Almost everything that is great about this video could be listed on a warning sticker. If you are too young for, or can't appreciate thrones made of naked women, knives plunging into scabrous breasts, girls in their underwear lapping blood from wounds in scabrous breasts, "Coffin Joe" fondling naked corpse butts, live maggots crawling through bleeding, exposed brains, zombies eating live maggots and brains, streetwalkers turning to torture and murder for a living, the better half of a once happy couple getting dismembered in a bathtub, or corpses used as stage props for gore metal concerts, THEN AVOID THIS DVD AT ALL COSTS!!

However, those that thrive in the intersection of horror cinema and metal have a healthy portion of both to feast upon with Nightmare Scenarios. Killjoy is a true visionary, and a pretty good vocalist, as well. The music could stand on its own, but as the soundtrack to a series of low-budget horror vignettes, it's the perfect accompaniment to total carnage. And the video production is at just the right level to give fans of T.V. Michels their kicks. Theremins, digitally added film scratches, red paint splattered mannequins on meat hooks, and whatever was available for sets make this homage to Lucio Fulci a near masterpiece on its own.

The details, the over the top intensity, and the total labor of love aspects miss perfection only in how the separate songs' videos aren't united into a long-format movie, and how two of them appear twice, albeit in slightly different film edit versions. Everyone with the guts should buy this DVD, so that Killjoy can give us all more of what he, and we, love. (9/10)

Has ex-drummer Chad's absence made much of an impact on Brodequin's sound? Not really. As hard to believe that might be, it's true. They have found a replacement in Jon Engman who handles hyper blasts with seemingly inhuman ease. (Reference taken from the video of "Slaves to the Pyre" that accompanies the CD; he doesn't seem to even break a sweat while blasting away merrily).

But the tragedy is that the production doesn't do justice to the drums at all. The double bass can be heard clearly, though it lacks punch, but the most affected is the snare. It can be heard properly only when Mike Bailey heavily palm mutes his riffs, and that is a shame since on careful listening it's evident that Engman has put in a lot of effort on this album.

The good news is that this time around Brodequin have cleaned up the guitar sound and individual riffs can actually be heard! Even the sharp twang of the bass is audible, which is a big improvement from the muddy, distorted sounds of their previous albums. Another major improvement is that they have become a hell of a lot tighter now, though I'm not too sure if it's not because of the clearer sound. Everything else about them remains the same: the guitars are still low tuned enough to cause a tsunami or two, James Bailey still hasn't learnt how to sound human, the lyrics still deal with the niceties and subtleties of medieval torture and you still are going to know within 10 seconds of hearing this album if it's your thing or not. It most definitely is mine. (9/10)

review by: Kristina White

Stoner rock becomes played out by drowning under its own sludge. Detuned guitars don't sound heavier when every other band plays as low. Wolfmother is an example of how old, heavy acid rock can be freshened up without adding dead weight. With just five songs, they deliver a concept album's worth of trip. "Dimension" and "Woman" have the riffs, while the other songs are complete tunes, like movies for the mind.

Others have compared Wolfmother to Sabbath and Zeppelin, but it's more like Blue Cheer put in ten times the effort and creativity. If you liked Vincebus Eruptum's overall sound, check how the Wolfmother breathe musicality into it, vivifying the monolith better than Dr. Frankenstein could.

For all the spirit of '76 they invoke, however, there's so much originality here. When they sing, "Purple Haze is in the sky," it's like an admission that they're on ground already covered, but they do their own thing while visiting. No me-toos after hearing Paranoid for the first time at age twenty three, or anything like that. (9/10)

Released in 2001 but just arriving to our review desk in 2005, the Nightwish live DVD either battled international copyright laws or was lost somewhere in the North Sea. We’re going with the latter, as the blame for the general permeation of half-assedness that is present throughout this video will be given to the damaging effects of salt and water. This seems like as good a reason as any to explain why the video quality here is rather grainy, especially in the angles with bright lights.

Since this DVD was originally released for the Finnish market, some updates had to be done to make it appealing to the rest of the world, such as putting in subtitles in the Finnish interviews and during the brainless, alcohol-related hijinks. Unfortunately, the subtitles are sporadic, and never present whenever the drummer opens his mouth. The interview with operatic singer Tanja Turunen is not so telling, while the one with keyboardist Tuomas Holopainen might have been better if the editor actually included the questions to all of Holopainen's answers. As for the deleted scenes? Well, they don’t live up to their billing by being on the DVD.

The only thing saving this DVD at all is the sound, which is up to par with music DVDs put out by high-profile metal labels. The same goes for the performance, which is spot on. Of course, what Nightwish does instrumentally isn’t particularly difficult. Tell-tale ways to spot stuff like this: when the bass player has time to adjust his hair during the song, when the drummer plays with big, flashy movemements, including the lame-o "hold the stick high in the air before you hit the snare" move, and how the keyboard player jumps out from behind the keyboard to air guitar and bounce about the stage – all elements to make up for not being all that busy. But simplicity can work just as well, and Nightwish is mostly about Turunen, whose performance will be just what fans of the band want.

Unfortunately, Turunen’s persona is more tailored for the studio than the stage. We’re guessing that this point is strongly linked with the frontwoman’s apparent lack of English speaking ability, and the subsequent dearth of connection she would seem to make with an audience. Turunen almost never says anything between songs, and when she does, it’s very cold and functional. The most spirited introduction comes when a fat, horrible man bursts onto the stage to sing a duet. And by sing, we mean do a gothy death growl while exuding enough macho bravado to embarrass everyone in the hall and at home. The ill-advised duet reappears later, when the singer for Sonata Arctica shows up for "Beauty and the Beast," which is performed in excruciating, cringe-inducing, pseudo-theatrical fashion.

Maybe it’s Turunen’s stark, rugged bone structure, or her donning of something out of "Bram Stoker’s Dracula," or the near-eeriness of the video, or her stage persona, but the frontwoman has a strongly bizarre, alien feel to her. It’s kind of like she’s that blue alien snake-woman singer in "The Fifth Element"... You keep waiting for Turunen to rip out a big stone from her gut between unearthly wailings, stare at the crowd with unsettling eyes, and gurgle.

So we think you should pass, even if you like Nightwish. Look, the same set is available in CD format. If you must, get that. You’ll have all the best aspects of the performance, and none of the drags. (4/10)

Glorious, organic bliss and furious rumbles distorted; two moods of sound predominantly appearing on this creation by duo Kevin Doria and Joe Denardo, and while listening to it, it's hard to believe their main use of instrumentation is guitar and bass. Like inventing sonic synonyms that flow out from their instruments, giving a whole new meaning to the art of fingering strings, these two master manipulators play out across immense fields of nothing but sound. Thick and lush sound.

The title actually comes from an 1893 essay by Bainbridge Bishop, who was somewhat of an expert on sound, color and the relationship they shared. While reading through a pamphlet he wrote called "A Souvenir of the Color Organ," where he describes his ingenious idea of building an organ that plays sound and corresponding light, it's clear that this new Growing is only for those that are intrigued by such things. If the mere mention of a color organ puts you off in search for more menial tasks at hand, don't bother finishing the review, this record is not for you.

Now, getting back to Mr. Bishop and his organ, inside the pamphlet he wrote a wonderful story about how while walking one day he saw "a brilliant display of rainbows; around and between these bows the sky was a warm reddish-gray. The whole appearance filled me with an overpowering sense of the harmonic series or chord, as played upon an organ." He then goes on telling how the rainbow showed the exact same colors his organ did, and more astoundingly, in the exact same order.

So now we know he was on to something, but what might be the relation between Bishop’s essay and this record? Could it be to go in search of our own color organ so we could display the almost hours worth of music in color? Or maybe it’s to put the man and his machine in the spotlight? Or to spark up a discussion among friends whom you can impress with your new found knowledge?

Aristotle once wrote, "Colors may mutually relate like musical concords, for their pleasantest arrangements, like those concords, mutually proportionate." And while you may pass that off as pompous rambling of a soul long gone, if you just give in to it a little bit you will find an entire world of visuals waiting to be played and this album is the perfect vessel for it.

And while you still have no clue as to what this album sounds like, the next time you happen to catch a rainbow I urge you to look at it for a long period of time and then you will know exactly what to expect from The Soul of the Rainbow and the Harmony of Light. (9/10)

Finnish Let Me Dream’s Soulshine features some fine elements, such as involved melodic interplay and layering, but its almost constant barrage of poor vocals push the overall package down into mediocrity.

Soulshine is a mix of melodic death and gothic music. Rather frequently, the music reminds us of fellow Finns Lost in Twilight, whose first couple demos are dear to our heart. Let Me Dream’s instrumentation can get a little weedy at times, but the performances and delivery are certainly decent enough.

But the vocals. Often delivered in a faux opera, goth delivery, the clean vocals sound like someone who can’t really sing trying hard to sound like he really can. The result lacks dimension and know how. The rough vox are only marginally better, not rising at all from the average fare that comes out of Finland (that, vocally, is generally average or below). Some rather nice female melodic vocals show up later in the record, but the unfortunate pairing with the silly male ones basically negate them. And singing lyrics that (sound like, at least) "...like a fucking fffffishhh..." can never be a good idea.

Soulshine does get marginally better with familiarity and as the ear becomes more accustomed to the album’s campy, low-budget values, as there is some quality to be found in every song, but the vocals are a bear. (4.5/10)

Good on the remaining members of Windir to carry on after the tragic (yet romantic) death of Valfar, the band’s core. However, while riding the coattails of "Windir minus Valfar" is a logical choice, it ultimately sets the bar too high for Vreid’s output.

If you’re expecting a new Windir album, you won’t be happy. Unfortunately, what Kraft is probably won’t stir you up much in its own right, either. Sure, it’s sort of in the same vein as Windir: blurry fast beat parts that carry the familiar Windir tone, but that’s largely it for most of the record. The delivery is rather punk-like in its simplicity, without the layering, epic arrangements and harmonies, and overall sense of sweeping Viking pride that made Windir special. It isn’t until track five, "Eldan, Utan A Gro," where more traces of Vreid’s immediate heritage are apparent. The arrangements are more developed, and the Viking pride theme shines through.

Track six, "Evig Pine," brings some interesting diversity to Kraft, with a remarkable undistorted part that makes up the song’s bulk. Elsewhere, there are some other dabblings into diversity that aren’t so bad as not fitting so well, like on "Helvete," which sounds like a cartoon graveyard theme shuffle. The clean vocals that come up late in the CD are fairly good, and do help in spicing up the album beyond the relative one-dimensionality found on much of the CD's first half.

Overall, Kraft comes across as a work made from valiance and goodwill, but that doesn’t have a very strong, cohesive personality. Not bad, but stick to your Windir records. If you haven’t checked out that band yet, start with Likferd, and go backwards to the album that marked the band’s biggest change, 1184. If you still want more, keep going back in time. (5.4/10)

What does being influential really mean, anyway? As far as Colombian metal band Athanator, being influential seems to be the whole enchilada. That’s certainly the angle that Dirrty Records is playing up about their new signees. Problem is, the extent of the scope of Athanator’s influence isn’t exactly gone into in detail, and without citing any sources whatsoever.

"South America’s most influential band"? Hmmm... Wouldn’t that be Sepultura? And then maybe a dozen other bands that any of us longtime metal fans at Maelstrom have ever heard of? Just a thought.

Saying Athanator is an influential band may be right. Then again, the band I’m in is pretty influential, too, as long as you’re considering influence as going as far as 10 feet from my drum kit, in every direction.

But enough doubting. Athanator may very well have been highly pivotal in the development of many bands in Colombia, that hotbed of international metal renown.

Ok, seriously, now, enough doubting. We mean it this time. And the honest truth is that Earth of Blood is at best a dead average album. It’s heavily thrashy and has a hopelessly dated feel. It sounds like it was recorded by a brash South American band in 1985 with a budget and equipment from the same era, and might have been remarkable for then, but not now. Sure, the Athanator guys play their material as well as anyone could, but chances are by now you have more than enough albums featuring far superior and original versions of the songs found on Earth of Blood.

