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

Exiled to the Abyss - Bildorf's Island Hell and Old Men Ranting in the Jenkabala Night

We are old dudes. Demon Scourge and I live in the realm of the Glory Daze, raised on the mothers milk of 80's thrash, 90's black metal, hordes of Priest and Maiden imitators, Priest and Maiden, Motorhead, and most anything else righteously labeled 'old school'. But we do arise from the musty basement of yesteryear upon occasion, flames and smoke peeking out the cellar door, about once a year, at the end of the year, to check out some new shit, hoping we are not too disappointed. And we were not. 2014 was a stellar year for metal, and here is some of the shit that we liked.

Behemoth's The Satanist has made so many top ten lists this year that it's kind of ridiculous. But the accolades are well deserved. I've never been a fan of their blackened death metal phase; too much overblown and gimmicky histrionics, not enough dynamics. But this flaw has been corrected, and Behemoth have crafted a masterpiece. Big production meets compositional strength, the riffs and atmosphere taking you to in surprising direction, but always grounded a brutal fistfuck of sound. Refreshingly, the annoying overdriven vocals of yesteryear have been toned down a couple notches, and the tempos are not a ridiculous spastic blur. Say what you will about the quasi-mall metal image, this album is a wet blowjob to Satan, and is the winner of the night, of that night, when ever it was.

Into the Necro Lands Part 15.1 - Riders of the Doom

Rygar the Seeker stood stood before us on the precipice of rocky coral and sea junk, looking out on the shipyard concealed within this weird island. He turned toward Bloodmace and I with a flourish of his dusty cape and stroked his close cropped beard, “Below is the heart of Bildorf's might.” He pointed down to the

vast cavern, filled with vessels hijacked from every corner of the Dakti Ocean, “I came here with my troops, who are quartered below, to take you back to the mainland before Necro Baby can strike back at Bildorf. We must act now.” Bloodmace steps forward and replies, “Without our battle jackets, we don't have much in the way of magic, but I have this.” He brandishes his spirit mace with a bloodthirsty look. Rygar unsheathes his machete in solidarity and with a rougeish smile motions us to follow, “the plan is already in motion,” pausing to look at his watch, “Three, two, one...” An explosion rocks the cave, “Hurry! Down this passage!”

Oh, we also listened to Godflesh's triumphant return album, A World Lit Only By Fire. There a no real innovations or major changes to their sound, for this can be non other than a Godflesh album. The band revisits some old tropes, some old riffs, and remixes them in a hellishly hypnotic din of torment and anguish. The sound is rather dry and compressed, but that's a minor poo poo. They have thankfully gotten their old drummer back, who is a drum machine. Welcome to your unique hell.

So the next week we kept it up and listened to a ton of new shit. First, we heard Pallbearer's hip hipster friendly doom trip, Foundations of Burden. This is a vast improvement over their overhyped debut. Better
riffs and sweeter melodies go down like smooth vodka on a winters night, and then often 10 minute long songs never get boring or feel drawn out. Good shit right here, dude. They will fill up the Pyramid Scheme when they come to town, guaranteed.

German thrash standard bearers Tankard released R.I.B.(Rest In Beer) this year, and all is right with the world. This album contained no surprises, but was a solid, well-crafted riff fest. Not much else to say about this album but that it inspired some serious headbanging and an air guitar attack by yours truly.

The wonderfully monikered Pestifer fucked our fucking faces with their tech death extravaganza, Reaching The Void. As wonderful as it is to find a good new technical death metal album that doesn't just sound like Cryptopsy, this album doesn't break much ground. It is a familiar mix of ground tread by Death, Necrophagist, and host of other nimble fingered face fuckers. Quite good.

