Album Reviews

[binnie]

Vain – Enough Rope

God bless Davy Vain. His twisted brand of rock ‘n’ roll – debauched, yet beautiful – is as unrelentlessly unique in 2012 as it was in 1989. From the opening seconds ushering ‘Greener’ into life the whiff of Sunset Strip is pervasive: the sleazy serpentine riffs, the massive drums, the rolling bass-line (not to mention the inappropriate artwork). But this was no Crue, Ratt or Poison rip-off. This was – and is – something else, something in Davy Vain’s crystalline pipes which pushes these songs – just as it did on 1989’s lost hard rock classic, ‘No Regrets’ – into the stratosphere. It’s effeminate, yet menacing; tender, yet nasty. Wrapped around a succession of hooks that Johnny Thunders and Michael Monroe would kill for, it is utterly, utterly captivating.

‘Triple X’ – which features the lyric ‘sex quicksand’ – is utterly ridiculous, preposterous, even, but in these hands it works. It’s the rawness that kills, leaving the New Wave inspired ‘Cindy’ and (the brilliant) ‘Distance of Love’ drenched in sweat. You can even forgive the lesser moments, the filler of ‘Vain’ and ‘Solid Gold’. Vain has always done more than most Sunset bands – more than bombast or the sleaze and glam, what we get here is something generally debauched, sensational and yet delicate, a series of very personal moments of lust made universal. It seaps out of the speakers, leaving the likes of ‘Worship You’ sounding genuinely dangerous – an ode to the desire to place a woman on a pedestal and do nasty, nasty things to her. During the title cut you realise that this is music where fun become abandon, pleasure becomes abuse and excess is an artform.

I feel dirty………………………give me more!

[binnie]

Guns ‘N’ Roses – Chinese Democracy (2008)
If ever a record was doomed to fail before anyone had ever heard it, this was it. Nothing – I mean NOTHING, not a blow job from Scarlet Johansen, a kiss from God, or the pin to Bill Gates’s credit card – could possibly live up to the anticipation which Axl Rose engendered around this record by spending such an inordinate amount of time recording it and allowing so much rumour to mask it in opinion which ranged from mystique to farce. Add into that Axl’s rather, errrrrrrm, ‘unorthodox’ methods of treating both his own fans and his band’s legacy, and 20+ years of primadonna behaviour, and what you have is a recipe not just for pre-judgement but flat-out blind prejudice. ‘It can’t work without Slash’ they screamed (surely Izzy would be a more significant absentee if you want to pursue that line of argument?); ‘Axl’s mad’ they wailed. ‘He’s lost his voice’….’he’s fat’……and so on. At this stage, anything Axl does will be unfairly mangled by the ramifications of his own persona.

But, to truly and fairly review this record we have to be clear from the outset about what it isn’t. Firstly, it is not a metal record – indeed, in places it is barely a hard rock one. Secondly it is not – and was clearly never intended to be – anything like ‘Appetite For Destruction’, the perennial albatross around all members of G’N’R (Velvet Revolver had the same problems bypassing its legacy). Indeed, aside from Rose’s distinctive pipes, much of ‘Chinese Democracy’ sounds little like anything G’N’R put down on record before it, and you can’t help thinking that if he’d called it a solo project it would have had a better reception by side-stepping the emotional attachment to the original band – indeed, given the long list of musicians and collaborators here, this was a record made by a ‘band’ only in the very, very notional sense of the term.

So, what is it then? Something of a noble failure if truth be told – a schizophrenic record full of glorious, glorious highs but marred by moments of baffling mediocrity. At its heart is Rose as singer-songwriter rather than fucked-up rock ‘n’ roll pariah, a side of his vision first shown on the ‘Illusions’ records. If there is a core to the sound it is piano-led songs layered in heavy guitar. At its worst (‘Catcher In the Rye’) it sounds like James Taylor arranged by Uncle Fester; at its best (see the quite frankly astounding ‘Prostitute’) Rose managed to deliver heavy music layered with genuinely adult emotion without sacrificing its immediacy – a rare thing in the world of metal. It may have one or two too many ballads – ‘This I Love’ sounds like a bloated Andrew Lloyd Webber out-take – but Rose is clearly at his most comfortable when displaying his more intimate side. ‘Sorry’ is a dark, claustrophobic reworking of the power ballad which displays both his lyrical cleverness and ability to suck you into his nightmarish world; whilst ‘If The World’ injects a rather conventional medium with elements of dub and trip hop (Portishead, anyone?) on the way to creating a luscious, dream-like soundscape of incredible beauty; and ‘Street of Dreams’ sounds a bit like Billy Joel with a screw loose – the hyperbole may be 20 years out of date, but it’s powerful nonetheless.

Best of all is ‘Riad N’ The Bedouins’, which is like nothing else in rock. It’s so gloriously over the top – like an Opera crammed into one sonata – so grandiose that it could only have been made a man who manages to make the ridiculous visceral and savage (‘Locomotive’, ‘Coma’….) – it sounds like Queen hitting you in the face with a brick. Combined with the bitterness which drips off the Trojan horse beauty of ‘There Was a Time’, and the sheer oddity of ‘Madagascar’ what we have are moments of dazzling vision, scope and vanity – at once captivating and instantly loveable.

The problem – and it’s a serious problem – is that the whole is much less than the sum of its parts. This is largely because of the record’s aforementioned ‘schizophrenic’ nature. The grandiose statement of the gems is out of step with the scuzzy rock ‘n’ roll of ‘Scraped’ (which is forgettable) and the titletrack (which sounds closest to the dirtied up glam rock which Guns made their name on, but is out of place here). The songs stand on their own merits – the near perfect rock song, ‘Better’, is a case in point – but feel like a miss-dressed ensemble together. Sacrificing some of these moments would have added cohesion and brought the record – which clocks in at 71 minutes – in at a more endurable pace.

The biggest problem here, however, was the length of the project’s gestation – the production is so overcooked and overthought, tweaking many of the sounds to the point of artificiality and layering the tunes in layer after layer of instrumentation, that is robs the songs of their raw power through suffocation. The real tragedy here is that these songs were not allowed to stand by themselves as a testament to Rose’s vision. But none of this makes for a disaster. Indeed, if truth be told, what we actually have here is a missed opportunity – there is so much of real quality here that had Rose relinquished control to a fresh set of (quality control) ears, the end result would have been a return with a bang rather than a whimper. A record as frustrating as its author, it is one which nevertheless remains criminally overlooked (not to mention under-rated) – a record which deserves to be admired for being so brazenly, and honestly, out of step with anything happening in the musical scene, ‘Chinese Democracy’ is a ginger peg stuck in a (rather pompous) hole of its own making.

[Dave's Bitch]

Guns ‘N’ Roses – Chinese Democracy (2008)
If ever a record was doomed to fail before anyone had ever heard it, this was it. Nothing – I mean NOTHING, not a blow job from Scarlet Johansen, a kiss from God, or the pin to Bill Gates’s credit card – could possibly live up to the anticipation which Axl Rose engendered around this record by spending such an inordinate amount of time recording it and allowing so much rumour to mask it in opinion which ranged from mystique to farce. Add into that Axl’s rather, errrrrrrm, ‘unorthodox’ methods of treating both his own fans and his band’s legacy, and 20+ years of primadonna behaviour, and what you have is a recipe not just for pre-judgement but flat-out blind prejudice. ‘It can’t work without Slash’ they screamed (surely Izzy would be a more significant absentee if you want to pursue that line of argument?); ‘Axl’s mad’ they wailed. ‘He’s lost his voice’….’he’s fat’……and so on. At this stage, anything Axl does will be unfairly mangled by the ramifications of his own persona.

