Down to Hell - A Story of Crowbastard and Cacumen night

Every now and again, there comes a metal night that cruises smooth, like an iceberg drifting silently along its deadly path, crushing all who defy it. This cold October night was just that kind. The temple was filled with a warm glow as Vecton the Bard arrived in his carriage and strode through the great sourwood doors that led to the inner sanctum. Blazes were lit in the hearth and offerings were made to the hundred gods. It was decided that this golden twilight deserved some German hard rock to see the boat of day into the ocean of night, so without further ado we give you a peek at the mighty Cacumen!

I can't remember where I first heard Cacumen, but the self titled first album from 1981 has gotta be one of my most played albums to this day. The lyrics are charming in the way that German bands seem to be so good at, the riffs are monster and the vocal harmonies add just the right amount of sheen. I can take or leave the slower tunes, but the rockers are smokin'. Riding Away and On the Rocks, the two songs that close out this obscure hit factory are beasts of Scorpions worship swagger and questionable translation. Winner of the night by a landslide!

Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 6.1 - Magic Spell

The Heraea Agoge in northern Samur was a dismal place, a fearsome kind of boarding school that was forced on the women of the Samurian court. From a very young age, the girls would become wards of the school, competing against one another daily in war games and learning the dark secrets of their people's magic. The cruel instructors routinely incited the pupils to deadly violence against one another, for the very purpose was to create warriors capable of defending their land from the T'Chah Karnac and their servants, the Wyvern. To this end, generations of northerners created and upheld this institution that provided them safety in the form of the most fearsome army on Centon,

but at the cost of their childhoods. By the time Nithsa Crowbastard reached reached school age, the unthinkable had already happened. Samur had been dominated first by the T'Chah Karnac, then later by the Wyvern. Many ancient traditions were lost during this transitional period, but the Heraea Agoge survived, a proud and scornful relic of times past. Nithsa stared blankly out the window of the inn, watching the fluffy snowflakes float gently to the ground, hands wrapped around a rustic bone mug of marlyroot tea. She was on a journey home to meet a family she barely knew, a ritual performed by all students the year before they graduate. By rail the journey took one day, but the station was down the mountain from the school and the only way to reach it was by foot. Halfway down the rocky path lies the village of Turig, a small, charming place where many of the teachers found quarters. It was here that the pale young woman stopped to board for the night. Through the thick, warped glass of the window, Nithsa could see the path coming out of the woods, passing before the door of the inn and disappearing again into the gloom of the mountain pass. Down this narrow walkway came a hunched figure, cloaked in black and carrying a woven basket of the same dark hue. Slowly, the lurching traveler came to a halt before the window of the inn. When the old man took off his hood and hat, she glanced briefly to the side, in case he saw her looking, but when her eyes returned to the window, he

was staring directly at her. When their eyes met, the student saw a flash of bright light, followed by just a glimpse of herself, much older, perched atop a great edifice of bleached bones, staring out at the great mountains from some sort of throne room. "Here's your porridge miss." A voice startles her out of the waking dream and she looks up. The gray-haired innkeeper is handing her a bowl of lapid porridge, topped with perfect slices of hard cooked bafa egg and royal nectar cut into a fine dice. She smiles silently at the middle aged woman, admiring the flowing ruffles of her simple dress. "Will there be anything else?" The lady of the house regards her anxiously and hurries off when Nithsa shakes her head. When the black clad student turns to glance out the window again, the man is gone.

Bad Widow, the second full-length from the furious five, comes out swinging with the NWOBHM style face melter, Ain't Got No Woman. The sound is very much more metallic, the guitars more focused and aggressive. In my mind this band can do no wrong and I like this one as much as the first. The songs, though heavier sounding this time around, carry over the smooth twin guitar riffage and sweet harmonies that make the first one so listenable. The title track is a real highlight, with some nice talkbox guitar throughout and You Are My Destiny makes me feel like I'm at the roller rink in 1983. It is also of note that once again they load up the end of the album with some of the faster, heavier tunes. Now all I need is a cassette of it to jam in the car...

Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 6.2 - Riding Away

The snow continued to drift lazily from the gray sky above as Nithsa made her way down the pass that morning. Although she was nearing the bottom of the mountain, she was still high enough to get a good view of the plain that spread out before the foothills below. She was stopped before one of these little clearings, observing the tremendous birds wheeling in the sky, when the little old man from that morning appeared, laboriously making his way back up the trail. From beneath her hood, the curious youngster made a closer examination of the strange character who seemed to have transmitted some sort of vision to her. His clothes were nothing more than rags sewn together into a rough cloak comprising many layers of tattered fabric scraps. Atop his head, however, sat a

magnificent wide-brimmed hat. Squared off at the top, the band was made of interlocking metal circles, each with a rune that even Nithsa, with her knowledge of magical symbols from all over Centon, could not recognize. When the stranger had hobbled close enough, he lifted his head. Radiant blue eyes shone out from the worn face around them and she was hardly surprised when he began to approach her. Peeking out from below the hat, the elderly wanderer's mouth was moving, speaking something quietly. Nithsa could easily have killed the suspicious stranger but she was curious about the vision and his strange appearance. She readied a spell as the man walked into striking range. "Gatemaster, gatemaster" The haggard forest dweller whispered, "Gatemaster Crowbastard" He did a shuffling circle dance before her. Her annoyance growing, the dark-eyed Crowbastard intones gravely, "Fool! Who are you to speak my name?" Her fingertips begin to tingle as she focuses the magic. The beggar falls to his knees and lifts his hat off his head in a gesture of submission, but as he looks up the blinding flash strikes Nithsa again and she sees a tremendous crow flying into the peaks of the Kradiken Socrat and a ghostly castle of bones where phantom soldiers drifted in and out of bleached

turrets. The vision of the throne room returns to her mind but this time, she is not alone in the cavernous chamber. On the floor below the massive seat of skulls, hundreds of white robed figures chant, "Gatemaster, gatemaster" There is another flash and her vision returns. The old man is still kneeling and he takes a feather pen from the band of his hat. As the confused young woman takes hold of the black quill, the bearer falls to the ground, struck by arrows. Behind him, in the woods, the warrior's sharp eyes catch the sight of two sauron archers, mounting deadly shafts on to their bows for her. Without hesitation, her hand releases a bolt of energy that knocks the lightly armored lizard men to the ground. In a flash Nithsa is upon them. Perhaps if she had not been so hot tempered about the interruption, she would not have just killed the interlopers, but the deed was done and the perspicacious youth already knew what to do with the feather. Drawing up her sleeve, she deftly marks out two complex symbols and throws the instrument off the cliff before her. Making percice motions with her fingers Nithsa Crowbastard closes her eyes and pronounces "E'amat tercata! Serasarat!" Flying above the valley, Crowbastard had a feeling she had never known before and it terrified and exhilarated at the same time. She headed north, up the mountains, following the inner compass that led her into the snowy peaks, to the palace of the gatemaster.

Finally, we came to Cacumen's last album, the awesome Down To Hell. Magical fires were burning in the braziers and voices of the spirits guided us on the last leg of this journey into the B-side of Teutonic hard rock. Anthems of youth unheard, strutting blues rock and dramatic heavy metal riffing were the bread and butter of this great band and they delivered the goods in spades. Yes, they sound too much like their more famous counterparts, but these guys have a knack for writing songs in that style and frankly, having recently listened to the full discography of those German giants, I can say that some of these tunes out scorpion the Scorpions. A great night all around.

Words of the Elders

Behold, children of the night, the glory of the moon and sky. Celebrate the glory of the perfumed darkness where dreams and spirits collide with flesh in a hothouse of strange fantasy. The skull throne sits there among the peaks of the Kradiken Socrat, waiting for the one, the next gatemaster. Hail Mistress Crowbastard, shape-shifting dweller at the top of the world!

Until next week, star riders,

Horns

Nowhere to Run - Hard Rock Hell and Rangar's Swanky Lair

Demon Scourge and myself are not always necro fiending to the most necro of necro black metal or sword fighting to the most epic of epic of power metal. No, sometimes we like to kick back, gather up some bitches, chug some light brewskies and throw on some of the sleaziest of sleazy 80's hard rock. We're a couple wind cutting gear jammers, slicing our fists into the night with the power of rock 'n' roll, baby. Unfortunately, the three hard rock hard-on's that we chose did not live up to our highly wrought low standards, making it, perhaps, in its own special way, the most brutal and treacherous Metal Night of them all!!!!!!

First up was the one to have the proud mantle of worst winner of Metal Night and that was Venom axe grinder Mantas's solo excretion Winds of Change. This Yamaha DX7 keyboard laden nightmare is actually a relic of a lost age, when briefly, hard rock bands thought that the way to riches and pussy was to drown out the guitars with the worst keyboard sound imaginable. Such AOR putridity was quite in vogue between 1985-87, until Gun's N Roses killed it dead. Even Poison had a tougher sound than this. What saves this album are the three instrumentals, which are unexpected and not half bad. You can pretend that this is some sort of prog band, and not Night Ranger wannabe's. You will never forget nor forgive that this is what fucking Mantas from fucking Venom thought he should be doing with his career. Winner of the night by virtue of instrumentals. Quite a prize.


