Infested With Worms - A Tale of Vecton, Goofy Death Metal and Rygar's Remembrance

We here at Metal Night feast on danger, and dine on death. Especially death. With all the trimmings and drippings. We are gourmands of gore. We also like sandwiches. Just sandwiches, with bread and meat and sauce. Special sauce. Blood sauce. With Scotch bonnet peppers. And your fucking liver. Death to all herbivores! Here are some goofy ass death metal albums.

Tales of Vecton Part 1

A star cries in the night and a temple falls to its knees. The sun is lost to another world and every written world speaks madness. In this chair I sit and recount to myself the events of the past evening (or years?) with confoundment and incredulity apparent. The clock tells that I’ve been repaired to my stead only hours since which I was hastened off, yet I have experienced ages of escapade, hazard and derring-do. I am shaken, inside, yet I hold my bearing with more certainty than I have ever felt. I have undergone a harrowing advance though alien worlds and a time that folded in and out of itself itself. Mountains climbed, warlords silenced, dimensions confounded. Now still, in this room, my mind spins like the bloodthirsty twirlblades of Sha’rrik Naarh. Were my adventures truly at an end? Did the dark heroes find respite from the ever-lapping waves of turmoil churned by the malefactors of the Time Desert? Is my return a sign that Demon Scourge and Bloodmace have finally let down their sunswords? Have those challengers of Jenkabala relayed me back to my home in light of their final championing against the Close Darkness? Or was my return a product of that bitter dimensional fissure we had thought repaired? Are the sands of the Time Desert still troubled?

Now it is my world that burns. I can see now, as I regain my bearings after the dimensional transfer. I see the Leigionairs, Horccarain, Broamsmer.

The clearer my mind grows, the more penalty pays my fear. Outside, the world cries fear from the strangeness of monster armies who clamber out of tears in the very fabric of timespace. No-one, though, grasps the true threat, the true horror that could be wrought.

Except me.

And I am really tired.

Engorged's Where Monsters Dwell started things off the right way with a blast of horror movie obsessed death grind, though more death than grind, with somewhat lengthy songs for the genre. The vocals are nice and gurgly, the guitars grindy, the pace frantic, the playing tight and satisfying, the riffs catchy and interesting. The songs are punctuated with some bad-tasteful samples, which compliment the insane horror movie lyrics perfectly. This was my pic for winner of the night. Demon Scourge and Vecton digress.

Into the Necro Lands Part 17.1 - Insane for Gore
Though this island that Rygar the Seeker had led us to on our escape from Bildorf's island could never compare width the beauty of the Jenkabala forest, I felt a peace out here among the tall palms that I had not experienced since we left our home so many weeks ago. Sunlight filtered down through the canopy above as strange, rainbow-winged birds flitted beneath the green dome. We had been walking for a bit when our guide motioned for us to follow him off the trail and into a small clearing that held some sitting rocks and a fire pit. “Here is the halfway point. Let us rest a moment and have some water.” Rygar takes a bottle from his belt and offers us some. “You knew the great Hellmaster and Lady Deathcrush,” looking back and fourth

between us, “You adventured with them you slew foes together...and you killed them.” His eyes burn into mine, and I knew it was true, for I had killed them and the rest of our party when I was possessed by Headron of Dantor. I quickly retort, “I was also there when we took our revenge in Dantor. You forget that I was also dead.” Rygar's face softens a bit as he replies, “I have not forgotten this, nor have I forgotten the other deeds you have done here on Centon. I know you both must be wondering why I went through all the trouble of coming to your aid and further, why I have brought you here to this island.” Bloodmace, between hearty swigs of smuggled necrobrandy, chimes in, “It had crossed my mind, seeker. A young whip such as yourself needs to have respect for your elders.” With a dramatic flourish, the bearded leader of Centon's weirdest army hikes his battle worn cape over one shoulder and begins his story.

Because Blood Freak were pretty amazing, too. An even goofier death grind band, their debut, Sleaze Merchants, is a fast romp through the graveyard. The songs are short, the tempos are blazing, the samples funny, the playing fast and lose. The band loses points for slight lack musical proficiency, since the riffs are rather generic, and the songs rather blend together. But it's a fun album if you are a ghoul and a death dealer and that's what we are all the fuck about. After a several death duels, we agreed to disagree.

