Excruciating Commands - Random Extreme Metal and Maddaughter's Necro Raid

Hey. It's Metal Night. Time to get to the metal. One death, one black, and one grind. And the bloody random violence of Mistress Crowbastard.

First we heard French death fornicators Massacra and their workmanlike 1992 slab of steel, Signs of the Decline. You can't really fault this album except that it is absolutely unexceptional death-thrash. Expertly played, fast and slow at appropriate moments, sick and brutal most of the time, as death metal should. Scattered here and there are hints of groove metal, which is what they reemerged as on their next album. I enjoyed it, but I'm not so sure I would return to it time and time again like Gallery of Suicide or Covenant. Oh, yeah, the lyrics are a bit ponderous and a little too socially conscientious. You are not exactly Anthrax, you guys. A few songs about rotted vaginas would have been nice.

Into the Necro Lands Part 2.1 - Ghost Dance

To travel by darkness on the northern shore of Centon was a breathtaking sight, for all along the coastline, schools of darvon illuminated the water with their luminescent beaks, jumping into the air as they hunted nightbirds and scray that would perch on the jutting rocks that dotted the shallow waters of the Larksheel Sea. The splashing and cawing of predator and prey as they did their nightly dance hid the sound of our light tread as Maddaughter Tesa, Losi and Birdblood, along with

Bloodmace and I moved silently into our positions. Just out of sight on the beach ahead was a supply bunker for Necro Baby's security forces. In order to move more effectively around the countryside, Maddaughter Tesa decided that we would steal one of their trucks. My brother and I climbed on to a boulder near the water, where we could see the small shed next to a fenced yard with vehicles and pallets of food. Birdblood and Losi mounted the dune to our left, while Maddaughter walked slowly towards the lighted hovel. We couldn’t hear what the first soldier yelled as he came out the door, but as soon as he dropped to the ground three more came rushing out. Bloodmace makes a motion to rush to her aid, I put my arm out to block him. "Remember what she said...wait." The hulking barbarian halts with a sigh, but his mace remains tightly clutched in his hand while the other rests on the battle jacket. The three soldiers rush our guide with a cry we can hear from our perch, only to fall to the sand at their approach, wet pools gathering around their deathless bodies. With three rapid motions, Maddaughter Tesa beheads them, scooping up her treasures in a stained canvas bag. I can see a hand thrust out of the ground, then another and another. Soon, mummified creatures of every shape and size are converging on the warrior below. Bloodmace and I leap down from our hiding place and rush headlong into the fray.

The winner of night for me were Australian black metal brutarians Destroyer666. Also infused with thrash, but of the sick, primitive, necro variety, ala Onslaught, Venom, and Hellhammer. To The Devil His Due is a collection of remastered 7 inch eps, showcasing a few lurches in style, adding a bit of variety to the hellish din. The songs range from very raw blackened thrash to very raw black metal at varying tempos and at varying levels of necro, all delivered with primal hatred for all mankind and your weak Christian God. This is good music for drinking lots of beer and whiskey, preferably at the same time while smoking crystal meth while pissing on your mother's grave and then masturbating with sand paper while detonating a bomb at your local Presbyterian youth center. Or just chillin'.

Into the Necro Lands Part 2.2 - Dark Highway

A so-called "Necromancer's Alarm" is a powerful spell that allows a wizard to plant corpses anywhere within a certain radius and they can be animated against a foe with the flip of a switch, even by someone with no magical ability. Whoever set this trap was no amateur. There were

hundreds of leathery bodies throwing themselves at us. None were hard to kill, but they would pile over you, biting and clawing until you were dragged down. "Look out Tesa!" I cried as a blast of flame from the bathory patch exploded from my left hand, cutting a swath through the ragged throng. Losi and Birdblood were fighting their way toward the center of the maelstrom as well when we all heard the booming voice of Bloodmace, "Stand back, and let the power of christ handle these fuckers!" I whirl around just in time to see Bloodmace grabbing his Stryper belt buckle and dive to the side just as a beam of warm white light pours fourth from the waist of the mighty warrior, causing the desiccated corpses to crumble before our eyes. A horrible stench fills the air as the bodies lose form and Tesa motions to us, "Get the cruiser, we have to make tracks before Necro Baby sends help. On to the Nest of Evil!" Losi sprints to the fence and leaps over, catlike. Smashing the window of the transport with her elbow, she jumps in and has it started in moments. The timid fence puts up no resistance as the slight wolfspawn pilots the truck through the barricade and round to where we are standing. As the transport pulls away into the dunes, a black duck takes flight, winging into the sky. It vaults above the rippled sand, sailing southwest into the necro lands.