Into the Necro Lands Part 15.2 - Tree of Thorns

In the terrifying moments we spent careening down the collapsing tunnel I lived a hundred lifetimes. All around us, chaos was taking hold. Ahead I could see the exit, so I bolted forward, but I could tell something was not right the moment I left the crumbling passage. Energy bolts exploded all around me as debris

continued to rain down on my head. Bildorf's henchmen, who jumped in surprise as we barreled out of the aperture behind them, were being fired upon by the minions of Necro Baby, who had arrived ahead of schedule. We wasted not a moment of their unpreparedness, I ran the first through with my trusty longsword while Bloodmace reduced the other two to a wretched pile of pulp with the feared weapon of his people. Rygar shouted from behind us, “Look out, Necrites!” Swooping down from above, two black winged deadbirds screamed their war cry, skeletal riders raining arrows down on the rocky beach. I leap for the cover of a nearby boulder but as I turn I can see, almost in slow motion, an arrow about to hit its mark. In an instant, the seeker of Thrashstone deflects the projectile with his cape as feathered serpents swarm over the rise and smash the undead warriors. Rygar shouts to Bloodmace and I, “Quickly, mount a serpent! To the mainland and Sekran!” We join their procession and after a precipitous ascent, I behold through my nausea and fear the attack on Bildorf's island by the Necromancer's forces. Just as we ride into the setting sun, I get a chilling glance of a tremendous baby rising out of the sea...

But the winner of the fucking night was Dawnbringer's heavy metal bad assness, Night of the Hammer. This was a great find. It is well composed, ballsy heavy metal with clean, Nordic inspired vocals and harmonies, and lyrics, and a dark, old school black metal ala Merciful Fate feel. We were blown away by the quality and sweetness. It is a dark chocolate bar filled with crack nuggets. Definitely checking out their back catalogue.

Words of the Elders

AkKachakRak! Aid us in the hour of peril, FarNnAl, Sepchoug! Come int the house of Tam! War has come to the realm of the titans and the terrible brothers are caught in the middle again. The swirling void of disaster has been activated and fear will rule the land. Paura nella cittia' dei morte viventi!

Until next time hellhordes,

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

Necrobaby - Live at Last!

Necrobaby, ancient child of evil, leader of the Necro tribes and sorceress of dead! Necrobaby, destroyer of sanity and virtue! Bloodmace and Demon Scourge's greatest foe comes to life in this amazing masterpiece of gloom by the mad illustrator, Ryan Brady (A.K.A.Rangar the Sectaurian, shaman of Narn.) For a limited time, you can have a piece of Jenkabla history and protect yourself from any spell a necromancer could cast upon you. Certainly, the utility of a garment such as this is apparent, especially for those who travel near the Necro Lands, but you have never seen craftsmanship like this at such a price. Forged in the catacombs of Dorgo by Necron the Scrollmaster, these sturdy vestments will last for many battles to come.

Sizes

Large Small Medium X-Large

15.00 + 4.00 shipping

Megamosh - Crossover Thrash and the Siren Call of the Necro Lands

Back from the icy wastelands of Hoth, via the space elevator made of dicks, I have returned. Through epic drudgery, and exciting boredom, I have returned to you from afar, which is actually just the corner liquor store with a bottle of Arrow Vodka and a bundle of cheap porn mags With bonus DVDs. I forgot to buy ginger ale! Through the gargulous aeons!!!!! WE'RE THRASHING ALL AROUND!!!!! IT'S METAL NIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!

Tonight, it was just me and Demon Scourge and his wench, whose metal name I have forgotten. Metal Night has often been a party these last few weeks, but it's's nice to just once in a while lay back and reflect on the more subtle points of a subtle genre of music, thrash fucking metal. First up, we heard the first self title album album from Dr. Living Dead, who hail from that birthing ground of retro metal, Sweden. This album is of interest mainly for it's oddly deliberate jumble of thrash metal styles. You get a Nuclear Assault riff here, a Slayer riff there, DRI all over the place, lots of Bay Area thrash touches, and gang shouts galore. But the thing that makes it stand out from total generic status is come chorus time, Suicidal Tendencies is deftly pilfered. This is really the first thrash band I've heard to deliberately rip off Suicidal, right down to naming one of their songs 'Feeding The Cyco'. But all in all, this is a competent moshfest, and enjoyable for how many blatantly stolen riffs can be identified. 