Into the Necro Lands Part 17.2 - Werewolf Militia
“I met Hellmaster in the days after the great battle with the Wyvern in Samur. Already the Time Desert had begun to heal itself and many of us who wandered those phantom sands had begun to congregate on his estate. Hellmaster ordered that the castle grounds be opened to all who came and soon a small town grew up in the shadow of Castle Thrashstone. The master of the lands did not know me or my brothers. We had been sent to kill him many years previously by his tribe in northern Jenkabala. We were lost in the Time Desert for what seemed like a hundred lifetimes, many of our number perished. Those of us that survived did so only because of a tauriat we took from a corpse as we made our way into the churning desert. Many of the warriors who ride with me to this day are travelers of the rainbow sands who joined with us as we

searched for a way out of this ever shifting landscape. After a time, we simply accepted this nomadic lifestyle for our own. We were like ghosts of the wasteland, or perhaps monks would be more apropos, gathering our flock from the blasted dunes and inky caverns. Our mission was far from our minds when we wandered on to the first piece of solid ground any of us had seen in years. Castle Thrashstone was still standing, though it was nothing like we had heard in the legends. The massive bulk of the structure, damaged from a cataclysmic battle and neglected for years was still impressive, plants grew here, we drank water from a spring. My party set up camp when we heard that Hellmaster had invited all to stay, but there was a nervousness among those of us who still held our mission at the back of our minds. That night there was a heated discussion between the remaining members of the original party with some insisting we assassinate Hellmaster and return to Jenkabala while others wished to stay and abandon the quest we set out upon so many years ago. In the middle of our debates, Lady Deathcrush announced herself and strode into the room. Amid protests from the

rest of the party, I went with her to meet Hellmaster.” Rygar stared up into the foliage above us, lost in thought for a moment. From his belt, he takes a skin of wine. “You have tasted wine from the grapes Thrashstone, no? I think you will agree that we are, in our own humble way, bringing back the glory of Hellmaster's kingdom.” He takes a long swig and hands the drink to us. He is right, the wine is dark and mysterious, like a combination of paka dates and vorsar, but with overtones of hai bean like the temple wines at lake Chawa. When he sits down, I ask, “So what of this meeting with Hellmaster? What has become of our friend?” Rygar takes another long draught from the pouch and fastens it to his belt, “This is where it gets interesting"

Gorelust finished the night with some pretty standard death metal. We Are The Undead is a fine album, does all the death metal things, and was the most typically brutal. But it lacked that special panache that we .

were looking for. And there were no horror movie samples. So boo on Gorelust. The album cover is pretty great though

Words of the Elders

The hundred gods wait in the darkness with bated breath, all watching the actions of the mortals below. Bloodmace and Demon Scourge, traveling on the black wings of fate soar into the endless void of futurepast, unraveling the secrets of this timepiece world while the eyes of the firmament stare helplessly. Elmor, lift your eyes from the book of names and speak the word! Haslett, open your mouth, let the tongue of fire wrap around the cosmos! We beseech the pantheon in vain, for Necro Baby has gagged them, but the heroes of Centon will not relent! You are our quarry, ancient child of evil and we shall lead you to your perdition at the end of our swords! 

Until next time, molotov munchers,  

Horns

Tech Death Therapy 2014

A few brief words on some lengthy tomes of hatred and pain, fresh out of the oven that is heated by hell. All of these were released this year, but you, oh, sinner, shall be damned to the flames for all time!!! Not that I thought you really minded. Now onto the tunes.

Cannabis Corpse-From Wisdom to Baked

This was clearly the winner of the night as it was the most entertaining. Cannabis Corpse are evolving into a band with an actual sound of their own, not just one that is apes old school bands like C.C. or Gorguts. They are also catching up in terms of technical proficiency and deft songwriting. These are some fucking cool, sick jams. But the thing that still distinguishes them from everyone else in death is the pure genius of the lyrics. Every song still replaces weed weirdness for the usual brutal death tropes and is always hilarious and always surreal. Best single song is Pull The Carb, about using a decapitated corpse as a bong. Most amazing lyrical endeavour is the the three song Lovecraftian mini-opera. It's a good album to lose your mind to as you spin further and further into the obscene hell of THC addiction.