Adventure In Samur Part 14.1 - Unchain the Night
I open my eyes to see two figures sitting at a bar. Light filters up through multicolored bottles of cordials and liquors, but the rest of the room is dim. Even with the back light, I can make out the figure of our betrayer, Jarkon. Next to him is a serious looking humanoid with long feelers protruding from his insect-like head. Every few moments, he would move his head and I could catch a glimmer of light from his faceted eyes. I couldn't move my head much in this cocoon I found myself encased in, but I could see Crowbastard and Lars on either side of me and what looked to be the figure of Bloodmace, suspended from the ceiling. jarkon and the other figure rise from their seats and wealk

around the room, examining their prisoners. Just as they are about to approach me though, somjething draws their attenion to the area behind us. I can hear or captors greeting the unseen figure with much ceremony. There is some laughter, then quiet footsteps and into my line of sight walks Rangar the Sectaurian, spider king. Upon his broad sholders hangs a long black cape and on his chest is armor made from living spiders, a mass of tiny legs churning uopn his person, topped by one giant spider clutching his torso and protecting his chest. Mounted atop his humanoid body is a ferocious looking arachnoid head festooned with eyes and two hairy mandibles that move as he speaks. "So these are the heroes of Centon?" From the cape, he produces a silver dagger "Let us see what they really are." He approaches me, dagger drawn and plunges it into the cocoon that surrounds me.

Next up was Dokken guitar wizzard George Lynch's loser excretion solo project Lynch Mob and their first album, Wicked Sensation. This collection of psuedo-bluesy ham and egg rock mediocrities sounds like a collection of songs that Don Dokken refused to sing. This was the sort of album that would set 19 year old Bloodmace into a killing frenzy that would end in shameful tears. I can handle it now, but this was the sort of thing that dominated the hard rock airways of the late 80's until it was rightfully flushed down the cultural toilet by grunge like a festering turd.  Here we find Lynch downplaying his masterful chops in favor of the mediocre songs and blues. Thanks, George. Vocalist Oni Logan sounds like ever other glam rocker of the period, only with less character. The sound is nice, shiny, and overproduced. Yes, there is a power ballad. The only bright moment was the obvious Dokken reject 'Street Fighting Man', which only serves to remind one on how badly George needs Don in the confines of the monument to the 80's that is fuckin' Dokken. Together they are best kind of cheesy magic. Apart, this is the result. I'm not familiar with Don's solo work, and frankly, I could really give a shit.

Adventure In Samur Part 14.2 - Secretly Cruel

I feel the weapon pierce the webbing that holds me prisoner, but there is no sharp pain, as I expected, instead I feel a tug on the denim vestment to witch the magical patches are sewn. He examines the garment for a moment then makes a high pitched clicking sound and a motion with his hand. With a swipe of the jeweled knife in his hand I am cut down. I hit the carpeted floor with a thud and the

spider king is above me, cutting away layers of web that hold me fast. When I am finally free, I look anxiously around me and find that we are all accounted for. Bloodmace and Lars shoot sullen and angry looks in the direction of Jarkon, who is helping to carry the still recovering Mistress Crowbastard to a small couch nearby. Rangar, sensing we do not trust him, speaks to us as Jarkon and the insect humanoid take their places by his side, "Please excuse the conditions of your entrance to our kingdom." His lilting northern accent surprises me with its soothing timbre, "I am Rangar and you are the ones we have been waiting for. I understand that you have used your magic and were located by the minions of Headron. Now that he knows you are here, he will stop at nothing to destroy you before you can use your powers to break his hold on Charbad pass, the portal that leads to your world. He has been disrupting the flow of time here with his attempts to control your world. If he is successful in his bid

for domination over Centon, witch is the most crucial link between all dimensions, he plans to sell it to developers from all over the galaxy so religious travelers from every planet can enter the realms of their gods." Bloodmace, who had not yet softened his harsh glare, bursts in in a loud voice, "We can deal with Headron on our own, let's get out of here." He stands up and motions to the rest of us, but Rangar holds up his hand and the guard standing next to Jarkon moves to block the door, hand on his laser gun, "please my friends, let us be of one mind on this." The spider king moves closer to the barbarian and puts a hand upon his shoulder. "The forces that destroyed Jarkon's home and have been killing his people are just a small part of this tyrant's arsenal. We can crush his army easily, but we cannot depose this evil king without your magic. Join us and save your world." The strange sectaurian holds out his hand. From across the room, Lars' booms out, "Rangar is known to me, let us join with him." Bloodmace looks around the room, Crowbastard and I give him a nod and he grabs the hand of the arachnoid ruler. Rangar looks over to his guard, "Send word to the armory, rally the troops. The end has come for Headron."

