The 1991 7" EP Necrosphere showed genuine promise, some of the most weighted, atmospheric US death outside of Pennsylvania's mighty Incantation, but it was hindered by terrible production. Still, the incredibly ghoulish guttural vocals, searing riff tumult and spacey synthesizer segues exhibited something we hadn't heard much of back in those days. When it came time for the band's proper debut, they were snagged up by JL America, a fledgling label carving their mark through the US underground with releases by Acheron, Morpheus Descends, and others, not to mention their European licensing of titles like Beherit's The Oath of Black Blood. What's even better, though, is that Killing Addiction represented a real second wave of Florida death, one nearly as crushing and compelling as its flagship generation, with a whole new world of disgust in store for the audience.
Unfortunately, Omega Factor does not fully deliver on all of this potential, and thus the band was never able to create large waves about itself. There are several admirable components on the debut: killer sci-fi/horror cover artwork, great logo, solid and intelligent lyrical expression, and most of us, utter brutality. But these qualities are sadly counterbalanced by a still lacking production and a dearth of truly memorable riffs. Killing Addiction trawls along to bludgeon you with crushing focus, while interspersing more technical, surgical guitars through the walls of slamming grooves, but the patterns never quite manifest into anything more than mosh fervor. "Nothing Remains", "Equating the Trinity" and "Altered at Birth" all have their share of old school aggression, taut performances and Pat Bailey's frightening, scrawled out growls, but there are no individual tricks that one can really point out as exemplary or lasting.
A few of the Necrosphere tracks are re-recorded here: the titular "Necrosphere", which has a supreme lead sequence, and the longer "Impaled". But both lack the same devious sci-fi cheese that they once adorned, and I was actually depressed that this aesthetic was not woven through the whole album, else we might have been presented with a more grisly alternative to fellow Floridians Nocturnus. Omega Factor is far more straightforward, and while that's not a bad thing in of itself, it just doesn't stand out. Also, while the mix is arguably superior to the EP, it still sounds rather amateur and scraped together. The drums often feel clunky, and the guitars tone is almost too overdriven, too crunchy if you could believe that. Having said this, it's still a good enough record to track down if you're hellbent on hunting old school gems that you might have missed. Memorable it is not; musically it's of a one-track mind, but it's a fun preamble to the entire atmospheric, drudging death wave currently trending, and brutal enough to sate the more cannibalistic underground mutants who laud the genre.
Verdict: Win [7.25/10] (for science the children must die)
http://www.myspace.com/killingaddiction
Earache Records must have had a lot of faith in their burgeoning new superstars Morbid Angel, to release this so early in their career. Perhaps if they had tossed this on the racks in the mid or late 90s, it might be more understandable, but I'm sure it sold enough despite itself to have been a worthwhile cause for them. So it goes without saying that this is not a new album, but a group of demo sessions that were originally planned as the band's debut in 1986, now considered just a demo by Azagthoth as they were never officially manifest. Through the years, the recordings had surfaced through bootlegs, so this was a situation of 'why not have the band and label making money if it's out there anyway?' Touche, motherfuckers, touche.
Ironically, though the recordings were produced by none other David Vincent, he was not actually yet in the band. This was a much different Morbid Angel roster, involving bassist John Ortega and drummer/vocalist Mike Browning, the latter of whom would go on to Nocturnus. Trey and Richard Brunelle were the only members that would go on to the amazing Altars of Madness album and the less impressive Blessed Are the Sick, picking up Vincent soon after this and Sandoval a few years down the stretch. If you're expecting some wealth of unheard material here, you will be sadly disappointed, because almost all of these tracks were revamped for the various full-lengths, even though some of the titles were changed. Three of them would be recycled to Altars of Madness: "Chapel of Ghouls, Lord of All Fevers and Plagues", and "Evil Spells" (the last titled "Welcome to Hell" here); three to Blessed Are the Sick: "Abominations", "Unholy Blasphemies" and "The Ancient Ones" (retitled from "Azagthoth", thus an egotistical namesake piece); "Angel of Disease" reappearing on Covenant, and "Hell Spawn" later dubbed as "Hellspawn: The Rebirth" and exhumed for Formulas Fatal to the Flesh.
Some good songs in that mix, undoubtedly, but they sound kinda crappy here. I'm actually a fan of Browning's vocals for Nocturnus' great debut The Key, and they're functional here too, but I find that the musicians (especially Trey's leads) are incredibly frivolous here, using too many effects and sounding like a giant porridge of unhinged excess. Vincent's production isn't really all that bad, but without exception, every single track found here is much improved with the budget and focus of the band's 'actual' full-lengths, so there is not a single reason to listen through this unless you're: a) just curious, or b) that obsessed with hearing Browning vocals over these cuts. There is one song here which has remained in oblivion, that being "Demon Seed", which has parallels to the Altars of Madness frenzy if injected with some straight up NWOBHM style riffs. Barbaric, sure, but not at all worth the price of this collection.
I've heard CD-R rips of the band's first few demos, and obviously this is a step up in sound quality from that, but I can't think of any reason to drop cash on this unless you feel indebted to the band and want to offer them more support. Alas, since they're not on Earache anymore, it's likely they would not receive much of it anyway, so buy an extra ticket to one of their gigs, or a t-shirt from the merch booth instead. As a window into the past, this is far from the worst thing I've heard, but these versions frankly suck when compared to the later studio efforts. Let's put it this way: the band didn't really want to put this out. The label didn't want to put this out as an official debut album. Such confidence! It wasn't really good enough for either institution, so why, by the tendrils of the Old Ones, would it be good enough for you? Because it has their goddamn logo on it?
Verdict: Fail [4/10]
http://www.morbidangel.com/
Much as the Retribution for the Dead EP served as a tonal bridge between Autopsy's first pair of albums, Fiend for Blood offered another window into the band's plausible future. The material here is a lot sloppier and unhinged than Mental Funeral, much more a barrage of straight, grisly death with a few breakdowns. Steve DiGiorgio returned to the bass position here, and you can hear his excess noodling all over the songs, a much more central presence than the restraint he showed through the debut album. One the one hand, Fiend for Blood is simply 12 minutes of neolithic torture, with nary a truly memorable hook to be unearthed, and it's the worst release of the band's crucial 1989-1992 period. On the other, there's really nothing all that offensive about it, just don't expect depth outside of Steve's copious, spastic embellishments.
As with Mental Funeral, there are a few very brief tracks here, but these at least carry some vocals. "Fiend for Blood" is a hurried little 30 second, sludgy grind track while "A Different Kind of Mindfuck" returns to a 'narrative' doom not unlike a few of the tunes on the prior two releases. "Dead Hole" is one of the better discoveries, cycling through a savage opening barrage and then stretching its offal stained wings with some swerving, atmospheric grooves. "Ravenous Freaks" is overall forgettable, with one half-decent riff in the center, the guitars colliding with the bass in a favorable pattern, then another burst of worthless insanity, and then another half-baked but pleasurable death groove. "Squeal Like a Pig" establishes a more measured pace throughout, while "Keeper of Decay" features perhaps the best of the EP's faster rhythms, DiGiorgio going fruit loops everywhere.
Aside from the admitted lack of quality riffs that I was so into on Mental Funeral, I also don't enjoy the tone here of the guitars. It simply does not stand out whatsoever. Contrast these droning, sludgy patterns with the thundering bottom end, and it all feels fairly half-assed, as if the band just wanted to fill some space before their next album. The cover art also sucks, where Retribution for the Dead was quite cool; but it's not like many bands put much effort into the packaging of such short form releases. Assuming you haven't already picked this up in the past, then I'd advise you just pick up the re-issue of Acts of the Unspeakable which includes this entire EP as a bonus (and more on one of the versions). Autopsy's third album does continue the wacky trend of dumbing down their impressive sarcophagi of sound, but there are far better songs and less of the bass playing excess.
