Ok, here's a space for you to let rip with your album reviews. We have some knowledgeable fans on this site, so we should set the standard high.
Albums could new release, old news, hidden gems, or black beauties. Post your views.
I've posted quite a few reviews at rothfans.com, which I'll re-post here. Everyone should feel free to post though, I don't want to claim any ownership in this thread.
Cheers
CLICK THIS LINK FOR A FULL INDEX OF REVIEWS
Last edited by Seshmeister; 08-21-2013 at 07:48 PM.
The Power Of The Riff Compels Me
There's been a lot of hype around this release, with members of the classic Lizzy lineup claiming that this 'lost' recording is superior to the classic 'Live and Dangerous'. Well, it isn't. It is, however, a very, very fine live record: the performance of the band may well be on a par with 'L&D', with 'Soldier of Fortune', 'Jailbreak', 'Cowboy Song' and 'Massacre' crackling and bouncing out of the speakers ('Don't Believe a Word' is a little flat, however); and Lynott's smooth, unusual tones slowly draw you deeper and deeper into his tales of joy and woe. What hinders this from being a classic, however, is the absence of an electric atmosphere which used to be an essential part of live albums - what made 'No Sleep 'til Hammersmith', 'Metallic KO' and 'If You Want Blood' classics was not just the face melting recordings of their respective bands on fire, but the capturing of the atmosphere in the room at that time - those records ooze personality, and bottle up a moment. This one doesn't. Lizzy were an excellent band, and this is a damn fine record of a damn fine performance, but a couple of moves short of a pefect 10.
A much better recording that last year's glorified bootleg of the '75 tour (although with a far less interesting track listing), this will be an asset in any fan of 70s hard rock's collection.
You know when a toddler become frustrated with a jigsaw and frantically hammers together two pieces that aren't meant to join, ultimately resulting in a final product which resembles the picture on the box in the same creepy yet distant way that a lookalike resembles their celebrity? Well, that's sort of what's happened here, with Cornell's sombre lyrics and dark tones jarringly out of step with 'producer extraordinaire' Timbaland's up-beat hippoty-hoppety music. The result is a collage rather than a collaboration, and it falls short of satisfying in every way.
Now, I have no problem with artists experimenting. When Metallic released 'Load', I thought 'different, but cool'; when Megadeth released 'Cryptic Writings' I thought 'Dave's a Cat Steven's fan? Who'd of thought it? But these songs rule...' and when Halford released 'Two' I thought.....ok even I'm not that open minded! But for experimentation to work it has to be done with a clear goal in mind, and still has to spring from the same essence that makes that artist great. In Cornell's case, experimentation with electronic music would have been better executed in a darker mould, a la Nine Inch Nails. That would have been from the same place as 'Superunknown', 'Badmotorfinger' or that criminally underated 'Euphoria Mornings'.
Here though the hip hop experiment seems contrived. Cornell singing 'That bitch ain't a part of me' just feels like a man play acting, rather than pouring his soul out; and the meanderings which make up the music on 'Time' and 'Sweet Revenge' feel half-hearted and under-cooked. It's certainly not the case that there's no plus points here - despite the presence of Justin Timberlake (mercifully low in the mix), 'Take Me Alive' is a very interesting tune and the point where the collaboration of Timbaland and Cornell works best. Highs are painfully few and far between however - along with the mediocre rock-by-numbers of 'Carry On' last time out, it seems that what we are witnessing here is a frightening public midlife crisis.
Cornell still has an outstanding voice, but on the evidence here you'd never know that in the early 90s this man wrote songs by which all subsequent rock music would be judged. It's a cruel irony that the super-talented often set themselves a bar that they spend the rest of their lives failing to clear. Listening to this will lead to frantic head shaking, not banging.
"I've been waitin' for a long time honey for the wrong side of the kiss...." (what a fuckin' lyric!)
The Supersuckers make albums that instantly make life's stresses seem like distant problems; a band that manages to be a good time rock n roll band without being entirely dispossable. You know exactly what you're going to get: tales of bad men and badder women, beer, brawls and broken hearts all blasted out through shit kickin' riffs and 4/4 rhythms - there is nothing contrived here, just real life in all its beautiful ugliness. This is what The Ramones would have sounded like if they'd been a bunch of good ol' boys, music to fight and fuck to, music that makes you tap your foot, shake your ass and grin the groans away. Highlights include the punchy rhythm of 'Listen Up', the Lizzy-esque harmony of 'Something Good For You', the comic bravado of 'I'm a Fucking Genius', and the sombre blues of 'What It Takes' and 'Paid', which is good time rock played by those who have lived the bad times and the good. This is as good as The Supersuckers have sounded in a decade - may be not the heights the reached with 'The Evil Powers of Rock n Roll' or 'The Sacreligious Sounds of the Supersuckers', but a damn good spin nonetheless. Great songs, clever lyrics and a sense of humour - what more do you want from a rock record?
