THE THIRD OF THE STORMS: Semi-relevant record reviews by and for those who frequently can’t see the forest for a blade of grass at the foot of one of the trees. Forward, delete, repost, or rewrite as you see fit. Just don't include my e-mail address or full name. No crediting necessary or desired. If anything stated is flat-out wrong (i.e., “Hey Brad, Pek is from Belgium but you identify them as being from Minnesota” and not “Hey dumbass, you say Dehumanizer rules but that record actually totally sucks”), please let me know and I will correct the error. There are no links, downloads, or label contacts, just text. If you aren’t willing to actively seek something out on your own, you don’t deserve to hear it (let alone have it). I offer the following for Lou, for Kevin, for those who have traded with me over the years, and for you. Hail Autopsy. ************************ William Albright (USA; 1971)-New Music for Organ: Black Host/Organbook II The lp represents two “new” approaches to organ playing (supported by tape manipulation and sparse percussion), per conventions of the late-‘60s and early-‘70s. The first side is a 1967 composition by William Bolcom (as played by William Albright) which explores the nuances and aesthetics of the Black Mass, drawing equally from St. Secaire’s constructive destruction ritual and Huysman’s nihilistic blasphemy. Albright plays his own 1971 piece on the other side, which is a more subtle descent into the night and an investigation of the liberties and threats within. The Black Host initiates with hostile stabs of organ, convictions unknown but violence undoubted. The forcibly established presence gives way to quiet orientation, preparation, and introspection as the devotees gather and murmur. In heaving slabs of bombast, the ritual begins. Thick, full-throated chords of organ push forth, shudder, and resonate. Power is clear, but slightly soured. Partially corrupted. As suddenly as it starts, it ends. Preparations resume as acolytes flitter about the altar like mothy cherubs (“...as if to fly up to the black tapers whose sulphurous odour was now added to the pestilential smell of the room”). The priest emerges and offers the introductory rites. Call and response, call and response. The processional enters. Doom lurks not in subsequence, but retrospect…embedded…awaiting release via triggers pulled under weight of bitter words, lain astringent on spittled lips. The sounds are familiar…coherence is there. But yet? Inversion resides where orthodoxy is expected. The church bells chaim, unsilent. They speak firmly in elder tongues. “Consolo viva?” “No, my child. Sacrosanctum convomo.” “I do not understand.” “But you will. For this is a Pentacost of Fire, though not as you think.” A calm drifts down and over the congregation as the final reverberations of the tolling subside. An unexpected, surreal feeling of nostalgia washes over. “Perhaps the majesties of Satan’s request are not so…” At that moment the altarboys tinkle their prayer bells. Swells of torment surge up and over riptides of discordance. Virtue is snapped in two and reversed at acute angles which then fall from the air…warping like staff to serpent. The Black Mass actualizes. Flurry. Slurry. Salacious words and saliferous elements combine and are thrust into the athanor, retrieved, ground further, and rehydrated…then drizzled onto and into the parted lips of the willing. The host is triturated under priestly foot and licked clean from his sole by those once human. The consumption of the blackened transubstantiation signals the final words of the liturgy. So it ends. The doxology rises and falls. Three are dead. Many are scarred. All stand dazed in the wake of transfiguration. Benediction denied…one choral note remains. Solid and unrepentant in its demand for anti-penance. All oblige. From there, Organbook II assumes control. Those still ambulatory stealth into the dark air. Curious notes scatter and coalesce in response. Nocturnal in tone and spirit…cautious and coy…higher in the register. For even having departed the immediate presence of the greatest of threats, danger still conspires around every corner. At times under foot…low and protracted in tone and presence. Almost like an embrace, though borne of smother and barren of affinity. The chase is ongoing, eternal…a clear reminder that that once willed into Being may endure. Sane minds shatter in consequence. Tape loops spit and blurt over bleak malaise. The descent is clear. Misfires build upon misfires until the mind falls as purely and irrevocably dark as the moonless night under which the chain reaction was first initiated and later forged. Vargleide (RUS; 2000)-Лишь Прах, Окалину и Выжженную Землю Оставляя (Just Ashes, Dust and Burning Ground Remains) As I left for work this morning it was -1 F out, or -20 F with the windchill. My bare fingers stiffened instantly