Verdict: Indifference [6/10] (my lips pressed to your laceration)
http://www.autopsydeathmetal.com/
In all the years I've listened to metal, through all of its mutations, there are few cases where I've felt so at odds with the 'majority' as with Death's fourth full-length Human. I have a number of friends and acquaintances who honestly feel this is the greatest album of all time. Accolades have been written from here to kingdom come and back again, and in lieu of Chuck Schuldiner's tragic passing it has vaulted into even more of a concrete classic status. I suppose here is the point at which I could just claim that they're all full of shit, that it's some kind of conspiracy, 'Body Snatchers', whine like an infant and then go grab some lunch, but it's not that simple. Because Human does not suck. It is not the product of effortless self-preservation, nor a brain addled deviation of form. It is not crass or commercial. It is not a sell out. And it is not uninspired, nor uninspiring.
What it is, is a progression gone awry. A sacrifice of ghastly mood and virtue for ambition. But more importantly, it's a fairly underwhelming piece of music from a band that had to this point been frankly fucking awesome. As early as Leprosy, Death's conceptual motivation (and lyrics) had swerved subtly to a more philosophical standpoint on mortality, which was then brought into social and technological, cultural relevance through Spiritual Healing. In fact, you could see the transition to Human from a mile away. Knowing Chuck's motivations to grow and evolve the terrain of his musical alter ego, it was inevitable. Hints of the sound here were seasoned across Spiritual Healing: a thinner, more processed and by extension less powerful guitar tone, less festering or effective vocal tones, and more frequent flights of instrumental fancy. The 'death' metal that I so loved from the earlier works still survives here, but it's rapidly becoming the subtext of the band's dynamic, rather than its foremost aspect.
With Scream Bloody Gore I had a bloody good time; Leprosy was a genuinely creepy, beautiful and brutal experience; Spiritual Healing less so, but still had the songwriting that hung out in my skull years later. Human is the first case in memory in which I felt I could surgically extract a few individual riffs and feed the rest as scraps to the hounds. But not only does this album mark a shift in aesthetics, but also in how Chuck would select musicians to work among. In what might seem a fit of abashed elitist snobbery, he had begun a revolving door of musicians here that would continue through the rest of Death's career. Bill Andrews, Rick Rozz and Terry Butler had turned towards the lackluster Massacre with another former Death-ite (Kam Lee); so a bevy of technically fluent individuals had been hired on to 'flesh out' this excursion. Steve DiGiorgio of Sadus for the bass guitar. Cynic members Paul Masvidal and Sean Reinert for the guitar and drum slots. An impressive quartet as far as individual musical proficiency is concerned, a 'Dream Team' like one might send to the Olympics. So then, why does this album supplant the charm of its predecessors which such a dry, mechanical, mediocre sensation?
Thankfully, Human does not abandon all of the band's prior assertions. "Flattening of Emotions" opens with some tinny sounding muted death and a good number of robotic transitions, spliced in its depths with easily forgotten wanking. I think the only part of this song I enjoyed was the sad current of melody beneath the chorus. "Suicide Machine" is better, perhaps the closest this CD gets to what I so loved on the older albums, with a few creepy old school death rhythms (the chorus) and slices of eerie if predictable melodies. Still, though, the notation here is simply not as morbid and memorable as what had come before. I enjoy the driven, death metal break of the "Together as One" verse, with DiGiorgio plunking all over it and Reinert as taut and puckered as a newly molded sphincter, but I found myself caring less about any of the remaining riffs here. Ditto for the entirety of "Secret Face", which I had entirely forgotten until I dusted off the album to prepare this review.
"Lack of Comprehension" is initially promising due to the desperate interaction of vocals and rhythm, but outside of that opening riff and the mosh breakdown at 1:30 with the frenzied guitar accompaniment its like a boring philosophy lecture, and I'd have to say the same for "Vacant Planets" and "See Through Dreams", with the exception of that epic, melodic swerve at about :50 in the latter. Of course, we also have "Cosmic Sea" the first outright instrumental found on the Death studio albums, and probably the one track on this album that I would actually spin the disc for. The guitars create a meandering scar-scape of sadness and beauty, and I enjoy the synthesizer sounds utilized in the backdrop. The leads are impressive, especially when they start warping through wormholes around 3:30, and DiGiorgio also fashions some mesmerizing effects to anchor the cosmic convocation.
All in all, the tone to this album is arguably its most crippling feature. Scott Burns mixed it, and I'd be lying to say it was one of his finer moments. Razor thin and very much devoid of power. In fact, had this been executed with bolder guitars in mind, and less of a nerdy modernism in the processing of the distortion, the same songs might be somewhat more potent. Not that the actual riffs are exemplary, but they're ironically more mechanistic and less 'human'. Post-human, if you will, as if some band of A.I. infused automata mining Jupiter caught wind of some Spiritual Healing broadcasts and decided to creature a 'spiritual' successor to that album. Hypocritically, I don't mind this diffused digitization so much on the following works Individual Thought Patterns and Symbolic. But only because I like the songs on those records more than these.
I have given Human more second chances, third chances, and twenty seventh chances than almost any other record I own, but each time I return to explore it I am left wanting. I've found the material to also be dull in the stage setting a number of times I've seen the band (once even opening for them at Salisbury Beach where a lot of booked tours came through), though they always compensated with older tunes. I'm certainly not opposed to progression in my music: the two other 'major' prog/jazz/death albums of 1991 sat rather well with me (Unquestionable Presence, Testimony of the Ancients). Human is elegant, and never rushed, but neither is it an exciting listen. It's not the worst of the Death efforts, but I'm simply not hard wired to appreciate it beyond a handful of the riffs and lyrics. To me, the Death I truly loved dissolved the year prior, not that Chuck was ever going to brook a wrench in the gears of his evolving musical landscape, but I wouldn't have been opposed to keep him penned up for a few more DEATH metal albums.
Verdict: Indifference [6.75/10] (see things that are not there)
http://www.myspace.com/deathofficial
Anthropological, metallurgical studies can often reveal interesting traits that slipped through my attention, and one of these is to observe trends within particular movements and scenes. To that extent, I have to credit Californians Autopsy for their predilection towards some of the most lewd, disgusting death metal in history, well in advance of the present tendencies. Here in the 21st century, it's become 'cool' again to delve into the primitive extremity minus the technical wizardry in which the 'other half' live, but Chris Reifert and his troupe had already decided on this path 20 years ago to date. Mental Funeral leans in a wholly opposite direction to artists like Pestilence or Death, whose goals were to transcend the brutality of their roots, or transport them on a generational starship into the unknown.
Both were noble enough ambitions, and Autopsy clearly succeeded in their own. Mental Funeral is a grisly incantation of carnal death and doom that marks the pinnacle of their career, and while it's perhaps not the most perfect of albums I've heard, it's consistent with the debut while at the same time surpassing it. Once again, the guitar tone is incredible, feeling as if it was hewn from the same wood as the axe of a murderous hillbilly psychopath, full of painful grains that churn beautifully against the organic flow of the percussion, but also taut in the execution of the groovy, verminous leads. Just as much of a case could be made for Mental Funeral as a doom metal classic as death, because a large portion of the material crawls along like a convocation of Pentagram, Black Sabbath and old school Paradise Lost. As I mentioned, this is in no way an 'evolution' of Autopsy's sound, but in fact a devolution, as if the band couldn't get enough grave soil and thus decided to dig a cemetery within another cemetery.