But, to truly and fairly review this record we have to be clear from the outset about what it isn’t. Firstly, it is not a metal record – indeed, in places it is barely a hard rock one. Secondly it is not – and was clearly never intended to be – anything like ‘Appetite For Destruction’, the perennial albatross around all members of G’N’R (Velvet Revolver had the same problems bypassing its legacy). Indeed, aside from Rose’s distinctive pipes, much of ‘Chinese Democracy’ sounds little like anything G’N’R put down on record before it, and you can’t help thinking that if he’d called it a solo project it would have had a better reception by side-stepping the emotional attachment to the original band – indeed, given the long list of musicians and collaborators here, this was a record made by a ‘band’ only in the very, very notional sense of the term.

So, what is it then? Something of a noble failure if truth be told – a schizophrenic record full of glorious, glorious highs but marred by moments of baffling mediocrity. At its heart is Rose as singer-songwriter rather than fucked-up rock ‘n’ roll pariah, a side of his vision first shown on the ‘Illusions’ records. If there is a core to the sound it is piano-led songs layered in heavy guitar. At its worst (‘Catcher In the Rye’) it sounds like James Taylor arranged by Uncle Fester; at its best (see the quite frankly astounding ‘Prostitute’) Rose managed to deliver heavy music layered with genuinely adult emotion without sacrificing its immediacy – a rare thing in the world of metal. It may have one or two too many ballads – ‘This I Love’ sounds like a bloated Andrew Lloyd Webber out-take – but Rose is clearly at his most comfortable when displaying his more intimate side. ‘Sorry’ is a dark, claustrophobic reworking of the power ballad which displays both his lyrical cleverness and ability to suck you into his nightmarish world; whilst ‘If The World’ injects a rather conventional medium with elements of dub and trip hop (Portishead, anyone?) on the way to creating a luscious, dream-like soundscape of incredible beauty; and ‘Street of Dreams’ sounds a bit like Billy Joel with a screw loose – the hyperbole may be 20 years out of date, but it’s powerful nonetheless.

Best of all is ‘Riad N’ The Bedouins’, which is like nothing else in rock. It’s so gloriously over the top – like an Opera crammed into one sonata – so grandiose that it could only have been made a man who manages to make the ridiculous visceral and savage (‘Locomotive’, ‘Coma’….) – it sounds like Queen hitting you in the face with a brick. Combined with the bitterness which drips off the Trojan horse beauty of ‘There Was a Time’, and the sheer oddity of ‘Madagascar’ what we have are moments of dazzling vision, scope and vanity – at once captivating and instantly loveable.

The problem – and it’s a serious problem – is that the whole is much less than the sum of its parts. This is largely because of the record’s aforementioned ‘schizophrenic’ nature. The grandiose statement of the gems is out of step with the scuzzy rock ‘n’ roll of ‘Scraped’ (which is forgettable) and the titletrack (which sounds closest to the dirtied up glam rock which Guns made their name on, but is out of place here). The songs stand on their own merits – the near perfect rock song, ‘Better’, is a case in point – but feel like a miss-dressed ensemble together. Sacrificing some of these moments would have added cohesion and brought the record – which clocks in at 71 minutes – in at a more endurable pace.

The biggest problem here, however, was the length of the project’s gestation – the production is so overcooked and overthought, tweaking many of the sounds to the point of artificiality and layering the tunes in layer after layer of instrumentation, that is robs the songs of their raw power through suffocation. The real tragedy here is that these songs were not allowed to stand by themselves as a testament to Rose’s vision. But none of this makes for a disaster. Indeed, if truth be told, what we actually have here is a missed opportunity – there is so much of real quality here that had Rose relinquished control to a fresh set of (quality control) ears, the end result would have been a return with a bang rather than a whimper. A record as frustrating as its author, it is one which nevertheless remains criminally overlooked (not to mention under-rated) – a record which deserves to be admired for being so brazenly, and honestly, out of step with anything happening in the musical scene, ‘Chinese Democracy’ is a ginger peg stuck in a (rather pompous) hole of its own making.

Was that a fair,Unbiased review of the MUSIC on Chinese Democracy i just read?.Why I believe it was,Thank's Binnie

I agree that the ordering and range of song's on here is chaotic.As you said it is a shame the song's will never be judged on there own merit's but rather by the man who wrote them.It is a shame because there are some absolute killers in there.

Nice review

[binnie]

No problem DB, glad you liked it.

[binnie]

Accept – Stalingrad

Another torrent of twisted, testerone charged, teutonic metal from Accept to kick your ass and leave you thirsting for more. Album number 2 for post-Udo singer Mark Tornilla – following on from 2009’s epic comeback ‘Blood of Nations’ – sees the band in even more vital form. There’s nothing you’ve not heard before but everything you’d expect – piercing vocals, powerchords, ripping solos and duel guitar harmonies inbetween bloody riffs – and when they kick into the title track you’re surprised. Scratch that. You’re shocked. Shocked at just how HEAVY that is. On ‘Stalingrad’, Accept haven’t just managed to deliver the goods as they did with such aplomb on ‘Blood of Nations’, they excelled themselves and evolved their sound (under the caring hand of uber-producer Andy Sneap, of course). The difference this time around is clearly Tornilla’s heightened involvement in the songwriting process and the result that this sounds like a band in killing mode with songs stripped of their fat to their raw essentials – pure metal heaven. Accept’s ‘reunion’ has been less hyped than many, but listening to this you can’t help that wish that Maiden or Priest would do something like this and just revel in the joy of being in a metal band.

It’s perfectly paced too. ‘Hung, Drawn & Quartered’ and ‘Flash To Bang Home’ approach thrash, whilst the colossus of a closer ‘Shadow Soldiers’ is pure mid-paced grandeur. It’s beautifully crafted stuff – ‘Hellfire’, ‘The Galley’, you say clichéd, I say classic. And it’s delivered with a lifetime’s talent – Wolf Hoffman, in particular, further cements his place as one of metal’s great. Great songs, great production and heavy fucking metal – what are you waiting for?

There will be better metal records released this year. And there will be more important metal records released this year. But I doubt there’ll be one you’ll have more fun with than this.

BANG THY HEAD!!!

[fourthcoming]

Accept......the original version and the new version is such an underrated group. Always great live too.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Amen – Amen (1999)

Amen’s incendiary debut was a self-consciously punk record – colourful, exuberant and taking aggression to the point of artifice via hyperbole, it was a glorious headfuck of a sound. Loathed by punk purists as derivative and contrived; and loved by kids thirsting for something with more substance than Nu Metal, Amen never quite realised their potential commercially or creatively.

It wasn’t for lack of talent or sincerity. Casey Chaos is an infectious personality, and Ross Robinson’s ultra-raw production built the entire band around his voice. At its best, we get hook-heavy, bouncy, body-blow punk rock. Sure, you’ve heard the tales of suburban neurosis before, but you can’t deny the sheer bloody power of ‘Coma America’ and the raucous brutality of ‘I Don’t Sleep’. No-one could doubt that Amen were good, but they couldn’t quite slip over into great. The problem was that running pedal to the medal means that the band loses rather than gains impact – the adrenalin-shot-after-adrenalin-shot approach is one compounded by Robinson’s go-to raw production style, with the result that many of these songs – whilst great on their own merits – are swamped by the torrent of the whole. When they mix it up on closer ‘Resignation/ Naked & Violent’ – a cacophony of discordant volume – you realise that the potential Amen had once they took the courage to step outside of their mould. It’s inspired – but elsewhere, as the punk purists noted with glee, there was too much plundering the collective works of the Circle Jerks, Black Flag and Bad Brains to really make Amen match the hype which Roadrunner heaped on them. There was a sense of a band trying too hard, a band that had become stylised – that’s not to say they were faking it, but rather that they felt the need to strive for more than actually were.

