Album Reviews

[binnie]

High On Fire – De Vermis Mysteriis

‘DENY MY POWER AND I’LL BURN YOU AS THE DEAD IS’ bellows Matt Pike on ‘Spiritual Rats’s’ snap-like hook, just one vulgar display of power amongst many on this, HoF’s 6th studio album. When the universe finally obliterates itself by contracting to the point of infinity it will sound like this: rugged, broken, earth-scorching and dirt-riven stoner metal. 25 seconds in two things are apparent: 1) HoF continue to exist in a class of their own, and as one of metal’s most vibrant – and visceral – bands; 2) the sheen of 2010’s Greg Feldman produced ‘Snakes For The Divine’ is long gone. This is filthy, nasty, bestial. The sort of raw power HoF delivered on career high ‘Death Is This Communion’ (2007). But this is also a different record from ‘Death…’. Less progressive, less prone to delicate interludes amongst the Motorhead on crack madness. This is undoubtedly due, in part, to the production of Converge’s Kurt Ballou. Alongside adding a crispness and sonic depth, he also seems to have had an impact on the songs, which feel shorter, more focussed and – crucially – more hardcore: there is barely a second’s let up here as songs switch from one uppercut riff to another. It’s as instantaneous as it is infectious.

But there is another difference, too. The primitive rumble of the music is juxtaposed with the ambitious opacity of the concept - the title is taken from a fictional magic book by Robert Bloch (and later employed by H.P. Lovecraft in a number of stories), whilst the songs themselves are framed by a couple of theoretical questions: "What if Jesus had a twin who died at birth to give Jesus his life? And then what if the twin became a time traveler right then?" Sound familiar? There is more than a whiff of Mastodon’s ‘Crack The Skye’ here, which is about a paraplegic who escapes his body through astral travels, moves through wormholes and ends up in Rasputin’s body. And you can hear Mastodon in the music, too: juddering rhythms, whirlwind chord structures and snapping, ungodly time changes. It would be easy to criticise, but HoF are only taking back what Mastodon borrowed, and the effect is to heighten an existing aesthetic rather than changing the way that the band sounds.

And – as always – they sound phenomenal. ‘Bloody Knuckles’ opens with the sort of riff that could sink an ocean liner – and is quickly followed by an even heavier one. Smashing Black Sabbath into Minor Threat, the band thrash it up at the end, but with so much bottom end the result is the sound of a jet engine taking off. ‘Madness Of An Architect’ channels some funked-up Meshuggah discordance, slow, thuddering and hypnotic, it’s landscape crushingly heavy. Even when they’re doing simple – ‘Romulus & Remus’ – they sound collosal, and distinctive. Perhaps the best bands always reinvent a common idiom. On ‘Warhorn’ – an ode to battle, a clarion call of metal, HoF due just that.

Perhaps the title-track isn’t quite up to the quality of the rest. And, perhaps, some of the expansiveness and jamming is missed. But those are aesthetic choices, not fundamental problems – no-one could deny the quantity of the quality here, or the fact that HoF have been seminal in the metal world fomenting – alongside Neurosis – both the rise of doom/sludge and prog metal into the mainstream during the ‘noughties’. Given that Matt Pike’s other band – ‘Sleep’ – were equally pioneering a decade earlier, it would almost be more surprising if this didn’t deliver. But, even by their own standards ‘De Vermiis…’ is a remarkable, stunning, and unholly bestial album which will be near the top of most critics ‘Best of Year’ polls come December. This is the sort of sonically immaculate magnum opus on which legends are built and confirmed.

[binnie]

Goatwhore – Blood For the Master

Some metal bands do heavy through scale. Others do it through scope. Others still do it through angularity, speed, or string stretching slavishness. Goatwhore do none of these things – they achieve heavy through a sound which is gnarly and dirty, old school death/thrash metal delivered live in front of your bruised and bleeding eyes. This gives them an advantage over many bands: it makes their music both more accessible, and more instantaneous. And that largely comes from the band’s approaching extreme metal through a vocabularly which is rigidly traditional – here you can here Priest, Hellhammer, Accept, but also shred after shred of the first wave of Bay Area thrash. Those influences give Goatwhore a certain kind of energy that the more complex, or symphonic, brand of extremity cannot reach, a form of energy which makes Goatwhore’s brand of black metal nastiness all the more captivating, and one which they share with Skeletonwitch.