But they also evoke a fair share of variation throughout the track list that ensures the primacy of the material will never bore the listener. Personally, I was not a huge fan of the three shorter vignettes here. "Bonesaw" is a brutal burst that would have been better manufactured into a full-length track. "Mental Funeral" itself a haunting outro with some clean guitars, that also would have been appreciated were it expanded. "Fleshcrawl" is another instrumental doom guitar sequence that serves as a decent intro for "Torn from the Womb", but independently it's not the bees knees. That said, the core songs here are almost without exception incredible. "Twisted Mass of Burnt Decay" is a writhing, hardcore/death pounder in the vein of Sweden's Entombed, while "In the Grip of Winter" expands upon the doom and groove of the previous year's EP Retribution for the Dead, possessed of some evil, repulsive morbidity to die for. This aesthetic is actually taken one further with "Hole in the Head", one of my favorite Autopsy tracks hand down for its swaggering, restless melodies.
Elsewhere we find the drudging monstrosity that is "Slaughterday", with Reifert flexing his lungs in resonant patterns of true disgust. "Destined to Fester" is another of the band's timeless and catchy death/doom pieces, with a lot of groove to it that creates a dire and welcome mirror to the eminent, emerging grunge and doom scenes of the 90s. "Dark Crusade" is a straight rager not unlike "Twisted Mass...", with incredibly churning and thick guitar tones that alternate between a grinding, d-beat momentum and neanderthal breakdowns. "Dead" might as well be a mere instrumental for all the few vocal lines we are granted, but it's another slow, methodic crusher. About the only song I don't drool over here is "Robbing the Grave". The vocals are in fact exceptional, but despite the hypnotic drum beat, I just found the guitar riffs here to be overall lacking. That said, it does not cock up the overall experience.
Once again, we've got an album that has transformed into a virtual recycling bin of ideas. I must hear half a dozen demos and albums each week from younger artists trying to pull this off. Not that Mental Funeral is necessarily innovative on its own, but the grimy production was quite a novelty in its day. Stylistically, Autopsy were heavily favoring their doom forefathers, but they were also starting to distinguish themselves here from bands like Death and Obituary which were comparable to the debut Severed Survival. Sure, you'll still hear parallels in this, but they are marginal at best. Again, this is not a band whose albums melt my flesh off like various other fundamental classics. I don't admire the songwriting quite so much as a Left Hand Path, Cause of Death, Realm of Chaos, Leprosy, Consuming Impulse or Altars of Madness. But regardless, this is a band who produced a block of brutally reliable output when the genre was at its most fresh and inviting, and Mental Funeral belongs in any exhumation of classic ideas. Whenever I'm seeking out an effective, sepulchral atmosphere in death metal, I know just where to find it.
Verdict: Win [8.75/10] (the safety of the womb is gone)
http://www.autopsydeathmetal.com/
What is it about bass players and touring bus accidents? In the 80s, we had Cliff Burton whisked away from us before he had arguably reached his prime. Shortly after the dawn of the following decade, it was Roger Patterson of Atheist, whose technical grandeur and potential was admittedly limitless. It's tragic, really. Patterson got so far as to be involved in the writing and pre-production records of the band's second full-length Unquestionable Presence, but the talented merc Tony Choy (Pestilence, Cynic) was brought in to waltz about the final product. It was a sensible choice, Choy was certainly up to the task, and in a strange twist of bitter irony, Atheist had created what I must say is their best album to date, though most of them are comparable in overall quality.
Here, the band had dialed up its jazz and groove elements to bolder extremes than the debut Piece of Time, and also come up with some far more catchy guitar lines in general. You still get the feeling that you're being jerked around through the A.D.D. compositional technique that the band is known for employing. Very often some superb riffing melodies will emerge and then vanish all too quickly, tantamount to the listener's frustration. Like Piece of Time, it seems as if the band are forcing such collisions, tripping over themselves to impress the audience by how quickly they can cycle through material. A tactic which has been used countless times since Atheist, by a myriad of technical death and thrash artists trying to outgun one another in both proficiency and brutality, and perhaps this band's greatest (and most unfortunate) influence upon the genre they matured through. However, this considered, Unquestionable Presence is still an impressive album with a wealth of acrobatic gallantry persisting through each track.
"Mother Man" wastes no time indoctrinating the listener with the band's increased curvy jazz aesthetics, Choy plucking through a dazzling rhythmic flume whilst the schizoid death/thrashing commences through spikes of precision violence and Shaefer's barking snarls. As with much of the album, you've gotta listen closely to the subtext, and by this I mean the bass, it will twist your mind straight off your spine, though some might not welcome the inherent funkiness. The title track is slightly less bewildering, but more impressive as a song, with a spacey clean fusion intro marred by squelching bass and then a jamming whirlwind sans vocals, but I really love the graceful arching of the guitars behind the verse at about 1:00. "Retribution" sounds like it might have belonged on Death's Human, only far more memorable, spastic and fluid. I was a little taken aback by the teensy chugged intro to "Enthralled in Essence", but then the band almost instantly turns towards an epic melody and a convocation of desperate, shifting speeds.
At this point, the band were probably well aware that the listeners' eyes were spinning in their sockets as if they were living slot machines, so we're given about a moment of tranquility at the opening of "An Incarnation's Dream": clean guitar passage akin to something Fates Warning might have pulled around this time, and then a thick, rhythmic implosion, as if some cosmic gate had opened above a peaceful, natural scene on some unexplored planet. This track is a curious one, with a strange swerve towards funky bass, shredded solo and chugging miasma, ultimately one of the least impressive on the album, but not uninteresting. "The Formative Years" goes for a more direct, charging thrash sequence before it morphs into unhinged jazz/death oblivion, a hyperactive string of hammers that play upon your mind like piano keys. "Brains", however, is one of my favorite individual songs here, with its frenetic strains of delicate, domineering tech death that we've since heard from countless younger bands possibly one unaware that it had already been done in 1991; "And the Psychic Saw" is a wonderful closer, another favorite and I just love the glorious desperation and rapid melodic mutes beneath the first verse.
For all the shit we give Scott Burns for much of his lackluster, samey sounding productions, one must admit that he achieved his success through a number of quality recordings. In my humble opinion, this is one of his best. The guitars are clean catapults of spatial expression. The bass is omnipresent, like standing in rush hour traffic without the big city slowdown. Steve Flynn is a titan behind the kit, and Shaefer sounds great, never mixed in too loudly against the musical backdrop. Unquestionable Presence naturally deviates away from the subterranean, occult and gore soaked indulgences that the more orthodox death metal bands would pursue, asking the broader questions about life and our place within the universe. 1991 was the year that the death genre would first begin to truly explore its progressive possibilities, with Pestilence and Death also unveiling their evolutions, and while I don't enjoy the Atheist contribution quite so much as the less frantic Testimony for the Ancients, it's certainly close in quality. Occasionally too frantic for its own good, and falling shy of perfection, but this is unquestionably worth owning.
Verdict: Win [8.5/10] (and deeper and deeper we fall)
http://www.atheistmusic.com/
I can't say that Killing Addiction were one of the more successful Florida death metal outfits, but they were unquestionably one of the most brutal, so much so that I'm surprised they're not talked about more often in today's circles of nostalgia. There's a massive scene today for the sort of hugely cavernous sound these guys pumped out through the Necrosphere EP, and even though two of the three songs here were made redundant on their JL America debut Omega Factor in 1993, I actually prefer the versions from this 7". The guitars here are raspy, indelibly raw and primal, but almost completely smothered by the tumult of Pat Vailey's guttural vocals. They were pretty much the most guttural thing going outside of Incantation at the time, and though they are clearly too loud in this mix, they nonetheless provide most of the atmosphere.