Personally, I couldn’t give a shit about the flaws – Casey’s rage is infectious and trips off the syllables in his bark straight into your soul. It’s a go-to ‘I’M ANGRY’ record – ‘Unclean’ is just great rock ‘n’ roll, raising the middle finger for the sake of it. And in that sense it was – and remains – a satisfying trip. At the distance of 13 years, it can finally be appreciated for what it is, rather than what it was supposed to be.

[binnie]

Accept......the original version and the new version is such an underrated group. Always great live too.

Indeed - so, so important in the evolution of metal (proto-thrash etc).

I didn't think it would work without Udo. I was wrong (I noted that on the review of Blood For Nations - Stalingrad is better)!

[binnie]

From the vaults: Dio – Sacred Heart (1985) Reissue.

‘Sacred Heart’ is the overlooked Dio record, lost between ‘Holy Diver’ and ‘The Last In Line’ and the opulent brilliance of ‘Dream Evil’. It is in many ways a match for any of those records and pretty much anything else released in the mid-80s. Reissued with HD and TLIL, it deserves to be more widely appreciated and listened to.

What separates ‘Sacred Heart’ from the first 2 Dio records is the rather ‘Big’ ‘80s production, the sheen of which makes the songs a little leaden in some places, and over keyboard heavy in others, features which perhaps render it more ‘of its time’ than ‘timeless’. But if you can look past the production, the songs are strong. Really strong. Dripping with the distinctly Dio sound – which, contrary to popular opinion, didn’t really have much in common with the rest of ‘80s metal – the tunes here were far superior to what far more commercially successful legends like Sabbath, Ozzy, Priest, and Maiden were putting out at the same time. People forget that. Sure, the band were a little constrained by the ‘Holy Diver’ formula, but you can’t resist the melodic heaviness of ‘Another Lie’ and ‘Rock ‘N’ Roll Children’, or the infectious groove of ‘Like The Beat of a Heart’, which sounds like a titan swatting lesser bands aside.

In truth, ‘Sacred Heart’ is marred by the fact that the first 2 Dio records are pretty much untouchable. Yet it’s certainly heavier, and more aggressive, than the band had been before. Opener ‘King of Rock ‘n’ Roll’ is a lost metal anthem which kicks and screams through the ether of 25 years. And the title track – swaggering with statuesque grandeur in the manner of ‘Heaven & Hell’ or ‘Holy Diver’ – is dinosaur-bollock heavy and infectiously hummable. Being heavy is easy; being melodic less so. But combining the 2, that’s an incredible talent.

Lyrically, you know what you’re getting with Dio. Wizards, rainbows and dragons aplenty. All the mystique and splendour are fine and dandy, but it’s really incidental to the power of the music in comparison to Dio’s voice – this was a time when metal was about escapism and enjoyment, and the fantasy only complements that. Add into the mix the sound of a band killing it – this was the last album to feature the classic line up of Jimmy Bain, Vivian Campbell and Vinny Appice – and you’ve got a classic album found wanting only in comparison to the band’s previous releases. Campbell in particular is on fire here, laying down incendiary solos and tones – remind me again why one of the most talented players of his generation has been playing back-up on ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me’ for 25 years?

The reissue package itself has been put together with the care and respect which Dio deserves. The deluxe package features plenty of images, posters and artwork, and the second disc contains the ‘Hide the Rainbow’ EP and a short live set from San Diego in 1985. Both are welcome additions for Dio diehards, even if they are somewhat incidental to the majesty of the record itself. Listen to it and remember.

God bless you Mr. Dio.

[binnie]

Soulfly – Enslaved

The opening bars of discordant guitars which usher ‘Resistance’ into life announce that album number 8 Soulfly is a very, very different affair from recent efforts. Since 2005 – when Max Cavalera turned his post-Sepultura outfit towards (even) harder sounds – Soulfly records have become increasingly bludgeoning but, in the wake of his side project Cavalera Conspiracy with brother (and original Sepultura drummer) Iggor, ‘Enslaved’ is another step up. And damn it’s good. The opening salvo also harks back to the more politically charged lyrics of his ‘90s heyday:

Brethren, arise, arise
Strike for your lives and liberties
Now is the day and the hour
Let every slave throughout the land do this
And the days of slavery are numbered
You cannot suffer greater cruelties than you have already
Rather die free men then live to be slaves

But this is no retro-Sepultura wannabe record. The presence of new drummer David Kinkade allows for forays into the more extreme end of metal, which makes for something heavier than Soulfly have ever sounded. The blast of death metal and Discharge-esque hardcore of ‘Treachery’ and ‘World Scum’ – the latter of which evokes ‘Morbid Visions’-era Sepultura before snapping into a hulking chorus – makes for a Cavalera record as vital as ever. But it’s not just the heaviness. Extreme metal bands are ten a penny, but what makes groups like Sepultura, Cavalera Conspiracy and Soulfly special is the ability to enthuse and inspire by channeling charisma and integrity, factors which ooze from these songs. Cavalera has always channelled something which the more technical metal bands lack, something primitive, a raucous anger which is so captivating. ‘Legions’ and ‘Chains’ are riotous, hook-heavy groove metal; whilst the thrash-riffage ‘American Steel’ is so violent it almost allows you to see the circle pit. Such moments are tempered with moderations in pace. ‘Redemption of Man By God’ – featuring Devildriver’s Dez Fafara on vocals – is a twisted epic, whilst ‘Intervention’ sees the madness made more palletable by Mark Rizzo’s unique approach to guitar melody. It’s inspiring stuff.

No-one would suggest that ‘Enslaved’ is a return to the heights of ‘Chaos AD’ or ‘Arise’, or that it is as influential. Nor is it a huge departure for Soulfly’s sound. But when the ‘Albums of the Year’ lists are compiled come December, you’d expect to see it there. You sense here that everything has been tweaked and stepped up – the playing, the dynamics, the sheer bloody bluntness – and that makes for something wonderful for the world of metal.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Rye Coalition – Curses (2006)

Album number 4 from New Jersey rockers Rye Coalition featured the sonic knob-twiddling of Dave Grohl. The result is that is rocks harder than fat girl at a gang bang. This is straight-up dirty, rock ‘n’ roll – with cowbell. From the party hard sentiments of ‘Burn the Masters’, the joyous cinnamon hooks of ‘Young Yellers’ and ‘Secret Heart’, or the stoner leanings of ‘Cigarette Catostrophe’, each song is distinct. Wedded to Grohl’s insistence that each song is kept on the straight and narrow of big hooks, what we’re left with is something noteable in a world where rock bands are 10 a penny.

It’s impressive, if over-stylized, stuff. You never get the sense that the band is quite in the moment and the likes of ‘Cocaine Werewolf’ and ‘Between an I-Roc and a Hard Place’ see the balance of quirkiness and cliché become strained. On closer ‘Achilles Wheelchair’, however, (on which they channel Rush) you get the sense of just how good this band could be.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Entombed – Left Hand Path (1990)

It opens with a scream. Then comes the guitar sound – THAT guitar sound: a bowel-collapsing, viscous ooze of evil. Much emulated, but never bettered. The title (and opening) track of Entombed’s debut record announced that things were about to change, and played a huge role is shaping Death Metal at a point in which the genre was still in its birthpangs – we had Autopsy and Death, but this was something different. Where modern Death Metal is all about clinical perfection, technique and relentless complexity, ‘Left Hand Path’ was uncomplicated, dirty, nasty and blisteringly tortuous. It was also – hail Satan! – a LOT of fun.

