Like the annoying home run hitter that just stands at the plate, poses, and watches his ball sail over the fence, only to break into movement that’s more swagger than run – the kind of metalcore that doesn’t go over super well here at Maelstrom HQ is the type that’s heavy and powerful, but deliberately just waits around to see what the destructive effects of its sound are.

The Blinding Light are very much the opposite. Heavy and crushing, yes, but far too busy speeding around like stunt bikers on meth to take the time to admire their handiwork.

Metalcore kids should really check out this Dutch black metal band called Unlord. Their first two records in particular are superb in the way the music and vocals hit a piercing scream and manage to hold it from blistering start to manic finish. The Blinding Light is a lot like Unlord. Pop in The Ascension Attempt to listen to vocalist Brian Lovro perform some sort of grating, high-pitched devastation that’s painful yet somehow blissful at the same time. It maintains a sort of sonic apex that eventually dials you in like great ambient music.

But before you reach this point, you’ll have noticed the busy, superb drumming of Josh Ferrie, who’s got fills galore and one of the best metalcore versions of the blast beat we’ve heard, and the frantic, deadly riffing and changes that this band does so well. The Blinding Light is indeed just that. If you get one new metalcore record this month, let this one be it. (8/10)

review by: Aleksey Shrayber

Dionysus is a power metal band that is fronted by Olaf Hayer, who is well known for his work with Luca Turilli and on the metal opera Aina (reviewed in this issue). Anima Mundi’ s sound quality is tremendous. Everything is crystal-clear, and all the instruments’ sound uphold the highest standards of power metal.

Regardless of this praise, Anima Mundi is a disappointment. For all its great sound and perfect musicianship, Dionysus sounds like a clichéd power metal band. Generic lyrics (“flying closer to the sun, together we will be stronger”) and songs that have been so copied from other bands they sound like covers (like the Manowar-esque “March for Freedom”). You’d think that this kind of talent would yield an equally impressive output… let’s hope for next time. (5.5/10)

review by: Roberto Martinelli

Hold everything. I do believe that the face of the king in this latest in an interminable line of embarrassing heavy metal album covers is none other than Viggo Mortensen, the man who plays Aragorn in “The Lord of the Rings” movies. In fact, it seems to have been lifted directly from the promotional poster to “The Two Towers.” Now, I ask you, “do you think this will be a good album?” Those who think so will probably enjoy. (you’ve got to be kidding me/10)

review by: Roberto Martinelli

Like an Everflowing Stream or no Like an Everflowing Stream, Dismember has, since day one, been Entombed’s kid brother. People can point to their perception of superior soloing or more brutal lyrical content, but Dismember have always been followers. Rewind to 1990, the release of Entombed’s Left Hand Path and the massive impression its packed-in-bubble-wrap guitars made on the metal world. Then contrast 1991’s Like an Everflowing Stream and see if you can’t imagine it as the third album Entombed never released. Hell, they even had the same artist (Dan Seagrave) make similar-looking cover artwork.

And yet that’s what makes Dismsmber relevant, now more than ever. While Entombed has gone on to do whatever since their Clandestine album, Dismember continues to carry the torch that was lit 14 years ago. Imagine an alternate reality, one in which the very concept of the abhorrent matching of the words “death” and “roll” seems like parody, and you can see the album Where Ironcrosses Grow as being what the originators of that Swedish death metal sound could have made.

Sporting Seagrave art, Where Ironcrosses Grow is in every way a rejuvenation of the nostalgia of the early days of Swedish death without in any way being a whimsical piece of retro rehash. Seem confusing? Consider the strength of riffs from beginning to end. Consider elements that don’t make up every song, like Iron Maiden-esque guitar work and meaningful melody on “Tragedy of the Faithful,” or immensely likeable rhythmic accents on “Chasing the Serpent.”

Most importantly, though, is that Where Ironcrosses Grow rocks as wholesomely as a proper death metal album should. Entombed can do whatever it wants. As long as we’ve got Dismember, the preservation of what was once good shall remain so. (8/10)

review by: Jez Andrews

I cannot rightly say what attracted me to this band. I have never been a particular fan of doom metal or goth music, but after hearing a sample track, I knew this was not a project to be easily dismissed. It's almost disturbing how focused and deadly the album sounded. For those of you in the UK or those elsewhere who are familiar with recent British TV comedy, the shot of the band members on the cover looks like something out of “The League Of Gentlemen” (and no, I'm not referring to a Sean Connery film).

The Deathship Has a New Captain is not what you would call a straight-forward album. The songs are beautifully performed and the production is top notch, but somehow I feel eyes watching me as I listen to it. You might pick out the influence of a few bands, such as Sisters of Mercy, In the Woods, Paradise Lost and Opeth, but The Vision Bleak are altogether from another plane of existence. The music has its own piercing stare and its own underlying madness. In the hands of any other band, it’s doubtful there’d be much benefit from all this, but when crafted by “Deathship Captains” Schwadorf and Konstanz, the songs take on a depth seldom beheld.

“Wolfmoon” is a gothic metal anthem if there ever was one, though it’s doubt it will be widely acknowledged as such in the near future. These are not songs that jump out at you, more songs that stalk you furtively before devouring your flesh. I love the way the theme from John Carpenter's “The Fog” is utilised in “Elizabeth Dane,” with such crushing, doom-filled guitar tracks overlying it.

Both “Horror of Antarctica” and “The Lone Night Rider” were tracks that I could not only hear in my head, but also feel in my gut. And that wasn't just down to the rumbling bass.

Closing piece “The Deathship Symphony” is the cream of the crop, picking up the pace quite significantly, and seeming to add another level to the sound. Schwadorf's work with Empyrium has doubtless had an impact on the overall feeling of the album, but this was really not what I expected at all.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The Vision Bleak, masters of the macabre...(8.4/10)

I suppose there was always something vaguely theatrical about the voice of Blackie Lawless, so I wouldn't say it was a ridiculous notion for W.A.S.P. to compose an album in a heavy metal stage musical style.

The story of The Neon God could be interpreted in a number of ways. In brief, it is the story of a boy who is left to the horrific abuse of "The Sisters of Mercy Boys’ Home" at the age of eight and, after escaping six years later, learns of his own particular mental and spiritual powers, being elevated to the status of god by his cult following.

It could be argued that this is all centred around the vanity of rock stars, reflecting how they began in the gutter and were finally worshiped by the masses. Then again, as the story progresses, it begins to draw parallels with the last days of Jesus (the boy named Jesse and his first "disciple," named Judah). Then there is the question of the composer's motives behind it all. Is it a case of "I've turned to God" or "Dammit, just call me God"? I myself remain undecided.

The one thing about this album that is carved in stone is the potent influence of The Who's Tommy. Right from the opening of "Overture," I could hear "Pinball Wizard" buzzing in my head. This continues in "Underture" with the "Take me, change me" chorus. The Hammond organs also give it a very 70's feel.

But let's look at this as an album on its own. Although musically, W.A.S.P. have taken to an old school rock approach, the basic sound from their most excellent last album, Dying for the World, has been maintained, and the guitars sound fucking tremendous. As for those rasping Blackie Lawless vocals, they've served the band so well since their 1984 debut, so why change a winning formula? In fact, to take it a step further, it's hard to imagine that this album was recorded now instead of 20 odd years ago.

The Neon God most definitely has its golden moments. "Asylum #9" just conjours up an image of a sea of metallers headbanging in unison, which is doubtless what will happen when this album hits the road. "Red Room of the Rising Sun" creates just the right psychedelic effect for the corresponding part of the story (the inside of an exotic hippy den). The death of Jesse's friend Billy is well portrayed in "What I'll Never Find," and final track "The Raging Storm" is testimony that W.A.S.P. have done their homework on rock musicals, with the re-occurring themes and hooks.

All in all, seasoned W.A.S.P. fan or curious youngster, I'd recommend this as some quality listening. I'm just hoping that an over-zealous Lawless doesn't end a show with "That deaf, dumb and blind god sure plays a mean pinball..." (7.9/10)

You may or may not remember an also-ran thrash band during the big Bay Area boom in the late 80s called Forbidden. 100 Demons also may or may not remember. Two things are for sure: one is that Forbidden was never given their just due, and two is that 100 Demons’ music sounds like Forbidden re-incarnated as a metalcore band.

Let’s amend that. While vocal phrasings and riff/vocal interactions specifically remind us of the unforgettable Twisted into Form and Forbidden Evil, 100 Demons’ weaknesses make their self-titled mini-album about as good as Distortion, the first in a series of big steps down in Forbidden’s career.

The culprits? Blame about 10 too many lyrical requests to fuck off, matched with sophomoric rhyming ("my life, my crew, fuck you"). Blame songs that, although featuring elements that make them distinguishable from one another, don’t have a compelling enough formula beyond full, heavy production and spirited musicianship. Not bad, but not great. (5.9/10)

Beyond Surface could have surely found a place on MTV, alongside popular rock acts. For a band that describes its goal as writing good songs, "which means combining beautiful melodies with heavy riffs and grooves," the band’s music is pretty dull and monotonous.

Sure, there are occasional glimpses of gothic rock, supplied mostly by keyboard work, which brings Paradise Lost and Type O Negative’s lighter work to mind; but these are far from coloring the worn-out picture based on power-chords phrases ("beautiful melodies"?).

The vocals are a mix of Dream Theater’s James LaBrie’s dramatic attitude with Metallica’s James Hatfield raw, straightforward anger, but not a particular interesting one; the same can be said about the love-concerned lyrics.

