Pain of Days - Make-Up Madness and Zlendar's spell

For Impaled Nazarene's sake!! It's been too long. But Metal Night soldiers on, regardless of whether we get off our asses to write this fucking thing or not. Metal Night is eternal. It has always happened, and always will happen, even before our births, and even after we die and are rotting in our graves, still conscious, and feeling the agony worms burrow into our flesh. It was and always shall be. Cuz we just get together and listen to music and drink. And this is what we listened to, man.

Into the Necro Lands Part 19.1 - One With Fire

The moon was bright enough to light the wide path that led to Zlendar's house. Rygar the Seeker led us through the jungle wordlessly and with great caution. Bloodmace and I, deprived of our magical battle jackets since we left for Sekran, were on high alert. In the shadows around us we could hear at least three or four animals stalking us and my heart jumped when I saw a flash of eyes from the trees ahead. The trail began to curve and Rygar held up his hand. The spear he held began to glow and with a spark, produced a flame from the tip that revealed our hunters. All around us, large black cats had gathered. There were fifteen, perhaps twenty vicious looking felines, hissing and croaking out their warning. Bloodmace brandished his club, but Rygar stopped him “Easy, barbarian. We want to get there in one piece.” The seeker took a lanyard from around his neck and held it aloft, “Danyana Karcasta extasius ghabin” The cats cease their hissing and before us, the largest of their number approaches. Rygar begins speaking to their leader an an incomprehensible garble. The beast sits on its hind quarter for a moment and scratches its ear then emits a loud yowl, dispersing the hunting party back into the shadows. Rygar looks back at us, “The right persuasion.” He swings the charm up into the air, catching it with his other hand. Continuing into the darkness, I notice the number of cats around us has not decreased, they are everywhere. At long last we come to a fork in the path, “This is the way.” Says Rygar , “Hurry on brothers, the Molnaar chief has granted us passage, but if one of them gets hungry...” We step up the pace through the smaller fork with the fragrant brush encroaching ever more on the path until we are at last cutting through a bramble where there once was a path. Then, suddenly, we are in a clearing. A garden opens out before us, flowers glowing blue in the moonlight. Scattered around the grounds are statues of the great chiefs of the lizard tribes in northern Jenkabala. I gasped out loud at the rush of memories from home that flood over me. Straight ahead, an ivy covered cabin presides over the serene landscape, windows glowing cheerfully with yellow light. Rygar turns to us, “We have arrived.”

Yesterday, Demon Scourge and I, along with Lady Bird Blood and Rangar The Sectaurian, took Metal Night on location, and took in am underground black metal show at some hidey-hole on the inner city called The New Church. Barghest, from Baton Rouge, LA, headlined, with Grand Rapids Discarnate and Dakhma opening. All three bands put in stellar, intense sets. The three piece Dakhma is a brand of atmospheric blackened crust was hypnotic and face melting. These kids inserted lots of raw passion into their set, with the drummer and vocalist in a deadlock for our souls, while the guitar player laid down layers of hateful texture. Vocalist Clair screamed her fucking head off until I though her head would explode. It did not. Great local band. Next, Discarnate roasted our flesh and sucked our souls with a solid set of old school black metal, with a crusty edge. Grand Rapidians love their crust, that's for certain. They were tight and evil, the riffs were delectable, and the singer wore an evil hood, and the red lighting evoked an atmosphere pure fucking hellocaust. Their last song inspired the first mosh pit. Barghest roared into their set and into our black hearts with their roaring brand of slightly sludgy blackened death. Metal as fuck. Several thousand blast beats later, our small, unholy coven disbanded into the night, to spread discord and bloody mayhem. Barghest ate sandwiches at Two Beards in the morning, before invading Chicago.

Into the Necro Lands Part 19.2 - Fade to Insanity

Across the neatly manicured garden we strode to the entrance of the little cabin. Rygar raps on the heavy door with the demon headed knocker. After a moment, the portal creaks open. Standing before us is not the wizened crone I had expected, but a vigorous mystic, draped in a sparkling sharn after the fashion of Jenkabala's saurian tribe. A long smile crept across her exquisitely scaled face as she greeted our guide warmly, “Rygar, welcome. I see you have bought our young princes.” She nods to us, sizing my brother and I up with inky eyes. Rygar answers, “Yes, but time is short. Necro Baby and Bildorf the Mad are in pursuit. They were fighting one another when we helped these two to escape, but it won't be long before they track us here.” The mysterious Zlendar nods in response and silently beckons us to follow with a swish of her cape. Inside the small room, shelves are sagging under the weight of the dusty, leather bound tomes in a hundred languages that line the walls. Everywhere, magical objects are piled, pushed and stored in stacks. She motions to a gilt table on one side of this enchanted library, “Sit here,” She says, clearing jars, bottles and scrolls from the surface before us. “I have to get some things before we begin. Put on those cloaks.” She motions to a rack near the door where drab, blood spattered robes are hung. Our

host disappears through a door and we can hear her rummaging and cursing as we nervously don the musty garments. Returning to us, she unrolls a large map, holding down each corner with smooth, greenish stones. I can pick out Jenkabala within the shape of Centon, but that is only a small part of the map. The constellation of islands that spray out in the middle of the ocean are not familiar to me though. Even further beyond that there is a large island I have never heard of. My head reels with this new knowledge, but it's not the most curious feature of the cartograph. The other half, once unrolled, is a mirror of the first image, but the power lines of each different form of magic are represented. The lines are luminous, with strength of magic represented by brightness, so it is clear to see the green magic of the inland forest gets weaker, but does not disappear over the ocean, and so it was with the many forms of esoteric energies in the world. Each had waxing and waning power in the varying geographic areas, but there was one bright web that stretched all over the map. Behind us, candles flare and pungent incense curls fill the room with a bracing scent as Zlendar readies her magic. Stepping up to the table, she addresses us, “Please stand. We will need to join hands.” The candles brighten in response to our contact. “Pyrna ooleck chakakst,” She begins to chant, “Erka amanti gornah!” Over and over, she chants words turning over and over. A goblet is passed, the drink has a strange, metallic taste. The chant resumes and the drink begins to take effect, twisting the words inside out and backwards. The bright lines that cover one side of the map begin to glow with a firey intensity until they are filling my sight. I hear the voice of the witch, “Think of the battle vests, think back to the day you parted. Where are they?” The images rush into my head and I feel like my skull wil split open with the energetic force they create. I am screaming, Bloodmace is screaming, and above the din Zlendar's voice barks a command to Rygar, “The bag! Use it now!” Hot liquid is pouring everywhere and darkness envelops me.

