Telling the difference between entertainment and art isn't always easy. But there is one safe criterion – while entertainment gives you a quick fix of answers, art is all about asking questions. And Agalloch are good at that – they leave pretty much everything open for interpretation.

Take, for instance, their name. Sounds like some nasty demon and it wouldn't be inappropriate for a necro black metal band – but in reality, agalloch is a type of fragrant, resinous wood. Which can still apply to, say, pagan metal – or, can it? Only they know.

Then, there are the contrasts in the sound. The main passages of Ashes Against the Grain are built on slow, powerful riffs that might be even perceived as brutal, but the gentle distortion takes their power away and creates a feeling of oppression, of something primeval struggling to be set free. There are traces of light in the shape of the lead guitar playing simple, sustained, hypnotic melodies, but what might sound like vestiges of hope might as well be the final flickers of life disappearing into a blur.

Dynamic changes are achieved through carefully varying degrees of density, between acoustic melancholy and overwhelming gushes of despair, coming at you in all of its glory. The vocals vary from whispers, clean singing and hollow screams, maybe inappropriate at the first glance but perfectly fitting at the second. Most of the time there aren't any vocals at all, but they are never truly absent even when it takes ages for them to reappear.

Interpretation? It could mean whatever and send you wherever; it's all individual. What one might hear as his own solitude and frustrations, his mind being sucked into a paranoia and desperately trying to hold on to something real, to the other it will sound like glaciers of ice slowly crumbling into the sea. Personally, I'll take "Limbs" and "Falling Snow" as Cult of Luna or Isis with a blackened twist. "Not Unlike the Waves" will be a perfect transcendental pagan symphony. "Falling Snow" will be just what the name says, building up into a storm and covering everything in its way. "Fire Above, Ice Below" will lull me into a comfortable, far away place in another reality, and the three-part epic "Our Fortress is Burning" will take me to the end of the world and beyond. But don't listen to me.

Go get Ashes Against the Grain and see what it does to you. Or simply relax and revel in its majesty. (9.1/10)

Anata is like the proverbial brother whose parents wonder why their other kids can’t be more like. Why? Despite Anata’s being Swedish, they aren’t derivative, like the great majority of the highly homogenous death metal scene that it comes from.

The Conductor’s Departure’s greatest assets are Anata’s unique application of harmony in their original guitar sound. That and Conny Pettersson’s ever tremendous drumming. The man is sorely, sorely underappreciated. The only semblance to a weak point amongst the heavy music, rich texture of contrasting aggressiveness and delicacy, and gorgeous production are the semi-hoarse death vocals, which are certainly good, but standard in comparison to what else is going on in the music.

The Conductor’s Departure isn’t the most brutal death metal offering out there. Rather, it shines in its technicality and busy-ness, while those riffs provide for regular head-swaying hooks. For a melodic tech death record, Anata’s work breathes surprisingly well, and just like last time, it’s an exceedingly highly recommended album. (8.8/10)

Oh, how many times we've seen albums described as "The perfect soundtrack for a war," and how many of them were so inappropriately horrible they made us want to puke. So, honestly, it would be almost just natural to dismiss every single World War-themed album. But even if it seems obligatory, doing that with As All Die’s Victory would be an error, as it's one of the first albums to actually translate the war theme to music.

So what is it, anyway? Noisy dark ambient. But it's almost unbelievable how they managed to turn the songs into... should I say, battlefields. Some synths sound like missiles, some sound like tanks, some even sound like guns. And in front of them, the general’s giving orders.

Technically, it's just noise + synths + vocals + voice samples, but they are perfectly arranged to sound like the various elements of war. Just in case, this is not your typical "the guitar riffs are so pummelling they are like bombs!" Instead, every instrument literally sounds like every element.

As All Die's members were once in the astonishingly underrated band Long Winters' Stare. One of the central aspects of said band was the schizophrenic atmosphere with lots of vocalists. In As All Die, we see a similar technique used, and that technique is the distortion of the vocals. Grunts, clean vocals, screams, all are edited to the point of being unrecognizable, being instrumental for the creation of a unique experience. Also, that same atmosphere is present here in the shorter track.

The songs are essentially one same idea developed for minutes, the longest one being the title track (more than 20 minutes). Worth noting is the fact that tracks are actual tracks with personality, and not just random martial noise. So we got a well planned, well done and well produced album overall.

Of course, sometimes it does sound too cheesy, but if you get used to it, Victory is amazing. The only bad aspect about it is the apparent lack of a structure, making the outstanding vocal work a little bit too erratic at times. That alone makes a fundamentally dark ambient album turn almost improvisational noise in some segments.

Efficient sample handling, good vocal work and some well thought-out ideas make Victory an overall highly recommended, militaristic, dark ambient record. If you're into the genre, make sure to try it. (8.2/10)

The first publicly available concert film from Amon Amarth is an absolute gem. Sweden’s foremost Viking metal band is more active in Europe than America, but this DVD release captures their live shows with such sweeping vision, sound precision, and intelligence, that its quality cannot be overstated.

I remember seeing Amon Amarth for the first time at The New England Metal and Hardcore Festival a few years ago, and watching this DVD set confirms what I decided back then: this band is one of the most engaging live metal acts ever. Their banter is sparse and unpretentious, the energy they sweat out is infectious, and what sets them apart from other death metal acts is those evocative melodic guitar lines. If you’re going Viking, you must summon the actual BATTLE SOUNDTRACK. Amon Amarth are presently the star pupils in that class.

Metal Blade has invested a great deal of time and energy in this band over the last decade, and the fruits of that labor can be viewed right here: five FULL-LENGTH concert films, at least three presented in Widescreen 16:9 aspect ratio, add up to more than SEVEN HOURS of Amon Amarth playing live. The mead hall is a million miles long. Fuck, yes.

Occasionally heard among some of my U.S. countrymen: that Amon Amarth’s material is interchangeable, idle, and linear. This DVD set (really, any of their good live sets) disproves that assessment. You underestimate Amon Amarth to your own detriment, not theirs. Spanning over five albums, their songs have an identity drenched in the orange glow of fire, a motif repeated on every cover like Iron Maiden’s Eddie, or Motorhead’s Motorskull.

Admittedly, much of Amon Amarth’s material is steadily mid-paced, but the sets presented here (especially the 2005 Stuttgart set) remind me of just how thrashy they get! Crisp, brutal, evocative, unwavering, integral, and highly entertaining.

Wrath of the Norsemen’s three DVDs are handsomely presented in a foldout digipak (orange and gold color scheme, of course). This is actually quite a triumph of packaging: durable, ornate, with no loose booklets to lose or those idiotic proof-of-purchase tabs that get in the way of closing the case. The only plastic contained here is on the inside disc cradles, which are clear and reveal grandiose live footage when you remove the DVD.

The hard realities of trying to make it as a metal band are legion. Despite HUGE technological advances that make demo trading instantaneous, today’s music business is an even bigger challenge than ever before. Gasoline prices (for touring bands and fans alike) are unreasonable and will only get worse, alas, along with world events behind all the woe. Day jobs are an unwavering must, and giving up health insurance rolls the black dice of fate. And the triumph of mediocrity, metalcore-emo-and-worse, hath usurped the throne originally constructed by 1980s thrash metal (at least in The States). Some of us can barely remember when MTV’s "Headbangers Ball" was worth watching.

But let’s remember how huge Cliff-era Metallica got without initial airplay. Iron Maiden became a business model only after spilling OCEANS of sweat (and landing a superb manager). Ozzfest — while it may feel spotty, touristy, and impersonal — still showcases one or two redeemable bands each year, opening the uninitiated (hopefully) to something better than the first page of the menu.

All comes full circle to the experience of watching this excellent DVD set, a gift and hails for years of road work. Amon Amarth’s strength has transcended past the hardships mentioned above (although I’m sure shit still happens, heh), and you need look no further than Wrath of the Norsemen for proof. Odin is on their side. (Valhalla = 10/10)

Doom metal has always been around but never had its days of glory, safely staying in the underground. A nice looking package from Israel's Total Rust Music, Asymmetry brings us 74 minutes of slow doom music from all over the world. Some bands are quite well known in doom circles, some are promising newcomers and some are just showing potential.

The funeral procession is headed by Lux Incerta (Italy), which plays standard, dreamy Gothic doom with a few double bass drum passages. The lyrics are passionately sung both in English and French and the only real minus is a cardboard-box drum sound.

With "A State of Decay," Whelm (Denmark) have turned the riff from "Black Sabbath" into a monolithic post-hardcore drone, adding eerie keyboards, discordant shapes, and very long pauses. The song dissolves into disharmony before being assembled again. One of the better tracks here.

Remembrance (France) play depressive, romantic doom death. Slow piano, distant screams and whispers appear and disappear, and guitar harmonies make "Beyond the Waters" sound like My Dying Bride, but stripped of everything except the atmosphere.

While Mary Bell (Netherlands) sound like a simpler version of Whelm, Asofy (Italy) make one of the highlights of this CD with "Luce." It instantly drags the listener into a dismal, cold, secluded place. Clean, icy guitars and carefully placed drums sound like crystal shards falling, tortured whispers are wandering around and the experience slowly builds up into a real song before it fades away and dies. Excellent.

The Knell (Israel) play standard death doom with clean parts and death grunts. Some parts of "Into Shattered" suspiciously sound like a slowed-down happier song and it ends with a blast. Curious.

Chilean doomsters Mar De Grises are the biggest surprise on the CD. Even with drawbacks such as thin guitar sound and badly triggered drums, they manage to create a wall of sound. The same-titled song is a 10-minute journey through dismal landscapes, moods, dynamics and varying degrees of dispair.

Saturnus (Denmark) are just average in comparison, in spite of the superbly named guitarist Peter Pain. "Murky Waters" is a mid-tempo rock song with hardcore vocals and doomy clean parts.

Wreck of Hesperus (Ireland) sound a bit scary but it's because "Utter Rot" has probably been recorded with only a couple of microphones in a garage. The song itself is a drone of calculated, slow, sludge riffs and sick screams.

Abysmal Darkening (The Netherlands) bring the proceedings to an appropriate ending with "End It." It's average blackened doom with unconvincing riffs, but what the singer does on it can only be described as dying in agony. Poor guy.

Asymmetry is a themed compilation and there is a thread joining all the songs into a pleasant sonic journey. For anyone wanting to give slow music a chance, it's not a bad start. For those who are already into doom, it will bring a couple of surprises. It has been printed in only 750 copies in 2005, but if the fans are as slow as the music, there should still be some left. (6.5/10)

No doubt, Reanimations is a cashgrab. But oh, man, what an amazing cashgrab. It mixes the three best things a "best of" can have: new songs, covers, and other bands covering them. And it leaves out the worst part of the "best of": the actual "best of." While it might not sound so interesting, in practice, Reanimations really is. It is in fact one of the best compilations a band has ever put out.

The new songs are, with no exception, typical Avulsed stuff. Melodic but extreme Egyptian-sounding riffs, really brutal vocals and impressive drumming. As opposed to many brutal death bands, their sound is overall really melodic and carefully done, and the songs are actual songs, not a mix of random riffs. The rehash of the old song is tastefully done as well, with a more modern sound. The production is clean and you won't have to struggle to listen to the riffs. When compared to their older stuff, we could say that the tracks here are a lot more mature.

Then, the covers. If anything, they are a big surprise. They covered Exodus' classic "Piranha" in a brutal way, which was definitely the highest point of this segment. The cover of WASP's "I Wanna Be Somebody" is really good as well, but plain weird (WASP playing brutal death? No way!). Then, the last cover is Gorefest's "Mental Misery." The surprising thing is that they managed to turn a decent at best song into a very good one.

As for the "Reanimated tracks," basically Avulsed tracks covered by other bands. There's diversity – a lot of it. The most brutal bands did a great job at covering Avulsed's classics, like Zardonic's remix. The rest were either generic or plainly unfitting. Some of the high/lowlights include:

In Element – "Devourer of the Dead": completely unfitting. It's modern Meshuggah worship mixed with metalcore and gothic version of the song. Yes, better described as a big, big "What the fuck?" And not a good one either.

Carnavage – "Stabwound Orgasm": definitely the best of the batch, it's a lot like early Cock and Ball Torture but playing brutal death. Definitely what an Avulsed cover should be.

Kaothic – "Sweet Lobotomy": really traditional doom or Acid Bath sounding cover, with new Confessor-like vocals. Strange, but sweet.

Zardonic – "Stabwound Orgasm (Remix)": So you thought the album Cybergore was weird? What we have here is a drum 'n bass remix of Avulsed's classic. Against all odds, it's completely enjoyable and, once you got used to listening to electronica with death vocals, actually quite good. Not for the closed-minded.

In closing, Reanimations is really good, and varied enough to have you playing it for days. See, Megadeth? THIS is a "best of." (8/10)

Although Bad Company featured two ex-Free members (vocalist Paul Rodgers and drummer Simon Kirke) I have always preferred Free, which had a more shy and melancholic side, over the polished later band.

This 1976 live recording, the first official live document of Bad Company in its heyday, took some time to sink in, perhaps as a result of my need to shake the band’s studio versions off. The shaky sound quality might have also contributed to that, but once the barriers were cast aside, this release proved itself as a remarkable statement, and the sound is true and fit to the occasion.

On "Simple Man," Rodgers sings "Freedom is the only thing that means a damn to me," and indeed it is the free spirit and excitement exhibited on this recording that makes it so precious. Gone are the claustrophobic, smooth rock attitude and the one-of-a-many, potent rock sound of the studio Bad Company, and in come a looseness and a bluesy mindset that colors the earthly, simple man’s rock anthems (some of them admittedly silly, as Rodgers introduces "Young Blood") with honesty and care, recalling the greatness of Free.

Rodgers was probably not on his best day, but still, few singers can compete with his soulful vocal performance, which can make a grown man cry; Mick Ralphs (formerly of Mott the Hoople) ventures on his guitar playing, while remaining loyal to the songs; Kirke is solid yet lashes attentively, and Boz Burrell’s (previously of King Crimson) bass lines might require close listening, but are worthy and enriching.

All of these make this double album a definitive statement, which sheds a live light on this successful band that, up until now, could have only been judged by its freedom-lacking studio releases. (8/10)

Bethlehem hail from Germany, and refer to themselves as suicide black metal. (Two of the founding members had people close to them take their own lives, making this title all the more interesting.) Reflektionen Aufs Sterben is as mysterious, bizarre and twisted a release as this band’s history. It contains re-mixed tracks, an unexpected cover song, an instrumental, and a fight between the band to close the disc. In a way, this disc is very definitive as to what the band is about (although I personally prefer their earliest releases).

As a whole, the album ranges from the fast blast to the slow melancholic. Reflektionen… is teeming with dreary atmosphere. It is full of dynamics and not part of an easily classifiable sub-genre of black metal. It is often dissonant and atmospheric and almost droning, but bear little, if any semblance to the suddenly trendy sounds of the practitioners of what has not so affectionately come to be dubbed "bedroom black metal." (ahem, oh ye plagiarizers of Xasthur, Leviathan, etc). Hell, often times its hard to even safely classify Bethlehem as black metal. Bethlehem sit very much in their own isolated, bizarre corner of the music world with this release — as with all others.