Into the Necro Lands Part 1.1 - Cemetery Mass 

The cold afternoon air was filled with the shouts and grunts of labor. Bare trees, reaching their skeletal limbs to the gray sky above watched impassively as the humans below carried out their toil on the weird structure in the clearing. Black cloaked druids were swarming around the building, some measured and shouted orders, others were levitating the dark stones and dropping them into place where faceless ghouls were carving sacred symbols into the finished portions with their hellish

instruments. Fine snow, blown by the icy wind, created a freezing mist that made it almost impossible for me to stay on the trail, but I followed the pounding and barking din until the shadowy form of Jenkabala Temple loomed there in front of me. Past expressionless druid and snarling ghoul I strode, circling our new home to examine the work that had been done that day. Built by applying the principals of sacred geometry learned by Hellmaster in the Time Desert, the temple had five spires of differing heights connected to a central chamber. I rounded the corner of the first tower, admiring the stonework and elegant cuneiform markings that covered the south facing surfaces. For just a moment, the clouds broke and a single beam of reddish sunlight fell on the wall next to me, illuminating the spells uopn it. "Brother!" A voice called out and from the gloom emerged Bloodmace, clad in furs and spiked leather armor. "Come, we have visitors from afar. Let us repair to the temple and greet them." Returning to the front of our reborn palace, we went, through the doors that bore the Jenkabala crest and into the heart of our kingdom.

But the winner of the night, for me anyway, was the mighty return of DRI frontman Kurt Brecht in the Texas super group Pasadena Napalm Division 2013 self titled album. Holy fucking shit did this album kick my ass. It is crossover thrash. There is a retro sensibility. The riffs are sharp and original, with a nice tinge of dissonance, courtesy of lamented Texas weirdos Dead Horse. These are men, pushing 50, who instill in these tunes a gleefully sophomoric skater punk sensibility with a horror movie themes, and wry cynicism. Mr. Brecht has not lost a step, attacking the lyrics with the exhilarating rhythmic blitzkrieg that marked his work with DRI. Also, he still sounds like a pissed off 17 year old. Fucking awesome.  

Into the Necro Lands Part 1.2 - Always Youth 

We met the travelers in the main temple. Dim light filtered through the glass dome above as we made our way through the maze of plants to the enclosure in the middle of the chamber that served as the listening room for our sacred rites. Entering the candlelit space, we are greeted by Lady Birdblood and her companions, Losi of the Wolfskeep, staring out gravely from beneath her headdress, dark hair cascading down her thin shoulders and The Maddaughter Tesa who was clad in the striking leather armor of her people witch was covered everywhere in sharpened talons of wyvern. We exchange

greetings and the flame-haired Birdblood presents us with a bag of heads they have gathered on their travels and speaks of their reason for coming, "The west is in grave danger, the Nest of Evil was overrun last night by the necrofolk. Had it not been for Maddaughter Tesa, we would surely be walking in Narn now." Behind her, Losi rose from the velvet chair and spoke up with an alarming necro rasp of the kind favored by the very clan that had just perpetrated this act of bloodshed, "I was forced to hide the wolves from them." She gargled, "My pack is no longer safe in the western lands. Necro Baby and Iron James have turned the necro lands into an inferno." Bloodmace strokes his chin with a ceremonial dagger, the sacred blade flicking errant beard hairs to the ground. "Necro Baby" He mumbles, "The necro lands call to us, brother." He looks to me with a spark in his eye that warns of impending danger and sudden violence. "Our first act must be to storm Nest of Evil and root out the foul interlopers. I want to taste their cold, black blood!" I am about to raise my voice in protest of my brothers rash call to arms when Maddaughter joins the verbal fray, using the legendary spirit voice of the Uraks, "Stop this foolishness, we came here for help, not to be led into the dead one's trap." All are silent. Even Bloodmace, whose unending stubbornness usually makes him impervious to enchantments of this type is listening with rapt attention. "Why do you think they strike at your stronghold Lady Birdblood? They want to drive us here, where their real quarry lies." She looks at my brother and I, "Oh, we will attack them, and slit their filthy necks with blades of steel." Tesa unsheathes her sword and looks intently at the blade for a moment, "But there will be no way out for them, and they will know the name of the hand that rips the last spirit from their tattered bodies." A hundred candles, one for each god of the Jenkabala pantheon, cast flickering shadows on the crystal walls of the listening room and for a moment there is silence as we all ponder this undertaking. From far away, the bell sounds for the evening meal as the last tiny snowflakes drift past Jenkabala Temple.

But Demon Scourge is an old school thrasher to the deep fucking bone, and was more impressed by the old school thrash sounds of SDI and their 1988 album Sign of the Wicked. This is decent German thrash, kind of like Helloween, but with raspier, less operatic vocals. I can't really fault this album, it's a thrashfest for damn sure, but to my ears it's kind of, well, average. I expect more evil than heroics from my German thrash bands. Gimme some witchy vocals fuckers! Well,  this cause obvious grief to Demon Scourge, and what a might sword battle we had! I cut a bitch! I cut a motherfukin'' bitch!!!!!!!!!