as I stepped out of the house and fumbled with my keys to lock the security door. Dull pain flushed to my extremities, especially the ones so cruelly kissed by frostbite during the previous Winter. I trudged through the glazed snow and found the back chainlink gate to be frozen shut…latch encased in glassy ice. I reared a steel-toe back and kicked it open, shattering some but not all of the obstruction. The metal was far too cold to touch even with gloved hands…that would have to be dealt with later. I activated the garage door and watched it stall out…taking two attempts to raise. Once inside, I found that my car door was cold-seized shut and needed to be pried open. The engine wouldn’t turn over for the first five tries. It protested in what can only be described as disbelief, but ultimately acquiesced to my persistence. Finally mobile, I rolled down my alley, over an iceshelf, and onto North Avenue. The expansive arterial was washed with a bleak whiteness. Not a frozen white, but a residual saline white. The dried tears on the face of a land and a people that only just recently advanced from the fourth to the fifth stages of Kübler-Ross, wherein depression over adversity gives way to quiet, humbled acceptance. I reflexively cursed my heater-less vehicle (while cranking the defroster up to lukewarm), backtracked, and then thanked her for her years of hard service. My heavy-gloved hands bumbled around the stereo controls and my travel mug of hot, strong tea. Once on, I knew that there would only be one control necessary: Volume. For this was an annual Winter ritual. The first massive snowfall is to be accompanied by Sapthuran, the first sub-zero day is to be narrated by Vargleide. I slid the cassette in as I passed the old, repurposed Schlitz brewery…seemingly ablaze with the dense, smoky steam pouring from its stacks. From the first note, my surroundings changed. The bitter, harsh cold of the outside world became markedly less so in the presence of the bitter, harsh cold of the tape. Guitars present in gales of shattered treble, shivering and shuddering with flutterstrummed texture. They lacerate and iceburn, tempered only by the rushing whir of the northwinds that contain them. The chords are minor and diminutive, angular and morose. They shift with single-note additions and subtractions, worn but also wise. For drastic and dynamic changes expend energy. Spent energy releases heat. And, in the absence of fuel source replenishment, lost heat beckons death. Single high-note harmonizations peek through from time to time, like isolated ice facets catching glow via scattered rays of late-afternoon sun. Vocals are in the gruff-rasped mid-range. The syllables are rough and acute and offer an effective parallel to the chord structures and progressions. Their tone alternates between urgency, despair, and anger. The drums carry none of this. Simply arid, mechanical forward motion. A droning blast, broken only by the occasional midtempo march and punctuated by shattering cymbal smashes. The guitars and vocals allow a certain amount of human character…an evocation of emotion and a depiction of struggle. The drums concede nothing. The juxtaposition defines a reality that most in the industrialized world choose not to face and will do anything to suppress. This tape is, in my opinion, the pinnacle of Russian black metal (disappointing politics aside). It captures the severity and extremity of Winter (and a cold universe in general), but infuses it with time-hardened melancholia, persistence and resilience, survivalist pride, and a long-established history of all of the above. Certain other Blazebirth projects hold near-equal footing at certain points in their respective histories (Rusmjod av Misantropie-era Branikald, Berustet av Kriegsdronnet-era Raven Dark, Like a Blaze above the Ashes-era Forest, Stronghold of Ruins-era Rundagor), but none quite achieve the perfection of this release. For most folks it would appear as nothing more than an aggravating blur of lo-fi noise (which, to be fair, it is)…for me it represents a step along the cultural path tread by Mussorgsky, Dostoevsky, Gogol, Shostakovich, and so on. An aberrant step, but a solidly placed step nonetheless. Taranis (POL; 1992)-The Obscurity After listening to Hallow’s Victim for much of the morning, this is just what I wanted to hear. Filthy old doom. Not necessarily of the Vitus variety, but kindred in spirit. The Celtic Frost influence is most clear, though given the year of release one could also point to Necro Schizma, Winter, early Samael, and so on. The riff structures and guitar tone are unapologetically Morbid, but the vocals are slightly deeper and cavernous and the note combinations are less established. The pace is a solemn march along a well-tread path…like deep-hooded Druids crossing field and plain to a time-worn altar, silhouetted against