We’ve been a little rough on the poor Colombian guys. But, really, now, you make a boast like Dirrty Records’, another outfit that we’ve never heard of before, and you gotta wonder... So definitely some points off for Athanator for at least being the unwitting accomplices in a ploy to trick metal journalists and comsumers everywhere. Bottom line: stick to your copy of Sepultura’s Schizophrenia. (4.9/10)

A bunch of us in and around Maelstrom HQ and abroad had written off Labyrinth as an also-ran, cookie cutter European power metal that had managed to gain some notoriety in spite of itself. Truth be told, this reviewer had never bothered to check in to see if all of Labyrinth’s albums substantiated that notion.

Freeman makes us want to re-assess our view, and maybe even go back an album or two to see when the change for the better on this new album took place. Labyrinth 2005 is no longer a by-the-numbers power metal band. They’ve gone more uniquely progressive and have forged a very strong style here.

The disclaimer is that Freeman isn’t very heavy, but we’ll be the first to say that, even in metal, it doesn’t have to be heavy to be good. Hell, look at the success of so many black metal bands. This lightness is certainly by design: for the genre, the bass drums, while busy, are very understated, the guitars, while technical, don’t have the flashy, obnoxious and the vocals have an almost pop or emo feel to them.

This, unfortunately, is where the album’s weakness is. While Roberto Taranti is a fine talent who does a very good job overall here, his penchant for cheesy, Michael Bolton-esque melodic moaning is not making any fans around here, at least. Look, just because Dream Theater did it on Images and Words doesn’t make it cool.

The fairly isolated instances of moaning get really bad on track 7, "Malcolm Grey," which is just a horrible, horrible piece of work. The moaning degenerates even further into melodic "talking," which is dire no matter what genre. I had to bite my right hand to prevent me from skipping this track while listening in the car.

The cruel irony for all the music journalists out there is that "Malcolm Grey," a smarmy, would-be dramatic song that goes nowhere, is an entirely un-edited track on the promotional copy, of which 40 percent of the songs are edited (that is to say, cut off). Of course the rationale is that the album is being promoted three months before release date, and to deter internet piracy, they snip the songs in their buds. If there were any justice, the promo version of Freeman would be complete EXCEPT for "Malcolm Grey," which would make nearly everyone happy. A more serious idea would be to just give us a full copy closer to or after release date, so we could honestly tell you how good or bad the album is.

But we’ve dwelled too much on the negative. The positive is that Labyrinth delivers well played and interesting originality here. The best song on the CD is "Deserter," featuring a very strong chorus, smart dynamics, and tasty musicality. Other songs, like "Light Years Away from Here," have their share of progressiveness, too. The more standard Euro power metal approach is apparent as well, like on "Dive in Open Waters." The song "Freeman" was starting to get a pretty good head of steam before it was cut off...

Not having a 100 percent clear perception of how Freeman stands as an album, we’re still giving it a definite recommendation. Labyrinth’s style has many an aspect that will be fresh to connoisseurs of the genre, with the pre-requisite musicianship to back it up. We’ll just wait for the actual, complete record to show up before giving our definitive opinion. Maybe we’ll download it from a hub somewhere. Kidding!... (at least a 7/10)

Dreamaker has come a long way since its debut album, Human Device. Once a confused, stumbling, cast-off shadow of the glory of Spanish power metal band Dark Moor, the ex-singer, guitarist and drummer of that once great outfit has put together a record that shows far stronger originality, performances and arrangements than before.

Dreamaker’s debut had hints of good songs and compositions in its tracks, but it sounded too much like a bunch of Dark Moor b-sides (prompting questions of why the band split in two to begin with) sewn together haphazardly. Now, the band has shed any remaining aspects left over from its Dark Moor days and found a voice of its own.

You could say Enclosed is kind of the power metal version of a Dimmu Borgir record. Aggressive beats, electronic dance club keyboards, some well-executed harsh vocals, and misty atmosphere mix with the signature sound of Elisa Martin’s singing and Jorge Saez’s remarkable drumming... indeed, it is as much the absence of his work on the kit as it is Albert Maroto’s playing or Martin’s voice that has weakened Dark Moor to where it is now (see review in this issue).

If anything, Martin might be mixed a little low, but the overall flavors, catchy melodies and powerful punch that Dreamaker delivers makes Enclosed a recommended album that seems to be getting better with each listen. Unfortunately, since the promo copy we got had about half the songs cut short by edits, we might have been able to more confidently recommend this CD, but as it is, we think it’s a pretty good bet. It’s good to not have to say that Dreamaker + Dark Moor = Dark Moor with its original line up anymore. (around a 7.5/10)

So what do you get when J.P. Soars from Malevolent Creation/Divine Empire and Jason Morgan from Monstrosity get together and start writing songs? You get the band Wynjara, formerly of the death metal hotspot of Florida, now cooling their heels in Australia. Human Plague is their second album together, and it’s...decent.

This release is a bow in the general direction of Suffocation, I won't say rip-off but it’s extremely influenced by Suffocation and other old-school death bands. There are several great songs here, "Feast of Fools," "Rebirth," and "Hypocrite"; but there's also several songs that are obviously filler, just thrown in so the album would be full length.

The vocals are standard, growly, grr grr vocals, passable rhythm section, and nice, clean production. The real high point of this album is the guitar work of J.P. soars, with some thrash riffing, melodic instrumental breaks, and even a little bit of doom sounding guitar on the track "I Am." There's talent here, they just need better songs to sink their collective teeth into; many of the songs here are lackluster and boring. I'd love to hear them do a Suffocation cover someday, just for kicks. (5.8/10)

For Darkthrone, redundancy is a moot point. With its creative apex long behind them, one of the vanguards of black metal’s existence continues to put out records that maintain the shape of the band, without pushing forward or moving backward, like a retired athlete that keeps working out just enough to keep from getting fat.

Not that you could move much farther backward in terms of what Darkthrone does. But that’s beside the point. For by establishing themselves as a no frills band that went about their business in a way that was groundbreaking, Darkthrone can continue to run in circles and still be respectable.

Within Darkthrone’s body of work, Sardonic Wrath is a return to a more raw sound. Hate Them, the previous record, was dirty but more polished, as was Plaguewielder, the one before that. Ravishing Grimness was just too boring to try to remember.

Darkthrone and boredom are another foregone conclusion. Seminal releases like Panzerfaust and Transilvanian Hunger set the standard. Sardonic Wrath, like the handful of albums that precede it, are nowhere near as frigidly death-like and danceless in their energy as those two most relevant Darkthrone works. A shift happened somewhere around Total Death. The incessant turbo lawn-sprinkler fast beat songs were dumped for what was variety in comparison. Since then, Darkthrone songs have been largely more rough and plodding. Sardonic Wrath’s vocals are also more raw and powerful than they have been in a while, but just as on autopilot as the rest of the band’s aspects.

Except one. Where the tried and true is the standard with the music, the lyrics are once again the most artistically interesting facet of this work. Fenriz has resigned himself to a career of basic drumming, and so he lets his creativity run in words. Songs like "Straightening Sharks in Heaven" continue his tradition of being nonsense yet somehow compelling. It’s eerie and sparks the imagination.

If any other band put out Sardonic Wrath, it would be pointless. But it’s a special case precisely because it’s Darkthrone. With all this in mind, we’re recommending Sardonic Wrath for the sake of tradition as much as merit. Or maybe even more for the former. (7/10 because it’s Darkthrone)

Chris Hakius and Al Cisneros, formerly of Sleep, doing their own thing here. The name, the title, the whole thing is probably not to be taken tooooooo seriously, unless it's all you've got to come down off of that six day trip. In that case, leave it on repeat. It's got that whole Skip Spence/ Syd Barrett/ Roky Erickson thing down... a little more self-conscious than such predecessors in the brain damage game, naturally.

After all these years, and now that "stoner" is a true bandwagon, Sleep was known more for blowing recording advances on weed than anything else. The coolest thing I've ever heard from Sleep was "Sonic Titan," noteworthy in how it broke the stoner doom mold by sounding happy, with bright, not too distorted guitars. Note that OM has no guitars, just fuzz bass, drums, and stream-of-thesaurus chanted lyrics. Words with a conceptual heritage from Jerusalem, but delivered in a pentothal

drone. It's dope-devout incantation, rather than Jerusalem/Dopesmoker's demonic regurgitation. As for the music, it sets the meditative mood, without any super pyrotechnical distractions.

If you've wondered what's become of Sleep (besides High on Fire), miss the wordsmithery of acts like Love 666, or can appreciate bass and drum basement jams backing such poetry, this one can be highly recommended. But someone seeking total psychedelization should pass, as this disc isn't so sonically enriched; it's more for rumination after returning to this world from the one within.

That's really the heaviest thing about these three songs – what the hell is going on here? Are they really serious about transcending our everyday consciousness? Is this some message they've channeled from beyond? How far gone are they, to make this CD? How far can anyone go down that path and still return? Maybe they left parts of themselves in space, bringing back something else in their place. (6/10)

This album is a pleasant surprise; just when you start to think exciting metalcore is on the wane, a new band pops up and shatters all expectations. Extremely well-produced and intricately crafted, Misanthropos will appeal to fans of extreme metalcore – the album changes constantly and rarely lets its intensity falter, whether Paria is busting out a sludgy, stoner-style groove or a fast and technical one.

Brian’s screams blend perfectly with the otherwise thick atmosphere that roils around him, guitars occasionally shrieking along with his agonized vocals. The lyrics aren’t much to look at... but who cares? An excellent sense of rhythm, generally good songwriting and impressive technicality on the parts of all the instrumentalists carry Misanthropos unwaveringly.

Dan Brennan’s production is also more than one could hope for, bringing clarity and punctuation to what could have been a muddled mess of an album considering the speed at which the riffs, fingerings and changes move along. I wonder if Nebraska is hiding away any other bands like this? (8/10)

These Austrians have always shocked audiences with their morbid fascinations, often taking themes a little further than their contemporaries. Well, Ampeauty is an album about "two frightening and factual fetishes: the beauty of the amputated and the love to amputate," according to the press materials that came with the album. Now, I don’t believe anyone has been amputated as a result of this release YET, but we can all remain hopeful.

The slow-moving Pungent Stench mixes death, grindcore and some hard-rock elements to produce a sludgy, groove-based formula that seems a perfect backdrop for songs about wheelchair sex, "Lynndie (She-Wolf of Abu Ghraib)," or perverse anthems about your mother.

Ampeauty trudges along throughout its length, allowing you to soak in every syllable and chord change. And although it may not be the most technical or musically impressive work out there, Pungent Stench gives you plenty else to think about. (7/10)

Agnostic Front is practically ancient by metal standards – one of the bands most responsible for how hardcore sounds today – and old-school purity and simplicity are still apparent in the group’s sound.

A punkish, rebellious spirit drives Another Voice, an album that brims over with defiant energy. Fast, simple guitars riffs and drums rarely deviate from their forward momentum or pause for atmospheric effect. This has two main consequences: a jump-up liveliness sure to get any pit moving, and a sometimes nagging monotony when you’re listening to it at home.

Roger Miret pukes out his words, punctuating each syllable like they’re repulsive objects he’s trying to eject from his throat and into the melee; you can almost see the spittle flying from his lips as you listen. His style is easy to understand without the liner notes, and it does a lot for the generally unruly attitude of Agnostic Front.

The album is rarely technically impressive, and the band isn’t exactly delving into new territory with their latest angry anthems, but fans of the group shouldn’t be disappointed with this release. (6/10)

Truth be told, Subarachnoid space are not a good live band. In fact, one of Maelstrom’s favorite bands, who are more of a live band than just about any, have had it up to their collective heads with playing with Subarachnoid space. But give ‘em a break. I mean, they don’t have a singer, and their members just kinda sit there and play their brand of psychedelic instrumental post-rock while a projected, tie-dyed sun shimmers in the background.