In short, ‘Blood…’ – album number 5 from GW – sounds like what it is: a black/thrash record recorded by a bunch of good ol’ boys who love their rock ‘n’ roll. There is a filthy chug to Sammy Duet’s guitar crunch which reeks of Celtic Frost, Bathory, early Death and Possessed, and the fact that GW is a one guitar band means that the added looseness makes for some rock ‘n’ roll groove. As raw as sandblasted skin, Duet’s guitar is the drive here, making the likes of ‘When Steel And Bone Meet’ sound the way Entombed wished they still did. ‘Embodiment of This Bitter Chaos’ is propelled by the glorious hypnotic power which can only come from a shard of single note riffing, whilst ‘Death To The Architects of Heaven’ is the sort of raw sonic assault which conjures up memories of ‘Bonded By Blood’. Best of all is ‘In Deathless Tradition’ a heaving, seathing ball of hatred which has a colosaal wake and could make Satan shit the bed.

You just wish that there was more of it. There is nothing bad here – far from it, in fact – but you sense that GW could both do better, and push the boundaries of what they’ve done before. ‘Parasitic Scriptures of The Sacred Wound’, for instance, is proficient rather than provocative. With the talents on display here – GW feature former members of Crowbar, Acid Bath and Nachtmytium – you just sense that there is something being left in the tank. ‘Carving Out the Eyes of God’ (2009) and ‘Funeral Dirge For the Rotting Sun’ (2003) were more ambitious, relentless and ambitious records, and GW felt like a band who had the potential to really propel Black Metal forward in the US, and American Darkthrone, if you will. ‘Blood….’ Is a good record by anyone’s standards, and one which will be smashing my speakers to bits for quite some time. But in a year in which Black Breath have thrown down the gaunlet, I’m not quite sure that Goatwhore have matched them.

[binnie]

Paradise Lost – Tragic Idol

They’ve never given a fuck about trends. They’ve never given a fuck about placating their fans by delivering more of the same. They’ve never really given a fuck – with music this dour, this somber, how could you? Who’d have thought, in the early ‘90s when grunge was de rigeur, and metalheads yearned for warpspeed thrash and death that some tortuous, booming, dinosaur plodding heavy doom was the way forward? Paradise Lost pioneered it nevertheless. And in ‘Draconian Times’, ‘Icon’ and ‘Gothic’ they made records which were as good as music can be. Not heavy music. Music. Period. And then, they got bored with their own success. Still painting in darkened hues, they switched gothic tinged metal for a sound closer to Joy Division and The Sisters Of Mercy. The songs they produced were, typically, overflowing with talent – but fans were in uproar. So Paradise Lost delivered more of the same. Pigheaded, you might call it. But you have to admire it.

That approach to making music might be frustrating but it contains something which is the key to Paradise Lost’s brilliance: integrity. That is what matters, the driving force behind the songwriting craft. Turning back towards pastures heavy – and dark – on 2005’s self-titled record, ‘Tragic Idol’ continues where the equally excellent ‘Faith Divides Us Death Unites Us’ (2009) left off, delivering boulder heavy doom metal hewn into beautifully crafted, delicate and – crucially – simple songs. And that simplicity renders power – where most modern metal is about overkill, Paradise Lost have always allowed their ingredients room to breathe. It is there in the sparseness of Nick Holmes lyrics and Hetfield-like croon, and in the delicacy of Greg Mackintosh’s crisp melodies and breathless solos. Achieving more in one note than most shredders achieve in a score, Mackintosh really is the heavy metal slow hands. Effortlessly effervescent, this is the delicate sound of thunder and indicative of a metal band which owes as much to Mission as they do Sabbath.

And then, there’s the songs. Most bands spend their careers seeking to produce something as powerful as ‘Honesty in Death’ and never achieve it. ‘Fear Of Impending Hell’ is propelled by a series of hooks which wash over the listener, the sort of music you could melt too in its moonstruck beauty. This maybe the most outright metallic Paradise Lost have sounded in a decade. ‘Theories From Another World’ and ‘Crucify’ are aggressive and very live in their feel, genuinely arms aloft anthem moments which can stand up with anything this band has produced. Beautiful and sparse, this type of heavy makes you savour every note and give yourself to the power of this cascading heaviness.