Put simply, this is a post-hardcore record that isn't boring. In times when it seems every band in this genre writes songs that exist purely for the mid-section breakdown, that is a mighty fine achievement, and a refreshing one. This band don't even have generic on the horizon: the greasy riff to 'Bastard's Waltz' deserves an king sized award; and the unnerving and unhinged fury of 'Sorceress' is about as purely emotional as music can get. All great music has a sense of melody, and an incessantly attractive rhythm, and this group understands that - unlike so many other bands of this ilk, each song on this record stands unique from the others but all contain the stamp of character that runs throughout the album. From the classic metal riffery of the title track and 'Lucifer's Rocking Chair', to the old-skool hardcore of 'Harem of Scorpions' and 'Let It Pour' the listener is presented with a melting pot of everything that has been great about extreme music for the past 25 years. The vocals aren't cookie monster, but are barked with vitriol in a style that's reminiscent of the criminally underated 90s band Strife, and are a perfect vehicle for lyrics which paint in various shades of anger, rage and despair. Closing with the souring 'Zed's Dead Baby', this is a band that feels it and means it - if they keep putting out discs like this, they may very well become legends. Not for the faint hearted, but pure catharsis on plastic. My neck hurts, I'm sweating, and my ears ache, but damn it feels good.
This is a side project from Peter Tagtgren, lead singer/guitar player in death metal band Hypocrisy and producer/editor of Dimmu Borgia, Celtic Frost and Immortal. But this ain't death metal. If you had to label it, 'Anthemic Industrial' would be nearer the mark, the record is stamped with a sonic boom nearer to Strapping Young Lad (the Devin Townsend influence is very evident), the sombre despair of early Nine Inch Nails, and the twisted concotion of sounds displayed by Ministry and Misery Loves Co. The quality of the songs marks this out as much, much more than a whim, the fate of many side projects. There is so much to love here: the solomn lament of 'No-one Knows', the riff-crushing despair of 'Feed Us', and the frankly schizophrenic opener, 'I'm Going In' are just a few of the highlights. Throughout, scuzzy guitars are at the forefront of a sound lifted by choral sections and keyboards which compliment rather than overwhelm the grungy sound, amplifying the massive hooks in the choruses to make the songs truly anthemic. Make no mistake, like Trent Reznor Tagtgren knows how to weld his dark poetry with pop senibilities - these songs stick in your head. This is quite a unique talent - dark yet uplifting, intense yet catchy.
This is a real good CD IMO...saw them in a small club...outstanding show.Originally Posted by binnie
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Kick ass Thread, Binnie!
E- Jesus . Playing both sides because he didnt understand the argument in the first place
Two things separate this band from almost all of their punk/hardcore peers: 1) they write songs about real problems, rather than conveying an aesthetic and invented sense of misery; and 2) they mean it. They REALLY mean it. Songs about broken Britain, the angry laments of a younger generation increasingly desperate, disenfranchised and despondant in the face of the world around them. This is the sound of a furious verve for life turned sour through the restrictions of barriers which they can do nothing about, expressed in lyrics which are both visceral and eloquent. This is a traditional British punk record. But it is one which is saturated with the musical inventiveness of a generation of post-hardcore, and consequently 'the vulture', 'the riverbed' or the epic 'crucifucks' deserve to become points of reference for every band working in heavy music. Imagine Discharge, but with a variety that can only betoken intelligence. The most important British band working today.
Do I need to describe what this sounds like? If you've been a fan of metal for five minutes, you've heard Slayer. They've influenced everybody for a quarter of a century, they've been mercilessly ripped off, and yet nobody sounds quite like 'em. All the unique parts of the Frankenstein are here: squeaky-slashy duel solos; impossible speed; pariah screamed vocals; lyrics about war, anti-religion and serial killers; and the sheer bluntal heaviness. The AC/DC of extreme music are back with another record and given that in 25 years they've only ever made one clunker - 'Diabolus in Musica' - this is well worth a listen.
It's not great, however. It's not so much that its any less 'Slaytanic' than any other Slayers records, it's just that much of the material on here is a lot less memorable, criticisms that cannot be levelled at the bands other two records this decade, 2006's incendiary 'Christ Illusion' and 2001's later-career high, the criminally underated 'God Hates Us All'. The Kerry King tracks here sound decidedly rushed and uninspired - having a vibe similar to the 80s hardcore covers record - 'Undisputed Attitude' - tunes like 'Psychopathy Red', 'Unit 731', and 'Hate Worldwide' are almost like a Slayer tribute band that has decided to write its own material. Fast, brutal and heavy, yes, but painfully one-dimensional and almost self-parodic.
