Album Reviews

[TFM_Dale]

Thank God for Binnie, when my slacking off at work becomes unenjoyable due to the same old, same old crap I can always count on some kick ass album reviews. Cheers man and thanks!

[binnie]

Cheers, man. I'm glad you likey.

[binnie]

From the vaults: The Black Crowes – Lions (2001)

It’s hard to pin-point why, precisely, The Black Crowes were so successful. They’ve never done anything you haven’t heard (many, many times) before – they’ve essentially made a career from smashing ‘Exile On Main Street’ into ‘Physical Graffiti’ and throwing in a dash of Motown for good measure. And at the peak of their success in the early ‘90s they were out-of-step with anything else that was going on: too feel-good and life-affirming to sit alongside the shuffling moaners of Seattle; and possessed of waaaaay too much roll to have anything in common with the dregs of Hair Metal circling the drain as generation X grew up. But these square pegs had one advantage over all other rock bands of the time: it was their hooks, stoopid. And on ‘Lions’ – album no. 5 – those hooks were present in abundance.

Let’s be clear from the get-go. ‘Lions’ is nobody’s favourite TBC record. And it is not their best, either. But whilst everyone remembers the glory daze of ‘Shake Your Moneymaker’ and ‘The Southern Harmony…..’, and the band’s ‘comeback’ records (beginning with the rather sensational ‘Warpaint’ (2008)) get plenty of attention from critics and nostalgia mongers alike, the albums this bunch of groove gypsies made in their middle period are consistently overlooked. Here TBC began to scratch their song-writing itch and put their hard rock glad rags somewhat aside. Here the sound is marinated in organ, horns, female backing vocals and a luscious range of guitar textures from Rich Robinson and Audley Freed. The result is the injection of warmth and richness into the more abrasive aspect of their sound. Indeed, TBC sound here the band sounded like what they were: older. Not for them the dismal heights of self-parody which so many ageing rock bands fall into – who wants to embrace a bunch of 40 year old party boys?

And the less ‘rocky’ tunes really shine here, a fact testified too by their presence in the band’s current setlist. The acoustic ‘Miracle to Me’ is delicate and sentient; ‘Soul Singing’ drips in Gospel coolness; and ‘The Greasy Grass River’ is the best song that The Band never recorded. Elsewhere, the laid-back groove of ‘Come On’ – which is pure Joe Cocker via Van Morrison – almost invites you to get on the dance-floor and find out how slim girls’ waists are; and ‘Ozone Mama’ would not be out of place on a Billy Joel record. And – although often forgotten – there is still plenty of hard rock bite in latter-day TBC, too. ‘Lickin’ is awash of with funk and sass; and opener ‘Midnight From the Inside Out’ is an orgy of leathery guitar licks.

You could complain that not everything here is top tier. And you would be right – ‘Cosmic Friend’ and ‘Cypress Tree’ feel like demos which needed to be worked up into fuller songs. You could point out that it is a little long. And you would be right. And you could complain that it is not as good as the band’s earlier work. And you would be right there, too – especially if your criteria for ‘good’ was how heavy something is. But you would be wrong to overlook this record. The sound of a band exploring and expanding its palette, ‘Lions’ is a record packed with feel good songs that don’t just invite you to sing along but command it. The really travesty is that they made us wait 7 years for the follow-up.

[TFM_Dale]

I dig the song Lickin, still blast it on occasion.

[binnie]

My Dying Bride – A Map Of All Our Failures (2012)

I’ve been kicking myself for not putting this on my ‘Best Of 2012’ albums list. Not that anyone gives a shit about my ‘Best Of’ lists, but I’m a fan of completion. And this – the 11th album for English gothic doomsters My Dying Bride – is an utterly complete album. Heavier than they have been on recent outings, this is doom metal performed in an organic matter and laced with atmospherics to deliver a chiselled, darkened sound. Here ‘heavy’ is not synonymous with ‘aggressive’ or ‘extreme’ but rather clout, a cascading wall of dripping, agonising darkness.

