Metal Night race through the tundra, through ice and frost, through molten lava, through rivers of blood. They are a relentless juggernaut, crushing foes beneath their razor hooves. But once in a while, they want to party. Finland is a awesome place to party. Metal steeds always party to Amorphis and only Amorphis when they are in Finland. You want to argue with them? You want to play them some Korpiklaani? They are an awesome band, but shit, don't fuck with the Black Steeds, man! Do you want to die? Come on....let's review the first three Amorphis albums.

The Karelian Isthmus is a straight up and righteous early death metal in the Scandinavian vein circa 1992. The tempo is slow to mid-paced; the guitar sound buzzsaw-like and mid-rangy. The riffs and guitar melodies are top notch, taking on a bit of a Middle Eastern flair. The songwriting and approach may seem somewhat primitive. But, with some keyboards here; some acoustic bits there; much of the epic structure and atmosphere that marks later Amorphis opuses are here. Had they stayed with the basic death metal sound, they may have burned out after an album or two, but the next two releases are astonishing for the level of experimentation shown in a rather conservative context.

 
Adventure in Samur Part 4.1 - We Got the Right

On the other side of the northern gate, the snow stretches out as far as the eye can see. In the hazy distance, the dark form of a mountain rises up. There is no sign of the gate we left behind in Samur. We have come to the land of narn to seek out Lars the Berserker and gain knowledge of the magic armor given to us by our father. Mistress Crowbastard, a shock of flowing black robes against the gleaming white of our surroundings, calls to us from nearby, "Hurry now, we must locate the spirit 

 lake. Bloodmace, use the Kataklysym patch." The thoughtful barbarian places his hand on his lower back and touches the embroidery of the magical patch. Mistress Crowbastard points to the horizon, where a bright light has appeared, and calls out, "There! See it? The spirit lake lies ahead! Demon Scourge, stand with your back to Bloodmace and join hands." We stand together as she suggests and we hear her begin to sing the eldritch hymn of the Gatemaster, "Silver horses brought us here, to the edge of the universe!" I feel a warmth and a warm glow engulfs the three of us. The mystic continues her song in a deep guttural roar "Empty eyes are staring now, to my feet a land of sorrow." Again I feel the rush of travel, but the direction I cannot guess. Outside the glowing perimeter of our surroundings I catch glimpses of titanic shadows moving slowly across the horizon. Now with a final deathgrunt, the Baroness of Samur pronounces the last words of the spell, "Wafts of might, wine of fire! I was called to taste!" Suddenly, I fall to the ground that I thought was under me. We had arrived in Narn.

Tales of a 1000 Lakes is one of my favorite death metal albums.This album blew my mind back in the day. It's mixture of crushing heaviness, Finnish folk melodies, prog elements, tasteful synths, and occasional clean vocal attack is like candy with heroin at the center. There is lush epicness. There is ancient Finnish poetry. There is a spear that goes directly into the middle of your brain as you spasm on the ground in ecstasy. This could rightfully be called the first Finnish folk metal album, an ancestor of Korpiklaani and Fintroll, though with worse intentions. This is music to raise the Lake Troll to. Winner of the muthafuckin' night.


 Adventure in Samur Part 4.2 - Heavy Metal (is the Law) 

Bloodmace and I fall to the ground like a pile of rags. When my head bounces against the frozen ground, I notice that it is snowing. Picking ourselves up, we gaze upon the vast lake called Narn. A blizzard whirls around us and the icy wind bites through our coats. To our right, left and behind us there is nothing but horizon, but in front of us we can barely make out several low buildings. Mistress Crowbastard is nowhere to be seen, so we make for the shelter of one of the ice hovels ahead. Just as 

we get close enough to inspect the strange dwellings, Bloodmace stops me with an outstretched arm, and speaks in a low voice, "look at the door" I squint my eyes and can just make out a series of carvings upon the door of the square edifice, runes of earthen design, "We may be at our destination already, walk carefully." We walk several steps toward the weird outpost when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I whirl around, along with Bloodmace to behold a cloaked figure, eyes shining beneath a heavy cowl. With a deep voice he beckons us to his lair, "Come out of the storm brothers, we have much to speak about." With a wave of his hand, the door swings open to reveal a stairway leading down into a dimly lit room. In typical Samurian fashion, the circular room is decorated with bones of many creatures, laid out in a kind of parquet upon the floor. The stranger walks past us into the darkened quarters. Throwing his cloak to the side, he reveals a denim vestment, covered with patches and trimmed with thick fur. He touches the Dio patch and and the room reveals its strange luminosity. "I am Lars the Berserker." His great beard bristled and he furrowed his brow. He was a much younger man than we expected and had shaved his head lika northern mystic. Runic tattoos covered his arms, indicating his connection with the place they call Earth. "Hail to you for your deeds in Samur o hammers of the Wyvern! You actions were brave but also hasty, and now we must storm the outer dimensions that we might prevent the bloodrulers of Jenkabala and Waylor from asserting their dominance over the temporal world.

The third album, Elegy, is further departure from the death metal formula, straying into more traditional metal territory, while expanding their sound. The vocals are mostly clean, and the song structure somewhere in the realm of prog and trad metal,  with Deep Purple overtones everywhere. A few death growls remain, but they have pretty much left the extreme metal genre at this point. Acoustic instruments feature more prominently. And so they have forged the basic sound and formula that they would cling to for the rest of their career; ad nasueum, straying into great realms of boredom and stodginess. But this is the best example of that style, is a great album, and doesn't suck too many dicks.

So Demon Scourge and Bloodmace have lft their bodies behind and gone to the world of Narn where Lars the Berserker waits by the spirit lake, but where is Mistress Crowbastard who led them here? What terrible rites will they have to endure in this grim and frostbitten kingdom where dimensional winds torment the souls of those foolish enough to wander there? Elder gods of chaos arise! Let the sleeper awaken!

Until next week, merciless marauders,

horns