WARNING: The following year end rant contains numerous piss poor attempts at humor and a healthy dose of cynicism. Reader discretion and a grain of salt are advised. THKD cannot be held responsible for anyone suffering from a severe case of butt-hurt as a result of exposure to this rant. Thank you for your support.
Continue reading
Category Archives: rock
Alice Cooper – Welcome 2 My Nightmare (Universal, 2011)
“The first one is the best.” This is widely regarded as a universal truth when it comes to films, books and albums that are part of a series. Certainly there are exceptions to the rule; I’ve always preferred The Empire Strikes Back to Star Wars and Aliens to Alien, although I’m sure that many will disagree. But by and large, the first piece of work in a series is superior to its sequels, as it is typically the freshest and most original installment, breaking new ground and setting the tone for everything that follows. It also sets the bar, often setting it too high; the more highly regarded the original becomes, the more difficult it is for sequels to do anything but pale in comparison. Continue reading
New music from The Ash Eaters.
The Ash Eaters have released a new two track digital EP, The Cruel Side via their bandcamp page. For those not familiar, the band is the new project of former Brown Jenkins mastermind, Umesh Amtey. Amtey is probably one of the most underrated guitarists in metal, his playing a schizophrenic locust swarm that attacks from all sides and encompasses elements of black metal, doom, gothic rock and beyond. But as abrasive as this material may appear on the surface, it is also strangely catchy, the sheets of insectoid distortion burrowing deep into the inner recesses of your mind. I’m listening to the EP for the first time as I type this; I’m already eager to listen further. Amtey doesn’t just write songs, he creates musical labyrinths for the ears to explore.
Those of you familiar with The Ash Eaters’ Cold Hearts demo (also available via bandcamp), will instantly notice a distinct progression in playing and composition (as well as the return of Amtey’s Cthulu-esque vocal assault); indeed, the beautiful thing about this music is that it is constantly progressing, changing, morphing into something beyond the confines of extreme music.
I could say a lot more, but I’d rather let the music do the talking. Go grab this now!
http://theasheaters.bandcamp.com/album/the-cruel-side-ep
I’d also highly recommend stopping by The Ash Eaters’ blog to download their cover versions of the Misfits’s “Angelfuck” and “Death Comes Ripping.”
Blitzkrieg #7: Metal vs. Religion
As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, metal gave me the strength to accept my budding Atheism during my youth. I wish I could say there was some epiphanic moment that came late one night while listening to Reign in Blood, but the truth is that metal’s part in the formation of my beliefs was much more subtle. Reflecting back on those times, I’ve come to realize that my Atheism manifested itself long before my love of metal did, and that metal only helped to cement those beliefs.
I went to Catholic school from kindergarten all the way up through my senior year of high school. A lot of people still have some interesting ideas of what Catholic school is like, but I can assure you there were no draconian nuns in black lording over us with yardsticks and paddles, nor were we forced to go to church every day. That doesn’t mean that the presence of the almighty didn’t loom over us on a daily basis. We did have an extra period for religion class, and although we didn’t go to church every day, there were still multiple opportunities to kneel before the saviour, any excuse to have a mass in the gymnasium or set up confessionals in the auditorium.
I tried my damnedest to believe. I folded my hands, closed my eyes, drank the grape juice, ate the stale crackers (why does the body of Christ taste like cardboard and glue?), and none of it worked. I participated willingly in the three c’s, communion, confirmation and confession, but felt no closer to any “God”. For the longest time, I felt like there was something wrong with me, like I was the only one in the world that didn’t believe. There was nothing I could do about it, no one I was comfortable talking to. If there were others like me, they were keeping it well hidden.