And it is beautiful, beautiful stuff. Metal here is injected with the melancholic recesses of Victorian England. Lyrically we have stories of ghosts, and of love gone (desperately, tragically) awry. The sort of stuff that made the Romantic era captivatingly eerie. Aaron Stainthorpe’s sun-dried, melodramatic vocals add a gothic tinge to proceedings which complements Shaun MacGowan’s searing violin. The title-track is a sprawling web of hell-torched riffs which slowly broods, wraps and envelops all before it. ‘A Tapestry Scarred’ is a cinematic take on extreme metal: doom, death and black metal sandwiched together via a decidedly Maidenesque take on folklore. ‘Within The Presence Of Absence’ is a gut-wrenching take on lost-love – if you think that Goth music is cloyingly artificial, just listen. It ripped me apart with its delicate, tender power. By way of contrast ‘Kneel Till Doomsday’ is a dirge of doom-metal riffs rolling over a blackened lyric. Brilliantly ugly.

My Dying Bride are a wonderful – and resiliently British – band, and on ‘A Map Of All Our Failures’ they are on the form of their lives. Where the (equally brilliant) Anathema have soften with age, and Paradise Lost have experimented and come full circle, My Dying Bride have merely expanding the scope of their organic doom template into something even more powerful. They truly are a black rose flowering.

[binnie]

Wolf – Legions of Bastards (2011)

Wolf are to finesse what Britney Spears is to self-respect: anathema. Their brand of vintage Heavy Metal may very well feature songs about witches and lyrics taken straight from the back of a 7th grade maths book, but it just doesn’t matter. It may be clumsy, but who doesn’t identity with a rabble-rousing, fuck-the-odds anthem like ‘Skull Crusher’? It may be fantastical (as vintage metal always was), but it is also defiantly blue-collar. Sounding an awful look like Accept, Saxon, The Scorpions and Anvil, you sense that this bunch of Swedish misfits are the sort of men who never cry, but for whom even the opening chords of ‘Denim And Leather’ make misty eyed. In short, men who love metal, and for whom the genre was at its best in 1982. And in a sense, that is refreshing. Where most modern metal is so clinical it becomes characterless – pro-tools for laser-precision production, ultra-technical arrangements, polyrhythms and complex time signatures – Wolf come straight of the chisel and hammer school of riffology. Opener ‘Vicious Companions’ is straight out of 1980 – when metal had become definable and solidified but had not yet heard of thrash – and is awash with gallops, twin guitar melodies and powerchords. Elsewhere, ‘Nocturnal Rites’ and ‘Hope To Die’ have that relentless drive which makes metal so compelling; and ‘Full Moon Possession’ captures the pantomime ghoulishness of much of the ‘80s in a glorious fashion.

Yes, it’s all rather silly (they have songs called ‘Absinthe’ and ‘Jekyll & Hyde’; and, yes you’ve heard the riffs before; and, yes, some of the songs are too long. But it is all so much FUN that you can’t help but love it. Perhaps not quite as pacey or heavy as their previous record – ‘Ravenous’ (2006) – Wolf’s 6th album sees the hooks and chorus been given more prominence than in the past. They’re never going to make a true classic, but they are serving up a classic sound with such infectious abandon that you can see past the flaws to the gospel being preached beneath.

[big fatty]

Raven ruled, too. In fact, I don't Raven have ever been given their due.......

I first heard Raven in 1985, I was seven. Live At The Inferno. What a FUCKING SHOCK.

Been a fan since then, never looked back.

I hadn't thought about Raven in ages until reading this thread last week, then ironically today I'm reading the concert listings in my local entertainment newspaper, and what do I see, RAVEN & Diamond Head are playing here on October, 8, 2013, it's billed as a New Wave Of British Heavy Metal Festival, at the Rickshaw Theatre on Hastings Street here in Vancouver, B.C., Canada. Tickets only cost $25. So I'll be seeing them again. L.O.L.

Oh yeah, if you look closely in the Panama video, you can see a guy up front in the audience wearing a Raven shirt. L.O.L.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Heaven Shall Burn – Deaf To Our Prayers (2006)

Album no. 4 from Germany’s Heaven Shall Burn is a mixed affair. A solid B record with A+ tracks. Part Gothenberg thrash (the presence of In Flames’s darkened melodies and gothic atmospherics is felt throughout) part metalcore, and borrowing liberally from the melodic end of death metal, the pace never lets up. The guitars are a tour de force: whilst solos are prevalent, Maik Weichert and Alexander Dietz add melodic sections and textures to prevent ‘Deaf To Our Prayers’ being relentlessly gun-metal grey. The result is bullet-proof, fuck-heavy metal that could incite a mosh pit in 2.5 seconds. There are some notable moments. Opener ‘Counterweight’ is a pummelling anthem of post-Haunted riffs and blackened melodies. ‘Trespassing The Shores Of Your World’ is metalcore that isn’t boring – rhythmic twists and breakdowns employed powerfully and in an interesting manner; whilst ‘Profane Believers’ is awash with grizzly hooks and booms out of the speakers with bollock-swinging abandon. Most interesting – or certainly unique – is ‘Armian’, a slow, bubbling rolling thunder of a song propelled by tribal rhythms and crooked melodies. When they have the confidence to expand beyond the confines of genre-ticking, Heaven Shall Burn are quite a force.

