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

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

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

Into the Necro Lands Part 15.1 - Riders of the Doom

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

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

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

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

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

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

Into the Necro Lands Part 15.2 - Tree of Thorns

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

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

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

Words of the Elders

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

Until next time hellhordes,

Horns

Ten Fists of Nations - German Thrash and the Departure of Bloodmace

Avast, ye scurvy dogs! Out of the dark sea rises a terrifying beast whose rubbery appendages wrap around this world and the next. Behold! Metal Night has risen! This night was a time of revelry and nostalgia, a time to look back with our face towards the future. In other words, it was time to get loaded because it was Bloodmace's last metal night before his peril filled journey into the Time Desert. The theme was German thrash and we focused on the mid to late eighties. With us in the Jenkabala listening chamber was the famous Baron Lotar and the supreme commander of his forces, Mandar. Together we forged through the long, sodden night and made it out the other end, dragging the corpse of one classic album that we were to claim as victor.

First up we heard Tankard's 1988 offering, The Morning After. This was the sound of the late eighties for sure, though both Bloodmace and I passed over this band in their heyday. First and foremost, this album is a riff fest. Axel Katzman and Andy Boulgaropulos break out some serious neck snappers here, from the supercharged TV Hero and Anthrax worship of F.U.N. to the anti-religion rant of Help Yourself the double A's pretty much hold it down on each corner., When you read about this band you often hear compliments to these guys for writing lyrics that are "true to life." Well, this one is no exception, they mostly sing about drinking. Drinking is what Tankard do and god help anyone who gets in their way. They rail against religion and violence but golden energy is their real passion. Singer Gerre  has just the right amount of gravel in his voice to lend it that special Germanic flavor and is really in his prime on this one. The influence of punk rock hangs heavy over these 12 tracks (one is a cover of German punks The Spermbirds) so the rhythm section does their best to hit 200 BPM. Pretty good but this was 1988, the year of ...And Justice for All and State of Euphoria so even a remarkable effort was bound to get swept under the rug, especially here in the states.

Chronicles of the North Part 5.1 - Triocoton

We awoke in beer cans and cassette tapes. Fester Blackheart and Chanthoth were still awake, talking quietly to one another in the corner where a fire was smoldering in the graffiti covered hearth. Bloodmace is already awake, I look up at him from the pile of refuse where we had passed out the night before while Fester regaled us with stories of battles past. My brother is examining the fold out insert from a Discharge cassette when something catches his attention. His eyes dart over to me and turning his head, he whispers, “there's someone else here.” I scan the room but cannot make out anything in the dim, windowless chamber. Bloodmace has discreetly pulled his weapon close and when a slight rustling gives away the intruders position, he lashes out. My brother’s signature weapon strikes something in 

 the air and for a moment, I can barely make out the outline of something squat and unwholesome. There is a terrible, wet sound and suddenly the ground is alive with movement. I spring up too late to avoid the pinching grasp of an insect the size of my arm that has attached itself to my boot. It's feelers lash at my leg while it flaps it's small wings to give it extra leverage. The commotion has sent our hosts dashing across the room to aid us. Bloodmace has smashed some of the attacking insects near him but something unseen pulls him under the debris. Fester jabs at the pest attached to my leg with a broken bottle as Chanthoth steps near the place where Bloodmace is struggling beneath the clutter. In a booming voice the sorcerer intones a fearsome chant.

In the first is a young boy
white dove in his hand
in the second is a warrior in armour
in the third is an old man
Gold watch in his hand
Fourth and last
no recollection at all

Deathrow was a much more serious band, both in tone of lyrical content and musical ambition. I really enjoyed the rippin' harmonized guitar lines. Sven Flugge and Ewe Osterlehner tear up one side of the album and down the other while Markus Hahn deploys his deadly arsenal of tom-diving fills with aplomb. In the vocal department, bassist Milo sings in a much cleaner, more heavy metal style 

 than either of the bands we explored tonight. After the lunkheaded riff mongering of tankard, Deception Ignored was a welcome blast of technical ecstasy, reminding me of the politico-thrash of Austin's great Watchtower. Highlights include the eight minute instrumental Triocoton, the awesome Machinery and the pinch harmonic happy opening of Narcotic, but I enjoyed the whole thing. It almost seemed like Deathrow had this one in the bag, but on the horizon was a fierce competitor...  

Chronicles of the North part 5.2 - Into the Pandemonium

At once the attacker becomes visible and a horrible stench fills the room. The creature is low to the ground, its feathered body is surrounded with thin tentacles like that of the creature that lifted us into this treetop. It's head is also birdlike with blood red eyes set on either side of a sharp, fearsome beak.

Bloodmace is caught in the grasp of some of the tentacles, trying desperately to free himself. Fester finishes off the bug on my leg with a vicious kick that sends the oily body of my adversary sailing into the corner. We turn to help the others, struggling with the army of fearsome vermin who snap at our feet looking for a meal of flesh. With a single motion, I unsheath my sword and cut through the limbs holding Bloodmace down. Now free, the mighty barbarian slams his weapon into the side of the creature's head and it explodes in a geyser of fetid ichor. Fragments of bone and squishy bits of tissue cover Fester and I who are standing nearby. Later, as we remove the last of the mess from the bloody battle and tend our wounds, Chanthoth calls us all around the hearth. His eyes rove between Bloodmace and I as he speaks, “It is time now for you to know about the denim and leather your father has bequeathed you. Tonight you will be parting and Bloodmace will join Lady Steel in the Time Desert ,so listen well.” Shadows dance in the flickering firelight and Fester has started the cassette deck again with Destruction.

If only one of the albums we heard tonight could be considered a true thrashterpiece, it would have to be Kreator's Pleasure to kill. To be sure, putting second-tier thrash bands from '88 against this juggernaut of brutality was a bit unfair but we were eager to show Lotar and Mandar the real power of German thrash. First things first though,  Mike Petrozza. What the fuck, dude played all the guitar in this album, 'nuff said. The vocals (split evenly between Petozza and drummer Ventor) are gruff and almost trollish in their delivery, seeding the ground for thrash metal's blood-nourished offspring, death and black metal. 1986 was ground zero for thrash, and thus for all extreme metal. Perhaps the potent combination of industrial decay and the daily threat of nuclear annihilation that had been building since the 70's finally found it's voice in this misanthropic show of satanic revelry. Taking the uncompromising stance and musical speed of punk rock and fusing it with the flashy guitar style of NWOBHM, the so-called "class of '86" took the art of metal to the next stage in it's development and that is why we crown Pleasure to Kill as the victor on this night of hatred and bloodshed!

Words of the Elders

Children of the sea, children of the plain! Your time is near. Elders of the forgotten world, your deliverance is nigh! What adventures will Bloodmace have in the deadly wasteland we know as the Time Desert? What secrets will be unearthed by Demon Scourge in the Jenkabala wilderness? Mountain, move outta the way, the power of the ancient ones is compelling us to resist, and resist we will. A storm is on its way and its name is us! Headron beware, your days on  Centon are numbered!

Until next week, deadly sinners, 

horns