It is better to take Reflektionen Aufs Sterben as its own plague-infected beast, as opposed to sizing it up by its ties to previously releases. It is much more punishing than S.U.I.Z.i.D despite the tracks appearing (in disguise) from it. This release is bizarre and original, full of misanthropy and creativity without sounding contrived. It is not some throwback to the early days of Norway, it is not symphonic, it is not part of some annoying attempt to be "kvlt" (i.e. sound like shit intentionally) — it is just fucking tapped, gloriously tapped… (8/10)

Last autumn, I discussed Black Crucifixion’s mini-album The Fallen One of Flames, which was a retrospective on what has been the most northern black metal group (Finland) and what they thought true black metal (attitude) stood for. In all sorts of aspects, Black Crucifixion’s Faustian Dream is different from The Fallen, but what remains is the theme of retrospection.

One could begin asking right away what urgency is behind this dark gothic album, because (most of) the recordings date back to 1996. It's simple: It just took so long to get completed, as hard to believe as that may be. Hence no surprise may be the difference in line-up. There are no contributions by Beherit's Holocausto Vengeance. New names are E. Henrik on "instruments" and Lehtar on drums.

On the other hand, Faustian Dream may be to some as interesting as attempting to count the pebbles on the front cover. It is quite possible that some will be slightly confused when hearing Forn(icator's) vocals. They are somewhat reminiscent of arty and melancholic 1980s new wave bands (and I don't know if that is a good thing). "Bible Black Tyrant," for instance, sees Forn seeming to sound like a nauseous Robert (Cure) Smith.

I can imagine that some might rather hear Peter Steele from Type O Negative with his truly heartbreaking Weltschmerz/Spleen vocals. Alledgedly, that guy is believed to carry the burden of being a "horseman," and hence of not being taken seriously as a singer instead of a groupie-piercer. That may be something to get melancholic about.

Forn's lyrics are like reading an adolescent's diary that is stained with some deadly earnest poems about grand feelings about lost love and the lust for revenge. It's quite possible that when reading them, one may start to feel like a voyeur and to get the urge to quickly close the booklet to seal it off with glue and hide one’s embarrassment.

It may well be that Forn had grown tired of the black metal scene as such and wanted to do something completely different. However, releasing a record such as this may cause one to raise an eyebrow, considering last year's (re-)release of The Fallen One, which was self-promoted as a proud little manifesto of "we were true black metal before it became corrupted." In that sense, the shift is nearly as radical as Burzum's departure from guitar- to keyboard-oriented music, although here is still a certain blend of both.

To some, Faustian Dream may be experienced as crushingly tame despite the nod towards Type O Negative. Others may find it a pleasant and mellow project that isn't too demanding, for it doesn't just ventilate sheer destruction and evilness. The album's final tune sounds like that friendly Australian band called the Triffids, no kidding! Ah, well, that's the way it goes with bands developing and aging. Fans of fellow Finnish bands Horna and Behexen are advised to look elsewhere. (5/10)

Concept metal is a hazy nook of the forest, where a combination of technique, book learning, restraint, and talent can either elevate you to the throne of awesomeness, or demote you to a lame court jester. Blind luck has a hand in this, too.

Black Harvest executes their concepts admirably on this release. The Brooklyn trio seems right at home on the Oak Knoll roster, which showcases excellent melodic, black, and gothic metal.

Styles abound in Black Harvest’s music. The gear shifting between black, death, acoustic, dreamy, and melodic motifs is not arbitrary – it is tastefully and cinematically executed. The production is sharp and professional, and the mathematical song structures retain just enough heaviness to provide a dynamic listening experience. Recommended. (7.5/10)

Blood Freak is easily the weirdest band Maniac Neil has ever worked in. Not only did he invent a story about the (fake) band dying, but he also did an almost 180º turn on this album. Well, it's not like he turned pop or something, but it's no longer "just a grindcore band." The Carcass influences are much stronger now, while still having that grind edge that made Blood Freak an amazingly fun band. And most of all, psychedelia and doom are important now. This is all part of a big structural change.

Again, Blood Freak is no longer a grind band, but a death / grind / thrash / doom outfit, with some horror samples thrown in. Speaking of samples, they are mostly short ones, so the chance of annoyance is minimal. As for the music, if you are familiar with Maniac Neil’s work, you know to expect bestially low vocals and tight and brutal playing

You thought Whore was too death? You thought Lord Gore was too gore? Then go for Blood Freak, as it's everything those bands were and more. There are even some similarities to Frightmare in sound, if you liked that release.

The songs? They include the usual 50 seconds of mayhem, and the four-minute thrash song, but they all have the sound that Live Fast, Die Young... carves out for itself. The central part of the album is the variety shown in the riffage and in the drum patterns. While it's not Mr. Bungle-level, it's many kilometers ahead of most grind bands. And well, something that will amaze most: Blood Freak uses solos.

Yet another surprise: the best parts are the doom ones. There's something about gory doom that just makes it really entertaining (see the band Visceral Evisceration), who knows why. The thing is, "The Nameless Stench of Forgotten Celluloid" and pretty much every doom track on here are great. The hypnotic intermission is a definite plus, as is the part that shows psychedelia as a big influence.

Live Fast, Die Young, and Leave a Flesh Eating-Corpse is a cocktail of good ideas, well structured and played, without any real flaws. It has a comedy approach, funny aesthetics and an even funnier background. For grind fans, for death fans, and for everyone into extreme stuff, even doom. (9.4/10)

This female duo from Providence, Rhode Island creates HIGHLY DISTURBING noise drone in the vein of early Swans, Coil, Sunn0))), Bullroarer, Dog, and even the Thrown Ups! Bedecked in vintage dresses, corpse-kohl, and apocalyptic omens, Bonedust’s live shows are a sonic portrayal of large scale demolition. The music merits its own category of lunacy.

This is essentially a re-recording of Bonedust’s five-song demo from last year, plus a newer, deadly song, "Ungodly Human Heart" (repeated mantra: "I have nothing / you have eaten / you are like a thousand maggots") The sound isn’t all that different from before, but the bass and reverb have a stronger presence. Chrissy plays her guitar through an Octave pedal, giving off a carnivorous distortion and swerving, random oscillation. Pippi is as fierce a drummer as ever, punishing her kit with such force that you wonder if the hardware is going to implode. The band also wields quite an array of amps, samplers, and props that would scare the teats off an imp.

Stylistically, Bonedust offers quiet, steady, growling drone that inevitably explodes into menacing violence, pitch-shifted screams, triggered blasts, ritualistic bludgeon, and dreamlike, almost Cocteau Twins-y interludes. The first track, "Cut Off Your Hand," is the best example of this. The song fades in so slowly, you’ll wonder if you pressed the right button. But by the time it plies its talons, shrieks attack like burning debris falling from the sky. Frickin’ sublime.

"Flowers Made of Cobras" is much slower, but midway through, it flails into a jagged Sabbath / King Crimson-y part that frays the sanity even further.

"Dust" is just fucking bedlam. Soothing melody issues as from an institutional hallway, then insane booms trigger from the floor toms over demonic incantations pitch-shifted in a Smurfette voice. The song ends in a doomy, steady death march that melts into an even slower song, "When You Are Dead."

"Think of Me Lest I Be" is Bonedust’s rocker. This version is arranged a bit differently from last year’s recording, and heavier. The screams don’t let up in this one, and the song’s velocity provides a perfect closer to this strange and disturbing CD.

Bonedust returned from a U.S. tour with The Body in May 2006, and merchandise info is available here. (Fucking A/10)

Hooray for Cellador, breathing fresh air into power metal and adding a great little chapter to the American power metal scene. Cellador’s getting a big push in the US scene. It’s fitting, as Enter Deception is an awesome debut from this brand new power metal group.

Cellador features everything required for a good power metal combination: speed, technical riffing, memorable hooks, strong percussion, Bruce Dickenson-esque power vocals, and skillful solos.

Think a mixture between Edguy and Dragonforce: It's got the energy of Dragonforce and the almost straight-faced goofiness of Edguy, not to mention the vocalist also has somewhat of a Tobias Sammet-ness to his voice. Some of the arrangements sound a bit reminiscent of Edguy. Of course, the solos can't be to such high a standard as Dragonforce’s, but Cellador really surpasses Dragonforce with their rhythm work. It's not just "powerchord here, powerchord there." There's a ton of fast powerchord work that seemingly bounces from key to key effortlessly, somewhat similar to Wintersun's impeccable rhythm work.

Also, there are no keyboards. The focus of Enter Deception is on the guitars and vocals. The music is so melodic with just those elements that keyboards really aren't necessary at all. Apart from the great guitar work already mentioned, the vocals have some really fantastic melodies, and occasionally when Cellador enter a chorus section, the layered vocals are perfectly executed. Each instrument sticks out to the best of its abilities due to the great songwriting. Enter Deception is one of the freshest US-based power metal releases this year. (8.5/10)

The music on Figur 5 is round yet linear, obeying basic song structures and a very strict frame. Munich-based Couch take pride in its rigorous, hermetic songs (or pseudo songs to be more accurate), or so the promotional sheet that accompanied the album suggests.

The mold is indeed nice (and frankly, not much more than that), but Couch forgot to pour something inside in order to make it purposeful: It is not only that the song-like instrumental pieces lack vocals and lyrics to form a direct assault on the listener, but that they are also free of any impressive musical essence that might suggest a rationale. The band set for functionality rather than experimentation, but ends up empty-handed.

Figur 5 resembles the trip-rock of The Gathering, but it is more straightforward and less complex. Taking the comparison even further, if The Gathering’s music is a passionate love affair, Couch’s is "just sex" – a purely mechanical act. As such, this is an album that would mostly fit in the background for a comfortable, rock meets electronica listening, but nothing more. (3/10)

I knew it! I had a feeling that the infusion of Jack Owen and Ralph Santolla into the band (in place of the Hoffman brothers) would do Deicide a world of good. Even though their previous album, Scars of the Crucifix, was faster and more aggressive than the albums preceding it, it lacked any real punch in the riffing department. But with The Stench of Redemption, Deicide have finally managed to put together a lethal package replete with catchy hooks, blistering drumming and melodic solos that make sure the listener is not offered a palate of bland, repetitive death metal.

The songwriting is pretty much the one big aspect that has been improved considerably, though full credit must also be given to Steve Asheim, who shows he can blast away with the best of them on songs like "Homage To Satan" and "Not of This Earth." Getting back to the songwriting, every song has stellar guitarwork in the form of well played solos that keep the tempo and interest levels up during the slower parts.

I am reminded of Serpents of the Light while listening to this and though that is in no way a bad thing, I do think Deicide could have done a bit more to make this even more brutal considering that Jack Owen is now in the band. The man is capable of so much more than just fast tremolo riffing to go along with the blastbeats. That is the only reason why this album doesn’t reach the 9 mark level, but it still remains one of the nicest surprises of this year. (8.8/10)

Desperado was originally assembled as a sort of a supergroup, comprising Dee Snider (Twisted Sister), Bernie Torme (Gillan), Clive Burr (Iron Maiden) and a fresh bass player by the name of Marc Russell (Neil Murray was not available for the gig). Together these guys recorded Ace, a fine hard rock album in 1989, which has remained in the vaults until now.

The strong combo of Snider and Torme is the undisputed motor of this outfit. Snider’s vocals are quite impressive and emotive as a scream rocker, showing that there is indeed a more delicate side to his outrageous Twisted Sister persona. At some points his vocals are favorably reminiscent of Gary Cherone (Extreme).

Torme’s guitar licks are tasteful and vital, introducing finessed, at times even inventive touches, within the wild, unrestrained rhythm guitars and the typical shredding solos, which are performed here eagerly and skillfully.

On a few rare moments on this recording, particularly the relatively long instrumental conclusion of "See You At Sunrise," the band in fact manages to suggest early Iron Maiden with its raw attitude and juvenile spark. This adds up to the band’s energized performance and good songwriting, making this release commendable, at least as far as ‘80s pop metal goes.

The album sees the light of day on Angel Air and Cleopatra’s Deadline Music concurrently. While both releases deliver the same musical portion, the Angel Air release is the one to look for, as, like most of the label’s other releases, it features detailed liner notes whereas the Cleopatra release has none (except for the bare essentials – track list and personnel). (7.7/10)

The first Eluvium record was astounding. We described it as waking in an unfamiliar and chilly house during a lulling rainstorm, the oddly comforting mood complemented ideally by sadly sweet, damp piano melodies reverberating forlornly through the house.

The follow-up Eluvium record on the ever unique and essential Temporary Residence label, the EP When I Live by the Garden and the Sea, succeeds in re-capturing the same emotion, but without making the same record again.

The acoustic piano’s still in there, but it takes a back seat as one-man project Eluvium has incorporated the element of melodic drone into this recording. Heavy, languid, ever-gorgeous, shimmering melodic progressions played with deliberation, like a vision of enrapturing glacial wind, forever bound to an endlessly symbiotic cycle of catharsis and depression. Think Stars of the Lid or SOTL offshoot the Dead Texan, but instead of standing on the shore and watching the Northern Lights set to music, you’re plummeting through ice-capped fjords while taking in the Aurora Borealis’ awesome majesty.

Organic, harmonic, resonant drones prevail throughout, with unique elements to each track, like held out xylophone melodies, probable guitar fuzz, and of course the staple piano. The only semblance of a downside is the spoken clip intro to track two from a Tom Hanks movie. That, and the album is over far too soon after 22 minutes. (9/10)

Brutal death metal can only be done in a limited number of ways. Most of the time bands are happy drawing their inspiration from Morbid Angel, Suffocation, Cannibal Corpse, or the whole of Sweden. No one really tries to touch Cryptopsy, because they know they would fail, and miserably. That is, unless they are a Belgian five-headed, ten-armed and one-minded beast called Emeth.

The easiest way to describe Emeth would be to take Cryptopsy, add slight hardcore influence, subtract the slow parts and multiply with chaos. After a short horror intro, everything else is a blur of ridiculously fast blastbeats (we're talking about 9-10 snare beats per second here), scattered growls and screams, spastic, writhing breaks and short double bass drum grooves. The guitar acrobatics are unbelievable, speed picking and palm-muted thrashing, screeching, grinding, melodic or non-melodic themes, ascending and descending, and rhythms changing in a matter of milliseconds.

Recognizable trademarks are short machine gun bursts and fast singing – the singer sometimes enters too soon, but if he was to wait for the right moment he could be waiting before a half of the song has expired.

The songwriting is of a "rip them apart and slam them together" type: the parts are assembled more arithmetically than logically, and when the full speed kicks in (which means most of the time) everything goes to hell. It's hard to tell what the seven-string guitars are actually doing without concentration and the snare drum or cymbal sounds can be lost, but amazingly Emeth know what is where.

The production is as strong as it can be considering all the demands it had to fulfill, but even a year in studio wouldn't be enough to bring out all the details – so let's just say that the drums have a natural sound and the guitars are midrange-heavy. After 31 minutes, Reticulated is over, but it feels like listening to an hour of music by some other "brutal" band.

Pause for a reality check and look at the back cover. Yep, they all look human, no wires protruding or anything. The front cover is shows a screaming guy in a straitjacket, with walls around him covered in mathematical formulas. Makes sense. Because all the music on Reticulated is one giant mathematical formula. Easily one of the most brutal albums ever. Maybe even too brutal. (9/10)

It’s great how Evergrey sounds refreshing with every new release. The band might not leap forward, but it is also remote from repeating itself.

Monday Morning Apocalypse is heavier and dirtier compared to its predecessors. The production is clear and bright, yet fleshy, eschewing the dark ambience of their earlier releases but embodying a tornado tempest. Appropriately, the keyboards are less atmospheric and alien; in fact, their presence is diminished this time around, as the songs rely almost entirely on the crunchy, swirling guitars and robust drumming. On the rare occasions when the keys do take the lead they wear tasteful, natural tones, as the instrumental "Till Dagmar" and the ballad "Closure" demonstrate.