There are points where the band loses focus. ‘Stay The Course’ is by-the-numbers post-Haunted metal; ‘Dying In Silence’ is pure Fear Factory; and ‘Brogenesis’ does little more than prove that Heaven Shall Burn should not attempt death metal. At moments like this, we are presented with a band not quite sure who – or what – they are. But a lack of originality is not necessarily a negative (after all, only a handful of bands can be truly innovative): metal played with this level of intensity is impressive indeed, and Heaven Shall Burn can rip it up with the best of metal’s modern bands. Who knew vegans had this much energy?

But perhaps the biggest problem here is that the lyrics do not really fit with the music. Plenty of metal bands adopt an anti-religion stance – but it is usually done in a superficial or tendentious manner. To their credit, Heaven Shall Burn have attempted to embrace secularism and engage with it. But whilst such a provocative theme fits aggressively provocative music, the attempt to be cerebral and reflecting does not – how do you think at 200bpm? Credit must be given for the band’s noble avoidance of more typical ‘I’m angry’/ ‘My life’s so complex and no-one understands me’/ ‘Waaaaaah’ lyrics which many metalcore bands employ under the illusion that they’re commenting on the agony of the human condition, but many of the lyrics are both pretentious and purple. Perhaps this all adds up to a band trying too hard to be everything but themselves.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Slayer – Hell Awaits (1985)

This is one of the records that hooked me. I didn’t just love it – it affected me. At 13 years old, most of my time was spent cranking the heaviest music I could find in my bedroom. I’d discovered everything that was considered extreme up to that point (1995), but nothing quite had the power of Slayer. The hypnotic rhythms, the demented solos, the confrontationally ghoulish subject matter: it all amounted to an aesthetic that was heavier than even metal was possible to be. And for me, ‘Hell Awaits’ was the Slayer record par excellence. The moment happened during one of those epic, ear-bleeding bedroom sessions where – mid-way through this bubbling cess-pit of hatred – all of the posters fell off my bedroom wall. Not one poster: all of them. Now, the rational explanation is that the vibrations from the (screaming) speakers passed down the wall and loosened the blue-tac. But for an hour or so after it happened I was terrified – was this a sign from the devil? THIS was music with an other-worldly power; an extra-human level of aggression – a band so intense that even the nanoseconds of silence between tracks were too long. And I was beyond hooked.

The opening must be one of the most harrowing in metal’s history. The tortured feedback guitar and lowered voices whispering unintelligible, backwards playing mantras before kicking into the savagery of the title track via a series (I count 4) of glacier heavy riffs which are laid over those militia-like Slayer riffs which remain prevalent throughout the album. Re-recorded with a modern production, it could very well be the heaviest thing ever – and when Araya wails ‘Hell Awaaaiitts’, it is the perfect rallying call for 6 minutes of torrential hellfire. Solos for Slayer have never been about virtuosity but another avenue of making their sound even more abrasive. This would be the record where that technique – along with the demonic speed and demented Araya scream – was patented.

Alongside the title-track, ‘At Dawn They Sleep’ is perhaps the real classic here. The evil guitar melodies are chilling, the mid-section riff is something which even Iommi would think was beyond heavy, and it features one of Slayer’s best ever hooks. When Araya kicks in the end part by chanting ‘KILL, KILL, KILL, KILL’ we pass beyond comic-book Satanism into something which typified the Slayer approach: a genuine exploration of the darker side of humanity. On ‘Necrophiliac’ that exploration is taken further, and the tails on the end of the riffs feel they have been kissed by something truly dark. Even the forgotten tracks are stellar. ‘Hardening Of The Arteries’ is thrash oblivion, whilst the ridiculously heavy ‘Kill Again’ sees Slayer’s now trademark amalgamation of Sabbath and Priest metal to hardcore punk solidified as riffs underpinned by drum tattoos seamlessly pass into breakneck chord progressions. And Dave Lomabardo – the Bonham of thrash – thunders away with remarkable dexterity: part delicate virtuoso, part angry gorilla. ‘Crypts Of Eternity’ has roots in classic metal – the dynamics are pure Maiden and Priest – segmenting riff after epic riff together in a mosaic of molten metal mastery. If they played it now live, people would be amazed at just what kind of chops Slayer had on their second record.