I doubt you would find much comfort in this standard release (better go for another album that came out of the "Young Metal Gods" competition – Dyecrest’s The Way of Pain), unless you’re into the banal MTV rock material, if so – this album can even be an upgrade. (4/10)

Ahvak (translated from the Hebrew "Dust") has gained itself an almost legendry status in the Israeli progressive rock community with its live show and promising demo recording; and while its much anticipated debut album is rewarding, seeing it released on the well known US-based Cuneiform label is even more satisfying.

Ahvak owes much to the modern progressive rock scene, which included acts such as Univers Zero and Present; a scene that introduced progressive rock with a chamber music approach, featuring a dark, often alienated feel.

Ahvak, however, seems to be less oppressive to the listener, as their bizarre compositions have lots of grace and even fun, much thanks to the dominant keyboards that often play in a circus-like manner; this is demonstrated well on "Bherta." Still, it is music that needs to be absorbed over multiple listens, as Ahvak is certainly not for the faint hearted – the band doesn’t fear being vulgar and there are some cacophonic peaks to support that, especially on the lengthier tracks, such as "Ahvak."

The cerebral compositions presented here are mostly built on motives, which usually do not evolve as much as one might wish. It can even be suggested that had the sound been friendlier and more upbeat, Ahvak’s work could have been categorized as jazz-rock, as the band usually takes a melodic statement, builds a passage on it, and then returns to some variation on that original statement, and so on.

Some of this is done in a copy/paste approach, and although it may overall serve the alienated feel, its excessive use might hint of lacking compositional skills; but there are moments that contradict this, and it is less noticeable than it would have been thanks to the exceptional sound engineering (made with the assistance of a computer software) of Udi Koomran (the same guy who was responsible for the passionate sound of Orphaned Land’s El Norra Alila), who makes up for the reported gaps in a way that is revolutionary: Without compromising the integrity of the compositions, the computerized treatment adds twists, sparks and above all, interest and coherence to the compositions – being responsible for many of the variations by creating different settings and filters for the music to pass through, as well as toying with the played music.

Ahvak might have been lost if it hadn’t been for the advanced sound treatment – it is definitely a thing to consider when preparing for their next album, or even earlier, for their live concerts. Yet, if their engineer progresses along with them, there is certainly room for hope. (8.5/10)

Almost all of us have tried the black metal random lyric generator. It was a neat little site that hit rather sizeable popularity a few years ago. Put in a little data and it’d spit out some fun. But it was a joke.

Cryonic Temple is like the power metal version of the black metal lyric generator. Except Cryonic Temple does it one better and also spits out generic music. Also, it’s not a joke.

Two out of 10 songs have the word "sword" in the title. The rest feature some of the most indispensable words to the lives of the cookie-cutter metal band, words like "thunder" and "warriors." And who could forget "steel"?

Some years ago, while metal was in a vastly unpopular place (as opposed to a merely unpopular one), zine writers had to open parentheses to explain their use of the dreaded "catchy" word when using it to praise a song. Like, catchy was for pop music, man. But like short hair in metal bands, it became an accepted concept. With Cryonic Temple, we’ve got to explain our calling it catchy, but rather in reverse, as here we’re measuring catchiness by the "please get it out of my head it’s so duh-duh and generic but repeat this enough times and I’ll need to find my Immortal records and play them at deafening volumes all day to cure myself of this affliction" factor.

Sound good? (3/10)

Further evidence that Carpathian Forest frontman Nattefrost is in fact a cartoon character is presented on Blood and Vomit, the man’s first solo album. From the campy pictures featuring Nattefrost – who’s looked like the black metal version of GWAR since the Morbid Fascination of Death album – to songs that sound like Carpathian Forest stripped of two thirds of its essential elements – but that remaining third is multiplied times three to make up for it – this album reeks of half-baked and redundant ideas. Both times in, we got as far as track 7, and pressed stop as we got a little tired of every song featuring the same pounding drum machine beat and shallow punk/black metal riffing.

There is some pretty impressive and extended clips of someone blowing chunks into a toilet, though, with "impressive" being measured by how sick we actually felt after hearing it. And so if you consider the effectiveness of that as the rationale for the claim on the back of the CD that Blood and Vomit is "probably the best album in the world," then you’ve come to the right place. What’s Nordavind doing these days? (4.8/10)

Around here at Maelstrom HQ, Gothic Knights may never be able to live down our only previous exposure to the band, which was in the form of a friend playing us a song entitled "That Evil Wizard." Not just any evil wizard, you see, but *that* one. Sadly, we can’t properly do this song justice without singing it for you, so you’ll just have to track it down for yourself.

The good news is that Up From the Ashes *kills* the material on "That Evil Wizard," no contest. And there are some good elements, like a couple melodic parts on "Down in Flames," a really good singer, and very nice soloing.

Unfortunately, it’s the usual set of problems that ultimately makes Up from the Ashes a snorer. First and foremost is the impression that the vocals are entirely leading the song, while the guitars just hold out chords. There are no riffs to be heard when singers in these middle of the road power metal bands are singing, and really, what’s the point of that?

Someone once told me that boredom is the fear of what will happen next. The fear of uncertainty that the next moment will be a bad one. I disagree. I think boredom is the fear that you know exactly what will happen next, and that thing happens. When Gothic Knights’ "power" ballad rolls around, featuring piano backing and vocal lines beyond tedium, you already know you’re three fourths done with the album. Why would you need to get this? (5/10)

Disillusion’s first full-length release is a surprising mixture of thrash and progressive-metal, with a bit of classical and folk influences thrown in as well. In a way, this album can be held as a darker and more intense version of Wuthering Heights’ Far From the Madding Crowd – and that’s nothing to underestimate.

Taking the aggressiveness of Pantera and Sepultura, expressed mostly via violent rhythm, guitar leads and growls, wrapping it with beautiful, suitable soundscapes and more relaxed – at times even acoustic – passages, Disillusion has managed to create an album worth of challenging, uncompromising movements that link into one mighty journey.

There are enough memorable hooks to keep the listener linked at first listens, but there are tons of details to keep him fascinated every time. The amount of details is exceptional – made possible by the inclusion of some guest musicians that supply piano and string contributions, among others, but even more so by the thrilling work of the three band members themselves. The lyrics behave the same – capturing yet mysterious, and their presentation is raw and powerful.

With all these influences and details one can assume that it would all sound a bit forced – but no. The flow is terrific and everything is orchestrated without a bit of constraint; and above it all, the whole album never gets predictable and contains unexpected surprises.

All in all, a great album that stands as one of the best I’ve heard so far this year. Quoting from the opening track: "There’s a road that I must travel" – this album is certainly one road you must! (9.5/10)

Blodulv’s mid-paced, plodding take on black metal is boring, yes, but not without its charm. It’s really all about the circumstances surrounding when you listen to it. Driving around in your car? No. Working out at the gym? Neither. But listening to II when winning the pennant in the Japanese baseball leagues on your Playstation 2? Magic.

Repeated listens revealed appeal something like the folk tune equivalent of black metal songs. We’re not talking about black metal/folk here, with its acoustic guitars and nostalgia for the old country. Rather, we’re talking about simple tunes whose qualities gradually reveal themselves to you like the layers of an onion. The variations within each of the seven songs on II are subtle, but listen to them from as many situational varieties as you can, and you’ll pick up on something different.

Sound-wise, Blodulv is thin and chilly, with the vocals lost somewhere in a pocket-sized hurricane. The compositions are somewhat understated, again drawing comparisons to folk music. II could be a solid grower, but you may want to spend your money on something else, particularly considering all the other stuff coming out on Total Holocaust Records. Keep reading our pages to find out. (6/10)

Could we appeal to the guys in Northstream to turn the drum machine down? It’s, like, WAY too loud, resulting in an album that sounds like the ratio of steak vs. parsley version of black metal beat box vs. some guitars and vocals that are under there somewhere, and you probably won’t care.

Musically, think the Russian response to the Ukranian band Hate Forest (long, runny guitar buzz, drum machine, and low-for-black-metal vocal gurglings), but much more clumsy.

And we can’t go any farther without mentioning the album title, Time of Triumphal Cleanliness. Maelstrom HQ takes a certain pride in owning arguably the worst movie ever, "Cabin Boy," on DVD. For those of you who have seen this essential film travesty, think of the triumphant Chris Elliott who gloriously exclaims that his pipes are clean after having lost his virginity. Or think of the bald, muscular Mr. Clean, but with corpsepaint on. Our advice: rent "Cabin Boy," openly regret it but be secretly thankful you did, then listen to your Hate Forest CDs and associate the two experiences together. The result will be like listening to Northstream. (4/10)

review by: Jez Andrews

It's not often you come across melodic metal quite like this, familiar as it may appear. There are hints of both melodic death metal and power metal, and a soloing technique slightly reminiscent of Children of Bodom. The vaguely abrasive tone of vocalist Ilja Jalkanen almost gives a new dimension to the music, and Kiuas have done quite well for themselves production-wise. I think it's the Lost Horizon-esque thunder of “Across the Snows” that really steals the show, with solid pounding heavy metal and folky intro a la Skyclad or Bathory. But here's the downside: there isn't much of a show to steal.

The trademark use of guitar and keyboard melodies is enough to tell Finnish metallers from the rest, but Kiuas really haven't done much with their ideas. There is enough scattered razzle-dazzle to raise an eyebrow or two, but nothing fresh enough to impress. And to be honest, the keyboard sound gets on my nerves on the title track.