lunar sky. There are mild stumbles within the procession, but they have no bearing on the whole as the momentum is dense, decisive, committed, and determined. The more I listen, the more similarities I hear with Necro Schizma…perhaps if the latter had taken their obsession with Celtic Frost more literally. Parallels may also be seen with contemporaries such as Goatlord and Lord of Putrefaction/Thy Grief Eternal. Or maybe even 13. There is little more to be said. A glorious shifting of weight. Not merely a Procreation of the Wicked…a promulgation of the wicked. Lonesummer/Marsh (USA/USA; 2009)-split It would appear that we’re running out of good band names. Not to be overly critical over a minor point, but still…these names carry about as much weight as “Field” or “Quarter Past Two on Sunday.” Fortunately, the content strikes much harder. Lonesummer lulls the listener in with a semi-detached, folkish piece. It has the feeling of a field recording…like a handheld cassette recorder set next to a couple buskers on a lazy streetcorner afternoon. Voices are captured as others pass by. The musicians play in lackadaisical loops. Acidic drone creeps underneath, foreshadowing something sinister. Without warning, violence punches in…a bomb blast at market. Chaos ensues. A punishing drum machine blasts forward, backed by ringing, wailing, and shimmering feedback and noise. Heavily distorted vocals shriek and screech, phrases rolling over and on top of one another. Subtle synth paces back and forth. It is not until two minutes in that it becomes apparent that a guitar (or something that resembles a guitar) is involved. Even when melodies are present they are more implied than expressed as everything lies underneath a fuzzy blanket of hiss and whir. In that way, it brings the more sadomasochistic moments of Jesus and Mary Chain’s early existence to mind (though without the willful contentiousness and fuck-off attitude of the latter). Elements are drawn from “black metal,” but I am no longer willing to label this kind of material as such as it does a disservice to both black metal and whatever subgenre might best capture this. It’s more like forcibly perpetuated power electronics. The second track pulls back into a quiet interlude which evokes thoughts of a windchime in a thunderstorm. With the eruption of the third track, it becomes clear that severe influence is being taken from the first WOLD lp (particularly between the synth and the non-rhythmic use of drum programming). It’s exceptionally harsh, yet entirely captivating. A second point of respite follows, only to be finished off with a barely-comprehensible blast of dense, black noise (somewhat akin to some of the Evil demo material in its “musical” ambiguity). I very, very much like what has been done here. Marsh sound tame in comparison, but likely only because the listener’s ears have been oversaturated and worn raw by the Lonesummer tracks mere moments before. The Marsh tracks are noisy and the vocals are distorted and reverbed, though all to lesser degrees than Lonesummer. A drum machine is used, but it’s neither obtrusive nor obnoxious. Parts point to Bone Awl and Vordr, but really Raspberry Bulbs might be a better reference point as the recording does not have the violence of the other two. There is a key difference though: Where Raspberry Bulbs failed (in my opinion…I know lots of other folks like them) was in offering only raw rhythmic redundancy. Marsh weakens to this from time to time, but never succumbs (plus, they’re noisier). Rather, they incorporate other novel elements that embolden the whole and make it worth listening to from beginning to end. Most notably, the final track plays out like a disfigured ‘80s synthpop track. Heavily distorted vocals and bass deprecate and degrade the bouncy rhythm and upbeat melody of the synth. This is what I expected and wanted The Faint to sound like (sadly, they did not) when I saw one of their first shows over 10 years back. Dark pop dipped in acid, still screeching from the burns. I’d like to hear more of this. Varghkoghargasmal (GER; 2005)-Call of the Raven demo The liner notes state something about the demo being recorded in dedication to Nature and “in total hate” of humanity. Fair enough, but that being the case I expected something significantly more angry and intricate…this is exceptionally tame and basic. No vocals. Non-distorted guitar and bass. Upbeat melodies. I’m not feeling any total hate here (and it’s debatable whether played out “pagan” melodies really represent the Will of Nature or if we’re just projecting). Not to say I don’t like it…it has an unusual sound that draws me in. I don’t know that I would have thought to label it “WOODEN METAL” like the insert does (as there is no metal or acoustic woodsiness to be found), but whatever. It’s very simple, but nicely pieced together in terms of harmonies