Continue reading
Opeth – Heritage (Roadrunner, 2011)
I’ve never been able to understand why musical evolution is largely frowned upon in extreme metal circles. It’s as if something went horribly awry back when rock music begat heavy metal and then heavy metal begat death metal, black metal, thrash, etc. That essential aspect of rock ‘n’ roll’s spirit which calls for constant change was almost completely stamped out in favor of a stunted “different is bad” philosophy that continues to permeate the scene today. Granted, “different” doesn’t always equal “good” either, but in order for any artistic or cultural movement to survive it must continually progress through trial and error, or risk degenerating into irrelevance and ultimately dying out. Yet somehow, metal’s more extreme genres have managed to remain in stasis for nearly three decades. Of course there are many exceptions, but for every one innovator there are literally hundreds of bands that have progressed their sound little (if at all) over the course of numerous albums, lineup changes, etc. Pillars of the various extreme metal subgenres, such as Transilvanian Hunger, Heartwork, Left Hand Path, Rust in Peace, etc are all around the two decade old mark, and yet bands are still contently copying them, and acting like they’ve achieved something of note on their own in doing so. When metal went extreme, it forgot that the bands from which it spawned, the Black Sabbaths and Led Zeppelins and Deep Purples of the world, never released two albums alike or even two songs alike. Production values may improve, bands may become more technically proficient (and in some cases even these two will cause severe backlash), but stepping outside the imaginary, self-imposed boundaries of a chosen metal subgenre is largely verboten.
Continue reading
THKD’s Top 100 Metal Albums #2: Type O Negative – October Rust (Roadrunner, 1996)
Autumn in the Midwest is typically dark and chilly, a time of introspection. The sweltering heat and humidity of Summer dissipates, September’s cool, wet mornings and brown leaf vertigo eventually ushering in October, and with it Halloween, all cardboard skeletons and freshly carved jack-o-lanterns. Over the years, Type O Negative’s October Rust has more often than not served as my soundtrack to this drearily beautiful, eerily haunting season, and what a soundtrack it is.
I seem to remember reading interviews with dearly departed Type O frontman Peter Steele in which he proclaimed October Rust as his masterpiece, and it’s damn hard to argue with him. This is a truly excellent album, conceived by a musician who wrote as if he held The Beatles and Black Sabbath (and possibly Bauhaus) in equal regard. In actuality, the lushly layered pop sensibilities of October Rust recall the work of Beach Boys mastermind Brian Wilson moreso than The Beatles. If Wilson had been obsessed with death, lost love, substance abuse and folklore, this might have been the album he made instead of Pet Sounds. Indeed, there is an atmosphere of dark psychedelia lurking below October Rust‘s surface, adding yet another shade of grey haze to its funereal gloom.
From a song standpoint, the album’s highlights are many. Opening epic dirge “Love You to Death” and electro/pop/goth/metal lead-off single “My Girlfriend’s Girlfriend” are probably the two most well known tracks here, and while they’re certainly worthy of their infamy, October Rust is a veritable treasure trove of deep cuts. “Green Man” is an otherworldly ode to nature, touching upon pagan and Wiccan themes. ”Red Water (Christmas Mourning)” is a drunken carol of lost loved ones that even manages to quote “Carol of the Bells”. ”Wolf Moon” is my favorite track on October Rust, the very definition of a perfect song; it’s heavy, catchy, melodic and totally original in both concept and execution. I’m pretty sure it’s about a werewolf (or perhaps a man who thinks he’s a werewolf) performing cunnilingus on a menstruating woman (“Don’t spill a drop, dear / let me kiss the curse away / yourself in my mouth / will you leave me with your taste?”); it serves as the culmination of the morose, surreal sexuality that permeates the album. On an earlier track, the lusty “Be My Druidess”, Steele declares “I’ll do anything / to make you come” and I’ve often wondered if the two songs are related, with the “anything” in question being the bloody, lupine muff diving session detailed on “Wolf Moon”. Then again, maybe I’m just a weird pervert.
