Into The Thrashosphere - Slayer, Necrodeth and the Forbidden Island

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

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

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

Into the Necro Lands Part 16.1 - Fight Til Death

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time, stormlords,




Horns

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

Live Albums: Slayer, SOD, and Iron Maiden

Live albums can be boring as shit, especially live metal albums. Who wants to hear a bunch of drunks play shitty versions of songs played better and with more clarity on the studio album. Part of the experience of witnessing a metal band live is the ear shredding, pants shitting volume, not to mention trailer park gals displaying their tits to the band like sacrificial offerings. Ahhh, actually, that's only half the story, because for many bands, a live album unleashes a raw ferocity that just can't be captured in the studio, not to mention different versions of guitar solos, little bits if improv here and there. And priceless stage banter. Funny stage banter will always raise the worth of a live album by a couple points. So we embarked upon a night of epic live shit.

We started out by listening to the extended Digipack of Iron Maiden's 'Maiden Japan'. A 4 song EP released in 1981, featuring original vocalist Paul D'Anno and drummer Clive Burr, this is a document of the early band, with 16 extra songs released two decades later. This is definately a fan only experience. It is just too fucking long! As an EP, it is essential, as a regular album, also essential, but an hour and 10 minutes later in the digipack, after enduring 5 encores complete with guitar solos, drum solo, and audience participation, it's just way to much. The band sounds brilliant though, and Paul D'Anno's cockney screech is kind of refreshing.

This video is not live, but it is a nice document of early Maiden

Better is SOD's 1992 reunion album, Live At Budokon. Recorded at the Ritz, this Anthrax side project featuring MOD behemoth Billy Milano, Nuclear Assault bassist Danny Lilker, and well as Anthrax mainstays Scott Ian and Charlie Benante, is ferocious and fun live document, famously featuring a near riot, and Milano's moronic but funny bellows. They play all the songs off their classic crossover thrash album 'Speak English Or Die', as well as a few covers by Fear, Ministry and Nirvana(!). It's a crazy document of a crazy time. What I've seen of the video version is pure insanity. Mosh pits like the one featured simply do not exist anymore. It's all a karate kicking fashion show now. Here is part of it, embedding disabled by request:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zbP4R_FbkNs

The motherfucker of the evening was Slayer's 'Live Undead'. Recorded live in the studio in front a small number of fans, who manage to sound like raging, meth fueled hordes. This is the remastered re-release, with additional songs(never cared for the tinny quality of the original recordings). This captures Slayer in their element, complete with 'cunts in the night' stage banter. This album was part of 13 year old Chris Eddy's musical education. Slayer will teach you about life, if you know how to listen. Amazing album. The winner!

The most technically accomplished album of the night was Norwegian black metal kings Emperor's 'Imperial Live Ceremony'. Majestic and savage at the same time, this is a document of the later, progressive version of the band. The sound is clearer than their early 90's version, but still a sheet of white noise to the uninitiated. Banter is minimal, though Ihsahn's broken English screaming is kind of a hoot.



Ok, that's it. All the beers were drank. Brutal silliness ensued!