Otherwise, the band is canny and competent, with some dynamic variation between the rabid leads, chugging low-end and faster paced explosions, but the production is rather shitty. Of the three tracks, I prefer "Covenant of Pain" for the extended lead sequence near the end, wound loosely over some thrashing mayhem, and this is ironically the one that wasn't on the full-length. "Impaled" is likewise impressive for its lengthy, synthesizer outro which is joined by a drudging, cosmic doom riff and both guttural and snarled vocals. Had the entire EP been ridden with such segues, I'd probably be far more fond of it as some lost gem of interstellar doom/death, but its quite an impressive tail for the content here. The first track, "Necrosphere", I wasn't as keen on, but it's nonetheless wispy, brutal and effective enough that you'll want to cringe under your bed until the bad things go away.
Really, the only issue with Necrosphere is that it sounds like a diseased fuckhole. But as it was released on the tiny Seraphic Decay label, there was not a big budget behind it, so it's somewhat understandable. That said, this is something you might just be able to get into if you've been a fan of all the decrepit, yawning old school death that's all the rage in recent years. The most interesting aspect is that Killing Addiction sounded almost entirely like any other Florida death metal group at the time, more in the range of an Immolation or Incantation. The band reformed a few years ago, so they're back today, but I can't speak for their latest output just yet.
Verdict: Indifference [6/10]
http://www.myspace.com/killingaddiction
If the line-up for this album reads like an early Death V.I.P. party, that's because it was. Bill Andrews, Kam Lee, Terry Butler and Rick Rozz all had a stake in Chuck Schuldiner's beautiful beast throughout its formative years, though Massacre was also around for a roughly equal period, once home court to Obituary's Allen West. For Andrews, Butler and Rozz, the time in Death involved some touring and studio appearances on the first three, and best albums. For Lee, the connection was somewhat more distant, but undeniable: he had contributed some drums and vocals to the earlier Death demos, and like Rick, was an alumni of its precursor Mantas. So, it is not a stretch to assume that From Beyond, snapped up during the Florida feeding frenzy at the dawn of the 90s, is going to sound a whole like that alma mater.
To Massacre's credit, they never seemed to be a complete or directly obvious knockoff. There's a sizable influence here from prototypical death/black/thrash act Celtic Frost, and the vocals seem to have a more direct correlation with Chris Barnes' grunting or Glen Benton's manic snips and snarls. There are certainly some similar riffs to what you'd find on Scream Bloody Gore or Leprosy (for example, "Cryptic Realms" seems to channel a bit of "Born Dead"), and they've even included a version of "Corpse Grinder", so it's not as if they're hiding their appreciation for their previous work. In fact, you might say that Massacre was a continuation of the values that Death had begun to abandon with Human: grisly, morbid old death metal with the inspiration of horror in the lyrics rather than the social and scientific relevance Chuck had begun to flirt with on Spiritual Healing. Unfortunately, while its a passable effort, From Beyond has a little too much of a 'me too' vibe underpinning it in general, and one wonders if the band would have ever secured a deal for itself without its associations.
Once your eyes have peeled away from the terror of its pink vortex of clouds and corny looking Creature Feature abominations, the album greets you with a promising atmosphere of doomed chords and synthesizers reminiscent of Helloween's "Halloween" intro, steadily escalating into a warlike momentum over which the Deicide styled vocals explode. Lee likes to add grunts and growls over the ensuing sear of Rozz's guitar lines, which at admittedly a bit silly, only because they're not used consistently enough to create a concussion of their own. Unfortunately, while as authentic as your going to hear for early Florida death, the track never establishes itself with a decent, memorable guitar hook. This is a problem that the band repeats numerous times across the eight originals: "Symbolic Immortality", "Succubus", and "Biohazard" are all frustrating in that they deliver the energy of well conditioned thrash and death but never hook you (the first channeling "Disposable Heroes" in the later bridge, the last sounding like a mix of Pestilence with Death breakdowns).
There are, however, a few more atmospheric pieces on this record that in my opinion are more entertain to digest than their environs. "Chambers of Ages" begins with a solemn, morbid synth intro that buries you in the architecture before it merges into the death/thrash zone, and the title track has a pretty mesmerizing, cosmic breakdown where the choir synth hovers off against a slower rhythm. Coincidentally, both of these also have some of the better straight death riffs on the entire album, not unlike stuff you'd hear on Napalm Death's Harmony Corruption, and I'd gladly name them my favorites. However, they're offset by the remainder, and there are some relative stinkers here like the thrashing "Defeat Remains" with its boring Exodus bludgeon. The cover of the Death demo track "Corpse Grinder" is a cool idea; sufficient enough in the hands of this quartet as it might have been with Schuldiner involved, yet it follows a predictable, uninteresting notation. It's more than obvious why it never made it to a Death full-length as it stood.
Sooner or later, when you've got enough people stacked on your raft, you're going have to choose between sinking or knocking off some of the other sailors on the sea of fate. Massacre was such an elimination, never really amounting to much despite their potential visibility through the burgeoning British label and their relationship to Death, and easily fed off to the starving sharks. From Beyond is by no means a shitty debut album. It was tight on execution, featured a lineup who obviously loved what they were doing and had some credentials too boot, and sported a clean as a whistle Colin Richardson production. But it'd be one of the last players picked in a theoretical team volleyball match of Floridian brutality, because it's simply not that intriguing, not that catchy, and offers no new maneuvers that haven't been done better by the rest of the squad. Compared to the sophomore full-length (Promise) though, it's a work of art.
Verdict: Indifference [6.25/10] (out of the realm of obscuration)
Gaze into the crystal ball of this band's past, and you'll witness a familiar fable. A pissed off group of adolescent Floridians for whom the thrash metal genre was simply not excessive enough to vent its myriad frustrations. Admittedly, Malevolent Creation has never been numbered among the elite of the death metal genre, but they've nonetheless had a successful go of it, touring and releasing a large number of albums, sticking it out for the long run, a revolving door of members circling an axe slinging central figure: Phil Fasciana. But during those formative years of the scene, what exactly did this band have to offer those of us who were affixed on the conquests of their more highly regarded peers?
I'll tell you: Malevolent Creation offered an urban, ass-kicking alternative, a more immediate threat to the sanctity of your bone structure. While Morbid Angel and Deicide were consorting with Elder Gods and being in return broadcast intense waves of reeking apocryphal miasma, Nocturnus was performing a careful moon landing on alien soil, and Death and Obituary were emerging from the crypts and graveyards, Malevolent Creation was standing right on your street corner, pimping hos and collecting drug fees at the cost of blood money or human teeth. This was the brutality one was most likely to encounter when one strode out into the stinking night of the inner city in the 80s or 90s, fearing for one's wallet and more importantly for one's goddamn existence in a world of thugs and pushers. That said, stylistic comparisons are inevitable with other bands of the scene, in particular Deicide, who utilized a similar congruence of battering speed and neck breaking mosh splatter.
This album opens almost like some forgotten gangsta rap epic, "Memorial Arrangements", as last rites are narrated over some fallen friend or associate; the one difference being the biting despair of the guitars and drums, which open with chords and a warlike march against the lashing winds, then mutate into a thrash-like christening before the dire melody rings out. And then it's time to duck, as the bullet storm of "Premature Burial" comes howling at you, its projectile percussion seeking to permeate your vitals. Vocalist Brett Hoffman possessed a tone not unlike Chuck of Death, only carried further to a more grisly extreme, like a pissed off mortician who had seen one too many fallouts from a gang war or cocaine strung serial executioner. Drummer Mark Simpson is also tight, one of the more forceful strikers alongside Asheim or Sandoval, and he brings a particular weight to the deep thrashing matrix of Fasciana.