Voodoo Gods-Anticipation For Blood Leveled In Darkness

Cannibal Corpse's George 'Corpsegrinder' Fischer is the best death metal vocalist in the world. No one can equal his brootal roar complimented by razor sharp ultra fast delivery, spitting out complicated lyrical phrasing with the deftness and flow of an Eminem and the spitfire delivery of the best ultra-fast hardcore. He is also know to join the occasional super group. Voodoo Gods are a melodic yet brutal technical death band made up of death metal veterans that craft highly dynamic songs with a double vocal attack. Lyrically, it's all about voodoo, yo. Musically, it's a fist up your ass, they way you like it, with a little bit of lube and lots of sand.

 Pillory-Evolutionary Miscarriage

Pillory is an ultra technical death band in the Gorguts vein, with a little Cynic thrown in for good measure. 1000 riffs are thrown at you at once while the band attempts to impress the shit out of you with their thick stew of chunky bits and razor blade riffs. It's a commendable, if tedious listen, as these really smart dudes simply forget about songwriting. Sooo many riffs. A few of them are pretty good.

Until we kill you again. Hailz!!!

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

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

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

Into the Necro Lands Part 2.1 - Ghost Dance

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

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

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

Into the Necro Lands Part 2.2 - Dark Highway

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

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

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

Words of the Elders

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

 

Until next week, hellish hooligans, 

Horns

Ketchup Post Part Six - The Forever People

Alas, I have returned from my journey to Inter-dimensional Whorehouse of Pancakes and shall now proceed to clean house. Gone are the smooth sounds of German hard rock. Gone are the power metal excursions. Darkness returneth with full force and  resounding fury, but in a slow kind of way cuz my back hurts and I am old. Yup. We brunched the metal death/doom style!

Indeed, the mighty Bloodmace had returned from his adventure in the hell worlds of yon and just one short week later, we joined with Mistress Crowbastard and Vecton the Bard to explore metal from the Philippines. Not content to rest on our laurels with this task, we narrowed it down to the province of Cebu. A hot breeze blew into the sacred listening room and the skulls that festooned the walls began to glow and sing. Welcome to island hell, motherfuckers! 

First up was a motherfucking classic gothic sludge fest in the form of My Dying Bride's debut As The Flower's Wither. This is an epoch crushing sad fest, and one of the heaviest albums in existence. The riffs here laid the foundation for the entire genre. Violin is sparsely yet effectively used, adding an interesting contrast the death metal vocals(which spew college student level dark romantic poetry), as My Dying Bride had not ventured into goth warbling as yet. Fast death metal tempos are employed now and then, so that you may hasten your suicide. Certified classic and the Winner of the Night, cuz I am the Judgement 'n' shit.

A Hero For The World started us off with some competent power metal, although none of the members seem to be Filipino. Despite their dubious background, the music was decent enough, made even better by the incredible shit show that followed. Stallions Of The Burning Church have a name that made me think we were about to hear some faux black metal Hot Topic bullshit but instead tore our minds with their sub-Black Crowes christian hard rock.

Next, Paradise Lost laid down the thickness on their debut, Lost Paradise. This is meat and potatoes death doom.  Genre defining though it maybe, it lacks the elegance of the previous album, delivering old school death metal (with better lyrics than MDB) with slower tempos than usual. It's a great album, though, setting the riff style and basic grim atmosphere that Paradise Lost is known for and expended upon in subsequent albums.

Just when we started thinking there were no good bands in Cebu Province, a squall of feedback and gruff occult lyrics exploded from the speakers. The mighty Astrus came lurching out from the swampy depths of a diabolical marsh, demon swords blazing with impure fire. Things had started to look up for us, then Signos began to play. Fires exploded from the walls and the servants of twilight shambled out into view as the primitive death metal scorched our ears. Winner of the night!