The component parts of the songs on October Rust are just as interesting as the songs themselves. The down-tuned, electric ultra-fuzz of Kenny Hickey’s guitar tone is total Tony Iommi worship, but the myriad influences at work within October Rust‘s aural confines keep it from being a mere Sabbath rip-off; it’s more like Hickey studied Iommi closely and then applied what he learned in support of Steele’s eclectic writing style, creating something totally unique in the process. Steele’s affinity for crafting great songs peaked with October Rust, and his vampiric baritone vocals are also at the height of their powers throughout the recording, securing the late frontman an eternal place among metal’s greatest and most recognizable singers and songwriters. Josh Silver’s nuanced keyboards and production work completes the album’s rich sonic tapestry, which seamlessly encompasses doom metal, gothic and psychedelic rock. If you’re wondering why I didn’t mention the drums, well… according to an interview Silver gave in 2007, the drums on October Rust are canned.
October Rust is many things. It’s Summer dying fast. It’s November coming fire. It’s the Green Man, the Wolfman and Bacchus. It’s love, death and depression. It’s booze and drugs and cigarettes and fucking. In case it hasn’t already been made abundantly clear, I’ll just come right out and say it: October Rust is a perfect metal album.
THKD’s Top 100 Metal Albums
1. Celestial Season – Solar Lovers
2. Type O Negative – October Rust
Today is the Day – Pain is a Warning (Black Market Activities, 2011)
The American Dream is in the shitter. If you don’t think so, you’re either rich or comatose. Most of us work at jobs we can’t stand for low pay, have health insurance policies that don’t cover anything, are buried under a mountain of debt and lead largely unfulfilling lives that are subject to the whims of a government run by a bunch of wealthy, over-privileged scumbags that couldn’t even be bothered to piss on us if we were on fire. In many other countries, these same conditions would spark a full-scale revolt, but Americans are far too complacent, too content to keep eating shit until they die from it.
But for all of us that are content to ride atop the avalanche of feces that was once the American Dream all the way to the bitter end, there are a few that are mad as hell and aren’t going to take it anymore. Steve Austin, mastermind behind Nashville-based power trio Today is the Day is one of them. But what does a musician with a large collection of high-powered firearms and a penchant for creating some of the most intense and abrasive metal/rock known to man do when they’ve had enough? Instead of going postal, Austin has channelled his rage against the dying of the light into a hellishly harsh rock ‘n’ roll record called Pain is a Warning.
Yes, you’re reading that last sentence correctly. Pain is a Warning is first and foremost a rock ‘n’ roll record. In fact, it’s probably the most rocking album Today is the Day has ever recorded. It rocks hard and heavy. It rocks like a goddamn motherfucker. It also sounds like it wants to rip your head off and shit all over the bloody stump, and that might be what really separates Today is the Day from 99.999% of the bands currently professing to play rock music. This isn’t limp-dick radio rock about doing coke and banging sluts. This is real anger, real hatred, real emotions harnessed into pure negative energy and unleashed through guitar, bass, drums and vocals.
Music this brutalizing needs the right production to help it along in getting the point across. For Pain is a Warning, Austin wisely chose to enlist Converge’s Kurt Ballou to sit behind the boards. The result is Today is the Day on steroids. Never has the band sounded so crushing, so ready to come through the speakers and grab you by the throat. Bringing in Ballou has also allowed Austin (who usually also produces) to turn his attention completely towards crafting the music itself, resulting in the most consistent, focused and visceral Today is the Day album in years. While there are a few subdued moments, such as the psychedelic “Remember to Forget” and the almost-country “This is You”, Pain is a Warning is mostly an ultra-noisy hard rock inferno with nods to metal, punk and hardcore. Tracks such as “Death Curse” “Wheelin’” and “Samurai” are violent and pummeling, but also rife with hooks and barbs that will lodge themselves in your memory, forcing you to press the play button again immediately after the album has ended.
Pain is a Warning is every bit as gnarly lyrically as it is musically. Austin sounds so intense delivering lines like “I’m so broke / I can’t feed you / It’s cold / I can’t heat you” and “iPhone iPod iPad PS3 / My life my heart bleeding endlessly” it’s almost as if he has been revitalized by the crumbling of the American Dream. Of course, one could argue that a brand new band lineup (featuring Curran Reynolds and Ryan Jones of Wetnurse on drums and bass, respectively) and a new record label might have something to do with it, but the truth is that Austin has always been this way, he simply needed to have the other pieces in place for Today is the Day to be fully realized in such an effective manner.