Indeed, sometimes familiarity breeds contempt. Slayer are often labelled ‘the AC/DC of thrash’ in reference to the un-changing nature of their style (either in celebration or derision). But it is easy to forget just how innovative they were in the early ‘80s and that that innovation did not begin with ‘Reign In Blood’ (1986). In 1985 Anthrax were yet to be a fully recognised force in metal, Megadeth were little more than the revenge-project of a former Metallica member, and the really HEAVYweights of thrash were Exodus. None of those bands had released anything to touch ‘Hell Awaits’, or anything which would leave an indelible mark on all branches of extreme metal – death, black and beyond – well into the next century. You could even say that extreme metal began here (although Celtic Frost fans might cry). In that sense, although metal often remembers ‘Reign In Blood’ as the zenith of Slayer’s recorded output, ‘Hell Awaits’ was probably the more important and influential record. Its songs were more complex, ambitious and involved than its successor – Rick Rubin really simplified the songs and played to the punk influence on ‘Reign…’ – and the band feels freer, more metallic and kills you by lavishing wave upon wave of riffage. This was the beginning of their reign, the beginning of a new era in metal, and the opening of the doors into something far, far darker. Almost 3 decades on, ‘Hell Awaits’ can compete with anything heavy music has ever produced – you don’t have to like Slayer, but you should respect them. ‘Hell Awaits’ is the sort of heaviness that owns you and continues to keep on owning.

R.I.P Jeff Hanneman

[binnie]

From the vaults: Senses Fail – The Fire (2010)

Sometimes it’s not the band, it’s the fans. You sense that the average Senses Fail fan wants to rebel, but in a packaged, not-too-far kind of way. A way that makes them noticeably different from everyone else, but not ostracized. They’re probably a) female and b) a college freshman, the sort of girl who is distant in a contrived kind of way (because she thinks it makes her appear deep); the sort of girl who buys posters of post-Impressionist art because she’s ‘sensitive’ (but doesn’t bother to find out what it might mean); the sort of girl who walks through life clinging to her journal – Hello Kitty, naturally – because she needs to incessantly narrate her life, a life which – she will be devastated to learn – is oh-so-very-similar to each and every one of those peers she’d so like to distinguish herself from. In short, the short of pseudo-eccentrics that make me want to vomit.

Now, most of this has nothing to do with a band like Sense Fail. I say ‘most’ because you can’t help but detect a feint whiff of the supercilious about their music, a ‘we write about REAL things, and that makes us deeper than you’ undercurrent to their progressive brand of punk which acts like a magnet for idiots. But that should not detract from the fact that this is a band who can write songs. Well-crafted, lavishly melodic and punchy songs. Classy, even, a term which when applied to music like this hammers home how far ‘punk’ has passed from its roots. Put that aside, however, and you just can’t deny the melodies here, or the dynamics. Theirs is a sound which is certainly on the ‘heavy’ end of the spectrum of all popular music, but certainly on the lighter end of the spectrum of punk or metal: the territory inhabited by Billy Talent and their horde of copyists. And it bubbles with energy. ‘Coward’ – a powerful take on forgiveness and bitterness – is a show-stopper sort of tune; and ‘Headed West’ is a perfect blast of pop punk, the sort of song that Jimmy Eat World would be proud of. Indeed, when this band panders to their heavier side – ‘New Year’s Eve’, ‘The Fire’ – they can make music which is pretty inspired. But not too angry, you understand – college girl would implode if faced with genuine despair, and you sense that Senses Fail are a band comprised of very pleasant men – nice men, even – who’ve just not encountered enough of the world’s ugliness to make music of truly affecting proportions. Nothing wrong with that: few bands have.

