This is definitely one for the In Flames fans among you. The popularity of Swedish melodic death metal has been on the increase in the past few years, and I honestly can't pinpoint who started it. But there’s something about this album that makes you want to give it a chance. The keyboard melodies immediately bring Throne of Chaos to mind, though the overall style remains constant. The infuriating thing about Spectral is that the interest lies only in the occasional riff or keyboard phrase, none but "Void of Hope" being what I would call a genuinely decent track.

You can't fault the sound, as it perfectly suits the style, but having enlisted the services of producer Andy La Rocque (King Diamond, Evergrey, Lord Belial), this is hardly surprising. However, as hard as I tried to appreciate the music, the fact remains that I have heard this kind of thing done so much better. You'd be better off checking out Hypocrisy's latest, for there are precious few virtues in this Skyfire album. (4.9/10)

And here I was wondering where all the rock and roll had gone lately. Eight Days Gone is a passionate rock and roll offering that’s smart, darkly dramatic and pops irresistibly.

This working class Pennsylvania Lehigh Valley rock group put this CD together in an abandoned trailer on the side of a mountain. It must have been dark and lonely out there with lots of time to get these arrangements T-perfect. There is no denying it, they certainly have done that. These guys have been together since high school and have gone through many a financial pickle before getting to where they are today. They are truly magically matched to each other’s talents. The themes of hope and despair, of regretting and empowerment, make an intimate, heart-felt connection. They show us both their sweet and their salty underbellies. They have also done some unique cool things with ambient outdoor noise, surprise acoustic piano and brief orchestral interludes.

Neill Steinke, (vocal,guitar) John Zadeh (drums), Gary Bonneau (bass), Steve Miceli (lead guitar) and producer/engineer Joe Smith give us this dramatic collection of beautifully lyrical rock songs with anthem-like qualities. All are obviously excellent musicians. Miceli is a monster guitarist with an incredibly flexible set of musical approaches. His tone is warm and thick and bluesy. He rivets and intensifies the bands seamless gamut of emotional depth.

This is provocative, simple poetry in solid, interesting, rock-steady arrangements ala INXS or maybe Stone Temple Pilots. Beautifully produced and imaginatively packaged, this is a true gem! (10/10)

The good news is that thrash ‘n’ roll works loads better than death ‘n’ roll ever has or ever will. Musically, Hatework is some sort of collection of pieces from the high speed collision of Megadeth and Motorhead. The music is tight and delivered with conviction that comes off as strong as the excellent production.The weakest element here are the vocals, which, again, sound like the burnt out version of Mustaine meets Kilmister.

The music itself is pretty single-minded; undeniably good, but if you hear one track, you hear them all. Still, those who like their rock and metal simple and to the point (and if you like Motorhead, you know what you like) will dig Hatework, so you might want to add a point to the score, but the vocals might not be a sell for even all of that particular fan base. (6/10)

I heard tracks from this album for about a month, thanks to streaming radio, before I went out and bought it. Ever since, I have been almost unable to listen to anything else. Combining masterful guitar work and amazing vocals (though many will compare them to those of Thom Yorke or Chris Martin, I think it’s more of a Brit-boy thing), this is a work well worth many repeated playings. It’s got all of those little things that make an album more than just a collection of songs: cohesive sound while maintaining enough variety to keep you hooked; the aforementioned vocals which make you feel like you’re flying, then the guitars to compel you to turn up the stereo loud, very loud.

To give a more specific description of the music, I will take an image that features in one of the band’s videos: floating, downward in a dreary wind tunnel, somehow held up, not falling. The sound is light, it is dark, it is good. You will indeed be "singing for absolution," as the title track says, once your soul is seared open and closed up again by this disc. You’ll remember what it’s like to hear music that hits you in the viscera, and yet gets you so high that you don’t mind. But don’t take my word for it. Listen. You’ll see. (9/10)

We’ve all seen the movies in which some guys chase after another guy through a crowded marketplace. Even better if the marketplace is Asian, and filled with haphazardly arranged stalls and stereotypically gesticulating Chinese people. The chasee will be hauling ass, when SLAM!, some guy with a wheelbarrow gets in the way, and oranges go flying everywhere. It takes a second for the runner to get out of his stumble and back to top speed, but not before he pulls down some crates filled with chickens to delay his pursuers.

Give Them Rope She Said v2.0 is like the hardcore soundtrack to this scene. Lots of rumbling, sudden, hard-hitting direction changes, and loads of impact that sends feathers and shards flying everywhere. It is said that Coalesce largely defined the direction the hardcore scene went in when this was originally released in 1997, and that seems highly plausible. Hell, even seven years later, Give Them Rope She Said has a conviction and determination that outdoes most of the increasingly talent-diluted hardcore genre. The music comes across as serious and without a shred of pretentiousness or posing. No flash, just business.

Oh, yeah. The "v2.0" part. This is no mere re-issue. The thing has been re-mixed and re-mastered, and the artwork is all new. Can’t comment on how much v2.0 is better than v1.0, but hardcore enthusiasts would do well to invest some time and money to check out the tight and grounded genre mastery on hand here. (7.5/10)

The house that Children of Bodom built has a new tenant. And Imperanon, yet another Finnish band to take up lodging in the large building, has got a lot of fun in their music. These largely come from some overdone yet highly enjoyable melodic riffing: the kind where the band takes an arpeggio – like high, undulating fans of melody – and does ‘em over and over and over, right up to the point of saturation. And that’s what you’ll be listening to on Stained. That and the standard, signature, wild soloing that trades off predictably between guitar and keyboard. In that, Imperanon are top notch.

What you won’t be listening to is much of anything else. The rhythm department could use a lot more creativity. Basically, the entire record could be made up of a simple bass/snare on two and four drum beat, and it wouldn’t make that much of a difference. This lack of creativity is hidden as well as possible under the expected double bass work, but even the simple-minded habits that the drummer become all too apparent with just a minimum of scrutiny.

But Imperanon are just on their first record. And you can tell from the fiddling around they do with the vocals. The vox are the harsh, Children of Bodom kind for 70 percent of the record. Then, they throw in some clean male vocals. The next song is done almost entirely by clean female vocals, which seem to last in various doses for the rest of the album.

In all, Stained is a good bit of cake to consume, but far too single-minded to really be recommendable. (6.8/10)

The most remarkable thing about TNA: The Complete Recordings is the sheer length of it. That and the reference to the Black Sabbath tune with one of that band’s best ever riffs. But the similarities end there. Completely. Compiling the entire work of this Kentucky-based band (whose members would later go on to form more noted bands like Breather Resist), the CD features track after track of very middle of the road hardcore punk. It’s mildly technical and very, very deliberate. What it’s not is particularly noteworthy. The tracks sound far too much alike, greatly due to lack of hooks and the singer’s constant, monotonous yell.

Then again, maybe the biggest strike against this CD is its length. Albums that are this long, and with this many songs, take time and patience to get into. But once you start, you start noticing memorable parts and endearing details. The Fucking Champs’ III is an excellent example. So are just about any classical CD that you care to appreciate. But The National Acrobat’s marathon album doesn’t bode well for that. It’s very decent, but its length and redundancy make it more of a chore than a pleasure. (5.1/10)

This could be approached in different ways. I personally would prefer not to look upon this purely as a black metal album – melodic or otherwise – since it has become trend to classify as black metal all they who utilise black metal vocals. Don't get me wrong, the term could easily be applied to the skeleton of Twilight Ophera, but the plot doesn't stop there. As well as the heavy influence of latter-day Emperor and Dimmu Borgir, the music is steeped in thrash, gothic and power metal.

The production is squeeky clean, maybe a little to much so. The results would have been a bit more interesting had Eirik "Pytten" Hundvin gone to work behind the mixing desk, but Nino Laurenne has still given a decent enough edge to the sound. The transition and combination of vocal styles is a great strength of this album, especially in the cases of "Pseudogods" and "Gothic Prelude to Capricious Equimanity" (really slides off the tongue, doesn't it?). Despite the display of cliched gothic metal a la Tristania or Garden of Shadows, both "Leperthrone" and "Cruciferous Lunacy" are irresistible.

On the whole, The End of Halcyon Age is very listenable, but as I can hardly commit it to a specific genre, I cannot say for certain just what kind of metal fan would welcome it the most. Far too melodic, multi-layered, clean-cut and ear-friendly for the discerning black metaller, and too few clean vocal passages for power metal. Very awkward. But take a listen, for an open mind will find an enjoyable album here. (6.8/10)

This new release by Time Requiem is sure to satisfy Dream Theater and Yngwie Malmsteen fans: A neoclassical metal work that occasionally takes additional wisdom from progressive-metal concepts.

It is clear that the material found on the album was carefully written, with the purpose of not only dazzling us with technical capabilities, but also with a touching statement and a unique tone – sadly, it works only moderately.

Keyboard master Richard Andersson is bringing his notes fluently down upon us – much like snowflakes, these are varied in shapes and sizes, often beautiful, but they are also cold to touch and melt formlessly. His digital atmospheres are also of an occasional burden: Andersson should listen to some Yes albums, such as Close to the Edge or Relayer, to hear how an inspiring keyboard web is spun and an atmosphere is built.

The guitar work is the other focal point of this album, wailing its speed metal symphony in a suitable manner only to create much of the same effect the keyboards created. The lead vocalist has a nice high voice, but he doesn’t always manage to bring a true spirit out of the written material, and one can only wish that the heart-taking Nils Patrik Johansson of Wuthering Heights and Space Odyssey (another band featuring Andersson) would have sung here. The drum work is too mechanical, and while supplying some solid bashing, it misses necessary sparks on crucial moments leaving the listener with a feel of boredom.