      *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

I came back to consciousness with a start. Everything in the small room where our ordeal had taken place was as though nothing had happened. I am laying on a couch looking at the table across the room and Bloodmace laying under it. I rise to waken him and feel something strange around my torso. Looking down I see the greatest thing I have lain eyes upon since our ordeal began on centon. Our battle vests. Once again our mystical vestments protected us. Once again we had the means to defeat Necro Baby and Bildorf the mad. Light was streaming through the windows of the ivy covered cabin, I had a feeling today would be a good day.

The previous Metal Night was spent in the Jenkabala Dungeon, mortifying our flesh to brand new death/doom. Paradise Lost's new album, The Plague Within, is a fantastic return to form and was the winner of the night. This album most resembles Draconian Times and Icon, but with a return to death growls by vocalist Nick Holmes, along with the Gothic tunefulness. Nothing really new, but the song writing is topnotch, the atmosphere doleful, the riffs solid and satisfying. Next, Forgotten Tomb singed our ears with their blackened sludge fest 'Hurt Yourself And The Ones You Love'. This is easily their best since 'Songs To Leave'. Nice doomy sludge meets esoteric evil Italian style. This is a level of hate you need special training for. But rest assured, we survived with our souls intact, which is disappointing in and of itself. Great album, but did not capture our sullen hearts like Paradise Lost. Lastly, the appropriately monikered Crypt Sermon tried to get us right with God, Trouble style, with their 2015 debut, Out Of The Garden. Throw in some Candlemass for good measure. This album was pretty ok. If you are into The Skull era Trouble, and Candlemass, this album will be your cup of mead. Nothing very memorable, though.

And now, a journey into the distant past, as previous Metal Nights have been drunken debaucheries and I just can't remember all the bands we heard. But here, it is, all the shit that I can remember:

Enforcer-From Beyond: New School old school speed metal is hot right now and Enforcer leads the vested pack. Demon Scourge likes this band more than I do. When I want to hear old speed metal, I'll just put on some Exciter. Not saying they are a bad band at all, but I just don't find this album very memorable. Into The Night was better. I think this won the night. My memory is foggy.

German thrash masters Vendetta won our hearts when we heard their 1988 album Brain Damage. It is excellent technical thrash, and definitely an unjustly ignored album. Think Destruction at their most nimble, toss in a little Voivod, and Coroner, and heaps and heaps of fucking thrash. The level of playing is staggeringly good. Great album. I think it won the night. We drank like Germans.

Ok, that's it. We'll try to keep up. But we are such terrible alcoholics. It's over for us. It's all over.


Words of the Elders 
Behold a world of doors and mirrors, a world of tense pauses that widen out into a limitless gulf of black. How can you understand the song of space? The voice of infinity cannot be measured in beats or bushels, drachmas or drams. We have no apparatus to comprehend, and yet our ears are still pressed to the ground, waiting for the sound of distant hooves. To travel is to move, and so we do, traveling with hearts and fangs. Meat sticks, marching to the unheard beat, a lilting call from space. Icy claws grasping greedily at the edges of perception. 

Until next time, bestial sorcerers, 


Horns 

Sanctuary Denied - US Power Metal, A Pentagram Reflection and the Tunnel of Terror

 

Welcome, dear readers, to another report from Jenkabala Temple! It's been quite a while since our last full update but at long last the new chapter of “Into the Necro Lands” is finished and we have a new video of highlights so you can catch up with Bloodmace, Vecton and I. Speaking of that glorious pervert, Bloodmace gives his opinions on some US power metal and I offer up some reflections on my experiences at the Pentagram show, so settle in, grab a beer and a hooter, or if you prefer, a Mountain Dew code red and a vegan brownie and let us tell you tales of distant worlds....

Sanctuary-Sanctuary Denied
This is one of those albums I always saw in the cassette section at Meijer's and always overlooked in favor of the thrashier pieces from the big 4. I bought it ion the 90's and was not into the oh so metal shrieking that was oh so out of fashion by that time. But returning to this album after many years, I find that it to be a pleasingly old school power metal affair. Crisp riffery dominates, informed by thrash, but rhythmically never leaving traditional metal territory. It's amusing to note how much Judas Priest this resembles Painkiller era Priest, roughly three years before that album came out.

Metal Church-The Human Factor
The Church dudes are clearly suffering from 90s-itus on their 4th album. The much too clearly enunciated socially conscientious lyrics reflect a conservative mind set, and the songs are more mainstream rock oriented. Meh. The songs are boring, the lyrics preachy, the riffs dull, and this is clearly not one of their better albums.

Pharaoh-After The Fire
Skip forward to 2003, and Pharah are a power metal band of the new school; fully heroic, highly melodic escapism in the mold of Helloween and Blind Guardian. After the Fire, their first full length, had the most polished presentation  of all the albums considered. Laser-tuned twin guitar riffs adorn the precise gallop of the rhythm section, carrying the music of the elders into the new century. Now usually, we lean more towards the raw and chaotic as more representative of a bands real sound, but this scrubbed-clean production is genre appropriate for power metal, so on the strength of their songwriting and presentation, Pharaoh wins the night!   