and such (perhaps like the first Lik lp in that way). The melodies are redundant and little effort is made to build them within the tracks. Sometimes I can appreciate such minimalism. It’s lulling. The guitar has a warm, clean tone that I generally associate with Roy Orbison, Link Wray, and other ‘60s pop (and which makes me think of mint green Danelectros). The oddness of the sound is greatly amplified by the fact that the timing of the instruments is beyond abysmal. Borderline unbelievable. The drums are a trainwreck. The guitars don’t even come close to following the rhythm (which is inexplicable, given that it generally falls at generously-paced mid-tempo)…downstrums are uneven…beats are missed by up to half a second…everything stumbles all over the place. The guitar does not seem to know what is going on or where anything is going. But at the same time, the fingering is solid (for the most part) and notes are not missed. How could someone be so competent in one fundamental aspect yet so incompetent in another? It vexes me. But it also makes it interesting. Sometimes notes harmonize with notes that they were not intended to have any contact with. Sometimes guitar lines that should be coherent become a scattered spray of strings. Sometimes it doesn’t make any sense at all. I like that. Still, how anyone thought it appropriate to release this in any shape or form is beyond me. Leif Edling (SWE; 2008)-Songs of Torment, Songs of Joy Ah, more Swedish doom. Nice. I expected something very Candlemass-like, but this very much has an identity of its own. The vocals are clean, low, and presented at a balanced point which effectively pulls from both spoken word and singing. They have a dynamic, narrative feel that varies between “engaged” and “dramatic” (sometimes too much so for the latter). The stories told are very intricate and involved, so my tolerance for the dramatic chapters is far greater than it might be in another context. I like that he rounds and pulls out certain words in manner similar to that of Mustaine (e.g., "Good Mourning/Black Friday"). There are some really odd (i.e., overly colloquial) word and phrase choices in the spoken parts that I can only assume are the result of language differences (e.g., at one point he definitely says “it is ugly as fuck” in a way that someone might in a Kevin Smith film). These moments detract from the seriousness of the release from time to time, but that’s a minor complaint I suppose and such lightheartedness may very well be intentionally indicative of the “joy” referenced in the album title. The guitars are rich and full. A solid metal tone that feels very much in place…perhaps like the more recent Candlemass and Solitude Aeturnus material. Church organ, conventional synth, and subtle choir voices are effectively placed in the background, thereby allowing them to bring out the best qualities of the guitar and increase the depth of the melodies without being unnecessarily focal. The drums are clean, tight, and basic, and serve their purpose well. Same for the bass. It generally follows the guitar with mild distortion (occasionally clean-tone), thereby adding heft and momentum. The whole very much has the feel of sitting in front of a fire and listening to a skilled storyteller present his version of past events with animation, passion, involvement, and engagement. (The True) Panteon (RUS; 2009)-Septum I’ve never understood the inexplicable need to put “THE TRUE” in front of anything (“trueness” should be self-evident, no?), but whatever. It doesn’t matter because this is rawripping, stormblasting Russian black metal. The recording is threadbare and nasty and shares much in common with the Blazebirth approach (right down to the punkishly thin guitars and un-drum sounding drums)…it is perfect for this style and is exactly what I expect from Russian black metal. The approach to the guitar, however, differs greatly. Whereas many of the BBH bands make use of unconventional chords and subtle note and key shifts, Panteon tends to gravitate more towards power chords and straightforward melody (thereby drawing them closer to Old Wainds and ‘Nav than the BBH). The end result admittedly doesn’t intrigue me as much (and arguably removes the spirit of the project a couple steps from the rich and intricate miseries of the Winter), but is still quite great. Portions even recall Warloghe (outside of the vocals). I suppose that alone stands as a testament to its trueness. Custodian (USA; 2009)-III If I did not know better, I would have guessed that this was a product of mid-to-late-‘90s Japan. I can’t quite place it…it’s in the aura. Willful nihilism variably focused on polar extremes. The shrill violence of the dense portions points to Masonna, Merzbow (esp. Venereology), and Hanatarash (the feedback-oriented material, not the overt junkjunk or freakout tracks). Shattering junk