It's only when the band step out of its comfort-zone musically - as they did with 'Jihad' on 'Christ Illusion' - that we get the real treats. The eerie chill of 'Human Strain' is unlike anything they've really done before; the bruised beauty of the melody on 'Beauty Through Order' is biblically epic; and 'Playing With Dolls' is as disturbing as music can be. Knowing that their fanbase is so unforgiving of anything that moves away from the formula, these are brave choices for Slayer, but they are succesful ones. Even the title track features an unusually melodic riff in the bridge that takes the song up a level from the relentless chugging riffs we've heard a hundred times before, and it's this song with its muti-parts and time changes which shows that Slayer can still take just about anyone in extreme music. For this isn't a poor record by anyone's standards other than their own.
There's a lot of talk about a thrash 'revival' - well, on the evidence of this, 'Death Magnetic', and 'Endgame', the old guard are in little need of reviving. Is it going to be in your top three Slayer albums? No way. But is it still belligerant enough to have you playing every air instrument known to mankind? Yup - so much so your neck will snap.
Great music leaves something unquantifiable with you. A feeling that soothes you, and is awakened every time you return to a great album. Several Alice In Chains albums have managed the seemingly impossible feat of touching countless numbers of human beings with whom the band have never personally interacted - 1992s 'Dirt' changed everything in heavy music, and 1996s 'Unplugged' is - no arguments please - the best album ever to feature that moniker.
For what AIC do is make music which is impossibly melodic and incredibly heavy. Heavy, not just in a sonic sense, but in an emotional one. This is a band which always sang about real pain, real longing, a band which wouldn't know 'contrived' if it bit them. The death of Layne Stayley - the voice of the band - would seem to be a loss then that would prove to be as implossive as removing the keystone from a bridge. Not so, my friends, not so.
What is amazing about new singer William Duvall is how natural he sounds on this record. He doesn't try to be Layne, to sound like him or replace him; nor does he make the mistake of many new singers in rock bands and try to make it his show, and to alter the band's sound to suit him. He just sings the songs. And, along with Jerry Cantrell, he sings them beautifully - if Layne is missed at any point here its only on the acoustic 'Your Decision' in which Cantrell's lead vocals seem to be missing the ying to their yang.
This is a startling record. It's all there from opener 'All Secrets Known': the hauntingly dark melodies, huge riffs, slow, brooding bass undercurrent and the band's effortless twist from loose verse to tight chorus, a trick repeated on the melodic rumble of 'Acid Bubble'. It's gut-wrenchingly moving stuff: if the title track - Cantrell's hymn to Layne's final days - doesn't touch you then you must be dead inside. This is the classic AIC sound, but its not stagnation - 'Last Of My Kind' is more metallic than they've ever been, and 'Lesson Learned' is a timeless rock anthem. Sure 'A Looking In View' may be a little complicated and over-long, but you can forgive the imperfection in the presence of such power. This is more than a reunion. More than a peddling of the glory days. They've done it again - this album leaves an impression.
Yeah you too man. I'll be posting here more often now
The site was down for a year or so, so I forgot about it because I got tired of checking to see if it were up or not
No Chan, you can review whatever album you like. It would be great to read your reviews.
It seems that every time Paradise Lost release an album it's hailed as a 'return to form' but the truth is they've never lost it. This is typical of the British goth-metal pioneer's sound - hulking riffs, brooding atmospherics, uncomplicated yet massively emotive guitar melodies, and tortured vocals - and they are still the missing link between Metallica and Fields of the Nephilm. What's truly staggering about this album is just how finely crafted the songs are, and the vairety of material they offer, from the boom of 'First Light', the intensity of the ironically entitled 'Fragile' to the sombre lament of the title track, a song which concludes by exploding into classic rock at its most epic. This is truly an album rich and stacked deep with gems - the riff-tastic 'Universal Dream' is a masterclass in metal. Twenty years in, and they're still this good. But yet, you sense there's just something holding them back from greatness. Although almost everything here is finely crafted, perhaps that's the problem - sometimes the songs, whilst not sounding laboured, feel over-thought, and Paradise Lost have never been a band to just let it rip. For that reason, they'll always be a nine and never a ten - but they're a damnsight better than 99 out of the next 100 bands you'll hear.
The opening track of this record is called 'Facebreaker' - do I need to tell you what sort of music they play? Thought not. A band featuring Fear Factory guitarist Dino Cazares, this is an adaptation on his full-time band's sound - staccato riffing around double-bass drum patterns. Only faster, much faster. It seems that drummer Tim Yeung has three feet. Also like Fear Factory, the vocals switch from full-on agro to melodic croon. The problem, however, is that Travis Neal is no Burton C Bell. So, is this just sub-standard Fear Factory you shouldn't bother with? No, far from it in fact. 'The Battle of J. Casey' has an almost Kreator-esque thrash about it, and 'Monolithic Doomsday Devices' is brutal hardcore. This is an album which should be filed under 'intense', and one which will find a welcome home in any fan of modern metal's collection. The problem, however, is there's only so much you can do with double-bass patterns, and at times the record feels relentless - when it all comes together, as it does on the title track and 'Redefine', we are treated to something special; but when the ideas generator comes up short on 'Anarchaos' and 'Letter To Mother' we are left with something forgetable. A patchy record which comes nowhere near to eclipsing the band's 2007 debut 'Bleed The Fifth' (a near classic) this is well worth your time, but hardly more than the sum of its parts.