Mistress Crowbastard showed up right in the middle of grind gods Rotted Sound's second album, Drain, which was kicking our asses anyway, but Crowbastard decided to finish the job. She did this just because she felt like it. While she was pummeling us with her titanium plated num-chucks, Drain proved to be the perfect soundtrack. This is grindcore with the deftness of a jazz combo and the ferocity of a weasel on crack. Occasionally, they lapse into such jazz foolishness as such as employing the rim shot. Might as well have a flute solo to slap on top. But these moments are relatively brief. Then it is back to making your synapses into mush in exactly the way we like, which is more than I can say for the agonizing punishment doled out by Mistress Crowbastard. Ouchh!!!!!!

Words of the Elders

The necro lands are singing their deadly song. It is a poem of sorrow and hatred that speaks to the dark places, deep within the soul. Like the spear of Chemlok, our champions plunge into the heart of this mysterious land with the power of the very gods, for the time has been long since the dwellers of Centon have tasted the sweet water of freedom. 

 

Until next week, hellish hooligans, 

Horns

Watts the truth - Hell Wraith invents the amp and we get blind (gaurdian.)

A Gehenna fan.

Across the devil-fruited plain, we ride our flaming steeds with furious vengeance and righteous steel. Through the raging gates of Jenkabala Palace, we devastate the infiltrators, the wicked poseurs, and embark on another motherchunkin' METAL NIGHT!!!!

The innermost sanctum of Castle Thrashstone was a large room with carved wooden benches around a low table. Though most of the castle was in ruins, this room survived intact through the great disaster that overtook the Time Desert when Demon Scourge betrayed and killed his companions in the great hall below. Books of occult knowledge and scientific theories lined the walls. The ritual altars stood at each cardinal point, according to the calculations of the infernal Hellmaster, who invented the multidimensional compass to traverse the fearsome desert in the days before the road appeared in his realm. When Thantor the Bard awoke from his dream of the planked stage and a looming grey figure, he was greeted by two staring figures; He knew Vorthon, the Whip of fate.  Yesterday he was practically shanghaied by the menacing hermit when he crashed his transport on this wrecked castle. The other face was as yet unfamiliar.  Looking out at Thantor from under the dark cowl was a pair of glasses, and somewhere in the shadow behind them was the face of Hell Wraith, the missing cryptophysicist responsible for reverse engineering the Tauriat, a detector that locates dimensional rifts.  In a gravelly voice, the slight scientist introduces himself to the groggy Thantor. “I am Hell Wraith, stranger. Sorry to have to detain you here but, we need you to help save this realm. Please come with me.” Vorthon’s companion rises and motions Thantor to the eastern wall. The dazed traveler, assisted by Vorthon, walks the hundred or so paces to the bookcase, which becomes increasingly translucent as the three men approach it, then disappears as they walk through it and down the stairs behind it.

Another Gehenna fan. 

Our first album was Seen Through the Veils of Darkness (The Second Spell) by Gehenna.Gehenna is your classic mid 90's second wave Norwegian black metal. Lots of cheesy keyboards, corpse paint, lots of grim atmosphere, and mid tempo funeral marches. It's good stuff, though an acquired taste. This kind of black metal was fashionable to laugh about in the Aughts, but over time it turns out to be a good listen.

The legendary Nactan contemplates mortality.

The second album we heard was Japanese grindcore legends SOB's What's The Truth Formed in 1983, they were a big influence on the UK grindcore scene of the late 80's and especially Napalm Death, who covered a couple of their songs for the Peel Sessions album. Released in 1990, this is by the book grindcore, not quite as fast and chaotic as Napalm or Carcass, but it is still a hellish din, an ultra caffeinated nightmare. This is just furious grindcore; fast, loose, and face peeling


.