Evergrey’s main ammo is vocalist Tom S. Englund, who perfectly assimilated the ‘70s hard rock vocals into the band’s brand of metal, resulting in an emotional performance of a beastly nature rather than the typical demonstration of high notes, which is frequently associated with the progressive tag.

Probably the most remarkable thing about this album is the way Evergrey corresponds with the urgency and heroic majesty of speed metal as much as it corresponds with modern progressive metal and its production techniques (check out "Obedience," "At Loss for Words," "Still in the Water" and especially the Ride the Lightning-flavored "The Dark I Walk You Through"). The band moves from the epic to the hymnal in a smooth, convincing and admirable assault that is engaging and forceful throughout. (8.9/10)

This one’s quite weird, even freakish. Brooklyn’s Flying has an electro-acoustic dreamscape quality that evokes a comparison with Thee More Shallows, but Flying is significantly less articulate and structured. It might even be claimed that this music is messy, as the band jumps from one idea to the next in an almost unlinked manner, offering glimpses of musical beauty and rage but leaving any narrow minded listener behind.

Those who are more open minded to the concept of music as an exploratory journey, though, will find that the falsetto male and female vocals, the childish whims, the bizarre instrumentation and the quirky songs that range from minor electric strides through folk and onto jazzy piano bits and avant-garde arrangements, are all quite gratifying as a whole. Still, a more focused treatment and a substitution of the Kermit the Frog male vocals should be considered for a better future. (5.8/10)

Exhibit A's the newest release from the band From Beyond Death. It's almost unbelievable that they aren't well known already, since they would appeal to those who would be into their refined brand of psycho-hardcore.

Do you ever feel like listening to something abstract, yet structured? If so, From Beyond Death is just for you. Basically, it's a Prowler in the Yard Pig Destroyer gone spazzcore. And man, are they good at it. Of course, it's not as groundbreaking as Prowler in the Yard, but musically, it's at the same level from time to time.

From Beyond Death has some of the best riffs ever played in modern hardcore, without a doubt. Most of them are lower and slower versions of Botch and The Sawtooth Grin riffs, but they sound great in context. While not technical, most of them sound complex to the ear, sometimes cacophonic in a good way, sometimes like a modern John Cage / Schoenberg. Hell, even Spastic Ink fans will love From Beyond Death's riffs.

The vocals are a lot like the ones found in the newer Pig Destroyer releases, combining screams with growls, and occasional spoken vocals. All of them are equally amazing and fit the music perfectly. There's variety as well, introducing death metal, metalcore and noise influences as well as the aforementioned spazzcore.

The production is a big plus, it sounds raw enough and makes the instruments really heavy. The guitar tone is another good point, sounding good on both really high and really low notes, as opposed to those hardcore bands where leads sound weak or undeveloped.

Another high point of Exhibit A is the far above average songwriting, with lots of tempo and mood changes done tastefully. Sometimes they are so subtle you won't notice them, and sometimes they are so harsh that they add a lot to the atmosphere present. Even the samples are quite positive for the album, which is not so common to see.

And, no doubt, the highest point found in Exhibit A is the atmosphere. It's pretty much the musical equivalent of schizophrenia. The central parts for creating and sustaining this extreme atmosphere are the screamed vocals and the high, sometimes ear-shatteringly complex riffs. (8.9/10)

Rising Hatred is very aggressive, old-skull thrash / death from the Mordor that is Rhode Island. Guttural yet technical, aggressive yet deliberate, Godless Rising is poised to lead the New England metal scene. The band comprises former members of Vital Remains, Ritual Sacrifice, and Amputator, so in a way, Godless Rising could be considered a supergroup. Their recent signing to The Moribund Cult heralds much more to come.

Perhaps the most enjoyable aspect of this recording is its ‘80s production style, hearkening back to the good old Florida nostalgia of early Death and Obituary. The iniquitous narratives "Soulless," "Devour the Cross," and "Mortal Failures" are standouts.

Godless Rising plays A LOT of shows, which partly explains the strength of the band’s performance on Rising Hatred. On tour as of July, some of you Bay Area thrashers may even catch them at the Elbow Room on August 9, 2006. If you want your metal to sound intimidating, here is the ritual. (8.5/10)

Good old battleship Gorgoroth. They had nearly everything a black metal band could wish for. They have been around since 1992, they are Norwegian, they have the image, the statements, the credibility and a criminal record. You couldn't help not to like them but still they never had a completely outrageous album. Yes, they were good, but there has always been something missing or superfluous on them.

But not this time. Gorgoroth have upgraded their weaponry with Frost (Satyricon / 1349 drummer), cut off everything that wasn't necessary and delivered such an obnoxious, exhausting, multi-dimensional beast of an album that it could give nightmares to Satan himself.

These are some of the most evil sounds ever committed to a piece of plastic, delivered with absolute competence and authority by all the creatures involved. The guitar, courtesy of the founding member Infernus, has a harsh sound with glassy overtones, clear enough to be powerful and ominous, yet murky enough to prevent from revealing everything at once. From the devilish industrialized riffing of the opening track, appropriately named "Wound Upon Wound," it gradually progresses including more and more shades, layers, sonic waves and pure density towards the end of the album. There are moments where it sounds as though there are two bands playing at the same time, occasionally falling out of time with each other and snapping back together.

"Carving a Giant" features an instantly classic riff, right there along with "Mother North" or "I Am the Black Wizards." "God Seed (Twilight of the Idols)" is an exception from the general tempo – a three-chord slow theme with a three-note melody, yet creating a more schizophrenic feeling than any other attempt at Bathory worship ever.

The beginning of "Sign of an Open Eye" is simple – just one chord and a blastbeat. But what the hell are those sounds beneath them? It's followed by sweeping riffs so simple but so triumphant that they proudly shove a fist into the faces of all the pretenders. More speed metal, angular riffs, outbursts of (even more) violence and malevolence and unexpected breaks are to follow, and by the time you reach the end of the last track, "White Seed,", you'll be hearing voices... It's like the speakers are submerged in buckets of blood, no less.

What to say about Frost's drumming that hasn't been said a thousand times before? This is probably his best work since Rebel Extravaganza and all of his trademarks are here. There are simple rhythms making you wonder just... why?... and then he seems to engage another set of arms. The abundant blastbeats are tribal or militaristic in feel, and Ad Majorem Sathanas Gloriam is swarming with his blatantly simple fills, yet so effective and original that they make most other drummers sound like clowns. Enough said.

Gaahl sings like a man possessed. Fiendish screams, psychotic mantras, unexpected entrances and some new ways of paranoiac vocalisms, he leaves an impression of being right there where the rest of the music came from. Sometimes he seems to be just murmuring to himself – hey, really, why would he sing for us, subhumans unworthy of his attention?

Ad Majorem Sathanas Gloriam is only 30-something minutes long, but after you've listened to it there'll be nothing left. Nothing. Silence. Respect. (9.666/10)

In case you have forgotten, Grave are here to remind you of a couple of lessons from the old school book. Swedish death metal bands are supposed to have long hair, menacing facial expressions, dress in black and wear leather jackets. This is non-optional. Surfer image is for surfers.

Next, it's better to have a couple of rock-solid riffs than a myriad of forgettable ones. Clean vocals and acoustic interludes are signs of weakness. Use blastbeats instead. Album covers are supposed to have images of Jesus being tormented in hell. Repeat all of the above until Christianity has fallen.

And then do it again.

Grave are one of those bands that started it all during the ‘90s, along with Entombed, Dismember and Unleashed. As Rapture Comes is their third album after a period of inactivity, and their seventh album altogether. But really, you couldn't tell their age because they sound more enthusiastic and convincing than both their contemporaries and the vast majority of younger bands.

There are some obvious formulas applied to As Rapture Comes: slow death grooves, speedy Slayeresque riffs, hyperspeed drumming and dive-bomb solos, but delivered with authority and arranged with experience, making them sound fresh and natural. The riffs are simple and memorable, maybe a little unoriginal, but they never fail to hold your attention. There's a constant headbanging, air-guitar feel throughout the album (even though the songs may jump from one extreme to another in a matter of seconds), and Ola Lindgren's mighty roar does a perfect job in keeping all the pieces together.

Pelle Ekegren's scattershot drumming is another pleasure to listen to, never letting things calm down and adding double bass attacks to the slower parts where other drummers usually try to look smart.

The sound is as potent as it could be. Actually it's a little surprising that the guitars and bass still have THAT meaty, nineties sound considering that the final mix has been done by Peter Tagtgren, but he did a great job in preserving the old-school feel while adding the modern-day power and clarity. Another surprise is a cover of "Them Bones" by Alice in Chains, but Grave have made it their own.

For those able to appreciate a healthy dose of brutal, straightforward death metal, As Rapture Comes will be a welcome blast from the past, presented in a modern way. With the crushing power of Dismember and the velocity of Vomitory, there isn't a single bad moment on the album and nothing on it will make you reach for the, supposedly more "modern" music instead. Maybe it'll even bring back memories of being a kid blown away by a kick-ass band. Obsolete? No. Some things are simply classic. (8.6/10)

At last, a fine death metal release — the sixth bombardment by Jungle Rot. In times when innovation does not seem to have the biggest priority, there’s always good reason to hark back to the elements that made this genre so huge worldwide.

At the west coast of the US, it started with Possessed. Later, for relentless, ruthless brutality and speedy carnage beyound the point of musicality there was Cannibal Corpse. But Jungle Rot are not interested in being "just another CC rip-off," so don’t expect anything like that.

Nonetheless, War Zone is such a cool death groove album that it might almost be considered a killjoy’s game to play it down with close comparisons. I’d recommend this one for fans of old school Swedish death metal because the Swedish rot ‘n’ roll from Entombed was also renowned for such filthy grooves and tight-fisted aggression.

War Zone out-grooves this year’s Torture Killer album (Chris Barnes’ Finnish incarnation of Six Feet Under), which is something. Take "Savage Rite," an inevitable neckmusclepuller. How many times you may have heard it before, can there be much doubt about the effectiveness of such an opening riff combined with that good ol’ stoic lumberjack rhythm? Strange how in the chorus I keep on imagining Chris Barnes grunting "You’ll never stop me: I’ll just kill again!" (on SFU’s "Survival")

Perhaps it’s that going from (SFU’s) Warpath to War Zone seems like a small step. The sound of Dave’s vocals is much different, more like a restrained cross between Max Cavalera and George Fisher. And when hearing a song like "Fight for Life," I also come to think of hardcore’s finest groove panzer machine, Pro-Pain.

I’d like to see how that song vocalwise would sound with a Gary Meskil treatment. These namedroppings might suggest that Dave is simply not as good as the aforementioned, but would anyone want to have a second Max, George or Gary? Yes, at times I’d like to hear him scream more instead of growl, but after listening to War Zone several times, one may find that this is a deliberate signature sound, not a shortcoming.

The sound of War Zone may bring several bands to mind (the band place their style in the vein of Sodom and Slayer), but eventually there’s no other way but admitting that this is an album that explodes with confidence and precision, finely produced by Chris Djuricic (Gorgasm, Fleshgrind, Disgorge). I expect it to become one of this year’s finest death groove albums to be discussed here. Highly enjoyable! (8/10)

Katagory V tries to revive the corny heavy metal of old, and although they do somewhat of a good job at it, they also make it look bad in the process.

Wasn't it cool when heavy metal spawned power metal? Do we really need these primitive looks back at the boring power chord-stuffed approach? Sure, back then Iron Maiden was pretty great. They had fantastic solos... something that happens to be missing on The Rising Anger.

Katagory V isn’t advancing the genre by releasing such an album in this day and age. Twenty years ago, it would have been awesome, but by today's standards, it's unoriginal. The tempos are pretty slow paced, the rhythms consist mainly of powerchords with the occasional tremolo outbreak, the guitar leads are sparse and unimpressive, and the vocals sound very uninspired and off-key a lot of the time.

The best part of The Rising Anger is probably the brilliant blues solo right past the middle-mark of "The Elitist," but that isn't nearly enough to save this CD. (2/10)

Better Judged by Twelve than Carried By Six is made up of the same song for all of its length, with maybe five second variations. Add a lead here, a pseudoblastbeat there, and some dissonant chords in some other place... but, honestly, it all sounds the same. Coming from an evolving genre (see: grind) would be tolerable, but from the hands of a New York-styled hardcore band (even if The Killer is not from NY), it's unforgivable. Yes, they are not full-blown NYHC, seeing as they introduce some Tragedy influences, but Better Judged... is definitely dull.

The New York Hardcore scene has been stagnating. Badly. Pretty much everything is Hatebreed worship or just tough guy nonsense. The riffs are all the same, with little to no variation from band to band.

So what do we have here? More tough guy nonsense, more riffs that are indistinguishable from one another, more simplistic compositions, and, as a result, more headaches. While the riffs are nowhere near Pro-Pain's level of blandness, they are still monotonous and really below average.

Better Judged by Twelve than Carried By Six does have some decent parts, namely the principal riff in "Welcome to Chicago," but this does little to nothing to redeem the album as a whole. The Hatebreed sound is blatant, even when disguised under "melodies" — if you can really call them so. Basically, it's just a more lead-based copy of Hatebreed and its 3500 similar bands.

The most amusing thing about The Killer is their cover of Twisted Sister's "Burn in Hell," which is, surprisingly, a lot of fun, hardcore-sounding and all. But in spite of the fun, it's unfitting in an album where the serious tone and the "meaning of the lyrics" are supposed to play a big part. They don't, mind you.

Better Judged by Twelve than Carried by Six is the perfect example of why tough guy hardcore never works. It doesn't sound heavy, it doesn't sound harsh, and most of all, it doesn't sound tough — just immature. And while The Killer deserves some respect for actually trying to mix its music with other genres, it's obvious that it was a failed attempt. Generalizations are bad, but most new American hardcore bands just don't do much to go against them.

The CD comes bundled with a DVD, which is just the album with some other songs. So, yes, now you'll be able to see how The Killer play powerchords and act tough on stage. Unless you're a big fan of the band, most probably you won't care for it, seeing as there's no difference between the live set and the CD, other than the slightly cleaner vocals on the DVD. (2/10)

Anyone want another round or another chance? Beyond Fear is a new project that features Tim Owens and friends, and all they do is attempt to recreate the same old shtick that Owens has previously done with, well… Judas Priest. The thing is that it doesn’t feature anyone from the band. It’s probably definite that his band mates worshiped the turbo loving, hell bent, leather wearing rockers back in the days.

Whether you’re fan of the Ripper or not, you have to agree to some extent that the man can still pull it off really well. Agreed, but what about those that disagree? I mean sure, his vocals prowess is more or less like that of an alley cat suffering a bad case of the meows, but give the man a break.

This isn’t almost exactly a carbon copy, per se, but the presence is there. At least this latest effort rocks to a degree, but won’t get your heart pumping. Beyond Fear does bear some solid tunes, but it just doesn’t really hit hard. It’s just more of the same routine, only a bit more melodic. A very forgettable release, if anything. (5/10)

review by: Roberto Martinelli

Tim Owens sounds amazing on this album. His voice is all power and glory, and the production that propels him and his band mates is phenomenal. Indeed, the first song or two is breathtaking, and frankly it blows away any work he did with Judas Priest.