But there is something wrong about bands whose lyrics grasp for depth and only clutch at cliches. Not only does vocalist Buddy Nielson possess the sort of whinny college-rock voice which is incapable of conveying the emotion his words are trying to express, he serves up some cringe-worthy lyrics here: ‘My mind’s an avalanche/ I’m digging through to reach’ he tells us (Safe House); ‘I spend my life driving without headlights’ (Hero) he muses, because he’s so lost, you see; but not to worry, ‘It’s OK to feel lost, it just means you’re alive’ (The Fire). Now distant college-girl, she loves this stuff – “dear journal, I’ve found a band that provides the theme tune to my life: my senses fail me, too!” – but for those of us for whom adolescence is now a hazy blip in the increasingly distant past, we see what this band’s real problem is: classy songwriting juxtaposed with dire lyricism. And sometimes, even the smallest imperfections are magnified when they’re thrown into relief – like a great looking girl with bad teeth. The reason it is so frustrating is because you sense that here is a band who could genuinely deliver something great, something which would lift them beyond the confines of their genre-bubble into something more universally appealing.

For that, we have bands like Far and Finch. Bands who do this sort of post-punk, heavy-but-there’s-still-plenty-of-pop-in-your-rock sort of music with the capacity to tap into genuine adult emotions. Senses Fail might get there one day. Until then, whilst they’ll always be enjoyable, they’ll never quite be satisfying.

[binnie]

Ghost – Infestissumam (2013)

Gimmicks are a double edged sword: in the short-term, they’ll certainly garner you more attention; but in the longer-term, they might limit how you are perceived or how seriously you are taken. For Ghost – Sweden’s band of anonymous ghoulish Popes led by Papa Emeritus II – it is crunch time in regards to the latter: will the mass of attention lavished on their debut record blow up in their face second time round, when the masks and pontifical robes seem more familiar than frightening? In hiring Nick Rasculinecz – surely rock’s producer of the moment – you sense that the band recognize this; and in widening their sound considerably from the doom metal of their debut, you sense that they’ve got legs. Indeed, the sound here is expansive and rich. Uriah Heep style organs and Blue Oyster Cult style quirkiness combine with less abrasive guitars to make a warm record (rather than a hellish one). If the ‘Satanism’ of the 1st record was pure comic book, ‘Infestissumam’, sonically at least, it is incidental. Far from Mercyful Fate melodrama (the normal resort for ‘Satanic’ metal) this is ultimately another garage rock record – think Rival Sons, Witchcraft, Graveyard – but it is a very good one.

That turn away from doom to something lighter will undoubtedly alienate some fans, but it needn’t. ‘Per Aspera Ad Inferni’ is pure ‘70s Alice Cooper, all Vaudeville schlock and purring evil. The real surprise are the clean vocals – a combination of multiple close harmonies – which make all of the songs here so immediate, and injects a melodic depth to proceedings. Elsewhere, ‘Secular Haze’ is the sort of whsipy doom Arthur Brown and the Doors traded in, and has much more in common with the world before Sabbath rather than after them; and ‘Ghuleh/ Zombie Queen’ begins life as ballad before erupting into a strutting stadium rock behemoth. All of this is surprisingly accessible – despite a cover depicting the birth of Antichrist, tunes like ‘Jagob Har Megiddo’ could (and should) be on the radio – but accessible in a way that does not sacrifice musical depth. Foot-tapping, ass-kicking rock ‘n’ roll, if you will. You just hope that the metalheadz with give it time to simmer……

‘Infestissumam’ is not a perfect record. Too poppy in places, sometimes it feels almost jolly, which is out-of-step with the band’s darkness. And lyrically – where there is only really one theme – things get tiresomely repetitive. But perfection is often a mirage. What we have here are a series of well-crafted rock songs, satanic hymns you can – and will – hum. For Ghost, there is certainly life beyond the gimmick.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Krokus – Hardwave (1981)

After hitting it big – or at least as ‘big’ as they got – with ‘Metal Rendevous’ (their fourth record), Switzerland’s Krokus looked set to be one of the ‘80s shinning hard rock lights. They had a sound which was AOR enough to light up a radio and engage pop audiences, but crunchy enough to appeal to the rockers, too. And in relatively new vocalist Marc Storace they had a singer view a sort of husky Steve Perry appeal and some star power to complement Fernando Von Arb, their bandanna totting madman of a lead guitarist. Following ‘Metal Rendevous’ with ‘Hardwave’, Krokus began a period in which they made some joyous hard rock records – records with a relentless AC/DC sort of energy about them and possessed with sort of amped-up blues rock that made you wanna fight or fuck. In short, the sort of records you would never grow tired of jumping off your bed and doing air-guitar windmills too.