However, just because you’re boring on stage doesn’t necessarily mean your CDs suck, and The Red Veil is a fine example. Instrumental bands have a huge hurdle to overcome by not having a voice to better anchor and pace their material with the listener; a few, like Godspeed You Black Emperor!, Amber Asylum and Rachel’s, manage it, and Subarachnoid space manages it too.

Subarachnoid Space’s music is very wave-like. It mixes the droning, plodding currents of heaviness of bands like Isis with brilliantly shimmering, undulating waves found in bands like Leviathan and House of Low Culture (and even maybe Morbid Angel), and some double bass drumming to give the lot some extra drive. The tracks stand out quite well and are generally engaging. The Red Veil is quite certainly the kind of CD that becomes more and more appealing if you listen to it almost exclusively for a while. How many CDs do you have and what are your priorities in musical listening? Up to you to decide, but The Red Veil is a worthy listen for sure. (7.3/10)

The first time I heard this CD was after an intense half an hour of headbanging to Kabbal. A few minutes after popping this disc in. I was wishing that someone would invent a process of manufacturing smart CDs that could find their way to the toilet and flush themselves out of my house to save me a whole lot of trouble.

But I was also aware that Kots play on an entirely different playground as compared to Kabbal and in order to give this album a fair chance I proceeded to play it on different days and at different times. only to find that my desire for toilet trained CDs was getting stronger and stronger.

But before we get to the ending of the story, here's a quick recap of what Kots is all about: Think of those pre-programmed drum beats that you used to experiment with when your dad bought you one of those small Casio synths. Then think of the simplest guitar riffs ever, and convert them into annoying midi files. And after all this, gurgle into a mic to record "cool" vocals and put in samples that you thought were funny as hell when you were stoned. Even after you do all that you'd probably end up with a better product than this Kots album. I'm no big fan of cybergrind in any case, but for all of you who are, there are much better options around, like Libido Airbag for example.

Oh, and as for this CD, given the limited technological advances of our age, there was only one feasible solution – I had to get up and flush this down the toilet myself. (0/10)

The only memorable thing Saxon ever did was Denim and Leather, which was as much a bad example of the new wave of British heavy metal as Def Leppard. On Lionheart, they don't do anything that stands out from under the giant (Eddie sized) shadow cast by the real leaders of NWOBHM, Maiden. (Venom and Motorhead have to be considered separate from the rest, I'll spare everyone the epic rant, ok?)

At least what Saxon does on this disc gets them past that embarrassing old song about clothes. Most of the songs obsess on Olde English legends. Anglophiliac fans of melodic European metal might rate this a lot higher than a 5. They are the only ones who will get much about it at all. Saxon knows the limits of their core audience; the CD liner notes list their "World" Tour 2004 / 2005 dates: all European.

It's not like this isn't textbook perfect, old-style, hard-rockin', mid-tempo, traditional, honest metal. But fanciful themes such as witch hunts, swords, kings, and sailors require being met more than half way. If you want some true metal that's a total escape from reality, this is the ticket. But without Maiden's bass ambush, it's not going to suspend anyone's disbelief in Saxon, even if they are rocking better than ever. (5/10)

Getting this album's only flaw out of the way is easy: non-bass sounding, clicky kick drumming! That's always been the speed/death epidemic right there, so everyone else will probably let it slide. The overwhelming strength that gets shoved down the listener's ears seizes respect, so that little nit is probably unnoticed by most, as they recover from whiplash, convulsions, and loss of bowel and bladder control.

Yyrkoon are good in the same way that Metallica and Slayer are: provocative concepts reinforced by musicianship, undeniable even to infidels. Everything that follows is a copy. Yyrkoon are fresh, and that's highest praise for a group whose style traverses the narrow, death-centered spectrum.

There's black metal on one side of Yyrkoon's musical abyss, blast beats and blasphemous extreme themes; On the other side, the heavy artillery, militant death thrash. Where others would show rough seams between the different pieces, this hybrid is its own thing. It never is something other than itself, either – every tune builds on the one before.

By 2005, it's all been said and done before. This French band will destroy that notion for all who get to hear them. Not a track of filler, no eye in this hurricane. There isn't much out there that's necessary, but Yyrkoon are. There's enough energy on the disc to make me feel like I was at a concert. (9/10)

This is a video compilation of a live hardcore festival in Syracuse, New York. It's like the hardcore Woodstock in that way, and so many others.

In interviews, fans say it's "the only place they fit in." Some people came from thousands of miles away to be there. All of that's cool, but after 2004's Hellfest IV, there might not be another one. The riots and deaths mighthave been too much. It might be a lot like Woodstock if it takes twenty to thirty years for it to come back. (Except that Hellfest 2004 was in NJ, not Upstate – maybe there will be one in 2005?)

Unlike Woodstock, though, which came back in a more obnoxious form, hardcore and its shows have gotten better for the most part, when changed at all. There's a lot of old school here, played by kids who weren't born when hardcore first came around – No Warning is a fun example. Compare them to one of the few really old, not as in school, acts – Biohazard. There will always be acts that play this simple, intense, and cathartic style.

There are also a ton of bands playing the newer style of hardcore, the kind that openly infuse their tunes with as much metal as possible. And there's kids out there who can still split hairs about what style is what. That makes the ever-increasing acknowledgement and emergence of

metal in hardcore and punk so cool – someday, the style police won't leave their rooms.

That's why this two disc set is worth checking out if you're only into death, thrash, hardcore, whatever – there's enough different stuff here to introduce newer acts to audiences of older styles that don't get promoted as much anymore.

What's not so great is what makes any live comp weak. The sound isn't perfect, the crowd shots and interviews don't add anything, and taking variety too far, Further seems Forever is a speed bump in the middle; probably gets skipped by almost every viewer. But every song is chapterized, like a CD, so anything bad is instantly replaced by something different, with one push of a button.

I could skip through every song on both discs to get to the best, and almost last: Murder by Death. The electric cello is too low in the mix at first, even though the cellist gets all the attention. It builds, however, into a progressive and fascinating jam, with every player putting

in more music than any three of the other acts on the bill. Worth seeing for that, even if you're not into hardcore, screamo, pop-punk, or Lamb of God. (6/10)

It’s hard to let go. But it seems as if that’s what fans of once unbeatable power metal band Dark Moor will have to resign themselves to do. The band’s splitting in half after their third and finest work, The Gates of Oblivion, started a slide for this Spanish group. Frayed ends started to show up on their self-titled, fourth album, and now on Beyond the Sea, things are clearly starting to unravel. Only one lone member from the Dark Moor glory days remains (Enrik Garcia on guitar... the only guy on guitar)... the only other guy left on the last album, the bassist, is tragically gone, too.

Once a Baroque-inspired delight, Dark Moor are now much less so. The riffs are rougher and more hard rockin’. Certainly, some of the signatures are still there, like the instrumental flair and arrangements. Likewise, the fairyland drums that were triggered to the last (with crashes that sounded like they were on the outside of the studio looking in) are now more rooted in reality. It’s probably for the best to leave those days behind with the departure of the inimitable Jorge Saez. Don’t get us wrong, Andy C. is just fine, but not as good.

But Dark Moor can still write good material. Certainly there are some fine songs on Beyond the Sea: "Before the Duel" and "Miracles" maintain the tradition of strong vocal syntax that this band has always done well (but is also sliding). "Green Eyes" and "Going On" are also enjoyable... that is until whoever the genius at Arise is who decided to cut out the tracks on the promo before their proper end. Dude, it’s not helping this already flawed album seem more cohesive and strong at all.

Perhaps nowhere is this retarded decision more hurtful than on the secret track, a gorgeous piano piece... that gets cut off after leaving in the two minute silence. The irony here is that the rich, resonant work is far superior to the campy, Za Frumi-esque "Iulius Caesar" interlude that is given a proper track number. Don’t get us wrong, Za Frumi is rad when it’s done by Za Frumi.

And so, since the split, each successive Dark Moor album is worse than the one before it. Perhaps this paints a picture that is unfairly negative of this album, for it is certainly a good one. However, despite the stylistic change, the overall feeling of this album, that seems to run out of breath a few times, belies a dearth of ideas (and the lame ass edits aren’t helping any). Possibly those who would enjoy it most would be those who have never heard of Dark Moor’s greatest works, or those who can somehow leave the past be. The album is this close to being recommended. Some of the songs are very worthy, but the overall loss of momentum this band is showing is making the outlook irrepressibly glum. (6.9/10)

YOB’s new release might seem monotonous at first, but so is everything in our lives on a grand, macroscopic scale of time. (Talk about setting a heavy tone... – editor)

It is all a blur of terrifying riffs, desperate drum beats and continuously resonating feedback. The restrained vocals, striving to be heard, shriek from their buried status, sounding a bit like a slowed down, devilish version of Megadeth’s Dave Mustaine.

"All around is the sutra
All phenomena empty
With no beginning and no end
Nothing lost and nothing gained
The mind grasps at fleeting phantoms
Nothing is seen as it is
The world seen through tainted eyes
The illusion of motion"

The Illusion of Motion is a chaotic doom journey back to the womb of time and simultaneously into its endless expansion, swirling between past and future considerations in a hopeless attempt to matter, with the realization that most of what we do is subdued behind our life’s scope; hence ending with the appropriate moral.

Take the time to sit through this release and explore its conceptually linked finesses. I know I’m already waiting to listen to this band having its take on further concepts. (8/10)

Redemption is the fifth release (and second on American Kung Fu Records) by the Israeli punk combo, who is gaining international respect, and these guys’ experience certainly shows.

Masterfully produced by ex-Black Flag member Bill Stevenson and the band itself for Kung Fu records, this is tight, light punk, that smells a bit like Green Day: awesome melodies and pointy songwriting that catch on instantly, impressive playing that is heavy on adrenaline and even some surprising passages thrown in to spice things up (the mid-section on "Suffer for the Fame" is especially noteworthy).

I can't remember the last time I heard such a great and fun collection of songs that sound professional without losing their edge. The energy found here is guaranteed to move you from start to finish, and you'll quickly find yourself pressing "play" for another fix. This is a real blast! (9/10)

Khan’s two leading figures, Steve Hillage and Dave Stewart, had already made an impression on the UK psychedelic/progressive scene with their earlier outfits Uriel and Egg (you might want to check our reviews of Egg’s debut and sophomore releases in the previous and current issues). 1972's Space Shanty marked Hillage’s return to the music scene after a period he devoted to his studies, and what a return that was!

This mesmerizing piece of music is packed with beautiful compositions, with the title suggesting its content: outstretching, melodic travels through pastoral settings, spacey atmospheres and sublime, spiritual conversations.

Khan established itself on the softer side of progressive rock, without being whimsical. You may claim this for not being as provocative, cathartic, or bordering on extremes as Yes, Genesis, King Crimson or even Gong, which soon after this release welcomed Hillage abroad to create their acclaimed "Radio Gnome Invisible" trilogy; but you got to love it for its undeniable virtues.

On Space Shanty, everything is in place, not out of obsessive planning, but out of a fully-realized musicianship. Hillage plays the guitar fluently, like a magician pulling an endless stream of colorful silk handkerchiefs out of his hat, firing vivid notes into an unstoppable fabric that fascinates on every passing second. This is a unique, trippy, yet organic playing style that inspired bands such as Ozric Tentacles and early Porcupine Tree.

His sidemen prove themselves capable and supportive, adjusting to the dynamic flow of Hillage whether it is stormy or serene. Stewart’s interaction, in particular, is telepathic, and results in some of the most endearing organ/guitar dialogues ever recorded!