And now for the dark horse. Mournful Congregation's Tears From A Grieving Heart is an elegant, well played funeral doom album that I really did not like. This was mainly because of the whisper vocals splattered through out the album, which I think is more lazy than atmospheric and simply annoys. If you are going to employ faggotty whispers on a fucking metal album, do so like Metallica did on Damage Inc, which was sparingly. Otherwise, you are just trying to be Marilyn Manson, resting your voice between screams because you just can't take it, because you'd rather be having sex with hamsters than laying down some mighty meaty metal vocals at full force and volume. Who cares if you get throat cancer!!!!!!!! Which is really disappointing because otherwise it's really good. But Demon Scourge digresses, and I must make mention that this was his winner of the night. And now I shall slay him with the tiny axe.

 Words of the Elders
On the western shore of Centon, near the kipet mines and the abandoned city, an old man wanders along the beach. His long robes make him seem a monk, but the icy madness behind his eyes shines like a warning beacon. When dusk settles over the ruins he begins to pipe his horrible tunes into the encroaching darkness. One night, as he was regaling the ocean with the lugubrious strains of an evil waltz, something flopped horribly on to the shore. It rolled toward him, a cloudy sac of organs and fluid motivating up from the water. The bizzare orginasim stopped before him and belched up a gilded box from a barely visible orifice on its side. Inside his head, the old man heard a deep voice, "The seven spikes of Necro Baby. You know what you must do." 

Until next week, highway hustlers, 









Horns 

On They Slay - Progressive Death Metal and an Encounter at Raven's Pass

In the dusty pages of heavy metal's hallowed history, there has always been a special place reserved for the obtuse blending of classical and pop forms that we know as "prog," or "progressive." Many of the genre’s influences spring from the primordial muck of the late sixties and early seventies, heyday of the international prog rock phenomenon. Our albums tonight hailed from the formative years of death metal, when this burgeoning scene was poised to take over from its parent, thrash metal. Many DM bands took the route of grinding out Celtic Frost inspired sludge, slowing it down to a near Sabbath-like crawl while other bands played ultra fast, but there was also a faction of bands who took more chances. Represented here are three of the early pioneers of technical death metal who pushed the boundaries of with an uncompromising take on what, at the time, was one of the most extreme forms of metal available. With Pimm's cup in hand, we tread down this meandering path of virtuosos, violence and victory, seeking labyrinthine riffs, jaw-dropping rhythm sections and mind shattering solos. Here is our report.

Atheist’s Piece of Time was, appropriately, the first contender. This was, after all, ground zero for tech death. People really get on their knees for this one and with good reason. Their monstrously tight rhythm section, Steve Flynn (drums) and Roger Patterson (bass,) are completely merciless and their incredibly fluid interactions are really impressive to behold. Guitarists Kelly Shaefer and Rand Burkey reel off one insane riff after another while leaving just the right amount of space to highlight the tastefully busy drumming. A perennial favorite among egghead metal fans, this is a band you need to check out.

Adventure In Samur Part 15.1 - Disincarnated 

The stronghold of Rangar and the Sectaurians lies under the Karlac mountains of Dantor. A massive complex of rooms, passages and halls where this reclusive society carries out its business beyond the reach of the tyrant Headron, who has brutally usurped this dimension from the spider, insect and lizard humanoids. Inside a plush bar at the heart of this great maze, Rangar the spider king sits at a moss covered rock table. Surrounding him is our ragged party, Lars the Berserker, Jarkon, Mistress Crowbastard, Bloodmace and I. Together, we are studying a brittle old map of Raven pass, a treacherous but secretive way to gain access to the mountain fortress of the evil lord Headron. The arachnoid king, pointing out a small pathway that threads the peaks, explains our route, "You will leave here by the ruined tunnel in the old town. The path is hard to follow, but look for the yellow salil flowers, they grow along the edge of the pass. When you come to the first peak, look for Vecton the Bard, he will show you the gate of light in the crystal canyon." Lars, looking in the direction of Jarkon says, "I will not go with this traitor." A rush of voices rises from around the craggy table, trying to talk the bold barbarian out of his rash words. Rangar holds his hand up and pronounces, "Lars the berserker, I know of your pain, and the loss of your village but Jarkon is not responsible for this. His creations