Thirteen albums in, this is the sound of a band completely in the grip of their own aesthetic. Metal is a genre obsessed with its own nostalgia, a facet which allows bands long past their prime to hog the lime light with mediocre records and leave genuine talent in the shade. Here we have a band making the best music of their (very) long career: not only one of the genre’s most influential bands of the post-grunge era, but one which embodies the stick to your guns integrity which embodies it. Weep in the presence of it’s brilliance.

[binnie]

Killing Joke – MMXII

Solar storms, corporate conspiracy, apocalyptic overtures: it must be time for a new Killing Joke record. Their second since reforming their ‘classic’ line up in 2008 it is, naturally, very, very good. Staggering in places. But, as ever, Killing Joke pose a problem for reviewers for two reasons. Firstly, in a world in which bands are so keen to attach themselves to a neat little sub-genre label to help shift their ‘product’, a band which is the musical equivalent of bubble-and-squeak leaves you scratching for adjectives to adequately communicate the scope of their sound; and, secondly, a band which combines making music with the urge to widen minds and open souls leaves you wondering if you can ever say anything which can comes close to the impact of such a holistic piece of art other than ‘listen to it!’ Killing Joke here loosely take up the idea of the apocalypse predicted by the Mayan calendar. Rather than the end of time, however, in their minds 2012 will be a new beginning, the end of greed and a revolt led by nature. The idea is as violent – and as grandiose – as the music, and they are deadly serious: almost every song is footnoted with web addresses to further your mind.

As time has progressed, the post-punk roots of Killing Joke have been a steady if less driving presence to their sound. Combining industrial rock, tribal beats, choral melodies and looping programmes in 2012 Killing Joke sound somewhere between an electronica equivalent of Hawkwind – the hippy ethereal spirit spat out through conspiracy and paranoia – and the soundtrack to a mid-80s sci-fi flick. It’s the musical equivalent of a tractor beam, a hypnotic relentlessness which keeps pulling until you submit to its will and find yourself leaping about like a schizo at a rave. And it is the melodies – not the guitar onslaught – which is the source of that power, a delicate undercurrent which pierces and tears its way through the skin of aural bombast.

9 minute opener ‘Pole Shift’ is utterly stunning, floating, ambient noise giving way to sonic chaos in what amounts to a hymn for the end of the world. In stark contrast, ‘In Cytheria’ is proof that Killing Joke often make music as beautiful as it is unique: a haunting lament for a lost friend. Although overall keyboards and synths take a more driving seat here than on 2010’s career high ‘Absolute Dissent’, there is still plenty of bite. ‘Fema Camp’ and ‘Glitch’ are pure industrial stomp, whilst ‘Colony Collapse’ is the aural equivalent of an electronic shower, a huge, crackling wall of discordance. 35 years in and Killing Joke are still capable of growing, striving and throwing curve ball after curve ball. Jazz Colman is, typically, confidante and pariah, terrifying and captivating in every breath.

And yet, for all of its impact, ‘MMXII’ could have given more. With such a varied sonic pallet it is an odd choice for the band to self-produce – a mix which played to those contrasts and elevated the peaks and troughs of a record which is very much a movement rather than a collection of songs would have pushed this into the clutch of Killing Joke’s best records. But with a past as illustrious – and eccentric – as theirs, being in the same company of their ‘80s work is remarkable. Killing Joke may be willfully eclectic, unclassifiable and unlike any other band – or music – on the planet: but they are never dull, and always inspiring.

[gbranton]

Killing Joke – MMXII

Killing Joke may be willfully eclectic, unclassifiable and unlike any other band – or music – on the planet: but they are never dull, and always inspiring.

And the lead singer hates the fucking Cult. Either that or his douchebag ass is jealous that people will pay to meet them.

http://loudwire.com/killing-joke-singer-goes-missing-after-bashing-tourmates-the-cult-in-facebook-post/

"Killing Joke frontman Jaz Coleman has apparently cut off contact between himself and the rest of his band after writing a bizarre Facebook post on Killing Joke’s official page. Seemingly out of nowhere, Coleman reportedly trashed upcoming tourmates, the Cult and the Mission, while announcing a sudden cancellation of their shows together. Additionally, the rest of Killing Joke have declared Jaz Coleman as ‘missing.’"