“Song for the Fells” is a decent enough track, but as with the other three songs on this mini-CD, there are far too many bands who do it so much better. Definitely not the worst I've heard, but more thought required next time methinks. (5.2/10)

review by: Roberto Martinelli

Bless Total Holocaust Records for once again thwarting the forces of eBay shark tank obnoxiousness by putting out yet another one of Xasthur’s super rare and cult albums, A Gate Through Bloodstained Mirrors. The packaging is entirely new (leaving those with the original issue with the unique wax seal with a product to hold on to). What’s more, the album has been totally re-mixed and slightly altered in terms of fewer vocals.

A Gate Through Bloodstained Mirrors was Xasthur’s first attempt at a full-length album, and clearly established his signature style: a unique, buzzing, throbbing guitar tone that lends a greater sense of the music limping along like a wounded wild animal, doubly fierce because of its damaged condition. The 75-minute album seethes a bloody trail through mausoleums of sound, culminating in a cover of Burzum’s “Spell of Destruction,” which, minus vocals and the signature tom-tom fill of the original, is really the only thing resembling a disappointment on the record. (8/10)

review by: Roberto Martinelli

It’s a real credit to Xasthur that you can tell what band you’re listening to within instants of hearing any one of the prolific one-man project’s work, and the material on the split with Angra Mainyu is no exception. However, Xasthur’s Malefic could have recorded these particular songs in his sleep. But a sleepwalking Malefic equals a good handful of raging black metallers from lesser bands, and I’d take the former any day.

The big highlight on Xasthur’s “side” is the cover of Wigrid’s “Ort der Einsamkeit.” True to the values of the original (which in turn is true to the values of Burzum), the cover song is worthwhile beyond being a great piece of music, but also to cast Wigrid -- a band that, although mimicking Burzum, is very under-appreciated -- in a richly deserved light of praise.

Speaking of which, Angra Mainyu’s “side” takes a few pages from the book of Burzum, proving yet again that good black metal is as much about being able to make a certain sound as it is to compose music. Angra Mainyu’s material here sounds very strong (think thick and cryptic) in its vocals and guitars, but it won’t be the most remarkable thing you’ll hear composition-wise. Still, it’s pretty hard to go wrong with any split featuring Xasthur, and this one is no exception. (Xasthur - 7.1/10, Angra Mainyu 6.8/10)

review by: Roberto Martinelli

Storming through 50 minutes of excellent black metal, Infinity sounds like a fine hybrid of “holocaust metal“-era Immortal with the softer yet none less proud folk sensibilities of Falkenbach.

Check out the album’s best track, “Corvus Corax,” for a highly energizing roller coaster ride whose drum track alone warrants the price of admission.

The Birth of Death brings together a cult sound that doesn’t stand in its own way with very strong compositions and energy that start off engaging and improve with each passing listen. And to wrap it up, a very nice cover of Immortal’s “The Sun Never Rises.” Makes you want to go and rediscover your copy of Pure Holocaust for the hundredth time. Highly recommended. (8/10)

The first song tells it all: a classical intro that leads into a melody dominated by gently produced and overdriven guitar, and orchestrated strings that brings to mind a blend of Nightwish and Evanescence. Supported by rather spacey keyboards, occasional piano passages and the continuously pounding rhythm, featuring thrilling drum work, which supports the melody to such a high degree that it becomes part of it. And of course, a flashy, neo-classical guitar, highly influenced by Yngwie Malmsteen (perhaps a bit too much, lacking a stronger identity), that is all over the place. It ends with a rather abrupt vocal line, followed by a classical piano piece.

The first song tells it all. Ooops, I already said that. I hope none of you noticed – I’m sure Winds’ members won’t, as they missed this point entirely on this album.

In fact, the opening cut is quite impressive, and it even has a spoken passage, unique to this album, which brings Arthur Brown’s "Fire" to mind; but once the cards are all revealed it can be pretty boring to see them again. It is basically the same disease the previous Winds effort suffered, and though this album is more mature and the songs themselves have more flesh into them, it’s still something that Winds should get rid off.

The songs’ structures are more or less the same, the solos sound generic and could have fit on any one place or other; the fine vocals are unexpressive, executed in a similar manner regardless of the emotional and thought-provoking text, and unable to provide a loyal interpretation. In fact, it is only the closing song, "Silence in Despair," that seems to have a shred of identity with its more carefully building climax and its distinctive groove, but by the time the listener gets there… oh well, he probably won’t get that far.

This is a conceptual work dealing with existence issues, or so the lyrics say. The songs, however, are like waves trapped in separate potential-wells. There’s just not enough energy to raise them to an excited state or to free them so that they can composite with each other; and so the entire work seems more like a collection of unrelated yet similar songs, which does not stand as a whole (those fade-outs between songs certainly do not help). That is "The Imaginary Direction of Time" and Winds’s biggest issue.

Those that loved the previous Winds album will love this one, perhaps even better. Winds, with their unique attitude of mixing metal with classical sound, has a potential; and I can only hope that Winds, by themselves or with the help of a more imaginative guiding hand, will correct the above issues on their next release – if they do so, it will be a treasure. (7/10)

A band whose name translates roughly to "Sex Play," Asobi Seksu sounds like what a mingling of Blonde Redhead and My Bloody Valentine might produce, right down to the Japanese-born lead singer and oscillation between experimental noise and the best new shoegazing music since Palaxy Tracks’ 2003 release.

At times, the contrast between bouncy pop vocals (occasionally sung in Japanese, which makes for a nice change) and choppy guitars is jarring, not entirely unpleasant, as on "Ume De No Jisatsu." The second track, "Sooner," more skillfully weaves pop sensibilities with swirls of guitar, a sound that is familiar to many ears, yet delivered with freshness here. Also notable is "The End at the Beginning," which travels across a spectrum of noise and fuzz in a way that suggests the band is out to have a good time.

The whole album is worth repeated listens – the quieter tracks reveal a certain sweetness that would otherwise be missing. Words can’t do justice to the distinctiveness of each track, the varying moodswings of the album as you segue from song to song; my only criticism would be of the occasional harsh transitions between songs, but this is minor and, after the first time through, unnoticeable. Of the CDs I’ve listened to in the last few months, this is the best one you’ve never heard of. Now you’ve heard of them. Spread the word. (9/10)

Perhaps "Momentary Psychotic State" would have been a more suitable title for this rather short EP, clocking at around 17 minutes – too short to drag you into any kind of state.

Still, whatever state you are able to enjoy is a fascinating one, featuring a most notable collection of musicians that came to support Israel-born Tomer Pink on the execution of this extended piece that has existed in his mind for a few years now, and which deals (more or less, depends how you interpret it) with a man’s wish to break out and break boundaries.

This single, slow paced piece has a strong 70’s atmosphere, taking influences from classical progressive rock acts such as Pink Floyd (there’s actually a passage featuring female vocals which strongly resembles Pink Floyd’s "The Great Gig in the Sky"), and a bit of Radiohead; but the end result is as if someone is about to explode – a feel that strongly resembles Agalloch’s The Mantle (by the way – Jason William Walton of Agalloch handles the bass work).

Apart from the basic rock instruments, there is a dominant fiddle that plays an essential part of the melody and gives it a classic/progressive flavor, as well as a tragic orientation. In addition to that, there is also an interesting use of electronics, again in a 70’s fashion, that interweave beautifully into the string instruments. The vocal work moves between indifferent clean vocals to a threatening yet self-contained roar.

I am giving this work 8.5/10 for the piece itself, as it is original, touching and rewarding, but not long enough to lead the listener through a full journey. It is up to you to do the price/music tradeoff, but I should warn you – you might not want to wait until a full-length release will be out, as the band still has not even gotten into the studio to record it. (8.5/10)

Not many bands would take it the right way when their debut album gets described as primitve and reatrded and inept. Even if it was meant to be complimentary. But the guys in Catholicon took it in stride and got to work crafting a new, hopefully (for them at least) less fucked up, less retarded second full length.

While the first record was inept and damaged and ridiculous, it was also completely genius. A buzzing, stumbling, blackened monument to outsider music, for many folk the pinnacle of black metal expression. A singular and isolated representation through music of hatred and deep anti-Christian sentiment. Of course, at the time Catholicon were only beginning to master their black metal rudiments, so blast beats came out as mid-tempo sort-of-blast beats, riffs became noisy guitar squalls, and the bass was a big, prickly, black cloud, indistinct, but pervasively ominous. There were definitely some moments of Burzum-ic brilliance and Benighted Leams-ish lameness. But that's what made it so good.

This CD-R demo is a peek at the new and "improved" Catholicon, and while it is new, it's not necessarily improved. The playing is definitely more competent, but the sound has morphed into something more akin to death metal than the black metal of their debut. The riffs are cleaner and more distinct, the bass and drums are together and pretty tight, and the blast beats do indeed BLAST. The vocals seem to be the last vestige of their former incarnation as a mysterious, damaged black metal enigma: raw, and totally inhuman, hyper distorted and almost machinelike and WAY UP in the mix. Thankfully the vocals keep their new, more death metal sound from sounding totally generic.

Not nearly as insane and brilliant as their debut, but as with most things, as they shed the trappings of weirdness and un-accessability, they will probably get really popular. Good for them. As long as they tread carefully, always knowing that their retarded, fucked up, damaged and demented musical skeleton lurks in their collective closet. (6/10)

It always seems like a bad idea to put your band photo on your record. Especially when your music is meant to be dark and mysterious and evil. And especially if you're playing black metal. Sure, you've been working your ass off, and now you want the world to see your growling face and know who is responsible for such utter evil. Well, that would be all fine and good if you were actually an evil looking dude. But consider the fact that at least half, if not more, of people who don corpsepaint look dumb. Really dumb. Or funny. Or at least ridiculous. And only on occasion, very rarely, truly evil. C'mon, it's basically clown makeup. Corpsepaint does not make a person even remotely resemble a corpse (and why only the face? Why not the chest and hands and the rest of your rotting corpse body?)

