Unchain the Night - Hard rock, hellishly bad rock, and cleansing black metal

We here at Metal Night, most of us, the older ones, the elder gods, are creatures of the 1980's. We were suckled on the hard tits of hard rock, rocked our cradles to Van Halen, lost out cherries to Warrant. Actually, more like ass raped to Warrant, because they sucked, but we had no choice in the matter. We are products of our environment. Therefore, we must explore the artifacts of our past, in order to chart the path to our future, which is full of pain and suffering and woe and fucking metal. Onward to glorious, sweet death!

The first hard rock night was bitchin. First up, Krokus's Headhunter was a delightful album, and not the AC/DC knock off that this band was said to be. This is pretty hard edged for the early 80's, but not too hard edged. And the ballad 'Screaming In The Night' is lighter worthy party metal for your 80's retro kegger.

Armored Saint's Raising Fear is the more blatantly metal, but there is a tuneful edge that just might lure your GF to backseat of your Chevy Nova, though she might have been there already. Odd that this band never made it big, because this is a collection of tunes that leaves most of the poddle metal from that era in the fucking dust. But alas, a lack of hairspray and power ballads was this band's commercial downfall. John Bush had to join Anthrax just to get some pussy.I'm not sure he did.
. But Dokken won the night, because Dokken rockens. Under Lock And Key is my favorite Dokken album. It was Demon Scourge to taught me how to appreciate this band, during a rather lengthy interrogation involving a flaming hot poker. It's a collection of slick tunes livened up by George Lynch's flaming licks and Don Dokken's flaming heterosexuality. Truly, this was the soundtrack to Saturday nights in the late 80's while cruising on the strip, right before that bout with chlamydia put a damper on things. Owww!

Into the Necro Lands Part 18.1 - Boyz are Gonna Rock

The moon had just risen over the grove where Bloodmace and I were listening to the tale of Rygar the seeker. The bearded warrior priest was telling us of how he came to be the new master of Castle Thrashstone. A soft, warm breeze was rustling through the trees above as he told of his mission to assassinate Hellmaster, who took possession of the castle after being exiled from their tribe in northern Jenkabala. After becoming lost and wandering for years in the Time Desert, gathering lost souls all the while, they at last fount their quarry, but fate had other plans for these nomads.

Well well. Since we were on a hard rock trip, reliving the our youths before the 1990's stripped all the joy from our lives, we thought we'd extend our hard rock trip by having a diel of the kiss guitarists....Ace Frehley vs. Vinnie Vincent. In this, we brought shame upon Chateau Jenkabala. Mostly, except Ace's KISS solo album is pretty righteous, and pretty much accepted as the sole redeeming album from that debacle. Indeed, it is an enjoyable collection of hard rockin' tunes, not too complicated, always a good times, especially after a few cheap American beers. 10 years later, Frehley's Comet is a little more of a guilty pleasure. It's pleasant enough. It rocks righteously, occasionally. But goddamn, lyrically Ace Frehley makes Gene Simmon's look like fucking Tom Waits and Paul Stanley like fucking Nick Cave. And half the song's feature the other guitar player, who has a bland 80's AOR type voice. Ace's can't sing/don't care approach is rather endearing.

Vinnie Vincent was a disappointment. The problem with 80's hair metal is that the bands always ended up sounding like fucking pussies by whoever was producing them. Dokken was one of the few to transcend this problem. The Vinnie Vincent Invasion did not. Despite lots of awesome guitar solos, the 80's bargain basement song writing is a turd shined up by a stellar major label production. It's party rock if your party is raided by cops after someone steals all your weed, and your sister is date raped.