Lastly, we heard Kiss' mid 80's embarrassment, Asylum.  This album actually has a special place in my heart, since it was maybe the 4th or 5th cassette I ever bought in the discount bin at Meijer's. And I loved Kiss as a tyke and still do, but his album has not aged well. Kiss' propensity for hack songwriting is on full display and there are way more misses than hits on this one. The adolescent misogyny of the lyrics, along the fact that these were dudes pushing 40 at the time, is simply fucking creepy. The 80's were not very kind to Kiss. The make-up was off and nobody cared. Gene looked like a fat, pissed off drag queen. They were touring this album from hockey rink to hockey rink, from summer free fair to summer free fair, from bowling alley to bowling alley. Still, Paul and Gene have a knack for melody and hook, so you will be remembering these songs way longer than you really want to. Tears Are Falling is a guilty pleasure quasi ballad. Uh All Night is fun after 5 beers. And there is some decent axe work on this album, courtesy of Bruce Kulick, almost making up for the fact that the songs lack in the riff department. Geez, no wonder Frehley's Comet was getting more attention.

Words of the Elders

Rangar! Spider king and unholy savior, lord of predators with a thousand legs that creep unseen in the black recesses of a thousand worlds! Who can behold your minions without terror? The venom drips from waiting mandibles as our heroes close in on their quarry. Stay tuned for an encounter in Raven Pass!

Until next week, dead riders,

 

 

 

 

 

Horns

Alcatrazz, UFO, and Hard Rock Heathens in Jenkabala

Alive, at last, and reveling in the masculine glory of traditional heavy metal, Demon Scourge and myself started feeling kind of....well.....gay. All that leather and phallic imagery with the swords and shit and not a chick in site; we were being asked if we hung out with Rob Halford. Ultra muscular men in ultra tight daisy dukes would approach us with unclear intentions. And frankly, I was getting tired of the wretched bath house stench of the Westside Palace. So, we decided to attract some chicks by puttin' on the hairspray, eyeliner, and spandex and jammin' on some lady friendly hard fuckin' rock! Rockin' with our cocks out! That's not gay at all!

Chronicles of the North Part 1.1 - Sunrise over Locus Mortis

The crackling discharge of electricity that accompanies a trip through a dimensional portal was barely over when I recognized where Bloodmace and I had been sent. The smell of sorga flowers in the Jenkabala forest is unmistakable.  My brother has already arrived and he is leaning against the trunk of a tremendous sourwood tree. “Hai! So it’s back to the northern forest we have been sent.” Quickly he strides over to the spot where I stand, hand on his 

 signature weapon. “There is much you have to answer for, Demon Scourge. You must explain yourself or we must finish this battle once and for all.” Bloodmace’s countenance was grave as he took up his fighting stance. With little time to choose, I hastened to explain. “It was in this very spot, if I’m not mistaken. This was our campsite the night Tolar came with his warning, the place where we were captured by the Wyverns. I know not if Tolar is on the side of Headron but the one who came to us in that form stayed within me until that fateful night at Castle Thrashstone. Just as we were about to open the portal, this terrible larva burst forth from its cocoon and took command of my body. Brother, there is no way to alter these events, but we must prevent another cataclysm from destroying Centon.” Bloodmace regards me sternly for a moment then extends his hand. As I grasp his arm in solidarity he says to me in a low menacing voice, “We will go on to complete our mission, but if you make a move towards me or any of the others I shall destroy you so you will never return to this realm again.”

First, we heard the early 80's most underrated and criminally ignored hard rock band, Alcatrazz. Their first album, No Parole From Rock 'n' Roll, was packaged and marketed as LA party metal in the vein of Motley Crue and Quiet Riot, but it is so much more. Featuring former Rainbow and Black Sabbath crooner Graham Bonnett, and Richie Blackmore disciple Yngwie Malmsteen, this is more of a slick 80's update of the former band and Deep Purple for heshers a few IQ points above the rest of the glam rockers. Which is probably why it flopped. Songcraft and mood takes precedent, shredder Yngwie seeming almost restrained, his massive chops perfectly complimenting skinny tie clad Bonnett's tasteful wail. They dominate the whole album, while the rest of the band churn away,  workmanlike and professional. Lyrics are the real surprise; intelligent, non-pretentious, with a slight air of 70's mysticism. I fucking love this album. So does Demon Scourge. So should you.