Recorded in one week for under £1000 and launching hordes of Swedish copyists, ‘Left Hand Path’ was a ground-zero moment in extreme metal. 1990? 19-fucking-90? It doesn’t sound old. In fact, it still sounds huge. Here we get the gnarly anthems like ‘Supposed To Rot’ and ‘Morbid Devourment’. The blitzkrieg groove of ‘Premature Autopsy’ and the sheer transcendence of the heaviness made this an epic listen. Derided in the post ‘To Ride, Shoot Straight and Speak The Truth’ (1997) years for diluting death metal to ‘death ‘n’ roll’, you can hear the inception of that sound here in ‘Drowned’ and ‘Revel In Flesh’ – owing much to punk of Discharge, MC5, but also the metallic grandeur of Black Sabbath, Entombed always stood apart from their Death Metal peers despite influencing and shaping the genre so vitally. It’s a shame, then, that the conservative nature of many metal fans has resulted in Entombed post-1997 work overshadowing the legacy of their early records – by all rights they deserve to be a central part in the narrative of metal’s history, as important in their own way as Black Sabbath or Megadeth.

Is every song here an ode to the finessed mode of songwriting? No: the relentlessness of this is the aural equivalent of been run over and left to die. And that’s the point. The aesthetic here is indebted to punk, in which feel is far more important than form. The testament to its brilliance is that 22 years on, despite the ‘Entombed sound’ being part of Death Metal’s vocabulary, this sounds fresh, exciting and invigorating. Easily one of the most important albums in metal – the virtuosity of modern death metal is impressive in its own way, but you can’t help but wish more it channelled the sheer bloody dirtiness of ‘Left Hand Path’.

[binnie]

Rival Sons – Pressure & Time

There have been a lot of false starts in the ‘Classic Rock Revival’ stakes in recent years: Wolfmother, Black Stone Cherry, The Datsuns, and the Hurricane Party spring to mind – solid, but rarely spectacular. Only Airbourne have really come close to catching the energy – the vitality – of their influences. Rival Sons are different, for two reasons. Firstly, they have wonderful, wonderful songs – it’s the thing that made the Black Crowes more than a derivative band, and it has the potential to do so here. Secondly, their brand of Classic Rock owes little to the Neanderthal stomp of Sunset Strip or AC/DC and much more to the groove and shake of Aerosmith, Grand Funk Railroad and Creedence Clearwater Revival. It’s a trick that bands like The Raconteurs and The Kings of Leon have taken to heart, and one that will hopefully garner Rival Sons suitable success, too.

They’ve an ear for melody as well. The title track pulsates and struts around gospel blues, teasing and building rather than blowing its wad in 90 seconds and dulling us for another 120, as so many blues rockers do. The ballad ‘Only One’ has a Motown sway to it, whilst the fuzzy psychedelia of ‘Get Mine’ has a 60s soul kick to it – there’s so much pop and sway to it, a result of the rather brilliant rhythm section of Robin Everharm and Michael Miley. With a record as fun as this, you can even forgive and forget the less tunes on offer here.

Ultimately, the nostalgia fest which is currently gripping hard rock is an unhelpful injection of inertia. As good as Rival Sons – or any other band of this ilk – are, listening to their records is probably likely to make you itch to play the shit out of your older records, rather than re-play theirs. But this is a variation on a tradition, and it’s done with class – on the pure abandon of metamphetamine blues propelling closer ‘Gypsy Heart’, you sense that Rival Sons may have the potential to transcend their influenes.

[binnie]

Black Breath – Sentenced to Life

10 songs. 32 minutes. This band do not fuck around. Sounding like a macabre DRI, and wielding a guitar sound which is positively vicious, Black Breath kick into life the gnarly kind of extreme thrash that hearkens back to 1985 – not because its pastiche, but because it has the sense of power gained from a primitive metallic bludgeon. And it’s heavier than a deathstar. ‘Feast of the Damned’ and the title track are a hell of an opening statement of intent: gang vocals, panzer-division riffs and a hardcore aesthetic which only makes the demonic lyrics all the more sinister, Black Breath are one of the most infectiously violent bands in metal today. Vehement and volatile: this is the most twisted collection of riffs you’ll hear all year.

Passing from the ridiculous into the sublime, the grandiose savagery of ‘Endless Corpse’ is extreme metal at its best. Perhaps more comfortable in the short-sharp blitzkrieg mode than the slower, anthemic power of ‘Obey’, Black Breath have delivered something truly special this time out. Wielding a sledgehammer where most extreme metal prefers the precise intricacy of the scalpel, beyond being unholy in its heaviness, this rawks too. If 2010’s ‘Heavy Breathing’ was an evil masterpiece of thrash, ‘Sentenced to Life’ steps up the game in every way.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Korn – Korn (1994)

‘Are you ready?’ Jonathon Davis asks at the opening of Korn’s debut record. The answer in the world of metal was a collective ‘Errrm, not really’. Starting with a tingling of symbols and jazzy bass, this was a very different kind of metal. Downtuned, elastic riffs and hip-hop beats were a long, long way from Maiden’s grandeur, Megadeth’s technical weaponry, or Dio’s dragons. ‘Blind’ is – oddly for metal – BASS heavy and features Davis’s spoken vocals and a chanted refrain instead of a chorus proper. ‘Ball Tongue’ is awash with scat rhythms, freaky, creepy vocals and the soft-heavy dynamic that sounded so fresh in 1994 only to be tiresome 4 years later. It was a curve ball: captivating, unnerving and challenging metal to its very core, for 5 years or so Korn led the way of handful of bands who simultaneously widened metal’s sonic palette and its fanbase.

18 years on, however, what stands out here is how sketchy some of these songs are. This may be Korn’s best – and most important – record, but it ain’t their best collection of tunes. But what it lacked in finesse, it made up for in raw bloody power. ‘Need To’ is a funky Nirvana; ‘Clown’ features a cement mixer guitar tone; whilst the classic bag-pipe led ‘Shoots & Ladders’ is a demented nursery rhyme. It was explosive at the time: Rob Halford didn’t sing ‘nick nack paddywag give a dog a bone……’! The masterpiece, however, was ‘Daddy’: a tortuous take of Davis’s child-abuse in which the singer – pushed to the edge by producer Ross Robinson – breaks down. It sums Korn up, perfectly: as brave and dignified as they are self-aware and self-indulgent. Whether you like ‘em or not has far more to do with your aesthetic choice than any objective opinion. It’s so shudderingly hateful than you can almost overlook how thin songs like ‘Faget’ and ‘Divine’ actually are.

‘Korn’ signified a shift in heavy music whether you like it or not. For all its seismic impact, however, these ears don’t hear a lot of Korn in the modern metal scene – that this sounds so dated, so of its time, is an indication of how hermetically sealed Nu Metal became in the world of metal. That’s good or bad depending on your opinion. But even Korn’s biggest haters would have to admit that they had little in common with their spawn: the 1000 downtuned copyists and millions of 13 year old kids whose LIFE WAS JUST SO GODDAMNED COMPLEX are hardly the band’s fault. Emotive, vulnerable and completely unlike anything that came before it, Korn showed that heavy music post thrash and post grunge could still be reinvented and rejuvenated. Their continued commitment to innovation – note their recent metal/dub-step record – mark Korn out as a band who have always marched to the beat of their own drum. I respect that, even if I don’t care for the output.