[binnie]

Well, we'll wait and see what's going on there. Jaz has never been the most 'stable' of characters - maybe it's a side effect of being brilliant!

[binnie]

Million Dollar Reload – A Sinner’s Saint

Despite having one of the worst band names in the history of music, Belfast’s Million Dollar Reload are actually quite good. Theirs is a sound drenched in blues rock, a sort of crack-ridden Rose Tattoo mating with Quiet Riot – and not particularly amorously! Fronted by Phil Conalone – who was muted for the Velvet Revolver job for the blink of an eye and whose raucous pipes are somewhere between Brian Johnson and John Corabi – it is very much a one man show. Conalone not only writes most of the material, but is backed by a band which lacks any of his star power: solid, certainly, but far from spectacular. Nevertheless, they exude energy and can do belters – ‘Fight The System’ – anthems which tattoo themselves on your ear lobes – witness the Tesla sounding ‘Bullets In The Sky’ – and super sleazy, baby squeeze me blues – ‘Can’t Tie Me Down’. There’s certainly some fodder, but it’s all amped up with a crisp modern production which leaves the band sounding something like The Beautiful Creatures (remember them? No? Check out their debut record from the ‘00s).

Influenced by all of the bands in your record collection, at its best – ‘Pretty People’ and ‘Smoke ‘N’ Mirrors’ – this is juicy rock ‘n’ roll packed with twists, turns and nuances which make their songs more than a nose ahead of the sizeable nostalgia-junkie pack. But there’s a problem. According to their lyrics, these guys are the eternal bachelors, fighting the system and loving the ladies to avoid a life of conformity. So enraptured are they with rock ‘n’ roll lore that this has to be artifice, and it is artifice which separates bands like this from the blues which is their DNA. Whether this bothers your enjoyment of this album or not will depend on how seriously you value authenticity in art. Perhaps, however, as one the greats of the genre once reminded us, sometimes it is better to use your illusions.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Black Label Society – Sonic Brew (1999)

The instant the juggernaut riff to ‘Bored To Tears’ booms BLS’s debut into life half the metal world collectively screamed ‘YES! YES! ROCK ‘N’ FUCKIN’ ROLL’!!!! A bombastic celebration of the joys of nitro charged heavy metal released at the point at which the tidal wave of nu metal crested, ‘Sonic Brew’ was a welcome – no, a triumphant – middle finger to the baggy pants brigade. Given that in the intervening thirteen years Zakk Wylde (or ‘Squeaky’, as I like to call him) has released 87 versions of the same album, it is difficult to encapsulate just how fresh – and exciting – BLS were at their inception. And in truth, ‘Sonic Brew’ is noticeably different from the records that followed: the songs here are not just excuses for Squeaky to go on a widley workout, nor are we treated to lyric after lyric of Wylde as a lone solider struggling against the world. Most importantly, however, this record has something which the subsequent BLS records often lack: BASS. Adding groove and bottom end makes this darker and fuller and a world away from a staleness and rigidity which crept in from album number two ‘Stronger Than Death’. In a sense, then, ‘Sonic Brew’ is a little bit like the first Michael Schenker Group record – a gem of an album which often floats under the radar because of the deluge of mediocrity which followed it.

Of course, looking to Zakk Wylde for songwriting is like looking to Paris Hilton for a solution to the planet’s draining oil reserves. But here he puts in some commendable work, and ‘Sonic Brew’ is perhaps the best collection of material he’s ever played on. Particularly notable are the beautiful acoustic ‘Spoke In The Wheel’ – which is restrained and heartfelt – ‘Peddlers Of Death’ – which sounds like a tar black Led Zepp – and the slab of heavy which is ‘Mother Mary’. Hooks galore and riffs to kill bears too, these are tunes to live and die by. Of course the solos are shattering, but there’s more to it than that. ‘The Rose Petalled Garden’ is awash with melodies and sees Squeaky creaming himself over early Sabbath, whilst ‘Beneath The Tree’ has a quirky singer-songwriter vibe – it’s dazzling stuff, and the quality never dips. Received wisdom suggests that ‘The Blessed Hellride’ (2003) is the best BLS record, but I’d always opt for this one and why more of these tunes aren’t in the live set is beyond me.