But wait! Not only is the instrumentation found here one of the most catchy offerings progressive rock can provide; Hillage’s singing is also his most compelling ever, as on his future releases he has become weirder and more eccentric. The lyrics, suggesting of body transcending and nature relating, also remain ageless (with "The water looks so placid to deny that it’s a threat" probably being more relevant than ever).

In fact, this release is the ultimate introduction to Hillage’s work on all fronts. His future obsession with Electronica and spacey ambience is in the air, so is his blend of world music motives. It is true he advanced significantly on these (check out Open (1979) for further exploration), eventually serving as a mentor and a most respected musician, producer and collaborator on both the Electronica (System 7) and the world music (mainly eastern music, and his work with Rachid Taha is worth mentioning) scenes; on this release, however, it all shines with an accessibility that is classic and less of an acquired taste.

With all that being said, it's hard to believe this gem has been a rarity for quite some time. This Eclectic Discs reissue corrects this, and as if it wasn't enough rescuing the original album from oblivion, it also reveals a fine unreleased song and an early demo, as well as an impressive accompanying booklet. The word "essential" is self implied. (9.5/10)

In their fourth release, Stinking Lizaveta bring fourth a mesmerizing array of instrumental metal rhymes. Even if not re-inventing a musical style or defying any musical genre, they do manage to constantly maintain a sense of significant essence that glimmers within most of their compositions.

Perhaps having to do with the Greek ethnicity of some of their members, the music of the US trio is almost mythical in nature. While playing riffs that may be naturally categorized as stoner-oriented doom metal, or, perhaps, a not as technical, buckethead-less version of Praxis. Stinking Lizaveta’s standardly performed compositions obviously convey a deeper, subtle, yet accessible intrinsic core.

As in perceiving a folk legend, the listener, while hearing a narration of a familiar structure and content, unmediatedly goes through an artistic experience of a higher order, a rooty deliverance of fundamental, authentic feelings of disintegrative anarchy and paternal order, aggressive thrust and gentle longing. Almost immediately, one realizes that the familiar riffs, clean passages, cacophonic disruptions or sluggish drumming only stand as an immediate symbol for a lush, absorbing emotional meaning.

So, those who seek verbose, mathematical innovations or technical fireworks may move on to releases of more crafty, pretentious or defiant nature. However, those seeking an authentic listening event of permeating, evading and expressive character, may have an exemplary one at hand. (9/10)

The Dutch trio’s album Slaughtered for Snuff is concise.

Indeed, as the title of the album leads one to conclude, many further attributes may be related to it as well. The nouns are obvious.

Brutal. Sick. Gory. Vile. Malevolent.

Some descriptive verbs may come next.

Ear-splitting. Mind blowing. Blast-beating. Membrane scorching.

Finally, oh demanding reader, some instrumental metaphors.

Rampaging drums. Furiously riffing guitars. Belching vocals.

But, again, concise. Mostly concise.

Twenty-one minutes of refined, unpretentious (therefore not innovative) brutal death/grind metal. Eight tracks, each composed of a few riffs.

Not randomly attached, yet not interestingly constructed. Not outstandingly performed, yet not amateurish.

Massmurder know a genre and a frame. A language. They are able to reasonably articulate several expressions within its realms. Which they do.

To the point.

Succinct.

Concise. (5.5/10)

There is nothing like a demonstration of devoted, cherished solidarity. Regardelss of its relative fineness within the realms of its expected and unoriginal genre, the work of Cornerstone deserves praising even if only for their loyal and sociable community work.

Being fronted by ex-Rainbow Dougie White , the Briton/Dane seems to remain enthusiastically faithful to the spirit not only of the specific line-up that brought Dougie to the collective memory of the oddly nostalgic and reflective movement of fans following the remainder of this thoroughly squeezed, squashed and drained genre, but also to any other group that famed guitartist Ritchie Blackmore, or any of his associates, had left in their wake.

As superfluous and boring as it may be, in this case one simply cannot avoid the comparisons. Whenever the listener’s gaze is turned while listening to "Once Upon our Yesterdays," images from old Ritchie and Friends' yearbooks inevitably pop-up: Rainbow? That is obvious. 80's-era Deep Purple? Yep. Dio? Too easy. Dio-era Black Sabbath? Elementary! Whitesnake? Indeed. Impelliteri? Yes, as far as that.

Musically speaking, Cornerstone implement the conventions of the genre in a rather satisfying way. For those who stand it, that is. Efficient compositions, technical and complex guitar solos, an occasional touch of sophistication somehow deviating from the restrictive norms of the style, Doogie on vocals – nothing can really go wrong, can it? If you have read this far – probably recommended. (7/10)

Metal Church is back with a vengeance, and quite a bit of a new essence.

The major news is the recruit of new vocalist, Ronny Munroe, who also took a major part in writing the lyrics, which remain loyal to the social and psychological past concerns. Perhaps that is why he takes them so seriously, and performs them honestly; though that is only half of his impact.

Munroe’s style lies somewhere between two Iron Maiden vocalists, Bruce Dickinson and Blaze Bayley, and he consequently leads the entire band into an Iron Maiden-ish musical territory, which is strictly a matter of taste.

Sure, the Metallica influence, which was once major, is still evident on songs such as the opening "Leave Them Behind" or "Hero’s Soul," which feature some thrashy elements. Yet, these as well as the others feature choruses, melodies and compositional progressions taken straight from the Iron Maiden songbook (the title track demonstrates this well), making everything sound so familiar.

Not all the songs here maintain the same level of enthusiasm or interest, and at least the latter drops towards the end with "Bomb to Drop" and "Blood Money" (no relation to the killer Breaker song of the same name). Also, an excessive amount of generic chords and popular metal maneuvers is used throughout the album and is quite disturbing at times, although these are glued together quite nicely, often served with some creative playing and the trademark precise, dry drum beats that cover for it.

Therefore, the major issue to consider while approaching this release is, with no doubt, your willingness to accept Metal Church as an Iron Maiden clone; since as strong as you’ll try to enjoy the material as of itself, and some of it is extremely rewarding, the comparison will constantly lurk in the back of your mind. 1989’s Blessing in Disguise was a much more original statement. (6.5/10)

If you have followed my previous recommendation and picked up East of Eden’s debut release, Mercator Projected, you’ll probably need no more than the mere knowledge of the existence of snafu in order to pick it up as well. Your curiosity just won’t let you go. If you haven’t done so, I highly recommend you do. Still, I hope the following will further intrigue you.

1970’s snafu, East of Eden’s second release, is more fragmented than their debut album, but it was definitely intended that way. The leitmotif here comes off as a magic carpet ride of floating saxophones and violins, visiting ancient and Arabian sites with a majestic grandeur, and fueled by its roaring engine rhythm. The second and third tracks demonstrate it well, with each instrument screaming for attention and winds occasionally blowing from different directions, creating fabulous polyphonies, as well as maintaining a terrific current between melodies (including a smooth transition into a Charles Mingus composition).

Every now and then the ride is interrupted in order to visit some weird attractions. The reversed track, "Uno Transito Clapori," for example, sounds like a racquetball match, played with an electronic fly as the ball. "Habibi Baby," another track on which a use of backward sequence was made, is also of an unbelievably eerie beauty.

Another composition, "Nymphenburger," is a symphony on drugs that serves as further evidence for the exceptional band interaction, with its pace changing from an adrenaline race to a draggy aftereffect, and an army of scorched violins sawing the air.

It is therefore safe to say that despite being less accessible than East of Eden’s debut album, snafu is another pioneering piece of work by an uncompromising band that was pushing the boundaries of jazz, hard rock and avant-garde into fresh extremes, while never becoming tiring or misdirected by its own ambitions.

Eclectic Discs have rescued the album from its vinyl damnation, as it was only previously released on CD via pirate or half legit pressings in certain places of the world (expensive imports, occasionally with unsatisfying sound quality); and while more retrospective insight on the liner notes would have been nice (and the Eclectic staff proved they’re capable of doing so), this reissue pushes the limit of the CD capacity featuring a welcomed load of bonus tracks!

Starting with an obvious inclusion of "Jig-a-Jig" – the single-only track and their only UK Top 10, which bridges the experimental jazz-flavored approach of snafu with the country-soaked blues rock of the following, self titled, album (check our "From the Vault" archives for its review!) – it then continues with insightful alternate takes, and three sensual (even sexual), previously unreleased songs, making this release essential even to those that already own another pressing. Go get it! (9.75/10)

While Egg’s debut album actually benefitted from its blend of styles (check out our previous issue for the review), the band cleverly chose to be more coherent on its followup, trading some of its classical influences for a more focused jazz / rock treatment. Still, the performance is edgy throughout, delivering a shiver that adequately suits the swirling compositions.

Like its predecessor, The Polite Force (1971) opens with two songs that make the more accessible portion of the album. The change the band went through is clearly evident, as these songs are lengthier and more constructed compared to the debut album’s songs, and are jazzier in their orientation. As such, you have a quirky, poignant organ playing, inspired by Mike Ratledge of Soft Machine (and much less by Keith Emerson, as was on the debut), and at certain times sounds like an electric guitar. Enhanced by the overdubs and the various effects attached to it, it’s the kind of playing that makes your hair stand.

"A Visit to Newport Hospital" starts off with a somewhat menacing theme but soon turns into a more comfortable piece, offering autobiographic details (a motive that can be easily associated with bands of the Canterbury scene) coming to terms with the band’s past incarnation.

"Contrasong" is a remarkable jazz / rock composition, with its shifting time-signatures, a punchy guest brass section, and a smooth band interaction. Furthermore, its lyrics and confident vocal delivery demonstrate what was already proven on the debut release: Aside its instrumental adventurousness, Egg is extremely capable of delivering captivating songs, with an unusual songwriting and a wisp of humor.

The two following pieces serve as the experimental portion of the plot, with the creepy hints found on the first scene blossoming into a full attack: "Boilk" is an avant-garde piece featuring a Bach theme that is stretched beyond recognition, and is definitely a work that death / doom metalheads, who can dig frantic atmospheres, might appreciate.

"Long Piece No. 3," the album’s lengthiest piece, is more coherent than its counterpart on the debut album, but is still divided into four distinct parts, each offering its own rhythmical / harmonic attraction. The heavy organ, the alarming tone generator and the uncompromising, intimidating rhythm form a dark, fierce opus, which laid the foundations for future chamber-progressive bands like Univers Zero, and quite possibly even inspire post-rockers such as Cheer-Accident.

This re-release by Eclectic Discs is the first UK CD release of this album, probably the most sinister work to come out of the Canterbury scene; finally making it available for a reasonable price. Eclectic Discs certainly deserve praises for the recent rescue missions it has undergone. (9.25/10)

This classic death band took its first tour of Brazil, and this album is the result. One of the best-sounding live albums out there, production-wise, the tracks on Conquering South America span most of Malevolent Creation’s lengthy career, from The Ten Commandments to The Will to Kill. The notes read like a greatest hits album, as is often the case with live albums, and most of the songs have never sounded better.

Well-executed and with a near-studio sound, the normal down sides to live albums are not present here, and some of the excitement of the live atmosphere is present between songs in the band’s semi-random commentary and yelling from the crowd audible in the background. Songs like "Manic Demise" and "Infernal Desire" fly as if rocket-propelled; actually, there are no real down-tempo moments except for the breaks between songs.

Death-heads and long-time fans of Malevolent Creation will almost certainly like Conquering South America, though, as with any live / retrospective release, you may not get as much out of it if you aren’t already familiar with the group. (7.5/10)

God Dethroned, though from the Netherlands, plays a Swedish-style thrash reminiscent of bands like Soilwork or Israel’s Nail Within. Crisp production adds an energetic edge to the groove-based, heavily palm-muted style; Arien Van Weesenbeek’s drums are as accurate as humanly possible, though he does not often take the spotlight with intricate fills or solos; the lyrics are more epic and grandiose than gruesome, though violence and aggression take the forefront in lyrics about "salt in your wounds," rusty nails and ripped, mangled bodies. But these things are not dwelled upon long in favor of a more general, warlike hostility in which Henri Sattler takes the mind set of bloodthirsty commanders and ruthless torturers. And his rich, layered growls are pretty convincing.