The thing that makes Beyond Fear forgettable in the end is its unadventurousness. For although the songs are clearly played by expert musicians, the album’s cookie-cutter nature becomes pretty apparent fairly soon. The songs all neatly fit in their own pre-determined stylistic boxes; so while those containers are appropriately put together, you’re still left with a square album. But it’s a square album with a guy like Owens singing on it. (6/10)

Even expected music from Def Leppard is not to be taken light-headedly, as the band has earned its share of followers who are highly anticipating every new release. Still, Yeah! does have an element of surprise, as the entire album finds the band members paying tribute to some of their influencing artists, those who were crucial in preparing the ground for Leppard’s showy, arena rock sound. The band’s selections are far from being banal, and the passion for music is reflected not only through the liner notes (written by the band members themselves) but also through the dedicated, consistent performances.

The guitars are exquisite, with measured distortion masking, and the arrangements are thoughtful, remaining true to the conventional Def Leppard identity, while at the same time hinting at the originals.

And so you get the amped version of "Waterloo Sunset" by the definitive English storytellers The Kink; the nearly epic, string- accompanied "10538 Overture" by prog-poppers Electric Light Orchestra; a dazzling performance of "Don’t Believe a Word" by the guitar dueling Thin Lizzy, and other covers of names such as Free ("Little Bit of Love"), the transgendered David Bowie (the sax augmented "Drive-In Saturday") and some of his fellow glam rockers (T. Rex, Roxy Music, Mott The Hoople).

As a consequence of the aforementioned approach, these tracks make a strong, cohesive set, which would undoubtedly please the band’s longtime fans. On the other hand, these polished, big-sounding takes miss some the originals’ original meaning, as those songs were both products and shapers of their time, having an added value of quirkiness, sleaziness and a scent of revolution. In Def Leppard’s hands, they are simply pure fun. (7/10)

The endless gloom and weight of Mono’s latest album, in collaboration with Japanese electronic artist World’s End Girlfriend, is effectively doom metal, but minus the metal.

The group achieves this sound via perpetual layers of acoustic stringed instruments, the sounds ebbing and throbbing in their melancholy, weaving a twisted, sweet tale through the album’s hour-long running time. Elements like ghost-like choruses, piano accents, minimal drumming and subtle electronic flourishes also color the record.

Palmless Prayer / Mass Murder Refrain begins in agonizingly sublime fashion: its opening melodic strains serve to paradoxically lift the soul to heaven as it simultaneously drops it to the abyss through a trap door in the gut. While God’s manically depressed chamber orchestra carries on, a dim, distant rumble serves as genius counterpoint to the utterly bleak, yet simultaneously lovely landscape. The album is never-ending despair and longing from then on in. Even the points of shimmering light that pierce through the obscure cloud wall are forever doomed as they fade out in their last dying breaths. But if we’re going to ride in a carriage of lugubriousness, then at least let it be in one as delicate, tasteful and reverent as this one.

We were HUGE fans of the previous Mono record. In comparison, Palmless Prayer / Mass Murder Refrain pales. This is purely because for as well as Mono and co. does what they do on this album, the mood and voice is singular. Certainly, Palmless Prayer / Mass Murder Refrain isn’t monotonous, and has musical dynamics, but as richly constructed and brilliantly executed as the music is, it’s basically one voice and mood throughout. This is unlike Mono’s previous album, You Are There, which explored more emotional ground.

Still, we can see this Palmless Prayer... getting perfect scores. Maelstrom’s very own Ignacio Coluccio sees it as a perfect album, and adds that Mono is clearly outdoing the ubiquitous Godspeed! You Black Emperor at their own game. I agree with this latter point, if *only* because Mono thankfully spares us from any tedious political rhetoric. Depending on your standards and preferences, Palmless Prayer... might be one of your albums of the year, particularly if you embrace the most forlorn and bleak doom, and if depression truly equates to bliss for you. (7.5/10)

My Blooded Wings has plenty to offer for those who want a little variety in their metal. Yes, that’s it. Imagika have been doing this for quite some time and this latest attempt is like a real winner.

Don’t really know what motivates the band to create such a captivating sound, but it’s the fact that these guys can combine some fast pace thrash with some deathly moments, and still pull a ballad out of their asses and look cool. Not only that, but the culmination of high screams, ghastly growls, and some crooning sounds damned great as well. Where’s my beer-drinking buddies when I need them?

My Bloodied Wings is an album that guarantees another spin. Ever wondered how long has it been since music this good has been released? Oh yes, it’s been a while. Crank up to the Spanish guitar-styled intro, coolly titled "Tongue of Nyx," and it’ll set the mystery up until the daring opener, "Hunter’s Moon," sweeps you from the ground and lifts you into a metal high. The album is one brisk ride to planet badass and back. It’ll keep you so busy and mesmerized that you’ll wonder where time went. It’s that great! Where will this band go next from here? My hats, erm… ears off to Imagika! (9/10)

A glance at Geisha’s contact information in Mondo Dell’Orrore’s booklet immediately established them as, perhaps, the best band ever in the history of ever. Preceding the requisite email address and various web sites is this charming little declaration: "If you’d like to book us or fuck us:" followed by said contact info. Well! Direct, to the point, and not without just a wee bit of chutzpah, Geisha certainly doesn’t beat around the bush (ahem) as to their intention(s).

Of course, this avowal brings about a more pressing question to the women — or guys, we don’t want to pigeonhole (double ahem) the Geisha lads without due process — who might consider the band’s offer:

Are they fuckable?

A subjective question, to be sure. Those feeling a twinge of curiosity beginning to stir somewhere south of the bellybutton or fantasizing about rug burns on your inner thighs are advised to jet themselves on over to the band’s MySpace page to determine, first hand, the band’s fuckability quotient. Who knows? A plane ticket to Bristol may well be in your future.

Until someone takes up the band’s offer and reports the results to Maelstrom HQ, we’ll have to judge the band’s attributes strictly on what lays within the ten tracks that comprise Mondo Dell’Orrore. This much is clear, though, if the trio is as adept in the bedroom as they are at creating sonic mayhem and bliss, then be prepared for the monster fuck of your life.

What makes Geisha such an enticing proposition is the steadfast duality of their attack, where they take pop songs rife with alluring melodies and catchy-as-all-hell transitions, and beat them to within an inch of their lives, leaving them sprawled in a filthy back alley, buried under slabs of concrete, distortion and feedback.

If you can imagine a refugee from the ‘90s rosters of Touch and Go or Amphetamine Reptile filtered through the gauzy haze of My Bloody Valentine taking shelter under the heavy/soft post rock umbrella of Mono, Explosions in the Sky or Red Sparrowes, only to be blindsided by skull-pounding, knuckle-dragging rock well, then, you’re only starting to get the idea.

No roadway is off limits during the album’s forty plus minutes. The only guarantee is that if it isn’t swathed under a layer or ten of noise and fuzz, it will be at some point.

Delicate, shoe-gazing meandering falls under the weight of monolithic riffs and vicious drum hits; those same fragile passages continue to draw breath though, even after the fight has long since gone out of their eyes. A towering stoner rock rhythm gallops along at unsafe speeds, briefly yielding to crystalline, melodic intrusions that find themselves swept up and absorbed in those rhythms’ drift. Vocals so faint you have to strain to hear them emerge like staticky radio transmissions in the middle of a starless night. Determined post rock dynamics build to an epic mournfulness that couples rage and despair in a cloak of buzzing, sustained notes, submerged melodies and chest beating crescendos.

Elsewhere, sweeping passages share space with indie rock flourishes, clean guitar breaks give respite from the pervasive distortion, a new wave song structure flails haplessly against hefty bass and outsized riffs, and a serial killer expounds on his origins over a sorrowful piano piece that turns horror movie jittery by song’s end.

Heavy, fragile, crushing, pretty and ugly. Mondo Dell’Orrore is a roadtrip chained to a companion whose multiple personalities materialize simultaneously and without warning. The ride is unsettling, the threat of damage palpable. And never less than exhilarating. (8/10)

I suppose it’s unfair for me to be so critical of this group, as my giving it a 5/10 suggests. Kleeman seems talented, and the group playing his songs is made of skilled musicians. Remember the bands that were popular in the late ‘90s? The ones that seemed to be playing on all the radio stations as if they might be the next Nirvana, but never had that edge, that visceral intensity? Most of them had three names, frequently incorporating a number. (Noooooo! – ed.) That’s what the first half of Worst Kisser Ever reminds me of.

The second half of the album consists of more mellow tracks that suggest that there will be greater things from this young man — the final track, "Only By Accident," has the makings of a very good song. The instrumentation is complex, the whole piece builds up in intensity as it goes on, with pleasing results. But Kleeman doesn’t have a voice that compels us to listen to his words, so the song loses its force. Try him again in a decade, perhaps there will be more substance to explore. (5/10)

Mercenary is a melo-death band pretending to be so much more than they really are. Whether it is just marketing ploy, or the band's true opinion, these guys sound nothing like Opeth or Nevermore. You might do better if you think more along the lines of Soilwork.

But The Hours That Remain can work if you accept it for what it truly is. It's got a ton of pummeling verses smothered with screams and death growls followed by catchy chorus full of clean vocals, which actually happen to be pretty great.

The riffs, although not inventive, are performed well, though a lot of them are stereotypical or even rip-offs of other metalcore bands. The "hardcore breakdown" shoves its ugly little head into the music a few times. The music sticks to this same formula of verse / chorus and occasional breakdown until it reaches the first of two eight-minute long tracks, which sounds like a nice little foray into progressive metal. The album has its high points, and despite the lack of innovation, fans of melo-death and/or metalcore will probably love it. (5/10)

The Creatures of Loviatar starts out with a haunting introduction called "Whispers From Filthy Womb" with a soft set of strings and a lead piano section. As the music begins to rise and build, percussion is introduced into the track and the string section adds a bit more depth... sadly, the introduction seems to end a bit early when it was just starting to get intense. What follows is quite strange, as the musical content of the album changes drastically.

The guitars enter the music at this point, and have a fantastic tone. They're not overly raw or distorted, which is to be expected from black metal, but there are a lot of differences between Mirzadeh's unique brand of black metal and the norm. The biggest difference is the lack of "kvltness" or any attempts to sound really grim. The guitars and keyboards work more into the major scale and cause a more melodic, triumphant black metal sound. The keyboards draw connections to the tones in the album’s intro, and the harpsichord succeeds in displaying both modern and classic influences.

The Creatures of Loviatar has various moments of light and dark that are perfectly executed. There are portions that sound more like melodic death, yet Mirzadeh make it clear that they are still a black metal band with other portions. The vocals are a thicker, lower-pitched black metal scream that is barely coherent due to the vocalist slurring his words so densely. There are also a few low death grunts that sound crushing and inhuman along with the music. If you're into unique black metal, The Creatures of Loviatar is definitely for you. (8/10)

For a band named Monstrous, and a title like Mother Nature’s Slaves, this album is quite listenable. A number of tracks are melodic — folksy even. But it doesn’t start out that way — the opener, "Humble Headbanger," makes one think that perhaps they will live up to their name. Monstrous have more than one mode, however, and this album highlights both the skill and versatility of these three brothers from Rhode Island.

From the punked-out first track, they segue into a psychedelic number that reminds me more of the Beatles than Fugazi, while providing a distinctly new variation on the theme of rock. These segues are not limited to separate tracks; rather, many of the songs here work up from a mellow sound to an almost-shoegazing, almost-post-punk, almost-grunge confection.

Yet Monstrous do not go over the edge: Their sound is tight, oddly coherent despite the varying tempos. These guys are all over the place. It’s hard to pin down exactly who they sound like (Sonic Youth? The Shins? Nine Inch Nails? Bleach Nirvana?) and it is delightful. Not every tune is perfect, the sequencing is a bit jarring at times, and some tracks might have been better if not shared with the world (none are that bad, but this band is clearly capable of better). Even so, I’d recommend it. (7/10)

Slow your horses down with New York’s own sludge-loving Negative Reaction’s latest album, Under the Ancient Penalty.

In a nutshell, the album stalls out like an old Buick and grooves to the southern bayou sound of Louisiana. The killer vocal work sounds drainy and agonizing at best, ranging from harsh and raspy yells to singing in a more melodic manner, yet still retaining a coarse nature. It blends ok with the unique, intoxicating sound, but one listen isn’t going to win you over. Negative Reaction’s dry and drowsy style might really wear you down, making you want to skip toward the faster, only brief, parts of the tracks.

The cuts off of Under the Ancient Penalty are a bit interesting from a stoner / doom metal perspective, but their timing really makes things a bit uneasy. Having some basic ground with their hardcore past, the only thing that would sound anything like hardcore would be the vocals.

Maybe things would sound a bit better if they just upped their tempo a notch to be more attention-grabbing. Still, there’s good stuff to be found. (6/10)

Metal knows no boundaries, but it rarely happens that new black metal reaches us from a corner as unexpected as Estonia, one of the Baltic states in Eastern Europe.

It’s a shame, considering that every band member had been active in a previous band. Nihilistikrypt, formed in May 2004, are the follow-up to a band that was called Ignorabimus and consist of the core of Uziel on growls and guitar and Sorts on guitar. The bassplayer, called Doomhand, used to play in a band called Irdhing, their main growler Orc in one called Ecthalion and their meanwhile third drummer Zombie in Spitblood. The band focus on – naturally – nihilistic, misanthropic and hateful lyrics and describe dark themes from the deepest crypts of their minds, and things happening around that bother them.

Required Sacrifices is Nihilisikrypt’s first demo, and it features their previous drummer, Port, who unfortunately had to leave due to other commitments. That is a shame also, because the mix of this proficient sounding demo has an emphasis on his contributions, which are mostly executed in dexterous mid-tempo. To describe the riffing, one could imagine a mix of Immolation and the feel of early Cannibal Corpse. Even Orc’s nice growls may fool the listener for a few unconscious moments that it’s Chris Barnes we’re dealing with. No surprise it may be, as most members happen to like these masters of gore, next to the likes of Bloodbath, Death and Grave.

Required Sacrifices consists of nine songs, including two chilling intros. I have heard many intros and outros, but the outro of "Execution of the Last Priest" may get my personal award for the most sinister one this year.

Lovely is the artwork, solely consisting of shades of green, depicting cartoon style scenes of the diabolical and the gory. Very funny. A good example of how artwork should make you curious for the further content. Good news so far. But as often goes with debut releases, there are things that leave room for further development. Whereas the spirit of brutality is well honoured, it isn’t quite as much expressed through the production technique, which is by standards rather tame. Nihilistikrypt’s musical potential is evident but, just like the artwork, it comes out monochrome. Not a reason to dismiss this release for that.

Surely a contract shall be waiting around the corner and with drummer Zombie we should be expecting something that surpasses this release in both speed and punch. It’s a nice release and, though not spectacular, a meritous start in pushing their way to the higher ranks of Baltic death. (6/10)

Think of Slayer, and the first things that come to mind might be Reign in Blood and their horrible latest albums.

Obscene Gesture would be the black sheep to say Show No Mercy. This band’s Demo 2006 is Undisputed Attitude v2.0, with all original songs. While enjoyable, that Slayer album was deeply flawed. The medleys and covers on that album sounded all the same, and most of the riffs were too Slayer-ized, same for the vocals. Well, imagine that same sound, minus all the flaws (including the "overSlayerization"), while playing original songs.

Demo 2006 manages to be absolutely careless while still holding your attention. Technically, it's a more modern version of Slayer's Undisputed Attitude. It has the same kind of '80s hardcore riffage, the same drum patterns, and the same vocal arrangements. The songs are actually composed the same way most early hardcore and punk bands composed them, based on one or two riffs with angry vocals over it. While old school in structure, Demo 2006 is modern in sound.