noise collides with uncontainable feedback. All viewed as if in grainy black and white. The cold alienation of the death-industrial carpet bombing recalls Bullet in the Head or perhaps even Grim. Distant, rumpled bass-strikes plod over and through arid salt plains and moist jungles alike. The advance may be linear, but just as likely may represent an inward spiral. Classic Japanese influence aside, indications of modernism are present as well (e.g., Gelsomnia, Steel Hook Prosthesis, Bizarre Uproar, Angel of Decay, Genocide Organ). The release essentially takes the seemingly solid foundation established in “II” and places it in a centrifuge. With each increasingly urgent revolution, the whole fragments just a little bit more. The elements separate out and, in the process, are respectively made more pure, distinct, and identifiable. And more potent on all fronts. The harsh is unbelievably harsh. The bleak is despairingly bleak. And, much like looking at a to-be-processed vial of blood, the demarcations between components are not prospectively visible. Nor the quantities of each. Only retrospectively so. As a result, predictability is nullified and desensitization is proscribed (even under repeated listenings). The power held under “II” is clearly maintained, though now under slightly different terms. A Machiavellian shift, indeed. Wolf and Winter (ARG; 2008)-Endless Forest of Silent Sorrow…The Howl of Hate Wasn’t sure what to expect with this one (I don’t think I have any Argentinian reference points), though I instantly liked the name as it is unusual and brings thoughts of the 6th Lone Wolf and Cub film to mind (White Heaven in Hell). The guitars are exceptionally light and fizzy. I’d go so far as to call them “effervescent.” I think it works well when played off of the natural-sounding bass and the unprocessed drums. Speeds vary, with plenty of mid-tempo riffing and harmonized speedpicking over blasts. There’s nothing exceptional about the melodies and harmonies used (ranging from the utilitarian to the majestic), but they are well-played, well-planned, and as a results are very well received. On the other hand, little is done to establish identity. There’s plenty of Norse feel, but nothing I could pick out and attribute to the south of South America. The vocals are high-rasped with a bit of nasal undertone. I was trying to place them and realized that they really remind me of Nazareth. More consistently abrasive, but Nazareth nonetheless. I like that. The record really is good…I just hope that future releases express more involved layers of character and idiosyncrasy. Black Shepherd (BEL; 1988)-Immortal Aggression I had been curious about this one for a while, as Necros Christos cited the record as an influence in one of their interviews. As expected, it's fucking great. Rough and thrashy primal death metal of the best kind (i.e., Slaughter Lord, Mutilated, Voor, Massacra). The vocals are low-mid, yet relatively clean. They actually remind me of some of the early-80s hardcore punk vocals (e.g., ANTI, Sudden Impact), though they don't sound punk at all in this context. The guitars are speedy with and amazing amount of rapidfire riff changes. You can practically picture the drummer…wide-eyed, sweating, and out of breath…trying to keep up. Sometimes he can, sometimes he can't. It kind of adds to the urgency of it all. As do the shredding solos (with plenty of Slayer-style divebombs). Great stuff. Wormsblood (USA; 2009)-Mastery of Creation demos The northmidwestern Winter is both harsh and brutal. Ambient Fahrenheit temperatures routinely drop subzero and windchill temperatures coyly approach the bitter, bitter glare of 200 Kelvin. The land is resolutely scoured of the languid, as anything that doesn’t tuck in to stocked shelter or move with a quickness will inevitably seize and perish. Life struggles to hold purchase on its sentient organic forms by jolting their bodies with pain (sometimes dull, sometimes searing), but Death lurks knowingly and patiently. For His hand bears an opiate warmth that few can resist and all will embrace, in time. There is an underlying delicacy and beauty to it all. As children we would go outside on the coldest of days and blow bubbles. They would float up and out a few feet, visibly ice over with a wash of cloudiness, and then fall out of the sky and shatter on the iron-hard ground with a barely-perceptible tinkle. Destroyed not by the application of aggression but by the subduction of essence; a new beauty realized through the immolation of another. As a product of the semi-glacial lands of Wisconsin, Wormsblood understands and embodies much of this. The guitar is so thin it is almost flaky, like shale or the unstable initial layers of ice on a pond. The vocals are shrieked and moaned under severe, manipulated reverb in such a manner that can only be compared to Master Pizor’s