A minute and a half into 'No One Loves Me & Neither Do I' - the opening track on the debut album from 'supergroup' Them Crooked Vultures, the bastard child of Dave Grohl, Josh Homme and John Paul Jones - you think you have this record sussed. This is just Queens of the Stone Age with a (much) better drummer. Typically understated sunset drawl-rawk, a meandering jam akin to Homme's most recent QOTSA outings, you think. Then, like a left hook out of nowhere, a huge bass riff kicks in and the song takes off in a funk-tastic journey. John Paul Jones sounds like a man half his age on this record - just when you thought another 'supergroup' would inevitably disapoint, this record happens.
The sound is certainly indebted to Homme's full-time project, but its not limited by it. 'Mind Eraser, No Chaser' and 'Dead End Friends' are a cauldren of sped-up blues riffs. 'Elephants' maintains an irresitable groove through warped time-signatures; 'Caligulove' is Cheap Trick schizo-pop; and 'Reptiles' pays homage to '...Levee Breaks' Led Zeppelin, but it sounds like Jane's Addiction covering the tune. This is an un-apologetic rock record, but one which is not self-congratulatory. There is some incredible playing here - especially from Grohl's, a drummer capable of immense dexterity who nonetheless underplays everything with aplomb - but there's no nod-and-wink showmanship, and that's refreshing. It's a good time record that rewards repeated listens, at times and other-worldly jam, but one which never becomes self-indulgent.
Self-editing would have been advisable - 'Interlude With Ludes' and 'Warsaw or the First Breath You Take after You Give Up' add little that isn't already here in a superior form, and slow the record down in its middle section. But all is forgiven by the time you reach 'Gunman' - a bass-driven boogie that you will dance too, trust me. One of the few supergroups for whom you long for a second record.
Track List
Eat me up alive
Best of me
A little too much
Look out below
Last call
Lost weekend
As good as it gets
Garden of eden
Take a big bite
Take me home
Don’t let go
I was really excited about this record coming out as I am a classic Ratt fan. Warren Demartini is one of my favorite guitar players. Also was never able to see them live back in the day. This is the original line up except for the obvious. Robin Crosby who died. He is replaced by Carlos Cavazo of Quiet Riot fame. Also missing is Juan Crousier on Bass who apparently chose not to be a part of this reunion. He is replaced by Robbie Crane. Not really replaced I guess but not original as far as I am concerned.
I give this a 4 out of 5 stars. It’s has that “Out of the Cellar” feel to it. At first I thought this was Warren filled album but the more I listen to it it’s not. Cavaso gets his licks in as well. I was never a big fan of his but no doubt he is a talented guitar player. It has that twin lead stuff in like the old days with Crosby. It’s kick ass. Well produced with decent mixing. Drums sound great and the guitars are well balanced. Vocals are good to ok on most of the tracks.
Some of my favorite tracks and why.
Lost Weekend. Start’s out driving like “Lack of Communication” as has a cool hook. All the songs have some great guitar work. So let’s just say that’s a given on every song except one I’ll mention later.
Last Call: This has RATT written all over it from start to finish. Starts out and ends with a really cool almost EVH like riff. Great tune.
Eat me Alive: This tune make you want to grab the bong and take a few hits. This has Warren all over it.
The only song that really sucks is Take me Home. It’s a ballad that makes me think of Night Ranger. Nuff said. I have not been able to listen to it all the way through. It's just a gay song.
GO BUY IT. It’s good.
Cool review Jaggermiester - I've yet to check out that record, but the material I've heard on the radio sounds promising, and certainly a lot stronger than the stuff Motely Crue put out after their reunion.
It's good man I was real happy with it. I can't wait to see them live here in a few months.
Weight. Groove. Melody. Soul. It's like those words are carved into the core of this album, the first and only release from New Orleans doom-crew Floodgate. Having already fronted one band who were ahead of their time - Exhorder - you can't help thinking that Kyle Thomas must be a little bit bitter that his talents have passed largely unnoticed in the metal world. It's all a case of timing: two years later this band would have been huge. By that point, the Sabbath reunion was in full flow, Kyuss had a cult status and a nascent Queens Of The Stone Arena were making waves. Yet Floodgate's stoner bludgeon was out of place in the mid-90s, sadly. Centred around a huge, boulder-swinging bass-heavy sound which suts sparsel behind Thomas's smokey-croon, songs like 'Shivering' and 'Before the Low Divide' are reminiscent of Corrosion Of Conformity at their most groove-laden. Introspective moment 'Whole' was Alice In Chains covering Sabbath's 'Planet Caravan'; and on 'Running On With Sodden Legs', Thomas shows us why he was so influential upon Phil Anselmo.