They say the student always surpasses the master, and such is the case with Obscene Gesture. The annoying production of Undisputed Attitude is turned into an abrasive but crystal-clear one, and the unfitting vocals are turned into a higher-pitched version of Billy Milano’s. And well, when the vocalist is compared to the best crossover vocalist ever, you know he has to be good. The songs, while actually composed all the same way, have structurally different riffs so you can tell them apart. Of course, you won't find any Dream Theater wankery or solos, but rather old Kerry King-like noisy solos, whammy bar-abuse and all. And most of all: Obscene Gesture's songs are theirs.

While it has many differences, the central part doesn't change: both are incredibly fun. Given its short length (eleven minutes), Demo 2006's replay value is really high, and you can't really grow tired of it. It's one of those releases that are made to be played on repeat for hours.

If you like crossover, thrash, or old school hardcore (before it turned into a high-school phenomenon), then by all means, try this release. (7.9/10)

Ostinato’s largely instrumental music lies successfully on the crossroads of surf rock, trip rock, indie, ambient and drone. Think of that unmistakable fast-picked, watery guitar style associated with surf rock, with musical and vocal passages that might have fit in on Mogwai’s Rock Action, along with sensibilities that you could imagine The Gathering sharing at their loungiest, mixed with brooding yet sexy atmosphere that you would find on Bohren Und Der Club of Gore’s second or third record, all wrapped up in an envelope that has definite jam-band energy.

Chasing the Form all comes together at the bottom of a long and winding rabbit hole. Warbling, delicate, shimmering melody, driving yet groovy bass lines propelled by gliding, busy guitars, tension / release bursts of drums, and multi-layered atmospheric richness. Ignore the couple barely passable, wise kung-fu master voice clips; this album’s a winner. (8/10)

Like it or not, Outbreak represents the in-your-face style based on a whole lot of hardcore and a little bit of punk, backed by dull presentation, an uninspired "don’t give a fuck about conflicts, I run my own life" attitude…

…who are they kidding? Failure is absolutely predictable and so embarrassingly painful that the novelty wears thin after the first batch of songs.

The problem with Failure is that it proves every point of complete failure by swiftly breezing through the album’s 16 cuts faster than you can say the word "ugly."

The music requires absolutely listening attention to be fully comprehended, so expect nothing but a bunch of anthems for kids waiting in circle pits or up on the front, anticipating the elementary sing-along sessions.

The party doesn’t stop here just yet, but each track has a resemblance with the last, and that’s where the line is drawn.

Failure is a definite "stay away from this like a plague" deal. Kids, you know better. (1/10)

Imagine going to an art gallery. You walk in, expecting to see breathtaking works of art everywhere, gorgeous splashes of color, enough originality and beauty to make your heart pound. As you wander, through, you begin to notice that while there's a lot of detail in the paintings, every single one of them is done in drab grey and white, and rather than being awe-inspiring, they end up just leaving you with a feeling of disappointment.

Listening to this album by Finnish band Psychopathic Terror is a similar experience. There is talent here, plainly heard throughout the songs, all the elements are here for a fine work of metal art. It's a marriage between thrash and death metal, and that part of it works. There's good guitar work, especially evident in the soloing near the end of the track "Teurastus." Matti Johansson's drumming is excellent throughout the entire album. The songs range from fast, headbanging rhythms to a slower, darker style.

While the cookie monster vocals don't particularly help the album as much as a more guttural, deep growl could, they don't really hurt it either; the vocal effects on the track "Fuck the Police" could have been useful throughout.

Ok, what is missing then, you ask? What is it that's keeping this album monochromatic as opposed to colorful and deep? With all the talent and detail this album has, it's severely lacking in motivation or inspiration. It's missing that big oomph that will make your ears perk up and go, "oh... what was that?" Rather than pushing play and five minutes later start wondering what you should have for dinner tonight. This band could really go somewhere if they put some effort into the writing the songs and some emotion into playing them. The idea behind song titles like "Let There Be Revenge," "This Society is Full of Shit," and "Bring Me the Head of the Prosecutor" is that they're fed-up and angry and if they'd just put that into their performance this album would be more more Picasso-ish. (6.1/10)

Ooh, how fun. Lots of energy, lots of cowbell... this is the kind of CD that makes me want to get up and dance around my kitchen.

And then it’s exhausting.

And then I’m glad that there are only five songs.

And then I wish there were more.

Oh, the pain. L.A. – based Prototype call their music progressive thrash metal, but the only thing about Continuum that is actually progressing is the time on the CD player counter.

Or maybe not even that – isn't track five just another version of track one, and repeated on track ten? Maybe they were hoping that no one would notice if they place them far enough from each other, but there are other things that repeat. Not really "more" as in quantity, but more like three basic tricks assembled into ten songs. There's the fast power/thrash metal riff, there's the clean part and there's mid-tempo thrashing, awkwardly arranged just to appear progressive to the most superficial people, those who would buy anything just because it's "complicated and melodic."

There are no changes in tempo and dynamics apart from a clean guitar instrumental and an acoustic ballad. The singer's voice is colorless, without personality (if you don't count an attempt at sounding like Hetfield), too loud in the mix and too everywhere in the songs.

Prototype seem to be very proud of their new-found Australian drummer and to say he's overdoing it would be an understatement. Without paying attention to the songs, he just wants us to know how many elements of his kit he can use every damned second, especially during clean parts, but by the end of the album, thankfully, he gets tired. The underdeveloped (and too short but that's a blessing for them) songs hold no atmosphere whatsoever and the only redeeming points are occasional good riffs, if you can make them out from the others.

There are so many bands doing this kind of thing so much better – for example Eldritch, Evergrey, Lefay or Vanden Plas (even Communic) that wasting time on Continuum should be punishable. (3/10)

There's no need to say that grind splits are no longer what they were in the early ‘90s. Instead of sides, we have "CDs." And, well, they are no longer just 10 minutes long each. Thanks to P2P and all, that they won't even go for over $100, and they won't be signs of how "metal" or "grind" one is. Most splits nowadays are for promotional purposes more than for the actual music. So, is this Sanitys Dawn & Mechanical Separation split like that? Thankfully, no.

Sure, it won't be as legendary as the O.L.D. & Assuck split, but this split we're reviewing is one of the best examples of modern grind.

Sanity’s Dawn delivers their usual riff-driven grind with heavy groove usage, although not as much as to be called goregrind. In this release in particular, they sound a lot like a more grindcore Regurgitate. Quality-wise, it's exactly what you'd expect from them. Top-tier grindcore with varied vocals and good song structures. Just like their other releases, it's mature and has no nonsense, with songs actually composed and not improvised. The interesting drumming is still there, the dirty sounding guitars too, and the bass is actually audible. It's not, however, so far from the usual modern grind bands; only in the creation of riffs, as opposed to random downtuned E-string bashing. Summarized: incredible, but not THAT original.

As for Mechanical Separation's side, it's an odd one indeed. For such a new band, their sound is already really developed, and is reminiscent of Gigantic Brain and newer Agoraphobic Nosebleed, while still conserving a more early grind or goregrind vocal style and structures. The production is really, really dirty, so it all feels like a block of concrete hitting your head, but it's not raw at all.

Sometimes Bathtub Shitter grooves enter, and sometimes old O.L.D craziness does, but nothing's really out of place. The whole side has an almost dadaistic atmosphere, with lots of different styles played and many vocal styles too, sometimes even in the same song. Even polyrhythms and broken rhythms are played sometimes, which gives you an idea of their musical diversity. Don't expect inhumanly technical riffs, though. Another component worth noting is the drumming, really original with lots of tom rolls and interesting patterns.

While Sanity’s Dawn's side is impressive, Mechanical Separation takes the cake with its near perfect mix of grind subgenres and plenty of insanity. Both together make a really nice combination, and complement each other in a way most new bands in splits don't.

Indeed, Sanitys Dawn & Mechanical Separation is an old-fashioned grind split, and you know that can't be a bad thing. (Sanity’s Dawn: 8.4/10 Mechanical Separation: 9.3/10)

England’s The Seventh Cross attempts to recreate melodic metal with an epic approach, but doesn’t exactly make the grade.

The problem with Scorched by the Flames of Vengeance relies on its uninspiring content — as cool as it would seem on paper rather — than on music. It shares some similarities with As I Lay Dying and Darkest Hour, only with some Middle-Ages themes. However the case may be, it’s starts off scorching hot with its orchestral beginning and slowly introduces the music, but goes stale with unoriginality, despite the conceptual backing.

The flames barely touch the surface of things. I mean, there isn’t any excitement besides the decent melodeath guitar riffs that any other of those aforementioned bands have done. "Awaken to Carnage" is the neo-thrashy / death metal gutter child of the album, and stands out from the rest. The straining vocal work just doesn’t make things any better, either.

Scorched... doesn’t really maintain its strong beginning, and the movie quotes spread throughout the album wouldn’t make you think twice about listening to it again. It’s an alright effort, the but next album should be an improvement. (5/10)

Skin Area's latest release is divided in two discs: Lithium Path and Journal Noir, even if that division is pretty much arbitrary. Coming from Cold Meat Industry, you should already know what to expect: great dark ambient, or anything related and especially extreme. In this case, it's the latter.

Lithium Path is a strange one. Musically, it's overall incredible with some exceptions, namely some sub-par spoken word tracks. The flow goes from improvisational guitar compositions to noisy, industrial-ish, minimalist ambient. It shows many different influences, from John Zorn to Mogwai, and at least one song is sure to appeal to you. But that's where its flaw resides: it's way too ambitious for its own good. It's so varied it sometimes turns inconsistent, changing atmosphere abruptly between songs. Instead of one listening experience, here you have over ten different ones, and unless you like the whole musical spectrum, you most probably will end up skipping tracks.

But is it bad? No, actually, it's nothing short of amazing. As inconsistent as it is, if you take every song singularly, most are simply masterpieces. Like "Into Bliss": it has one of the best improvisational theme developments this side of Naked City. The guitar work is impressively weird, with dissonant chords and odd leads. There's a heavy atmosphere development in the whole disc, too, for example in the schizophrenic "Elvira" or the heavenly "Nostalgia."

Journal Noir is actually stranger than Lithium Path. It's not as inconsistent in genre, but it's inconsistent in quality. Some songs are perfect while others are completely boring and pointless. For example, "Doll at Play," "Spiral Nerve," and especially the psycho "Blut Und Weintrauben" are flawless, while "Journal : Noir" is bad and "Silverhall" is mediocre. In this disc, there's also the single most awkward song ever recorded, a 15-minute spoken word track that doesn't really go anywhere. Still, it's fun to listen to, mostly for of the background noises. Thankfully, the perfect songs are many more than the bad ones.

Lithium Path / Journal Noir's technical side is based on far more conventional instruments than most ambient or avant garde bands. Guitars, synths, vocals and good ol' noise, mostly. Also, the clean production even in the noisy bits is a big plus, as you can actually hear everything.

As a whole, this dual disk set is a near perfect product, with some structural errors and two or three below average songs. If they had set it up as, for example, a progression, or if they had divided it in a more logical way, then it would have been far more consistent. As it is, however, its random disposition hurts the album a lot. Flawed, but still impressive. Then again, seeing such quality coming from CMI is not really that big of a surprise. (7/10)

Holy shit.

The mark of a professional beginning to a review? Perhaps not, but those words have been on endless loop since the opening track of Skinless’ Trample the Weak, Hurdle the Dead. Holy... fucking... shit. So be it.

Many fans were worried that with the loss of vocalist Sherwood Webber, and the addition of bassist Joe Keyser's brother Jason at the mic, that Trample the Weak, Hurdle the Dead might not live up to the band's sound on their previous works.

Skinless fans, worry your pretty little heads no more. They not only live up to the "old" Skinless sound, they've far surpassed it. The music itself is still as pristine as it's always been. Slow and heavy as fat Uncle Frank in some spots; blisteringly speedy in others. The guitar, bass and drums all fuse together to seem as if it's all one big, seamless note played by some instrument crafted by the demons of hell. Even the samples they've put at the beginning and/or end of certain tracks are the perfect choices and blend in so well with the tracks you don't really realize that they're from movies and not written to be part of the song.

The biggest shock of all is Jason Keyser. We've heard his work in Detriment and Mucopus, but anything he's previously done completely pales in comparison to his utterly bestial, bellowing growls here. Upon hearing this album, you have to wonder why Skinless didn't draft him sooner.

It's very hard to pick anyone track that stands out over the rest, but the closing track is a Black Sabbath cover, "Wicked World," done in their own style and yet still paying homage to Sabbath.

Essential? Absolutely. (9.8/10)

Get your silly Edgar Allen Poe-inspired outfits out of the closet, because it’s time to revisit those death rock days with Tenebre’s Heart’s Blood. No, really, this must be some sick ass joke right? No? Ha, that’s a shame!

The music isn’t the best thing out there, but it represents an idea as to what Moonspell could do if they wanted to ditch their metallic side and what Type O Negative could do if they wanted to sound like actual fools. At least it’s the effort that counts deep down inside, I guess. Tenebre’s vocals are an apparent homage to both of those bands. With that covered, there’s apparently more of a Cult / Sisters of Mercy influence in the music than anything.

Heart’s Blood is very hard to take seriously, especially as it’s Tenebre’s fifth album, but these dark-hearted Swedes know what they’re doing, so let them have at it. This isn’t particularly appealing as far as ember-filled eyes and star-crossed loving hearts are concerned.

Don’t forget about the competition. Germany’s End of Green is by far a better choice in the game, plus their singer can do a near perfect rendition of Peter Steele, end of story. (5/10)

In 1996, following the label’s suggestion to record with modern, hot metal players, Judas Priest’s Glenn Tipton (luckily) abandoned most of his trio recordings with Cozy Powell and John Entwistle, which have remained unreleased up until now (and are also reviewed in this issue). Tipton spiced things up with a wider cast of stellar players such as Robert Trujillo, Shannon Larkin and Billy Sheehan, in a rotating chair fashion (Powell did stay for some of the tracks, while Entwistle is featured on a mere single track).

The result is quite invigorating, confronting Tipton’s Judas Priest legacy with the fresh, young blood and funk-metal of the then-popular metal acts, such as Ugly Kid Joe (Whitfield Crane even contributes additional vocals on one of the songs). Take for example his distorted, metallic rendition of The Rolling Stones’ classic "Paint It Black," revitalizing that ‘60s tune in a shocking, up to date gnarling fashion.

Tipton, while not a natural vocalist, manages to convey his lyrics with his grunting, menacing vocals, sounding like a sick Dave Mustaine. The lyrics themselves sound true to the experience, as clearly demonstrated by the human, anti-critic declarations on "Extinct."

The guitars are generally more technocratic compared to his previous Judas Priest engagements, suggesting of the Judas Priest releases with Owens that followed. Tipton slashes on top of walls of distortion and massive, potent drumming. His lines are creative and rich, serving as a testimony to the first-class player he is. The title track is a winning combination of Painkiller with Malmsteen-styled neoclassical metal, and if that’s not enough, "Left for Dead" further emphasizes Tipton’s willingness to break free of his associated trademarks, this time with a more laid back approach.

Two bonus tracks are added on this re-issue. The second, "New Breed," is pretty much a straightforward, mid-tempo rocker, but the first, "Himalaya" (with Neil Murray on bass and Powell on drums) is much more notable and stands as one of my favorite tracks on this album. It is an epic track, with grandiose instrumentation, and Tipton is at his ethereal best here, with the possible influence of Ulrich Roth. (8/10)

The blame for New York hardcore’s complete stagnation — with no signs of future improvement — indeed rests on bands like To This Day.