It is in the light of his other band members, Jonas Reingold of The Flower Kings is a pleasant surprise, contributing some Yes inspired classical progressive rock moments. It is a shame that these moments are so short and not as dominant as the speed metal babbling.

To sum things up, this is a good effort that will please technical/speed fanatics; as for the more occasional metal fans that are searching for engaging songs – they will find some interest here, but nothing that is too mind-blowing. (6.5/10)

From top to bottom, the new Nargaroth screams "half-assed!" The evidence: Consider an album cover that’s exactly the same as the Rasluka Pt. II (which came out three years *before* part one), except slightly darker and muddled. Consider another 30 minutes of material that could have been stuck onto the "second" (and also barely half hour long) installment of the Rasluka line to make an album of proper length.

But what makes Rasluka Pt.I fail more than anything else is its lack of success in light of its goal. By far the best aspect of the album is to be found in the liner notes, in which Kanwulf romanticizes the suicide of an unnamed friend. Kanwulf details an engaging episode about unpacking some of his friend’s possessions, and wonders whether he could have in some way prevented his friend’s death.

But rather than compose a heartfelt sendoff to his friend, Kanwulf instead relies on Chopin’s "Funeral March," one of the most popularly known classical compositions. But he doesn’t use the entire thing, rather just focusing and repeating ad nauseam the part that you’ve heard throughout your life in places such as cartoons, situation comedies, and even perhaps television advertisements for bug spray.

Chopin may have turned over in his grave a few hundred times since the advent of broadcasting, but you would think that Kanwulf would know better than to use a piece of music that unfortunately has degenerated into camp. What’s more, the way that the piece is played in Rasluka Pt. I makes it seem jaunty – almost happy. Track 1 is this piece entirely. Track 2 starts with this same refrain, but then changes into a much more proper Nargaroth: the best riff of the record, and the relief that Kanwulf is still one of the best ever vocalists in black metal. But then the damn "Funeral March" again. The rest of the album’s TWO tracks are decent, but nothing close to a match to undo the bad taste from the first half of the CD.

In the liner notes, Kanwulf does his black metal best to decry those, who in his eyes, want him to make his Herbstleyd album over and over. He claims "Nargaroth won’t get better or worse, only different!" We beg to disagree. The vocals, playing style, rhythms and sound are still the same, but the overall quality is much, much worse. (4.5/10)

Norway…land of majestic forests, sweeping fjords, and, if the fourth album from Salvatore is indicative of a wider trend, Tortoise-influence post-rock. Well, there are worse ways to spend your time in a country that gets less than an hour of sunlight/day in winter; like, I don’t know, reindeer-bothering, or something like that. Whatever. The important thing is that, tiring of such hobbies, the boys moved from Oslo to Chicago to record their fourth album, Tempo, with John McEntire of Tortoise.

It’s perhaps inevitable that some of the Chicago sound rubbed off on the band, as the album sounds like a dubbier, younger Tortoise, full of energy and pulsing, hypnotic grooves. However, this strength is also the album’s weakness; times the music here is just too similar to the Chicago sound that we’ve all habituated to by now to make much of a lasting impression. The opening track, "Easy," raises one’s hopes with its mix of echoing percussion, burbling electronics and dubby bass, yet sadly the rest of the album tends to recapitulate similar tricks instead of heading off into pastures new. So – a decent enough album, played and recorded fantastically, but unlikely to hold your interest for long. The band have just released their fifth album, Luxus; this was decent enough to make me want to search for it, so hopefully I’ll have a review for you all soon. (6/10)

A long, long time ago, there was a band who lived in London called Gallon Drunk. In fact, such was the depth of their depraved rockabilly-swampblues-grunge sound and their apparent passion for cigs, booze and unreliable public transport, that it was whispered in various corners that Gallon Drunk were London, that the city had come to life and, well, wanted to hang around and play music for a bit.

The Enablers, on the other hand, come from San Francisco, yet at times they too sound uncannily like their home, a city positioned precariously between a frontier past and an uncertain future in American psychogeography. A city where the opera stars work in dive bars and high and low culture mix freely, and the neighbourhoods are peppered with more idiot savants than an Oliver Sacks casebook. Just the kind of place you’d expect a noise-rock spoken word quartet to come from, right?

And, thankfully, The Enablers focus on the rock and let the words take care of themselves, mixing equal amounts of 90s sadcore and 00s heavy rock revival, letting poet/front man Pete Simonelli spit out his tales of people being bad to people like a hellfire preacher. At times, his words are drowned by the sheer force and volume of the band behind him, creating a loud and shrieking frenzy of voice and guitar that threatens to engulf the listener in worthy hostility. On other tracks he’s able to enunciate softly, beckoning the listener closer to the speakers so that the next crescendo from the band can shred their eardrums; the sheer belligerence of the band manages to steer this project away from coffee-house, goatee’d worthiness towards something like Gallon Drunk’s (remember them from the beginning?) masterpiece "I Was Dora Suarez," a collaboration between the band and the none-more-black crime writer Derek Raymond. A band that are probably best experienced live, but, nonetheless, The Enablers’ End Note is a very accomplished collection of short stories put to music. (7/10)

Before they made the best record in metalcore history (The Silent Circus), Between the Buried me made what could be in the running for the second-best metalcore album ever, the band’s self-titled debut, recently re-issued on Victory Records.

Understanding the success of the first, and the way its blown away by the second, relies heavily on a grasp of what makes The Silent Circus so brilliant. You could read our review of it (there’s a link at the bottom of this review), but to indulge you, here’s a summary: Between the Buried and me works in how it ties in the best of death metal, metalcore, emo and ambient, bringing it all together for an utterly engrossing, head-spinning ride.

To make it short and sweet, if you liked The Silent Circus, you’ll also dig Between the Buried and Me, but remarkably less. Keeping in mind this is comparing an excellent album to a masterpiece, the debut’s application of death metal sensibilities to a metalcore formula wasn’t quite as developed, and the transitions into emo territory are a little obvious. Still, there are invaluable, unique gems to be found, like the pretty, repetetive send off on the last track. Indeed, the best parts about the debut are the quieter moments, but as we said before, this album is very recommended for any degree of metalcore buffs, especially if you dig the more technical kind that indulges in blasting off in a death metal way. (7.9/10)

It’s definitely been a good month for experimental, drone-saturated guitar music, and to finish it all off, why not enjoy yet another dose of super-heavy melodic guitar meltdown?

Make mine a double, though, as Paik, Michigan’s very own answer to the Manhattan Project, manage to evoke happy memories of that British shoegazing phenomenon whilst simultaneously pushing their power-trio noise format further and harder than most.

Satin Black is Paik’s fourth album and their first on Strange Attractors, and there’s certainly more than a hint of the epic about this record, from the way that the initially melodic "Jayne Field" begins to slowly skyscraper its way towards dizzy heights of sounds, to the barely moving, minimalist closer "Stellar Meltdown en el Oceano." How a mere three men manage to create such a cacophonous and saturated musical landscape is beyond me, but on record the band sound like a massive guitar army sharpening their weapons for a particularly intense showdown. Just be happy that they’re not in your living room, stick your headphones on, light ‘em if you got ‘em, and sink, sink into the welcoming arms of dirge. (7/10)

Seven years. Think about it. A lot can happen. Where were you, what were you doing 2,557 days (don’t forget the leap years) past? Still in school, different job, single, married, carefree, discovering responsibility, shedding skin, becoming entrenched, no kids/kids, hopeful, leaning towards despair, trying to find a crystal ball? Seven years, not even a fraction of a blip in the cosmic sense, the neural firing that precedes the blink of an eye. In our lifetime though, fairly significant, near a tenth of the allotment. And in the music business? About the equivalent of seven million years; human, not dog years.

Which brings us to Crisis, emerging from recorded oblivion for the first time since 1997. So many stylistic shifts in the metal world have gone down in that time: see-sawing from nu-metal dominance to metalcore proliferation to black metal’s near immersion into the mainstream, to name a few. Would they appropriate some of these elements in a bid to appeal to the here and now? How will they equate themselves with the musical landscape of 2004?

Quite well, thank you.

Crisis did the most logical thing, continuing where they left off with 1997’s The Hollowing; it sounded great then, it still does now. For those unfamiliar, Crisis was once described as "Neurosis with a female vocalist." Fair enough, but then, as now, the music is a mix of Neurosis flavored Sabbath mixed in with a generous portion of sludge ala Eyehategod. And Karyn Crisis is no mere token, incorporating a low slung growl that puts most of the boys on notice when she’s not employing clean vocals that border on the angelic. She can scare the holy hell out of you just as easily as she can seduce you into a (false) sense of security, often in the course of a few measures.

For the most part Like Sheep Led to Slaughter spews forth a backdrop of grinding, disjointed nastiness with plenty of diversions that stave off any chances of predictability. "Waking The Dead" and "A Graveyard for Bitches" incorporate both punky and jazzy sub-structures, respectively. Sitar and slow atmospheric passages imbue "Nomad" with a distant searching air that the title evokes. "Rats in a Maze" is a compact and unsettling exercise in polyphony. Standout track "Secrets Of The Prison House" travels though enough terrains in a scant six and half minutes giving it an epic quality that many bands couldn’t pull of in twice the time.

This musical cacophony serves as the perfect platform for Karyn’s vocals. Like Sheep Led to Slaughter is like a 45-minute sermon, filled with cautionary tales and raging diatribes directed at the injustices of this world or the next. It’s as if a witch came across a battered and torn bible, translated the pertinent parts and inverted all references to good and evil. In Crisis’ world the "righteous" have much to fear and the "wicked" are merely waiting for their time. Figure out on which side you dwell, lie down and await your judgment. (8/10)

It happens at multiple points in everyone’s life: you ask those essential questions of yourself and your surroundings.