were taken by the Slib riders and used against your village in a desperate attempt to stop your mission from being completed." Lars says nothing but follows as the regal spider leads us out of the bar and down a hall carpeted in thick mosses, expertly cultivated to form an exquisite pattern of vines and filigree that surround portraits of heroic Sectaurians, noble insects, brave spiders and haughty lizards. The walls of the passage were impossibly smooth, polished rock, like the walls of the bar. From above our way was lit by a swarming mass of luminescent insects. We traveled on in silence until Rangar took a sharp turn into a doorway. We followed him up steep, roughly carved steps and down a passage almost entirely blocked by a cave in. Exoskeletons of fallen warriors and their weapons were everywhere among the debris. When we finally emerged into the daylight, we found ourselves in a small outcropping along the thin path that snaked along the side of the steep, rocky peak. some stunted trees grew near the misty precipice before us and a small altar with burning incense and a likeness of Eddie the 'Ead was carved into the rock near the pass. Rangar turns to address us, "when you reach Headron's lair, use your magic. We will fly down from our stronghold and attack while you take control of the gate." Looking around him wistfully, he adds, "It is fitting you should leave from here. This is the place where our people made their last stand against the forces of Headron, the place where we were slaughtered almost to extinction." Hands behind his back, he wanders to the edge of the path, and looking out with his many eyes into the fog, calls to his ancestors, perhaps the very beings we saw on the carpet earlier, or the ones we saw in the tunnel. Wordlessly and without fanfare the spider king turns and walks back into the darkened passage and one by one, we make our way along Raven Pass

Our second outing was a very different kind of death metal. For The Security by the Swedish outfit, Carbonized took us down the punk side of the mountain, ratcheting up the speed and intensity to grindcore-like levels of brutality. Again, however, the drummer stole the show. Piotr Wawrzeniuk, while not as fluid as his counterparts on the other albums we explored, shows off some serious chops as he lays down a thick carpet of double bass and crusty fills that drive this maniac masterpiece. Another aspect of this album that I enjoyed was the slightly murky production that bathes the music in a grimy tub of underground cred. For me it was a nice change from the surgical precision of the Morrisound treatment that lent sheen to the other two albums. This was my favorite band of the night, but Bloodmace had other plans...

Adventure In Samur Part 15.2 - Reflections of the Dark

The day had slipped away. We were closing in on the spot where we were instructed to seek out Vecton the Bard, but the light was quickly fading. I knew we were on the right path, for the yellow flowers grew abundantly along the edge of our route, but we were getting restless looking for a spot to bed down for the night, for we had been warned against traveling too late by Rangar. Higher and higher we climbed into the frigid sky until finally, in the dusky purple twilight, we came upon a flat spot among the midget trees and porous volcanic rocks. There was no sign of Vecton here, but we set up camp and prepared our rations. The night crept over us and Jarkon used his fire magic to create a small blaze to illuminate our little base as we each took guard duty. It was my shift, deep in the lake of midnight, when there came a great flapping of wings from the darkness. I grabbed my sword instinctively and searched the night sky for any sign of the enemy. The commotion woke up Lars and Jarkon, who sprang up, weapons in hand, ready to confront the unseen attacker. "There are only two more things you need to do" a voice booms out, "that you should not do." Into the light steps a tall, wraith like human dressed in a pinstriped suit. His beard and mustache are groomed into points, long brown hair cascades over his shoulders. From the back of the suit protrude wings that curve up above his head and down almost to his feet. Inordinately long arms terminate in sharp black claws that come nearly to the ground. Crowbastard and Bloodmace have awakened from their slumber and have also armed themselves against the startling night visitor. "What do you want from us?" I inquire of the stranger. "What is your name?" A smile breaks over the his face and he replies, "To some I am the polisher of grain who walks by night. To some I am the voice that speaks in the wind. This mountain is my heart and the raven is my sight. Some call me the lurker in the twilight, but you can call me Vecton, Vecton the Bard."