There is nothing new in Chapter 1:Between the Bridges. It's not a complete Hatebreed clone, as they do use other influences in their music, but none of them are well done, or really new. For example, "OM" has some decent melodic leads and something that resembles a blastbeat, but they come out sounding pretty weak, if not nu-metal-ish.

For most of its length, Chapter 1: Between the Bridges consists of the same NYHC beat again and again, with some random breakdowns and "different" segments. However — as the past few years have attested — no newer In Flames influence will make you original or different, ever.

The album isn’t even so bad that it’s fun. Its approach is completely serious "straight-edge" and all that. Unless you, for some reason, really feel what they are saying, you won't find anything of interest here. But you can't really have ideology as an album's center, even more so when it's not original, and the even more so when there are endless bands doing the same thing already.

The only part that's average here is the production, which is the standard for more "mainstream" hardcore: crystal-clear. Then again, it's not like that matters when there's nothing good to show in a crystal-clear way.

It's actually no surprise. This is what happens when you only try to appeal because of social circumstances or trends instead of actually trying to make music. Or when you do things everyone and their mother have done already. Or both. (0.05/10)

Light the way! Death metal may be stuck in a rut, but Warnaments is more likely to appeal the avid fan of thrashing melodic death metal without any implication of trendy bullshit. This is the real deal here, folks, and it’s about time that something this wicked came along.

Torchbearer features members from Scar Symmetry, Satarial, and Angel Blake, and has got every bit of emphasis from the first two. It’ll definitely appeal to fans of Hypocrisy and Kataklysm.

Fan of concepts or not, this will attract those wanting something along the lines of brutal metal, yet paints a vivid musical picture. If anyone’s up for war, Torchbearer are the ones on the fictional frontlines to musically offer epic storytelling.

The inescapable melodies on the album burn like napalm and stick with a nice combo of guitars, moody piano keys and crazy supportive synths. However, don’t expect astral themes or crazy hyperblasting here, just some original ideas and your undivided attention. Granted, Warnaments will provide ya with a swift kick in the ass…

…make that multiple swift kicks. (8/10)

Trendkill’s debut release, No Longer Buried, puts the gun barrel to your head with the intent to squeeze the trigger just slightly. It also features the help of Anata’s current drummer, so it’s already expected to have nothing but the best in pulse pounding double bass. Will this shot actually penetrate, or end up not hitting the broad side of a barn?

Hard to say just yet — it’s a mixture of absolute dead heavy metal with some modern thrash outings close to that of Mnemic and The Haunted, but it doesn’t clash with Trendkill’s already acceptable sound. No Longer Buried sounds somewhat distant compared to those bands, but it just doesn’t really cut it. If only this had more balls, then maybe there would be a better reaction.

So, still not enough? The guitars are detuned and buzzing, with a straight-for-the-neck effectiveness. There are bits and parts where the timing gets a bit technical a la Meshuggah, such as in "From the Beginning," but only a pinch is used. There are small amounts of hardcore influences, but that doesn’t jeopardize their credo. Combine that with dry and raspy yells, albeit monotone throughout the album, and you’ll get the idea.

Actually, this isn’t bad for a debut release, trend killers or not. It misses the shot, if only there was innovation then we’d be talking kick ass. (5/10)

The Trews make decent, straight- up rock music. There is no gimmick here, none of the collective madness that marks so much other Canadian music. Vocalist Colin MacDonald sounds a lot like Chris Cornell, but taken down a notch. The guitars are strong, the drumming is loud; there is no question what category to assign to The Trews.

Tracks such as "Got Myself to Blame" are exemplary of The Trews’ talents — a strong riff, fast pace, touch of harmonica, some close harmonies. This formula is a good one, utilized consistently on Den of Thieves with a few variations that keep the album from being repetitive. "I Can’t Say" departs slightly from the mold with a gentle intro and more subtlety than is in evidence elsewhere. Lead single "So She’s Leaving" sounds like something that made the top something of a radio station’s countdown (I leave you, dear reader, to decide whether that bodes well or ill). It has a good deal of energy and seems to moves along well.

Den of Thieves has more than a hint of mid-90s grunge flavor. If you want a new take on rock and roll as a genre, this isn’t it. If you haven’t yet hung up your flannel shirt, or if you still find yourself furtively eyeing your old Pearl Jam albums, you will find a whole new slew of songs to enjoy. (6.5/10)

Reviewing underground goregrind is a thankful mission – whatever you say, you're right. Badly produced? It's supposed to be. Exaggerated? Of course. Ridiculous? Well, yes, they are not actually doing these things in their everyday life. Exorcising perverted places in the hidden corners of their minds through manipulation of a sonic medium? Naturally.

Problems could arise when you receive a 19-track goregrind compilation, but luckily United States of Goregrind is a four-way split CD, a joint effort of four labels. And it's only 39 minutes long. So here we go...

The show begins with Negligent Collateral Collapse, a Czech band playing an industrial variation of grind with mechanical programmed drums and pig vocals. The four songs on display here are quite well produced and decently put together but apart from the obvious sickness, there's really nothing deeper. The mid-tempo blasting sounds repetitive and the forced drum fills don't help things. The guitar riffs are all the same and the most interesting thing about them are female screams added to the mix. It’s novelty value more than anything else.

Corporal Raid hail from Italy and present us with ten tracks of classic, hilarious grind. There are two undecipherable vocalists, one of them far in the distance and the other one sometimes synthetically sped up. The buzzing guitars, distorted bass and inaccurate, "tin can" drums fly around at ridiculous speeds and sometimes pause for a punk moment. It's grindcore done in the old way – and if the do songs sound similar, that's just because of their speed and short duration. Judging by the songtitles, they are politically and socially orientated. Quite good.

Three songs by Screaming Afterbirth, the feces-obsessed Americans, take the CD to another direction. The sickness is still here but this time with a full-bodied sound, discernible and quite imaginative songs and grooves in a classic Exhumed style, exchanging places with blastbeats. There are effective tempo changes, there is the "live" feeling and there is talent making them the best band on the CD. Except for (sorry, including) the song titles – "Infectious Erection Injections" and "You're in Urine," anyone? Just try to pronounce that... The third one is a cover of "Blood Supply" by Squash Bowels.

Devourment (USA) ends the proceedings with another two songs of bass-heavy Exhumed worship with more ultradeep singing. The songs must be from different releases because of audible differences in sound so there's not much to say about them except that they are similar to, but not as good as Screaming Afterbirth, also confirmed by the titles "Autoerotic Asphyxiation" and "Babykiller." Too obvious, right?

For fans of this type of music, this compilation will be an obvious choice. For the rest of us, a nice filler for the CD rack waiting for those special, precious moments when we want to, well, be in urine. (6/10)

Urkraft (Danish for "primitive force") play modern thrash metal. Nowadays this description could mean anything – one of those melodic, pop-infected death metal bands too embarrassed to keep calling themselves death metal, a re-united thrash band with a new sound and old ideas, or maybe some metalcore band trying to sell more CDs to the metal-oriented audience.

Fortunately, Urkraft are none of those. They actually play modern thrash metal and they kick ass. All hail them.

And they mean business. First of all, there's no intro and they deserve a medal for that fact alone. Now, remember listening to Slaughter of the Soul or The Haunted's debut for the first time? The Inhuman Aberration brings those memories right back. From the opening of "Too Strong for the Strongest Lord," the listener is exposed to an enviable amount of top-quality riffs, highly technical, powerful, fast – and, amazingly – long. These are not the typical three-chord palm-muted riffs – each of them is assembled from several individual ones, played using a different technique for each part and creating an impression of riffs making an inhaling and exhaling entity.

And to make things more amazing, Urkraft don't just repeat those riff-constructions without variation. With all the twists and turns, there's still a constant thrashing beat throughout the album – a clinically precise, militaristic beat with a sombre atmosphere coming through. At times the music can become hypnotic, but Urkraft never fail to invent another way of violently restoring your attention just when it might have started slipping away.

The production, done by Tue Madsen in Antfarm Studio, couldn't be stronger and clearer than it is. The keyboards, applied to only the right places and playing only a couple of chords, are so effective that they instantly inject more eeriness than the whole orchestras used by other bands. The drumming is perfect, with Mikael actually being able to accentuate guitars and keep up with them, changing beats without losing the thread, never forgetting his two bass drums and adding a blastbeat or a furious filler just to shake you up. Thomas, the singer, can growl and scream as convincing as the best of them with expressions varying from melodic death metal to hardcore.

The Inhuman Aberration is one of those rare multi-faceted thrash metal albums that don't come along your way very often. You can enjoy it critically, for the sheer technicality of it. You can scream and headbang to it without trying to analyze anything. And you can listen to it in the dark, through your headphones. It always delivers. (8.9/10)

It’s interesting that this band’s prologue track is called "2012." Urskumug, a new rising force in the rising Baltic metal scene, pepper their pagan rites with sizable Rush influence. Assuredly, they don’t go for any of those Geddy Lee falsettos – Urskumug are deeply guttural. Their arrangements and instrumentation are very elaborate and progressive, in a Nile fashion.

However, with all of this going for it, Urskumug’s blade doesn’t break my skin. Tracks like "Time of the Jackdaw" and "The Guardian" are strong blasters, but the ambitious "Beowulf" loses me about halfway through. And that’s the one I so looking forward to hearing.

"~~~~" (that IS the title) is the best track of all, mostly due to its straightforward thrash-blast and Origin-like intensity. "Talking as a Shaman’s Son" maintains that remarkable intensity, but the title track, "Am Nodr," just bores with what seems like paint-by-numbers song structure. However, "Mother of the Halfword" closes this recording with strong, Hate Eternal-ish blasthate.

So although Urskumug don’t do it for me, people should preview their tracks on the Ledo Takas site, because Baltic Metal will not be denied. (5.5/10)

review by: Roberto Martinelli

Oh, man. What a surprise. Here I was expecting nothing but superlatives for Urskumug from our main woman of blackness, Larissa Glasser. She loves Ledo Takas Records, and this one seemed like a lock.

Now, while the cover of Am Nodr might make you want to switch your brand to Marlboros, but expect nothing but some of the most razor sharp and intense black metal you may bear witness to this year. The guitars whizz by with ferocious conviction, while an extremely convincing drum machine performs dense patterns with complex fills.

Am Nodr really grabbed me on the first listen. The sheer conveyance of its alien, iron will through the utmost precision was akin to beholding Octinomos’ best stuff for the first time all over again, but more hard-nosed, if you can believe it. I was ready to add Am Nodr as an entry to one of the year’s eventual best. The album lost some potency with passing listens, but it’s still pretty great. Note to Larissa G: I want the album back. (8/10)

The Art of Agony is a re-release of this particular Vicious Circle’s 2004 album (originally released on Neoblast Records) and another excellent release on Crash Music (see also the review on Jungle Rot). It should definitely be interesting for folks who know Atheist, Sadus or Cynic.

You can play this CD from the same stack where you keep your Dying Fetus, the true grandmasters of chaos-tech death metal, and if only it weren’t for the many unexpected tempo changes making it rather difficult to memorize The Art of Agony’s tunes, you’d eventually want to whistle along to them. A pinch of Slayer’s thrash metal riffing style would be in place as well.

Looking back, Vicious Circle (est. 1989) finally released their first significantly distributed CD since 1993 with a crushing blend of brutal death and skull-slamming thrash metal. Lots of twisted riffs and dynamic breaks. Great snarling vocals by Darrell Rapp, who joined the pack in ’98, but is heard on record here for the fist time. Ironically, he’s been in the band for much longer than any of his predecessors.

Vicious Circle’s music is a complex whirlwind of madness conducted by a wonderful team of "where the hell have they beens?"

When undergoing The Art of Agony, it is hard to believe that the last release of this band was a "best of" compilation way back in 2000! If one would consider this album as a come-back album, then it is one with a vengeance as far as intensity goes, thanks to the help of engineer Dan Korneff (Lamb of God, Candiria, Ill Nino and M.O.D), pouring liquid skin over a corpse that is to be nice ‘n’ nervous once again.

This wild bunch could just as well name themselves Vicious Re-Cycle: To start, the entire ’97 Live Long and Suffer EP has been re-recorded and included here. Also re-visited are the first three tracks from their ‘94 demo, "Dead Scent," "Neurotic Reminders," and "Unfulfillment." That leaves five new compositions, which do not sound spectactularly different, which means that they either have re-styled and up-dated the old stuff very cleverly, or that they haven’t evolved too much over time. Admittedly, the song entitled "Lord of Shit" is the standout track among the newer ones for its fascinating Deicide-istic anti-Christ chaos combined with semi-acoustic beacons towards the end.

The question about re-styling vs. evolution shouldn’t be considered a problem at all, because the writing of new material has already begun in 2004, a new release could be imminent, perhaps even before the end of this year. If not, we’ll just have to live longer and suffer more. This is good though, if one considers this as Vicious Circle’s proper start. Forget about the ‘90s stuff, this is where Vicious Circle truly comes circling in. Give ‘em a spin, (re-)familiarize! (8/10)

If Red Sparowes struck you as something else, but too atmospherically cloudy to handle, then 5ive are for you. It's that simple.

Versus, released on Tortuga Recordings, now features a two-stage remix of the melodic droning sludge group's "Soma" by none other than Justin Broadrick of Godflesh and Jesu fame. The first stage is a short, but very ominous venture with some heavy organ melodies, setting a tone that sounds like something you'd hear on a dark, stormy night out in some church in the baron wasteland of oh, y'know, Hell.

"Reso-I" sets things off in the original pace of 5ive, starting off in a very minimalistic sense, not too far removed from the basic drone of masters Earth, before letting a tumbling drum sequence segue into a melodic section of guitarwork from the beating heart of 5ive, Ben Carr. Then, it transforms into a droning section too quick to be doom, but welcomes the usage of a wah pedal to provide some unorthodox effects. It builds into a very energetic section that pounds the song until its end.

"Soma" is a much more desolate track, lodging itself somewhere between the standard sound of Earth coupled with Karma to Burn at their darkest moments. Amidst the pounding rhythm later on, under a steady, droning singular guitar layer, a secondary layer provides and expansive pulsing, giving the song a certain sort of personification.

The second stage of the "Soma" remake it the highlight of this already magnificent EP. The atmospherics and ambience given by drone mastermind Broadrick add an almost completely new demention to the sound, giving it that feel of audible redemption that recalls tracks like "We All Faulter" and "Your Path to Divinity" from Jesu.

Superb disc. Fans of Red Sparowes, Earth and Jesu must find this. (10/10)

If you're a neo-beatnik and proud of it, you know what kind of label Neurot is. You start out on metal, go harder and harder into it, until you find Red Sparowes, Neurosis, Isis — bands of those ilk — who recall you back to a more emotional and melodic side of music. The three-way split Triad of Made Out of Babies, Red Sparowes, and Battle of Mice (the collaboration of the two bands) is a good little balance sheet of progress in Neurot's catalogue.

Red Sparowes made themselves a noteworthy band with the release of their debut, At the Soundless Dawn, sounding reminiscent of Explosions in the Sky gone drone. Featuring Neurosis' visual director, Josh Ingram, Red Sparowes displayed an excellent instrumental mix of atmospherics and emotion. Triad, though not featuring anything new from them, studio-wise, has two live recordings of "Alone and Unaware, the Landscape Was Transformed in Front of Our Eyes" and "Buildings Began to Stretch Wide Across the Sky, and the Air Filled with a Reddish Glow," and though definitely not too far-removed from their studio counterparts, being live gives the pieces a certain airy feeling to the music and a very expansive atmosphere. Especially the latter. The visuals conjured up are schizophrenically beautiful with a very light mix and atmospheric melody, but with a constant bit of shrill discord.

