To Glory We Steer - The Lazy Man's Guide to Being Lazy

Gentle and steadfast reader, my apologies. I am a lazy fucking bastard and have neglecting my Metal Night duties. I spend so much time jacking off to furry porn that I sometimes forget to bathe or dress myself. Thus, the make-up post. I'm gonna tell you about some albums we listened to that were great, and maybe one that wasn't so great. Then I'm going to go back to jacking off. Onwards to gloryhole!!!

Well, last night was fucking crazy because we listened to a bunch of 1980's ers K-tell Metal compilation cassette's. This was the shit they would sell at Meijer's or K-mart for $5 and usually include at a bunch of bands that were only marginally metal. But the best one was the thrashy Metal Meltdown. Released in 1988,  featuring a nice mix of thrash, like Anthrax and Exodus, with traditional bands like Judas Priest and Accept, and smattering of hair metal, like Vinnie Vincent Invasion.  Whoever slapped this together seemed to have a good sense of what metal actually is, unlike the other douche bags who hurriedly slapped together all those other comps. 

The week before we checked out a bunch of blackened doom and Barathrum caught my ear. Their 1997 album Infernal is slow and doomy black metal, a churning cauldron of slow brewing hatred, Bathory meets
Celtic Frost in Darkthrone's rehearsal space. Good shit, is all I've got to say. I strangled a kitten to death while listening to this. That's what black metal is for. 

And then previously, we fucked around and listen to some horror themed Metal. Macabre's goofy thrashy death/grind antic won the night. Sinister Slaughter is an early 90's death metal classic. A serial killer
themed concept album, it is both entertaining and ripping, with some deft, non-flashy guitar work and a nimble rhythm section. This album jacks off with the entrails of your mom in a charnel house of pain and woe. Whoa!

The sky was bright and clear when Vecton and I boarded the hovercraft and set on our way to the outpost of Iron Dan. Gliding across the autumnal landscape of our beloved Jenkabala, with it's fiery reds and oranges, we silently contemplated the deeds of this mystic of the north. Son of Parthon the Elder, he was present at the great battle of Samur, when the Wyvern were defeated and the last surviving priest of the

T'Chah Karnac was freed from his prison. He was the warrior who bound Iron James to the battle jacket in order to contain the fearsome Necro Baby back in the days of pride. Gray factories whiz by the windows, dark and teeming with foul mutants who suck the meat from their victims bones with a chilling screech. When at last we passed from this cursed place into Abrin, land of aviation and commerce, the sun was sinking below the horizon and the shadows stretched out to envelop us like great dark arms. Our craft hummed through the maze of plain stone buildings until we reached the bunker of the legendary wizard. The oak doors swing open and there before us is the man himself. Wrapped in the iridescent cloth of his forefathers, he spoke to us, “Enter friends, there is much to be done.” Indeed, there was much to be done, for on this night we were to examine bands from the early days of Japanese metal. Little did we know it would very nearly cost us our sanity.

Brave Bomber – Warlike power metal, this band eventually changed their name to Gaisen March and continue to this day as a ferocious, militaristic speed metal band. We listened to their First Bomb and Second Bomb demos. They were the most recent band we listened to and you can hear the echos of the nascent German power metal scene in their sound.

Breaker – Though the “Heroes' Metal” and “I Wish You to Feel the Great Heavy Metal” demos we listened to came out, respectively, in '88 and '91, the sound is pure NWOBHM with, of course, a lot of Accept

influence. Japan has always been known as a bastion of heavy metal fandom and Breaker is most definitely a product of that community. The earlier demo showcases a much less fashionable denim and leather approach to the music, while the later adds a bit more dimension with longer song structures and more varied songwriting.

Outrage – Bay area thrash comes to Nagoya. Probably the most successful band we listened to (certainly one of the few who made it our of the demo stage.) This EP is Metallica worship through and through, enjoyable but derivative. I listened to some of their later material and they seemed to go mainstream hard rock at some point.

Precious – Power metal anthems with tasteful synth and a Dio/Dokken feel. I found this album to be a fun, inconsequential offering. A frothy confection spiced up with some exciting prog rock elements. According to Metallum, the band was formed by the Japanese heavy metal label Mandrake Root to promote their new guitar hero, Akria Kajiyama. This album makes perfect sense when you consider that one of Kajiyama's later projects, a tribute to Rainbow, would lead him to a gig as a main collaborator with Joe Lynn Turner for a good chunk of the early 2000's

Ageless – I get the feeling they are known more for the unhinged engrish rant on the back of this EP than the good, Neat Records influenced metal these derelicts banged out in some unknown studio. Nice, speedy riffage dominates most of the running time and vocalist Yoshiyuki Nogura pulls off a decent version of the 'ol heavy metal screech. It's too bad the only thing they put out after this was a demo from '87 that seems to have slipped through the cracks of time.

Battle Axe – All that remains of this slick, all-female ensemble from Osaka is two demos from 1985. Sounding something like Girlschool, they rip through some great metal anthems on the recording we heard, Battle Axe 3.

Cry-Max – My pick for band of the night. There was something about the sneering delivery and the hateful fuzz guitars of the last track, Abungald Coup d'Etat that made my ears perk up. When the vocals finally cede to an instrumental break, the searing synth lead that follows made me lo0se my shit. I'm not usually one for this type of shenanigans in my metal, but Cry-Max won my heart from the very first track. Half of the band moved on to the early visual kai band Gilles de Rais. 

With each album, Iron Dan and Vecton the Bard spun further into madness. Spells were cast with flaming hands and screams of madness echoed through the night. Ancient guardians gathered from dimensions unknown to witness the explosive competition of these weird mortals, each striving to prove his magic the most powerful. When at last I feared these two would crack open the very ground upon witch we stood and the enchanted bunker felt as though it was about to burst from the spiritual energy within, a familiar voice boomed out, “Hai! What's all this then?” Through the thick clouds and floating ash, Bloodmace of Waylor strode, cape billowing out behind him. “Come, Demon Scourge, let us end this foolish game.” I followed my brother into the fray and at his signal, we both used the Stryper patches on our battle jackets to bind the wonton sinners long enough for me to enrapture them with the Dio emblem. While the dust settles and our friends recover from their sudden burst of madness, Bloodmace turns toward me, “Good thing I came back when I did. The last thing we need is another Thrashstone massacre on our hands. Now let's try some of this excellent Samurian milk pie before it gets cold”

Until next time, phantom hellriders



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