Nowhere to Run - Hard Rock Hell and Rangar's Swanky Lair

Demon Scourge and myself are not always necro fiending to the most necro of necro black metal or sword fighting to the most epic of epic of power metal. No, sometimes we like to kick back, gather up some bitches, chug some light brewskies and throw on some of the sleaziest of sleazy 80's hard rock. We're a couple wind cutting gear jammers, slicing our fists into the night with the power of rock 'n' roll, baby. Unfortunately, the three hard rock hard-on's that we chose did not live up to our highly wrought low standards, making it, perhaps, in its own special way, the most brutal and treacherous Metal Night of them all!!!!!!

First up was the one to have the proud mantle of worst winner of Metal Night and that was Venom axe grinder Mantas's solo excretion Winds of Change. This Yamaha DX7 keyboard laden nightmare is actually a relic of a lost age, when briefly, hard rock bands thought that the way to riches and pussy was to drown out the guitars with the worst keyboard sound imaginable. Such AOR putridity was quite in vogue between 1985-87, until Gun's N Roses killed it dead. Even Poison had a tougher sound than this. What saves this album are the three instrumentals, which are unexpected and not half bad. You can pretend that this is some sort of prog band, and not Night Ranger wannabe's. You will never forget nor forgive that this is what fucking Mantas from fucking Venom thought he should be doing with his career. Winner of the night by virtue of instrumentals. Quite a prize.


Adventure In Samur Part 14.1 - Unchain the Night
I open my eyes to see two figures sitting at a bar. Light filters up through multicolored bottles of cordials and liquors, but the rest of the room is dim. Even with the back light, I can make out the figure of our betrayer, Jarkon. Next to him is a serious looking humanoid with long feelers protruding from his insect-like head. Every few moments, he would move his head and I could catch a glimmer of light from his faceted eyes. I couldn't move my head much in this cocoon I found myself encased in, but I could see Crowbastard and Lars on either side of me and what looked to be the figure of Bloodmace, suspended from the ceiling. jarkon and the other figure rise from their seats and wealk

around the room, examining their prisoners. Just as they are about to approach me though, somjething draws their attenion to the area behind us. I can hear or captors greeting the unseen figure with much ceremony. There is some laughter, then quiet footsteps and into my line of sight walks Rangar the Sectaurian, spider king. Upon his broad sholders hangs a long black cape and on his chest is armor made from living spiders, a mass of tiny legs churning uopn his person, topped by one giant spider clutching his torso and protecting his chest. Mounted atop his humanoid body is a ferocious looking arachnoid head festooned with eyes and two hairy mandibles that move as he speaks. "So these are the heroes of Centon?" From the cape, he produces a silver dagger "Let us see what they really are." He approaches me, dagger drawn and plunges it into the cocoon that surrounds me.

Next up was Dokken guitar wizzard George Lynch's loser excretion solo project Lynch Mob and their first album, Wicked Sensation. This collection of psuedo-bluesy ham and egg rock mediocrities sounds like a collection of songs that Don Dokken refused to sing. This was the sort of album that would set 19 year old Bloodmace into a killing frenzy that would end in shameful tears. I can handle it now, but this was the sort of thing that dominated the hard rock airways of the late 80's until it was rightfully flushed down the cultural toilet by grunge like a festering turd.  Here we find Lynch downplaying his masterful chops in favor of the mediocre songs and blues. Thanks, George. Vocalist Oni Logan sounds like ever other glam rocker of the period, only with less character. The sound is nice, shiny, and overproduced. Yes, there is a power ballad. The only bright moment was the obvious Dokken reject 'Street Fighting Man', which only serves to remind one on how badly George needs Don in the confines of the monument to the 80's that is fuckin' Dokken. Together they are best kind of cheesy magic. Apart, this is the result. I'm not familiar with Don's solo work, and frankly, I could really give a shit.

Adventure In Samur Part 14.2 - Secretly Cruel

I feel the weapon pierce the webbing that holds me prisoner, but there is no sharp pain, as I expected, instead I feel a tug on the denim vestment to witch the magical patches are sewn. He examines the garment for a moment then makes a high pitched clicking sound and a motion with his hand. With a swipe of the jeweled knife in his hand I am cut down. I hit the carpeted floor with a thud and the

spider king is above me, cutting away layers of web that hold me fast. When I am finally free, I look anxiously around me and find that we are all accounted for. Bloodmace and Lars shoot sullen and angry looks in the direction of Jarkon, who is helping to carry the still recovering Mistress Crowbastard to a small couch nearby. Rangar, sensing we do not trust him, speaks to us as Jarkon and the insect humanoid take their places by his side, "Please excuse the conditions of your entrance to our kingdom." His lilting northern accent surprises me with its soothing timbre, "I am Rangar and you are the ones we have been waiting for. I understand that you have used your magic and were located by the minions of Headron. Now that he knows you are here, he will stop at nothing to destroy you before you can use your powers to break his hold on Charbad pass, the portal that leads to your world. He has been disrupting the flow of time here with his attempts to control your world. If he is successful in his bid