Thomas would re-emerge several years later in Alabama Thunderpussy, but in truth this is the best record - and certainly the strongest set of lyrics - he's ever wrapped his pipes around. Alongside Down's 'Nola', this hulking slab of sonic-bombast sat as the custodian of the essence of metal in a scene increasingly weakened by distractions in the mid-90s. A career short but sweet, but a legacy of soulful metal.
Fact is, Carlos is WAY better than people give him credit for. And unlike some of his peers (cough, cough), he KEEPS PROGRESSING...
He's a total bro, and Warren's a pretty cool guy, too.
Well they did a great job on this. I get goose bumps listening to some of it.
Oh and tell um I'm sorry about Take me home, the ballad but it fuckin suck balls. Only think I didn't like about that disc really. It's like where the fuck did that come from?? Who's idea was that shit? LOL
Have you listened to this jhale? Cause everytime I do I think about that statement. This is a damn good record. I can't get enough of it.
Thank You Next is the best album in 2019
I'm not sure you are at the right site.
Writing In All Proper Case Takes Extra Time, Is Confusing To Read, And Is Completely Pointless.
A review of the The Flaming Lips cover of Dark Side of the Moon
After watching and hearing the Flaming Lips derailment of what was intended to be a tribute to the Who on VH1 a year or so ago, I was a bit leary of them covering DSotM. It turned I was leary with good reason.
From the brash intro of Speak To Me to the final heartbeat of Eclipse I was left unimpressed and a bit insulted. It's hard to believe this is the same band that recorded some of my favorite efforts of the past 10 years or so. While Peaches does a fine job, the guest spots from Henry Rollins, much like the overall performance of the album, simply falls flat.
There are some bright spots to the album. The Great Gig in the Sky and Us and Them are definitely the standout tracks. They maintain some of the original tunes' integrity while incorporating some of the classic psychedelic synth vibe that originally put The Flaming Lips on the musical radar. That doesn't mean they are very good though.
Overall: I can't help but think some of these tunes would better served on a various artists tribute to DSotM. All the sounds and groove of The Flaming Lips that their fans will dig with an uninspired/lack-lustre performance and sloppy/choppy production. Die hards will want to get it to complete their collection but otherwise not worth the money. If you want to hear a good tribute to DSotM, get the Dream Theater bootleg: MEGAUPLOAD - The leading online storage and file delivery service
1 1/2 out of 5
Ouch!
Sounds like they deserved it though.....
Kiss have always been big but never particuarly clever. Nothing much has changed here. In fact, this album has a decidedly retro feel to it: a conscious drive toward their '70s sound; formlaic art work with the lyrics printed clearly one page per song, like they used to be in the good ol' days; and a centre-fold photgraph of the band in all of their made-up glory, complete with signatures - a detail which suggests that they still take themselves waaaay too seriously. Blues riffs are still burried in glitter, the lyrics are still terrible, the songs are still written around ideas stretched thinner than the spandex pants in their collective wardrobe, and the whole thing is still camper than Christmas.
But it works. It REALLY works. From the moment opener 'Modern Day Delilah' kicks in with its tumble riff and gargantuan chorus, you just know this is a good Kiss record. This is a band that has always worked best at its simplest - a hamburger served best with extra cheese and little garnish - and songs like 'Say Yeah', 'All For The Glory' and 'I'm An Animal' are the uncomplicated pop rock staples upon which they've made their millions. Purists may say it can never be vintage Kiss without Ace Frehley and Eric Carr in the mix, but Thommy Thayer and Eric Singer fill their roles adequately (the former contributing to a belter in 'Never Enough') and allow this to be what the band has been for at least 25 year - the Gene and Paul show. Ultimately this is a Paul Stanley album - the Starchild not only handled production duties and wrote most of the tunes, but sings his balls off througout. Simmons may have a standout cut in 'Russian Roulette', but he's also responsible for the stinker 'Hot and Cold'.
Overall, 'Sonic Boom' is something of a Kiss trifle - layers of everything good from their near 40 year career arranged into one treat of a record. Thus you have 'Danger Us' and 'When Lightning Strikes' to represent the blues rock of their '70s heyday sitting alongside 'Stand', which replicates the pop glories of their '80s peak. You get the sense that the memory of 1996's disaster 'Psycho Circus' became something of an albatros, and this time round the band wanted to ensure that their career ended (for this surely is the end?) with Boom rather than a whimper.