And the songs are better than you might remember, too. Opener ‘Celebration’ has a Who-esque feel to it, starting softly and building into a hard rock explosion with the sort of melodies Boston had made a career out of penning. Indeed, it is the hooks and melodies here which run rampant – why ‘Burning Bones’ is not more highly regarded or remember is beyond me: it demands to be sung amidst beer-swilling revelry. ‘Mr 69’ sounds like Status Quo (when they were good) wrestling with Motorhead and is so infectious you can forgive the band for nicking the solo to ‘Whole Lotta Rosie’. Even the ‘DC by numbers of ‘Mad Racket’ and the ridiculously named ‘Smelly Nelly’ are so much fun they raise a smile, largely because you sense that this was a band completely aware of who they were and what they were best at delivering: laddish metal for people who like their music loud and uncomplicated.

As with most records of this period, the production feel hopelessly dated: you have to really listen to get to the raw core of the band, which had been somewhat tempered in the studio (with a ear on airplay?) But perseverance reveals charms: this is blistering hard rock laid down via choppy guitar, blues tones, and belting choruses. Krokus may never have been a A league band, but they certainly had some A+ moments.

[binnie]

Iggy & The Stooges – Ready To Die (2013)

The Stooges must surely be the Presidents of the ‘How the fuck are they still alive?’ club. And in rock ‘n’ roll, that is a big club. It doesn’t really matter who you care to mention – Ozzy, Alice, Lemmy, Keef, Nikki – Iggy is the godfather of debauchery. Badder than anyone on the planet, this is a man who took excess to the point where he became a-moral and where the artifice of entertainment collapsed into real life. At once compelling and repugnant, Mr. Pop has always been an eerie mirror of the intrinsically anarchic nature of desire. And he shows few signs of changing in his winter years. Following their comeback record – 2007’s ‘The Weirdness’ – ‘Ready To Die’ sees history replay itself. Guitarists James Williamson takes over the helm from the (sadly deceased) Ron Asherton just as he did on ‘Raw Power’ (1970), and equivalent changes follow suit. The sound is tighter, the guitar is a more violent weapon and the Stooges are a better band as the term is traditionally defined (the songs, if not necessarily the aesthetic, are much, much better). Where ‘The Weirdness’ was patchy, ‘Ready To Die’ is dripping with utter filthy rock ‘n’ roll – the sort of music which could kick the shit out of most of the current rock scene, and then piss on its whining body whilst grinning maniacally.

The songs are not just thin. They’re emaciated. But The Stooges were never about craft or form – they were about feel rather than finesse. And in Williamson’s iconic, scuzzy guitar (the riffs here are exercises in simplicity) that feel is laid out in abundance. The perfect foil to Iggy’s leathered-skinned, lecherous larynx, it is a record which almost smells bad, and feels dirty, possessed of the unnerving capacity to make you want to lean into those vices. Opener ‘Burn’ is awash with crooked and jagged guitar, a sloppy stew of rock 'n' roll with more than a toe on the dark side of hedonism; the title-track is a euphoric orgasm of sound; and on ‘Job’ Iggy manages the wonderful trick of connecting with the Every Man even though he is – and always has been – one of life’s true No Men. On ‘Sex & Money’, a track lavished in horns and sass, the band feels like Bowie making a villanous soundtrack – as extraordinary as a Tarrantino heel, Iggy here encapsulates the crazed charisma that led one comrade to label him a ‘charming fucker’. And this is a record that will charm you in a way that only a dirty, un-loved mongrel can.

Sure, it’s not perfect. ‘DD’ is moronic – but what song about big breasts isn’t? – and there are a few tunes which may leave Stooges die-hards scratching their heads. ‘Unfriendly World’ is a grizzled acoustic lament which Mark Lanegan would be proud of; and ‘Beat That Guy’ and ‘The Departed’ both owe a lot to the macabre end of country ballads. It’s not the these are bad songs – indeed, they’re actually pretty fucking excellent – they’re just points of departure: proof that even in their 60s this is a band with plenty of capacity to confound expectations and do whatever the hell they want to do except take the easy option. And what, we might ask, is more rock ‘n’ roll than that.

The album title is gloriously ironic – this is a band anything but ready (or willing) to die.