Into the Necro Lands Part 14.1 - Veil of Disguise

The sound of splashing water and creaking metal had replaced the chaos of this afternoon and the sun was setting. Bloodmace and I, after being captured by Bildorf the Mad and his band of pirates, had escaped to the comparative safety of a run down industrial area some distance from his hideout on the island of Sanctum. The ground in this area of the island, such as it is, consists of sea garbage, lashed together by a strange, stone like fungus. We huddle inside a little cave, drying our clothes in the last rays of light as we plot our next move. Bloodmace, staring out at the red horizon, pounds his fist against the rough wall, "We need to get back to the mainland. The Necromancers will attack this

island, or at least Bildorf's lair..." His voice trails off for a moment, then he says conspiratorially, "Look at these assholes." Loping along the beach before us, two of Bildorf's mutants are combing the shore for their escaped prisoners. The harried barbarian is about to dash from our hiding place, but I grab his arm, "Wait, there may be more," I say, "We can't see their launch from here." Indeed, as our exchange takes place, two more pair of uniformed henchmen enter our view. They cannot see us, but we both watch them motion towards our cave. The time to act was here, but then a shadow passed over the little hill, then two more. Three gliders shot across the blue sky, dropping bags of a substance that filled the air with smoke as they landed. From outside, the sound of confused shouting drifted in with the

smoke.We turned at once to search for a passage deeper into this cavern. With our eyes adjusted to the darkness already, we slipped down into a small crevasse as the sound of footsteps came from the entrance. Here below the coral-like fungus, pieces of ships, their cargo and drifting garbage had coalesced into a twisted mass of rubbish that was strong enough to support the rusting factories above. We peered into the hopelessly dim cavern ahead and our hearts raced as a light approached from the other end accompanied by a soft slithering. Around the corner came the mysterious, beam, blinding us as it approached. When the lamp had moved past us, we could see a rider just behind the waist-high snake head that pushed past us. Mounted in a stirrup atop a large snake, the bearded human figure, whose eyes and hair were hidden behind goggles and a short brimmed cap, carried a silver spear with the Chevelargo runes cast into the tip. "You are of the mainland?" He asks apprehensively,

brandishing his weapon. I step forward and reply, "We are. What do you know of us?" From above, we can hear the labored grunts of mutants working their way through the narrow entrance. He points with his lantern to a hatch in the floor nearby, "Open that door and go beneath, they are here" climbing into the hidden door, I notice that below us, the ocean laps quietly. I look up at the soldier, had he betrayed us? "Just stay around the side, this won't take long." He chuckles, the door clangs shut. Above, the light goes out, leaving us in complete darkness. Quiet footsteps enter, there is a gasp and a surprised cry and warm blood drips down on us. The light turns back on and our benefactor calls to us, "Come on up, Bloodmace and Demon Scourge!" Climbing back to the main level of this bizarre chamber, I see the stranger has taken off his headgear to reveal a more or less ordinary looking man, determined eyes gazing out below a close cropped haircut, a single tendril dipping rakishly over his face. "I am called Rygar the seeker, new master of Castle Thrashstone!" His robust laughter echoes through the labyrinth as Bloodmace and I stare at one another in disbelief. 

Twenty-Five Buck Spin: Reflections on a night with Pentagram

The denim and leather crowd was out in force, along with a heavy contingent of aging rockers and the usual denizens of this downtown landmark. When I walked in back to the venue, there was a dad rock band tearing off blues licks and throwing shapes at the 8o'clock crowd, who were dutifully staking out their places for the main event. I wandered around the edges of the crowd, greeting familiar faces and soaking in the boozy ambiance. Wandering back out into the front of the bar to commiserate with the crowd just arriving from a downtown film festival, I reflected on the film about Pentagram's Bobby Liebling with it's story of an artist's September redemption through the rediscovery of his work. Having just finished a biography of misunderstood film auteur Andy Milligan, who's story has a much less crowd-pleasing ending, I soon lost myself in ruminations on what it means to truly believe in your vision. Staring at my reflection in a flashing

pinball backboard, I let my mind wander in a reverie of the dangerous cauldron of creation, boiling there within us all. How can some manage to communicate the secret story from within while others are overcome by the hypnotizing aroma of this heady brew? Is the purest art made by those who give themselves over completely to their inner world, performing for an audience of their own creation? I am stirred out of my daydream by a costumed throng, storming the bar from a bus parked outside. Just as the last of the revelers has crowded around the bar, the between set smokers from the back stampede out to the street, creating a surreal logjam that for whatever reason reminded me of the famous denouncement of The Beyond. Writhing bodies, trapped in hell forever. Across the river of humanity flowing through the main aisle of the bar, I spot an acquaintance. Dressed like Norman Bates, mom corpse in tow, Iron Dan is traveling with the party bus. We join some of his fellow filmmakers for a cocktail. All of them have been drinking since noon and it's hard to determine what anyone is even saying. I head to the back again, leaving the tower of babel to check out the third band, Radio Moscow.

Coming in about halfway through this Cream style power trio's set, I settled in to a dark corner and let the boogie blues wash over me like a warm bath. While not really my cup of tea, their bell bottoms and fur vest type sound fit snugly on the bill. Having positioned myself near the back, I slipped out before the mass of smokers stumbled through the bar and into the night. The filmmaker table has grown and I stop to ask people about their screenings while gawking at the parade of outfits on display. I spot a couple battle jackets, a bearded guy in an incredibly elaborate 70's rock getup, plenty of punx and crusties and one exquisite hand-painted leather with the cover of the self-titled Acid album. The ceaseless activity of Saturday bar night ebbs and flows. Shouted conversations, harried barbacks, Big Black blasting above the cacophony and I'm layin' in the cut, Travis Bickle with a battle jacket. Once again, my thoughts begin to drift, but then I realize it's Pentagram time. In the venue, mic check has just ended and the intro music starts. A couple years back, I heard Pentagram at Maryland Deathfest and they were good but there were problems with the sound and they had to cut their set for time. I almost stayed home, thinking about how I had seen