Isaac Delahave’s guitars are the highlight of the CD. Blazing solos and impressive riffs drive the album, though most of the grooves that make the meat of the album are missing something: complexity and more frequent (and drastic) change. Delahave shows he has the talent to do more, but his parts in The Lair of the White Worm are too often lackluster when you’re hoping he’ll break out something new and mind-blowing. This album is a good effort, but God Dethroned would do better to break away from the conventional sound the band has embraced here and really show off what it can do. (6.5/10)

review by: Roberto Martinelli

I wish God Dethroned would go back to the style they did so well on Ravenous, and even what they were doing on Bloody Blasphemy. The Lair of the White Worm is better than Into the Lungs of Hell, having more of the harmonies and shades of the melody of old, but it still feels like half the album Ravenous is. They might need to get Jens, Beef AND Tony Laureano back in the band. (5.9/10)

Drawing Conclusions is one of the more impressive and innovative metalcore releases in recent memory. Last Perfection has a harsh, biting attitude while still pulling off a satisfying degree of technicality. Each song is near-constant change: Drum rhythms, guitar themes and vocal styles all transform in an instant, but they are strung together in a natural-sounding and coherent way.

From screams and lightning-fast riffs, to a brief acoustic interlude, to low growls and thrashy grooves – not many bands can manage such diverse styles, but Last Perfection executes its sound beautifully. Everything is precise, each note exact, each change smooth – and the production is as crisp as can be – but an excellent roughness still exists throughout, as if the rocks beneath the stream won’t allow the surface to become too smoothly polished.

And this is what gives Last Perfection its essential, biting energy: the underlying sandpaper makes everything volatile and unpredictable, despite the band’s impressive planning and intricacy. Each song is its own experience, and they string together to make quite a memorable album.

The technicality is there, but Last Perfection lacks any truly insane licks or impossible-to-figure-out sections or solos – satisfying and highly recommended, but not far enough over-the-top to compete with the very best out there. (8/10)

The last few years there has been such an explosion in the Czech brutal death and grind scene, that I'm beginning to wonder if it's something in the water there. Yet another amazing band with another fantastic release. Godless Truth has been around since 1994, with some interesting lineup changes. In 1997 / 98 the entire band, with the exception of the guitarist, were given their walking papers, and the band manager was pegged to do vocals, and he does an excellent job.

This album has all the aggression of "typical" brutal death with a dash of technical death thrown in for flavor. Sprinkled throughout the songs are amazing instrumental breaks, then with a slam to the face it gets insane again. Great guitar work here, melodic in places, crunchy slam riffs in others, fast drumming, and the delicious, growly goodness of Zdenek's vocals are a true force to be reckoned with. There's not a bad track on this album, and to list the standout ones would be hard, as they're all awesome. Recommended for fans of brutal death, technical death, fans of the Czech scene... ah, hell, recommended for EVERYONE. Essential. (9.5/10)

Hmm, everything I've read says that Drunkard are a Greek band formed in 1999, but this album screams late 80s / early 90s German thrash. When I first read the band name I was fully prepared for a Tankard cover band, and was pleasantly surprised to step into a time portal and land myself back to the headbanging days of thrash lore.

Drunkard’s first album, Hellish Metal Dominate, brings to mind images of fans in denim jackets with the sleeves ripped off, complete with band backpatches on them, pumping their fists in unison and drinking beer out of plastic cups. Ahh, the good old days.

I don't see how one band could pack so many thrashy riffs and galloping solos into an album, but Drunkard has gone above and beyond the call of duty here. Their guitarist is very good at this style, as is the rest of the band; the vocals are perfectly suited to the genre.

Some people might call this album redundant – it’s been done time and time again. Agreed. But it's done well, even better than some of the bands that did it the first time around and certainly better than most of the bands trying to revive this sound today. If you're an "old timer" and want to evoke memories of your younger years, or if you're new to thrash and want to hear it the way it used to be done, highly recommended.

Interesting side note: The artwork on the cover is done by Ritual, known for album artwork done for Impaled Nazarene. (8/10)

We're all familiar with bands from Sweden, the USA, Germany, Norway, etc., but did you ever wonder about bands from countries a little lesser known for their music scenes? On the examining table today we have Anal Vomit, hailing from the metal powerhouse of... Peru? Though Demoniac Flagellations is their first full-length offering, Anal Vomit has been around many years, having formed in 1992 and doing demos and an EP and a couple splits. Having come from a country with what I would imagine to be a pretty small metal scene, they do have a following outside their own borders.

Now, to examine the music. Research shows this is supposedly categorized as "blackened death metal." I say this is "total Slayer / Sepultura in the old days worship." The Kerry King style solos and speed of early Slayer, mixed with the bad production and gruff vocals of very early Sepultura.

The mix here is WAY too trebly for this style of music. The guitars are buried beneath the drums and vocals until it’s time for a solo, and then everything but the guitar is buried. The vocals here are passable, but only that. The intro, with a sound clip from "Evil Dead," is awesome. The last two songs, "Tales of Sorcery" and "Antichrist" (a cover of early Sepultura, go figure) are both fantastic; everything in between is mediocre, UNLESS you're a rabid fan of early Slayer / Sepultura. For that sect, I'd recommend this highly.

Note: Upon 3rd listen, I still get a giggle at the end of the track "Total Sacrilegious." The vocalist throws in a high-pitched note on the last syllable of the song, reminiscent of some of the old thrash bands in the 80s. I'm not sure if his intention was humor or paying homage to old thrash, but either way...tee hee! (5/10)

review by: Roberto Martinelli

It might have been a case of extremely low (read: negative) expectations endearing this album to me, but I thought Demoniac Flagellations was actually pretty good. Well, that is, the few tracks I heard of it.

As far as I’m concerned, extreme metal South American bands are too goofy for their own good. Their extremity is more wacky and juvenile than it is morbid and driven, so a band with a name like Anal Vomit, who are just now putting out their first full-length after being around for 12 years, seemed to uphold this notion. (Kristina forgot to mention that there IS something that Anal Vomit has done that no one has done before... pose with bullet belts, a leather jacket, but no leather pants! Or any pants, for that manner! But dudes, if you’re going to have one of your guys show off his cock, then it should probably be the guy in the band with the biggest one. If the guy in the pic is the burro, then you might need to find another angle.)

But I thought the playing was very tight, and the production came across with much conviction. I didn’t notice the treble issues. Rather, I felt that the guitars and drums had massive punch. Ok, nothing innovative, and no way to tell if the album gets old after five minutes of this, but a good time while it lasted. And this from only a few, cursory tracks. I’d say at least a good album. (at least a 6/10)

What a treat to review Abscess! This band has only been around since 1994, but in those years they've been quite prolific, with four demos, two EPs, two splits, and five full lengths. This is their latest and greatest, Damned and Mummified.

Abscess is both fun and dark at the same time, with horror style artwork and morbid, morose lyrics. I don't care who you are, if you're a doom or death fan, you'll like this. The best way I can think of to describe their music is garage doom with splatter death vocals. Laden throughout with stoner groove guitars, drumming that fits perfectly with the style, and flowing solos, there's nothing not to like here and everything TO like.

The sometimes screechy, sometimes growly vocals may seem a bit strange at first listen for someone that's not familiar with Abscess and their style, but after a few more spins you come to realize no other vocal style could possibly fit this – it's just as it needs to be. This whole album is as heavy and slow as your fat Aunt Ethel after Thanksgiving dinner, making up what it lacks in brutality with its groovy doominess. Absolutely recommended. (8.8/10)

Pity, really, because over the years they’ve released a series of quality, if workman-like albums that have encompassed most every aspect of symphonic black to melodic death and most points in between. Redimus is no exception and while it will do little, if anything, to propel them into the rarified strata lorded over by the Cradles of Dimmus of the underworld, it’s a worthy addition to their catalogue. Matter of fact, given the sheer heaviness doled out, coupled with a production that veers precariously close to lo-fi now and again, they may just find themselves carving an inroad with a crowd that prefers their brutality straight up minus the pomp and eyeliner. Eastern Europe beckons.

Whereas on previous efforts Hecate Enthroned seemed content to favor one style over the other – a keyboard laden ode as one track, furious straight forward riffery for another – Redimus blends a myriad of dynamics as a rule, most songs veering to and fro in a spiky, blackened death cocktail.

Examples? Near grind level rhythms smash into elastic organ flourishes on album closer "Overriding Imagination" and combine to form a twisted abomination of fractured melody and disfigured propulsion. The album’s title track steals it’s essence from the first two Opeth albums, slow brewing atmosphere punctuated by incursions of double-bass led charges and shouted refrains.

But it’s "As Fire" where Hecate Enthroned may have stumbled upon they keys to infamy. A full third of the song’s length throws livid death metal straight into the arms of grandiose keyboard swells. So, a crazy thought: take that trope and adhere to it for the whole of your next album. Voila, the world’s foremost symphonic death metal band. (6/10)

Bethlehem’s getting a lot nicer. And cleaner. And more polite. Certainly more sociable. But one thing remains the same: they’re just as weird as ever. And that, dear readers, is the crux of what will make Bethlehem essential for as long as they can keep it up.

At this juncture, it is important to point out that I’m a big sucker for albums with German talking or singing on them. It probably helps that I only have a working German vocabulary of about 20 words. This allows the enjoyment of the pure sound of the language through the medium to be enjoyed. But it’s more than that. There’s something that Germanic artists in so-called extreme music styles do that makes it dazzling: an educated, cultured, elitist, avant-garde energy that’s kind of faggy, arty and bizarre. See Dornenreich and Caspar Brotzmann Massaker for references.

And German is in its full glory here. "Knochenkorn" has rapid-fire German snarlings before embarking on its heavy journey. Elsewhere throughout the album, the tone is rich and guttural. But it’s far more than a death growl, for Bethlehem’s strongest aspect here is the singing, something that seemed impossible but a few years ago. The tone of the melodic vocals, which are kind of a goth / Rammstein-cum-opera style, is fantastic, reaching a multitude of emotional facets in their mid-rangedness.

This may seem like a bad joke, but one of the biggest treats on the album is the bonus track, where Bethlehem covers the Sinatra classic "My Way." (My way.. Mein weg... get it? Yes, the song is in English, marking Bethlehem’s first Anglo utterings) Maelstrom staffer on occasion Alec Head says it’s the Bethlehem singer singing on top of the original instrumental track, but who cares whether it is or not? The instrumentation IS wonderful, and the vocal track is so cool, well, our not at all metal, Korean cutie girlfriend is so into it she had us burn the entire record and she loves it.

But it’s not all blasphemy to those who cannot let go of Dictius Te Necare. "Dr. Miezo" is a more trditional Bethlehem track, sounding like it could have come off SuiZiD. Album opener "Aalmutter" is a good example of the ruggedness that Bethlehem maintains, which comes through so richly in Mein Weg’s excellent performances and organic production.

The wacky, uneasy strangeness continues in the "Twin Peaks"-y "Maschinensatan," which rounds out the record before the tone changes to "My Way." See? Covering a song like this in all honesty (and it would have been cooler if it weren’t a hidden track) doesn’t make Bethlehem lame, it makes then even *more* nuts. You just have to look harder now, past the mod suits and ties and (frightening) plastered-on makeup. Have no fear, Mein Weg is primarily a dark, seething album that’s too fierce and rough to be goth, but too goth to be "dark metal." Good, catchy and energetic songs throughout.

Now, as much as I like this band and this record, I can’t deny that there is a slight lack of continuity throughout the disk; kind of like Mein Weg is more of a collage than a unit. However, It’s stood up through about 10 listens with me still wanting to tell everyone to buy it. If you liked what you heard on Schatten Aus Der Alexander Welt, Mein Weg is a shoo-in. (8.9/10)

Ever heard of the La Brea Tar Pits? An insidious little trap nestled in the heart of Los Angeles that’s served as the final repository for thousands of birds, mammals and the occasional human in its 40,000 year history and, in turn, spitting back an impressive array of fossils in the process.