[binnie]

From the vaults: The Afghan Whigs – Gentlemen (1993)

It’s a disturbing cover: two kids – one in bed, one on the edge of the bed, restless and loveless – displaying all the pathos, all the quiet despair of a dying a relationship. Silent, but deadly – just like the music. Part Nick Cave, part The Doors, part Creedence, The Afghan Whigs fourth album was a concept record based upon one man’s failure in a relationship. And it was dark. Take ‘Be Sweet’:


Now that I'm ashamed, it burns
But the weight is off
Now that you're out of the way
I turn and I can walk
You showed no sympathy, my love
And this was no place for you and me to walk alone

Ugly and honest was what Greg Dulli did best. Stuck somewhere between hippy and misanthrope, he propelled a sound not of fury or rage, but of the sense of something dark being restrained and accruing menace in the process. It’s all down to THAT voice – like honey rubbed into old wounds. ‘When We Two Parted’ – a lament on love stretched to the point of abuse – is as eerily Byronic as the title suggests, whilst ‘Debonair’s’ take on lust sounds dusty and creaking and ‘Gentlemen’ is the sound which Queens Of The Stone Age have made a career of: part funk, part funk, and a lot of blues. The guitars don’t thrust or strut – they interlock delicately, capturing space and creating a sound which is vast.

It’s an uneasy listen – tense, and yet sexy. But it’s honest and intelligent, and you wonder why more REM fans weren’t listening to this in 1993. If you’ve never hear this band, you need to – the sound is as affirming as it is challenging.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Everclear – Slow Motion Daydream (2003)

Everclear were not really grunge in the same way that Cheap Trick were not really hard rock – the sense of melody and of grandeur sets both bands somewhat apart from the genres with which they are associated. Their particular vision of American dystopia centres around songs of love, loss, despair and glee – far from the mopey woe-is-me angst which bedevilled the longevity of so many ‘90s rock bands, Everclear had a knack of projecting very personal tales into the ether, spinning from humour to heartache on the flip of a hook and always biting with relish. Thus we get the tongue in cheek ‘Volvo Driving Soccer Mom’ – a tale of ex-porn stars turned Republican voting housewives – next to the bitter social critique of superficiality in ‘Want To Die A Beautiful Death’ – songs worlds apart on paper but wrapped up into one band’s very unique take on rock ‘n’ roll.

It’s the subtlety which marks them out. Sure, ‘Blackjack’ is the sort of raucous and bitter tune the Foo Fighters dream about, but the yearning of ‘A Beautiful Life’ is delivered through luscious, almost Springsteen-esque, arrangements. Hook after tar-thick hook is delivered over crisp, chiselled guitars and delicate harmonies makes for a rewarding and uplifting listen. It’s drenched in emotion – ‘Science Fiction’, ‘New Blue Champion’ and ‘Chrysanthonam’ is music to melt too, and mark Art Alexakis out as one of the song-writers of his generation. More Tom Petty than Kurt Cobain, nothing here is overcooked or over-sold – the melodies breath themselves into your life.

‘Slow Motion Daydream’ did not have to clout of debut album ‘Sparkle & Fade’ or the sonorous perfection of ‘So Much For the Afterglow’. But it is a record in which each song is distinct, dripping with passion and oozing humanity. What more could you want from a rock band?

The best band you’ve never heard of.

[binnie]

Three Inches of Blood – Long Live Heavy Metal


The uninitiated just won’t hear the beauty in this. The musical equivalent of Dungeons and Dragons, this is a world with its own rituals, codes and practices at once insular and empowering. It’s a Heavy Metal formula at once classic and clichéd, drenched in Helloween, Maiden, Manowar, Priest and Mercyful Fate. Check out the lyrics to ‘Metal Woman’:

Do not betray a Metal Woman
You'll be the prey of a Metal Woman
Don't turn your back on a Metal Woman
She stalks the night the Metal Woman
Do not cry out for a Metal Woman
The cold steel eyes of a Metal Woman

Three Inches of Blood don’t celebrate the clichés so much as revel in them, penning new tunes in an old vocabularly and offering up 1985 attitude in 2012 production. Sheet metal riffs, demonic leads, and hellion vocals and offering up a pervasive whiff of King Diamond. The sheer joyous power of ‘My Sword Will Not Sleep’ – which ends in a ‘fuck you’ crescendo – is invigorating and offset by the twists, turns and power metal glory of ‘Men of Fortune’. The Accept style proto-thrash of ‘Leave It On Ice’ is aggressive in a positive way, whilst ‘Look Out’ – an anthem and an epic wrapped up in one operatic take on the Heavy Metal palette – is perhaps the perfect tribute to Ronnie James Dio.

Cam Pipes vocals will either be loved or loathed, but the hooks they propel WILL be in your skull for days, and Shane Clark and Justin Hagberg’s millita riffing with leave your neck soar. More consistently brilliant than most of their influences, Three Inches of Blood deliver lashing upon lashing of well written, gigantic, riff driven heavy metal of almost symphonic proportions.

[binnie]

Cancer Bats – Dead Set On Living

Cancer Bats are always going to be plagued by the fact that they made a classic album. Their sophomore record – ‘Hail Destroyer’ – was such a compellingly vicious amalgamation of metal and hardcore delivered with the perfect balance of raw power a rock ‘n’ roll abandon. It was so good that the follow up – 2010s ‘Bears, Mayors, Scrapes and Bones’ – was almost doomed to be underwhelming. Not a bad record by any means, but when you’ve made an album principally remembered for a cover – admittedly a pretty bitchin’ cover of ‘Sabotage’ by The Beastie Boys – you know you’ve got a problem.

It’s refreshing, then, to see that the Bats are back. Well, partially at least. DSOL is a record in which some absolute gems are set amidst a glut of mediocrity. Indeed what strikes you about opener ‘Rats’ is how much it sounds like a modern US metal band – there’s a sense that the punk rock has been dialled down, and with it some of the fury has been subsumed. It continues with the mid-paced ‘Bricks & Mortar’, which is awash with Lamb Of God style blues-hewn riffs and rolling groove. You can hear Pantera, for sure. But you can hear metalcore, too.

But then we get a glimmer of the old friend we loved so much. ‘Road Sick’ – a nitro-charged hardcore-rock ‘n’ roll amalgam – is bombastic ode to the road-dog lifestyle which is bound to become a live favourite. As they kick up into the title-track the demented groove they’re known for is resplendent in its glory, and Liam Cormier delivers some infectious vocal melodies. By the time you’ve finished ‘Drunken Physics’ and ‘Rally The Wicked’ your screaming ‘FUCK THE WORLD’ with a glorious, demented smile on your face.

Less frenetic and more focussed than in the past, Cancer Bats have delivered a series of focussed and distinctive songs which makes DSOL a much stronger and more rewarding affair than BMSAB was. But doing so has seen them pursue a sound closer to the conventions of modern metal, and it has lost them some of their patented power. It’s certainly something of a return to form, but it’s a sad fact that any Cancer Bat’s record will always suffer from the weight of expectation which ‘Hail Destroyer’ has left on their legacy.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Pantera – Vulgar Display of Power (1992)

If Metallica’s ‘Black Album’ was something a Trojan horse which snuck a much, much heavier form of metal into the mainstream via a superlative production, Pantera’s ‘Vulgar Display of Power’ – released just six months later a debuting a no. 1 on the Billboard Charts – kicked the doors down, torched the joint, and screamed ‘where’s the women?’ Twenty years on, and it’s still a masterpiece.

