Album Reviews

[binnie]

Decapitated – Carnival Is Forever (2011)

This record is a triumph in every sense of the word. Rising from the flames of tragedy with a new line up and continuing to make music which can rival the glories of a simply stellar career in extreme metal, Decapitated deserve some serious respect. There are certainly more extreme form of extreme metal than this, but few bands can compete with Decapitated in either intensity or the relentless quality of their material. In Waclan Kieltyka they have one of metal’s very best guitar players: his filthy granite tone is captivating, his piston-like right hand is electrifying, and his ability to serve up riff after dazzling riff and stupefying solos is remarkable. Adding groove – tons of groove – to this thrash-tinged death metal, the guitars here are complemented by atmospherics which are almost industrial in their hues. Even though the guitars and drums are essentially in line, it never becomes mechanic, and the riffs flow out of Kieltyka with an appeal which most extreme metal musicians do not possess. Even when the music is angular, that groove makes it surprisingly captivating; and the neck wrenching drum patterns of Kerim Lechner will grip and shake all before them into acceptance. Itemising the songs would be an exercise in futility in trying to convey the force of what is, in essence, a truly compelling barrage of 21st century metal. Some of it is truly terrifying. All of it deserves our respect.

Perhaps ‘Carnival Is Forever’ is not as complete as Decapitated’s early recordings. Perhaps still finding their feet with their new line up, there is not really a beginning-middle-end here: this is not so much an album, but a collection of excellent songs. But if it is a sign of things to come being just as bright as what proceeded them, ‘Carnival Is Forever’ must be heralded as a true joy for all extreme metal bands.

[binnie]

Ahab – The Giant (2012)

The term ‘Doom Metal’ conjures up a sound of almost slavish ‘Masters Of Reality’-era Sabbath-worship: bass heavy, slow, at once very dark and very, very stoned. Like an stereotype, there is an element of truth in that appraisal – but ‘Doom’ is a deceptively monolithic term. In the case of German 4 piece Ahab, Sabbath is certainly present. But it is far from all that is going on this, their third album. The doom here is epic, and laced with prog rock leanings. These occur both in the grandiose theme and storytelling approach (a tortuous maritime journey); the creation of ‘movements’ rather than ‘songs’ in a traditional (verse-chorus-verse) sense; and sheer size of everything involved, sonically, and in terms of ambition and almost claustrophobic sense of grandeur. This will not be music for everyone – you have to dedicate both time and concentration to it.

Indeed, in a sense ‘The Giant’ exists on its own timescales. Almost all of the songs are 10 minutes long, meandering from part to part in a process that feels very organic. The band switches from floaty, breezy passages of clean guitars to tormented stormy thunder in which the colossal bass of Stephen Wandernorth is the driving force. At times this is utterly devastating: ‘Antarctica: The Polymorphus’ moves from guttural brutality to moments of sonorous beauty without ever falling apart at the seams. Elsewhere, listeners will be tested – for some the crawling pace of ‘Aeons Elapse’ will make its title prescient. The whole record is sloooooow. But it is a hypnotic slowness. ‘Deliverance’ evokes the brilliance of early Baronness, a series of warm guitar melodies spiralling together towards an epic culmination. Doom metal is an incredibly overpopulated sub-genre, and the result is that some of its real stars go unheralded – such is the case for Ahab, who featured on far too few of 2012’s ‘Best Album’ lists.

It’s certainly an acquired taste: imposingly epic, dauntingly heavy, and – by switching from growling to clean vocals – containing plenty of ‘marmite’ factor. But it is a labour of love. This is music to get lost in. Even the artwork is utterly staggering, and on the vinyl really adds to the power and emotion of the music. Like being taken into someone else’s dark, dark world for 70 minutes, Ahab are a band that not everyone will love. Most, however, will certainly admire them.

[binnie]

Although I currently have a massive stack of news albums to get through (it's been a good couple of months for releases) if anyone has any requests for reviews I am more than happy to oblige (assuming I own the album in question, of course)....

[binnie]

Thy Art Is Murder – Hate (2013)

This is a Deathcore album which stands apart from the (rapidly over-populated) pack. Deploying the mandatory breakdowns with a judicious sense of what works best for the song allows this Australian bunch to avoid becoming generic. Indeed, TAIM have managed to produce an album full of songs which are distinct enough to keep the listener more than interested for the duration. Like the best Deathcore bands (Job For A Cowboy, Whitechapel, Suicide Silence), TAIM avoid the hyper-technicality of modern day death metal by injecting its aesthetics with the bouncy crunch and staccato rhythms of hardcore. But there’s still plenty which death metal purists can enjoy: the vocals are decidedly old skool (shades of Chris Barnes), and the melodies and interludes have something of the early ‘90s about them in places (check out ‘Reign of Darkness’).