This concert vid contains most of the album, and also a Rainbow track or two.

Chronicles of the North Part 1.2 - Sign of the Jackal 
I was about to reply to Bloodmace’s warning when something moved in the distance. Without a word we both leap behind a huge root protruding from the soft ground near where we stand. After a moment of breathless silence I peer out across the forest floor but all I can see is a few leaves floating lazily down from the treetops high above. Bloodmace rises as well and we begin to slowly scan the wilderness for any sign of life. I turned to Bloodmace just in time to see a slender, grey thread descending from the ancient foliage above but as I open my mouth to cry out, a slimy tendril grasps me across the chest and we are both yanked upward, the ground falling away into a sea of empty space. As we approach the fragrant canopy, abundant with white sorga flowers, our travel slows dramatically and our captor comes into view.  At first its form seems to be simian, standing upright with a small head mounted on a large hairy body with feet that terminate in vicious claws. Sprouting from the sides of its body however are two sucker covered tentacles that flop menacingly as we are heaved onto the tremendous branch. The creature motions for us to follow as the wet organic rope around our sides disintegrates. When the strange hybrid reaches the trunk it reaches with a tentacle into an orifice on the side of its body and produces a foamy yellow goop witch it proceeds to shovel into a sharp toothed maw sunken into matted fur. With a strange noise our captor spits the viscous substance, now grey, onto a neighboring branch. Yanking the threads out of its mouth the creature attaches them to the branch we are standing on and points with rubbery appendage at the other side. Slowly, Bloodmace and I make our way across the chasm. We step on to the branch, steadying ourselves with the thick stems of the flowers witch dwarf us on every side.  The wooden pathway widens out enough for the two of us to walk side by side, now obviously a flat walkway. Strangely familiar symbols are carved into the polished surface. Bloodmace, pointing down breaks the silence, “Look at the path, do you think…” his voice trails off as we push aside the foliage ahead of us to reveal that the path now slopes into the interior of this arboreal catwalk. Carved into the entry are the mystic symbols of T’Chah Karnac. “Well,” I say to Bloodmace “I guess we know why we were sent here.”  

The next album we heard was UFO's 1977 release Light's Out. This is not a metal album, but hard rock with a few metal leaning songs that were highly influential on metal. This is also one of the few if not only album we've reviewed here that does not have an entry on Encyclopedia Metallum. This album was especially influential on the NWOBHM, and Iron Maiden in particular. Steve Harris counts the albums 7 minute closer 'Love To Love, as his favorite. It's easy to see its epic structure's influence on later Maiden behemoths, though the string section clearly dates it. This album is best known for AOR chugger 'To Hot To Handle' and 'Light's Out', the most balls out metal song on the album. Mostly, though, I can't really get too excited about this album. I don't dislike it, but the lighter, popper, bluesier songs make me crave more power cords and epicness(or at least some prog weirdness), which isn't the focus of the album. This is a classic hard rock album, but it ain't metal.

The third album is one that is very close to Demon Scourge's hell-scarred heart, Dokken's Back For The Attack. I have to admit, Dokken was never one of my favorite bands in the 80's, either for being not heavy enough, too poppy, too slick and later, not cheesy enough. But Demon's advocacy has deepened my appreciation of this band. Once again, it is pure song craft and George Lynch's tasty axe work that win the day. Once you get past the fact that this isn't going to be a screaming iron fest, you can enjoy this albums sometimes party hardy flavors. I'm never going to take Cryptopsy or Enslaved off my playlist in favor of Dokken, but when it the middle of the summer and you're cruisin' around trying to recapture your late 80's glory dayzzzzz, you could not do any better than to blast this album out your speakers.

Words of the Elders

The Jenkabala forest is filled with mystery. From the soft, moist floor to the verdant canopy of jade and amber, secrets are hidden. What dangers will Bloodmace and Demon Scourge face in this wilderness, and what will become of the rest of their party? Many miles south of this sanctuary lies the former Jenkabala Palace, which is now Jenkabala mall. It is there that Lord Headron holds court in the Hot Topic where the central listening chamber of Demon Scourge once stood.CURSE YOU Headron! The vengeance of Bloodmace and Demon Scourge needs blood! YOUR BLOOD HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! You can hide in your fortress of consumer goods but it cannot deflect the heavy hammer of the righteous! 

Until next week, Doomlords of Armageddon  

Horns