Straight out of the bulging veins of Phil Anselmo’s then shaved cranium, this was a record bristling with street smarts, hard knocks and underground cool. It was a moment in which heavy music changed. Permanently. Not just because of Anselmo’s distinctive vocal style – which has been shamelessly copied by pretty much every metal singer since without anyone coming close to the perfect synthesis of brutality and emotion – or Dimebag’s revolutionary guitar playing, but because it marked an aesthetic change in what it meant to be metal. There are no comic book demons, melodramatic soundscapes or dungeons and dragons escapism here – Pantera served up a sound based upon the positive application of aggression as a form of catharsis. We might call it ‘overcoming’ – a synthesis of lyrical themes which pushed beyond crass anti-authoritarianism and blunt force musical power which energised, expelled and inspired. The thrash bands had paved the way, but Anselmo showed how lyrics could enhance the impact through a pursuit of balanced honesty than never teetered over into meandering introspection. It was a fist to the wall, not a therapy session, and 95% of metal bands since have been emulating it:

‘My strength is a number. And my soul lies in every one’.

BOOM!!!! Fuck Nirvana, THIS put the heart back into heavy music.

If 1990’s ‘Cowboys From Hell’ was the sound of a band still shaking off the shackles of their influences – namely Judas Priest and Metallica – ‘Vulgar….’ was the culmination of that process. Brimming over with hulking riffs, bowel-shattering aggression, and solos which were both dazzling and memorable, what set Pantera apart was the ability to tie everything down to a huge groove. That prevented the sound becoming cluttered, and made it utterly captivating. You know these tunes – they’re part of the bloodstream of metal. From the body blow swagger of ‘New Level’, the soundtrack to a riot which is ‘Fucking Hostile’, or ‘Walk’, the Smoke-On-The-Water of thrash, Pantera had jewels-a-plenty. But 20 years on, it’s the deeper cuts that feel sharpest. The tortured, twisted tale of control which thrusts forward ‘This Love’ is a power ballad which marks Anselmo out as a hell of a singer; whilst ‘Rise’ has such a weighty groove despite its speed it is the aural equivalent of a baseball bat beatdown. And when you hear the ode to anger which is ‘Live In A Hole’ – with the riff to end all riffs – it’s over. Few could come close.

And, of course, there’s Dimebag, metal’s ‘Eddie Van Halen’ moment. Pick up a modern metal record and you’ll hear his style – it’s transcended into the vocabulary of the genre. But no-one can touch him for riffs, tone or feel in our world – he’s up there with the Iommis, the Hetfields and the Mustaines. What really marked him out, however, was his ability to resist over-playing. Pantera was always a BAND, not a guitar player. They laid down a sense of togetherness, a sense of belonging to something bigger than yourself – and that aesthetic was a huge part of why they made the big time. ‘A Vulgar Display Of Power’ was not just a great album packed full of great songs – it was innovative, and it changed the game by making music this heavy blast into the mainstream. Without it, no Korn, no Slipknot, no Lamb of God. Taking the history of heavy metal from c.1970-2012, this might not quite nudge its way into the Top 5 best records of the genre (although it’d be close) – but it would damn sure be near the top of the 5 most important.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Zico Chain – Eponymous (2006)

This self-titled EP was the debut release of a British three-piece who possess the remarkable ability of blending together their influences – Nirvana, Mudhoney, The Wildhearts – into a flavour which is distinctly their own. Opener ‘Rohypnol’ comes out slugging like it has one shot at the big time and it knows it. Sounding like a ‘Bleach’ era Nirvana juggernaut, this is dirty, dirty rock ‘n’ roll that’s just sweet enough to stick. Oh, and it has hooks. Big, juicy ball swagging hooks – just check out ‘This Thing’ if you don’t believe me. Elsewhere, ‘Brain’ steps outside the tradition power-trio formula to deliver something more akin to angular alt.rock which shows what this band can do when they step down from full tilt – but it’s the schizo pop-face-fucking-metal fury of ‘The Lonely Ones’ that truly shines. 6 songs, 15 minutes – wham, bam, thank you man.

Was this perfect? Hell no, but the warts ‘n’ all approach creates a sound as vibrant and vital as the first time you ever heard rock ‘n’ roll. This has all the naivety of a young band starting out, and it sounds like a joyous riot in a tin shed. It’s a glorious, life-affirming racket that you should track down – and while you’re at it, grab hold of their two full length records too.

[binnie]

Wolfsbane – Save the World

It happens about halfway through ‘Blue Sky’, the opening tune on Wolfsbane’s first album in almost 20 years: you’re gone – smiling, jumping, bouncing around the room like a drunken reunion of old friends. The Howling Mad Shitheads are baaaaaack and boy does it feel good. HUGE choruses, power chords, screaming solos and a delivery which has bollocks by the truck load, Wolfsbane’s charm was always meat and potatoes metal served up by a bunch of misfits with their own distinctive ethos, humour and charisma. The autobiographical ‘Smoke And Red Light’ oozes defiance, whilst ‘Teacher’ is a pure dirty old man grin.

On the smooth ‘Who Are You Now?’ the sound is not quite as dirty as it was back in the day – it’s a little crisper, a little richer and Jase Edwards’s guitar finds reference points a little wider than the metallic palate – but this band was always unflinchingly honest in their approach to their craft, and attempting to simply replicate the sound of the early ‘90s wouldn’t be true to that. But during the more mature ‘Illusion Of Love’ you realize that NO-ONE sounds like this – Wolfsbane make a distinctive brew from the bric-a-brac of heavy metal. Oh, and if anyone doubts that Blaze Bayley can put a song across, they should check out ‘Starlight’ to see that he’s as convincing soft as he is hard.

If you don’t fall in love with songs as raucous as ‘Everybody’s Looking For Something Baby’ and ‘Did It For the Money’ then you really are mental. Wolfsbane may be the unluckiest band in metal – let’s hope that fate treats ‘em more kindly this time because the world needs more Howlin’ Mad Shitheads. I know I’ll hear better records this year, but I doubt I’ll encounter any that I enjoy more.

[Dave's Bitch]

From the vaults: Pantera – Vulgar Display of Power (1992)

If Metallica’s ‘Black Album’ was something a Trojan horse which snuck a much, much heavier form of metal into the mainstream via a superlative production, Pantera’s ‘Vulgar Display of Power’ – released just six months later a debuting a no. 1 on the Billboard Charts – kicked the doors down, torched the joint, and screamed ‘where’s the women?’ Twenty years on, and it’s still a masterpiece.

Straight out of the bulging veins of Phil Anselmo’s then shaved cranium, this was a record bristling with street smarts, hard knocks and underground cool. It was a moment in which heavy music changed. Permanently. Not just because of Anselmo’s distinctive vocal style – which has been shamelessly copied by pretty much every metal singer since without anyone coming close to the perfect synthesis of brutality and emotion – or Dimebag’s revolutionary guitar playing, but because it marked an aesthetic change in what it meant to be metal. There are no comic book demons, melodramatic soundscapes or dungeons and dragons escapism here – Pantera served up a sound based upon the positive application of aggression as a form of catharsis. We might call it ‘overcoming’ – a synthesis of lyrical themes which pushed beyond crass anti-authoritarianism and blunt force musical power which energised, expelled and inspired. The thrash bands had paved the way, but Anselmo showed how lyrics could enhance the impact through a pursuit of balanced honesty than never teetered over into meandering introspection. It was a fist to the wall, not a therapy session, and 95% of metal bands since have been emulating it:

‘My strength is a number. And my soul lies in every one’.

BOOM!!!! Fuck Nirvana, THIS put the heart back into heavy music.