‘Hate’ is a balance of songs which are not that much more extreme than some of metal’s biggest stars – ‘The Purest Strain of Hate’ and ‘Shadow of Eternal Sin’ are not a million miles away from Lamb Of God, whilst ‘Vile Corrections’ possesses shades of Fear Factory groove – and shit-scary extremity – ‘Immolation’s eerie atmosphere only enhances its utter brutality (anyone who think that deathcore is a watered down version of death metal beware!) At just 10 songs and 36 minutes, TAIM recognise that less is often more with this type of music. ‘Hate’ is easily the best record they’ve put out so far, and goes some way towards matching the hype which Nuclear Blast are throwing at them. ‘Hate’ is not an all-time classic. But it is a very, very good take on a floundering sub-genre. Two things separate TAIM from the pack: 1) the precision-power drummer really allows them to explore arrangements which take their songs to the next level; and 2) like their countrymen Parkaway Drive, they are memorable not for the ‘special’ nature of their songs but for the sheer unrelenting force and conviction of their delivery.

[binnie]

Biffy Clyro – Opposites (2013)

Double albums are usually iffy. Either hugely overblown, padded out with filler, or pompous affairs which leave fans scratching their heads, the list of truly great ones in rock history is short. In the case of Biffy Clyro – Scotland’s post-grunge superstars – the unease at approaching this double opus is compounded by the band’s own perennial status as square pegs uncomfortably forced into rock round holes. Not heavy enough and too colourful for the metalheads, too expansive and progressive for the indie kids, it is quite difficult to pin down who, precisely, this band’s fans are. Not that that has prevented them from selling millions of records or, as I’ve argued before, been largely responsible for putting soul and intelligence back into chart music. An odd band, certainly. But a compelling one nevertheless.

And smart, too. Made up of two discs – ‘The Sand At the Core of Our Bones’ (softer, and more harrowing the its bubbly melodies suggest) and ‘The Land At The End Of Our Toes’ (heavier and more grandiose in approach – Biffy Clyro realise that if you’re going to put out an album of 20 songs spanning almost and our and a half you can’t just line up 3 minute songs next to one another or it becomes incredibly tedious. Thus ‘Opposites’ sees the band take some chances. Always a grunge band at their heart (big riffs, crashing chords, and hook-filled choruses) Biffy Clyro have expanded the progressive elements of their arrangements and the layers of their production to deliver an album which is – in places, at least – cinematic in its sound and scope. But they never fall off the cliff into pompousville. Almost all of the songs here are about a breakup which was evidently tortuous (‘drip, drip, drip’ reads one lyric – tense silence punctuated only by a tap). ‘The Sand At The Core Of Our Bones’ tackles the melancholic and sombre side of things. Opener ‘Different People’ begins with electronic and drum ‘n’ bass before waking into the grandiose grunge that the band are known for. Elsewhere there’s experimentation. ‘The Fog’ serves up some expressive sounds and atmospherics which are oppressively effective, whilst ‘Sounds Like Balloons’ is awash with odd time signatures and downright weird melodies and is propelled by an edgy sort of funk-rock – imagine Queen experimenting. It may all be a little more sentimental than the band have been in the past, but there’s still plenty of rock thud when they need too (‘Black Chandelier’ or ‘The Joke’s On Us’) – like Incubus on ‘Megalomania’, Biffy Clyro here come across like a rock band constrained by their poppier (or, at least, ‘commercial’) past and want to prove that they can play.

‘The Land At The End Of Our Toes’ is the anger after the sadness of a breakup. ‘Stingin Belle’ kicks off with 5 minutes of slithering riffs and crescendos; ‘Modern Magic Formula’ injects a punky spontaneity into what is often a very composed band; ‘Victory Over The Sun’ and ‘Trumpet Or Tap’ is luscious and heavy rock with acidic hooks; and ‘Accident Without Emergency’ is colossal in scope, an orchestral scope on the post-punk folkism of The Alarm. There are certainly some clunkers caused by over-streching. The horns on ‘Spanish Radio’ are as appealing as a fart in a space suit, and ‘Biblical’ and ‘Woo Woo’ are exercises in turd polishing. But in the presence of the irresistibly glorious closer ‘Picture Of a Knife Fight’, such irrelevances seem to float away. Your initial thoughts are that 80 minutes of songs on the theme of a single break up will dissolve into self-indulgent tosh, and it is a testament to Biffy Clyro’s talents as songwriters that this never happens. No-one would add this to the list of truly great double albums, but it is a good one. And it serves up some of the best rock ‘n’ roll (with more than an added dash of pomp) you’re likely to hear in quite some time.