for domination over Centon, witch is the most crucial link between all dimensions, he plans to sell it to developers from all over the galaxy so religious travelers from every planet can enter the realms of their gods." Bloodmace, who had not yet softened his harsh glare, bursts in in a loud voice, "We can deal with Headron on our own, let's get out of here." He stands up and motions to the rest of us, but Rangar holds up his hand and the guard standing next to Jarkon moves to block the door, hand on his laser gun, "please my friends, let us be of one mind on this." The spider king moves closer to the barbarian and puts a hand upon his shoulder. "The forces that destroyed Jarkon's home and have been killing his people are just a small part of this tyrant's arsenal. We can crush his army easily, but we cannot depose this evil king without your magic. Join us and save your world." The strange sectaurian holds out his hand. From across the room, Lars' booms out, "Rangar is known to me, let us join with him." Bloodmace looks around the room, Crowbastard and I give him a nod and he grabs the hand of the arachnoid ruler. Rangar looks over to his guard, "Send word to the armory, rally the troops. The end has come for Headron."

Lastly, we heard Kiss' mid 80's embarrassment, Asylum.  This album actually has a special place in my heart, since it was maybe the 4th or 5th cassette I ever bought in the discount bin at Meijer's. And I loved Kiss as a tyke and still do, but his album has not aged well. Kiss' propensity for hack songwriting is on full display and there are way more misses than hits on this one. The adolescent misogyny of the lyrics, along the fact that these were dudes pushing 40 at the time, is simply fucking creepy. The 80's were not very kind to Kiss. The make-up was off and nobody cared. Gene looked like a fat, pissed off drag queen. They were touring this album from hockey rink to hockey rink, from summer free fair to summer free fair, from bowling alley to bowling alley. Still, Paul and Gene have a knack for melody and hook, so you will be remembering these songs way longer than you really want to. Tears Are Falling is a guilty pleasure quasi ballad. Uh All Night is fun after 5 beers. And there is some decent axe work on this album, courtesy of Bruce Kulick, almost making up for the fact that the songs lack in the riff department. Geez, no wonder Frehley's Comet was getting more attention.

Words of the Elders

Rangar! Spider king and unholy savior, lord of predators with a thousand legs that creep unseen in the black recesses of a thousand worlds! Who can behold your minions without terror? The venom drips from waiting mandibles as our heroes close in on their quarry. Stay tuned for an encounter in Raven Pass!

Until next week, dead riders,

 

 

 

 

 

Horns

Revenge of the Mongrel - Shred Metal and Dangerous Spells in Dantor

Masturbation is one of the most exquisite pleasures that Satan and the Elder Godz bestowed upon humankind when they made us in their spaceships 500,000 years ago. Nothing like spewing gobs of jizz all over so many imaginary faces. This is especially true of musical masturbation. The metal guitar shred genre is the absolute highest realization of Space Satan's intentions for the human race. A combination of gigantic ego displays and fantastic finger dexterity make the shred genre the guitar the ultimate musical phallus, spewing hot jizz upon the masses ever since Richie Blackmore decided that he was the next Mozart. The following is a crusty sock of musical reportage.

 
In any genre of music, snobs will be snobs, and much abuse has been cast upon guitar virtuoso The Great Kat pretty much from the outset of her career by the metal community at large. But in listening to this album and letting its delights settle in like a nice heroin addiction, I have to say that this album, Beethoven on Speed was our favorite album of the night. It's just fun. Her songs are packed with nice bouncy thrash riffs, are fast as fuck, and are nice little spurts of aggression and speed, like grindcore for shredheads. The lyrics are goofy in a Sodom kind of way. Her abundant guitar solos are unsubtle and proceed at amazing speeds. But to me, the whole album says, "Hey, I went to Julliard", lights a crack pipe, and shreds along its lunatic way. Definitely marketed to wrong crowd back in the day. It's just a speed metal album, nerds. And the lady has a huge dick upon with which she feeds were devoted cult. Must be something there, folks. She's been around for over 25 friggin' years.


 Adventure in Samur Part 13.1 - Ultra Dead

Thirteen black candles glowed dimly in a circle around four robed figures in this underground room. Thirteen candles protecting the shape shifting mistress of the night, injured in a recent battle. Heavy footfalls of the enemy issue from the hill above, shaking dust from the concrete ceiling. Bloodmace, Lars the Berserker, Jarkon and I were each standing at a corner of the table where or injured comrade lay. Fragrant smoke poured fourth from the brass censer that hung from Jarkon's hand as we stared silently at one another in the flickering light. The weird sorcerer thrusts his arm into the middle of the circle, hand curled into the sign of the horns. We follow Jarkon's lead and he begins the galdr.

"Heyri jötnar heyri hrímþursar,

synir Suttungs, sjalfir ásliðar,

hvé ek fyrbýð, hvé ek fyrirbanna!"
I can feel the power coursing through our outstretched arms, the spell has begun to take effect. Lightning crackles around us as the world outside the magic circle us falls away. The candles are burning brightly now, their flames leaping aggressively from the wick and obscuring whatever moves just beyond them. Jarkon's incantation is slowly rising in pitch and tempo and I see that the Black Sabbath patch we each have on our denim jackets has begun to glow. Something is watching, our spell has attracted some presence that even now struggles to breach the protective barrier that surrounds us. The chant has now reached a fever pitch, it seems to go right through our bodies and shake the air around us, as if we were in water. In the midst of the chaos I hear Jarkon's voice yell out "Now, use it now!"