Imagine you’re a bird and you come in for a landing on what appears as a spread of gleaming onyx, only to stick to this massive bubbling piece of real estate. Your body mass isn’t enough to pull you beneath the surface, leaving you glued to the viscous surface, easy pickens for the more savvy winged predators.

Envision this: as a Saber Toothed-Tiger or Mammoth your mind momentarily wanders during your daily constitutional and suddenly find yourself mired in the thick liquid asphalt. Each slow motion lunge for purchase brings total exhaustion one notch closer as the slide towards immersion inches upward.

Both scenarios share this arc of struggle, futility, impending darkness and release. Listening to The Slow Decay is about as close as one can get to that dismal progression short of executing a tar swan dive first hand.

Sludge, sludge and more sludge. Mathematical sludge at that. Like Eyehategod set on maximum kill or Electric Wizard minus the stoner haze. Huge, unwieldy riffs with sharp edges abound, clean and angular despite the ubiquitous fuzz, breaking free from time to time in fits of proto-grunge ala Skin Yard or Green River. The Slow Decay’s six tracks churn with repetitive rhythms, off kilter time signatures, oddly placed 70’s toned groove and acid throated gurglings that bring to mind Paw’s Mark Hennessy having a really bad day.

Enveloping, suffocating and inescapable. In a good way. (6/10)

This disc starts out with its softest intro, which makes one wonder what they're getting into, what with the skull on the cover, and a sticker mentioning the singer's past stint in Shadows Fall.

That ends soon, though. The thrash kicks in, without abandoning listenability for the sake of its technical solos. This stuff gets termed metalcore nowadays, because there aren't high, screamed vocals.

However, the metalcore tag doesn't let anyone know that the strongest aspect of this CD is the instrumental breakdowns. Sure, the vocals are mostly growly, and sometimes sung, but even the growls are more accessible and digestible than death-style. So let's just call this "metallicore," to give a better idea of where it's at. While All that Remains might lack some of the elements that made Justice-era Metallica so great, like the totally tweaked, boneshaking energy levels, who could really reproduce that?

The instrumentals, even at their mellowest, maintain an intensity of feel throughout. This made it possible to leave on repeat. This is skillfully played music, but not challenging or new to most listeners. It's great to hear while doing other things, and can impress under full attention as well. Fun for everyone, with excellent production. (7/10)

Not to say that the new Anaal Nathrakh isn’t good, but the duo that had grabbed the extreme music scene by the balls with its debut, The Codex Necro, as been getting less interesting with each chronological release.

And it’s not because main man Mick Kenney (Irrumator) isn’t trying. Domine Non Es Dignus dabbles in clean vocals "Do Not Speak," Judas Priest-like highs "Procreation of the Wretched," metalcore vocals "The Final Destruction of Dignity (Die Letzen Tage Der Menchheit)," more depth in the fleshing out of the riffs with parts that add some manner of atmosphere or harmony, and a more convincing drum machine than ever, with an energy that is still pretty gangbusters, but yet gets pretty redundant and even tired by the end. And a bunch of new elements can either signify growth or desperation for new ideas.

Our best guess is a lack of hunger. The music just doesn’t sound as edgy and vital as it did when The Codex Necro had everyone abuzz. Sure, it’s still "insane," but we’re accusing Anaal Nathrakh of running a bit through the motions. Take how the last track just basically ends the record as if it were three minutes into the lunch hour when it was recorded and the spaghetti and meatballs were getting cold.

But have no fear, for Domine Non Es Dignus is by no means bad. If you loved this band up till now, you’ll still get some manner of enjoyment out of this CD. It’s more polished than rabid, but it is still rabid, and the guitar and music is still blazing and impressive, but it’s definitely fatter and more content, and that doesn’t sit so well. (6.5/10)

The term "Hessian," bastardized by popular culture into "hesher," is thought to reference the mercenaries from Hessen, who were hired by the British to fight the American patriots in the American Revolutionary War. Upon arriving by ship, the Germans asked for directions from local Americans, were misled, and never joined their British employers. The Hessian mercenaries, lost and spun, never got to join the fight.

However, Nocturnal are the true inspirations for the term. These four dudes are from around that part of Germany. They are all at least in their mid-thirties, but dress exactly like the thrash metal devotees did, back when Nocturnal were teenagers, around '87 or so.

Their music is the exact, old-school thrash as well. It's got better production, but doesn't do anything to escape the pigeonhole. Who's to say what Venom or Possessed would have done with all the technology at Nocturnal's disposal? Nocturnal, that's who!

The songs' themes are Reagan era Satanism and nuclear war, even. They evoke nostalgia for a simpler time, before addiction, alcoholism, jail, and menial labor took its toll on the 80s shop class crowd. Take it from someone who was there – the music is fine, but it's not worth all the nostalgia – stuff has gotten better since then.

As the CD goes along, the solos get better, but not quite virtuous. The only thing that detracts from the music itself is that the "vokills" are so very much of their period, as well. Fifteen or more years ago, they could have gotten an eight or nine with this stuff, but it's the cover art that has the most appeal now. Unless this is the next big retro-fad, in which case Nocturnal is ahead of the curve, and fully aware of the irony. However, considering that they have a lengthy discography going back to 2000, it's more likely that Nocturnal have dug themselves a rut. (5/10)

Hand to Hand reside mainly in the overpopulated melodic hardcore genre, and I don't have any good points of reference to compare them to. But their style isn't too far removed from thrash or power metal, if you can believe it. The guitars are well worked out, and the tempos don't stray too fast or slow. In fact, lots of the riffs would fit into any number of different styles.

The main difference between this stuff and more metallic music lies in the vocals. There's some screaming, and some sung chorus parts. There's no middle ground. That's what would turn off most metalheads. "In a Name" has a lot of okay singing in it. It's mellow, almost a pop-punk ballad in how it builds up. That tune really could have done without what little of the scream it possessed.

The disc ends with a track whose first half is mellow acoustic guitar and keys, followed by silence, and then some Xmas karaoke mutilation. That one is the most interesting, should be their encore number.

Anyone into this style will probably like Hand to Hand. But anyone into thrash metal, if they're ever looking for a change of pace, would find this accessible. If they released an instrumental version of this album, it wouldn't exactly be impossible to classify, but my point is that the playing and arrangements are what's best about it. (7/10)

By Night's first full CD offering is an impressive selection of metalcore that doesn't relent in its aggressive vocals. When so many other bands have to throw in some singing that they aren't up to, it takes away from the whole song, even the whole genre. Nobody needs the worn-out "dark melodies and crunchy riffs" – the reviewer's cliche for all the non-rap style nu-metal. By Night delivers only the good stuff. There's speedy drumming, guitars that balance melody and riff, and simple song structures that maintain the mood.

The vocals have a super scream quality to them that are a standard for hardcore nowadays, but they can be a little monotonous. Not bad, not as good as Cattlepress, but better than scream / sing / scream mixed up. Adrian Westin is called a "shouter" on the promo sleeve. No lie, his voice is a pretty specific instrument that gets put to good use here.

There's not much more that needs to be said about a disc that's as consistent as this one. Nothing too progressive, nothing so simple as to get called filler. It's all intense, all the time. The second-to-last track is a little mellower, but that's why it's at that spot in the track order. With the last song, it's back to the scream/blast that works so well. (8/10)

Cable set themselves apart from the rest of the burgeoning metalcore caste with their previous album, 2001’s Northern Failures. Not because it was heavier, more / less emo inflected, or had breakdowns the size of elephant balls. Nope, they went ahead and did the most logical, yet elusive thing of all: they were different. Northern Failures found a band that had the temerity to propagate a bruising metalcore stance filtered through the trappings of good ole deep fried southern rock. It was if The Outlaws, Blackfoot or Molly Hatchet traded in their Wranglers for Dickies and discovered the joys of downtuned, stop-start mayhem. And it worked. Very well.

Cue to 2004 and Cable is back. No one would fault them if they replicated the successful formula of Northern Failures but, as they have been wont to do with each release, Pigs Never Fly takes a decidedly left field turn from its predecessor. The southern underpinning is still prevalent but it now serves as the backbone for a different animal. Metalcore, although rearing its head more in spirit, has been supplanted by a sprawling landscape layering doom, noise, a dab of punk and some unexpected prog into the folds of no bullshit, foot stompin’ rock. Guess what? It works really well.

Equal parts rousing and reflective when not monster under the bed scary, the killer weapon imbued in the fabric of Pigs Never Fly is melody. You can find it buried under the crushing mass of the 17-minute doom and feedback laden "I Love It When You Crawl," or the deliberate pacing of the unwavering and ultimately nightmarish title track. Even the Motorhead influenced "Shovel’s Progress" dissolves partway into melodic straits, deceptively alluring as a stranger with candy.

However, when melody is employed as the driving force or focal point the results are no less than stellar. Instrumental "The Reason I’m Poor" delves through so many melodic shifts you’ll feel alternately melancholy, pit of the stomach warm and happy, despairing for a life better than you could possibly ever own or jacked up with enough innate confidence to take on the world.

A different approach is taken on "It’s My Right to Be an Asshole." Harmonic guitar lines see-saw back and forth with a single bright melody anchored beneath the gruff rhythm and hoarse bellows driving the track forward. But halfway through an emerging peal of distortion dissipates into an achingly gorgeous mix of acoustic guitar, piano and ethereal female vocals. More than any other track, it highlights Cable’s affinity for leading the ugly and the exquisite into a shotgun wedding that endures beyond any reasonable expectation. (7.5/10)

Laptop god Cex is showcased here on a reissue of his sophomore outing, creating sounds that continue to sound fresh, despite the legions of fellow laptoppers that have risen since. Clocking in at just under three-quarters of an hour, this short excursion into the world of Cex proves satisfying. If tempered at times with the uneven, there are moments of sublimity, as when the glitch-driven lines of "Tattoo of a Barcode" give way to looped acoustic guitar "Get in Yr Squads" – the kind of piece that clearly belongs in a movie about travel, the lonely paradise of immersion in a foreign tongue. All in all, a worthy addition to one’s collection, along with all that Four Tet and Manitoba. (8/10)

Darkwell sure has come a very long way since that Suspiria album we heard about five years ago. Where that album was very amateurish, and with terrible vocals, this one brims with professional production and performance.

Metatron immediately grabs you with its killer, polished drum sound. "Fate Prisoner" starts of with an excellent drum roll before kicking into an edgy, goth / metal album. In fact, you’ll get the feeling that drummer Moritz Neuner shacked up with singer Stephanie Luzie at some point, snuck into the recording studio, and re-mixed the album to make themselves the biggest stars. Indeed, the drums and vocals are the biggest players here sound-wise, and why not? Luzie’s pretty, operatic, sometimes The Gathering-inspired vocals are as good to put up front as any. The keyboard is the instrument that provides the most melody, with the guitar taking a back seat, maybe even to the bass guitar.

However, further inspection of Metatron past its sonic flash reveals an album that is more flash in the pan. "Fate Prisoner" and the catchy "The Machine" are good tracks, and the more headbanging "Far Cry" is a nice change of pace to get the blood boiling. Aside from the technical drumming and angelic vocals, the material sounds a little thin.

But take it with a grain of salt. This genre isn’t necessarily the highest draw around here at Maelstrom HQ. Certainly Metatron is pleasing to the ear. And if you like goth metal, it should be a good one to pick up. (6.5/10)

In any genre, or sub-genre for that matter, it certainly doesn’t hurt to be unique or just flat our better than the competition. Might not get you acclaim or riches on a major level but you will stand out and be recognized, if only by hermitic reviewers with no real life to speak of... your humble scribe excluded, naturally.