Into the Necro Lands Part 18.2 - War

Rygar the seeker continues “I walked through the night with Lady Deathcrush, following the billowing cape trailing behind her through the city of tents and lean-tos. Past fires surrounded by drunken revelers and circles of solemn supplicants, praising the hundred gods. Through a vast field where ancient music echoed on the soft breeze and under a moss covered bridge illuminated by a weed-choked streetlight in the strange forest that had sprung up here almost overnight. Finally, we came to a low building, partially underground, in a clearing of the wood. Descending the rough steps, we entered the dimly lit chamber. The room is furnished simply, a table, chair and fireplace are the only furnishings in view. The chair, facing the fireplace is an opulent throne that looks out of place in this spartan shelter. A cloud of vapor rises into the air over its tall back and I am greeted by the king, 'Welcome traveler, I heard you might be looking for me.' I walk around the other side of the room and behold the end of my quest. I had found Hellmaster. His eyes size me up as he puffs on his vaporizer, 'You are Rygar of Samur, are you not?' I nod my head, 'Are you going to strike me down? I am unarmed and that is what you have come here to do.' Images swirl in my head, a mist of confused emotions and possible outcomes. I close my eyes

for a moment and gather the will to do what I must. 'No,' I can hardly believe the word even as it exits my mouth, 'I will not kill you. For too long we have been lost in this brutal wilderness. We have no nation, no tribe and thus no obligation to any but ourselves.' Hellmaster smiles and rises from his chair. Crossing the room, he stares out the window as he begins to address me. 'Not too long ago, the spot where we stand was a wasteland of prismatic sand, constantly being torn apart and rebuilt by the savage dimensional storms, but now look upon it. I see life springing up everywhere, though not necessarily new life. It's almost as if the time desert was a cloak that fell over the land and when Bloodmace healed the rift, the heavy fabric of these strange times was lifted, allowing us to see the world as it really is. Rygar, You say you have no tribe or nation but you forget the tribe you have known in your years here and the nation you have built out in the time desert. We are leaving this place, Lady Deathcrush and I, all that I can do here has been done. Tomorrow, at sunrise, we will depart for the Necrolands to the west. Rygar, I have summoned you here not as an enemy, but as a successor to my throne.' I have never felt such terrifying exhilaration as the moment when Hellmaster held out the secret talisman of Castle Thrashstone and when I took hold of the sigil, the sense of purpose I had sought in the Time Desert asserted itself.” Rangar looked again to the darkening sky and paused, squinting into the distance. “Now I have told you my story. Let us go to Zlendar and she will give us the knowledge we need to defeat Necro Baby.” Bloodmace and I glance at one another and silently agree. We fade into the dusky forest with Rygar, ready for whatever may come next.

We atoned for our sins the next week by listening to some righteous French black metal while drinking red wine. Satan forgives. First, we heard a band from an area that used to be part of France, but was conquered by Germany long ago. Maladie was, oddly,  a bit of a disappointment. Tight, technical, and definitely more German than French, their 2012 album, Plague Within, suffers from the infamous 'not being evil enough disease'. Too many bright sounding post black metal chords to impress the hipsters to impress this metal nerd on this Metal Night.

Blut Aus Nord's latest album, Memoria Vestura III: Saturnian Poetry, however, was a ripping blast of old school hell frost that we desperately needed to redeem our desperate souls. This album, oddly, lacked the industrial hell scapes that marked their previous albums, and harkens back to Emperor and Dark Funeral, without the keyboards. Cvlt as fuck.

But not as cvlt as Baise Ma Hache, who won the fucking night. Le Grand Suicide made us peel off our faces with dull butter knives.This album was trippy, depressive, avante gard black metal, and was exactly what I needed to get right again with the devil. And I don't need the skin on my face. Just vasoline.

Words of the Elders

So the tale of Rygar the seeker has been told, but what of Necrobaby and Iron James? What of Bildorf the Mad and the small army that even now combs the ocean for our hunted heroes? The cosmic ear has opened and fate calls the tune where balmy winds carry weird songs to dimensions unknown. Hail to Sampowt, to Gorn and Ixtatha! The holy bread and Miztoratha!

Until next time, swashbuckling legions,

Horns

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

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

Tales of Vecton Part 1

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

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

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

Except me.

And I am really tired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Words of the Elders

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

Until next time, molotov munchers,  

Horns