Words of the Elders
Thus the tale of the Necro Lands begins. What terrible secrets does that dark wilderness hold? What enemies lurk unseen in the rocky canyons and rolling hills of Centon's agricultural capitol? The dead are alive there among the neat rows of tatstal and tak corn, and they are on the move. Under the evil rule of Necro Baby, the long suffering dead are marching out to crush village after village, but they are about to meet an enemy equal to the might of their powerful necromancers. 

Until next week, skullcrushers and hell raisers, 







Horns

Prohibited Angels - Sex Metal and the Gate of Light

In a Metal Warriors loins holds the future of mankind. Yes, ahhhh, the stench of sex. We propagate our seed all over the landscape and all over the computer screen. Wench's bow before the unholy alter of our carnal lust. Our axes....our raging hard-ons!!! And upon this night we thrust thusly into the wicked carnality of........Sex Metal!!!!!

Sex Trash-Funeral Serenade is a worth successor to 1989's epic ode to debauchery, Sexual Carnage. I don't give a fuck what the nerds on Metallum say......this a is a righteous and wicked death/thrash album. This album hold little subtlety. The riffs diddle you senseless. The pummeling rhythm section sodomizes you without mercy, without prophylactics, and plenty of sand in your Vaseline.  But most  precious are the lyrics. They may lack the the explicitness of a Cannibal Corpse or the 100's of porn grind bands out there, but, what they possess is all the grimy ardor of an authentic pervert. So this one was the obvious winner of the night, though events grew much seedier as the evening progressed.

Adventure in Samur Part 17.1 - Wind Assassin

The crystal canyon in the wilds of the Dantorian Mountains, home of Vecton the Bard and the gate of light. The walls that rise from near the banks of the river Asdid are aflame with blazing colors and impossible shapes. From every quarter, strange geometric configurations jut from smooth surfaces in a kind of insane perfection. Mistress Crowbastard, Jarkon the Inflamer, Lars the Berserker, Bloodmace and I, Demon Scourge have made our way across the treacherous plains of this hostile dimension to defeat Centon's greatest enemy, Lord Headron. Hovering in front of us as we make our way down the polished floor of the canyon is Vecton the Bard, long armed, winged sentinel of this secret passage into the belly of Headron's fortress. Turing to address us, he says, "When Headron

drove the people of this land into the mountains, he never expected that we would thrive here in this rocky wilderness. This canyon is the secret jewel of our new kingdom. It is the power that drives the Sectaurian empire and provides it with a natural gateway to the adjoining dimensions." Mistress Crowbastard pipes in, "How is it that Headron cannot detect the magic from the gateway here. Surely it is close enough to his fortress that he could easily find the source of such a powerful emanation." Bloodmace, thoughtfully tapping his signature weapon against his hand speaks up as well, "Indeed, how can such a powerful wizard not detect the magic that must be very hot in proximity?" A smile breaks across Vecton's face and he gestures as he speaks, "This is the mbeauty of the crystal canyon. The gate is naturally occurring, that is to say that there was no magic involved in opening it and thus, none to detect." Lars the Berserker looks around in wonderment proclaiming to no one in particular, "This is it, I thought it was only legend but..." He trails off as our attention is commanded by the great flapping and hearty caw as the raven haired mistress of the night turns into her animal form. Leaping

into the air, she soars high above us, perching upon an impossibly distant outcropping in the translucent cliff face. Again, our host speaks, "Ha ha! The healing powers of this place are known to our people. You each will feel an increase of your powers as you travel through this strange grotto. Come now," He says, motioning with his hands, " the gate is very near." We follow Vecton as he squeezes through a small opening in a massive quartz, Mistress Crowbastard turning back to her human form as she reaches our position. Inside we behold a breathtaking sight. We are standing inside what seems to be a geodesic enclosure of light emitting crystal, whose shade and brightness fluctuated wildly, creating a bath of multicolored luminescence. The smooth floor of the impressive chamber was barren save for a black stone statue of Rangar, first emperor of the gate of light. Vecton, speaks loudly, in a commanding voice, "Ready yourselves, my friends, we are about to begin the final battle for the liberation of Centon. Hai!"