Now, all corpsepainted metal guys are not getting dissed here – you just gotta be really careful. And be aware that you may not be cut out for corpsepaint. Short hair and corpsepaint is always a bad mix. Precisely why there is always a guy with a top hat (but really just as bad as short hair) playing keyboards. And being a big guy doesn't really lend itself either. Corpses are meant to be willowy thin, wasting away, not corpulent, like the photo session was just a pitstop between In ‘n’ Out Burger and Krispy Kreme.

Anyway, this all brings us to Finnugor, a fairly decent black metal band whose very muted, lo-fi production and carnival-esque keyboards augment what is basically some fairly grim, sort-of frosty black metal. The keyboards are a bit much though, pushing the whole thing a little too far into evil renaissance faire territory.

But the band photos, ugh. Nikolai looks okay, the sad clown black and white makeup, an evil beard, suitably grim. But Gabriel, c'mon. You know how you always see a really cute punk or goth girl with her boyfriend, and he's always a big, chubby, stocky goth guy, with a little ponytail and a very well manicured goatee, lots of tribal tattoos, and those silly, full finger rings that look like claws that only Dani Filth can really get away with. And he's usually wearing a cape or a top hat and...well, you get the picture. The point is, AT LEAST HE'S NOT WEARING CORPSEPAINT. (4/10)

Almost everyone, when he or she is having their portrait taken, spends a little time getting ready. Combing the hair, straightening the tie, tucking in the shirt, or more aptly, applying corpsepaint, strapping on spikes, picking out swords and assorted weaponry, and of course practicing the evil scowl. Part of the reason Tvangeste struck a nerve was that they did do just that: the men are suitably leather clad and sinister, the women look absolutely stunning, straight out of a fairytale. But the best part is that main man Miron keeps his glasses on. Holy crap! You know he is serious about his craft if the specs stay on.

Knowing how many folks wear glasses, we can only assume that in half of the evil metal band photos you see, the guys in the band are either wearing contacts or there's a little pile of spectacles next to their shed jeans and t-shirts. But when the glasses stay on, Miron is telling us, music is what's important. He may be in a field with a sword, but he sure as hell needs to be able to see that which he must slay! And they're not even cool, weird glasses. They look sort of like the same pair he has had since his mom helped him pick out some cool ones in high school. But how fucking awesome is that?!! The only disappointment is that in the painting on the inside cover, the artist "forgot" to paint in the glasses. Just an oversight, we're sure.

The music of Tvangeste is not all that original, but quite good nonetheless, owing a massive debt to Cradle of Filth, especially in the form of Miron's Dani Filth-like shrieks. Lots of strings (they do in fact have a violin player in the band) and epic pomposity, but always bookended by pummeling blast beats, crushing riffs, blackened atmospheres and super complex arrangements. Arrangements, that were no doubt assembled with the critical aid of said spectacles! (6/10)

It's getting harder and harder to review metalcore. There's so much, and so much of it sounds the same. Even when it's really good, the elements that make metalcore metalcore don't tend to deviate all that much. Crunchy, downtuned riffs, stuttery, stop-start arrangements, sandpaper vocals, and parts that veer from bouncy, almost nu-metal (but not quite) to buzzing, blazing frenzies, to that age old, half time mosh.

That said, A Life Once Lost are one of the better metalcore bands around. The riffs are interesting and off-kilter, the rhythms are especially convoluted and the whole thing has a super hypntoic, propulsive vibe: equal parts ferocious pummel, buzzing mesmer, and jagged riffery. Good stuff. (7.5/10)

I have had occasion, lately, to sit in traffic for hours at a time. As a result, I have spent many of those hours listening to The Pieces’ rootsy rock. Because it would be damn-near impossible to have a bad case of road rage while listening to them, I found myself snarling at my CD player in irritation, eventually snapping it off in favor of something with more edge. That is not to say that there isn’t a time and place for the Pieces, just that you should not listen to them when you would rather be listening to NWA.

The country-twinged pop produced by The Pieces has many high points, such as "Lauren," combining harmony with just enough bounce to make you want to bop along, wherever you are, and with the added bonus of clapping, one surefire way to make a song addictive. Likewise with "Croque Pop," a tune that sounds at times disconcertingly 80s-ish, thanks to the addition of some synths. "Fireworks (With Report)" asks the question, "Are you going to turn to me?" without as much plaintiveness as you might expect; this is due to the strings that underlie the vocals, subverting them from a lover’s whine into something with more substance.

Unfortunately, the band veers off into patches of unevenness a bit too often – a Cake passage here, a little more self-deprecation than necessary there. The vocals on every track are clean and wholesome, the rock straightforward – the kind of music that is great for taking along on a day trip to the beach. All in all, a nice little album. (6.5/10)

Monday morning... have you feeling a tad despondent? In need of some motivation to force your brain to fire the synapses that will send the signals to your feet to swing off the side of the mattress and hit the cold, cold floor? This EP will provide the incentive you need. Press "play" and allow Deadsoil to grab you by the scruff and drag your tired carcass out of bed for you. All will be well for at least the first 19 minutes of the day.

Forever the Enemy brings five cuts of sufficient bruising, drawing on a thrashy base and peppering it with more than enough detours. The title track opens the proceedings, setting the tone with a Slayer/Carnivore (yes!) hybrid of blunt edged riffery. It takes off from there, full of stop/start tempos, hammering breakdowns and big mosh parts directed by the drill-sergeant bark of vocalist Marcel Strotter.

Two tracks stand out in particular: "Reloader" begins at a glacial pace, ups the speed oh, so slightly and then before you know it, off to the races in a burst of Maiden-esque dual guitar harmony. "Cold Play" contains one of those aforementioned breakdowns, the aural equivalent of a jackboot (these guys are German after all) pulping your face to an oval of mush.

On the basis of Strotter’s vocal approach alone, Deadsoil are going to get saddled with the metalcore tag. Don’t be misled. This is metal. Metal with a big, fat, capital "M" – be not fooled by the baseball caps. And if this, their debut, is any indication, these five Teutonic thugs have the means to unleash a monster when their full length sees the light of day. (7/10)

The first End record was one of the absolute best black metal albums played around Maelstrom HQ in all of 2002. And fittingly, the second installment of the End story is just as good, if not better.

End I gently led you to the edge of a cliff before throwing you off into the abyss. End II grabs you by the neck and along for a darkened ride that tunnels farther and farther down.

Meaner and more grim than any Greek black metal band, ever, End stands as a paragon for all that is right about the genre. Rumbling, swirling and engrossing, again and again building a wall of noise that’s dense yet eminently meaningful, there is no question that anything End is an essential purchase for any fan of black metal. (9.6/10)

Evergreen Terrace released one of the best metalcore albums in the last few years with the amazing Burned Alive By Time. Equally amazing, or perhaps unfathomable, was the unlisted bonus track tacked on to the end – a Depeche Mode cover. And it was good. Really good. The band left the essential framework of the original intact and imbued it with the ferocity prevalent in their own tunes, bringing forth a vicious little ditty through the birth canal of an undeniably catchy pop song.

Cover songs are problematic by design. Remain too faithful to the original and it’s an exercise in redundancy. Go way off the rails and make it indistinguishable from the source material and the point is lost. A band must tread a fine line where they redesign the song while simultaneously evoking the specter of the original. Success by these standards is minimal at best, but when a band offers their take on someone else’s song and transforms it, and ends up owning it, it’s a special thing indeed. Releasing an album of covers is an Onanistic exercise at best. Or it’s pure laziness. But. But……when you’ve got the chops that Evergreen Terrace possesses, it’s a display of vision, power and whole hell of a lot of fun.

As with any cover song, your enjoyment of Writers’ Block will be directly proportional to your familiarity with the originals. The album kicks off with "Maniac" from the Citizen Kane of "welder by day/gentleman’s club dancer at night" films known as "Flashdance." Although with this version it’s much easier to imagine Jennifer Beals wetting herself in fright rather than dancing like she never did before. Smashing Pumpkins’ "Zero" and Sponge’s "Plowed" are true to the originals but benefit from being charged with high octane fuel rather than plain old unleaded; the former benefits mightily from the excision of Bill Corgan’s intolerable whining, replaced by Andrew Carey’s shredded rasp. Tears For Fears’ "Mad World" (also brilliantly covered a couple years back on the Donnie Darko soundtrack) gets a full fist pumping, curb stomping makeover, transmogrifying into an immense chugging anthem. And, finally, U2’s existence has been justified with the inclusion of "Sunday, Bloody Sunday."

The album’s rounded out with their versions of songs by ska-punk legends Operation Ivy, old school (and just plain old) punks NOFX, punk pretenders The Offspring and nothing to do with punk whatsoever faded to obscurity Hum. As a bonus of sorts Evergreen Terrace throws in a typically crushing original to close the album. Smart move. It’s a perfect introduction for the uninitiated while serving as a comforting reminder to the converted that the well hasn’t run dry of the original havoc they are so capable of creating. (7/10)

No one will ever believe it, but Enid’s Gradwanderer might be the power metal album of the year. People who are bored by the genre’s redundancies won’t get this comparison, and the majority of those who line up to get the latest Primal Fear or Hammerfall record won’t get it either. Power metal is stringently confined to clear-cut elements, and it – just like any other musical style – must conform to these cookie cutter forms in order to be a success.