If 1990’s ‘Cowboys From Hell’ was the sound of a band still shaking off the shackles of their influences – namely Judas Priest and Metallica – ‘Vulgar….’ was the culmination of that process. Brimming over with hulking riffs, bowel-shattering aggression, and solos which were both dazzling and memorable, what set Pantera apart was the ability to tie everything down to a huge groove. That prevented the sound becoming cluttered, and made it utterly captivating. You know these tunes – they’re part of the bloodstream of metal. From the body blow swagger of ‘New Level’, the soundtrack to a riot which is ‘Fucking Hostile’, or ‘Walk’, the Smoke-On-The-Water of thrash, Pantera had jewels-a-plenty. But 20 years on, it’s the deeper cuts that feel sharpest. The tortured, twisted tale of control which thrusts forward ‘This Love’ is a power ballad which marks Anselmo out as a hell of a singer; whilst ‘Rise’ has such a weighty groove despite its speed it is the aural equivalent of a baseball bat beatdown. And when you hear the ode to anger which is ‘Live In A Hole’ – with the riff to end all riffs – it’s over. Few could come close.

And, of course, there’s Dimebag, metal’s ‘Eddie Van Halen’ moment. Pick up a modern metal record and you’ll hear his style – it’s transcended into the vocabulary of the genre. But no-one can touch him for riffs, tone or feel in our world – he’s up there with the Iommis, the Hetfields and the Mustaines. What really marked him out, however, was his ability to resist over-playing. Pantera was always a BAND, not a guitar player. They laid down a sense of togetherness, a sense of belonging to something bigger than yourself – and that aesthetic was a huge part of why they made the big time. ‘A Vulgar Display Of Power’ was not just a great album packed full of great songs – it was innovative, and it changed the game by making music this heavy blast into the mainstream. Without it, no Korn, no Slipknot, no Lamb of God. Taking the history of heavy metal from c.1970-2012, this might not quite nudge its way into the Top 5 best records of the genre (although it’d be close) – but it would damn sure be near the top of the 5 most important.

Fantastic review Binnie

Since reading this i have been blasting the album non stop.I love Pantera.I think Phil is one of the best metal singer's and frontmen.He knows when to sing (And has a really good voice) and when to rough it up.

Great review,Great Album,Great band

[ashstralia]

hey bin, listened to the new cancer bats album?

i'm diggin it.

[rockhead]

are any of the remaining members still talking to one another since Dime's passing? as i seem to remember Vinier Paul and Phil had a stouch at one stage.

[binnie]

hey bin, listened to the new cancer bats album?

i'm diggin it.

Look at page 499 on this page

[binnie]

are any of the remaining members still talking to one another since Dime's passing? as i seem to remember Vinier Paul and Phil had a stouch at one stage.

Phil and Vinny do not speak.

This had something to do with Phil saying in an interview that Dime 'deserved to be beaten' (or words to that effect) only a few days before the murder. There was bad blood from the reunion.

Rex played bass in Down for years, so I guess he and Phil are reasonably close. He has recently left that band, however.

[Dave's Bitch]

are any of the remaining members still talking to one another since Dime's passing? as i seem to remember Vinier Paul and Phil had a stouch at one stage.

Rex Brown was in Down with Phil up until last year

[Dave's Bitch]

Phil and Vinny do not speak.

This had something to do with Phil saying in an interview that Dime 'deserved to be beaten' (or words to that effect) only a few days before the murder. There was bad blood from the reunion.

Rex played bass in Down for years, so I guess he and Phil are reasonably close. He has recently left that band, however.

Ah beat me to it

[ashstralia]

Look at page 499 on this page

thanks heaps mate; really appreciate your work.

i'm a bit busy atm to be scrollin through many pages..

[binnie]

Sorry, I meant 'post' 499 on this page.

[ashstralia]

Sorry, I meant 'post' 499 on this page.

[binnie]

Overkill – The Electric Age

On album no. 247 Overkill have thrown caution to the wind and experimented with dubstep……… only kidding! ‘The Electric Age’ sounds pretty much like all Overkill records – and that’s a good thing. Like a Panzer division on warm up drill, it has quite an intro: wave upon wave of military tattoo drumming and guitar crunch eventually give way to ‘Come & Get It’s 6 minutes of riff-tastic-energy. Riff-riff-riff-riff-riff-riff-riff-solo-riff-riff-rifff…….you soon get the picture. And a sore neck.

It’s thrash metal the way it should be – fast, relentless and hard. It’s also perfectly balanced. Epic metallic behemoths like ‘Drop The Hammer’ are offset by the likes of the chorus heavy ‘Black Daze’ and ‘70s riffs of ‘Electric Rattlesnake’. But what impresses most is the passion. How can a band this old still sound as hungry and as vital as they do on ‘Old Wounds, New Scars’? Overkill have been smart enough to evolve with the times – not in the sense of changing their style, but in the approach to their craft. Updating through nuances – particularly Ron Lipnicki’s phenomenal drumming – and lavishing their sound with a production which thumps each drum into the listener’s chest serves Overkill well. They are finally close to sounding on record as furious as they always have live. If you don’t want to take on the entire world one at a time after the sheer bravura of ‘Save Yourself’ then your inner 14 year old has long since died.

It may be the case that Overkill could benefit from exercising a little more over their composition – there are still traces of the jam room here – but finesse and subtlety have never been something you look for in music like this: you want the histrionics, you hunger for them. And Overkill deliver. ‘The Electric Age’ steers a little more towards the anthemic than 2009’s epic ‘Ironbound’ and it, like its predecessor, is more than a worthy addition to any collection.

[binnie]

Wolfsbane – Save the World

It happens about halfway through ‘Blue Sky’, the opening tune on Wolfsbane’s first album in almost 20 years: you’re gone – smiling, jumping, bouncing around the room like a drunken reunion of old friends. The Howling Mad Shitheads are baaaaaack and boy does it feel good. HUGE choruses, power chords, screaming solos and a delivery which has bollocks by the truck load, Wolfsbane’s charm was always meat and potatoes metal served up by a bunch of misfits with their own distinctive ethos, humour and charisma. The autobiographical ‘Smoke And Red Light’ oozes defiance, whilst ‘Teacher’ is a pure dirty old man grin.

On the smooth ‘Who Are You Now?’ the sound is not quite as dirty as it was back in the day – it’s a little crisper, a little richer and Jase Edwards’s guitar finds reference points a little wider than the metallic palate – but this band was always unflinchingly honest in their approach to their craft, and attempting to simply replicate the sound of the early ‘90s wouldn’t be true to that. But during the more mature ‘Illusion Of Love’ you realize that NO-ONE sounds like this – Wolfsbane make a distinctive brew from the bric-a-brac of heavy metal. Oh, and if anyone doubts that Blaze Bayley can put a song across, they should check out ‘Starlight’ to see that he’s as convincing soft as he is hard.

If you don’t fall in love with songs as raucous as ‘Everybody’s Looking For Something Baby’ and ‘Did It For the Money’ then you really are mental. Wolfsbane may be the unluckiest band in metal – let’s hope that fate treats ‘em more kindly this time because the world needs more Howlin’ Mad Shitheads. I know I’ll hear better records this year, but I doubt I’ll encounter any that I enjoy more.

I can't quite explain how much I'm enjoying this album!

[binnie]

Black Moth – The Killing Jar

This debut album from British doomsters Black Moth is a charismatic spin on a familiar template, a way of saying something new with an old vocabulary. The sound alternates from pull pelt stoner rock (happy) to quakey doom (sad): both a variations of Sabbath and Blue Cheer, but BM also wrap these tunes in some late ‘60s rock and pop to add flavour, and you’ll hear The Byrds, Cream and even Barclay James Harvest through the walls of riffs which puts this record a cut above the BOOM-BOOM-BOOM of the doom pack. ‘The Articulate Dead’ is a Kyuss turbo-charged rumble, whilst’ Blackbirds Fall’ is a greay, tar black wall of doom you can hum – what more could anyone possible want? When they mix the bass drone wall of noise with quieter moments – as they do on ‘Banished But Blameless’ – this is a band who are truly colossal. Indeed, ‘Chicken Shit’ is seriously HEAVY shit.