them already, but something made me go out and it was beyond worth it. I have never been a big Pentagram fan, my taste is more Sarcaofago than Sabbath, but when they took the stage, they owned the place. The band was tight and Liebling was in amazing voice, swooping over the churning grooves with just the right amount of grit. The crowd was transported, exultant in the moment. One thing I appreciated was Bobby's energetic performance., it was a real treat to see him in this more intimate venue. Being able to see clearly those great, expressive faces that are something of a Liebling trademark added a subtle but effective ingredient, unifying the musical flavors with a sprinkling of theatrics. It seemed only a warm, sweet moment that we were lifted into that heady realm of musical pleasure, where the crowd seems to melt into one, and then it was over. Parishioners from this Saturday night service at the church of heavy metal fill the air outside the bar with smoke and excited conversation, incense of the damned floating skyward in supplication to the ancient gods of night 

Words of the Elders

Hold steady gentle friends,for our sworn quest continues on this checkerboard of nights and days. We are keepers of the magic scrolls and forever we quest on, mapping the scorched topography of our beloved Centon and the endless minutia of heavy metal's galaxy of subdivisions. Look to the heavens voyagers, look into the eyes of the gods for majesty is your birthright and glory your legacy. 

Until next week, haunted headbangers, 

Horns 

Crucible of the Sun - Metal from Los Angeles and Bildorf's Kingdom

Los Angles has an ambivalent history when it comes to metal. The birthplace of Slayer, Metallica, and Metal Blade, it was also the nurturing womb of the 80's glam scene. The center of the film and music industry, it embodies what is putrid, superficial, and shallow about mainstream American culture. Fucking posers live there. Fuck  those fuckin' posers!!!!!! None the less, LA is diverse enough to embody a rich diversity of metal. We here at Metal Night celebrate the obscure also-rans from the 80's; those forgotten heshers of yore, who, playing right along side the hairspray kings, went back to their day jobs when the 80's fog cleared.

We started with Witch's 1984 EP, The Hex Is On. Witch are your prototypical 1984 heavy metal band in the WASP and Twisted Sister mode. They were known for their bombastic live shows, but failed to make any of that translate into a decent record deal. This is a very likeable headbanger, but formulaic and cheaply recorded. The riffs have heft and the songs the tight, concise and catchy, but the performances seems constrained and constipated. This would have been a great band to see at the Whiskey or the Rainbow back in the day.

Into the Necro Lands Part 13.1 - Fire in the Hole

The sea was dark and tempestuous, it had been for days. The fierce black waves tossed this craft about like a leaf in the wind. At the helm was Captain Bildorf the Mad, a gray haired fireball of a man, whose eyes burned with the fire of unchecked passions and sordid vices. Barking orders from

the quarterdeck to his strange crew of nautical looking humanoids and amphibious saurons, he pilots the the ancient frigate through these rough waters as a demon through the lake of fire. Bloodmace and I, captives of this ranting fool, bore our burden as beat we could. "I shall rid the ocean of these sea turkeys" He shouted in an unhinged rasp, "Sharna, fetch me a net!" No sooner had he been granted the item called for, he shrieked, "Now behead this sheep! The sea turkey is not a quarry to be hunted for pleasure, the gods curse those who would presume to their game!" The poor devil with wet, bulging eyes and a protruding jaw whimpered for mercy but the sword fell upon his neck without mercy. Blood sprayed in a great arc from the fallen body, splattering us in the cage where we had been roughly forced into days ago at the port of Sekran. Our captor now turns to us, "You'll see, Jenkabalan fools, when you gaze upon the Sanctum, your hearts will turn to the water. Your friend Chanthoth is an old fool, we will attack Sekran, sack it of its wealth and waste the necro scum there." Bloodmace,

enraged by his captivity and the bold words of this pirate can take no more, "What do you know of Chanthoth?" He growls, "You may defeat the body, but the head will lie on. Your treasure won't help you against the undead." Bildorf hurls the tin cup he is holding at the bars before us, "Shut up shut up, shut up! I, Bildorf, king of the Takra sea shall claim Sekran for my own. No longer shall my people float endlessly on this black ocean, for I have come as the redeemer, the king...the god." His voice trails off as his eyes wander towards the horizon.

The rarity of the night was Beowulf and their 1980 anomaly Slice of Life. This is, essentially, a New Wave of British Heavy Metal band transplanted to LA. I can think of no other American bands who sounded like this in 1980. Metal bands in the US in this era sounded either like Van Halen, Ted Nugent, AC?DC, ect. Essentially, this is an American version of Holocaust or Witchfynde. The riffs are primitive, the songs are rather meandering, the vibe is mysterious. Very cool.

Into the Necro Lands Part 13.2 - Damnation

The dawn had just broken when I was jostled awake by Bloodmace, "Holy shit, you won't believe this." I open my eyes to the orange morning light falling dramatically upon what could only be our destination, Sanctum. Behind, before and around us, a fleet had materialized. Floating transports of every kind now sailed with us. Fast Iron gunships, captured bio craft from the days of the T'chah Karnac and many tremendous rusty barges. The maddest thing of all, however, was before us, and growing ever larger. A floating platform that stretched out as far as the eye could see in either direction, teeming with life. In one area, rolling hills, covered with plant life and dotted with