By the time Gorguts' first slab hit the platter I had begun to have second thoughts about my idea to spike our tennis cocktails with extra gin. Vecton the Bard had gone off on a Colonel Sanders tangent, Bloodmace was smashing out the windows of the Jenkabala throne room (again) and all around us the spirits of the dead gathered, crooning their seductive chant like sirens and waiting for us to smash into the rocky shore. We made our best effort to listen carefully to Considered Dead, the Canuk Quartet's debut long player, but I have to say that I feel like I'm hearing it for the first time as I write this. This was for sure the most traditional death metal album we heard, looking at it through the prisim of the twenty two years. Back in '91, however, this was the cutting edge shit. Guitar pig squeals were not yet the death metal cliche they are today and there was no Nathan Explosion. In short, though these guys were the band we discussed least, they were the ones who wrote the most chapters in the book of the way you do it now. The end of the evening came and Bloodmace, drunk on gin and power, mounted the golden throne and donned the mask of judgment. He held aloft the jeweled scepter and lightning came down from the sky. With a terrible cry, he made his pronouncement, "I declare the winner of metal night to be...Athiest! Tremble before me mortals! Hahahahahahaha!" 

Words of the Elders

The voice of midnight calls dear, gentle readers. The voice of the wolf is the voice of our people who cry out for freedom from under the yoke of commerce! Headron must be stopped in his quest to sell the world of Centon to religious zealots all over the galaxy. Night is ours though, sweet children of the timepiece world. The shadows will forever hold fear for those with evil in their hearts and from the pure, inky black of the star spattered sky, judgment comes, swift and silent as a tempered blade!

Until next week, metal minions,

Horns

Slaqughtering Void - Brutal Death Metal on the Island of Va

Let's me tell you about your fuckin' execution..........IT'S GONNA BE BRUTAL!!!!! No subtlety, no nuance, no pleasure. This will be about pulling your fuckin' intestines through your ripped pussy. Don't have a pussy? Well,  your ass pussy that I JUST FUCKED WITH A RAZOR DILDO will do just fine!!! There ain't gonna be no open coffin funeral motherfucker cuz there ain't no coffin. There is only the MAGGOTY MASS BURIAL in my basement. So let's load up the Winamp with some tunes, cuz it's BRUTAL DEATH METAL NIGHT AT JENKABALA!!!!!!!!!!

Krisiun's Conquerors of Armageddon is the sound of of the vanquishing of enemies, the personification of the forces of darkness reigning triumphant of over the battered shell of the earth as demons rape the angels in Satanic glory. It is unrelenting hellfire and brimstone. It is unrelenting fury. It's a pretty cool album, and a death metal classic, and along with bands like Nile and Cryptopsy, part of the ultra brutal wave of death metal influenced by the lightening speed of black metal, It was a much needed kick in the pants to the increasingly sluggish death metal scene. The thing that sets Krisiun above the rest is the clarity of attack, every riff crystal clear and devastating, but very rarely slows down, completely unrelenting. Nearly every beat is a blast beat. Everything is demonic fury. One may argue that makes this makes for somewhat one dimensional music. It is what it is. It is a literal wall of noise and a lesson in tasty riff craft.


 Adventure in Samur Part 7.1 - Tales of Mystery

The shore of the island Va, in the great Spirit Lake of Narn, was gleaming white in the dull afternoon light. Our craft maneuvered through the jungle of salt formations jutting up through the greenish water as we approached land. Lars the Berserker's longboat slid on to the alabaster beach and we climbed out at the rocky cliff face that rose up precipitously from the gently sloping beach. From above, Mistress Crowbastard glides down in her bird form. As the black crow stretches out its wings 

to land, she takes human form. "We must find the cave of lights," she intones, stretching out a black tipped finger in the direction of the cliffs. Lars nods, dismisses the phantom oarsmen and answers, "I know the place, Iron Dan comes this way often and he has shown me the cave himself." The fur clad Berserker leads us down the beach for a time, then we make our way between two boulders into the bottom of a canyon. Even though the blizzard was blowing with full force again, it was warm in the rocky passage and flowering vines covered the rocky walls that surrounded us. We walked single file down this strange grotto until Lars took a sharp turn into a stone staircase that led into the cliff. Our footfalls softened on the mossy carpet inside the cave and the air was damp and sweet. From the ceiling hung fine, glassy stalactites that lit the way with a purple glow. as we approached the end of the passage, the smell of cooking reached us first, then the sound. Echoing off the walls we could just barely discern the tune of the classic chant, In league with Satan.