Yet more Gehenna fans

“Hell Wraith,” Thantor interjects as the three dusty figures make their way down the gently sloping hidden stair, “Can you repair my tauriat? I need to reach the Waylorian Mountains as soon as possible.  I suppose the help you seek is a ride out of the desert. Well we ain’t goin’ nowheres until I can find the damn road.”  Hell Wraith looks over his shoulder sternly, his words come out clipped and forceful, “I know of your mission. We will accompany you when the time is right.” As the group swings open the stone door, luminous like the rest of the underground portion of Castle Thrashstone, they enter a workshop, cluttered with weird projects in various stages of completion. Across the wall opposite them though,three large boxes sit atop an expanse of table. Hell Wraith leads a single file line through the tangle of wires and electronic detritus. When he reaches the repair bench, he begins to attach cables from one box to another. As Thantor neared the boxes, he realized what they were. Speakers! From behind one of the large cabinets, Hell Wraith produces an instrument Thantor has never seen. Six long wires stretch across a long piece of wood. At one end there are six adjustment knobs, at the other, a strange, horned body adorned with two knobs. Hell Wraith addresses his audience, “As you know, Vorthon, I have been developing a way to call to the most elder gods that Bloodmace and Hellmaster might return to this dimension and repair the rift in the dimensional clock. To this end I have developed, or you might say, improved upon a tool.” He brandishes the strange instrument. “With this, and you, Thantor, we shall restore glory to Castle Thrashstone and save the entire belief system of every known race in the galaxy.” Thantor looks from one of his captors to another. Vorthon, grimacing, his eyes sparkling in the weird luminosity of Castle Thrashstone’s glowing rock basement. Hell Wraith, eager as a schoolboy, looks to him with unbridled enthusiasm still clutching his invention in his hand. Thantor the bard, town crier or Melnor, caravan leader and ballad singer looked at these grinning kooks and voiced his concerns out loud. “You guys are fuckin’ wacky. I don’t know what the crap kinda jive you jackasses are tryin’ to hand me but I want no part of this foolishness.” When Hell Wraith touched his hand to the strings of his invention, everything went black.

BLIND GUARDIAN! Or I smash apart this computer with my face!

Next, we heard Texas tech thrash progenitors Watchtower and scrutinized their first album, Energetic Disassembly. Their second album, Control and Resistance, is a certified classic, much worshiped by prog heads. The first album is nearly as amazing, and thrashier, sounding like a bastardization of Fates Warning and Coroner. Socially conscience lyrics keep this album grounded in the real world, somewhat, but the music climbs into the ozone. You want time changes? This has more than the usual quota. Jagged atonality? Jazzy interludes, ball crunching riffs, scrotum pinching high vocals? Yes, indeed. This was going to be my pick for Metal Night, until Demon Scourge threatened us with a lasso spear unless we heard the next album.



Blind Guardian's 'Imaginations From The Other Side' is Demon Scourge's favorite album. If you say anything bad about this album, Demon Scourge slits your throat, no questions asked. So I won't say anything bad about it. But, there really isn't a whole lot bad you can say. It's one of the greatest power metal albums ever made. It set the basic Blind Guardian formula, heroic songs, epic arrangements medieval beast master instrumentation,  butt-fuckingly heavy thrash riffs. This was the winner of the night. Wanna escape the cage of reality into the realm of fantasy? Let the Blind Guardian lead the way.......noooooooo Demon nooooooo i'm sooooory I was cheesy ahhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!

When the masters return, what will happen to the malls that have sprung up overnight in the absence of Bloodmace and Hellmaster? What will happen to the great horde of posers who crowd the halls of the sacred Jenkabala palace to spend money on things they believe will get them laid? Where have the heroes gone when the world of Centon needs them most? Trapped. TRAPPED! Trapped in the dimension of formless dread. Lost among the shadows that flit at the edge of vision in the twilight hours. There is one who has heard the call from beyond though, one who will never rest until the very gates of reason fall before his legion!  Vorthon the Whip of Fate! It is he who shall champion our heroes in the realm of the gods. It is he who will risk all on the roll of the dice in the place where the wind of mayhem blows cold thorough Olympian peaks, calling to account those who have tried to usurp the last bastion of metal for their commercial concerns. HEADRON! Your day of reckoning is at hand!

Until next week, Bros and Broettes

Horns.