[binnie]

Lost Society – Fast Loud Death (2013)

Jeeeeeeesus. There is a lot wrong here. Firstly, it’s a nostalgia trip: like so many bands, we have bunch of young metalheadz trying to sound like the glory days of thrash – why then, you might ask, shouldn’t I just listen to thrash records from ’84-’90? Secondly, it is hopelessly contrived: Lost Society are from Finland, yet they sound (and look) like they’ve just blasted straight out of the Bay Area (they could at least try and emulate the excellent European thrash bands). And thirdly, there are some utterly moronic moments here: whether it is the lyrics (they are forever instructing us to ‘GO’ or ‘DIE’ for no apparent reason) or the cringeworthy and offensive song title (‘Piss Out My Ass’/ ‘Bitch, Out My Way’) or the stooopid hand drawn album cover, which sees a skeletal death driving the band’s tour bus to hell, you sense that this is not a band of university graduates. Or, indeed, a band that could spell university. But – and it is a gigantic but – despite all of these flaws, I absolutely adore this record. This is the sort of record where clarion calls like THRASH ‘TILL I DIE!!!! – which doesn’t actually mean anything – become loaded with significance. The sort of record which celebrates the unbridled joy of metal cranked to the extreme, finds success in excess, and delivers something primal in its aggression and more powerful for being so simple. If you can take a sledgehammer to crack a nut, Lost Society ask, then why wouldn’t you.

And thus we are served up glorious celebrations of metal’s best subgenre like ‘Braindead Metalhead’ (cavenously heavy) and ‘Diary Of A Thrashman’ (ditto: but faster). This is the sort of thrash which was prevalent before 1986, when things started to get serious, studious and political, and the sort of thrash which most modern bands emulate. But Lost Society have no interest in 8 minute epics or technical wizardry. And they certainly couldn’t care less about social commentary. What they do have is a sense of humour to match their aggression. Thus ‘N. W. L’ (nakes, wasted, lost) and ‘Lead Through The Head’ (2013’s most headbanging track). And, whilst this is a nostalgia trip, at least this band have given early thrash a modern production rather than trying to make it sound like it was recorded in a shed in 1982 (a mistake so many new bands make). The result is something unrelentingly powerful. ‘Thrash All Over You’ sounds like early Exodus, the thrash band most likely to glass you; whilst ‘E. A. G’ (which essentially tell us that emos are pussys) is pure D.R.I in its rapid-fire, hardcore delivery (a group more young bands should emulate); and the tsunami of double-bass and abrasive riffs that is ‘Kill Those Who Oppose Me’ makes a nod to early Anthrax. Picking you favourite is a hard task, but perhaps the demented early-Megadeth of the title-track takes the bullet-belt wearing biscuit.

No involved lyrics; no instrumentals; no complex time-changes or brain-surgeons’ dexterity riffs. This is music for the neck down, music which doesn’t even know what ‘cerebral’ means. You will not want to like Lost Society, but you (and your neck) will feel it. MOSH-MOSH-MOSH-MOSH-MOSH-MOSH-MOSH-MOSH-MOSH ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH HHH!!!!!!!!

[binnie]

The Damned Things – Ironiclast (2010)

‘Ironiclast’ can be added to the short list of side-projects/’Supergroups’ you should actually give a shit about. Given the day jobs of the people involved – Keith Buckley (Every Time I Die), Scott Ian and Rob Caggiano (both Anthrax) – you might expect TDT to be a much heavier band than they are, but it is refreshing to have those expectations confounded. Put simply, this is a feel good record – but one which thankfully does not try to emulate the go-to ‘feel good’ period of 1975-85. Indeed, this is as contemporary as it is joyous. Opener ‘Handbook For The Recently Deceased’ is muscular classic rock awash with soaring melodies and positively screaming ‘RADIO PLAY’; whilst ‘Black Heart’ and ‘A Great Reckoning’ place a very modern twist on the soft/heavy dynamics that have been hard rock staples since…………..forever. Fun without being flimsy, and upbeat without being disposable, listening to ‘Ironiclast’ makes you think that there really should be more bands like this. The title-track is reminiscent of Stone Stour’s muscular power and hulking groove; and on ‘The Blues Havin’ Blues’ the level of talent in the band’s component parts really comes to the fore. Sure ‘Little Darling’ is filler, and ‘We’ve Got A Situation Here’ sounds a little too much like Buckley’s day job to be convincing but by the end of this album you’ll be grinning like a fat kid in a cake factory. ‘Ironiclast’ may very prove to be your new best friend – and, like a friend, you should accept it despite being acutely aware of its flaws.