The next album was more polished and traditional that the others. Borislav Mitic's The Absolute. Mitic is a furious yet tasteful shredder with a tasteful sense of composition. His style is Satriani meets Yngwie, his compositions are neo-classical with a thrashy edge. But over all it is too restrained, too refined, too predictable. The first song is pretty amazing, thrashing to and fro with virtuoso flair and as many classical licks as you can throw into one song. But it gets old as the album goes on. You already heard your guitar heroes make these moves. That's when you realize that this dude has pulled out his dick and is jizzing his licks all over you. You might like his jizz. It might always taste good to you.

Adventure in Samur Part 13.2 -  The Prize of Eternity

The four of us, psychically connected by the spell, simultaneously bring our hands up to the glowing embroidery of the ancient vestments. From our outstreched hands, the energy we have harnessed in the patches comes pouring out and in a moment, the form of Mistress Crowbastard is obscured by a blinding light. Demonic screams assault us from outside the circle of fire, tentacles and claws eagerly search for a way to tear us to shreds. We are at the most dangerous part of the spell now, for the protection of the circle is weakening and we must return from whatever bestial realm we have traveled to by using this dark magic. Jarkon, acting quickly, begins to chant the homegaldr.

"I traveled to a distant shore, I felt I had to go
an inner voice called me there, but why I did not know

I saw the evening star rise up, shining out to sea
And now I understand what it all means"
Soon the walls and floor return. Once again we are in the underground lair of Jarkon Crowbastard sleeps peacefully on the table before us and we repair to the other side of the room so as not to disturb her. Lars the Berserker is still angry and in hushed tones he growls at our host, "You are still responsible for the deaths of our people. One day I will kill you." Jarkon, exhausted from the sorcery he has just performed answers in a weary voice, "It is true that the beast that destroyed our village was one of my creations, but I did not send it. It was taken from me in a raid on the other side of the mountains by the Vorm, who you just met in battle. Lars, Headron knows you are here. He may not have been able to pinpoint your location, thanks to Parthon's cloaks, but now that the riders have spotted us it will not take them long to report our position. We must move from here, and fast." He stares into the eyes of the vengeful warrior and for the first time since we arrived here I see Lars' brow unfurrow. Bloodmace though, spurred on by his friend's skepticism steps fourth to question Jarkon, "Where are we going to go? We can't carry her for long." Bloodmace gives Jarkon a

searching look and the underground dweller answers, "She will be coming to any minute. This is a powerful spell and now even the demons of Mangar know of our presence. She will be disoriented for an bit, but I know of a place where we can shelter, and of someone who can help us gain entrance to Headron's palace, you see now is the most dangerous time for us because he knows that we will be 
much stronger when we enter the castle so he wants to stop us now. If he finds out that one of us is 
injured, he will know that we are not able to cast another Tabethian spell until we are able to rest. We will travel to the Sectaurian settlement not far from here, for the Vorm are terrified of the insect riders and their spider king, Rangar." Suddenly, the light in the room begins to flash red. "We've been breached, grab everything, follow me!" quickly, we grab our satchels and the groggy Mistress Crowbastard and head out the door of the concrete fortress and quickly down the hall. We can hear the sound of explosions from the further reaches of the grey catacombs as we climb upward and into the light. Exiting the passage we find ourselves just the other side of the battlefield, facing a rope and wood suspension bridge that stretches over the yawning canyon before us. While we hurry over the bridge, we see on the other side a huge spider, crouching above the entrance on the other side. I open my mouth to tell the others , but my words are cut short by silken cords that suddenly entangle me. The last thing I see before it goes dark is Jarkon motioning to the terrible spiders holding us prisoner.

 The last album was lots of fun, but in a completely different way. The compilation, Classical Metal Vol. 1, is an insanely pompous collection of mostly power metal bands covering classical music. Packed to the gills with arias, chorale arrangements, symphony orchestras, cheesy keyboards, and of course, much neo-classical shredding. This album features compositions by Vivaldi, Mozart, Dvorak and all the usual suspects handled and sometimes mangled by bands like Manowar, Uli Jon Roth, Therion, and At Vance. It's all almost to much to handle. This album is a gigantic fountain of jizz that rains down upon the earth, drowning the lowlands and destroying the crops, causing famine across the land will wine sipping aristocrats blather on about free market economics, causing the seeds of bloody revolution. It is awe inspiring. It is terrifying. It may not be the winner of the night, but I'm gonna get the other 8 volumes.

 Words of the Elders

What fate awaits these travelers in this land of untold horrors? Has Jarkon betrayed the party to his friends in the insect and spider kingdom? The gaping void calls out to the heroes of Centon with a sweet siren's song. Will the hammer of fate strike upon Bloodmace and Demon Scourge or Headron? Join us next time for a journey into the lair of Rangar and his cruel minions!

Until next week, brain thrashers






Horns