A HEAVY record, vibrant and full of tasty tunes doused with an undercurrent of macabre which adds depth sadly lacking in the ‘Biker Band’ schtick of later releases, ‘Sonic Brew’ is an ‘Every Home Should Have One’ moment. DEATH TO FALSE METAL!!!

[binnie]

From the vaults: Skunk Anansie – Stoosh (1996)

They’re Lemmy’s favourite band – that alone should get you listening. British rockers Skunk Anansie had considerable success in the mid-90s, semi-crossing over into a wider audience on the cusp of media interest in ‘Brit Pop’. But these bunch of incendiary upstarts were far, far more interesting that the shower of mod-rehashing mediocrity which littered the charts in the ‘mad for it’ era. Fusing hard rock with elements of ska, dub and urban music made for a very distinctive sound. Yet it may also have been the reason for the glass ceiling on their success: not only are rock fans a conservative bunch suffocated by their own nostalgia, but black/white crossovers have often failed (sadly) to get passed the ‘novelty’ status which genre labels award them.

In the case of Skunk Anansie, that was a real shame because they had two big guns: 1) great songs, and 2) Skin. The latter was not just a charismatic – and magnetic – frontwoman, she was/is an astonishing singer. She can wail or croon, rage or weep: listen to ‘She’s My Heroine’ and you’ll hear how rock ‘n’ roll should be sung if it aspires to be more than a cheap thrill. And all of it without simply overpowering the maniacal urban groove of the band behind her. ‘Stoosh’ marked a turn away from the heavier end of Skunk Anansie’s sound, a stab perhaps to engage a wider audience. The discussion of racial issues is much less prominent than on previous albums, and this time out rage is balanced with broken hearts, a more universal approach to lyrical content which was complemented by a slicker production. This all renders the tender ‘Infidelity (Only You)’ and uber-hit ‘Hedonism’ infectious, if more restrained than on previous outings concrete bombast. But if the band was now painting in lighter hues, there was still too much lyrical bite for this ever to be considered ‘mainstream’.

At its best, it is stunning stuff. The hooks in ‘All I Want’ (which sounds like ‘Superunknown’ era Soundgarden) are glorious, whilst ‘Picking On Me’ – which details childhood bullying – is as chilling as it is unlike anything you’ll ever have heard and ‘Yes It’s Fucking Political’ is a classic rock riff wrapped around some teasingly Rollins Band dynamics. But those moments of inspiration sit amidst some dabbles in mediocrity. ‘Stoosh’ may have been Skunk Anansie at their most stylistically varied, but it was perhaps not them at their very best (see ‘Paranoid & Sunburnt’ or ‘Post Orgasmic Chill’). What it is, however, is a record of distinctive, honest and powerful heavy rock built on timeless hooks and a unique approach to crafting music in a genre hemmed in by its own conservatism.

[binnie]

Trivium – In Waves

The story of Trivium is that of an extraordinarily talented band who don’t know who or what they want to be. Detonating themselves into metal fan’s ears with ‘Ascendancy’ (2005), a more gun-metal grey take on metalcore, by ‘Crusade’ (2007) they had morphed into a thinly veiled Metallica pastiche before deciding to pursue a style based upon a more epic form of thrash on ‘Shogun’ (2009). All of this was done well – good songs, great chops, and plenty of sonic clout – but it was the product of perspiration not inspiration, the sound of a band so desperate to lead the pack they’d lost sight of what all great band’s careers depend on: sincere, honest music.

‘In Waves’ is a long way from ‘Shogun’. Based upon shorter, more focused songs powered by more simple dynamics and bigger hooks it works exceptionally well, for the most part. In truth this is a move back to the metalcore stylings of ‘Ascendancy’, which is a positive or a negative depending on your position on that most overpopulated and frustratingly generic of metal’s current genres. On the one hand we have the cloying presence of the switch between gutteral vocal (verse) into clean vocal (chorus) in almost every song, which has the tendency to render even the strongest tunes somewhat anodyne; but on the other, Trivium are so adept at songwriting they shy away from the over use of breakdowns which hamstrings most bands of this ilk. And it is the songs which ultimately rule the roost here. Put simply, there is some stunning, stunning music here. ‘Black’ is as good as anything they have ever done, a live anthem in the waiting which blows out of the speakers and could re-arrange your DNA. The title track is huge. A massive chorus, tasty guitar hooks and – as is typical of this album – built upon a limited number of choice ingredients: big riffs, taut melodies and crisp rhythms. Where on ‘Shogun’ the band sometimes lost control of their more expansive compositions, ‘In Waves’ sees them realize that power is accrued through using less rather than more.