[vandeleur]

Good review of a good album

[binnie]

Cheers dude

[binnie]

Six Feet Under – Unborn (2013)

Until recently, SFU’s selling point was that their singer used to be in an all-time-great death metal band. Chris Barnes’ post-Cannibal Corpse band have always been enjoyable – in a gore-filled, zombies are coming to eat you kinda way – but in truth their albums had been interchangeable and (if we’re honest) not all that much to write home about: fun, but far from fantastic. That all changed with their previous album, ‘Undead’ – more precise than any of its predecessors; serving up some genuinely nasty – rather than comic book schlock – horror; and amping up the dynamics of the songs, ‘Undead’ was something of a game-changer. ‘Unborn’ continues the progression. It will certainly not come near any of the end of year lists for death metal heads, but that should not detract from the fact that SFU have one crucial advantage over most 21st century extreme metal – their sound. Far, far more organic than the over-pro-tooled and compressed modern uber steroid charge bands, this is death metal the way it used to sound: seedy, grimy and down-right dirty. This is tantamount to saying that something is ‘better’ because it is ‘worse’, but it must be admitted that the atmosphere really adds to the music.

SFU’s approach to songs is also much simpler than the complexity and virtuosity of most death metal in 2013, and also eschews the frentic speed and operatic melodrama of black metal. The result is that fans who do not normally dabble in extreme metal might find this enjoyable. There’s certainly plenty to enjoy. Opener ‘Neuro Osmosis’ places soaring melodies over a boiling nastiness of tar-black Black Sabbath and Deep Purple riffs beneath. ‘Decapitate’ is the sort of serial killer horror that reminds you why you liked death metal in the first place. But what really strikes you here is how far SFU have expanded their songwriting skills (if it’s fair to say that about a band fronted by a guy who’s been doing this for 25 years). The pauses amp up the tension, and the relentless mid-paced groove in compelling. They’re also more diverse than in the past: ‘Fragment’ teeters on grindcore; ‘Incision’ is awash with Slayerisms; and the crisp switch-hitting time-changes of ‘Alive To Kill You’ is sheer demonic magic. And – despite what critics of this sub-genre might suggest – there are hooks. Big, gore drenched ones!

They’re never going to serve up a genre-changer. But, then again, they’re not trying to and on this evidence, we really wouldn’t want them too.

[binnie]

Reissue: Mad Season – Above (1995)

If you were to ask me what the best grunge record was, I wouldn’t have many hesitations in answering. It certainly wouldn’t be the gritted up stadium rock sung by the Hamburgler that was Pearl Jam’s ‘Ten’; or the three-chord Husker Du emasculation that was Nirvana’s ‘Nevermind’, an album that sounds like The Pixies would have done if they’d been less ambitious. Alice In Chains’ masterpiece ‘Dirt’ would certainly be in with more than a shot, as would Soundgarden’s muscular orgasm of hate-filled riffs, ‘Badmotorfinger’, or their post-grunge masterpiece ‘Superknown’, a record that could match pretty much any other in history song-for-song. But none of these captured grunge in quite the same way as Mad Season’s debut – and only – record. A sparse, devastating all round soul-drenched take on a rawer form of rock now reissued in a frankly luscious CD/DVD package. Finally, a reissue more than worth its ticket price.

Mad Season were a side project featuring Layne Staley (Alice In Chains) on vocals, Mike McCreedy (Pearl Jam) on guitar, Barrett Martin (the Screaming Trees) on drums and John Baker Saunders on bass. Their sound was certainly not the dirge filled, crusty riffage of bands normally associated with Seattle of that period. Rather, it was a greasier blues recorded in the rawest of ways and arranged loosely to allow Stayley’s frankly epic vocal melodies to take centre-stage. In places, it feels like a demo, a sparseness that only adds to the power of the songs and the authenticity of the emotions displayed. Here we are treated to the deadened psychedelia of ‘Lifeless Dead’ – in which a fractured shimmer of a riff offsets Stayley’s tortured larynx – the harrowing, Hendrix like wistful beauty of ‘River Of Deceit’ and the dirge-rock of ‘I Don’t Know Anything’, who’s riff hits you like a shovel to the back of the head. The disfigured blues of the title track is awash with maudlin hooks and hypnotic tones, whilst the added prescience of Stayley’s call to a drug-addict friend to ‘Wake Up’ has become perhaps grunge’s most harrowing song. What makes it superb? Like any truly great music, it is the human quality of the performances. Dark? Yes, but not in an artificial way – this is no staid angst. Catharsis, if you will. It’s the sort of delicate authenticity which reminds us why LA rock had to go. A bona fide gem of a record which should be hailed as a classic of the ‘90s.