work in Throne of Blood (and Bonedust) or perhaps demo-era Fleurety. They carry haunt and mourn, yet also instability and derangement…not far removed from the delusional and slurred end-stages of hypothermia wherein one rips off his or her clothes in a final, ironic gesture before lying down for a long, long nap. The intent here is not to romanticize or distract, as the bare fact of the matter is that these demos are raw, rough, and unpleasant. Folks will either love them (as I) or hate them based on those merits (or flaws) alone. Rather, the intent is to re-immerse these raw, rough, and unpleasant demos in the context which shaped them. A new reality realized via the dismantlement of another. I can’t wait to hear more. Sacrilege (ITA; 1987)-1987 demo Man, it’s hard to believe how many great bands came out of Italy during the 80s. In this case, it’s heavy metal doom from the late-80s. Dark, acrid, cryptic. I love the rough, lo-fi feeling of it all. The guitar is brash and soured and bears solid riffs that seem to draw quite effectively from both horror doom and speed metal. It’s a great blend (not unlike Run After To with less all-out-rock and more Vitus). The guitar is lower in the mix than I’d like (the bass, too) during the verses but that’s not unusual for the time and actually sounds pretty natural. For some reason the bass levels swell significantly in the second-last track…they actually redline at a couple points. Probably some sort of tape artifact, as I’d be surprised if this was recorded on anything more complex than a cassette 4-track. The vocals have a strong Geddy Lee feel to them (particularly the urgency of his intonations during the verses), though the relatively aggressive riffing behind them evokes thoughts of other later Lee-inspired vocals such as those from Death Angel and Watchtower. Like these aforementioned bands, the approach took some getting used to on my part…particularly because he adds in a few exceptionally high-pitch, supra-Halford squeals that would arguably be more at home at a Girl Scout picnic than a doom recording. To be fair, those moments are few and far between and once I became accustomed to the general style I found that I liked it quite a bit. Especially in the face of the riff onslaught. Custodian (USA; 2009)-II demo When Jon first started the Custodian project, I kind of got the impression that he intended it only as a confrontational, singular wall of noise malady to be inflicted instinctively, relentlessly, and mercilessly. That underlying spirit remains secure here, but it appears to have been given room to expand, develop, and refocus its Will. The result is crushing. Whereas the “wall of noise” approach is frequently viewed as the epitome of relentlessness and mercilessness, the fact of the matter is that our brains are designed and thereby predisposed to circumvent, desensitize, or block out that sort of static sensory “overload.” We could not exist on a day-to-day basis if this were not the case…our survival is based primarily on the identification of immediate and acute sounds, as static and chronic sound is rarely representative of an actionable threat. The brain reacts accordingly. Consider white noise and its common, seemingly ironic use in offices, bedrooms, and so on as a sonic reducer. By incorporating all frequencies into a blinding blur of static, it essentially absorbs other ambient noises (e.g., talking, traffic sounds) that would normally be distinct. The brain then desensitizes to the static white noise, and all of the ambient noise taken up within is suppressed as well. As such, it is arguable that truly relentless and merciless sound must include enough discernable variation and interruption to fully disallow the brain from relegating it to the unconscious background or to repeatedly disrupt the mind’s attempts to do so. Jon has done this here. Solid walls of noise have been shattered into plodding, toppling death industrial chunks and shards. Smooth, shrieked vocals are continually disrupted by thundering hits, edges made ragged and crumpled via red-level distortion. The consistent blow-out fragmentation of the bass levels almost serves to subjugate them to the concerted razorstorm of scathing treble distort, but ultimately the former holds the upper hand. Whereas the treble levels actively slice, burn, and terrorize, the bass levels humbly hint towards the very real possibility that they could destroy the recording entirely by obliterating the sonic fabric of the recording or the literal fabric of the listener’s speakers. I find it pleasing that a custodian is willing to create such a complete and utter auditory mess. Excoriate (GER; 2009)-On Pestilent Winds Holy shit. This is just what I need. Sinister, malevolent, and precise (i.e., “tight”…though not especially “clean”) death metal that is dead-on in every way. The vocals are classic