This band was also incredibly good at writing wild but punctual leads that helped whip the muted pummeling into an added frenzy. Malevolent Creation were very apt at creating a momentum here and then following it through, even when the breakdowns occur you just know they're about to fire back into a storm of onrushing traffic. Songs like "Multiple Stab Wounds" and the frenetic "Remnants of Withered Decay" seem like a natural and welcome extension of the brutality inherent in extreme California thrash like Dark Angel. The musicianship is so intense that even if the individual riffs weren't all that catchy, the band still delivered thorough excitement. That said, there are a few wildlings to stand out here like the arching, twisting guitars throughout the verses of "Impaled Existence" and charnel house romp of "Sacrificial Annihilation". All told, The Ten Commandments is like an instrument of blunt AND bladed compulsion that you might bring to bear against your enemies, an excise tax of eradicating force.
No, it wasn't exactly brilliant, and aside from the concrete and syringe strewn warfare implied in its lyrical musings, it did not bring as much fresh gore to the arena as the band's more affluent, influential statesmen. However, this debut is still a lot of fun 20 years later, and the band's no prisoners attitude towards extremity has absolutely stirred up a following. The mix is not so great here, one of Scott Burns' less impressive feats among the early wave, but I do like how the vexed vocals resonate like street vultures over the crashing undertow, and the leads sound like heroin addicted vipers. Sporting one of my favorite Dan Seagrave covers, it's a solid package that in my opinion, the band has yet to surpass, even though they'd tread darker, occult lyrical paths over the course of the next two albums (returning some years later to the pavement pounding aesthetics). Ugly, aware and determined. The Scarface of death metal.
Verdict: Win [8/10] (termination's tool bites unwilling flesh)
http://www.myspace.com/malevolentcreation
One needn't comb very far into the depths of the Morbid Angel sophomore to recognize that this is a very different beast than the band's exhilarating debut. The Jean Delville painting used for the cover (which had, coincidentally already been used by the Danish thrash band Hexenhaus for their debut several years prior) hints at a more classical, if no less diabolic premise, but the real aesthetic shift comes in the composition. Where Altars of Madness was a day at the hellhound tracks, Blessed Are the Sick is a stroll through the abyss, utilizing far more controlled tempos throughout the track list, as if the band were sobering up from the massive hangover they received from the blasting, precision chaos of its predecessor.
The truth is, the actual change of pace is not what cripples this album. The band still pulls out the stops where necessary, allowing Pete Sandoval more breathing room as he swerves between taut and manic bursts of speed and slower, swaggering grooves. The ideas circulating through these tracks will continue to turn up through the band's career, fleshed out further through albums like Domination, Formulas Fatal to the Flesh and Gateways to Annihilation. Nor would I lay the flaws upon the doorstep of David Vincent, who experiments with a more stolid death grunt in tandem with his bludgeoning barks. Blessed is the Sick is a beloved album, and an important album due to its chronological placement. In 1991, a lot of people were turning towards death metal as it emerged from the thrash landscape as an alternative to the shoegazing, funk, grunge and rap explosions of the period. I wouldn't be surprised if Blessed Are the Sick (like Human, or Tombs of the Mutilated, or Effigy of the Forgotten) was the first death metal album many were exposed to, and it makes sense: this is far more forgiving, and much less overwhelming than the band's 1989 masterwork.
The problems I have with Blessed Are the Sick, and have held for nearly 20 years despite numerous attempts to let it 'grow' on me, lie in the fact that the album is too clean for its own good, and too short on memorable songs. As the album lacks the labyrinthine punishment of the debut, there is nothing here that forces its way to the surface upon repeated listens. It's all laid out bare and accessible for the initial consumption. This wouldn't be an issue if I found that the content was memorable, but I can't think of a single song here that I'd every turn to if I was in need of a Morbid Angel fix. When the instrumental adornments on your album, like the fluted and creepy "Leading the Rats" outro, the plucky acoustic segue "Desolate Ways" and the cheesy and pompous synthesizer march "Doomsday Celebration" number among its more distinct offerings, then certainly the metallic core is lacking for something...
That said, I could never accuse the Floridian demi-gods of lacking some variation here, because if the sophomore has any leg up over its monolithic predecessor, its the more even split between faster and slower climes. You still receive the rapid brutality of "Brainstorm", "Rebel Lands", "Day of Suffering" or the smaller bursts in "Thy Kingdom Come", which are all pulled straight from the altars, yet uninhabited by individual riffs of such quality. More intricacy seems to have been placed in the crawling compositions like "Fall From Grace", "Abominations", and "Blessed Are the Sick" itself, which alternate between the slower passages of the debut, simpler chugging maneuvers and a glaze of occasional propulsion to ensure that the listeners (and Sandoval) do not fall asleep. Often, the band will incorporate some nice atmospheric touch, like the low growl that casts a cavernous din over "Abominations", or the popping, copious leads that slice through "The Ancient Ones", but neither seems to amplify the quality of the track.
Morbid Angel tries a lot here, despite the fact that the sophomore seems like the grizzled reduction of a piece of fine meat, its beautiful fat evaporated and a less juicy and tasty sirloin tip left behind for the consumer. Blessed Are the Sick is not a poor album, nor is it even unpleasant to sit through a few times, but it's incredibly underwhelming when there were such exorbitant alternatives in the field, fully delivering on their riffing value and morbid, atmospheric motifs. The ritualistic lyrics, often from the first person perspective, are not all bad. If I had to pick favorites among the metal tracks, I'd probably run with "Fall From Grace", "Rebel Lands", or "Blessed Are the Sick" (though "Caesar's Palace" expands its lurching strides with delicious misanthropy), but these deliver only a fraction of the brilliant, shiver inducing madness of a "Chapel of Ghouls", "Suffocation" or "Maze of Torment".
Evolution and innovation are not foreign concepts to Blessed Are the Sick, and the novelty of its placement in the death pantheon seems to have granted it the status of the sacred calf, leaving not a marginal influence in its wake (certainly there are scores of albums mirroring its sluggish and varied dynamics). Alas, next to the eponymous transgression of the debut, and the potential ghastly feast I had desired from its successor, this was and remains naught more than Meals On Wheels. Tore off the plastic, put it in the microwave, got a nice bite or two and some essential proteins, but too soon was I salivating over the next morning's breakfast.
Verdict: Indifference [6.75/10] (the storm will cleanse me)
http://www.morbidangel.com/
Annihilation of Civilization was hardly a breakout suffusion over the thrash-starved masses of the late 80s, but it gleaned enough press and attention that the band had earned a rightful mention along the same West Coast surge that vaulted Exodus and Forbidden fairly high into the underground consciousness. For their sophomore, still through Steamhammer, Evildead would evoke a more practiced, surgical and technical veneer to their compositions that was adjoined to higher production values and cleaner tones. Imagine Forbidden's Twisted Into Form with a less impressive, less melodic vocalist at the fore. Unfortunately, though there are some diamonds in the rough here, taking the form of a few individual riffs I found superior to the debut, the album seems to grow progressively less exciting the deeper you go...
Shit begins with a creepy intro, "Comshell 5" that blends some feedback, ambiance and horrific vocal samples into a promising smoothie, then betrayed by the all too standard, mid paced gait of "Global Warming". As you can tell from this title, Evildead were fully in check with the big ticket issues of the late 80s/early 90s, so it's no surprise that they take on the environment, crime, the situation in and surrounding Iraq ("Welcome to Kuwait"), and even a pre-emptive jab at bastards like yours truly ("Critic/Cynic"). But as for the song itself, its easily forgotten beyond the decent lead. "Branded" brings about the thicker bass tone of the album; this and "Welcome to Kuwait" compensate for the rather mundane riffs with some tight fills and increased energy levels, which escalate even further through "Critic/Cynic" and "The 'Hood", utilizing a similar momentum to Vio-Lence on their superior sophomore Oppressing the Masses. There's a cover of the Scorpions' "He's a Woman/She's a Man", which is simply not as confident or fun as the Texan Helstar rendition, and then a trio of solid but ineffective thrashers which don't deviate from the first half of the album.