farmhouses gave the illusion of a pastoral countryside, as we sailed round the perimeter the hills gave way to a great city, its mirrored surfaces gleaming beneath the ever rising sun. We moved slowly closer to the vast structure, spiraling around this weird island to our destination. Towards afternoon, after sailing past what appeared to be a manufacturing center, we reached the opposite side of Bildorf's kingdom. This part of Sanctum was rusty and crumbling. We angled inward where there was a cavernous portal in the high wall, "Now you will see something!" Bildorf cackles as we pull through the darkness into the bright light at the end of the grotto. Indeed, as we entered this unusual port, I had to agree. The ship was slowed by uniformed crew around the sides and spun around so that we were now facing the passge from witch we entered. Ropes were attached to the back and the ship dragged into place. from the arches around the first floor of the circular chamber, men and maids, dressed in glowing white began to filter in, chanting, "At'cran Kib, vista E'kit." Bloodmace and I look at one another, shocked, for we both recognize this phrase at once, it is in the Huiskitel dialect and is a call to an obscure god of their pantheon, Kib. In more recent history, Kib became part of the composite goddess Thvnivt when the T'chah Karnac came to power. Bildorf, now wearing the

fearsome mask of his namesake god is ringing a large bell his servants have wheeled onto deck. With a motion of his hand the guards fling open the door to our cage and the solders behind us prod our backs with long spears. Though no look passes between us, or word of communication, we both sense the opportunity before it and immediately size upon it. Ducking down, I grab a spear and run forward as Bloodmace shoves the cage against the wall behind us, crushing our tormentors. Jumping from the bow beneath a hail of arrows from the upper levels of Bildorf's stronghold the cold water engulfs us...

Cheese masters Axehammer, though, stole the night! Lord of the Realm osa 1998 compilation of a never released album, demo, and live tracks. This is a fucking screaming ironfest, swords held high, axes ready to to cleave your skull into fucking pieces, wizards ready to curse your name to hell! Maiden and Priest are main points of reference. This is manly metal for leather clad men with hairy chests who have come to save the day from the Antichrist. To have seen these dudes sharing the same stage with Agent Steel back in 1985 would have caused Demon Scourge to jizz molten steel for days. And me, too. There are better bands, but these dudes stole our prickly hearts.

Finally, thrash oddballs Laaz Rocket thrashed us into the thrashing night with their thrash opus Annihilation Principle.This is a solid and sturdy state of the art thrash blast from 1989. The thrashing never stops. Even the clunk Dead Kennedy's cover doesn't slow it down.  The production adequately chunky, harsh and clear. The only real criticism are the generic, unmemorable songs. Otherwise, this can be enjoyed as a thrashing riff fest of thrashing madness. Thrash thrash thrash!!!! Thrash!

Words of the Elders

Look well upon the deeds of the gods. Did they not also fight and die? The spirit world is never far away in Centon and it is not unknown that gods will manifest here to settle disagreements. Could this madman, claiming to be a god, hold the key to Necro Baby's aims? Darkness is falling below, leaving light to its mischievous ways above.

Until next week, metal marauders, 






Horns

Walk Through fire - Bird Bands and Sekran's Gate

Birds. They are an efficient evolutionary machine, the true heirs to the dinosaurs. They feast on flesh. They crap on your head. They fucking fly through the air and laugh at you because you can't do that shit by yourself because you are just a worthless human. They know that the sky belongs to them! Lady Birdblood claims them as her spirit guides of evil. Iiiiiia!!!!!!! Iiiiiia!!!!! Squaaaak!!!!!! So why not have a Metal Night devoted to bands named after fucking birds, man???

Unfortunately, the first bird band we heard (heh) was Pelican and their very boring  first album, Australasia. This is pretentious sludge metal with the evil intentions scooped out,  making it acceptable to dudes who really couldn't give a fuck about metal anyway. It's entirely instrumental, featuring much delicate sounding arpeggiated strumming;  a dense, if somewhat polite, guitar tone; and riffs that really try hard to be heavy, but seem too airy to hold much weight . The song structures are semi-complicated, Rush-like affairs. Demon Scourge said it reminded him of Slint. Fucking hipsters!


Into the Necro Lands Part 10.1 - Human Foot

To the casual traveler, the smell of Sekran's suburbs is only just bearable. The sickening odor of the crematoriums, where the city's necromancers come to dispose of their rotting servants, fills the air with a foul haze. Everywhere there is death, from the sickly bone gates to the moaning corpses in their stables, waiting for their master's orders. In this place of suffering there is but one thoroughfare, Ra'l-Torth. From the stone wall of the castle it winds down the hill, past the houses of gatemonks and merchants, whose stark dwellings betray little of the bustling chaos below. At the port, where the clean sea air sometimes manages to banish the city's stench, the road turns west and descends to the shore. Along this stretch is the market, where supplies are traded and deals are made for

assassinations in far off lands. Merchants, whose faces are stained with the traditional corpsepaint of the Necro Tribe, stand patiently under their drab canvas tents. Salted meats and potable water are stacked alongside casks of loose bones, exotic feathers and the region's famous orcite beads. Sailors have long shunned the strange town and are known to stay aboard ship save to unload their cargo. If supplies are needed, they always travel in groups, for many among their number have disappeared into the labyrinth of dirt paths and foreboding huts throughout the years. Just past the bustle of the city's markets, but before the land meets the ocean, the outer suburbs skulk across the hillside. Here are found the worst of the worst, a monastery of perversion that few who enter ever leave. The economic fuel of this wasteland is a drug known as teffiv, manufactured from a kind of coral found only in the shallow waters nearby. When refined and combined with the dried scales of the lapin, a powerful psychotropic drug is formed that causes the users brain to function at many times its normal ability, but the onset of addiction is inevitably followed by death, usually within a year. Most of the denizens of this cursed place are those unfortunates who are living out their last year, working at one of the many refineries that dot Sekran's lower hill and performing unspeakable acts upon any that might come under their hands during the night.

We finally got the night off the right way when we put on NWOBHM progenitors Raven's sterling 2010 thrashterpiece, Walk Through Fire. What really amazing about this album is how it is just the same as their early 80' classics, and just as exciting as those early classics, and in some cases exceeds those albums, especially on the production, which is modern, updated, and in your fucking face like a big hairy arm pit. Raven piss all over Anvil, who they resemble the most in spirit and relative IQ. There is not a bad song or embarrassing moment on this album. This was my personal winner of the night, though the others digress.