and sound more like something that would have come out of Florida or the Netherlands in 1989 than out of Germany in 2009. The pace is frequently speedy (sub-blast), but plenty of space is given to allow the tracks to explore and expand within the mid-pace range (without necessarily falling into slow, doomy passages). A lot of dark, filthy texture and evil, aggressive spirit is evoked as a result. It makes me think of Sadistic Intent in that way (both in sound and feel). Or perhaps some of the mid-tempo mid-years Slayer tracks (in feel). I love the recording. It’s full and very up front. Something about the mix reminds me of Assück’s “Misery Index” lp, which makes sense as that is also a tight, high-potency recording. It makes you want to play the album at top volume, all the time. So I do. Klinikal Skum (USA; 2008)-Chosen Powerless The liner notes describe the release as the documentation of “five successful autotherapeutic sessions.” The five tracks are correspondingly titled with what could essentially be interpreted as five clinical diagnoses or conditions: Depression (or pervasive malaise, possibly generalized anxiety), psychosis, obsessive-compulsive disorder (or possibly repressed memory), death fixation, and learned helplessness (or a more general gravitation towards an external locus of control). It begs the question: If the self-administered treatments were indeed successful (as asserted in the liner notes), what is the current state of the artist? Happy, empowered, and grounded in reality? Life-centered and present-minded? I suspect not. To me, the release at hand plays less like a documentation of successful therapy (i.e., cure) and more like a successful documentation of therapy (i.e., active early-stage treatment). As part of treatment for a given condition, we are encouraged to disembed the condition from our solipsistic selfworld and attempt to view it as others might in its objective state. From there, we can start to ask any number of fundamental questions. What is the nature of the condition? What effects does it have on the self, both positive and negative? What purposes do these effects serve in the self? In the interaction between the self and others? How might seemingly negative effects serve positive purposes, thereby positively reinforcing the associated behaviors, mental processes, and emotional responses? The release appears to be founded primarily in the first and second questions. It is an exploration and objectification of essence. An audio description. Based on this, it is likely that all five conditions stem from a common source. Perhaps psychological, perhaps pathological. Elements are shared and motifs emerge. Dark waves of basstone build and recede, indicating varying degrees of repression. Sometimes manifest through perceptible surges into the consciousness, yet always latent. Always latent. This breeds confusion, depression, and then resentment. Uncomfortable trebletones simmer and hiss as hostility bubbles and percolates at the surface…not directional enough to precipitate or gain momentum, not diffuse enough to recede or fall neutral. At their most diffract, the reverberations of hostility are pulled apart in time, leaving only unstable, skittering chirps and sputters. This instability begets anxiety. Anxiety pushes the locus of control outside of the self. The resulting loss of control becomes habitual and the anxiety feeds deeply, for the flavors of learned helplessness are rich and infinitely satisfying. Once tasted, the Ouroboros is complete…locked into a quietly rotating cycle that allows only three paths: Detachment from reality, psychopharmacological clinical treatment, or death. Occasional, emergent samples of clinicians speaking indicate that the second option has been initiated, but their words are distant and alien. At times absurd. It is unclear whether this documentation represents movement towards lucidity or a unidirectional submergence away from their guidance and into the depths of the first realm. If the latter, the third option will reveal itself in time. Harridan (ESP; 2000)-Lugubrious Necromancer demo Raw, Spanish black metal from the Akerbeltz folks. I had kind of hoped that this would sound nothing like Akerbeltz as it's always nice to see people who are closely involved in one project adopt entirely different perspectives for another, but there are definitely some similarities. Regardless, there are some good differences as well. Lady Lilith assumes the vocals here. They seem to have a witch-like essence to them, as the drawn-out phrasing lies somewhere in between lyrical delivery and spellcasting. The recording is lo-fi and muddy and I honestly cannot tell if there is any bass. The guitar riffs low, but contrasts with good, sour high parts that create anxious surges within an otherwise (intentionally) dismal atmosphere. It's not a favorite style