"Why am I here?" "Does god exist?" "Is the universe expanding at the same rate that it’s shrinking?" "Have I chosen the right career path?" "Are there multiple levels of time and is travel between them possible?" "Do I need a bigger and better house/car/spouse?" "Should I have been born in another era?" "If predestination exists, then why even consider the notion of free will?" "For reincarnation to be a viable concept, wouldn’t that naturally imply a finite number of beings, yet, the earth’s population keeps growing?"

These existential and ontological quandaries plaque us, but we carry on, searching for answers. And occasionally, some enlightenment is attained, momentary peace in this ongoing quest for truth, a lull that allows us the space to reflect on the questions that are truly important.

Questions like: "What would have happened if Sepultura had made an album between Chaos A.D. and Roots?"

Well cross that one off you list, Ektomorf have delivered the answer in the form of the highly improbable Destroy. Here are the primary reasons to grab this one:

– The album does in fact inhabit that mythical netherworld without blatantly aping what are arguably the Seps' two finest albums.

– This is some serious neck snapping, knuckle bloodying, head cracking material with more than a few tricks and turns up its collective sleeve.

– The singer’s name is Zoltan... he may just be the laryngeal twin of Max Calavera.

– Most important, the singer’s name is ZOLTAN!

On the basis of pure metal abandon, it’s hard to go wrong with Destroy. On the Chaos A.D. end of the scale you’ve got your huge, bruising tracks that put you in the mind of a bigger, groovier Sepultura: "Destroy" and "Everything." Both "Only God" and "Tear Apart" are hardcore tunes as played by a metal band. The former employing vicious double kick drums and breakdowns that are actually faster than the tune itself, if you can get your mind around that. Perhaps they should call them "breakups."

As far as the Roots side of the coin, insert a gypsy folk influence (the band is Hungarian by way of some of the members' – Zoltan and brother Csaba – Romanian heritage) for Sepultura’s Brazilian origins. Sitar and bazuki permeate a number of the tracks. Gypsy-ish and Islamic sounding trills make their way into and through a few others. It’s in these songs where Ektomorf particularly shine and make their case for the Chaos/Roots bridge. Album opener "I Know Them" opens with a pounding, tribal drum beat overlaid with a caterwauling female vocal line before bursting into a propulsive undeniable bout of rhythmic aggression.

"Painful but True" is the highlight of this milieu. A lone sitar opens the song, then finds itself partially submerged in a hypnotic, doomy gait of down tuned guitar and deliberate drumming; it stays in the background, alighting from time to time like a delicate anchor. Another female voice, decidedly older in timber, appears midway through the track under a crushing riff that eventually plays itself out, her warble bringing the song to a close on the breath of the last chord’s sustain and tape hiss.

Imaginary albums should all be so satisfying. (7.5/10)

This Norwegian five-piece benefits from some remarkably good timing and a savvy sense of placement in the blackened landscape; Compendium Infernus has the potential to appeal to a fairly wide section of the black metal devouring hordes.

Diabolical Breed fit snugly into the symphonic end of the scale and their appearance now couldn’t be better for that audience. The sub-genre’s most ubiquitous and popular bands, Cradle of Filth and Dimmu Borgir, both put out albums last year. This CD will easily satiate those who’ve played those last albums to death and are now find themselves jonesing for a keyboard laced bit of metallic grandeur. What sets Diabolical Breed apart not only from the aforementioned behemoths of the scene but the pretenders as well is a unique take on this sort of wickedness. There’s a grim undercurrent to these songs that could appeal to those who eschew anything more produced than Emperor’s first album.

You’ve got your requisite intro and outro to guide the way, horror film scores that sound like excerpts from a Devil Doll album. First track proper, "Descendants of Satan," blasts in and you’re enmeshed in all the symphonic glory you can handle. What’s striking though is that there’s an aggression here not normally found, a ballsy driving overtone that the keyboards can’t or simply refuse to tame. When vocalist Commander Kael, that’s right, say it with me: "Commander Kael," enters the fray, you realize immediately that this band is not going to satisfy every one of your pre-expectations. His vocal track on "Descendants of Satan," while ferocious, is barely there, buried deep, deep in the mix, making it just that much more unsettling; a lost demon’s echoed call from the fiery pits.

The rest of the album follows suit, each track offering just what you’d want or expect while simultaneously throwing in all manner of curves. "Hominus Nocturna" has an unfathomably weird production, sounding as if each instrument is coming from a separate room, removed by layers; the paradox is that it still sounds crisp and clear. Simple keyboard lines propel "The Night of Shooting Stars," outfitting the backbone of the song with a constant drone that doesn’t call attention to itself yet is impossible not to be drawn in by. A militaristic intro ushers "In the Eye of the Storm" into the fray before the song descends into an alternating whirlwind of lightening fast sections buffeted by slower more deliberate passages.

A fine debut. Let’s hope these corpse painted minstrels stick around for a bit. Compendium Infernus lays the groundwork towards the creation of something truly distinctive. (7/10)

Live albums are almost always an exercise in redundancy. Live DVDs generally suffer from a lack of immediacy. So let’s bottom line this and ask the one essential question: "Do you need this?"

Highlights:

– Good production values, great sound
– Charlie Benante’s octopus on steroids drum performance
– Scott Ian spinning circles
– Scott’s goatee
– John Bush’s flip from the balcony
– The Celtic Frost teaser
– The featurette on artist Alex Ross in which Charlie completely geeks out when faced with Ross’
figurine collection and original Superman and Batman costumes
– Scott’s humorous and humble commentary during his segment

Low points:

– Nothing unexpected in the song selections
– "Bring The Noise" really shouldn’t be performed without Chuck D, although there’s something perversely satisfying hearing John Bush intone the line "Farrakhan’s a prophet and (...) I think you ought to listen to."
– Bush’s inane stage patter
– Too many quick cuts and self consciously "arty" film techniques
– Rob Caggiano’s segment. Two words: mean drunk
– Not following through on the Celtic Frost teaser
– The vaunted "Hyperangle": screen within a screen plus five
– Unavoidable fatigue that sets in after a few songs
And who did Frank Bello piss off? He’s left the band, true, but other than the actual performance and a photo shoot the day of the show he’s persona non grata here. Charlie’s his uncle, for fuck’s sake…

For the most part you can’t fault Music of Mass Destruction. The band gives their all on stage and they certainly have the tunes, but this isn’t going to glue you to the screen for its 90 minutes. A relative paucity of bonus material doesn’t help either. One for the diehards. The rest of us can hold tight until the next album. (5.5/10)

I am not really an enthusiast of death metal, and so I was in a bit of a dilemma when Roberto offered me to review The Heretic’s Chemistry for the Soul, which he described as "death metal, but
it's got a lot of progressive-type music." It was the adventurer in me (which only takes over when it comes to music) that urged me to reply positively. I do not regret it. (Do I know my staff, or what? – Roberto)

The Heretic mixes some classical Baroque influence as well as a variety of other metal sub-genres into their death/black metal which is the most obvious due to the low, growling vocals. On Chemistry for the Soul you can find neoclassical and speed metal guitar lines, gentle keyboard atmospheres (which mostly remain at the background as the music relies more on crunchy guitars than on eerie keyboards), progressing suites, grind rhythm, death/thrash attacks, and even a bit of industrial/electronica tricks and flamenco – all combined with good taste to offer an accessible and consistently pleasing listening experience.

This 2004 re-release of the 2002 album (which didn’t survive much in the market due to a record label crash), includes additional live tracks that blend well as a part of the album. It might be a credit to the detailed, professional live performance that was captured so brightly, which says a lot about the quality of the band; but it credit should also be given to the pseudo-underground production of the original album tracks, which is evident right from the start in the form of deliberate static noise (but don’t worry, these are just a passing tease!). It is within this context that Spain’s The Heretic manages to sound inventive, raw and unlike other brothers of the death/black metal genre.

It sure surprised me and so I feel obliged to recommend it for all the fellow blend-metal adventurers. (8/10)

It is an enigma how this adventurous release never made itself a big name among progressive music fans. This trio, consisting of guitar and software player Nick Didkovsky (of Doctor Nerve), bassist Hugh Hopper (of the legendary Soft Machine), and drummer John Roulat (of Forever Einstein), offer a mesmerizing powerful effort that shows no trace of the long-distance internet correspondence through which it was constructed, but in fact sounds like an organic creation.

Equipped with a background in avant-garde, Didkovsky delivers a guitar showcase that is fueled by passion and ingenuity, assisted by software instruments; while Hopper, with his stomping bass work and loops, and Roulat with his hard-hitting, forceful, futuristic, tribal drumming, provide a bombastic rhythm section that often takes main spot duties.

Uses Wrist Grab is a more immediate and condensed recording than the recently covered, self-titled release of Ahvak (issue # 22), offering a wide variety of tracks that cling together – some of which are executed in a rough, metallic 2000’s King Crimson spirit, while others take the Robert Fripp influence in the form of delicate soundscapes; at times it carries a swampy-feeling that is reminiscent of John Paul Jones’s Zooma ("Foster Wives, Trophy Hair"), or bring menacing science-fiction themes on which beasts growl and moan ("Jungle Rev"), while at other times it pleasantly presents a mischievous Gentle Giant-like harmony ("Green Dansette").

But that’s far from covering all the tones and nuances that exist on this recording, of which some creep up on you gradually while some, sometimes simultaneously, assault you brutally.