But Enid have balls. Huge balls made of iron. It also helps that they’re off their fucking heads. What other explanation could there be for track 8, "The Burning of the Sea," a glorious train wreck of scat with metal drumming and guitars?

But rewind to the beginning of the record. Enid’s unconventionality sounds most immediately like the exotic, medicated Falconer. Songs that are alternately so very metal, and then completely the farthest thing from it. Songs that pour on the sweeping metal melodicism and bombast ("Gradwanderer") but feature just as much subdued subtlety ("Die Seelensteine") that listening to the CD in the car only tells part of the album’s story. And simply because Enid has solved the enigma that has plagued power metal bands for years, namely, being able to write a slow song (they call ‘em ballads in the genre) that doesn’t suck, makes the band a godsend.

Going hand in hand with the uniquely adventurous, genre-defying music are the vocals of Martin Wiese, whose powerful choral arrangements propel the songs as strongly as his delicate musings in both English and German (whose lyrics on this album come across with the most stirring emotion). And, yeah, the scat parts also rule, as ridiculous as they are.

But ridiculous is as ridiculous does. Ridiculous beats boring and run-of-the-mill any day around Maelstrom HQ. And the only thing standing in the way of Enid making a perfect album is the exclusion of synthesized instruments for actual violins and flutes, something that we can only hope for next time. Regardless, Gradwanderer is utterly essential, but sadly only to a woefully limited audience that will be able to appreciate it. Still, if you like Falconer and the overall sound of Prophecy Productions’ catalog, get out your wallet. (9.3/10)

Anyone out there longing for the giddy days of the great crossover? Come on, think back. That special time in the mid 80’s when hardcore kids were finally able to go to a metal show and not get the shit kicked out of them. Likewise, the metal kids started making forays in the hardcore arena and the only thing to be concerned about was the same thing the hardcore kids were looking over their shoulder for – Nazi skinheads. What a heady era: hair and no hair together as one, Celtic Frost back patches sharing space with Discharge painted leather jackets all whirling together in a steaming pit of the musically disenfranchised.

There was some music involved, too. That cross-pollination of straight-up, no frills hardcore with the less egregiously silly of metal dynamics was a tasty brew and has been influential to this day. Rag Men understands this alchemy better than most and they should, given the pedigree of the bands that some of the members have served, the influential Earth Crisis among them.

Metal + hardcore = metalcore right? Not here, not this time. Rag Men’s debut is a throwback and hence ripe for debate: is it a metal tinged hardcore album or a hardcore spiced metal album? Who stuck their chocolate in the fucking peanut butter? Doesn’t matter when it tastes this good.

So you’ve got your fast, stripped down numbers that jettison you back to the mohawked turpitude of The Exploited ("My World") or send you straight to Crumbsuckers heaven ("Visions of You") juxtaposed against the metal workouts of the NWOBHM inspired "Insomnia" and the thrashing goodness of "Tierra." But it’s songs like "Warrior Soul" and "Obstacles" where it all coalesces: battering mid-tempo marches that combine decidedly melodic undercurrents with hardcore vocals brought forth with a resolutely metallic delivery – bracing and uplifting.

Then, somehow, Rag Men up the ante with "Possession" and "No Questions." The former intros with a massive riff any metal band would sell their soul for, segues into a loping gait before grinding itself down to a bare bones hardcore stomp; the process repeats before fading into oblivion. The latter incorporates rib cracking chunky bass in an infectious groove laden piece of work that plays like the theme to a CNN war update, pummeling you while infusing an unshakable sense of melancholy and futility.

If you haven’t already done so, split your allegiances. Rag Men is your gateway to whichever flavor you haven’t sampled yet. It’s ok, it won’t hurt. Straddle the fence and let your feet play in both yards. (7.5/10)

Guapo take their prog obsession and turn it into a full fledged prog rock freakout experience on the frequently gorgeous and overwhelming Five Suns. The sound and mood conjured within the album’s eight songs call to mind a bunch (well, three in this case) of 60’s acid-rock refugees teleporting into the present day, picking up a random metal album or two along the way, all the while listening to a drone compilation after having noon tea with The Boredoms.

The album’s raison d’etre is the title track, a sweeping 46-minute epic divided into five seamless parts. You’re immediately encapsulated in a swirling bed of persuasive, lolling drums, gentle piano key taps and shimmery gongs. It builds, growing subtly louder, when all those same elements, so inviting a few minutes before, suddenly sprout fangs and you find yourself on the receiving end of an all out assault that vanishes just as unexpectedly in a squall of feedback. A lone gong hit ushers in a minimal keyboard line which introduces a full, yet lazily paced exercise of bass and drum percussiveness.

And that’s just the first five minutes. Track one sets the tone of the album; it’s practically an outline of what’s to come as Guapo takes these same (multi) dynamics and stretch them to sometimes unfathomable lengths. A propulsive rhythm will go on and on, with single minded direction. Little distractions pop up from time to time: a lone keyboard line, abrupt guitar noodling, a barely there underpinning rhythm. And then once again, after you’ve settled into a groove built so meticulously, it’s split open with some animalistic drumming, orchestral organ or guitar histrionics. After being aurally slapped across the face just so, the rupture repairs itself with the introduction of yet another methodically crafted base for the next set of instrumental incursions.

Five Suns is a journey, a long one. Full of twists, turns, trapdoor exits, detours, blocked paths and indeterminate stretches of road where the only end in sight is the vanishing point on the horizon. It will take stamina if you want to undertake this. You will be frustrated, thwarted when you think the culmination is at hand. You will want to give up numerous times. Yet if you follow the trail to its end point, finally able to look back though the immense amount of terrain covered, an utmost sense of satisfaction will fill you, the knowledge that you trudged on, made it to the end. (8/10)

There are some albums you really, sometimes desperately, want to like more than you do. Everything is in place and you can’t fault the damn thing no matter how hard you try. It’s like being stuck outside the best BBQ joint in town. The aromatic swells from the smoker waft into your nostrils, teasing you with promise of a carnivorous frenzy. Yet there you are, with .85 cents in your pocket, nose pressed up against the window licking the glass in a vain attempt to capture the essence of brisket.

Unfortunately, Martyr AD’s latest falls into that category of desire versus means. It’s a solid album of modern thrash, with short, punchy songs underscored with sore throat vocals. Collectively calling to mind shades of The Haunted, Bolt Thrower (a rarity for anyone to even approach) and a more death metal infused Pantera, On Earth As It Is in Hell has sufficient firepower.

All the goods are here: great playing (the drummer in particular is a monstrous whirling dervish of precision, speed and ferocity), some catchy rhythmic structures and solid songwriting. What sets the album and band back is an overwhelming feeling of familiarity. Each track blending into the next with sameness that eventually grows tiresome. There’s nothing here you haven’t heard before or done better.

Every band doesn’t have to be unique. Each song doesn’t have to be a hymn brought from the gods themselves. Sometimes just a touch of something, anything, is enough to set you apart from the pack. This crew is so close, they just need to find that intangible and throw it into the mix. (5.75/10)

Does the world really need a French version of Lacuna Coil? When you’ve got an album full of gothy, metallic and utterly catchy songs such as those found on Empty, the answer is nothing less than a resounding, upturned nosed "Oui!"

Leiden walks a decidedly heavier path than their Italian counterparts, most evident in their embrace of some death metal aesthetics. Male vocalist Wilfried (oh, how grade school must have been a bitch) often phrases his parts in a gurgled belch than wouldn’t be out of place on a Cannibal Corpse album. They’re also willing to throw just about anything into the pot and for the most part it works. A small dose of doom permeates "Enlarvt." About halfway through "Spirale," witness as the song breaks down into a great disjointed bit of Meshuggah styled precision. "Le Possede" would fit in snuggly in the tight nether regions between Cradle of Filth and Dimmu Borgir’s penchant for over the top theatrics. Elsewhere you’ll find acoustic interludes, an abundance of galloping double bass drums, some sampling, jungle beats and even a brief foray into trip-hop territory.

Given that the root of the band’s sound is a melodic goth-metal platform, none of this would work if female vocalist Berangere wasn’t up to the task. She’s good, carrying each song with a witchy soaring delivery, whispering when she needs to, soothing when appropriate and downright come-hither at others.

She does stumble a couple of times. On the title track, she employs a flat, breathy delivery that detracts from an otherwise great song. Curiously, it’s the album’s opener – not a good way to make a first impression. However, she more than makes up for it through the next nine tracks right up until… album closer "Vibrations," where she delves into a little spoken word that borders dangerously close to rapping. The times may be right for many things. French rap-metal isn’t one of them. (7/10)

review by: Larissa Parson

This dark and brooding album by members of Neurosis (and some of their friends) takes a lot of, well, time to make its point. By that I mean that it distorts your idea of how long you have been listening — is it an hour? Two? You’re not sure, because every tone has been stretched and altered in such a way that you feel like it can’t be opened anymore. And then another chord enters, beckoning you down its deep road, until you find yourself abandoned in a tunnel, not sure where the music will turn next.

At the Foot of the Garden is not an album to be lightly popped into your CD player while you roll off for a romp in the sun. It is a disc for the rainy day when you hate your job, when you’d like to piss off the guy the next cubicle over by confounding him with what’s playing on your PC. And for those purposes, it works very, very well. It is quiet enough to actually play at work, dark enough to make people look at you funny. A glimpse at the subdued, it is a low-key recording that suits a cranky, introspective mood perfectly. (7/10)

Fans of Nightwish who can appreciate their music even if it contains less kitsch and fewer superficial fast tempos are most likely to appreciate this offering by After Forever.