Of course, some points are given to Evildead for staying pretty true to their motives. We would not be hearing a lame groove-metal mutation out of this act like a Skinlab or Machine Head (fueled by members of Defiance and Vio-Lence, respectively) and the band instead decided to hang up the towel when it was clear there was no future (recently reforming). The Underworld is not lacking for effort, and certainly not mechanical execution; think of it as a tighter, polished interpretation of their debut. But what it does lack is inspiration. The songs here simply don't gel that well at all. None of them scream out for a replay. The debut itself was not exactly a stunner, but it at least had a voracious and driving quality about it that made it pleasing to experience, whereas this successor seems to drown in its own architecture, never offending but also never distending the reach of Evildead to the genre's diminishing audience of the day.
Verdict: Indifference [6.75/10]
http://www.evildeadofficial.com/
Much like their cover model had transformed from a frightened girl to some hunted street walker in pink, Dark Angel spent the two years between their Leave Scars and Time Does Not Heal in the throes of maturation. Whether or not this is welcome would really depend on who you asked, but seeing as the Californian brutes had already released the raw, forceful cult classic (Darkness Descends) and the sloppily produced, yet punishing viper's nest of unforgettable ideas (Leave Scars), it would have been destitute to merely repeat either experience. Time Does Not Heal goes the distance, expanding on the lyrical elements of its predecessor while sporting the most professional refinement of any album in their career.
I, for one, am thankful for the modifications. I won't claim that this record is ultimately superior to Leave Scars, but it's nice to finally be able to hear each of the band's talented instrumentalists in equal measure, from the muted fervor of Eric Meyer and (Jim Durkin's replacement) Brett Eriksen, to the intense control of Gene Hoglan, to the bass, thick and pluggy here but favorable to its presence on the prior outing. Another metamorphosis has transpired in the vocal region, as Ron Rinehart has decided to splay his meter out in a broader path of almost operatic chagrin. He still hacks and barks when necessary, but in general he gives more breath to the lines, creating an unnerving sense of melody above the rather blunt brutality of the guitars. Semi-technical, rich in hostility and not unlike Heathen's Victims of Deception with its mildly processed edge of modernity.
There are some incredibly well composed pieces here, beginning with the title track and its opening salvo of acoustic guitars that attract the frenzied swagger of the electrics in a clash that better resembles the Leave Scars material. "Pain's Invention, Madness" is hands down one of the best pieces in Dark Angel's career, a bombastic juggernaut of atmospheric chords that glide over the muted substrate, simple and catchy chorus riff, and an impressive, schizoid climax with repressed Rinehart screaming at around 7:00. Note that the general length of the tracks has not changed from the previous output, all of these are between 6-9 minutes in length and offer some substantial variation throughout. "Act of Contrition" is not a personal favorite, there are some wonderful guitars but here I felt Rob's voice stretched a little too awkwardly, but the savage "New Priesthood" and "Psychosexuality" more than compensate, and the entire closing third of Time Does Not Heal is magnificent, in particular the roiling slugfest of "Sensory Deprivation" and "A Subtle Induction", the latter making use of some thick, percussive bass elements in the odd intro.
This might not be the fastest of Dark Angel's offerings, as the band seems to hang closer to the mid pace and substitute weighty low end rhythms for a mesh of exhilaration and acceleration, but it's no less proficient and technical. Even though bands like Deathrow, Artillery, Coroner and Mekong Delta had released bewildering musical epics by 1991, this was still impressively structured composition for its day, far more ambitious than the lions share of miserable tough guy groove metal elements that were beginning to inoculate the West Coast thrash scene (well, those bands who hadn't turned to funk or grunge). Time Does Not Heal is yet another of those marginally late wonders to the Golden Age of the genre. It constantly feels as if it's hanging on the precipice, above a beckoning chasm of oblivion, along with the other natural successors to the heavily structured thrash of Master of Puppets, Reign in Blood, Terrible Certainty, Eternal Nightmare, Taking Over and so forth. It's an appreciable, intelligent and intricate swansong, although it wasn't aware of that at its time of conception; and the third Dark Angel disc in a row worth its weight in headbanging release.
Verdict: Epic Win [9/10] (the only truth in life is pain)
After an album like No More Color, Coroner might have just pulled up their tent posts, packed in their supplies and left the rest of us stunned and wandering through the ashes of astonishment, unable to escape the grim new reality they had opened through a window of precision craftsmanship. But this was a touring band, a power trio trying to make their stamp on the world beyond the cult following they had developed. To this extent, they have gone all out with the 4th full-length, Mental Vortex, so far as to record it down in Florida at Morrisound with Tom Morris. One can certainly ascertain the difference here; it's far more controlled and 'zen'. Not to say that the band have lost their touch for a climactic escalation through Tommy Vetterli's performance, but in all this feels like a stripping down of the spiraling wonders of their previous albums.
Unfortunately, this dive in complexity is relative to a descent in overall quality, a trend that would continue into their even more minimal follow-up, Grin. Mental Vortex is still a great album, with five near legendary Coroner tracks in its eaves, but this is the first case in which I felt any of my attentions slipping. Part of this is the cover of The Beatles' "I Want You (She's So Heavy)" included as a core element of the album. They perform it effortlessly, and even manage to extract its sullen, bluesy darkness to a new height, but it simply does not concur with the band's sharper, original material. I'm also not an enormous fan of the opener, "Divine Step (Conspectu Mortis)". It creates a steady, frantic step through the punch of its discordant verses, so it's a decent enough start to the proceedings, but it's about 7 minutes without that one riff I always expect from a Coroner track to blow my mind clean out of my temple. I enjoy its mellow, spacious bridge segment for the contrast against the band's typical busiwork, but that metallic, misanthropic orgasm of guitar is nowhere to be found.
"Son of Lilith" is likewise not a favorite of mine, but there are a few pretty killer riffs hovering there that do well to build appropriate tension. As for the rest of the content, it's superb, if somewhat drier than Punishment for Decadence or No More Color due to the polish of the mix. "Semtex Revolution" alternates a flowing if simplistic speed lick with a swaggering, arching melody and some nice vocal finesse, all to a steady rock beat. "Sirens" follows at largely the same gate, with some more amazing verse vocals, and a killer breakout groove that they steadily lift the thrashing towards just before 2 minutes. "Metamorphosis" is inaugurated with some whale like squeals and smooth bass, before the choppy melodic guitars lead to a glorious, marching riff so incredibly bare boned that you have to wonder how no one had come up with it before; and "About Life" is perhaps the closest track on the album to the material of No More Color, with a superb charging note pattern in the verse. Best of all, though, is "Pale Sister" with its frenzied Vetterli cycles, some of the fastest on the album, another sweet groove in the chorus, great leads, and an unexpected but catchy breakdown after the final chorus.
Perhaps it's a symptom that the band were so busy the previous few years penning labyrinthine exercises in genius, or perhaps a conscious decision to boil the writing down to what they felt were the important, underlying musical themes. Coroner was not the only band doing so in 1991, there was a far more visible example (Metallica), but the Swiss clearly weren't deviating that far from their origins in R.I.P. That said, Mental Vortex does not have nearly so much to offer as its elder siblings. The material is sufficiently dark, riff-strewn and superior to the lion's share of thrash in the early 90s which was grinding the genre to a halt, but it half turns its back on the frenetic displays of passion that brought the band to the foreground of Europe's most promising bands. Creative. Curious. Not all that exhilarating. Sadly, there would be no turning back, as the following, more groove turned, mechanical album would prove to be the straw that broke this camel's back.