It is an initially incoherent yet constantly surprising effort that becomes clearer on repeated listens, with lots of twists, multiple occurrences and purposely misguiding directions for the listener to absorb – highly recommended for those of you that are explorers in spirit, or those that just wish to be blown away. (9/10)

There’s been quite an embarrassment of riches from Kranky in the last few months: the last Charalambides record, the solo Tom Carter tour-de-force (reviewed elsewhere this month), and, here, the return of Pan-American – aka Mark Nelson of Labradford, one of my favourite bands of the 90s. Labradford produced several albums of beautiful and inventive ambience culminating in their masterpiece, Mi Media Naranja in 1997; however, since Fixed::Content (…why the double colon?), in 2001, there’s been nary a peep out of the band.

Thank the heavens for Pan-American, then. Quiet City is their fourth album, and is quite a departure from the pitter-pattered minimalism of 2002’s The River Made no Sound. Nelson has apparently rediscovered some real instruments when he was cleaning out his cellar. Bully for him – and for us, too, because this album is a wondrous, sympathetic marriage of Nelson’s previous Pan-American outings with a splash of Labradford at the peak of their powers.

Using electronics, organic instruments and his own muted vocals, Nelson effortlessly evokes the vast geographical and emotional emptiness of modern America. This is an album that feels like a guided tour of the dispossessed, taking the listener on a tour of silent bars and empty towns, bleached plains and shuttered windows. Labradford often mimicked the style of Ennio Morricone’s work for Sergio Leone’s westerns, and here the shared content is plain, from the lonely harmonium notes on "Wing" to the melancholic classical guitar lines on "Hall and Skylight." One hopes that, with the likes of Calexico and Califone finding a home in the discerning music-lover’s collection, there’ll be room for Pan-American’s dusty travelogues, too. (8/10)

The term "improvised music" means many different things to many different people, and is often just as likely to conjure forth shivers of anticipation as it is to induce a nervous re-loading of a nearby sidearm in the listener. It’s a term guaranteed to act as a litmus test for your ongoing relationship with music, and you can rest assured that it’s guaranteed to separate seemingly homogeneous groups quicker than you can say "Pat Metheny."

Consider the potential conversation: "Dude – you mean this guy just sits in front of a lap steel guitar for 45 minutes, like just him and stuff…and there’s no singing or choruses or verses or any of the trappings that I like my music to have and he like just plays and invents it as he goes along?"

Well, yes….. dude, but this is no normal lap steel record, and Tom Carter is no normal guitarist. As one third of the utterly charming and mysterious Charalambides, he’s no stranger to extended bouts of experimental rock improv, but it’s on Monument that Carter really shines. With an imagination that seems as endless as his resources were limited, Carter creates a music that is in constant flux.

Using a multitude of different playing methods to wrench drone-y, keening wails out of his guitar, Carter provokes the listener’s interest by flitting between a myriad of different styles and textures with an ability that borders on the preternatural. Yet Monument never feels like a triumph of technique over taste; Carter’s playing is so precise, so utterly devoid of flab and flourish that you’d swear blind that he’s reading all of this from a score. And, while there is a progression of sorts throughout the piece as initially sparse motifs become more and more submerged beneath sustained tones, Monument feels as though it doesn’t really have a beginning, middle, or end. It merely exists, an Escher-like composition that one can dip in and out of at will, an almost fractal-like piece whose micro-structure mimics its whole. Neither music for airports or fuel for the jam-band generation, this is music that challenges and soothes in equal measures, and is a must for anyone with an open mind. (9/10)

Beginning with crunching, buzzing and various other stock-in-trade sound effects of the laptop brigade, Multi-Panel’s debut on the small electronica label Unschooled sounds pretty unremarkable. Yet after a few seconds the initial morass is superceded in the mix by a gloomy synth bass line that is soon joined by an ominous melody line and crackly "na-na-na-na-na-na" vocals. In those few seconds, Ludo Maas (for he be Multi-Panel, give or take a few helping hands) manages to lift himself out of the glitch swamp and set the controls for the kind of quality folktronica that one normally associates with big hitters like Four Tet and Manitoba.

Brimming with quirky ideas and hummable melodies, Maas’ debut is a strong set of songs that combine fragile acoustic guitar figures and soft vocals with a multitude of sympathetic electronic treatments. It’s not often that something so contemporary brings Nick Drake to mind, but there’s something equally gauche and touching about much of Maas’ work here that lends real credence to the comparison. While the quality does dip a little in the middle of the album, and most of the additional remixes at the end are throw-away, it’s a great debut that marks Mass as a new talent to watch. (7/10)

Leaving Rouge have a pleasant, skilled sound, poured through a variety of filters on this EP. While vocalist Sean Hoen’s voice sounds unfortunately like Eddie Vedder’s, it fits very well to the music, and harmonizes excellently with Kari Buzewski’s backing vocals. Leaving Rouge are at their best on slow, meditative numbers, particularly the closing track, "Raising Love," which gives me goose bumps, it’s that unnervingly good. Nonetheless, listen closely to any of the other tracks on this EP, and you will hear plenty of artistry for your aural delight. In particular, keep your ears open for the clever counterpoint of keys to guitars, and guitars that sound more like keys. All in all, pleasant, and worth looking for in the future. (7/10)

If last year was the Year of the Scandinavians in music, this is the Year of the Scottish. Franz Ferdinand, and now this – something completely different, something harder to define, something raw and untamed, and an awful lot of noise, coming from a duo.

This is no White Stripes we’re dealing with. The lyrics are lusty; John McFarlane’s voice ranges from Buckely-esque heights to a smooth tenor. The music itself does not often stray from loud and thrusting, and although more experimental, slower moments are equally good, I don’t think this band is capable of slowing down for long. There are passages that remind me of tiny punk shows in very small spaces, with a lot of energy. There are tracks that skate maniacally from sounding like a product of The Factory to sounding like a lost songs from "Desperado," and then veering into straight guitar work, as if a wholly different being were inhabiting the guitar. Impressive.

We Are All Sluts of Trust is definitely an album that grows on you the more you listen to it. Not recommended for calming down your guests at a late-night party. Highly recommended for high-octane activities. (8.7/10)

Emperor X (Chad Matheny plus a number of machines) makes good music that doesn’t easily cleave to genre definitions, but combines much of the sound of early Beck with Yo La Tengo, among many others. The end result is truly enjoyable electro-rock that sounds like it was recorded in a closet, and I mean that in the best possible way – the production is fairly lo-fi, which lends a cosiness to this laptop album. It helps that this sounds more like an album made by real people than a product of eletronic manipulation; this lends a freshness to the project that might otherwie be lacking.

"Intracellular" will appeal to anyone with an ear for quiet experimentation - Matheny turns simple progressions into a wave of sound that even comes with its own tides. "Filene’s Basement" embodys the experience of shopping through life well, and is follwed by another strong track, "Bashling," which will trick you into feeling laidback, even if you didn’t think you were capable of it.

Definitely an album worthy of repeat play. (8.8/10)

After the successful White 1, the second installment of the White series is a disappointment. Three tracks, the first of which, "Hell-o)))-ween," is pretty good, standard fare for Sunn O))), being a musical exercise in guitar and bass drone. "Maximum volume yields maximum results," the promo boasts, and that seems to work just fine here.

Unfortunately, the same practice does little to help the rest of the album, whose material ranges from decent to obnoxious. Track two, "bassAliens," starts off fairly well in a creepy, "moist night in the graveyard" kind of way. But around the 10-minute mark, alien (indeed) electronic bleeps, farts and shimmies begin to pop up. These irritating noises become increasingly prevalent, and by the time the track ends at the 23-minute mark, it’s a big, unbearable mess. The experience is kind of like when you take a long road trip and listen to the radio the whole way, without changing the channel. A radio broadcast will be clear, but a few hundred miles later, it starts to fade, and another’s signal begins to take over. It’s a frequency tug-of-war, until the new frequency has mastery. Ditto for "bassAliens."

But you can see how "bassAliens" works according to plan. For as a sonic painting of a descent into madness, it works. However, as a piece of music (or even sound) to listen to for pleasure – be it pleasure in the form of a balm, or an exciter, or an insight into the dark side of the universe – it fails. Instead, it’s merely very mind-bogglingly irritating, and about 10-15 minutes too long.

The big, glamorous track on White 2 is most certainly the third one, "Decay2 [Nihil’s Maw]," which features vocals by renowned black metal vocalist Attila Csihar. But the track never really gets off the ground. What works here are the organic, droning tones that sound like endlessly reverberating, dark bells. What doesn’t work are the kitschy, forced sonic attempts to sound "creepy," like ghostlike electronics and whooshes that take us back to that graveyard a couple paragraphs ago, but now it has taken on a more caricatured aspect. And the mumbling mantras of Csihar, which pick up steam toward the end of the track, are a distraction more than anything else. Again, this track is also about 10 minutes too long.

White 2 has a bit of good. But in the scope of how much that good is (14 minutes) in terms of the total length of the album (63 minutes), the CD is not money well spent. Stick with your White 1 disk, or better yet, go with the latest (or any) albums by Stars of the Lid or Rosy Parlane's Iris if you want some monumental drones in terms of both quality and lasting enjoyment. (3.8/10)

They said that Thor was like the Canadian Manowar. Manowar was cool when we were about nine, but it’s since worn off. Worn very, very off. But further unveiling of what Thor has to offer in the form of a promotional copy of the latest album, Beastwomen from the Center of the Earth, has shown that Manowar is the epitome of grace and taste in comparison.