Into the Necro Lands Part  10.2 - Theme of Loudness Part II

Bloodmace and I, moving under cover of the day, when the necromancer's powers were not as keen, had made it this far without detection. By not using the main road, we hoped to avoid any

confrontation with soldiers, who were undoubtedly looking for us by now. All around us, the high pitched rattle of coral being ground into dust could be heard. Low, black buildings were scattered in with clusters of makeshift tents. There were few pedestrians this time of day, but those who did show themselves were quickly repelled by a flash of our weapons. The desolation soon gave way to the markets, where we purchased some bones and beads to look more like Necrites. It was almost dusk when we made our way through the quiet district of severe little gray and black houses that stood before the city gates. Silently, we approached the towering edifice that stood before us and the castle. A small sign be the roadside pointed in the direction of a small entrance to the right of the massive aperture where two humanoid wolves stood guard. The larger one holds up his hand to stop us, "What is your business here?" I reply, "We have an assassination contract to be witnessed in the great hall."

Wordlessly he waves us through. Inside the vestibule, more guards search through our belongings before handing us each a piece of paper, "You must present this to any member of the security forces upon request." We both nod at the desk officer and pass through the carven door into the great courtyard of Sekran where necromancers, dignitaries of every land and the great throng of city folk who lived within the safety of this fortified complex mingled in the gathering darkness. The business day was about to begin and we walked through a row of vendors with steamed buns and fresh fruit, past an area where old men drank their dusk cocktails and argued over the daily papers, right to the door of the great hall. Beyond this worn wooden gate was the economic heart of the city, where teffiv and other agricultural futures were traded. This was also the place assassins and their clients came to have their agreement ratified and made legal. This was the first place we were to conceal one of the sigils. We pushed our way through the crowd into the long hall. To our right was the marketplace. Screens ticked off figures as the early traders began their cacophonous dealings. We hurried down the large

corridor until we spotted the sign for the clerk. Stepping out of the din, we enter an almost empty waiting room where several rows of benches stand between us and a tall counter and a breathtaking sectaurian is typing on several keyboards with her six arms. Aside from the extra appendages and translucent wings, her figure was very human-looking and covered with a shiny armor of exoskeleton. I noticed that Bloodmace was also surprised to see one from such a far-off place. We approached and with a little smile, the clerk said, "What precinct please?" I froze for a moment, forgetting that they would ask me where the killing was supposed to take place, "Ar...Arvid," I stutter."I haven't seen you around here before," the smile on her face turning suddenly mischievous, "Where is your office?" Bloodmace pipes up, pounding his chest, "I am me, alone. My office is here," pointing to his heart.

The sectaur before us chuckles as she indicates the waiting room with one of her delicate hands, "The sergeant will see you in a moment." We turn and walk back to one of the long benches. Several cloaked figures are loitering around the room, some standing, some seated. At the end of one of one row, seated far from any of the cloaked figures, were two Samurian businessmen, one saurian and one human. They looked nervously about, as if they were afraid of being seen. It was, after all, not unheard of for those who came to order a death to be targeted themselves after being seen here. An electronic bell softly tolled and a chilak emerged from the inner offices. His many stubby legs propeled his stout, transparent body across the carpet as tiny eyes peered out from the rigid flaps of bumpy skin that covered his head. "Kratath?" He says loudly in his strange, pinched voice. The nervous Samurians hurry after the creeping civil servant, followed by two of the cloaked necromancers. I am inadvertently staring at the Sectaurian behind the desk, half daydreaming, when an idea hits me. I turn to Bloodmace, "Give me a sheet of that paper."

Then we heard the Swedish power metal godz Falconer and their 2002 album, Chapters of a Vale Forlorn.  This is powerful metal in full He-Man mode, with Nordic Viking vocals work that steals your woman and pillages your land with a clean yodel. The riffs are mighty and strong. The production is nice and shiny. The drums and bass and keyboards are well...they are there to paddle the longboat to Valhalla in a workmanlike manner. These Vikings smell clean and fresh. Amon Amarth.....they are not.

Lastly was the novelty album. Hatebeak is not a serious band, or a good band, but they are a band that releases product. But they do have the advantage of having an actual avian, a goddamn African grey parrot called Waldo, as lead vocalist. Thier 2005 split EP with Canius, a band who just so happens to have a pitbull as lead vocalist, is good for....ahem.... a hoot. It's a good for one listen at a party with your inebriated friends......and nothing more.



Words of the Elders
The secrets of the Necro Lands are prodigious and not learnt without forfeit of this mortal coil. Here in the realm of death, the currency is souls and the law is strength. Necro Baby and Iron James sit upon the throne of skulls here, their icy hands moving the pieces on this checkerboard of nights and days as the hundred gods watch with bated breath. Zagrieb, carry us in your pouch of might!, Lorko, fill the air with song! Let this incense carry our prayers beyond the realm of gods and find purchase with inscrutable fate! 

Until next time, loathsome lurkers, 




Horns

Shroud of Doom - Rigor Mortis Night and Chanthoth's Secret Passages

There two types of Metal Night. The one that is most famous are the social events that we are renowned for; the drunken debaucheries, the shenanigans, the bastard wildings of metal barbarians enthralled with the spirit of Dionysus. In other words, it's a listening party. And then there are the ones when I am alone with Demon Scourge. And we just kinda stare at each other. Then we decide on what we are to hear. And we have drinks. And then we expound at  length on the grand philosophy of metal. And then we try to kill each other with knives and clubs when we inevitably disagree on something before choosing a winner. And so it goes.

And this week we choose the highly underrated American thrash band Rigor Mortis. Their 1988 self titled debut is a classic thrash metal album and our winner of the night. It is a trebly blast of fast tremolo picking, spastic rhythms and a mildly goofy lyrical bent involving demons and gore. For 1988, this was on the for front of musical extremism, preparing the way for Cannibal Corpse and a whole generation of death metal fiends like a bunch of hesher John The Baptists. You will not find much in the way of epic songwriting or dynamics here. This is a straight forward thrash-a-thon.