of mine, but solid nonetheless. Dér (HUN; 2005)-Utolér a Vég demo Despite being somewhat of a mess, I really, really like this demo. Yes, notes are missed. Timing stumbles and fingerings slip. But in the end it reminds me of both Vorvater-era Bilskirnir and various Marblebog demos. The guitars sizzle and sputter when speeding, but evoke a rawstripped mournfulness when allowed to slow down and interact. Low, distant keys kind of help to pull things together. No one is perfect in times of despair, and I can appreciate that in this (though I probably would have tried one or two more guitar takes if I had put this out). Overall, I really like this release. I doubt most other folks would as it truly is a musical nightmare. Sort Vokter (NOR; 1996)-Folkloric Necro Metal If I didn’t already know what was to be found within, I would never have thought to pick this up. The digipack layout includes nothing more than pictures of dismal, unremarkable clouds. Stratus, stratocumulus, maybe some altostratus. Some dark, others light. It kind of looks like a bland, ethereal ambient release. Fortunately, we know better. It’s feral, blown-out black Nature metal of the most rudimentary variety. Similar in some ways to Ildjarn (he plays on this, so that makes sense), but without the all-encompassing, seething hatred and disgust. Most of the hostility is found in the vocals, which are rasped under a morningfrost of reverb. The guitars are little more than a wash of treble hiss and static. Notes and riffs are generally implied, rather than stated. Perhaps a nice parallel with the clouds in the packaging, wherein shape and structure are often subjective and more a reflection of the observer’s mind than anything definitive. Unobtrusive keys step in to assume the melody where it has been abandoned by the guitar. The bass is basic and alienated and focuses primarily on advancing the tracks and carrying the momentum. It shows no interest in interacting with the other elements and proceeds with little regard for whether they follow at all. The most unusual aspect of the release is of course the drums or, more accurately, the lack thereof. In their place is a primitive drum machine with two speeds: fast (blastbeat) and not as fast (uptempo 1-2-1-2). It really gives the whole thing a strange feel. For the amount of majesty and mysticism forged into the song titles (“From the Fount to the Tarn,” “Son of Shadow’s Shadow”), the tracks are really pretty straightforward with little orchestration (though there are a few instrumental pieces that range from abstract to hymnal). Several tracks end in hard fades and sudden cut-offs. This worked well for Ildjarn, but in this context it honestly sounds like someone’s mom walked into the recording session and turned everything down or switched it off completely. Probably not the case, but kind of funny to picture. Overall, I think the record is great. Noisy, unsettling, and not like anything else from the time. Blacktask (USA; 1985)-self titled ep “The kids” would go insane if this came out these days, as it’s that jovial-yet-aggressive style of speed-thrash (with plenty of mosh riffs and punk attitude) that just about everybody seems to want to play. But, the fact of the matter is that it came out in 1985, just about no one heard it then, and just about no one will hear it now. Or ever, probably. The Satan-flirting lyrics, general fuck-off attitude, and “Kill ‘em All”-driven guitars remind me very much of what Evil Army is doing these days, but where Evil Army further the influence and go for badass young Hetfield-style vocals, Blacktask used a crossover voice of sorts that carries a mocking, borderline-goofy tone (somewhere in between later DRI, Nuclear Assault, and something that would have come out of the hardcore scene in 1984 or 1985). It grows on you though, and my only real complaint is that it’s too loud in the mix. The guitar has that super-compressed Metal Zone sound, which works great for the riffing but still feels kind of flat. Surprisingly, the solos burst out and seriously shred with satisfying amounts of blown-out treble. The bass seems to be run through the same distortion as the guitar as it identifiable but has a similar sizzle that allows it to get lost at times. A more robust tone (like the one they used in the 1984 Spikes to the Wall demo) might have rounded everything out a bit more, but whatever. It’s fully enjoyable and has the definite potential to precipitate fist banging mania when played really loud (as it should be). *UPDATE* I played this for Markthrone and without a moment’s hesitation he proceeded to point out what should have been obvious from the start: “Dude, Slaughter.” He’s totally right. There is a whole lot of Slaughter (CAN) in here. Maybe a little less punk, a bit more chunky metal, and a whole lot more solo-ripping, but Slaughter through and through. Make way.