Oh, by the way, it’s actually wrong to call this a Thor record. Rather, it’s "Thor and Mick Hoffman," Hoffman being a comic book artist who came up with the artwork and story about the beastwomen from the center of the Earth. Hoffman also sings on the record. But since "Thor and Mick Hoffman" may be one of the dumbest, clunkiest band names ever, it’ll be just "Thor" here.

Hold out your hand with your index and thumb about an inch apart. That’s about as far away as this album sounds like some dude singing along with a karaoke machine; a metal album that sounds like the best you could expect from a He-Man action figure, like Fisto.

Here’s a list of but a few hilarities:

- A "band" that professes to be rock/metal, and goes musically about it in a very simplistic fashion, but uses a drum machine.

- A "band" that isn’t really a band, but rather a very bad singer with a couple guys who play the music, largely by means of near-MIDI sound files. My geeky roommate spent a day downlading ring tones for his new cell phone. Apparently so did whoever was behind the new Thor.

- From the song "The Sleeping Giant," the roaring motto of the album, "You are like straws against the wind!" Um... isn’t that supposed to be "like straw against the wind"? I’m picturing somebody throwing a box of those plastic, bendy things you use to drink your cola in front of a fan set to "high."

- "Hard-rockin’" rock riffs that are so generic and recycled, they're like public domain. 

- The song "Break the Ice," which sounds like the second coming of the 50s hit "Monster Mash."

- Tracks that feature really bad singing, alternating with tracks featuring the same singer, but who sounds very oddly "better," or at least more blurry. Now, if you’re going to use some pitch and melody corrector on your album, at least do it on every track, so you might at least have a chance to fool somebody.

- (once again) vocals by Mick Hoffman. No, he’s not any good, either.

- A high school football fight song, "We Are the Panthers." actual lyrics: "P-A-N-T-H-E-R-S!" "Fight! Fight! Go, go, Panthers!"

- A song sung by a guy calling himself the Norse god of thunder, who sings about valkyries, but pronounces them "val-kih-ryes."

The result is an album that richly is granted a -10/10... negative perfection. Jon Mikl Thor (who once won some professional bodybuilding contests and who has put out records since the late 70s, all of whose sound clips on the Thor official website show that Thor the band was actually something that at least sounded heavy once) tries to maintain the metal image, but the fact is that this album is neither heavy nor metal. The sound is so weedy, it’s a joke. But the good people at the PR agency who promote Thor swear that it’s not. Or at least they’re under that impression.

It looks like the joke’s on us. Or maybe it’s all on Thor. We don’t know.

Come to think of it, Beastwomen from the Center of the Earth is like the retarded, stunted Bathory album that the authorities locked away as much for the safety of the album as those around it.

And age isn’t a factor here. Rock till you’re in a wheelchair. But at least make an effort. If Thor spent as much time actually trying to put together a band as he did putting together his costume, this might have had a shred of a chance at being a good album.

But wait, just because it may be the worst album ever doesn’t mean you shouldn’t check it out. You know, so not recommended that it’s recommended? And truth be told, there are some undeniable hooks, like on "Break the Ice" (back up singer: "I’m chilled to the booooone!"). Of course, it’s catchy and memorable sort of on the same level as a Little Ceasar’s Pizza commercial, but maybe that’s the genius of it all. And I’m not so sure I’ll part with my copy. So, who is the joke on after all? (-10/10)

I am not one of those bleeding hearts who won't review or acknowledge bands that just so happen to take a controversial approach in terms of ideology and general outlook. However, if ideology and outlook is all that a band has to offer (especially if one's band is of the national socialist variety), then I find no fault in turning my review gun on kill mode and sending superfluous verbiage and flowery descriptions in the culprit's general direction.

Unsurprisingly, Grom and The Shadow Order do exactly that. It seems to be customary among satanic and national socialist black metal circles to make music that is as prosaically inclined and intelligent as their racial and religious stance (and Alec doesn’t think much of these stances – Roberto). At least bands like Nokturnal Mortem manage to churn out decent music in spite of Knjaz Varggoth's dumb outlook on things. Gontyna Kry and Graveland also manage to create good, evocative music. Why, oh why, can't these two bands even venture to belie their stupidity with good art? Oh well, a good album by a band of this nature is a rare thing indeed.

Oh, the music. Both Grom and The Shadow Order’s music is competently played but shamelessly derivative black metal with altogether bad production. Avoid. (4.1/10)

Remembering Never's second album is decidedly underwhelming. Granted, it does what a metalcore album is supposed to do: there are breakdowns, palm-muted riffs, and roared, throaty vocals aplenty. The problem arises from a considerable lack of anything interesting to add to an already overcrowded genre.

So, one would think that by virtue of a considerable lack of originality (originality is always sort of a baneful criteria by which to review an album, as it ultimately amounts to good songcraft in order to make a decent effort) that the members of the band would at least make the songs memorable or have something interesting to say. Sadly, their socio-political lyrical stance is rather bland and obvious, and the song arrangements bland and aimless. In fact, the whole affair seems like an exercise in blandness. Vocally, Peter Kowalsky mostly roars and stomps, but the occasional off-key clean warbling and spoken word comes in. There's very little I can say about an album that does so little to entice or be interesting. (5.3/10)

If you’re a big fan of the kind of big production in black metal that Satyricon has used on their last couple records, then make a mental note to look out for Negator’s Old Black. If you also think that Germany consistently turns out some of the best black metal records, then definitely get this.

And by big production, we don’t mean to make you think of Dimmu Borgir. No, the accent here is definitely on the harsh and blasting, and focusing on the guitars and drums, but done with a full sound.

We were a little wary of picking this up. Our main source of concern was track two, "Freebird." Nothing against the Lynyrd Skynyrd ubiquitous classic, but it seemed like a really bad joke for a black metal band to cover it. Turns out it has nothing to do with Skynyrd at all, which means that Negator are thankfully utterly disconnected with the real world.

And Old Black’s riffs are as huge as he production. "Freebird"’s got some of them, but the best riff on the record, a proud, stirring composition that fits nicely into that genre called "Viking," goes to track four, which is sadly a half-baked one minute in length. Calling the track "Interludium" doesn’t excuse anything.

Black metal has been kinda sputtering lately. And while this isn’t a new record, if you haven’t heard of Old Black lately, it’s a new album for you. Check it out and re-affirm why the Germans are one of the few whom we can consistently rely on. (7.9/10)

In the land of Laurent, a band rarely does justice to themselves when they play loud and fast simply because they can. Let's compare Van Halen's mistake, Fair Warning, and any Anthrax album; one is pure crap and the other, inspired.

So it is with great joy that I announce that for once in a long time a band plays loud and fast and it is good. The Heavils play an inspired brand of loud metal that from song 1 through 14 shines non stop.

A lot of the lyrics are much deeper in meaning than one would expect from such a band, with the lyrics to "Touch" being 80s ballad metal best – but not sounding cheesy – to "Reflection," about the singer's jaded view of the world. And of course what album would be complete without a Cheap Trick cover? The Heavils do to "Just Got Back" what the Stones did to the Beatles’ "I Want to be Your Man": they take a classic and add a razor sharp edge to it, making it even more vicious and provocative than one would think possible.

A great listen and a great find; Heavilution is worth your $$$. (7.5/10)

Wow, tough one. This band has a blend of all that sounds good to me right now, the right funk of The Push Kings, the electro-pop riffs and hooks of Stereo Total, and singer's Mari Solivan's voice sometimes reaches the rarefied heights of Saint Etienne's Sarah Cracknell. When co-founder Terence Bernardo takes over the music and vocals, one swears to hear Beck's long lost cousin from Atlanta. So what's the problem?

Well, White Mud Freeway sometimes sounds too much like Dido and the "too cute for her own good" Lisa Loeb. Songs like "Mercury" and "Adele" appear to almost belong to another album – if not band altogether – and stick out like a sore thumb. And don't get me started on "Nine Hours Back," the pseudo blues track. This band needs to define itself and either go one way or the next but this mix of too many different influences and styles is killing the flow of what is, besides for a few songs, a very good album. My advice, forget Dido, listen to The Postal Service's new album and find a direction. Or to be more blunt, dump Mari Solivan and go on without her.

There is enough here to go from and to have a good time with, just program your stereo to skip some tunes. (6/10)

I've always wondered if one could take a band seriously if they used the Fleur de Lys, the flower of the kings of France, as their symbol. Isn't that a little pansy-ish? Well, Black Cross would love to kick my ass if I asked them that question... and they would be right. Perhaps Louis XIV didn't rock, but this band sure does.

By far the album's best track is "11:59 Answering the Call," a song in which all the elements of the band’s precision and viciousness come together. It's a great anti-establishment anthem with such lyrics as "rise angry children" and "raise your fists up to the sky and let their words fall on deaf ears." The band's songs, though political in nature, do not come across as overly so, creating a nice listen without feeling like a message is being driven into your head. Sort of reminds of Stryper. Just kidding.

This is also a very slickly produced album. The producer made sure not to drown out singers Pennington and Patterson's voices with the musical fury unleashed by the other band members (a mistake very often made on other records), and brings up that music just at the right time. (7/10)

With visions of elves, Jedis and other worlds, I was happily surprised that the Deathstars’ Synthetic Generation is not an homage to Star Wars, but rather a trip into the world of a deranged but highly talented band.

Though not a concept album in the true sense of the word, Synthetic Generation is an industrial rock trip through the modern day decay of culture. With such lyrics as "this is the system, welcome the plan of which we'll succeed to live our lives" and "fall, your towers fall, when you bring its bricks to me. Fall, you want my visions but the sights are too dark to see," it's easy to think that the Deathstars are talking about an Orwellian post nuclear world that doesn't exist, but a quick look at the day's headlines makes one see that this world the band describes is all too real.