It’s certainly no crime to be looked upon as "good" at what you do; sometimes sheer perseverance will win out. The problem with being merely good is that one can generally find the great or amazing elsewhere.

Meet Pale Divine. The trio falls squarely in the stoner genre, alternating between doomy, fuzzed out, mid-tempo plodders and fuzzed out, mid-tempo rockers. It’s a solid affair with a heart on the sleeve affection for Black Sabbath, Trouble, some Deep Purple and just about every band Wino has ever had a hand in. The playing is tight, the tunes solid but…

Journeying through Eternity Revealed, you’re repeatedly reminded of the greatness from which Pale Divine mine their sound. You alternately appreciate what they’re churning out as much as you want to swap the disc for your beat to shit copy of Master of Reality or the recently re-issued majesty of The Obsessed’s Incarnate.

Good is ok. Lord knows we all have enough CDs in our collections that don’t ascend to the plateau of essential. In lesser hands, Eternity Revealed would have been a tedious waste of time. As it stands, it’s a decent homage to those who set the standard. (5/10)

review by: Joshua

Of all the hundreds or thousands or hundreds of thousands of black metal CDs we’ve heard, there’s this little album by Norwegian band Taake called Nattestid that seems to always remain as one of the best ever. It might be even better *because* the salivating, "all-knowing" black metal hordes seem to generally overlook its essential energy that defines the genre: raw and primitive, but blurry and beautiful, with epic melodies that will make anyone proud to be a Viking, even if he or she comes from Oklahoma. To put the definitive recommendation on this album, suffice to say it was recorded by the quintessential Pytten, and this may be one of his most perfectly and uniquely flawed job ever.

There’s a digipak CD floating around out there by what appears to be a split between our beloved Taake and Thule. Cool enough that there’s new (and by new, we mean old, as this material is pre-Nattestid) material, but even cooler as it turns out Thule was what Taake called themselves before they went with their current name! And to ruin the surprise, it’s the Thule stuff that makes the album truly worthwhile. And since it’s nigh impossible to make out what the names of the songs on the Nattestid album are (because of all the runes and all), and to help you all out, were gonna tell you what’s on hand here.

The tracks are split into two equal halves between the "bands." "Blant svelb & gull I moerket" is a different recording of a track off of Nattestid (track six, to be exact), it’s bigger sounding, a little less clear in the bass department (which drives Taake’s songs). Basically, it’s a wonderful thing to have if you’re a fan of Nattestid.

Mareittet is a bit of a fuck around demo track, the kind that sounds like the ideas to half a song. Ok, but nothing special. "Trolldom" is from a 1996 EP, and is a very fine song, but not as good as the first track on the CD.

The last two Taake tracks are taken from a demos, and are all horrible. They sound like they were recorded on a hand tape recorder that was held right up to the guitar amp or bass drum head. Seriously, if you like these tracks, you’re a better black metal fan than I am.

So the real gems are the five Thule songs, which are of a slightly different style than Taake’s work, but all have the same feeling of being true representations of black metal’s essence and occult energy. Melodic, rough, scathing and proud. The vocal tracks alone are blissful: so clipped and narrow, each sound from Ulvhedin Hoest is like a concentrated, thin blade of piercing fuzz that is like a seam in the engrossing tempest of the music.

If you don’t have anything good to say…

Necro, scourge of all that’s sacred. "Famed" hip-hop rapper / producer jamming us with no holds barred imagery of death, gore and anything-in-any-orifice porn. If you can’t take it, well, boy, then you just ain’t hard enough, cos you didn’t grow up in Cadet Necro’s world, you know what I’m saying? This is what it’s all about. This is what’s real.

Alright, really. While his street cred might indeed be legit, this platter of niceties has about as much basis in reality as an all night session of "Resident Evil" fueled by Twinkies and Mountain Dew with periodic bathroom breaks to read the articles in the latest issues of "Hustler," "Barely Legal" or "Shaved." None of this would matter if there was any evidence of humor, irony or wit on display.

But you get the impression that Sir Necro actually takes this shit seriously, that if you were to cut in front of him at KFC or look at his dog the wrong way he’d go to town on your sorry ass in a frothy rage of dismemberment and evisceration.

Look, my best friend’s 5’5," 120 pound girlfriend has devoured more horror movies than Young Master Necro could hope to see in three lifetimes and can kick anyone’s butt from here to Hong Kong playing "House of the Dead." She’s one the nicest people on earth but I’d be more inclined to believe that she’d take a machete to my skull if I was to take the last helping of Saag Paneer* without asking first than worry about Monsieur Necro’s intentions if I dog eared page 22 of his near-mint copy of X-Men #256. Remember that one? It’s the one where Wolverine gets in touch with his feminine side.

The inane subject matter could almost be forgiven if the music warranted any merit. Tepid beats... no, make that beat – EVERY song utilizes the same rhythm track. Overused samples, "Silence of the Lambs" dialogue abounds, and a generally weak atmosphere. And V.P. in Charge of Sales Necro’s rapping? Average voice, obvious rhymes and a flow as weak as 65 year old’s prostate.

Somehow various luminaries from the metal world were roped into this disaster for a number of tracks, Dan Lilker and Away (VoiVod) among others, although their presence is negligible. The album’s only saving grace is the inimitable croak of John Tardy of Obituary and some decent guitar that anchors "Isaneology." Not enough to save this from the slag heap but small recompense for enduring the other 67 minutes of this atrocity. (1/10)

*a delicious Indian concoction of spinach blended with cheese and herbs. Give it try.

We hate to admit it, but around here at Maelstrom HQ, albums made by bands with no singer generally imbue us with a melancholic sense of longing. A longing for more. For as good as they are, and a lot of them have pretty great music, having a human voice doing something would probably make them better. Of course, having no voice at all is better than having bad vocals (Black Tape for a Blue Girl, cough, cough).

With this said, Red Sparowes At the Soundless Dawn is about as great an instrumental record as we could ask for. The music is truly expressive and engaging, going through dawns and dusks over misty woods and clean lakes. The overall tone is dark, yet comforting. The melodic highlights are incredible, in that cathartic, blissful, deliberate fashion that has made albums like Weakling’s Dead as Dreams one of the ones we point to again and again, and a little bit like Xasthur, come to think of it.

Red Sparowes musis swells and recedes. It gets as happy as a surf rock tone around track six (of seven), but mostly it seems like the perfect soundtrack to take with you on a hike through the woods, or on a camping trip, to reflect to at night when the embers are dying down and you can see the milky matter in between the stars. But a vocalist could make it all so much better, still, to give it that extra emotional push and connection to bring us back again and again. (8/10)

Cursed is the bulldozer, you are the Gaza Strip neighborhood of cinderblock tract housing in its path. Deal with it.

This is what hardcore was always meant to be. Not bullying, tough guy, fratboyjockasshole testosterone fests, but pissed off, violent bursts of energy directed at injustices, personal or more worldly. There aren’t necessarily any solutions to be found but the cathartic gnashing serves as a respite from day to day aggravations, enough to maybe get you through the rest of the work week.

Cursed’s musical clusterbomb takes the form an ultra distorted thrash engine, boosted by Entombed style death n’ roll. Under all the chaos lurks a catchiness that keeps the tracks from devolving into empty calorie noisefests. And they know how to mix it up enough to keep any redundancy from creeping in from song to song. Slow builds, humming bass breaks and impenetrable slabs of distortion worm their way in and around vocalist Chris Colohan’s frenzied yelp. Picture the guy on the street having a screaming match with a parking meter that you unsuccessfully avoid, crossed with an overeager college student who’s just discovered Marx and Lenin. Either way, you’re fucked.

And when you think you’ve got these guys pegged, think again. A solo piano interlude serves as intermission at album’s halfway point. Massive and genuinely unsettling doom kicks the door down in slow motion panic for the entirety of another track. Finally, Two closes with the calming wash of a thunderstorm underscored by the not so settling strain of a ghostly violin keening in the background.

No sense in taking cover. Close your eyes, grit your teeth and feel the shards come down. (7/10)

(Editor’s warning: this is an intense review bordering on the frighteningly obnoxious. But it IS a review about The Great Kat... so it’s fitting.)

THE GREAT KAT!!! For you WORTHLESS PEONS that don't already know, is the former Katherine Thomas: a child violin prodigy who trained with elite musicians of her generation at the esteemed Juilliard conservatory in New York City. Upon graduating from Juilliard with Honors, winning various awards for her violin playing and debuting as a soloist at Carnegie Hall, Ms. Thomas, as the story goes, came across a Judas Priest video and had a revelation that classical music was "DEAD," and that she would singlehandedly become "the next Beethoven" by taking classical music into the realm of modern popular music. "I realized...I HAVE TO METALLIZE classical music, by mixing it with METAL!!!"

Hence was born the megalomaniacal, fang baring, castrating, dominatrixing, leather bikini wielding, WORSHIP-ME-OR-DIE persona of THE GREAT KAT!!! (capitals and exclamation points aways

implied if not shown), recently declared one of the ten fastest guitar shredders of all time by GuitarOne magazine and the scariest, speediest female guitar shredder O.A.T. (That’s "of all time" – ed.) by SPIN magazine.

She's a self-declared goddess AND the closest thing us mortals have to an actual super hero, it seems. Spiderman was bit by a spider, THE GREAT KAT was bitten by Judas Priest and OZZY.

Around since the 80's, she released speed-metal versions of Beethoven's "Flight of the Bumblebee," Vivaldi's Four Seasons and an 11-minute musical "response" to the events of Sept 11, 2001 called Wagner's War.

What we have here are two vidocassettes. One, Guitar Shredder from Hell, is a compilation of videos and a live document. The other, Zapateado, is a single promo video of a track from Wagner's War. Whether or not The Great Kat’s guitar shredding is truly the fastest or whether her compositions rate with the masters of western music is not a topic that will be broached in this writing. What can be said about Kat-music is that it is an ONSLAUGHT of sound. There is so much screaming and instrumentation going on that it is difficult to take in exactly what is going on in a single listening.

It doesn't matter whether The Great Kat lives up to her press hype, however, The Great Kat's imagination is so total that you will be transported into her Kat-universe by it's sheer force. See The Great Kat play shred / classical guitar with blood covered fingers! See her castrate her enemies and call them FAG! See her incessantly headbang and switch to violin! See The Great Kat in concert surrounded by fat, bowing roadies with t-shirts on that say "KAT SLAVE"! See The Great Kat don fatigues and scream amidst quickly cut images of 9-11 and the holocaust while a CCN style ticker tape runs under her that says, "KILL! KILL! KILL!" And finally, see The Great Kat don a red white and blue bikini, headband and war paint and proceed to thrash her way

through Sarasate's "Zapateado" in tribute to America!!! See The Great Kat in all of her over-the-top glory and submit to Kat-Slavery.

Can't recommend this shit HIGHLY ENOUGH!!! (10++++++ off the scales/10)

(I’m going to bed early tonight – editor)

Oh, there is just so much fucking "eh, this is OK" black metal out in the world that one, say... a certain jaded reviewer, just longs for something sorta different. Something beyond the usual Darkthrone to Burzum worship Kinsey-type scale. (Editor’s intervention: Christraper is talking about a scientist in the 1950s who was one of the first to write about sexuality. His thesis was that no one was wholly hetero- or homo-sexual. He rated people on an extreme scale of 1-6. This was not a quality scale, but more like a ph balance scale. Anyway, back to our regularly scheduled album review...)

Unfortunately, this Mutillation is not that something. It rates a mere "2" on the "Kinsey BM Scale" (Darkthrone=1, Burzum=6), with a bit of triangulation from Beherit, studies show. Which is not to say, y'know, that it's bad or anything. It's O.K., it's good for a listen... y'know?... yehp... mmm hmm.

The Mutiilation dude's shtick seems to be about being as retarded as possible. The bass guitar is recorded to sound flat and dead, the guitars are all pffthhhhhhhhh-y, and the drums are some distant, midrange thumping, deep in the mix.