They still have some of traces of multiple personality disorder, however. ‘Dusk Dismantled’ is a thrasher of blistering proportions. Its melodic nuances put it in a class of its own, but it seems to have little in common with the pop-rock strut of ‘Watch The World Burn’ (which sounds like 30 Seconds To Mars’s big brother) or the sterile balladry of ‘Of All These Yesterdays’. In one sense, this is the product of an embarrassment of riches: a band that can do so much and chooses to show it. To these ears this still feels like a lack of confidence – ‘notice us! notice us!’ – but Trivium must surely know that this is unfounded. When you can write three minutes of heavy metal perfection – ‘Built To Fall’ – or the history of a genre in 5 minutes – the astonishing ‘Caustic Are The Ties That Bind’ – you really shouldn’t feel the need to tick so many stylistic boxes.

When all is said and done, ‘In Waves’ is certainly Trivium’s best record to date. 13 professionally written, incendiary songs: there has to be a career in that. It seems then that who Trivium ultimately are is a band that sounds a lot like everybody else – and it works. If they can harness the focus they’ve demonstrated here in the future, they might just make that classic album they’ve been struggling to make next time out. For now, they’ve delivered one of 2012 most crisp surprises.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Meliah Rage – Kill To Survive (1988)

Meliah Rage are Saxon’s transatlantic younger brothers: a rugged, meat ‘n’ potatoes take on Heavy Metal whose attitude to songwriting seems to be ‘who needs complexity where a powerchord will do?’ Delivering traditional metal which teeters on the cusp of thrash, this debut record features songs about war, murder, war, death, war and hell channeled through the sort of sonic battery we all love so well and propelled by a guitar crunch which heads are made to bang to. ‘Beginning Of The End’ sweats anthem from every pore, whilst ‘The Pack’ and ‘Deadly Existence’ are mucho-macho-metallic-majesty. ‘Meliah Rage’ is an instrumental of epic proportions: histrionic, melodramatic, and Wagernian if he’d painted in gun metal grey. By 1988 it was woefully passe, but you get the sense that these guys were doing it for the sake of doing it, not to change the world. The songs here are constructed from the most basic grammar of metal and delivered with such granite like gusto that even a room full of dentists would rock out. It’s certainly raw, definitely puerile and a little cliched – but it is also a triumph of feel over finesse.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Accept – Balls To The Wall (1983)

It is often the case that metal bands’ biggest albums are far from their best. Bigger sales often come with a compromise in sound and in the case of ‘Balls To The Wall’ – Accept’s Gold selling US album – this was certainly the case. Following the proto-Speed Metal classic ‘Restless And Wild’ with an album which didn’t so much soften their sound as simplify it by allowing greater room for hooks and exploring slower tempos culminated in a sound closer to Krokus and Helix, and was wrapped in a shiny production geared towards the US market. Perhaps they’d realised that thrash was emerging, and they didn’t want to play that came. Perhaps they wanted to explore their potential as songwriters. Either way, the result was an album that was mixed if still ultimately mighty.

The title track is a stone cold classic. Slower and more hook laden than before, the feel is more indebted to Judas Priest but propelled by the march of a Teutonic militia. The riff is made to make necks hurt and the solos are of epic proportions. ‘Fight It Back’ is explosive, whilst ‘Losers and Winners’ is a Heavy Metal ode to……………..errrr, writing love letters. But if you take a riff and stretch it tighter than spandex the resulting songs are going to be flimsy – ‘Love Child’ and ‘Turn Me On’ are both unintentionally hilarious, hair metal in heavier clothing. But in the case of Accept, it’s all delivered with so much charisma – and power – that you can’t help but smile through the foibles. Nevertheless, there is a frustrating sense that they could have done more with these tunes. ‘Losing More Than You’ve Ever Had’ buries a cool set of lyrics beneath a plodding mid-80s Sunset Shit tune lacking any of Accept’s trademark bite. At least the cover artwork – vaguely homoerotic and certainly tongue in cheek – showed that they still had a sense of humour.