But this is not an album in which the concept is too heavy handed. You will not leave thinking you have heard a presidential speech or a Rush Limbaugh tirade, but you will leave thinking that the world we live in is far from perfect.

Synthetic Generation's musical journey, with heavy pounding beats and riffs just as good as Nine Inch Nails’, is well worth a listen. (7.5/10)

Age of Ruin is keeping up with the times. The group has a style-centric mix of dirty hardcore and Scandinavian technicality that gives it a unique flavor. The technicality itself isn't emphasized as much as the grinding, well-timed Swedish-style grooves, but there are some difficult and unpredictable riffs that really satisfy. Combined with throat-scraping yells from Age of Ruin's new vocalist, Ben Swan, it's a volatile and energetic mix.

The band builds each song to a climax by switching between groovy sections and vocal verses, but unfortunately the songs' zeniths are too often marked by off-key, harmonized vocal sections that nearly always serve to deflate the balloon. However, this is my biggest complaint about The Tides of Tragedy, and since these dreaded dramatized sections don't come often and don't last long, they only detract a bit from Age of Ruin's overall sound.

The band doesn't have any element that is "the best" of any group, and it's not doing anything new outside of its own style, but the group clearly has good taste and is emulating some of the most enjoyable bands out there. Keep an eye on this progressive group; if it keeps on the right path, some great things could come out of it. (7/10)

Destinity does have the evil atmosphere down. The group's image, the lyrics, the band photos, and the mood of the music all point to diablerie. But about half of the tracks are in French, and that language, of all the romance languages, is just not intimidating. (Our official French writer Laurent Martini is fuming. – Roberto)

The moderate speed of the album, the overdramatic singing and the too-frequent, ill-fitting synthesizers are also less than demonic. I'm most impressed on the occasions when Tyrael, the drummer, decides to show off what he can do. Unfortunately, these sections are few and far-between. The production is good, and the guitarists hint that they can do more than what they show on this album. Some tricky time changes add some spice to the mix, but as a whole the album just isn't impressive enough. I don't think I'll be listening to In Excelsis Dementia again for a long time. (5.2/10)

review by: Roberto Martinelli

A quick word. Destinity may not rock the metal world, but In Excelsis Dementia is a quality CD that has some good to offer. But the good is focused mostly on those who really dig Dimmu Borgir. But Destinity isn’t a shameless clone, being a bit more brutal and direct than the Norwegian genre-definers. There are some good tracks to be found in the fine production, but I guess we weren’t always in the right mood to appreciate them. Could say something about the strength of the album. At least the record is better than the "is that a typo that no one at the label missed?" band name. (6.3/10)

At thirteen years of age (a magic number, perhaps, for a band so driven by Satan and the occult), the Austrian Belphegor is staying strong. Lucifer Incestusi, Belphegor’s fourth release, is interesting, varied and technically brilliant (i.e. really fast and tight) from beginning to end. The production is excellent; each line can be heard clearly, and the mix is pretty even.

A little repetitiveness in the guitars and drums here and there does detract a bit from the overall sound, but the sheer intensity, speed and evilness of each track carry them through. Rich, diabolical vocals from Helmuth undercut the fast-picked guitar lines, and Torturer's drumming is accurate and consistent even if he doesn't play enough variety (or blast beats) for my taste.

Belphegor has a good mix of black and death going, but some more grooves wouldn't hurt, either. Still, the title track shines, and Lucifer Incestus as a whole is surely worth a listen. (7.2/10)

Take this review as a warning: Hawthorne Heights = yuck. So simplistic, cheesy and whiny is this band that I can feel the bile creeping up my throat even as I think of the music with which this group has punished the world. It's all very touchy-feely, emo-type crap that fails on every level.

Mindless drumming and guitars used only for dressing up the overproduced, nasal bleating that apparently passes for a vocal track do nothing to make for even a remotely interesting or worthwhile album. The occasional guttural screams emphasize the juvenile break-up fascination Hawthorne Heights must have been based on.

But, hey, if you really like simple melodies in place of something interesting and technical and you'd rather listen to effeminate lamentations than screams and growls about Satan and blood and guts (in the context of a "hard" album, that is), Hawthorne Heights might be for you. (1.1/10)

Atreyu has the pop-ified hardcore sound down. Trite lyrics about lost love, intense screams melting into over-dramatic harmonies, some decent, intense guitar riffs that shift into bouncy, listenable ornamentation for the vocals, drums that don't push any limits.

Basically, this isn't a metal fan's music. It's a 13-year-old, MTV-watching, commercial-radio-listening kid's favorite example of the "underground metal" he likes so much. Which is to say, Atreyu does manage to incorporate some impressively technical sections and good screaming, but it's not nearly enough to make the album worth listening to. Far too palatable, whiny and just plain commonplace for anyone who has ever heard truly good metalcore, The Curse is one you should just pass on by. (5/10)

Jungle Rot is a nine-year-old Chicago group whose music sounds at least that old. They value simplistic death grooves over technicality and innovation; and it makes for an unimaginative and ultimately boring fourth album (sounds just like the epitaph for their last album – Roberto). The guitar riffs are foolish and repetitive, the drums are similarly uninteresting, and the shallow, monotonous growls can't save any of it.

The grooves are the most disappointing part of it all. Jungle Rot's songs are made of little else, and someone who's been playing guitar for at least nine years should be doing a lot more. They sound like every cheesy, mediocre death riff from the 90s, cleaned up and watered down and thrown together. Every measure is repeated about eight times with no variation, and such levels of predictability just kill the enjoyment one might feel were a few surprises thrown in. It sounds like very little effort was put into writing or playing any of the songs on Fueled by Hate, and the album suffers from this almost as much as the listener. (3/10)

Expectations are often unreasonable. Among other things, they reflect yearnings based on familiar terms, a wish to remain untouched by time, and a subjective or collective heartfelt hunch.

When I first heard that Proto-Kaw’s Before Became After was released, I was dying to put my hands on it as soon as possible.

For those of you that are unfamiliar with the name, Proto-Kaw is in fact a name given in hindsight for the release of early recordings by the second lineup of a band led by Kerry Livgren – a band whose third lineup was one of the most successful American progressive-rock bands – Kansas. (Proto = before, Kaw = Kansas – in the language of the Native Americans of the area – nerdy Roberto)

These menacing, early Kansas (or Proto-Kaw) recordings featured  on the 2002 Cuneiform release, Early Recordings from Kansas 1971-1973, were staggering enough to keep me alerted for any new release under the name of Proto-Kaw. In fact, it seems like they were staggering enough for the band members themselves to reveal – as most of them soon reunited to record this new album.

But expectations lead to disappointments. The new, mostly mid-tempo pieces featured on Before Became After, though said to contain elements of prehistoric pieces the band used to play, sound very modern – taking their by-the-book aesthetics from 80’s and 90’s progressive-rock releases, and capture very little of the rawness the 70’s recordings by this lineup offered. In other words, this is quite close to later-day offerings by Kansas than to the messy spirit of Van Der Graaf Generator that screamed from the early recordings.

But still, this is a long way from being a total disappointment (unlike Kansas’ latest studio album, Somewhere to Elsewhere), and after some time to recover from the "this is not what I expected" syndrome, it was quite easy to find beautiful moments throughout the album. Thankfully there are still the original sax and flute that maintain some of the old spirit. In fact, there is still an essence of the Van Der Graaf Generator influence, only this time it is more polished (perhaps this suggests a later-days VDGG influence?) and reflects mainly through faster passages that blend the aforementioned instruments as well as the keyboards and guitar to create a very restrained and controlled organized mess. Unfortunately, the rhythm section is left behind, unable to deliver.

Livgren handles the guitar work professionally, though he sometimes misses with generic, tired solos; but he should also be given the credit of not taking over and preserving a group feel, leaving a dominant space for the keyboards, which are a bit grandiose, yet full of life and give the album an orchestrated, at times medieval, feel, serving the optimistic nature of the mature songs that come from an elder’s point of view, filled with observations of life and acceptance of death.

But "optimistic" is perhaps a careful word to describe few of the songs here – while the music itself usually holds up, there are a few unnecessary sections (mostly vocals) that suffer from being overly joyful (most notably the vocal parts of "Quantum Leapfrog," the up-tempo vocals of "Greenburg, Glickstein, Charles, David, Smith and Jones," and the cheerful "Occasion of Your Honest Dreaming"). This threatens the delicate sadness of other touching pieces such as "Leaven," "Axolotl" and "Theophany."

Kansas’ masterpiece Leftoverture was far better crafted, and Proto-Kaw/Kansas’"Early Recordings… was much rawer – so you might want to try out one of these first, according to your tastes. However, if you’re an enthusiastic Kansas fan, you probably would not want to miss this (but you might want to purchase the new remastered release of the fine energetic and original Kansas debut album that is currently being released, first). (6.5/10)

What a mean and punishing album. It’s almost impossible to feel content or happy about owning this CD, thus it's also almost impossible for me to recommend you this, but I will... Because even though listening to this album will make you feel disjointed from reality and in rage with the smallest of things, this is an album that at times surpasses the mortal ideals of music and strides straight into the dark (and always avoided) underbelly of the big, black sonic beast that is hellbent on eating all that is happy and full of life.

Karjalasta Kajahtaa comes in a fancy custom sized cardboard booklet, filled with old pictures of old people (some of which naked, for those who fancy that sort of thing) and forgotten times. And the music reflects the images: picture old, naked people walking around like zombies through a forgotten town in a forgotten time. Then imagine the same people being herded by a deranged looking madman with a love for classical music and a clear intention of taking over the entire world.

Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? Not so crazy if you are called Markus Pesonen. Turn the volume way up and start with "ESS" and then try NOT to imagine some straightjacket wearing lunatic. It's impossible, I'm telling you. And that's what this album accomplishes with great flair: giving such an unsettling feeling inside that it's impossible to feel good about the outside world and you'd rather stay indoors for the rest of your remaining life. This is coming off really bad but trust me, you need to hear this. If only because then I won't be sitting here alone anymore, in the dark belly of this wretched sonic beast... (9.5/10)

review by: Roberto Martinelli

Seems like poor Basti’s finally snapped. His dog ate his reviews – again – and he’s been the willing subject of incessant dark ambient and noise music. But his loss of sanity hasn’t impaired his judgement; the new Karjalan Sissit *is* an excellent album. However, it seems like an alternate version of Karjalan album #2, Miserere, which overall is remarkably better (and also quite distinct from the debut album).

But you can’t fault Markus Pesonen (who put up with us calling him Personen for years. We apologize) for going with a formula that ain’t broke. Sweeping violin samples, depths-of-despair industrial passages, scratchy recordings of Finnish polka songs, and lots and lots of militaristic marches and innuendo make up for the now established Karjalan Sissit recipe. So good that non-dark ambient enthusiasts like me sing the praises. So should you. (7.5/10)

The dear, ambient loving readers of Maelstrom.nu should be familiar with Hildebrand, if only because his other project Lithivm was reviewed by us in a previous issue. With Starscape, he takes a different route from the claustrophobic machine madness of his other work. It’s a very different route, albeit in the same genre; the name implies this is an intricate journey through the dark wonders of space, including blazing stars and those dreaded black holes. Should be interesting.

Portraying the moods of space is a very one-sided display: it's all dark out there and it's very true that no one can hear you scream but, and this is a very big but, space is practically endless and riddled with millions of planets, stars and perhaps an alien race or two. So naturally the possibilities of making an interesting record about space should be endless. And Hildebrand is very successful on Starscape and at times comes close to being an absolute embodiment of an extraterrestrial being that is capable of moving the planets and stars in such a way that the vibrations start to melt together into a big swirling mass of lush and pulsation sounds.

"The bigger the star the bigger the vibration..." Imagine that being the mindset Hildebrand was in while recording and you will get a good idea of what this journey is all about. Soft, sweet and peaceful during most of it, floating tranquil through outer space; at times the planets being pulled back and forth by Hildebrand's gravitational forces are so big that it makes galaxies rumble and shake and in turn makes us so very happy. (8/10)

"This is for the world to sing / so pleased to see you here / come right inside / to this celebration of the fact that we’re alive / not much that one can do to right all the wrongs / all we can offer is that humble song."

That’s how The Other Side opens, and there could be no wiser choice of words to suggest the catchy songs that follow.

With a bit of nu metal influence, a lot of distortion-loaded guitars that speak through heavy riffs and power chords, some samples and industrial influenced keyboard work, the Farmer Boys supply a good blend of immediate songs that nail you right from the start.

Sure, this mix isn’t quite original, but it still works, especially with the quite strong, lyrics-sensible vocal presentation that is found here. However, while the good blend of stirring songs such as "For the World To Sing" and "Like Jesus Wept," with the relatively very melodic "In My Darkest Hour" that brings The Tea Party to mind, and the "Depeche Mode goes metal" "Stay Like This Forever," the Farmer Boys manage to spice things up and maintain a solid level of entertainment. But there are still some shortcomings due to the usual metal display.

And so, with the thought of the many good, straight-forward metal albums that have seen light since the dawn of days, I have no other choice than to rate this album with 5.5/10. But for those of you that love to pick up new, fashionable releases straight out of the oven, I do think this is a very welcomed album. (5.5/10)

This is a collector’s item for the hardcore The Obsessed fans. It spans some of the bands recordings from 1983 through 1994. When I popped this one in I was psyched for an exhilarating journey down metal memory lane. Low and behold, the memories where really rough and dangerously unkempt. They were trying to nail it down but the hammer kept slipping.

Maybe I’m just not fan enough. Some of it is downright lazy, unfocused and rudely self-absorbed.

The Obsessed is a part of the metal legacy. "Wino"(guitar and songwriter), Greg Rogers (drums) and Guy Pinhas (bass) were all central to this important time in metal’s star studded development.

This band apparently shaped many a young man’s life. The guys who wrote the liner notes for this collection, for example, said they listened to The Obsessed bootleg recordings for five years. That’s some serious dedication for you – and a serious headache for someone else.

If you are a hard-core The Obsessed fan or a metal music historian you will delight in this release. If you are looking for a good, tight metal sound or a well-produced re-release – this just ain’t it. Check out Place of Skulls for Wino on his far finer days. (4/10)

Heidi Saperstein is an individualist. On the east cost it’s pronounced "ahhdist." God love them. There is a total relaxed confidence in this music. The songs are thrilling in their unique, thin, bare-boned approach. It’s musically quirky, sweetly dark, girl music. The boys should be listening.

The name Zara takes me back to a night in Morocco where a girl named Zara, who was interested in my male travel companion, suddenly decided she wanted me too – or was it INSTEAD? It was all quite confusing, sexy and ultimately one of the most compelling and memorable things about the trip. Ahh, Zara… So exotic and brooding – so difficult to know – not altogether unlike Heidi.

Heidi’s persona is exotic with a definite edge – like Patti Smith, or Liltih Fair. She is strong, unique, intense, and somehow floating above mass appeal or the need for it. She bravely takes on the diva role and adeptly utilizes partnerships and production techniques to complete this altogether appealing CD collection. I would suspect she had good classical music background and kind of likes being alone – with her dog, that is.

Production and packaging are phat. Nice, glossy, "ahhtistic." Well, this girl is a beauty and undiscovered to boot, but trust me, there is no way you are going to get between her and that German Shepard. That dog is more of a man than anyone will ever be. (7/10)

For those who read the previous, promo review of Chaosbreed and already looked at the score this one is getting (go on, take a look so you too can keep reading) I'll have to correct myself because the prediction I made for the promo review was wrong, oh, so wrong...

Let's take a look at what I said: "but my advice to you is skip this one and go straight for their full length." Now, I have the distinct advantage to see how very wrong I was, you as a reader however do not. But that's where I come into play even though this mistake is taking down my credibility; let's just forget it ever happened and start off fresh, shall we?

Members of such bands as Amorphis, Moonsorrow and The Black League all came together and created this album, with the help of probably a truckload of beers and other things that makes good judgement fly out the window. And so we have Brutal. An album title that makes me laugh because the music is not that brutal, it's more in the rock 'n roll vein of death and thrash metal.

They mention that they will "beat you mercilessly but leave you begging for more," the beating part is pretty spot on but the whole begging part is totally wrong. I wasn't begging for more Chaosbreed, I was begging for less... there's a big difference, people. The entire ordeal is sounding like a re-hashed version of every death and thrash band that used to be out there at one point, throwing horns at the crowd in their leather pants and denim jackets and totally missing the point that their music is neither interesting nor worthy of your money. Fun for the die hard fan but as a casual metal head, beware. Trust me. No, really, honestly. (3.5/10)

Could be that you’d have to write Impulse Manslaughter off under the "had to be there at the time to dig it." You know, in the same file with Venom, Exodus and Celtic Frost. Live at WFMU is an exhausting, marathon, 38-track CD compiling a "live" recording at a radio station, various EPs, and a couple tracks from a full-length album. So there’s quite a bit of songs repeated.

Then again, you get that impression anyway as Impulse Manslaughter’s stuff pretty much all sounds the same anyway: Grindcore/punk with maybe two or three changes per song. But they’ve got the power of intensity and conviction on their side, giving them a bit of the punch that old Napalm Death has. However, if you weren’t there in the early 90s, your nostalgia won’t be there to help impulse Manslaughter out; chances are there’s too much out there that is way better for you to buy. How about His Hero is Gone? (5/10)

Dream Evil: the very embodiment of the spirit of heavy metal, or insufferable producers of cheese? You could easily make arguments for both, and neither would be wrong.

For heavy metal is inextricably linked to the image the public had of the genre from the 80s. Big hair, alarm clock vocals, affected, "sensual" posing and glam. But is reviving all that under the tag of "true metal" what metal truly is? Sure and absolutely not. Ask fans of Bethlehem, Eyehategod and Dream Evil the same question and see what kind of answers you get.

And Dream Evil is as undoubtedly metal as it is very cheesy. And so be it, ‘cause The Book of Heavy Metal, the band’s third album, is pretty damn great, featuring a vocalist most bands would kill for, superb production, and a whole lot of fantastic vocal hooks. And they’ve come a LONG way since their debut.

The two first tracks in particular are triumphs: "The Book of Heavy Metal," with brilliant vocal melody changes and lyrics about being a fan to metal like, "All that I ever want is what my parents don’t"; and "Into the Moonlight," a tune rife with goosebump-causing vocal melodies that reminds here and there of While Heaven Wept’s For Empires Forlorn.

The rest of the album’s tracks, that switch off between metal, ballads and hard rock, are also good, but definitely a cut below the first two. But even songs that you could accuse of being filler, like "M.O.M." (that’s "Man or Mouse," in which the band repeatedly asks you which you are), have undeniable hooks that stick with you, hate ‘em or not.

And The Book of Heavy Metal is indeed a tribute to metal and its roots. Look nor farther than Niklas Isfeldt’s vocals, who pulls off Halford, Ozzy, and especially The Scorpions’ Klaus Meine with soaring aplomb.