There are lots of fancy keyboards and orchestral arrangements (featuring a string orchestra and a choir) that embrace distorted and acoustic guitars, occasionally leading to predictable short peaks, and sounding a bit forced.

The obvious highlight is the female vocals, which range from an operatic nature ala Nightwish to a more immediate style ala The Gathering. Unfortunately for me, not really a fan of operatic vocals, the former is more dominant in the mix; and so I’m left with the melodies to hang on to before finding out the band doesn’t have too much to offer in this territory either.

The two closing tracks of this 6-track EP are mild, unimpressive covers of Iron Maiden’s "The Evil That Men Do" and Randy Crawford’s "One Day I’ll Fly Away," serving as a further testament to After Forever’s clinging to speed-opera-metal conventions (cheap use of double bass, overly dramatic vocals, out-of-place arrangements…), even if they do so less than some of their contemporaries.

Matter of fact, I can’t think of a reason good enough to spend too much time on this short EP (maybe for the included DVD, which features some video clips and pictures, but I seriously doubt it). (4/10)

San Francisco's black metal supporters are in the grips of The One fever. Yeah, the band's name is just "The One." One guess as to how many people are in the group.

Actual quotes overheard at Aquarius Records, in San Francisco’s Mission District:

- "Dude, did you get that one CD? You know, that ONE?"

- "The One may be even more retarded than Benighted Leams. It’s AWESOME."

- "I’ll have a The One, please."

We just uttered the R-word, retarded, which used in conjunction with black metal, nearly always means utter godliness. And such is the case with Guardians Inhuman, The One’s first CD album. If you could stumble at light speed through thick black metal fog and haze, all the while being hounded by demonic, flying dog creatures on amphetamines as they play little drum kits strapped to their backs, you’re starting to get an idea.

"Thou Art None," much like the title track, opens with walls of black metal guitar underpinning a franticly picked bass. More slabs of sound converge like that cliched scene in which the spiked walls are bearing down upon the dusty hero. Then stuff slows down to an awkward beat and the dogs start hounding again.

Sped up drums, songs that just stop, fuck ups galore, an album ending ambient track (appropriately entitled "Ambiance") that gives Burzum’s "Tomhet" a run for its money, and fascinating, engrossing mountains of weirdness that only black metal can deliver. Run, don’t walk and get this album. Then, read our interview with The One in this issue. (Kult/10)

At History's End is a good, hard mix of hardcore and more traditional metal. Shifting rhythms and themes, and extra-accurate hits by the drums and guitars help bring this album beyond many of the other recent hardcore releases. The production is clear, the vocals are high and harsh, and the lyrics are surprisingly poetic. Good imagery, interesting themes and strong words combine to make following along in the notes actually worth doing. I'd ask for more complexity in the instrumentation, but Undying is a solid 7.5/10 for hardcore fans. (7.5/10)

The promo materials say Takaru "has an axe to grind," and they're not kidding. This message-focused band will appeal to pissed-off metalcore fans who crave a healthy dose of "the way it is" backed up by energetic guitars and scathing vocals.

Although they aren't remarkable musically, Takaru has lots to say about how people, governments, countries, and even food have to change, and the band doesn't mince words. "Improve or die" might be an appropriate summation, and they've got the radical statements to back it up.

Say the liner notes: "We are all part of a debt based economy. What we can do to escape it? For those of us unable to or unwilling to adapt to a life less filled with what our debts can afford us, there are still plenty of things we can do as consumers and citizens. Voting and trying to make use of the system does not make you any less radical. Some small steps that we can all take: Shop at local independent businesses. Eat local sustainably grown food (? – Matt). Don't purchase sweatshop made clothing. Bank with a credit union." Et cetera.

Takaru's been researching at its local leftist bookstore and picking up those free anarchist pamphlets, and now it's time for the band to make one of its own (bad grammar and all!). That's what I really like about Takaru. The group has taken some lessons from the Dead Kennedys, Crass and other political punk bands. It doesn't just whine and bitch, but it suggests concrete steps to take in order to see its hippy-style vision fulfilled. The notes even include Web sites so that the listener can do his own "research" - nomoreprisons.com, economist.com, www.americanapparel.net, senate.gov, etc.

Again, the music isn't anything astonishing, but I have to give these guys credit for having a message and getting it out there in a serious way that will allow their fans to act and learn. (7.5/10 for the thing as a whole, though the vocals and instrumentation might be more in the 4-5 range)

This is one of the better hardcore albums I got this month, if only because of its progressiveness. It gets tiring hearing the same yells on top of menial guitar lines and sloppy drums – the Deathwish Records label’s produciton of Sex Positions’ first album is a relief.

It's not like punk or hardcore bands to use much in the way of electronic effects, either, but Sex Positions is not afraid to experiment (heh, heh). Lots of synth squeals, percussive hits, echoes and loops really do a lot for an otherwise simple medium. The vocals aren't too extraordinary, though they've got plenty of energy and anger behind them. I suppose that's true of the guitars and drums, as well, but none of it sounds bad or repetitive. All the electronic stuff sends a strong jolt into the already tumultuous mix, sharpening the band's edge.

If you're into hardcore, Sex Positions' debut is worth checking out, though it will almost surely appeal more to hardcore fans who lean more to the punk side of the fence than those who dabble in the Daughters when they're not listening to Marduk or Cannibal Corpse. (6.5/10)

The guitars save this album. The vocals and drums are forgettable; they could have come from any McMetal band. The harsh growls lack energy and depth, though some thought went into the lyrics. The drums plod along at a moderate pace, rarely spicing anything up with a fill or with a change of tempo or rhythm. The music repeats for each verse and chorus on most songs, which leaves the listener waiting for the guitars to break into their solo sections (included in nearly every track).

This brings us to the good part. The guitars have a thrash/power metal edge to them as they strike dramatic melodies and harmonize in an In Flames-esque way, and the solos are impressive, indeed. The polished production and occasional understated electronic effects help bring the guitar lines forward and make them clear. And considering they're the only part of the album worth repeated listens, they should be featured far more than they are. The guitars bring Hearse's Armageddon, Mon Amour up to a (5/10).

Comparing Desperate Measures to Operation Ivy might be giving the former band too much credit, but Desperate Measures' vocals, upbeat drums and punky guitars are definitely reminiscent of Op Ivy. The lyrics have a similar message – try to be positive even though the shitty stuff in the world gets to you – but Desperate Measures is long-winded with its forced rhymes and unimaginative language. They've also got more of a metallic edge to them as far as the guitars go, but, unlike metal, the lyrics are the main element in Never Enough Time.

There are a few simple bass lines and tension-building guitar riffs here and there, but there's nothing too challenging in the instrumentation. Desperate Measures would be worth checking out if you like old-school-sounding punk crossovers and hardcore bands that use sheer energy as a crutch, but other metal fans should probably look elsewhere. (5.5/10)

Excruciation is an appropriate title: the entire album is a bunch of preaching and whining about any person or group the lead singer has ever felt negatively about. The tirades last about a minute apiece. They're loud and straightforward, but they're not particularly thoughtful, nor do they give the drums and guitars a chance to do anything remarkable (if they're even capable).

The disappointment brought by the predictable patterns and unimpressive instrumentation only turns to aggravation when the lyrics come in. Drinkers, smokers, people with Jesus fish bumper stickers, old classmates, people with jobs, even human beings as a whole – they all draw the ire of XFilesX (can we stop to reflect on the crappiness of that band name? – Roberto). I might send one of the band's lyrics its way. "Swallow Your Tongue" goes like this: "Talk so much that people listen. But we both know the words you're spittin' are bullshit. And they won't change anything. The revenge of a high school headcase. Try to convert me with your PC ploys but you're not better cause you make more noise. Shut the fuck up. Now." (2/10)

Kamikaze Missions makes some pretty standard hardcore. There's the simplistic, distorted guitar grooves, the pounding drums and the angrily screamed lyrics that attack the nebulous problems of the world without offering solutions (other than saying the word "fuck" a lot). There are some good, heavy, Isis-like grooves mixed in with the faster stuff.

It's nothing too remarkable, though it's not terrible. For intense hardcore, you might as well go to The End or Curl Up and Die or anyone else, really – most of the more popular hardcore groups have a their own style, something new or original, more energy and a more extreme sound. BSI just walks the middle of the road without hitting any unknown territory or experimenting with new sounds or techniques. It's strictly ordinary, and the songs start sounding the same almost immediately. (5/10)

Late 2003, the bassist of R’N’R comes bursting into the band’s practice space, "Guys, it’s here, I got it!"

Guitarist #1 looks up hopefully, "You got the sixer?"

"No, moron, it’s the master for the album."

Commotion as all five of our R’N’R gods crowd around to eye the magnificent silver disc in hand.

"Sweet!" "Righteous!" "Fuckin’ A!" "Wicked!"

Silence descends over the musty confines of the cramped room, a reverence for the shiny piece of plastic boarding on awe.

Diminutive vocalist Joe Shumsky, "The Shum" to friends and family, pipes up, "Dudes, what about the cover? We gotta decide cuz the label honcho is threatening to hire that guy who does all the design work for Hydra Head if we don’t get our act together on this. Think about the damage that would do to our cred."

Grave nods all around. Respective thinking caps are donned. Pensive silence.

Guitarist #2 looks up with a start, "I know, I know," waving his hands frantically. The rest of the crew looks on with expectant puppy dog eyes. "Well, ok, see we’re R’N’R right? The most R’N’R, none more "R" than us, am I right?"

"Right!" comes the chorus from his merry cohorts.

Ripe with intensity, Guitarist #2 presses on. "And think about, we got a song, make that an anthem, called ‘We’re Fuckin’ R’N’R.’ What’s more "R" than that?"