Hard times often breed great music. I can’t imagine them getting much harder than natural disasters, a corrupt government, a tanked economy, rampant unemployment, holy terrorism and not even being able to get on plane to escape from it all without potentially having to go through a full body cavity search. With Pain is Warning, Today is the Day have delivered one of the strongest albums of their career, while the doomsday clock ticks ever closer to midnight for the good ol’ US of A. Steve Austin and Co.’s brand of homicidal smash-mouth-super-rock might be too caustic to inspire revolution in the God, guns and government-fearing masses, but it will surely add some fuel to the fire for the chosen few.
http://www.blackmarketactivities.com/label/bands/todayistheday/
Ace Frehley ist Krieg.
Fuck Paul and Gene. Ace Frehley should’ve been writing entire KISS albums. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a KISS fan, but part of being a KISS fan is admitting that there are some horrifically shitty songs in their catalogue and that Paul and Gene are responsible for those shitty songs. This wouldn’t have happened if Frehley had been in charge. Don’t believe me? Just take a listen to his 1978 solo album. That year all four members of KISS released solo albums, of which Ace’s was the best selling and had the highest charting single. Granted, that single was a cover of Hello’s “New York Groove”, but make no mistake, the Frehley originals gracing the album are no slouches either. Just listen to “Snowblind” “Ozone” and “Rip it Out” and try to convince me that Frehley wasn’t the most gifted songwriter in KISS.
The few KISS songs that are credited to Ace, such as “Parasite” “Cold Gin” and “Shock Me” are among the best in the band’s catalogue, but it is on the solo album that Frehley steps out from behind the shadows of the Simmons/Stanley musical dictatorship and really shines as a player and songwriter. The main riff from the aforementioned “Snowblind” (which could have been a Black Sabbath song and ironically shares a title with a song from that band’s fourth album) alone is worth the price of admission, but the album as a whole is about a hundred times more enjoyable front-to-back than just about any of the early classic KISS albums, giving even their rough ‘n’ raw debut a run for its money.
It isn’t just the songs or the makeup or smoking guitar solos that make Ace Frehley great or that made millions of young men and boys paint their faces and pick up guitars both real and imaginary. Ace embodies an idea, the idea that a regular schmuck can can become an icon, a superhero. According to Wikipedia, some of the jobs held by Frehley prior to joining KISS included furniture deliverer, mail carrier and cab driver. From cab driver to motherfucking ROCK GOD. It’s the kind of story we all dreamed of as kids. It will never happen to most of us, but at least there was a time when mere mortals could live vicariously through men like Ace.
Disma – Towards the Megalith (Profound Lore, 2011)
At first the old school death metal revival was refreshing. Since its early 90s heyday, death metal had become overly produced and overly technical, a bloated, sterile, wank-fest that had absolutely nothing to do with the guiding principals the genre was founded upon. In other words, the death had been taken out of death metal, replaced by endless sweep picking and squeaky clean production values. A seemingly endless legion of bands were either cranking out spastic, antiseptic anti-songs, picking the bones of Slaughter of the Soul, or otherwise dragging death metal’s name through the cesspool (and not in a good way).
Of course, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, so along came came a slew of bands flying the flag of old school death metal, attempting to take the genre back to its unholy roots. Some of them were impressive upstarts (Vasaeleth, Impetuous Ritual, Grave Miasma) some of them had been here all along (Nominon, Vomitory, God Dethroned), but the vast majority of them weren’t worthy to lick Bolt Thrower, Entombed or Incantation’s boots. Putting the death back in death metal brought with it a dearth of innovation and attention to craftsmanship. I can live without the former, but the latter is an absolute necessity.