Verdict: Win [8.25/10] (she lives on your planet, but not in your world)
Similar to Rumble Militia, Mottek or Death in Action, Soulstorm is another example of a bunch of German hardcore guys taking on the thrash genre that had become so popular by this point, but with one major difference: instead of risking the alienation of their punk and hardcore fans by using the same moniker, they instead created a new project to satisfy their impulses. Most of Soulstorm was involved with Inferno, a band that was reportedly pretty big on the European hardcore underground, but one that I've frankly never heard of. At any rate, the album is a mixed bag, for while the band does a good job at performing original thrash, and not entirely abandoning the crossover elements, the music is just not very memorable.
A good comparison is the Crumbsuckers, who are yet another example of an extreme music chameleon, mostly due to Howie's similar, grating vocal styles and the intricacy of the guitars. Bassist Zong is all over the place on this album, performing oddly happy lines beneath tracks like "Undignified" or "Visionary" that are otherwise a crop of sped up hardcore riffs with a little more melody and muted frenzy than one is accustomed to. But the band is also pretty experimental, with "Bad Boy" taking on an almost spaced out, jazzy rock presence, and "An Allegiance to the Sea" a folksy sea shanty with clean guitars and some shaky, punkish vocals. "Something About Your Fear" and "My Freedom" also take a turn for the unexpected. Unfortunately, as diverse as the band attempt to come off here, it really just works best when they get angry, like the hardcore/thrash mix of "(He Must Be) Sick in His Mind" or "What Is Wisdom?".
Soulstorm is the very definition of obscurity, but alas, despite the band's quirky aesthetics, this is ultimately a fantastic album cover gone to waste. Though skilled musicians, the band's constant jerking and popping never really settles into anything of note, anything to hold on to once the baffling sensation of what you're hearing disappears. I'll give them props for trying such an elaborate and original, lighter take on the thrash genre, and not shedding all of their roots in the process, but apart from its quizzical nature, there is little to recommend. For a somewhat similar effort done proper, I'd refer you to B.O.M.B. (Beast On My Back), the sophomore outing from New York's Crumbsuckers, a progressive hardcore/thrash album well worth hunting down.
Verdict: Indifference [5/10]
After the positive reaction I had to Who Dominates Who?, a tautly executed, well enough written thrash experience, I had hopes that Accu§er might truly hit their stride and carve a spot for themselves among the German elites. That was until I heard Double Talk, an extremely frustrating record which squanders what clinical tech riffing it can muster on some hideous choices, bad lyrics, and far less appealing vocals than the first two full-lengths. The core of the band's sound continues to shift away from the debut, and Double Talk represents the breaking of a levee, the slide into a disastrous spiral of mediocrity, as the thrashing landscape behind them begins to itself shift into the wasteland of the 90s.
One needs to venture no further than the first track here to hear the missteps. "Double Talk" is a banal, average thrasher with tight riffs but overbearing vocals that feel too sloppy and loud in the mix. Eberhard Weyel hasn't changed much from the last album, but there's just too much swagger in there and it sounds like he's about to be sick for half the track. "The Freeze" features some decent, descending muted melodies, but the rest of the track is a very lackluster attempt at the Bay Area style of Testament, Forbidden, etc. But these are not even the biggest offenders. "Flag Waver" is horrendous, with terrible lyrics that begin like a rant about the stereotype of the Republican presidential war monger, then devolves into more of a shitty commentary on Americans in general...
Capitalism... Chauvinism... Imperialism...
Consumerism... Paranoia... Patriotism...
Only a hypocrite can sell the American dream
Not that I'm prone to getting butt hurt over criticism of my country. Believe me, I'm a card carrying anti-establishmentarian myself, but married with the pathetic vocals, and shitty decisions like the funk breakdown before the 3 minute mark, it's a little hard to take Accu§er seriously. Another danging turd here is the last of the album's new studio tracks, "Alcowhore", an ode to the beer and booze that becomes intensely laughable with the meter of the lyrics over the music.
Please hear my call, 'Demon Alcohol'
You brought me down and left me alone
Look what you have done, 'whore alcohol'
Is this reality? is it me?
By the devil's beard, man, what are you jabbering on about? Tankard would like to have some words with you, my friend. Some commandments, even. What's really tragic here is that there are at least 3-4 really good riffs in this song, but they're trashed by the words. A few other inconsistent picks like "Money" and "Why Me" simply serve to seal the fate of this effort, and I find it telling that the best tracks are unanimously the CD bonus tracks, which are simply revisions from their debut album The Conviction: the 10+ minute "Accuser", "The Conviction" itself, and "Sadistic Terror", which has a pretty similar riff to Destruction's "Curse the Gods". None of these are necessarily spectacular, but they're at least focused down and aren't nearly as embarrassing as a few of the newer tracks. Put bluntly, this is one of the worst albums this German band has ever released.
Verdict: Fail [3.5/10] (I am a top gun fighter, the American dream....)
http://www.accuser-online.de/
Live at an Exhibition is the first and only live album from intellectual thrashers Mekong Delta, serving as a stopgap between their Dances of Death and Kaleidoscope efforts in the early 90s. A DVD live (also from 1991) will be released many years after this, but here you've got only the audio content and extremely drag cover art to beckon you. That said, being reasonably impressed with some of the German thrash lives to this point (Destruction's Live Without Sense in particular, Sodom's Mortal Way of Live less so), it's cool to see that some of the other hopefuls were getting in their shots and allowing a neglected international fan base a chance at hearing them in that particular environment.
Of course, this is the Doug Lee-fronted Mekong Delta, so we're not entreated to hearing the classic pipes of Wolfgang Borgmann at the helm, and in the live setting, especially on the band's earlier material, he sounds middling at best. The disc opens with "The Cure" from the s/t album, and the guitars maintain their fusion of rampant, jarring energy, but Lee's clean vocals sound like a Watchtower performance with none of the schizoid genius. "Transgression" and "True Believers" are wisely chosen from the band's recent Dances of Death (and Other Walking Shadows) LP, and these fare a lot better, since these were Lee's to meddle with in the first place. The rest of the set is rounded out by a few instrumentals ("The Hut of the Baba Yaga" from the debut, "Toccata" from the single of the same name, Mussorgsky's "Night on a Bare Mountain"), a few tracks from The Music of Erich Zann which aren't so bad ("True Lies", "Memories of Tomorrow"), and "Heroes Grief", which is from the debut.
The Principle of Doubt is completely ignored, which is a little strange, since it was the band's best album to that point, but perhaps the band had been sick of playing the material, or there was some sort of agreement. At any rate, it was a mistake, because I would have loved a great live version of "A Question of Trust", at the least. Then again, the sound quality here sort of sucks, with an amateur tone to it through which none of the band's warm, paranoid glow can be cast upon the listener. It's dry and forgettable, and you never feel the convulsions you feel when poring through the studio works. Live at an Exhibition is pretty damned avoidable, not that it's readily available, and I'd recommend you get the 2007 DVD if you can find that, because no matter how it sounds, at least there will be more happening. This is neither inspiring nor well picked, with too many instrumentals interfering with any possible flow to the band's energy.
Verdict: Fail [4.5/10]
http://www.mekongdelta.eu/news.php
Once again, Germans Grinder are responsible for an album that looks nothing like it sounds, and while I can admire the choice in cover art and artists, it only contributes to the disenchantment when I am faced with the band's actual musical content. One might expect maniacal, corpse hacking death metal or psychotic, swamp stalking thrash from the looks of Nothing is Sacred, but the reveal is sadly something else entirely: a drag, stubborn and unimpressive in every category, and by comparison it makes even its average elder siblings shine. The band had somehow culled enough interest to carry them onto the ailing Noise Records roster of the 90s, but this incline in visibility was married to a decline in quality.