When the title track kicks in to open this record, you get warm sense of familiarity that comes with listening to legends - with it's blues riffs cranked to a broken-swagger and gusto, this is the Rolling-Stones-with-the-wheels-abouttofalloff we've come to love about the 'Dolls. It's a surprise then that the bulk of this album departs from that trademark sound. 2006's reunion record - 'One Day It Will Please Us To Remember Even This' - was unconciously nostalgic in its delivery of slabs of thick glitter-blues, and the hiring of Todd Rungren to produce 'Coz I Sez So' might lead listeners to expect a more self-conscious drive to re-capture the band's '70s sounds. It's a welcome surprise that this no ape of a record, and a sign of the hunger still abounding in the Dolls bellies which leads to some truly inspired moments being displaid here. The menacing refrain of 'Better Than You' is a dark beauty; 'Lonely So Long' is drenched in a Cohen-esque croon; and 'My World' is the sound of a later-day REM who have discovered their testicles. This album then is not an attempt to be 'modern' or 'relavant', but certainly a drive to be a more mature New York Dolls, and as such it's drenched in the unabounding honesty which made them great in the first place. The lyrics are still a hive of uncomplicated pinache and gutter-glitz wisdom, and its when the band are stipped down on the battered agony of 'Making Rain' - a slab of uncontrived melancholy so many EMO bands would give every dyed hair on their heads to pen - that we remember how poigant this band can be. No nostalgia trip, but still a familiar friend, and far from perfect - these Dolls are still coming at you warts and all.
Slaves To Gravity have been awarded many plaudits for their debut album, lapping up tags of 'best new band'. These are certainly well deserved, but in a sense they're also misleading, for there is little 'new' year. In essence we have a band which sounds like 'Purple'-era Stone Temple Pilots or 'Down On The Upside'-era Soundgarden, a slab of post-grunge which is littered with high-points. Whilst it's not a patch on any of its influences, it is an impecable debut, and, like Life Of Agony's equally post-grunge sounding 'Ugly', is far from being simply a copy-cat record. Song's like 'Heaven is A Lie' revolve around a swirl of riffs, harmonies and hooks which smack of a song-writing maturity far beyond this band's youth; and the macabre-jangle of the Jane's Addiction-esque 'She Says', with its bleeding vocal, is a taste of the talent in reserve here. Bolstered by the rich, crisp and thick production of Chris Sheldon, the songs have been worked at but rarely stray into the territory of sounding laboured. Rich, dark, and yet strangely uplifting, this is a sign of things to come - for whilst Slaves To Gravity are still a long way from penning a classic, should they learn to absorb their influences more fully into their own sound we may get a masterpiece in the future.
Baroness - Blue Album
This is heavy, bitterly heavy, but it ain't metal. Show Baroness a song constructed around chugga-chugga riffs in 4/4 and they'd probably find it immoral. Indeed, these Georgians don't really play songs - these are pieces of music, almost suites, which breate and pulsate, swan dive and soar across luscious musical landscapes which feel to have no time. Somewhere between sludge metal and prog rock, this manages to be uplifting, far more sonorous than your average extreme metal band - if this all sounds pretentious, it shouldn't, for despite being complex, Baroness are not needlessly showy. Their music is devoid of nod-and-wink muso smirking, and the band play as one - guitarists Peter Adams and John Baizley weld their instruments into one, and drummer Allen Bickle peppers each track with intonations and subtelties. Moreover, this is brutally raw. Indeed, the production is so crisp and sparse that it feels almost live, an added slice of humanity which invites you to become absorded in their swirl of riffs and throbbing drums beats.
The 'Blue Record' is painted in many hues. Expounding their stoner credentials on the explosion of 'Jake Leg', the sonic bombast is juxtaposed with acoustic lament of 'Steel That Sleeps The Eye'. A punkier version of fellow Georgians Mastodon, Baroness can more than hold their own with their more successful cousins, and pieces like 'Ogeechee Hymnal' and 'A Horse Called Golgotha' sound like the earth opening up and bellowing. If 'O'er Hell and Hide' feels like a wasted opportunity, you can easily forgive it in the face of the quality here.
This is a challenging listen, but a rewarding one. Those looking for a verse-chorus-verse-chorus band will be frustrated, but those of an adventurous bent will be rewarded. If Baroness learn the value of unity they will one day deliver a classic. On the 'Blue Record', as with the 'Red Record' before it, each piece of music feels distinct and not necessarily realted to the other - this is a series of concertos not related to a larger symphony. If the lesson of coherence is learnt, Baroness will one day deliver a record that is inspiring rather than inspired.
Fear Factory - Mechanize
It opens with industrial noises, a presage of the metallic precision which is about to kick in. The familar BOOM of double bass patterns sandwiched perfectly with short, punchy staccato riffs and roaring vocals usher in the rythmic assault that is Fear Factory - they are back!