Enter New Jersey’s Disma. Featuring legendary ex-Incantation throat Craig Pillard, as well as members of the long-running Funebrarum, Disma aren’t a bunch of wet-behind-the-ears kids who just discovered death metal. They’re a group of battle-tested veteran musicians with a thirst for devastation, and no other modern band to date has managed to capture the old school death metal zeitgeist as well as they have on their debut full length, Towards the Megalith.
Towards the Megalith is heavy. Impossibly heavy. It might just be the heaviest death metal album of the year, hell, it might be the heaviest death metal album of the last five years. The guitars and bass are de-tuned to the bowels of hell and drenched in distortion, and Pillard’s vocals are so abyssal that they actually add another layer of heaviness to Disma’s slow ‘n’ low sonic assault. You might think that all this unabashed pursuit of heaviness and distortion would lead to a murky Incantation-esque sound, but Towards the Megalith retains a high degree of clarity without sounding overly slick. In fact, being able to hear the filth dripping off of each individual instrument just makes it that much heavier. Hey, did I mention that this album is heavy?
The other immediate highlight of Towards the Megalith is its tempo. Although the band does pick up the pace occasionally, the bulk of the album is characterized by lumbering, doom-y passages, like a horde of legless zombies slowly dragging themselves across a desolate graveyard turned quagmire in search of flesh, their rotting entrails leaving a trail of putrescence behind them. I’ve always been drawn to sludgier tempos over the relentless blastbeats that characterize modern death metal, and the album’s glacial pace, combined with it’s aforementioned sonic weightiness makes for a totally suffocating listening experience, the musical equivalent of being buried alive in concrete.
I’ve talked a lot about a lack of “futurism” in death metal of late, but I’m also a big proponent of the idea that progression simply isn’t necessary if a high level of craftsmanship is present. What Disma lacks in innovation, they more than make up for with an unwavering desire to be the heaviest fucking band on the planet and an inherent understanding of what makes compelling traditional DM. Forget reinventing the wheel, Towards the Megalith crushes it into dust.
Ludicra is Dead, Long Live Ludicra (1998 – 2011)
According to a recent post on their Facebook page, Bay Area black metal quintet Ludicra have called it a day.
Admittedly, I came to Ludicra a bit late. I first started listening to them in 2006, when Fex Urbis Lex Orbis was released. At the time I was living in a suburb just outside Los Angeles, working as a publicity intern at Metal Blade Records in exchange for college credit. Although I worked in a small yet busy office and lived with two other people, I still felt utterly alone and isolated for much of the six months I was there. Back then (and now), I have a tendency to be shy and awkward around people I don’t know and making friends is difficult for me. I would often stay up until ungodly hours sitting in front of the computer, chatting with my friends back home and abroad or writing bizarre, rambling diatribes on myspace (I know, I know…). I was homesick and frequently depressed. More often than not, Ludicra was my soundtrack to these late night self pity parties.
The quintet’s music, especially Fex Urbis…, projected the same “alone in the crowd” despair I was feeling much of the time. Ludicra’s black metal wasn’t trudging through the frostbitten forest at midnight, it was walking down an empty city street at 3am after a night of debauchery, smoking a cigarette, and waiting for a dawn that feels like it will never come. It is gritty and urban, scathing and serene, a truly American take on the genre. Looking back, it seems fitting that I discovered them while lonely, depressed, frustrated and impossibly far from home.
Indeed, Ludicra was an endlessly unique and complex entity, a combination of musical personalities that only comes along once in a lifetime, crackling with the juxtaposition of masculine and feminine energies, bursting at the seams with metal’s chops and punk rock’s attitude. They were progressive and barbaric and crusty and rocking… I can only imagine what their live shows must have been like and I’m deeply disappointed that I’ll never get to experience one. Fortunately I have their four albums, each of which is goddamn electric in its own unique way.
So here’s to ya Ludicra. You were one of a kind, and metal has lost a very special band. See you on the dark side, motherfuckers.