So revile ‘em or love ‘em, Dream Evil do what they set out to do well. (7.6/10)

The Tracy Chapter, Detiny's second album, is surely a very enjoyable album. I just hope, for their own sake, that they don't take it too seriously.

Destiny probably pretend to play a sort of melodic metalcore. However, from the first seconds of the opening track, it is clear that certain elements of the genre were taken to their comical extreme: an remarkably large part of the album sounds like an angry interpretation of cheesy, mushy, three chord pop choruses. No, not simply pop, catchy phrases – as a sadly increasing number of extreme bands integrate within their commercializing music.

In Destiny's case, it sounds as if they have captured the spongiest, kitschiest, exaggeratedly emotional peak of a top chart pop feature, and experimented how will it turn out in they place it at the root of each of their compositions. In most albums, these peaks are usually carefully constructed, and limited only to a few seconds or so. Here, they pop up in the very beginning of the album, lasting for the whole of it. But hey, who needs construction anyway?

The thing is, that, as surprising as it may sound, Destiny is actually quite a creative and innovative outfit. Even if not artistically wise, than surely in terms of production and engineering. Maintaining its parody-like, post-modern lushness, the album is full of grasping hooks, tricks and twists of sound, effects harmonies and rhythmical patterns.

Nothing greatly sophisticated or unusual, not to even mention significant, but nevertheless sufficient in order to keep the listener attentive and entertainment while the album lasts. Do not get the wrong impression. The Tracy Chapter does contain some aggressive parts. Rasping vocals, thundering blast-beats, whirling, distorted riffs, all that. But put in the light of the recurring emotive parts, they all do nothing but amplify the amusing sense of the whole ordeal.

So, those who look for a laid back, humorous hour of witty sonic entertainment of the intense kind, should definitely get hold of this release. Those who don't – don't. (7/10)

And here it is: two of San Francisco's finest bedroom-metal warriors shoe-horned into this split release now out on San Francisco's arguably finest record label, tUMULt. Firstly, let's just say that here in the shadow of the city of San Francisco's post economic boom/bust, it's pretty goddamn revealing about the state of the underground music scene that relevant bands like Crebain and Leviathan are one-man, record-only projects that don't play live.

Not that there's going to be an argument against one-man bands here, but it should be noted that over the years as countless people have been pushed out of San Francisco due to skyrocketing rents and loss of jobs, and also as art spaces closed, rehearsal spaces closed, venues for bands to play at closed, there has been a conversation going on about what will happen to the music scene here. Projects like Crebain/Leviathan answer that question in part: more people are making music in their house, with amp simulators (headphones), drum machines and electronic drumkits by themselves...alone. Hail to the endless, forward surge of global capitalism! Its alienation is our own. On to the review...

Crebain's first release, Night of Stormcrow, was the most over-hyped underground metal record of last year. Seriously. Sixty or so CDR copies signed in blood, it quickly developed it's own corpse-painted, underground cache, and dammit, it really wasn't THAT great. Despite Ancalagon's obvious musicianship, the songwriting was underdeveloped, and Night of Stormcrow never really escaped sounding somewhat generic. One suspects that Ancalagon was an extremely good internet hob-nobber, which seems to be oh, so important to developing a U.S.B.M. kind of infamy. It's with all that baggage that we came to this second release.

Hey, the airline has now informed us that with the release of this Crebain/Leviathan split they have LOST our baggage. We're happy, we didn't need it. We can let it go, cause this new Crebain fucking rocks! And we really mean it ROCKS: pretty much every song on the album has an AC/DC style 1-2-3-4 hi-hat-kick-snare drumbeat breakdown with an ultra headbanging guitar riff over the top of it. If you’re as METAL as you think you are than this is probably your favorite music.

Crebain is raw, rock n' roll style, black fucking metal. So black fucking metal, infact, that when we put in our CD player the first time we thought we had accidentally put in Nargaroth. That's not a dis, either. Only the first riff of the first song, "Sorrow of the Ancients," sounds like Nargaroth (particularly song four on Black Metal ist Krieg, if you're wondering). It then commences rocking and sets off in to more of its own thing. The second song, "Legion," has a sort of Carcass-ish breakdown at its particular rock apex. The song "Crebain" has a highly tasty, four on the floor, headbanging riff that almost sounds like it's dying to have a cowbell added to it. The record continues on straight through like this: tight, direct, four- to five- minute songs, not atmospheric, not epic, not partucluarly "necro." Beer drinking music it seems, but a what great beer it is!

"Burden of Despair," the second to last song, is the only song that seems to get a little abstract with a slow driving feeling and some weird-ass time signature (13/4? anyone?). The final song, "Glorius Age of Satan," keeps the driving feeling and ends the Crebain half with a fine, swirling unto itself, circular riff. Crebain now catches up with its own hype. Surely Christianity itself will soon fall!

If there's a criticism to be made about the Crebain side, it's that it's got a stiffness and sort of forced linearity about it that may or may not be "the drum machine effect." Ultimately, it doesn't really keep one from enjoying the record.

The contrast is stark, however, once the Leviathan side picks up. The drums on Leviathan are played by hand on an electronic drum kit, and there's a definite looseness and chaotic feeling that's different than Crebain’s. Whereas Crebain is like beer drinking music, Leviathan turns up the nob marked "existential horror" and transports you right beyond your heroin habit to your "gonna someday work your way off methadone" phase. There's all kinds of gloom, depression, dark beauty and struggle with existence in this music. It's still short songs, but not so straight forward. Wrest/Leviathan takes all sorts of different structural turns in the songs, which are full of ideas, and the songwriting formula itself isn't so apparent.

There are psychedelic washes, ambient parts, not so standard blast-beating developments, odd time death/thrash breaks ("Black Years from Here"), sampled anti-humanity spoken rants, etc... Interestingly, the ambient and psych moments on this, (in songs like "Ruminating in Hatemagick," "Burning in Waves, Choked by Mouintains," "Now Relic") have more in common with early Brian Eno and Coil than with Varg sitting alone in prison with a keyboard, stealing from Aphex Twin. (8.5/10)

On cassette! Be forewarned, those of you without cassette players. This semi-precious little slab of depressive, ponderous black metal hailing from Sweden is so goddamn KVLT it is being released on cassette ONLY. A black, unlabelled cassette at that. One of these days an underground metal record label is going to out-KVLT us all and start releasing secretly numbered, (fuck off, eBay whores!) limited editions on shellac 78s. Hand cranked Victrolias will be so fucking METAAAALLL!

Despite or because of the novelty of this being on cassette; it actually turns out to be a nice, to-the-point package. Song titles written in Swedish, notes in English. Non-Swedish readers may assume the subject matter is "suicide" from the graphics of razorblades, hanged men and the picture of the lonely room on the front of the j-card.

The record starts desolate enough with "Fard II": a short, trance inducing, and seemingly requisite, Burzum-esqe/Windam Hill ambient keyboard piece.

Then to the meat of the record with "Da det sista droppnena blodd leveats pa min handled" and the next two songs, which are all guitar/drums and screechy black metal voice recorded almost as primitively as possible and lots of long, drawn out, three chord progressions with slow and barely keeping-in-time drums ala Burzum.

Pretty enjoyable, although honestly there's not really much here to make this stand out from the rest of the raw BM, Varg worshipping hordes, except for the commitment to its own garage aesthetic. Which, it needs to be noted, is commanding.

The last two songs are from supposedly from "rehearsal" tapes, and the recording style is damn near conceptual, to say the least. On both songs the tape hiss is louder than the actual recorded level of the band, so you gotta crank your stereo loud enough to hear, but at that point the room is rumbling from the tape hiss alone. Put that together with the fact that this is a one man band that couldn't possibly rehearse with itself, and that has probably just mic-ed up a boombox with its music playing. Absurd, but fuck'n cool! Recommended, with a grain of salt. (7/10)

While 1974 is considered to be the closure for classic English progressive rock, it was a promising, groundbreaking year for the Americans in the genre, with bands like Kansas and Rush releasing their debut albums. Pampered Menial, the forgotten debut album by St. Louis band Pavlov’s Dog, serves as a further testament to this.

Pavlov’s Dog can actually be the missing piece linking Kansas and Rush – mixing the accessibility of the first with the harder edge of the latter. While not as aggressive as early Rush efforts, Pampered Menial offers about 35 minutes packed with well-written, captivating songs that are dense with instrumental beauty and creativity – creating a sense of celebration from one side and a painful heartbreak affair on the other.

This concentrated, orchestrated work is clearly inspired by early European progressive rock albums (a sub-genre known as "proto-prog"), such as King Crimson’s In the Court of the Crimson King and Spring (another forgotten gem), with various keyboards, mellotron, flutes and strings being a substantial part of the work aside the varied guitar playing, giving it a symphonic touch. It all rocks with intensity, driven by highly dynamic, imaginative drumming, and filled with melody, much in the way Kansas did in their early days.

Lead vocalist David Surkamp’s high singing is very close to that of Rush’s Geddy Lee, both in tone and in delivery. In fact, Surkamp takes his muscular/feminine vibrating vocals to an even more extreme point, using them with more confidence than early Lee, in a way that can be seen as a cross between Lee and the goat-like trembling vocals that Family’s (a late 60’s-70’s outfit that offered orchestrated prog-pop material) Roger Chapman is remembered for.

In fact, Surkamp is not the only one who is performing with confidence. The entire band performs remarkably well and displays maturity and refinement that are sometimes absent from debut albums. Unlike the Led Zeppelin-ish early Rush, Pavlov’s Dog managed to bring on their debut a polished sound that is their own, thus making it a mandatory acquisition to anyone who is interested in American progressive rock.