Into the Necro Lands Part 6.1 - Welcome to Your Funeral

Deep below the soil in eastern Centon, the living tunnels of the T'Chah Karnac spread out in every direction. Seemingly endless corridors of spongy wood, bio-engineered by the ancient human wizards of Samur, connect the forgotten kingdoms and other places of power like unseen tendrils. We are mounted atop the prickly haired backs of large spiders, scurrying with great haste toward Lady

Birdblood's Nest of Evil. At the front of our horde is Chanthoth, last of the Tchah Karnac. Riding just behind are Opheilia Skullbourne and Fester Blackheart, guerrilla fighters from northern Samur. Losi, Birdblood, Bloodmace and Maddaughter Tesa follow behind. I am the last in our party and my mind wanders as we race through the damp passages lit by glowing fungus. We left our home in Jenkabala only four days ago but it feels like an eternity, for even to return there would not be returning to home as Jenkabala Castle was destroyed by Necro Baby and her armies. Just as we defeated Headron, our greatest foe, another rose to take his place. Appointed mistress of Jenkabala and the Necro Lands by the ruthless dimensional villain, Necro Baby attacked us as we arrived from Narn. Faced with retreat, the powerful witch destroyed our stronghold and returned to the west where the forces of the undead could gather strength. Immediately, construction began on our new fortress, Jenkabala Temple. The
task was nearing completion when Lady Birdblood came to us with the disturbing report of butchery on the border so off we went, not with an army, but just the five of us. Our objective was to take back the Nest of Evil and free its people from the hateful toddler's spell before word got back to the Necro Lands, but we were spotted on the way and went on the run. Just as we were about to confront our enemy, Chanthoth appeared and escorted us to his secret lair. From the front of the party, I can hear Chanthoth call out, "We'll camp here for the night." We follow our guide through an archway and behold a breathtaking vista.

Next we heard their caustic little EP Freaks. It's essentially a continuation of their basic grisly thrash formula, but a little faster and a thicker production. There is more out and out shredding and heroic musicianship here, without sacrificing the brutality, namely because the vocals are so damn rough and the drumming is pretty straightforward still. This might have gotten my vote for winner of the night had there been more of it.

 Into the Necro Lands Part 6.2 - SOG

I can scarcely believe the strange panorama that greets me as I follow the others into the immense chamber. The wood gives way to a stone cavern where light filters down from an opening high above us. I turn to Bloodmace and exclaim, "This is an exact replica..." Chanthoth steps toward us, "Of the Memphorian's dwelling on the island of Va in Narn?" Bloodmace and I look at the weird wizard in disbelief, a flood of memories rushing over us. "This base was abandoned long ago" Chanthoth

continues, "But the Garm should still be operative. We will set up camp there on the little island." He points out to the middle of the vast underground cave where, just as on Va, there was a lake with a tree covered piece of land sitting in the middle. Already, Ophelia and Fester are hiking down to the shore with Losi, Tesa and Birdblood. Bloodmace and I are following the stubble-faced magic user down the rugged path, My brother calls ahead, "Chanthoth, I have only heard of one such device, are there more?" Chuckling at the barbarian's boldness, the fallen master replies, "You are so eager to know, young prince. All will be revealed to you by and by. For now however, we will be working on the Garm. We must disrupt Necro Baby's spell if we plan to triumph over the tiny one." The others are waiting by a small dock where a battered dingy sits tethered to the weathered posts. Two by two, Fester paddles us across the smooth waters to the sandy beach on the other side. Hiking to the center of the palm and fern covered mound, we behold the mechanical enchantment amplifier where a small moss covered cabin sits nearby. Chanthoth motions to us, "Let us rest, there is much to be done before our raid on the Nest of Evil."

Lastly, Rigor Mortis Vs. The Earth provided the last lobotomy of the evening. This is their last entry and perhaps their accidental avant-gard album. Thrash was dead by this point and there are more punk and industrial reference points here, though thrash riffery still rules the day. Guitarist Mike Scaccia was enjoying success with Ministry, and the influence shows. The production is less harsh than previous albums. The lyrical goofiness is quite pronounced; all B-movie hype, tongue firmly in hollow cheek. It's pretty cool, yet not quite as essential as their previous work. The band called it a day after this one. The drummer went on to be in punk band REO Speedealer. Mike Scaccia died in 2010 .

Words of the Elders

Out in the madness, the winds of mayhem blow cold and unforgiving and in the eye of the storm stand the heroes of Centon. Pledging allegiance to none but the hundred gods they stalk the wasteland to bring justice to this untamed land. Lilies of violence bloom in the fertile black earth, waiting to entrap the seven warriors in their fearful snare, but these warriors of metal have the flaming chariots of Narn riding with them. Godspeed, brave challengers, tonight the candles burn bright for your safe return! 

Until next week, unkempt hordes, 




Horns

A Titan's Chain - Ketchup in Western Centon and a Peek at the Necro Castle

Alas, the Metal Night barbarians returneth from the meth binge vacation lands of Trailor. Oh such debauchery! The famed metal goat of Trailor hath been fucked to deth by black metal fiends. We watched as sweated babies consumed PBR by the gallons! We watched as the scarecrow women were set on fire by their troll boyfriends, who hath meth for blood. The wankerous wallow wimps of Emoshire doth cut themselves, but to no avail. FOR WE HATH RETURNED!!!!!!! We require metal for sustenance. Ok, onto the tunes.