Not everything here is a winner, for sure – ‘Spit Out Your Teeth’ and ‘Blind Faith’ are a little formless. But this is a startling debut nonetheless, and the sort of record you wish Queens of The Stone Age would make. The rhythm section of Dave Varmon and Dominic McCreedy really hangs back on these beats, and it makes the whole sounds sway like a galleon. But it’s the vocals of Harriot Bevin that really shine, teasing out those pop melodies to make this brand of doom irresistible. On ‘The Plague of Our Age’ BM sound like Jefferson Airplane being abused – if they can push their riff heavy sound into the wider sphere in future, they might deliver a classic.

One’s to watch.

[binnie]

From the vaults: The Cult – Beyond Good & Evil (2001)

The Cult were certainly hungry on album number 7. On opener ‘War (The Progress)’ they were are heavy and bombastic as they’d ever sounded – dinosaur riffs, a swampy groove and a supersonic chorus propelling a cacophony of noise skilfully welded together by Bob Rock’s production into something truly cavernous and primal, with so much space between the parts you could drive a truck through it. There are some seriously tasty tunes here: ‘The Saint’ has ‘Love’ melodies with ‘Electric’ power, and ‘My Bridges Burn’ has a melody that will kick your head in. ‘Speed of Light’ is the perfect fucked-up rock song, whilst ‘Breathe’ is a primordial quake, the sound of the earth opening up and howling. Most menacing of all is ‘American Gothic’: “eatin’ the cancer cells from the death machine’ croons Astbury over some scuzzy, discordant guitar warfare. On moments like this, you realise that The Cult really are unique in rock ‘n’ roll – one part psychedelica banshee shamen; one part nitro charged supersonic riff warlords.

There, however, some bumpy moments. ‘Take The Power’ is oddly characterless, the sound of any rock band, whilst ‘Ashes & Ghosts’ is messy and ‘Shape The Sky’ descends to the level of self parody. On ‘Nico’ they sound flat out old. But even when it falls flat, you could never accuse The Cult of being boring. ‘Beyond Good & Evil’ certainly deserves more attention that it gets, and contains many Cult gems. But it is only 60% of what they can do: this is The Cult on full power, and at their most primal – what it gains in grit it loses in grandeur, for much of the nuance, the effervescence is absent here.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Death Angel – Act III (1990)

Rarely has a band made metal fans scratch their manes more than Death Angel. After blasting onto the thrash metal scene with 1987’s ‘Ultra Violence’ – a flat out, stone cold, classic of a record – they threw in the curve ball to end all curve balls in ‘Frolic In The Park’. Many bands have not forgiven them to this day – but regardless of your aesthetic preferences, you have to have respect for a band who are prepared to march to the beat of their own drum when lucrative riches were obtainable on the obvious path. Some people accuse DA of not knowing who or what they wanted to be – I’ve always thought of them as a band who let their versatility get the better of them. What strikes you about album no. 3 – after the complexity, and quality – is the control of the compositions which is in evidence here.

‘Act III’ was a marriage of thrash and the progressive leanings they’d begun to flex on frolic. Here ‘A Room With A View’ – an acoustic led power ballad long before Metallic thought of it, and one which is oddly Rush-tinged in its melodies and the sombre grandeur of its outro solo – is balanced with ‘Stop’, an old skool thrash propelled with the crunchiest of riffs into warp drive. And yet, to these ears at least, it doesn’t feel cluttered or out of kilter. ‘Seemingly Endless Time’ is eerily reminiscent of ‘Persistence of Time’-era Anthrax (Mark Osegueda has always sounded like a grittier Joey Belladona), a montage of riffs with a hard rock tinge, whilst ‘Ex TC’ is both melodic AND heavy, and ‘The Organisation’ is really just a classic ‘80s metal album in the vein of Helix and Dio sped up.

What we have here are – for all the bumps – the roots of progressive metal. Alongside Heathen and – albeit in a much heavier and more pivotal way – Death and Cynic – Death Angel were pushing boundaries: 5 minute metal songs spiralling and glued together by juicy hooks and melodies which harness the power and tendencies towards the epic into something anthemic. Pushing boundaries can, of course, lead to strains – here ‘Discontinued’s funk-thrash is a mish mash of oddities, the way Maiden jamming with the Chili Peppers might sound, but it gives way to a beast of a song which sounds like Suicidal Tendencies style hardcore. You don’t have to like it to see that – at a time when thrash was dying, LA was dead and grunge was looming, ‘Act III’ was pushing the envelope.

The rough, aggressive edges of their earlier work may have been rounded off with some dazzling scope and complexity, but this is still some heavy shit. For anyone who thought this band couldn’t bring the metal any more: if ‘Disturbing The Peace’ doesn’t make you want to, well, disturb the peace, it’s time to cut your hair! ‘Act III’ recalls a time when HEAVY could still be uplifting and inspiring rather than mindlessly aggressive and wilfully angular. The metal traditionalists may write ‘Act III’ off as the cuckoo in ‘Ultra Violent’ nest, but when approached with an open mind it is packed with classic tunes, cutting melodies and dazzling musicianship.

Something of a lost mongrel of a classic.

[sadaist]

From the vaults: Death Angel – Act III (1990)

Something of a lost mongrel of a classic.

Fucking A! Thanks Binnie. I can't tell you guys how much I loved this album. Wore it the fuck out is what I did. RAWR!



Man, at 1:36 this motherfucker gets GROOOOOVIN!!!!!!

[SparkieD]

Fucking A! Thanks Binnie. I can't tell you guys how much I loved this album. Wore it the fuck out is what I did. RAWR!



Man, at 1:36 this motherfucker gets GROOOOOVIN!!!!!!

Man, I wore that fucker out too. I saw these guys back in November, and they are as fucking killer as ever \,,/

[binnie]

Grand Magus – The Hunt

That this record comes complete with a sow-on patch should tell you everything that you need to know about how Grand Magus sound: this is HEAVY FUCKING METAL baby!!!! And it’s glorious, glorious stuff. Big arrangements, huge sounds, and sweeping choruses, this is elevating stuff made from the simplest of ingredients and it almost commands you to bang your head.

Grand Magus will always be constrained by the fact that they made a modern classic. 2008’s frankly astounding ‘Iron Will’ was a record of such dazzling metallic brilliance – in which the tracks sounded like they’d been forged in Valhalla by the Metal Gods – that it would be impossible to emulate. On follow up ‘Hammers of The North’ (2010), it sounded like Grand Magus recognized that – a dull and oddly subdued affair, it left fans wondering where the spark had gone. The first thing to say about ‘The Hunt’ is that it is a blast back onto the right track. ‘Sword of the Ocean’ gallops on the hooves of death – heavy, heavy, heavy, it’s the sort of anthem Manowar would be proud of. This is the sort of stoner and doom tinged hues steeped in classic Heavy Metal lore – see ‘Valhalla Rising’, which is the aural equivalent of Munch’s ‘The Scream’. ‘Silver Moon’ is primordial, the image of something relentless, unstoppable and ceaseless in its power.

Sure, it’s not all great. ‘Storm King’ is patchy, whilst the Dioisms of ‘Starlight Slaughter’ is terribly meat ‘n’ potatoes – they’re not bad tunes by any means, but you know that Grand Magus can do better. And it’s when they push themselves that ‘The Hunt’ is most rewarding. The folk pretensions of ‘Son Of The Last Breath’ injects some much needed colour into the album’s relentless gun-metal grey, and the title-track’s balancing of acoustic tenderness with a sort of thunderous Sabbath maelstrom is epic stuff indeed. This may be no ‘Iron Will’, but its certainly a battle scarred, weather worn return to form.