Perhaps it was a crisis of confidence that made this all so unbalanced, but Accept were certainly not at their menacing best here – ‘London Leatherboys’ (!!!!!). Of course UDO still sounds like his larynx is made of a ship’s rusty hull, and of course Wolf Hoffman and Herman Frank are on superb axe-wielding form. But listening to it 29 years on, you are left with two thought: 1) how would have Accept’s career pandered out if they’d pushed the relentless power of ‘Restless And Wild’ further? And 2) they are a damn site better now than they ever were then. How many ‘80s legends can you say that about?

[binnie]

Hellyeah – Band Of Brothers

It takes 2 bars to know that they mean business: ‘War In Me’ – the opening track on Hellyeah’s third album – is a classic ‘Fuck The World’ anthem, heavy, thunderous crunch-filled metal of blistering proportions. And that marks a change for Hellyeah, whose first 2 albums were throwaway affairs, enjoyable – if undercooked – records made by a bunch of guys BBQing and drinking beers which garnered their way into metal fan’s attention because of sentiment rather than quality (largely due to the presence of ex-Pantera man Vinnie Paul). ‘Band Of Brothers’ is an altogether more focused – and ambitious – affair. The Southern Rock influence and groove is still there, but so – crucially – is Pantera. THAT sound is in the riffs, the rhythmic nuances, the solos and in Vinnie’s drums, a hulk of groove and aggression that he pioneered 20+ years ago. At times it is pure pastiche. But if we were to turn our noses up at every band that ripped off Pantera, the metal section in your local record store would be empty – and if anyone is allowed to do it, then surely that man is Vinnie Paul.

Put bluntly, if you like metal you will enjoy this album because it is made from a vocabulary you are fluent in: scantily glad women, booze, and being a badass. They aren’t looking to change the world, or challenge their audiences and whilst you’ve heard it all before, metal needs band like this in a climate where we are inundated with cerebral cortex challenging post-hardcore bands to process. The title track is drenched in the pure bravado of comradeship, whilst ‘WM Free’ (a celebration of the release of the West Memphis Three) is the perfect ode to all that it means to be a metal head. There are certainly patchy moments – ‘Drink, Drank, Drunk’ sees Hellyeah challenging Five Finger Death Punch for metal’s ‘genius’ award, whilst ballad ‘Between You & Nowhere’ is typically the grab-another-beer moment – but the likes of the hook heavy ‘Dig Myself A Hole’ announce a considerable leap in song-craft. Vinnie Paul is back: he drank some whiskey, broke some stuff and is living life on ten.

Somewhere, Dimebag is smiling.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Megadeth – Youthanasia (1994)

Made during the ‘iffy’ period that most bands who were big in before grunge went through after it, ‘Youthanasia’ is the sound of a group maturing without becoming mundane. The logical extension of the move away from outright thrash into territories both slower and more melodic which had typified previous outing ‘Countdown To Extinction’ (1992), ‘Youthanasia’ marked a mid-point between it and Megadave’s reinvention as a hard rock band on ‘Cryptic Writings’ (1997). Whilst certainly not as face meltingly heavy as the band’s earlier records, ‘Youthanasia’ is a chronically overlooked ‘90s metal album which saw Dave Mustaine emerge as a more developed and rounded songwriter confident enough to understand that music does not have to be histrionic to be affecting.

The hallmarks of progression are stamped into opener ‘Reckoning Day’, which builds slowly around a simple refrain, driving and driving into an incendiary chorus. Mustaine may not be much of a singer, but he had evolved into a hell of a melody writer by the point, a testament to the fact that there has always been much more to Megadeth than flashy guitar. Indeed, there are some impressive vocal melodies and hooks here: ‘Elysian Fields’ sounds like Dio fronting Journey, whilst ‘Family Tree’ is AOR masquerading in heavier clothing. Although receiving something of a muted reception from diehard fans, the problem which Megadeth faced here was similar to that which would greet Metallica with ‘Load’: these were good songs, but they were not necessarily good Megadeth songs. For a genre which is supposed to embrace the outlaw, metal fans can be frustratingly conservative.