In the mid '90s there were four metal bands that really mattered: Pantera, Sepultura, Machine Head and Fear Factory. These were the four bands taking the remnants of thrash and welding it to underground influences to produce music of new visceral vibrancy. But Pantera imploded, post-Max Cavelera Sepultura made records of increasing mediocrity, and until five years ago Machine Head, like Fear Factory, seemed to have faded away. 'Mechanize' is Fear Factory's 'Blackening' - a bold statement of reinvention that is startling in its hunger, vision and, most importantly, its sheer aggresssion. Indeed, the band hasn't seemed this brutal since 'Soul Of A New Machine' waaaaaay back in 1992. Maybe its the influx of new blood - a new rhythm section of drum God Gene Hoglan (Dark Angel, Strapping Young Lad, Forbidden) and Byron Stroud replicate the mechanical precision of old, but add a new intensity to it, a perfect foil for the tort riffage of Dino Cazares. The results are vitriolic: the sonic savagery of 'Industrial Disciple', the brutal precision of 'Powershifter' and death metal tinges of 'Fear Campaign' are staggering in their rawness, and it is on listening to them that you realize just how indebted the modern metal landscape is to this band. Most of all, however, you realize how talented vocalist Burton C Bell is - every band that switches from gutteral bark to melodic chorus is ripping this guy off, and few possess the pipes to compete. Cookie Monster vocals are the easiest way for a band to sound generic, and it takes a vocalist with real charisma, with real feel, to make them distinct - Bell has always managed to do that, his rythmic delivery making these songs memorable. On 'Christploitation' everything clicks perfectly, and it will be the most masterul piece of metal you hear this year: whether charging like a bull on the edge of a heart attack, or brushing over the listener with dark, intricate interludes, this is the essence of Fear Factory in one song.
Closing with epic 'Final Exit' - which ends with an almost hymnal electric symphany - you realize what it is that seperates bands like this from the countless others in their wake: the writing of ALBUMS rather than compiling a body of songs. It is a curious irony that a band whose subject matter has always been so obsessed with the potential and dangers of technology that in the Ipod age of pick 'n' mix music, they would consciously produce a record so retro in its approach - a musical journey which is far, far, more than the sum of its parts.
Near perfect.
From the vaults: Metallica - St. Anger
Possibly the most maligned record ever made, this album was nonetheless a noble failure. The sound of band hungering to embrace its metalllic essence yet reticent to simply replicate its past, 'St. Anger' is full of experiments, some of which worked and many of which didn't. At times the sonic equivalent of one those abract pieces of art which Ulrich loves so deeply, reviewers quickly pointed to there being much 'wrong' with the album - the stunted, tin-can drum sound, the turgid mix, and the absence of guitar solos being the most commonly sounded. None of this really gets to the root of the problem, however. What this album really lacked was nuance, the contrast of darkness and light, beauty and the beast, which made Metallica, like all truly great metal bands, unmatchable in the 80s and which heirs to the throne Mastodon are running with now. The absence of lighter moments makes for over 70 minutes of music which is as tuneless as it is furious.
Given the well publicsed 'problems' which the band, and James Hetfield in particular, were enduring during the process of producing this album, perhaps this ferocity is art at its most pure: catharsis. Detractors quickly scoffed at the notion of 'millionaire crybabys', but such mocking doesn't really hold any water - the notion that money buys happiness or fulfilment is as disengenuous as the suggestion that Hetfield was not a deeply troubled soul during this period. Indeed, there is a rawness, a primal expression of torment, which seeps from this album and it is perhaps that which disturbed reviewers as much as the unconventional sonic approach - the uncomfortable vulnerability on display here makes for a times unnerving experience. At its best this rawness produced the Discharge riffage and naked vitriol of opening salvo of 'Frantic' and the titletack, and the slugging body blow of 'Purify', a song so heavy it could wind a buffalo; at its worst its left us with the aimless 'Invisible Kid', a musing on an ignored childhood which reaches for profound but only manages to grab trite.
There is little contrived about this venting, then. Indeed, the main problem with Lars' drum sound is that it felt like a calculated attempt to get back to basics, a calculation which detracted from Hetfield's wounded vocals and visceral guitar playing (it is noticeable that the songs sound so much more powerful on the accompanying DVD studio performacne.) 'All Within My Hands' is the latter's finest hour, a beast of a song exploring the depths of a controlling personality which can result from inferiority - a huge departure from the 'fuck the world' mentality so frequently projected from Hetfield, the track nonetheless manages to stagger in its aggressiveness, and may be one of the most inventing recordings Metallica has ever laid down. Although decidedly less aggressive 'The Unnamed Feeling' is nevertheless a mongrel beauty of a song, and perhaps the true embodiment of the 'greasy' sound which Lars so often mistakenly employed to characterize the 'Load' albums.
'St. Anger', then, was a real musical statement from a band in turmoil. Accusations of 'sell out' fall flat on listening to this piece of commercial suicide, and album without an obvious single and which existed apart from any musical trend of the time. It is a hard listen, and even harder to love - but it is a truly honest emotional statement. Ugly as it was, this was three guys making music from their hearts - a limping band, but a beautiful one statement despite all of its deformities. A maelstrom of riffs, time changes and a battery of some of the most aggressive music ever recorded, to these ears 'St. Anger' makes many of the death and extreme metal 'underground' bands sound as dangerous as Lady Gaga by comparision. And it is the song which encapsulates that ugly beauty most perfectly, 'Some Kind Of Monster', which would have perhaps been its most fitting title - it has certainly become its most appropriate epitaph.