Made Out of Babies, the project featuring the extraordinary vocals of Julie Christmas, sees Neurosis on their slightly harder level, and because of that produces some mixed results. Though the band keeps a certain atmosphere that Neurot seems to encapsulate, the musical arrangements are based in a minimalist hardcore sound, and end up producing underpowered yet disdainful music. Definitely not the brightest point of the split, but still worth listening to if you give it time to set in. Definitely the angrier third of it.

Battle of Mice, however, is the paramount band here. A collaboration between Julie Christmas and Josh Ingram, Battle of Mice is essentially Red Sparowes forsaking their centralized atmospherics for a bit more of a droning and direct approach, letting the exquisite vocalwork of leading lady Julie Christmas to do most of the atmospheric work, along with the occasionally droning, quiet guitar chorus. This is evident in "Sleep and Dream," a very progressive and haunting tune that's beautiful in the right of the clash of feelings present at once. Julie uses every part of her voice to the fullest extent, giving secret whispers and moans, even screaming hard enough to burn through a vocal cord or two.

"The Lamb and the Labradour" follows through with the same formula, but starts out with much less of a quiet mood. The music is ominous and dreary, like that feeling of dry mouth you get whenever you wonder what makes you insane and all the people who work 9-5 through the rest of their lives to pay for their Lexus the norm. It's the soundtrack to a mud-slinging session over humanity.

Triad is essential listening, and until Battle of Mice release their debut, it's pretty much the best medium to hear them, because they and Red Sparowes make this split worth every penny. (9/10)

The promo sheet says Hour of the Wolf is reminiscent of Black Flag and Dead Kennedys. They’re certainly no Black Flag (any Rollins fanatic like myself would scoff immediately anyway), but Hour of the Wolf are successful in making one of the most energetic, fun and listenable albums since Chuck Norris Experiment's debut.

The comparison between the two is warranted because of the musical similarities. While Hour of the Wolf are punk, they have a very vintage and old-school energy to them, mainly because of the guitar tone. At any rate, the slurred vocals recall Henry Rollins to an extent, which is a definite plus for me, but the lyrics are notions of hardcore violence, retribution and all those nice things.

Hour of the Wolf's music can't be ignored, though. The album is short, barely clocking in at 25 minutes, and although most of the arrangements are simple (other than the occasionally prominent bluesy lick, though), the music's minimalism adds a sort of unpretentious charm. Literally, Hour of the Wolf is scream-along lyrics. Real stuff to drive 70 miles an hour to. (7/10)

Intronaut's debut EP, Null, was astounding. The band, consisting of ex-members from Anubis Rising and Uphill Battle, issued an album that competently mixed all their influences, yet giving them a very original sound in the execution and structuring.

Now, with their debut album, Void (nice pun — null... void), Intronaut are dishing out the same sound they forged in their debut, with a much better production job. It's very, very hard to place, but there are traces of Meshuggah (every era), Atheist, Cynic, Isis and Neurosis. They're defined by an onslaught of metallic and dissonant guitar pieces, rhythmically entwined by some very jazzy drumming and bass that sounds exactly like Coprofago and Cynic.

After the dense wall of noise, Intronaut segue in a very jazzy section, complete with atmospheric, droning back layer guitar with an echo effect put on the second, louder layer to offer a very melodic and spacey section.

What's so awe-inspiring about Intronaut is the fact that their influences are mostly structural. Though you can read this review, you can't understand exactly what Intronaut sound like, because they've so skillfully forged their own sound that you really, really have to listen to get it. For instance, the Isis influence is in the progressions. Songs generally tend to open with a very thick and dense assault, and then waver into a much softer section. Intronaut’s Meshuggah tendencies eschew the standard riffing style for the most part, and just rely on standard progressions with odd time signatures. As far as basslines, they sound like Cynic worship, even down to the tone. Neurosis seem to inspire a lot of the visuals, mainly in "Gleamer." The Atheist element seeps in through such breaks as in "Fault Line," where a very spacey and odious section intros to a pounding rhythm passage.

All in all, Intronaut are the band to watch as of right now. While this band may not sound it, they're doing something completely new, and you would do yourself well to get in on this before the band blows up or breaks up. (9/10)

Harem of the Sundrum & the Witness Figg is the new album by Vanishing Voice’s leader, James Toth, a.k.a Wooden Wand. Its spared approach begins with the accompanying single paged booklet, which just barely features a dedication and a thank-you list, and resumes throughout the rest of this intimate record.

In a sort of a lo-fi recording, Wooden Wand unleashes his gloomy reflections, with the ease of his guitar playing and a direct, occasionally multi-faceted, vocal performance. Sounds simple, and it is in fact quite so, but this is a conquering simplicity, with a bit of haziness, a bit of psychedelia (especially when the electric guitar joins the more prevailing acoustic one) and a whole lot of folk.

"Leave Your Perch…" has a country / nature flavor while "Vengeance, pt. 2" is served with apocalyptic tones. "Forgiveness Figg (Bethany Hotel Blues)" evokes scents of The Beatles’ "Here Comes the Sun," "Eagle Claw" sounds like a creaking tune by Jeff Buckley’s hillbilly-twin, and "Warn Winch, pts. 2-3" has a loopy ambience that evolves into a vocal mantra.

Considering the primitive attitude found here, I could not help but think about the irony of Harem of the Sundrum & the Witness Figg’s release — it is a 21st century characteristic that back-to-the-roots recordings such as this Wooden Wand solo debut are seeing the light of day? I bet even the young Bob Dylan needed more bones in order to get a contract way back in the early ‘60s, and certainly a more thorough production for his songs to succeed commercially. But with the opportunities bared by modern, independent music scenes, as well as the freak-folk awakening and some fine songwriting in the fruit basket by his side, Wooden Wand is a promise fulfilled. (7.7/10)

The material on this release was recorded back in 1996, but sees light for the first time now, a sort of a tribute to the late Cozy Powell and John Entwistle. These tracks were originally laid as a basis for Tipton’s solo debut, Baptism of Fire, which is re-released simultaneously (and reviewed in this issue), but were dropped as the original label drove Tipton towards younger associates.

Led and penned by Tipton, the music here is surprisingly remote from his Judas Priest repertoire. The material is hardly original, mixing basic hard rock together with metallic bombast and mechanical ‘80s production.

Tipton’s guitar work is a bit simpler than one would expect, with straightforward metal riffs riding reverberating chords; even when he does ignites and starts with his metal rides, it is not faultless. Cozy Powell exhibits his exaggerated, heavyweight drumming relentlessly (those of you who remember his performance on Malmsteen’s Facing the Animal will find a similar sound here, only less dry), lacking the finer instrumentation of the final Baptism of Fire.

Another major letdown is the fact that Entwistle’s contribution is barely substantial — a great miss considering the extraordinary player he is and the fact that his metal appearances are limited. Airy, at times even pompous, keyboards by Don Airey, and a buried, mostly uninspired vocal performance by Tipton himself (who has done a better job on the later material that did make it into his debut) round things up.

But it would be unfair to write off this effort completely, as there are a few sparks to be found. Unfortunately, even some of the potentially promising songs — "Never Say Die" (which sounds like The Who’s "Baba O’Riley" meeting "It’s Hard") and "Searching" (which sounds like a recent Gillan/Deep Purple ballad) come off too scrubbed, and together with their adjacent songs, they result in a somewhat artificial, even awkward feel.

All of this suggests that the tracks laid before us were never fully realized, and so, lacking strong hooks and vocals, the hymnal approach that adorns most of the tracks fails, and the songs fall down beneath the high hopes. Therefore, this album should mainly appeal to hardcore fans of the people involved — those whose heroes nothing can degrade and who will approach these songs knowingly as demos. (4/10)

It's always a bad sign when a black metal band dresses in full corpsepaint and then gets professional vanity portraits done, looking more like kicked puppies than evil Satanic preachers. It's even worse when these portraits are superior in quality than the actual musical product.

There seems to be two different aspects to the music on Dark Dominion’s Rebellion 666, alternating between god-awful attempts at black metal and atmospheric interludes where a single voice speaks blasphemies or whatnot with a tone that's been pitchshifted down to the point of stupidity.

During the actual music, it's pretty much the same notes being tremoloed into oblivion with no real purpose except to cover up for the glaring fact that songwriting was completely ignored on this CD. The opening song gets annoying after ten seconds, and if you dare try to pass further into this abyss of horrible failure, you'll find the most moronic and annoying twin guitar harmonies ever created. Song structure is more predictable than a fixed boxing match and thus transforms the album into a complete abyss of repetition.

The only thing that is remotely good on this album is the work of Lord Messir's grim vocals. Great, great vocals; horrible, horrible music.

The other part of the album, the atmospheric, stoner part, is cool for the first few moments, until you realize that these sections will appear after every single heavy track without fail, which completely destroys any flow that this album might have had. The only thing these tracks do is provide a small interlude for you to find a gun and shoot your stereo into happy, happy oblivion. The pitchshifted spoken words are so horribly deep that it's impossible to determine whether or not they're blaspheming Jesus or telling us a yummy casserole recipe they invented.

Speaking of Jesus, one Dark Dominion’s tracks is called "Together We Rape The Son of God" and in all truth, if Jesus ever heard this album he'd start begging for that spear in his side. If this is the next generation of black metal, it’s indeed we who are gang fucked. (0.5/10)

There are four aspects of grind that are pretty essential for the genre, those being chugging, heavy guitars, growls and pig vocals, furious drumming, and as much insanity and sick, twisted ideals as one can fit into tracks that average less than a minute long.

Reference Necrotorture’s Blood Feast. The guitars are wonderfully insane and demented, as is the drumming. The vocals are some of the best in the genre, going from brutal death growls to amazing pig vocals in an instant. The riffs and song structures are very well done thoughtout, eliminating any dull moments that many grind bands suffer from.

Blood Feast is an absolute beast of a release, leaving you feeling strangely violated, but happy and satisfied. This album is as insane as it is ferocious, and is a must have for any fan of grind, and will leave the listener demanding more. (9.5/10)

As far as progressive metal goes, there's a point where progressive becomes outright weird. Where that line is drawn, you will see unexpecT dancing wildly on the other side, maniacal and insane glints in their eyes as they move to their own beat, and give chocolate covered aardvarks to their critics.

This crazy sextet's latest release, In a Flesh Aquarium, is every bit as weird as expected, with dynamics and even genres changing on a dime in seamless transitions of extremely odd arrangements that work in the strangest ways. Each song brings the listener a new world full of insanity and brilliance, filled with lush atmospheres, furious riffs, operatic passages and touching melodies all thrown in with a swirling kaleidoscope of telltale gypsy insanity. Such profound oddities found within this album definitely makes it the strangest release of the year.

After you listen to In a Flesh Aquarium, you’ll be contemplating two things: "What in Hellgates did I just listen to?" and, "how did I enjoy that as much as I did?" If you're a fan of such bands like Especially Likely Sloth, for example, unexpecT's will feel right at home. If not, then get this album so that you can drive your significant other completely out of his or her mind, which is probably the goal anyways, because there are few bands that could achieve a feat such as this album. The experience of listening to this music could only be defined as pleasantly molested with a side of musical genius. Crazy never sounded so good. (10/10)

Flaying brings to the table an offering of deathgrind in the form of ten pissed off tracks of pure hatred. Everything the standard grind outfit needs is here, as well as some extra goodies, such as a nice womanly scream every now and then and piss slow guitar solos.

But as accomplished as Commandments-Violated main sound is, it's a pity that it's been accomplished before. The guitars and drums work very well together, but it's the vocals that make the band suffer. Screaming every other minute over poorly written lyrics doesn't help the fact that the growls on this album need a lot of work. The song structures seem to interlap every now and then, creating a slightly monotonous feel. All in all, a lot could be done to improve this album but as it is now, it's a good listen every now and then; a good album for days when you just need to headbang. (6/10)

If Paradise Lost and Theatre of Tragedy had a child, it would be Sara Lee. Diving deep into the turbulent waters of doom and shoegazer, this goth rock/metal outfit knows damn well what it's doing, with thick chunky guitars, monumental keys, and soaring, melodious vocals.

Darkness Between takes the listener on a fantastic journey through chambers of beauty and sorrow, each piece as moving as the last, with backing female harmony vocals that coincide perfectly with the lead.

Listeners will be enchanted by such tracks as "Black & Hollow," "Destination Unknown" and "Cries a River." This is an album that audiences will anticipate and hope for the end of the final song just so they have a reason to play the whole thing over again. This really is a masterful work, brilliantly brought together, with each of the six musicians standing out easily within the mix.

If anything, the monotony of the songs' sound might annoy some, but all in all, a fantastic album by a fantastic band. Highly recommended for any fan of shoegazer, goth, doom or dark metal. (8.5/10)

note by: Roberto Martinelli

What? No jokes about cupcakes, flapjacks, and astounding double negatives? Man, the standards of my own zine are getting too professional for me.

Fans of the late Sentenced, rejoice! Ville Laihiala is back fronting a brand spankin' new band! Now, if you're just reading this to find out whether or not Poisonblack sounds like Sentenced, it doesn't. It's fresh territory for Laihiala, as he explores darkened hard rock in a most pleasing manner with Poisonblack's sophomore release, Lust Stained Despair.

The songs have tremendous flow within each other and are complemented by great riff work and songwriting compiled with a pure emotional surge that you only find in truly great works. In addition to lead vocals, Laihiala also takes up guitar duties, and what a job he does! Emotional solos with heavier-than-hell rhythms all make up a great album. Although some parts can feel a tad uncomfortable, the intense atmosphere of the music will quickly alleviate such feelings.

Poisonblack serves us up an offering of great rock-based metal that is a must-have for any metalhead. There is simply no excuse for not getting this album. (8/10)

So what do you say to an album of biker metal anthems by the brainchild band of Dimmu Borgir's Shagrath? Hell, yeah! Kiss yer mamas goodbye, swing a leg up on that chopper and hit the road in the Chrome Division!

Listeners will be pumping their fists to such fine works as "Trouble With The Law" and "1st Regiment" as they sing along with the tough as nails vocals, and keep that head a-banging. The flow of the album is never broken, and every guitar solo immensely compliments the entire mix. Influences from American rock and punk to European metal can be seen throughout this album in amazing fashion, bringing forth one of the most badass releases of the year.

Raise your fist and slam your beer on the table in salute to Chrome Division's Doomsday Rock 'n Roll, bringing some much needed relief from BLS and a fresh look into the world behind the handlebars. (8.5/10)

After a listen to this album, you'll swear your hair has grown longer. Paying tribute to the heavy metal and thrash metal bands of old, Leatherwolf emerges none too silently from the great sunny state of California, bringing with them a definite blend of west coast thrash and flaunt to mix together with all the things heavy. Fast guitars, pummeling and ferocious rhythms compliment nasally, sneering vocals for a unique blend of old, new and innovative.