"Nothing!"

Feeling it now, Guitarist #2 goes for broke. "So we get this pile of rocks, like this huge friggin’ stack and put ‘em next to a pile of kaiser rolls of equal size. Is that awesome or what?!"

A stunned silence ensues as Guitarist #2 beams mightily.

The Shum clears his throat, can’t look Guitarist #2 in the face, "Dude, lame. And besides, didn’t Foghat do that, like, before you born?"

"Oh. Oh, yea."

Leave it to the drummer to save the day. "Remember last summer when we took the band field trip to Six Flags and they had that photography studio where you could get pictures taken with a theme?"

Collective groan emits from the rest of the band, then the invective kicks in: "No way am I dressing up like a cowboy," "I sure as hell ain’t doing no muscleman and chick at the beach scene, believe you me," "You expect me to have my face attached to a cow’s or goat’s body?" and so on and so forth.

Our drummer waits it out. When order has been restored he drops the bombshell: "You’re forgetting one, THE one." Expectant eyes all focus on him now. "1930’s era gangsters…"

The silence is palpable, it takes The Shum to break it.

"Yes!"

All the band member’s voices merge as one great cacophony of idea and suggestion.

"We could wear pinstripe suits."

"And carry like, old fashioned machine guns."

"Man, man we could surround ourselves with some fine ass bitches in like, lingerie and shit."

The Shum interrupts over the last proposal, "Dude, that’s kinda sexist, not cool."

"You’re right, sorry."

"But a great idea nonetheless!" adds The Shum with gusto.

"Dude!"

"Dude!"

"Guys", intones the drummer standing up with new found authority, "I’ve got one more word for you all: Roadtrip!"

"Dude!"

Some things just aren’t meant to be. A melding of 70’s and early 80’s metal, southern and hard rock with a few early to mid 80’s hardcore references probably isn’t one of them. Particularly in the hands of inspirationally monikered R’N’R. Ten tracks of ill-advised melding and/or blatant aping. Want a little pub rock with an aggravating hardcore yeller? Try "12FU" on for size. Ever wonder what a Gary Glitter tune would sound like would with said yeller? Look no farther than "We’re Fuckin’ R’N’R." A GBH ripoff? Got it in "Don’t Hate Me." Or perhaps Motorhead without the fuzz, if you can even drape you brain over that one as the R’N’R lads have done – then "There Is a Difference" is just the ticket. Finally, if you’re in need of a fist pumper with lyrics that would make even The Darkness blush, embrace the majesty of "Weak Ass Shit."

Credit for trying boys, but the "R" will have to move along without you. At least you got the girls, though. (2.5/10)

Nothing quite like being set up for an ambush when you least expect it. Spreading the Rage opens with the requisite intro, yet it doesn’t have the feel of one; that’s where you get sucker punched. It’s a slow, lazily hypnotic bit of melodic epic-ness, settling on you like a mid-day sun that lulls you towards an unexpected nap – drifting, safe.

And then, BAM! "Ethic Instinct" barges in on your reverie with the impact of a semi-truck head on colliding with a misdirected wheelchair bound paraplegic: it’s all over, never stood a chance. A massive, jacked up charger of a beast, "Ethic Instinct" is absolutely unstoppable, anchored by some of the most intensely recorded double kick drums you might have ever heard and helmed by a singer who sounds like a more aggressive Varg Vikernes. The brief breakdowns of melody aren’t a respite so much as a warning that the damage will continue again momentarily.

If anything, "Ethic Instinct" serves as the battering ram to knock the door clean of its hinges. For the most part, Disbelief settles into a more deliberate, measured tone for the bulk of the album, creating a thick, stifling atmosphere of rage (!) and oppression that calls to mind Red Harvest on more than a number of occasions. Both "No More Lies" and "Drown" are thick, swirling chunks of sound that affix themselves to your frontal lobe and refuse to release. "Death Will Score" and "For Those Who Dare" counterbalance those tracks with a more up-tempo approach, the former employing a guitar line that treads just to the side of commercial.

Still, it goes on. Each track adding some other ingredient to the mix. "Democracy," the closest these guys will ever come to penning a ballad, wraps around and through you with all the melancholy and regret of the saddest memory you can dredge from your past. Revolving, tribal drums lock you into the remembrance, an adamant refusal that you can and will not leave. Album closer "Back To Life" raises the stakes one last time. The soundtrack to your ultimate waking nightmare, brimming with feedback, repetitive looping drums and murky, barely articulated shouts. It’s the end of the world on a valium binge. Everything you know is folding in around you but you’ll be too blissed out to care. (8.5/10)

- a mix of black, death and thrash styles with infused melodies

- Visible talent

- Kurixis’ various elements don’t tie together entirely well.

- The music is too bogged down in repetition

- talent yet untapped

- Tom Orgad in a dress

- sounds like a thrash band that wanted to play black metal but ended up playing thrash anyway (sez Roberto)

Tom Orgad says:

An essential opposition is placed at the core of underground music creation: on one hand, the pole of subversion and revolt, bound the most intrinsic grain of various off-stream genres, demanding to impart the artistic output with an aura of fundamentalist, authentic rawness. On the other end, stands a contrasting notion, one which is especially in certain branches of the extreme Metal genres: the strife to convey an idealistic, crystallized artistic message, a goal which in numerous cases (even if certainly not all of them) requires the piece to be founded upon reliable, stout bases of solid, clear, cohesive and intentional aesthetic agenda – both on composition, performance and higher conceptual levels.

Occasionally, when the mundane, raging crudeness and the sublime creative aspirations manage to reach an ultimate synthesis, the  result might reach a heavenly peak of sheer, pure art. However, such utopia may not always be achieved. At times, the opposite poles do not manage to mingle in order to form a larger whole, but remain placed side by side, as visibly separate organs, causing an improper sense of incongruity to reveal itself.

Unfortunately, Kurixis, an extreme Metal group hailing from the underground gutters of Portland, suffer from a slight case of the latter symptom. While clearly proving and demonstrating to be skillful on all pertinent levels of artistic performance, from idealistic honesty, through compositional originality to instrumental competence, the adjoining of their present conceptual aims and limiting context of activity often fail to settle pleasingly, somehow binding and preventing the great aims of the band to be reached. Although being an overall curious, praiseworthy showcase, their demo does not yet stand as an autonomic, satisfying album, but merely an unfulfilled, promising future prospect.

The music of Kurixis features an aesthetic amalgamation of various extreme Metal sub-genres, borrowing influences of Old school Black, Death and Thrash Metal, with touches of melody and more harmonious parts. All of the above elements are supposed to exist not as independent elements or separate conceptual entities, but to all revolve around an immanent regulating artistic theme, notable in its distinct, epic qualities. In order to successfully establish and maintain such a holistic musical being, free of any commited yet comfortably embracing enclosing frame of a defined sub-genre and its reassuring, thoughtlessly dictating norms, an essential demand is a unifying, intentional mind, bearing a vision of structure, tinge and character to support the fragile artistic entity and enable it to survive its infantile stages of stylistic uncertainty.

Quite few brilliant, exemplary moments on Kurixis short self-released demo clearly demonstrate the band's talent and ability to do so. However, the aforementioned polarity rooted in their creation caused the identity crisis to permeate their creation with a few rather problematic aspects: while intending to deliver a message of a dark mixture of thematic determinism, bleakness, agonized depravity and later completion, their sound tends to religiously follow the conventions of underground music, presenting exceeded repetitions in favor of fruitful presentation and development of musical themes and motives; the vocals, mixing clean, "epic" singing (mediocrely preformed) and growls, constantly oscillates between a commitment to express the main themes of creation and to satisfy the blind, thoughtless demand of being "underground." The potentially well-phrased depicted atmosphere of murky separation diluted by meek vagueness and aimlessness is too often lost in cycles of mandatory endless churning riffs; the ritualistic repetitions lose awareness of their originating concept and get lost in a self-sufficient dionysic whirlpool of vacuous violence.

It should be mentioned and emphasized once again that the main cause for the frustration one experiences during listening to Kurixis' demo tracks is not caused by their lack of talent, ability or ideas; The contrary: it is amplified by their unarguable presence, which only greatly accentuates the sorrowful veil of unwanted crudeness placed upon them.

Therefore, although being a nevertheless quite an enjoyable release, this collection of pieces will currently remain only mildly ecommended for seeking listeners. For now, it should mainly capture the attention of record company and producers: with the right directive, refining guidance, Kurixis is bound to once reach true greatness. (6/10 still, not to be missed)

- a mix of various styles: black, doom, stoner, death and grind

- great musicianship

- near flawless production

- Roberto Martinelli says: sounds like solid brutal death/grind to me (based on the mp3s on the Overcome Records site) I’d give it a 7/10 based only on that. But the agenda factor.... see below.

- the mix of styles is very crude and seemingly without agenda

- more about the mosh-ability factor than the quality of the compositions

- Tom moshing it up to the music of Inside Conflict

- trying to figure out what the rating is

Tom Orgad says:

The latest release by Inside Conflict, a French assembly of extreme metalists, reveals a few problematic and intriguing notions regarding their musical creation, its generating motives and resulting consequences. In addition, perhaps it as well enlightens more inclusive and general phenomenon present in the modern music scene (as well as probably in different areas of culture and society).