It’s still heavy though. REALLY heavy. ‘Train Of Consequences’ is propelled by a riff to end all riffs – what else sounds like that? – and there are some deep cuts here which deserve to be played live more regularly. ‘Killing Road’ and ‘Blood Of Heroes’ are all metallic thrust tempered by perfectly hewn dynamics, whilst ‘Addicted To Chaos’ is both heavy and emotive, a tingling ode to addiction which is almost ironically catchy. These songs took the traditional Megadeth template, simplified it and situated it in a frame of reference much wider than metal. The result is an album brimming with energy and ideas. The title track is the sort of thing Led Zepp might have knocked up if they’d been raised on thrash, a spiral of serpentine riffs elevating into the ether.

In light of the quality, we can overlook clunkers like ‘Black Curtain’ and ‘Victory’. On the latter, a pastiche of Megadeth song titles, you get the sense that Mustaine was simultaneously paying tribute to the first decade of his band and letting it go. Indeed, there is a sense throughout ‘Youthanasia’ of a band which wanted to do more than metal but just did not quite have the confidence to go for it at that moment in time. Marty Friedman, in particular, is something of an underused presence. ‘Killing Road’ aside, those pyrotechnic guitar solos are noticeable by their absence here, and perhaps this marked the point where he began to lose interest as much as it did the point at which Megadeth decided to move into pastures marked ‘rock’. Indeed, considering that this was released a mere nine years after this band’s debut – ‘Killing Is My Business’ – the evolution in sound is staggering. Heavy in a more tempered way, the focus is on songs, hooks and – dare I say it – airplay. Indeed, that the most ‘successful’ song is ‘A Toute Le Monde’ – a power ballad of the most communal garden variety – reminds us that in their ‘iffy’ periods Megadeth and Metallica danced around the edges of becoming everything that they had once laughed – or in Mustaine’s case sneered – at.

But if ‘Youthanasia’ is remembered for one thing, it should not be ‘A Toute La Monde’. Developing their arsenal by including songs of slower pace and greater presence, this is a record which has always deserved more fanfare than it receives and stands as a tribute to Mustaine as a songwriters and Megadeth as a band which could do far, far more than molten anger and incendiary politics. It may not have been as instantaneous as the black toothed ditties that they once produced, but maturation is captivating in its own ways, too.

[binnie]

God Forbid – Equilibrium

God Forbid have long been metal’s nearly men. Sounding like a thrashier version of Killswitch Engage, their brand of metalcore was never quite as melodic as Shadow’s Fall, but by the same token it was packed with enough surprises to avoid the anodyne repetition of a formula in metal’s most generic of sub-genres. In truth, the band has always transcended metalcore: injecting the soft/heavy, soft/heavy vocal formula with some astounding shredding from the Coyle brothers, God Forbid have always been a band that older metalheads dig. They have the chops, they know how to produce aggressive and polished modern metal and they have always been on the catchy side of brutal, in comfrotable view of the line where the heaviness goes over the cliff. But you always sensed that it was a product of perspiration not inspiration – a band which is good, but not quite exceptional.

‘Equilibrium’ is not going to change that. It’s certainly a more varied – if less consistent – affair than the bands previous outings (the ultra-heavy ‘Earthsblood’ and ‘IV: The Constitution of Treason’), alternating from the deafeningly aggressive (‘Conquer’) to the cinematic (the impressive ‘Scraping the Walls’, which sounds like Soilwork). And it also explores some themes less familiar in metal than they perhaps should be – faith, for instance. Given that this album has been made in the wake of line up difficulties, these are commendable facets, and new guitarist Matt Wickland (formerly of Himsa) lays down some impressive shred, blending with Doc Coyle to complement God Forbid’s impressive rhythmic riff assault. They’ve certainly not reinvented the wheel, but ‘Equilibrium’ does see the band explore their melodic side more than in the past – the title track, in particular, is almost delicate in places. This makes for an album which is well paced and professionally balanced – but you can’t help thinking that this band is at its best on kill mode. ‘Cornered’, ‘Where We Come From’ and the groove-filled brutality of opener ‘Don’t Tell Me What To Dream’ – a genuine metal anthem contender – are the punches with the greatest impact.

But still, it seems to falls short of their potential. It all feels a little too carefully thought through rather than emotive. That being said, God Forbid have given the metal world some crushing albums, and ‘Equilibrium’ will be a worthy asset to any collection. These nearly men may never become marquee names, but they’ll always serve up a sonic brew which is defiant enough to get you through the day. And sometimes being dependable is as worthwhile as being inspired.