Next, we heard Skinless' first album, 1998's Progression Towards Evil. At this stage in the game, Skinless is your basic cookie cutter brutal death metal band in the Suffocation and Cannibal Corpse mode. Deep guttural vocal slices, down tuned guitar work. This is not a technical masterpiece, and their charm lies in the (forgive me) blood and guts; deep guttural vocal slices, deep down tuned guitar work, and a few slam breakdowns here and there. Songs like 'Tampon Lollipops' and 'Fetus Goulash' bring the lulz, with lyrics like:

"Ralph the janitor enjoys his job 
He sweeps and mops up the garbage and crud 
While alone at night he searches for goodies 
He goes into every room hoping 
and praying that someone is flowing 
Discarded plastic applicators in the bathrooms 
left behind by fertile young chicks."

These dudes care not for life. Their later material is tighter and more polished, but still cookie cutter stuff. You'll either love it or hate it.


Adventure in Samur Part 7.2 - Power of Hunter

We entered the place through a small opening at the end of the faintly luminescent tunnel. It was a huge cavern with an opening to the sky at the center. Dwarfed by the massive scenery, we made our way in the direction of the voices. We passed through a series of paths that led us down into the jungle of ghostly white salt deposits until we came to the shore of a small lake directly under the aperture on the ceiling. There, waiting for us to arrive was Parthon the Elder, father of Iron Dan. He 

stands among the low, scrubby brush we see everywhere near the gently lapping water. Though white, his hair maintains a sprightly curl that accentuates his cherubic face. His robes are white and there is a thick rope tied around his waist. He motions to us and begins to speak, "Hello all! Hello Lars" The stern tribesmen nods solemnly. "Ah yes, I know of your village. Be strong son, we are walking the last miles now" His hand reaches out to grasp the Berserker's shoulder. Now he turns to us, "Can you smell the Tot? My minions are cooking it as we speak. Soon the Memporian will rise to eat it and we must be there so that the four of you can transport to Dantor and finish this battle once and for all. Come, come let us go" We follow the old man to his little boat and cram inside. He hoists the sail and waves his hand. The limp sail fills with phantom wind, propelling us across the lake to a little island in the middle. We climb from the boat to the shore and there, in a gaping fire pit we behold the largest tater tot we have ever seen, golden hide sizzling in the heat of the embers. Bloodmace turns to me and says "We truly have reached the end of this world, brother." 

Necrophagist's Epitath was the winner of the night. While still in the brutal death vein, it is far from cookie cutter. The level of musicianship here is staggering, and when blending in the confines of brutal death with a crystal clear production, the effect is staggering. Crushing riffs and lightening fast guitar solos, tricky rhythmic progressions, this is classical music for headbangers. Amazingly, this album has a polarizing effect on many. Some fault the ultra necro vocalizing, while others find it too highbrow and showy. I find it to be a fully realized masterpiece, an amazing piece of music that also satisfies on a visceral level. If you can handle the necro vocals, this is a rewarding listen.


Words of the Elders
The eyes of Centon have turned north, beyond the peaks of the Kradiken Socrat to the black spritual dimension that is Narn, forbidden gateway to the multiverse. There awaits Headron of Dantor, towering titan of terror. The only thing that can stop him from turning Centon into a resort for intergalactic travelers is the fearless four, armed only with the enchanted battle jackets of their people. The Memphorian has been summoned! Let the horns of battle souind from every dimension!
 
Until next week, mavens of mayhem, 



Horns

Black Winter Day - Amorphis Night and Lars the Bereserker

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

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

 
Adventure in Samur Part 4.1 - We Got the Right

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

Until next week, merciless marauders,

horns