First we heard a succession of recent traditional metal bands. From the desolate wastelands of Detroit come Borrowed Time and their 2013 self titled debut. This album is really fucking cool. Instead of simply riffing on Maiden, Priest, Fate, or any of the other typical reference bands that neo trad bands use, Manilla Road provides the primary inspiration. Tasteful keyboards, epic structures, organic textures and an air of mystery prevail. This was my favorite for the night

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Into the Necro Lands Part 5.1 - Dawn for the Glory Rider 

Dim light filtered down from the luminous fungi on the ceiling of the root chamber. Before us were Ophelia Skullbourne and Fester Blackheart, possessed by the spirit of their gods. From their instruments poured the wisdom of this ancient tribe who had arrived on Centon even before the days of the Hiuksetl and Chevelargo. The majestic din filled our ears and even Losi, Birdblood and Tesa, who were not acquainted with the Samurian rebels who had assisted us in the battle with the Wyvern elders, were enraptured by the strange hymns of old. The music builds to a terrifying crescendo and Ophilia Skullbourne, screaming, knocks her drums in every direction as Fester hurls his guitar

towards us, barely missing Chanthoth's head. The weird wizard, smiling, applauds as he approaches the duo, "Some of you already know Fester and Ophelia, some of you do not. They have their own score to settle with the Necro twins and are well versed in the art of guerrilla warfare. Together with your knowledge of the terrain, lady Birdblood, you should be able to expel the usurpers from your kingdom." Greetings were exchanged all around and Opheilia, in her ripped black jeans and fur vest, strides over to a hutch carved into the far wall and produces a long necked carafe and eight small glasses, "We shall drink of the oolurt to welcome you into our home. Each of us takes a delicate stemmed glass and raise it in the air as Fester toasts, "To Chanthoth, Samur and Escar we drink, may the kingdoms of Centon into mire sink. The corruption of all stems from within, turns man against man and kin against kin." The viscous green liquid has a sweet, sharp burn when I drain the glass, followed by the overpowering scent of sourwood blossoms rising through my mouth and nose. Smiles break out and Fester shows us to some secondary rooms where our party can rest until we set

off. Opheilia brings us blankets while the leather jacketed Fester prepares bokbala stew. "We shall travel by spider. " Interjects the punk priestess, "It's the fastest way." Chanthoth pipes in, "I shall accompany you to the area where you will need to surface and grow a passage there." Without looking up from the task of sharpening her swords, Maddaughter Tesa adds, "They know we're coming, that's for sure. They tracked us this far, I doubt Necro Baby will call her army home now. We step right into their trap by trying to confront the undead hordes head on. By now every corpse for hundreds of miles is gathered above us." Again, a mischievous smile creeps across Chanthoth's face, "My lady, have you ever heard of the Garm?"

Secondly, Natur's 2012 debut Head Of Death succored us with it's no frills neo-NWOBHM attack. This band is strictly ok, and adheres to the pleasant mediocrity that most of the original geezers aspired to. Janky vocals, pleasingly organic guitar tones, and a slight stoner vibe are to be found here. Not a screaming iron fest, but still an iron fest.

More brash and two fisted metal were West Coast crazies Skelator and their 2010 meat platter Death To All Nations. This is trad metal firmly rooted in the early 80's Metal Blade sound, but with modern production values, so this will make you shit out off all orifices if this is your particular aural enema. Deon Scourge loved this. I thought there was much to be admired, but Borrowed Time stole my heart.

Into the Necro Lands Part 5.2 - Symphony of the Night

The sky is gray and foreboding above Keep Hellbane, capitol of the Necro lands. Fine snow fills the air in a frozen mist that shrouds the castle, turning it into a great black smudge in an ocean of gloom. Inky ducks crowd lazily near the shore of the moat, scattering at the heavy footfalls of Iron James. Corpsepainted and morose, the Necro prince strides through dim corridors. The opulent and forlorn

elegance of this ancient domicile cradles him as he opens the door to the throne room. There to greet him is his sister, the hissing child leader of all the Necro kingdoms, "Your troops have drawn the rebels into our snare. Where are they?" Her lip curls up as she regards Iron James. Having already been informed of his folly, the evil toddler grills him relentlessly, "Why do I not see the bloody heads of the foolish interlopers before me? Have you lost them in our own backyard?" The weary warrior finally has had enough, "Quiet with this babble, we know where they are headed. The area is teeming with our soldiers, they have no chance if they show themselves." Flames leap high out of the brazier before them as Necro Baby's temper flares, "Be off with you, your carelessness will cost us this kingdom if I were not to take care of your problems" The heavily painted eyes of the necromancer queen close and the fire dies down to coals. The door glides noiselessly to a close as Iron James' steps echo into the cold, grim air.

Afterwords, We went on a German happy power metal kick with three epic panzer strength albums from Gamma Ray, who are considered one of the founding fathers of power metal. They formed after Kai Hanson left Helloween to form this band with Primal Fear vocalist Ralf Scheepers. Their first album, Heading For Tomorrow, is firmly in the Helloween style, with big happy choruses and galloping rhythms, but showcase a bombastic and weird Queen influence, which made this the album of the 2nd night (we feasted on metal for days) for me.

Ship ahead to 2005, and Gamma Ray are still pumping out the power metal with Majestic. A juggernaut of shining positivity, this album still pretty much sounds like every other power metal band in existence, existing to force the melodic fist of glory up many a willing anus. Music for sword fighting and gallivanting in space, which is a reoccurring theme with this band.

Jump back to 1997, when exactly 15 people were still into this style of metal in the United States, and Gamma Ray are happily and stubbornly churning out albums like Somewhere Out In Space, a much beloved gem of this band's oeuvre. Less quirky than the debut, and less generic than the later album, this is simply a great power metal album, absolutely everything that you would expect, but done with vigor, enthusiasm, and balls. BALLS TO THE WALL, MAN!!!!!!!!!!


Words of the Elders

O hundred gods, find favor with the deeds of these heroes! O Hasyra and Shperon, light the dark with your golden blades! The winter hornets can still sting in summer and yet the takka bear sleeps in the day. What is the mystery of the mournful land of the half dead and almost living and what plans do they have for the league of heroes? 

Until next week, ruthless raiders, 

Horns