The "Drifting for 99 Seconds" intro paints acoustic guitars and subtle synth atmosphere into what might be the perfect setup for something grand, but all potential and momentum is lost when the "Hymn for the Isolated", a boring Sacred Reich-a-like with a big bass tone and no decent riffs anywhere to be found. Adrian Hahn had always sounded like Phil Rind a little, but here it's just too close, and the rappy, hardcore shouting of the backing vox in the verse only adds to the puerile street decay. Other tracks like "The Spirit of Violence" and "Superior Being" offer slightly more interesting guitars, but the same sort of vocals, melodic and bludgeoning along the music like a 300 pound strongman trying to pick flowers on his day off. Where the album diverts from this formula, like the snarky Ozzy-like spin on the vocals of the more doomed "None of the Brighter Days", the contents don't get much better (though there is a nice lead sequence tucked in there). "Pavement Tango" is completely terrible, basically a bad bouncy rock song with...Sacred Reich vocals...the worst song in all this band's career.
There are no saving graces here. Even the more straight up speed/thrash fare like "NME" is pretty weak, and I really question how this wound up on a label which at some point had an immense knack for reaping talent. The 1st EP had a few worthwhile trips into acceptable writing, but they seem to have been exhausted there. The curious qualities of Dead End are abandoned, and the album is ultimately a sodden mire from which anyone would desire being hacked up with a hatchet to escape. It bears a similar value to another 1991 flop, Cyclone Temple's I Hate Therefor I Am, only at least here there were no real expectations of anything above average.
Verdict: Fail [3.75/10] (daddy's mistreatin' children)
Though the 90s were largely barren of quality thrash, German and beyond, I feel like there are a few albums out there that really hinted at something special, and Toxin's sole full-length album, cleverly misspelled Misantrophy, is one of them. It's basically the closest thing I've heard to a cross pollination of Destruction's technical, cold and hostile riffing with the unbridled, alcoholic passion and fire of the early Tankard records. Add to this a bevy of fine-tuned leads and more riffs than you can shake your dick-wick at, and you've got a fine if forgotten epic of ballistic, intense thrash that deserved to spin a few more heads than it did.
Granted, that's a derivative description, and to an extent, Toxin can not be accused of much originality. But it's how they form these influences into cohesive clobbering that makes it a lost, minor cult classic. The Aphorisms EP was a statement of potential, but Misantrophy takes that potential and repeatedly beats you in the face with it, like a flailing limb that has been torn off a bodybuilder. Tracks like "Misantrophy", "Two Wishes", "Lust for Life" and "Wings of Death" pound upon you like a barbwire-encrusted baseball bat, but the band also has a pretty sensitive side which they explore through the 8 minute "Disintegration", which twists through clean guitar segments to power, fumbling a bit through the vocals; or the moody but warlike "Retrospective". These diversions are not necessarily the strong points of the album, though, I rather favor the methodical guitars of "Destructive Ways" or the great opener "Two Sided Existence" with its excellent lead flurries.
Misantrophy is still pretty far from perfect, but I favor the material over the EP before it. The production is not always on fire here, with the vocals seeming a whit sloppy (some tracks more than others), and some of the more expressive guitars coming off a little too chunky. Likewise, the songs are rarely loaded to the brim with quality, they'll five off 4-5 good riffs and then a few that just aren't as convincing, though the energy level rarely dips. That said, there's a lot to be said for the 'Germanic' style here, and for that reason I'd recommend it, at least for a listen, to fans of Tankard, Vendetta, older Deathrow, Destruction, Sodom, and other bands to take that torch through the decades. This album is not so good that you 'must' hear it, but if you enjoy the style, then it's solid second tier entertainment.
Verdict: Win [7.75/10]
http://www.toxincassel.de/Toxin_-_Official_Website.html
If you can step past the obviously implied anti fascist, peace love and politico happiness of this album's title and cover art, then you can experience just how far Rumble Militia had strode past their first attempt at thrash altercation: They Give You the Blessing. I mean, it comes on the heels of an EP titled Destroy Fascism which highlights the "No Nazis" tracks, the band adorning their leather and metal haircuts, taking yet another stab at history's favorite villains. Personally I like a little madness and violence in my thrash metal, and thankfully the German band does deliver this, in spite of the title, through the more pissed off audio content on this, their best record, glossy and moshy and delivered on the early Century Media roster.
To be clear, this album is enormously stupid, but it's also quite fun, as the band march through the usual banes of the 80s, taking stabs at criminals, crooked cops and the media. A pure mosh thrash intro cedes into "Boys In Blue", with a mid-paced gait that erupts into its gang shouted, obvious chorus cursing (a riff in there reminds me of "Hard On You" from Flotsam & Jetsam). "Reflections of Your Videoprogramme" arrives with a Halloween musical sample and then a thrust of ballistic, thick guitar tone that is almost impossible to resist as it charges into the wild leads and shout adorned verses. As pedestrian as the breakdown is, reminding me of Gwar due to the vocals, you're just too caught up in the velocity and neckbreaking to give a fuck, and that also sums up tracks like "Stop This Shit" and "Waiting For Death", which also knock your block off if you can manage not to choke on laughter at the vocal/lyrics.
The only real complaint I have with this album is that the band occasionally do abandon this culmination of aggression to return to their rock/punk roots, in "You're Sure" and the faster "Way of Violence" and "Kindergarten ('82)". The songs themselves are not all that bad, mind you, and "Way of Violence" in particular builds up an unexpected atmosphere, but I do wish the band had just gone all out fucking thrash and done away with the disjunction. However, if I'm looking for a fun crossover experience, and my craving for something like D.R.I. or M.O.D. is on cooldown, Stop Violence and Madness is certainly an album that proves reliable. Just expect nothing of depth here. Loosen up, shut down your mind and your expectations and experience the giant tones of this blubbering, nigh on incompetent thrashcore, and you'll probably come away smiling.
Verdict: Win [7.5/10]
http://www.rumble-militia.com/
After a disjointed Living Death released the decent but indisposed World Neuroses in 1988, there was a parting of the ways which saw the band's shrill harpy Thorsten Bergmann emigrate towards the muddied, hideous waters of their ill-fated new project Sacred Chao. Joining him were guitarist Fred and drummer Atomic Steif. But the brothers Kelch were not yet finished with their legacy, and decided to acquire a new drummer and frontman and give it one last go. To that extent, Killing in Action is not a horrible misstep: it's a reasonable, angry thrash album that is less quizzical than its predecessor, but a reaction to the new vocalist Gerald Thelen will be mixed. He's basically a half way mark between Bergmann's unhinged keening and the caustic bite of Accept's Udo Dirkscheider. Seriously, if the band had just courted 'The Man' himself to step in for this album, it would have sounded like this.
Musically, I'm not sure if the band had ever sounded as pissed off as they were here. The ten tracks are all dense with riffing and a steady rhythm section, but then, the band have traded in some of the precise, curious streaks of notation that branded their previous albums. Assaults like "Hearteater" and "Polymorphic" are simply bristling with belligerent guitars and they throw quite a lot at the listener, but there is little to no sticking accumulation of ice. Perhaps the best track on the album is "Die For (For What We Lie For)", where a tangible, morbid little thrashing death riff winds wonderfully below Thelen's dirk-like delivery, and though the chorus is one you can hear coming from a mile away, it does not fail the verse. Other than this, you can hear a lot of traces of the band's better efforts like Protected from Reality or Metal Revolution, but the songs just have so much less impact.
In fact, this is basically just a less interesting alternative to Protected from Reality, with that same perceptible darkness which I wish had at some point been carried out into its logical perfection, that I had always prayed might happen for Living Death (though I won't rule out a miracle from the recent reunion). The band was never able to manifest a masterpiece, and it's a shame. There's a lot going on with Killing in Action, and it's got some swagger to it, like a bar brawl in some shantytown in a post-nuclear devastation landscape. The new singer was no 'Toto', but he clearly wasn't bad. In the end there's just nothing here that solidifies the deal. All things end, and so too, did Living Death, or did they...
Verdict: Indifference [6.75/10]