Armored Saint - La Raza
There is a hunger in evidence on this record. Like an old fighter mustering everything in the tank for one last shot at the glory which fate has denied them for so long, Joey Vera an co. sound like they mean it. We've seen a lot of that from the old guard in recent years - Testament's furious 'Formation of Damnation' was a career high, and on 'Ironbound' a defiant Overkill set out to throttle listeners into accepting that they deseve far more than the journeymen status they are so often awarded. That gusto is here too, right for the ominous orchestral opening to the record's first track, 'Loose Cannon'.
In truth, however, Armored Saint fall short in their hunt for glory. That's not to deny that there are powerful moments here: on 'Left Hook From Right Field', with its punchy Helmet riff, John Bush sounds like he knows that this is far better than anything that the limping version of Anthrax could currently come up with; and on 'Chilled', a lament for life to slow down in middle-age, the band had created a perfect harmony of music and lyrics. But for every high, there is a moment of mediocrity which blights progression. Songs like 'Get Off The Fence' and 'Black Feet' stall, and sound stale in comparison to the joyfully punky 'Little Monkey' or the tight groove of 'Head On' or the titletrack.
Armored Saint, then, aimed for great but only managed to clutch onto good. Yet that's no mean feat, and they deserve some serious respect. Unlike many bands of their era, this is a musical statement, not a nostalgia trip. This is no retro-thrash record - sure its fast in places, and its heavy, but the band has a musical pallette far wider than they did 20 years ago, and they're not afraid to use it. Grooving in places, blasting in others, this feels like a labour of love. Sometimes, you don't have to win the belts to earn to status of champs.
Scar Symmetry - Dark Matter Dimensions
A band with multiple-personality-disorder, Scar Symmetry borrow heavily from every possible sub-genre of metal and weld their pickings into one unique sound, a kind of 'Russian Slice' of metal if you will. Imagine death metal vocals spliced with ultra melodic choruses, guitar wizzardy contrasted with extreme metal pummelling, soaring power-metal melodies pasted over blast beats. What is odd about this shameless eclecticism is its coherency - the sheer strength of the riffs and melodies here carry the listener through the bands genre-smashing sound. Yet, the band leaves you with an ambivalnet feeling - on the one hand, you can't help but enjoy the sheer unapologetic celebration of all things metal; but on the other, you're struck by the feeling that it's all a little contrived. Clever, certainly, but over-thought and over-blown - indeed at their most soaring Scar Symmetry's power-meets-extreme-metal sounds a little like Queensryche being raped by an angry bull. Their enthusiasm is certainly infectious, and their song-writing talents are undeniable, but anyone looking for an emotive musical statement will best search elsewhere.
Iron Maiden - No Prayer For The Dying.
Where did it all go wrong? Following up 'Seventh Son For A Seventh Son' - an album which the band posited would take metal into the '90s - Maiden disproved their own prophecy by following it up with an album which was both tired and uninspired. Opting for a sound more stripped-back and consciously raw than 'Seventh....' and its predecessor 'Somewhere Back In Time', Maiden's ramshakle collection of songs felt like off-cuts from older records than a coherent album per se. Opener 'Tailgunner' possessed a strong hook, but by the time of second song 'Holy Smoke' things were already nose-diving. Little more than a collection of power-chords, the only thing less inspired than the guitar work was the lyrics - by this point, anti-religious metal songs were decidedly ubiquitous and devoid of menace or meaning. 'Bring Your Daughter (To the Slaughter)' and 'Hooks In You' saw the band hunt for pop sensibilities - but the former possessed a cringe-worthy hook and cartoon-sloch imagery which saw the band descend into self-parody; whilst the latter felt more like the Glitter Band trying to score a horror B Movie. There were certainly flashes of the days of yore. 'Mother Russia' provided a strong closer, and silly title aside 'Public Enema Number One' sported a memorable gallop. Yet this was an album which leaves the listener wanting more - more ambition, more substance and more of the bombast which made Maiden THE metal band of the previous decade. It was clear that Bruce Dickinson was tired of it all by this point - upon re-listening to turgid messes like 'The Assasin' (more melodrama than machismo) its amazing that he stayed for another record. At best, 'No Prayer For the Dying' strained to be memorable - it exists today as document of the time when traditional metal was thwarted by its subgenres, when the bands from the underground stole the centrepoint from the stalwarts of the '80s. On the evidence of 20 years ago, who would have thought that Maiden would be more energised than ever in 2010?
Progressing is very important - there is a reason that AC/DC haven't made a really good record for 30 years.
I don't know about that. They just all sound the same.
Exactly - between 'Let There Be Rock' and 'Back In Black, whilst there was a definite AC/DC sound, they devleoped a little on each album. After that they just stuck to a formula, and consequently neve
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