The high point of Majestas Leprosus is the song "Destroy Your Life for Satan," which sounds like it was written by a small child. I swear there's a child somewhere in the world, banging on a toy plastic guitar in this same quarter note sequence, check it out: 1-1-1-2, 1-1-1-2, 1-1-1-2, 3-3-3-3, 1-1-1-2, etc... Of course, that child doesn't have short little potbellied trolls and Gremlins dancing around them going, "DESTROY! YOUR LIFE! FORSATAN!" like this trident-wielding Mutillation guy probably does, but the legacy of Romper Room is all over this disc. Not quite summoning the ancients, but definitely PRIMITIVE. (6/10)

Two years after the review, and Stars of the Lid’s double album Tired Sounds of Stars of the Lid remains my favorite album of all time. It’s got no vocals, and no drums. It’s all drone, but melodic movements that are like classical music slowed down to unprecedented levels. Calling it the sonic equivalent of the aurora borealis is still the best image I can come up with.

Half of The Dead Texan is Adam Wiltzie, who is in turn half of Stars of the Lid, the half that resides in Belgium. The other half of the duo is Christina Vantzos, whom we were not familiar with until now.

Basically, if you dig Stars of the Lid, you needn’t read too much more. Just go out and get this album. But be advised that there is some fairly limited amount of singing on a couple of the tracks. The singing isn’t what you’d call "well-advised," sounding rather like a the soft-song version of Billy Corgan (Smashing Pumpkins) on a bad day.

The rest sticks largely to the tried, true and hopefully for ever, the melodic, melancholic drone. There are some stylistic differences here, but fans of Wiltzie’s main project will feel immediately right at home.

Like Stars of the Lid, but perhaps even more so, The Dead Texan’s music is a melange of glory, tragedy, catharsis, and beauty. Like nourishment that wastes you away, always craving more. It’s like plunging into drifting endlessness. Like contemplating falling into a lush, tranquil pool and embracing a blissful drowning end.

For all the world, it sounds like each track has violin or some similar stringed instrument plugged into an amplifier, but we can only conclude it’s a guitar, somehow held out beyond anything we’ve seen. At any rate, it’s a must get. Not as good as Stars of the Lid, but what is? (9.5/10)

PS: The album also comes with a DVD, which, despite this reviewer’s general rule of not liking video to accompany the music he enjoys, is very good. It’s kind of like being able to have your own Stars of the Lid/Dead Texan concert in your living room whenever you want. Excellently authored, with lots of fun bits and artistic montages, it’s just another feather in this album’s cap.

Careful, ‘cause Trioxia can make you batty. It’s like when your mom told you if you kept doing that with your eyes, they’d stick that way some day.

Does anyone else think that "Trioxia" sounds like a cleaning product? Just asking.

Trioxia’s power metal stylings are decent or better. They have a good band that can play well, their music is a little generic, but there are good moments. Unfortunately, the biggest piece of the puzzle, the singer, is woefully lacking. He sounds very silly. It might be partly because of his accent, but we have a feeling that we would find this very same point incredibly charming if he could resonate, bend, and harmonize notes properly. We also think that with a better performance, the often awkward melodies and phrasings might not seem so much so. But they are kind of catchy, we’ll give ‘em that. So there you have it. In a genre like death metal, having a mediocre vocalist is something you can get away with; such is never the case in power metal.

It’s not for lack of gusto, though, and the singer does show hints of being able to one day be up to carry the load. Until then, some tips: sing in Italian – the utterly generic lyrics have nothing compelling about them, so we won’t miss out – take some lessons, and keep practicing with anything you can find that resembles a microphone. (4.2/10)

There are few mysteries of the ancient world like the myths surrounding the island of Atlantis. It is a story of an advanced Minoan culture whose glory is fabled to have disappeared in one fateful night of huge earthquakes, the explosive eruption of Mt. Santorini, and tsunamis that swallowed the entire island.

Fascinated with the myth of Atlantis, this Austrian band found a powerful focus for their concept rock. The arrangements are classical and richly complex. It’s a unique mix of contemporary metal and mythic drama. It is imperative that the listener pay attention and willingly travel with the mood up and down along the winding musical landscape of dreams, awe, loss and rebirth. At times the pieces are eerie and darkly provocative. Other times it feels a little trite and awkwardly translated into English.

The drummer, Thomas Caser, pounds out the fast, intuitive beats and the heavy guitar (Werner Fiedler) tempers and metalizes the mood. The bass, violins, keyboards, and mixed male and female soprano vocals are slathered with that symphonic reverb that keeps mankind believing in an afterlife.

Visions of Atlantis have been around since 2000, signing with Napalm Records in 2003. They have played the Masters of Rock Festivals in Slovakia, The Czech Republic and have played in such far flung places as South Korea. Their debut album, Eternal Endless Infinity, put them on the map and is being remixed and re-released on Napalm.

Close your eyes and let the Poseidon have his way with you. Gurgle, gurgle. (7.5/10)

This band is from Liechtenstein. I’ve been looking on the map for the last 15 minutes trying to find it. This little pocket of a principality located between Austria and Switzerland is the smallest sovereign territory in the world and possibly the highest on the "standard of living" index.

I am immediately enchanted with the beautiful, delicate German that the Lady Sabine Duenser sings on the first track, "Der Letzte Tag." (The Last Day) It’s Sarah Brightman meets Nina Hagen. Her rich vocal range catapults her smoothly from worldly rock enchantress to the heights of gothic metal angel. Her voice is stellar, really; strong and fragile at the same time.

It is a lovely departure to hear this diva sing a few songs in German. It’s great to hear a language, so notoriously known for being harsh, sound so alluring, and sexy. The last tune, "Ballade," is a total stand alone hit – transcending Goth and traditional pop, to show us the true flexible musicality of Elis. (9/10)

Oh, my god! The "Vaginal Luftwaffe" are back to invade and offend your sensibilities with yet another dose of ludicrously over the top porno drenched gore grind. This truly is not for those with sensitive feelings. Their warped sense of humour spares no one, not even little girls and grandmas and even dolphins!

But importantly, Rompeprop are no slouches in the department that really matters: they can beat your ass black and blue with some explosive, groove-heavy grind. With the exception of the intro and outro, you are treated to six songs filled with catchy riffs that make you want to MOSH! The guitar sound is just about perfect: thick and meaty, and the heavily harmonized vocals of Steven Smegma provide the perfect backing to the carnage.

Rompeprop seem to continue right from where they left off with Hellcock’s Pornflakes, with one monster groove following the other, and even more monstrous grooves being unleashed when you thought they just couldn't get more monstrous. This is downright essential stuff if you are into goregrind!

Now getting on to the Tu Carne side, the first thing that comes to notice is the HORRIBLE guitar sound. This is such a big turn off after feasting your ears on the fat, meaty tone of Rompeprop's guitars. The guitars here sound like they were recorded while some madman was busy smashing the smithereens out of the mixer with a huge sledgehammer. The really sad thing about it all is that there seem to be two guitar tracks, with one of them having a perfectly good sound, but it's just buried too way low in the mix. So if you're willing to accept a heavily distorted and highly muddy tone, here are six songs of Tu Carne's trademark raging-one-second-grooving-the-next-and-raging-again style of grind.

If you really want to hear Tu Carne at their best, get their previous two full lengths, especially the last album, ...Me Quedo Con Tu Dolor! where they rage with the same intensity but with a far better sound.

But for Rompeprop freaks like me, this CD is still a damn good investment. Just don't let your family see the artwork. (Rompeprop 9/10, Tu Carne 6/10)

First of all, at the time of this writing, Book One is free for download from the band's web site, and it looks like they mail them out free for the asking as well. So you have nothing to lose, and don't need to rely on a review to find out everything.

But since you're here already, the lowdown is that Backwoods Payback play Southern flavored hard rock, like late period Corrosion of Conformity. There's a lot more distortion, and some hardcore song parts, making it heavier overall than CoC, however. Think Clutch, with a little thinner sound. Heavy by design, and they usually succeed at that.

A band that plays small shows and makes its songs freely available through various means is great fun, by any standards. It doesn't have to be the next masterpiece to have plenty of party appeal. Backwoods Payback aren't original, they aren't going to be influential, and they probably won't be millionaires from this. And that's not the point at all, anyways.

The facile effort is compensated for with lots of enthusiasm, and it's good as long as they love what they do. If you like it back, everyone wins. (6/10)

Are they hardcore or are they death metal? Bury Your Dead are neither, even though they do wind up on bills with bands of American Nightmare, Zao, and Hatebreed's pedigree.

The guitars are heavy. So heavy. They cause damage. Ears bleed. The singer himself is in the throes of pain and misery as he sings of shiny happy people – who fucked him. And his bandmates.

An odd theme dictates that the tracks are all named after Tom Cruise films for this sophomore release. From "Top Gun" to "Risky Business," Bury Your Deas cover twelve of Tom's movies, even remembering "Mission: Impossible 2" and "Losin' It." But all this negativity comes at a price, and while the musicianship is superb, the theme is one of emotional suffocation. Then again, without the aid of a lyric sheet, it's fine. (8/10)

As far as this reviewer’s death metal education, first there was Bolt Thrower, since there was Bolt Thrower, and forever forward will there be Bolt Thrower.

This most ubiquitous of old school death metal bands was the first death metal CD I ever bought (Realm of Chaos, to be exact). To make a long story short, there might not be any band in the wide genre that I enjoy more consistently and thoroughly.

It’s sort of a mystery. Bolt Thrower aren’t exactly the best musicians. Ok, then can play their own songs perfectly well, but in a genre of metal that has become the one where wizardry is perhaps the most important, there isn’t anything technically remarkable about what this five-piece from Manchester could do. Certainly the less-is-more approach is most apparent in the playing of drummer Andy Whale, who, after graduating from being a punk drummer on the first album, went through four more records playing no more than four distinct beats, and basically always the same drum fill. But regardless, he is without a doubt one of the greatest influences on my playing, as his style is one of the heaviest I’ve ever heard.

Similarly, Bolt Thrower’s whinny, tuneless guitar solos are, plainly, pretty pitiful. However, they did get noticeably better on ...For Victory, overall the band’s best album. However, this is a matter of fractions, as Bolt Thrower more or less released the same record three times in a row... four or five times if you count the last two, which have gradually been shedding off members of the definitive line-up. And every Bolt Thrower song does EXACTLY the same thing. This is not to say that a fan can’t tell them instantly apart, but objectively, it’s the same song (about war, no less) over and over and over. And thus whenever we claim an album to have Bolt Thrower appeal (which is a pretty big percentage of extreme metal albums, really), we mean it in a good way.

What’s clearly a strong point are the vocals of Karl Willetts, who’s got the wonderful combination of being coherent and utterly brutal. An even bigger strong point are the trademark riffs. Somewhat melodic, always catchy and immediately identifiable, Bolt Thrower always sounded like the sonic equivalent of a rumbling tank. Held up by Whale’s drumming, this is the first, last and best word in this comparison.

With each release since this 1994 album, Bolt Thrower has gradually become more and more a shade of itself. First Whale left, then Willetts. The band seems unaware of these two’s importance, or at least are maintaining a cavalier facade (see our interview with guitarist Gavin Ward to hear it from the horse’s mouth). At any rate, any Bolt Thrower record with the definitive lineup of Whale, Willetts, Ward, Barry Thompson on guitar and Jo Bench on bass – and the sixth man, Colin Richardson producing – (minus perhaps the utter mess that is their first album, which is still worth getting just to have it) is utterly essential. ...For Victory just happens to be the most essential of them all.

Oh, and by the way, if you happen to come across the ultra-rare 2CD version with live album (featuring tracks taken only from Warmaster and The IVth Crusade), get it. It’s as good as it is endearingly lamentable, as about 15 people are in the audience. If you want a CDR, write me. We can figure out some kind of a trade.