Attempting to base and establish a stout stand for themselves in the social, common space, Inside Conflict put their main emphasis upon unleashed activity, a demonstrative and obviously overt, uncompromisingly powerful forward movement. Thus, although surely obtaining a few traits that some may consider as merits, they appear to be infected by the devastating plague blotting our intellectual and spiritual facets of existence, spreading with unbearable easiness: a horrible flattening of thought, expression and artistic exclamation, resulting from the uncontrollable need of achieving an undoubtable, absolute sense of total inflicting presence – the output's meaningful essence being considered impertinent and irrelevant, rendered a superfluous outcast by the prevailing mechanisms of the commercial market, demanding nothing more than demonstration of noticeable, tradable being.

Unlike what may be interpreted from the aforementioned insights, the music of Inside Conflict is surely not bereft of agenda or any noticeable form of expression; the contrary: the band features quite an impressive mass of artistic articulation manners, each supposedly bringing forth its own founding philosophy and approach. Most of their pieces feature an amalgamation of crude archetypical characteristics of various metal genres: the sludgy, pentatonic riffing of stoner rock; slowly progressing Doom Metal; intense riffing of Brutal Death; chromatic wide-interval cascades of Black; short, succinct, recurring and circular phrases of Grind, and so on.

Nevertheless, being featured side by side in the same compositions, such a plethora of stylistic attributes demands well-shaped cohesion, coherency and organizing, integrating compositional thought in order to render the sum somehow superior to the shallow adding of its alienated, differentiating ingredients. This critical requirement is not merely faultily absent from the creation of Inside Conflict; it actually seems that they haven't initially pretended to insert it to their music.

The compositions on Spherical Mirage are notably detached, lacking any motivic apparitions, unifying concept or legitimating development of themes. Hammering one riff after the other, at times blankly recurring a previous one, sometimes featuring a slight atmospheric or rhythmical shift, occasionally enriching or degrading a certain basic element for the music (as melody, intensity etc.). No superior, intrinsic idea seems to be found at the grain of each piece, or the album as a whole. The rational or intentionality of the construction of the pieces sums up to randomness.

Therefore, most of the tracks on the album appear to be nothing more than a succession of crude representations of various practical approaches common in their originating musical scene. As a result, as the listener observes a composition thoroughly, naturally seeking a central idea of some sort in order to concentrate the different impressions and consist an idealistic core to the inspected work, the most basic, simple and rooty common denominator of the work reveals itself, clearly and unmistakably: a shallow, flat yet effective showcase of relentless power; a lucidly opaque projection of one-faced violent aggression.

Surely, many Metal fans may be greatly indulged with the music of Inside Conflict: it is very finely performed, delivering very good instrumental performance, excellent, impressive sound and nearly impeccable production. Those who search for the witless, one dimentional moshing experience are surely to find this album greatly beneficial. Moreover – As it was probably aimed at these at the first place, criticizing its alleged artistic faults will be doing it certain injustice. Nevertheless, those expecting an interesting, wholesome listening experience besides the (honorable) animalistic urges for flat, technologically achieved intensity, should treat this album as an interesting expression of a cultural phenomenon, not a worthy object of artistic, aesthetic experience. (2-8/10, depending on one's expectations, needs and demands)

- a very solid doom/death metal album in the vein of early to mid-90s My Dying Bride or Anathema

- critics may be justified in saying it offers nothing new in the style

- the cover art on the new My Dying Bride

Tom Orgad

As the detailed map of extreme Metal genres simultaneously (and dependently) gets absurdly entangled and growingly irrelevant, an artist seeking to render himself related to a certain movement in the sporadic world of underground Metal surely faces growing difficulties. Different aesthetic mannerism, which once gained their ensuring legitimacy from renowned ideological stylistic leaders, nowadays deteriorate to the level of mere illegitimate mimicry. The directionality of a given sub-genre is more obscure than ever; the traits an artist has to bear in order to be placed on a path not labeling it as a "clone" nor "avant-garde" are vague and enigmatic, perhaps insoluble. However, In this increasingly polarized world of categorization, forcing its dwellers to either actively or passively find themselves representing an approach of renovating modernism on one end, or recycling and quoting post-modernism on other, a certain point of equilibrium may still be able to be located. The stand of a genre which, by definition represents visions which allow it to lack much renovation without betraying an inevitable demand of chronologic progression; A genre which its own ideals allow it to stand beyond the requirements and sorting of correspondence with the chronologic timeline; A genre of reflection, reminiscence and nostalgia.

Necare, A US duo, consider themselves a Doom-Death Metal band. As such, they faithfully follow the conventions of the given style: their music strictly matches this of past greats of the movement, as were painfully heard during the early and mid nineties, with a special emphasis upon the Anathema and My Dying Bride influences. It should be stated that Necare's creation does not correspond with the music of past greats, attempt to take it a step further, evolve or progress by any mean; it obviously does not have any pretensions to do it, either. In every aspects of the piece: The bleak, ponderous lyrics; the lengthy yet simple, slowly progressing compositions, based upon harmonic, common chord movements; the familiar aesthetic formulistic blend of heavily distorted guitars, piano arpeggios, tortured human growls , gloomy clean narrative vocals, and an occasional artificially neo-classical adornment in the shape of a violin sound – they all refer to an impeccable, refined imitation of the ideological source, performing their musical agenda in a thorough and loyal, even if not exceedingly brilliant, manner.

So, the occasional listeners, seeking the most outrageous uttering of revolutionary extreme avant-garde art, will probably not find Necare's worthy of inspective, fruitful absorption. However, the experienced, longing fan of the genre, yearning for past days of innocence, just will probably find this (perhaps unawaringly) self-referring piece of art greatly interesting, if not fascinating. (8/10 – yet only for zealous fans of the genre)

This four song demo CD has a classic 70’s hard rock feel to it. Even the recording and sensibility of the mix is somewhat nostalgic. I like the more monochromatic, live sound that compliments the musical mood swings that are consistent through the cuts. The mood is at once blue and brooding – then takes arms and starts trashing. The tempo and attitude changes gives the band an accessible, human feel.

The CD cover is a really scary image of a hooded "walking dead" character. Although captivating in its own right, the cover does not really reflect the music. The music is not that angry, that hateful or that scary. How could you live in Greece, the most beautiful ancient and charismatic destination in the world and be that pissed off? (6.5/10)

Hellfire Club is Edguy’s best album so far. It’s got all the toughness, melody, perfect musicianship and of course one of the best singers, Tobias Sammet, that fans have come to expect. The album opens up with "Mysteria," a pretty intense song with a really catchy chorus, that you’ll be guaranteed to be singing along with by the song’s end.

"The Piper Never Dies" is, at 10 minutes, the album’s longest track, and features a lot of parts. It begins with a riff that you might expect from bands like AC/DC or Deep Purple. Then is goes to pretty decent, traditional heavy metal with vocal variations. Then it calms down to another catchy chorus that gives you the impression you’ve heard this all before. One part features bells that at first fit in the melodic structure, but then it sounds like the player of the bells is messing up, but all together it sounds pretty cool. The end of the song goes into an Iron Maiden gallop, with a vocal part that reminds you of "Die With Your Boots on."

The biggest disappointment is the song "Forever," an absolutely pale ballad without any colors. Those who have listened to power metal for years will be tired of this kind of song. A surprise is "Lucifer in Love," where you can hear the moaning of Lucifer having sex. It might be a stupid idea, but hey, no one did it before (what kind of guys make an album for other guys featuring the sounds of Lucifer fucking? You be the judge – Roberto). This album is a "must have" for all Edguy fans. (9/10)

Imagine if James Hetfield fronted a power metal band. It may not sound quite right, huh? Well, that’s what you get with Madog’s Fairytales of Darkness: Some thrash parts with power metal melodies, a mix that is far from perfect. The singer *can* sing, but what he’s doing doesn’t really work. The bass drums sound odd while at the same time being so high in the mix that it sounds terrible.

One thing that does catch your attention is the cover. It’s pretty good quality, and you can see the details of an evil master of puppets and puppets themselves, who look so evil, that you won’t sleep for the rest of the week. (5/10)

note by: Roberto Martinelli

If the highest quality thing about Fairytales of Darkness is indeed the album art, then we’re all in deep, deep trouble.

The second Mantles demo is a noteworthy step of progression over the first demo (reviewed last issue) in the sense that Krag’s guitar playing is more determined and confident, rivaling the speed and ferocity of some of the scenes biggest acts. The pace and intensity of the songs is much faster and angrier, and thus stands out very nicely from the first recordings.

However, demo 2 overall is not as good as its predecessor. Like with the Northstream album, the main culprit is the drum machine, which is much too loud and prominent in the music. This would be less of a problem if there were an actual drummer, but the feeling that the lone human element of this project is somewhat overshadowed by an automation gives the music a rather clinical feel. The abrasiveness and (mostly) loudness of the vocals, one the other hand, is purely an issue of preference. Still, it’s a fun listen and a worthy demo to pick up, especially considering how much you can get it for. (6.66/10)

In issue #19, we proclaimed Deathchain’s Deadmeat Disciples as the runner up to Dimension Zero’s This is Hell as the best death/thrash album of 2003. That may be all fine and good, but the best death/thrash album of all time clearly goes to Defleshed’s Under the Blade.

This was Matte Modin’s first big showcase. Modin of course went on to make bigger marks as the drummer for Dark Funeral, but around here, anyway, it’s all about Defleshed. Each one of the tracks on Under the Blade is savory and will forever stand out after a few listens. The songs are on the simple and short side (around 3-4 minutes), but all have hooks. And that drumming.

Look out for the Under the Blade version that has lyrics in the booklet. Trust me. You’ll get to read along with inexplicable, hilarious, incongruous lyrics like:

"I’ve sailed the seven seas
and did it very well
created summer breeze
I thought you’d like the smell."

Maelstrom says, "get it."