The reissue comes with an essay by Barrett Martin and five additional songs put together for an ill-fated second album which never emerged (due to health and scheduling commitments). One of these – a rather dazzling version of Lennon’s ‘I Don’t Wanna Be A Solider’ – is sung by Stayley, why the other 4 have new vocals by Mark Lannegan, who had provided some vocals to the original album (see the whimsical darkness of ‘Long Gone Day’). These are no off-cuts: they are dazzling slabs of swirling, Screaming Trees-esque rock. Indeed, ‘Black Book of Fever’ and ‘Slip Away’ are utterly captivating. Also in the package is a live CD featuring a 1995 performance from the Moore in Seattle, a DVD of the same show, and an additional DVD recording from RKCNDY. Hailed like returning Gods by the audience, the live performances are even more raw than the original album and pushes the scope of the songs. Highlights are hard to pick. ‘Wake Up’ is pure sonic bombast, whilst ‘All Alone’ utterly devastating as McCreedy and Stayley as battle for centre-stage, and the expanded ‘Artificial Red’ is jiggered and juddered swathe which cuts out of the speakers.

Like another one-off project – the equally harrowing Temple Of The Dog – Mad Season made music which is both timeless and ageless, and reminds us that the ‘90s produced some of the best singers ever to grace rock music. McCreddy plays his best work here, free of the constraints of Pearl Jam his sound is more powerful and spontaneous. But it is Layne’s record – the melodies and lyrics here stick with you and carry the darkness out in a way which reminds us of our common humanity. Harrowing in places, angelic in others, and never shy of being poetic, ‘Above’ is a the rarest of things: an album which captures a period of history which nevertheless resonates throughout the ages.

[chefcraig]

I've been meaning to pick up the re-release (which includes a live DVD), but I have not seen the damned thing in any of the stores I frequent. Thanks for the review, bin. Nicely done.

[binnie]

Cheers, dude. It is WELL worth picking up......

[binnie]

The Faceless – Autotheism (2012)

When a band invents a word to summarize their album’s concept, you know you’re in for a complex record. Perhaps even a dense one. That ‘Auotheism’ – it means mistaking the voices in your head for those of God, since you asked – is both of those things is self-evident: a concept album played out via some of the most technical and expansive metal you’re likely to encounter, and incorporating saxophones, industrial elements, prog rock, death metal and a bit of grunge for good measure, this is not a collection of 3 minute feel-good tunes. But here ‘complex’ and ‘dense’ are positives, largely because The Faceless’s song-writing chops mean that ‘Autotheism’ never becomes overwhelming. Although firmly rooted in (technical) death metal (as their first two albums demonstrated) this is an intelligent sort of heaviness/extremity as evidenced by Meshuggah, Periphery or Strapping Young Lad. The Faceless do not sound particularly like those bands, but their approach to heaviness – employing it for a reason rather than for its own sake – is similar, and as startlingly affective.

The 18 minute title track is broken into three parts: ‘Create’ has a creepy, Alice In Chainsy riff and maudlin melodies and soon explodes into the progressive thrash double-bass drum ecstasy of ‘Emancipate’, which only serves as a warm up for ‘Deconsecrate’ which spans Dream Theatre to death metal and back again. Lurching for style to style is schizophrenic, but only complements the lyrical theme of the album. That the song finishes with a burst of thrash riffs which sound like a 747 taking off is an added bonus. Elsewhere, there is plenty of variety – The Faceless know that you can’t go flat-out all of the time without becoming forgettable. Closer ‘In Solitude’ is an epic power ballad in the school of Judas Priest and Metallica (if they’d grown up 20 years latter), and proof that the band does melody alongside heaviness. ‘Hymn Of Sanity’ possesses more than a nod to The Dillinger Escape Plan, whilst the warp-factor thrash of ‘The Eidolon Reality’ manages (somehow) to inject melody into the madness. It’s dazzlingly impressive stuff.

But it’s no easy listen. There is a LOT of music here, and even at 40 minutes in length it may prove too rich for some. It would be a shame, however, if people didn’t give them a go. Already feted in extreme metal circles, with the tunes on display here The Facless have real cross-over potential. The musicianship is staggering: guitarists Michael Keene and Wes Haugh shred likes their lives depended on it, serves up a bounty of riffs, and create prog soundscapes to boot; and drummer Lyle Cooper has standout skills in a genre of top-notch technicians. Adding clean vocals to the death metal ones this time around only adds depth, and if they pushed this in the future The Faceless could become a genuinely huge band (by the standards of this type of music). Until then, we’ll just have to settle for them delivering truly inspiring albums. Does ‘Autotheism’ break new musical ground? No, but it comes close, and the excellence of its delivery is second to none.

[FORD]

Wouldn't an "autotheist" be somebody who worshipped cars?

[ELVIS]

FUCK!

[ELVIS]

Double fuck!!!!!!!!

Sorry Binnie...