We next listened to Japan's Sex Machineguns and their  1998 self titled debut pretty much because they had sex in the band name. Nothing about this band is really remotely sexy or deranged, for that matter. What we got a was a competent if long metal album that skulked rather blandly between power metal and thrash. Nice chunky guitar sound, but bland in the vocal department. Nothing really awful about this album, just nothing really special about it either.And it deeply disappointed on the perversion level. Come on, Japanese Metalheads!! We Americans depend on you to be innovators of squick! More tentacle porn, less heroics, please. Thanks you.

Rockbitch were easily the worst band of the night and one of the worst bands we have ever bothered to listen to. Their epic live sex shows, featuring oddles of nudity and live sex acts, were the only reason this all psuedo pagan whore band ever got any attention. Nothing about their boring late 90's alterna-rock had any redeeming value. You've heard all these over produced rock moves from Stone Temple Pilots and Creed before, ad nauseum. Boring songs, hackneyed open chord riffs, ect. If you check out their website, there are tons of wank worthy pics. That's about the only value this band possesses.

We quit Rockbitch halfway through the album and, in desperation, threw on Faster Pussycat's first album. We were hoping these LA sleaze stalwarts would give us an old fashioned rockin' good time, but their collection of hackneyed ACDC riffs, whiney punkified vocals, and uninspired song writing hurled us further to despairing flaccidity. They are worthy of the moniker 'the poor man's Gun's N Roses'. The lyrics show some wit, but it's clear that these douchbags were simply riding a gigantic wave of hairspray in the late 80's.

Adventure In Samur Part 17.2 - Devil Wing

Carried away with the rush of power from the extraordinary crystal canyon, we follow Vecton the Bard past the gate of light and down a small stair at the other end of the great hall. Down and down we went for what seemed like an eternity until we finally and unceremoniously reached the bottom of the stair, a dank cavern, pitch black. Our guide turned on a light ahead of us and we silently made our way to its mouth. Sliding out a crevasse barely big enough to fit through, we found ourselves inside Lord Headron's domain. Everything here is greenish gray and drips with a foul slime. Making our way quietly down this passage, we peer around corners and duck behind statues, but there is not a sign of anyone here. Slowly making our way to the tower, where we know we must end up, a feeling of dread begins to settle in the group. We are not hindered by a hellish wolf wasp or fanged orc and this is indeed a cause for alarm. Where is Headron's army? Sneaking up the last flight of steps, I happen to get a look out one of the small windows that dot the walls. Down below, the sight of a galaxy of torches silently closing in on the bottm of the compound causes my heart to sink, I turn to the others, but they already know. A great battle cry goes up from the spectral battalion below and the door before us blasts open with a great gust of unwholesome wind that knocks us down the stair. I look up to behold the enemy, clad not in battle armor, but the vestments of an intergalactic businessman. He regards our party sternly then turns to the shocked table full of salesmen and accountants, "Excuse me gentlemen, this will only take a moment. In the meantime, feel free to have something from the bar." Turning back to us he wordlessly unleashes scorning blots from his fingertips. Down below I can hear the sound of soldiers crowding up the stairs below. I yell out to the rest of the shocked party, "Lose the cloaks, let's give this motherfucker what he deserves!" Shit was about to get ugly in Dantor

We quit Faster Pussycat half way through as well, and put on Abigail's Intercourse and Lust, whose punkified blackened thrash saved the night. We were humping the fuckin' air to this one. This is everything one would want to hear from a Japanese band, including oddles of incomprehensible Japanese perversion. These bad boys definitely share a filthy spiritual bond with Sex Trash. This album is as fast and loose and sloppy as a meth whores vagina after a biker rally. This album is a rancid as dead tranny's ass a Southern Baptist convention. This is a good album to fuck your bitch to after you've cut her head off. Oh, yeah, Necrobaby! You are lookin' fine right now. Lemme take off those leather diapers.

Words of the Elders

Arcatas dectorium! Myoskis Charven! The battle has begun in two dimensions, for the followers of Headron have shown themselves. Danger lurks at every turn for our heroes on both planes! Stay tuned for the desperate battle with Headron, taker of souls and lord of real estate!

Until next week, dark brethren,

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