It is apparent that Leatherwolf has two shredders as guitarists, and it's not a feature that they mask, as many of the songs and riffs show their speed and talents, but in very acceptable moderation, as it does not separate them from the music nor does it hinder their ability to blend in their performances. All in all, a great album for a boring day, and much to look forward to in their next release (7.9/10)

Wow, a band that has ripped off ‘80s heavy metal, modernized it with a radio rock sound, covered it up with alternative rock vocals and rhythms, creating a rather tame sound with over-the-top vocals that don't fit. Brilliance never knew such stupidity. Sure, its unique, but it's boring. The drums are lifted right off death metal and old heavy metal beats with guitar harmonies that get boring after the first song. What a way to get noticed, eh? Just rip off everything you hear and you should be fine.

There's not much to say; the songs break the flow within themselves and the riffs are uninteresting. (3/10)

Ever wondered what would happen if Devin Townsend had forsaken metal in general? No? Well, uh, you should've. A Cloud Mireya are here to show you, and they're a different kind of beautiful.

Just to preface the review, this is closer to indie than it is to metal, so if that's not your thing, forget it. A Cloud Mireya call themselves rock for lovers, and you can figure that out immediately as the wispy and ethereal vocals of frontwoman Claudia Deheza add layer upon layer of uplifting melodic lines and cascade over the natural and dreamy guitar lines provided by guitarist Guillermo S. Henen.

Singular was recorded in its natural state without any over-dubs, any professional studio mixing, and retracks, and has kept its completely human vibe. There aren't necessarily glaring mistakes as there are improvisations on themes and standards, which is especially evident in songs like "Illustional." Rarely will you hear drums or percussion of any sort, because the music wants to keep a very light and atmospheric mood, which it succeeds in creating. In spades.

All of this seems to reach its epoch in one song, "Bliss Inselcusion." Clocking in at over 12 minutes, the song recalls Mars Volta with a crush. Somber, but only to the point where it's emotionally introspective and very, very tender.

This music is beautiful, but you're not going to get a thing out of it if your idea of beautiful is the grim necrolvst ov the northern wintermoon. Intended for listeners of Pelican, Mono, Explosions in the Sky, and, to a point, Mars Volta. (9/10)

When From a Second Story Window released their Not One Word Has Been Omitted EP, they set themselves apart from most of their metalcore contemporaries by the different theory they used to achieve their sound. The band definitely made a few people wait awhile for their eventual full length, which is finally here in the form of Delenda.

When most people trash metalcore, they seem to just overlook this band. It's a shame, because this is the utopian metalcore band. All that tremolo riffing, casual breakdown bullshit is gone. Here, most of the melody is distinguished by the usage of odd chords, essentially what most black metal bands do, but in an opposite tradition. Rather than sounding mostly dissonant, they work for a melodic purpose and let the massive, chaotic riffing From a Second Story Window dish out to provide the palette for their sound.

And yes, From a Second Story Window have riffs in droves. Listen to the massive build-up of "Soft Green Fields" launch right into that daunting, bone-crushing breakdown and give way to runs that sound at home in any grindcore band. "Oracles and Doorstep" nods to deathcore mongers Glass Casket, with a schizophrenic wall of sound giving the listen no time to breathe.

From a Second Story Window's first full length is almost epic. Essential listening not only for metalcore fans, but also for those who trash it. (8/10)

A compilation of the first two CD-Rs put out by the husband and wife team The Goslings, Spaceheater / Perfect Interior deals in low end rumble and omnipresent buzz, each track a stretched out tapestry of prickly drone textures lumbering without direction to an inevitable, if seemingly arbitrary, drop off and conclusion. Like so many artists in the suddenly crowded drone / doom / ambient / whathaveyou field, there’s trace evidence leading back to Earth’s prototypical Earth 2 album, and if this was all The Goslings had to offer, they’d still be worth a look and listen.

Where The Goslings make their case is in the pervasive warmth imbued in each track, sometimes as accent; at others the bedrock, solar flares bursting amongst the claustrophobic and hefty throb of blown-out bass, oversaturated amplifier noise and looped, endless feedback whorls. So when a track like the 13-minute "In May" drones on in reverberated waves of pulsing hiss, each derivation is an oasis in a sweltering expanse; random clatter, warbling voices, crackling depth charges, a keening dog and sustained organ notes drifting in and out like a tattered curtain wafting in desert wind.

The other eight tracks are all considerably shorter, and the same dynamics found on "In May" share more equal footing with the drones, at times supplanting them, however briefly, as the centerpiece. There’s also a sense of more traditional song craft lurking in these tracks, albeit where tradition is turned inside-out and sideways. Prime example "Statuette" conjures the spectre of Jesu broken down to its bare essentials and played in reverse, disintegrating into a wash of balmy fuzz that, in turn, sinks into the humid thickness of a swamp replete with insect, animal and amphibian noises, mysterious splashes and the unnerving sound of something pushing through water in your direction.

Another point of departure is the voice of Leslie S., the female half of the couple. It makes its way into most of the tracks and like all the other sounds employed here, her voice is utilized as a device, adding color and texture rather than serving as the driving force or focal point.

On the languorous "Summer of Spring," she serves as a grounded, folky, counter-measure to the enveloping drone of cowbells that lurch forward in a desultory march. "Bloom Again" finds her exhaling non-descript syllables though a whispered vibrato reminiscent of Jarboe at her most creepily ethereal. Likewise on "Celestine" "and "Sthenno," where in both she compliments lugubrious sheets of bass and pitches of coal-black organ swells with wide-eyed, speaking-in-tongues passages that lend themselves as easily to the notion of salvation as they do to the onset of an apocalypse.

The Goslings make the music of dreams. Sweat-soaked, sheet-twisting, hallucinatory excursions where you traverse withered lands as the sun beats down without cease and the ground wobbles and tilts from subterranean nuclear detonations, or traipses through southern-gothic backwoods murk that house madness. Yet there’s an austere beauty to their sonic landscapes belying the ominousness shrouding every movement, a gentle hand pushing you along through the endless terrain with an uncertain promise of safety. (7/10)

Rage’s Speak of the Dead makes me wish I had been paying more attention to the long-running German heavy/thrash metal band’s work. But, come on, what little I’d heard had been abrasive, yucky blues-based thrash unpleasantness with poor, gruff vocals. In that limited universe, Speak of the Dead is Rage’s crowning achievement. But what do I know? We’ll bet the same judgement has been passed on it from aficionados, too.

Speak of the Dead is a masterwork of catchy songs, cool riffs and harmonies, and top-notch production. The immediate highlights are the stunning acoustic orchestral sections, which prominently make up the multi-track "Suite Lingua Mortis" concept, which comprises about half the album.

Rage’s style is still heavy metal meets thrash, but all its elements are in harmony. Even "Peavey" Wagner’s coarsely melodic vocals are fully in-control and in tune with what he’s singing over, whose riffs have a nice balance of personality and vocal compatibility. It might not be everyone’s favorite style as far as melodic metal goes, but it’s hard to reproach Wagner’s execution. The music and arrangements are expertly done, and the melodic progressions within those by both the instruments and voice make for a highly enjoyable and eminently revisitable experience. Rage’s latest and greatest is certainly one of the best heavy metal albums of the year. (8.9/10)

Being tagged "lazy" generally isn’t a label one aspires to, but as far as The Mouse That Roared is considered, the term lazy is appropriate and wholly descriptive. And that’s a good thing. The Portland, Oregon trio has crafted an album that laconically screams the word "summer" and all things associated with the season: languid, unhurried, hazy, sleepy, full of flowery redolence, incessant brightness and billowing heat tempered by cool breezes. Throw Excommunicator on the deck and you’ll contemplate flight from the stupefying temperatures of your un-air conditioned third floor walk-up and seek out the inviting canopy of a shade tree perched on a river bank, asking nothing more of yourself than allowing the water’s current to sweep over your bare feet and mustering the will to drag a sweating bottle across your brow every few minutes.

Indie rock would be probably be a fair assessment of The Mouse That Roared’s sound, but they bring more to the table, and with that a welcome lack of irony. Sure, they can rock — in a restrained and casual manner — but they augment this with a keen pop sensibility full of gently insistent hooks and melodies that aren’t so much catchy as beckoning. A healthy dose of alt-country twang makes its way, and is the main ingredient, into at least half the tracks and there’s a healthy appreciation in its incorporation that has the feel of the genuine rather than misguided co-option.

Generally, the sound is sparse; guitar, bass and drums locked together in a weary, yet aware, loping pace, the vocals of Stephen Kozik balanced comfortably on top, walking side by side with the music as each track finds its way. When disparate elements are introduced — piano, atmospherics, the occasional power chord, psyche-tinged organ, brushed cymbals — it meshes well, adding to the established color palette that makes up the meat of each song.

The fact that these flourishes don’t push any of the tracks to a thundering climax, and Kozik and Co. still manage to hold your interest is, in itself, no mean feat. The leisurely mood brooks these incursions with open arms and a pat on the back while remaining insistent that no amount of cajoling will end the journey any sooner than need be. Very nice, indeed. (6.5/10)

Well at least Bury Your Dead’s using fairy tale allusions and imagery for song titles instead of the names of Tom Cruise movies, as they did on their last release, 2004’s Cover Your Tracks. Because, let’s face it, it doesn’t matter how brutal your sound is or if you can crush walnuts between your eyelids, there’s only one word for appropriating "Top Gun," "Legend," and "All The Right Moves," and its starts with a very large "G."

But all homoeroticism aside, Cover Your Tracks was a fine dip into the metalcore kiddie pool, equally weighted with enough hardcore and death metal aspects to keep things far away from any churlish emo interloping, while copping Slipknot’s guitar tone with such dexterity that the masked ones from Iowa probably didn’t even realize it until midway through their last world tour.

All the same aspects are present on Beauty and the Breakdown and the Slipknot influence is more pervasive in that Bury Your Dead has pulled in more nu-metal influence than previously exhibited. This is a divisive thing under any circumstances and, as would be expected, the incorporation of this trope is a mixed bag. On the good side, it adds a covert bit of groove to a number of the tracks, giving them an accessible sheen underneath the accumulated mass of the riffery. On the negative side of the equation, they pull in some moldering throw-your-hands-in–the-air and bend-repeatedly-at-the-waist-at-a-ninety-degree-angle bounce that slaps a black mark across otherwise strong tracks. Luckily, these moments pass quickly and the business of head-on collision quickly reestablishes its dominance.

As a whole, Beauty and the Breakdown falls somewhere between the predictable monotony of Hatebreed and sniffs around the multi-hued haunches of Zao. Anchored by a massive, sternum-rattling drum sound, the band melds hardcore, metal, some thrash, a taste of death n’ roll, the more comely aspects of nu-metal and plain old rock together into a toothy blend that’s breakneck yet focused, often catchy, frequently punishing, generally satisfying. Worth a listen or few. (6/10)

Is it time for metalcore to go the way of the wooly mammoth? What started out as an exhilarating and dangerous boot in the ass to both the metal and hardcore scenes has been diluted down to either girl-jeans and eyeliner-festooned emo boys pouring out their feelings over a (barely) hard / soft, MTV-ready batch of pablum or belligerent, tough-guy posturing whose musical influence begins and ends with At the Gates’ Slaughter of the Soul. Yawn.

There are still plenty of examples — Ion Dissonance, Premonitions of War, and Norma Jean immediately come to mind — who have much to offer to the whole moribund scene, but bands such as these, ones that think outside of the wet cardboard box, are a shrinking exception to the predominance of the two aforementioned camps. So while it’s still premature to declare metalcore a flatlining, soon-to-be corpse, the time feels right to usher in a new subgenre to the heavy ranks. Post-metalcore, anyone?

Boom!

Consider The Dead Walk the first salvo of the post-metalcore era. The Acacia Strain lends a steel tipped boot to the guts of the metalcore aesthetic and doesn’t stop kicking until the internal organs are liquefied. Rhythms shoot out at all angles in a manner that would do Meshuggah proud. Riffs tangled in concertina wire ebb and flow in either deliberate bouts of flesh tearing or whip-fast sprees of panicked bloodletting. Breakdowns are eschewed for slowed down passages that chug along with an overabundance of menace, threatening to dissolve into full scale riot. Pummeling double kick drums, colon rattling bass, drop-tuned guitars whose tone is so jagged it could pull meat from bone, and a seriously pissed off sounding vocalist merge into one very nasty, antisocial, jacked up son of a bitch.

All well and good, plenty of other bands have similar resumes, but The Acacia Strain ascends to another level by brute power, inventiveness and sheer force of will. The song structures are often so off-kilter they feel like a condemned building on the verge of collapse. This in turn creates a palpable tension as you wait for them to reduce to a heap of rubble; and it’s all the more astonishing when they don’t. When the band eases off momentarily via manhandled melodics, soaring, echoed guitar reminiscent of Godflesh’s Streetcleaner and riffs that possess a catchiness that no amount of distortion can disguise, it paints the violence in even starker relief.

At a compact 32 minutes, The Dead Walk is a precision instrument with only one usage: total destruction. Be brave, stand tall and prepare for impact. (7/10)

Hounded by Fury is a house with many rooms. And each of those rooms possess a unique schematic; behind each door are sonic dioramas, cinematic in their vividness, lying dormant, as if waiting to be discovered and activated by human presence. The only commonality is that these scenarios are full of mystery — puzzles to be unraveled — and if such a task is too arduous, absorption and meditation on the sounds within serve as an acceptable substitute.

The brainchild of Steve Parry and aided by a few guests, Hwly Nofio’s dronescapes are littered with electronic noise, minimalist rhythms, clatter and scree, undulating pulsations that play at time keeping, scraped strings, unwavering solitary notes and an omnipresent feeling of unease equally balanced by snatches of light that gleam in their complexity and sustain. This contrast is absolutely essential, a ying-yang coupling that ensures equilibrium so neither force can dominate. The list of instruments used in the creation of Hounded by Fury is expansive and esoteric and for a record that is so (seemingly) free-form, it comes across as remarkably focused. A journey through those rooms reveals, alternately, wraithlike projections, disquieting images, muted explosions of wonder and the simple pleasure of reveling in the pure joy of sound.

The opening track, "A Walk With Mr. Gorey," is a short excursion through a Victorian ghost story, a child’s music box, whining guitar notes that emerge from stillness and retreat back again, and low-pitched organ notes combine to evoke not so much fright as dread derived from unfounded paranoia and an imagined finger run up the spine.

The sprawling, 10-minute expanse of "Sanctify" finds deep, cavernous bass drones lilting across fog-encrusted moors. Far in the distance, something more treacherous moves forward, a higher pitched, saw-like counter-drone that shimmies with unknown intent, eventually, and without fanfare, swapping places with the low end hum that began the track. "Riding the Echoes of a Strange Situation" does just that. Beginning with a colony of drunken bees trapped in a grand piano, it cedes to the thudding of addled machinery that attempts to keep time with a monotonous cymbal tap, only to falter completely and dissolve in the random sounds of an abandoned hospital.

This duskiness is offset by tracks that cast smeared prisms, broken shards of color that keep everything from being sucked into the vacuum of a black hole. Whispery notes plucked from a Chinese guzheng direct "The Fish in the Tide," conjuring a Taoist temple perched on a mountain top where monks walk an endless maze of concentric circles, serenely carrying secrets that would take ten lifetimes to even begin to understand. "The Function of Space" is practically whimsical in the album’s context, a deconstructed slab of space rock paired down to its base elements then augmented with bent and chorused guitar and pulsing electronic hum.

But it’s the impossible splendor of "Child Woman" where the album makes the leap from evocation to transcendence. A minor key chamber piece where the musicians play a short, looped progression over and over as faint drones linger far in the background, shapeshifting as the melancholic air grows more insistent with each measure and the only exit is through a slow fade into the ether. It’s the saddest and most beautiful music in the world and being touched by its grace is a gift one holds close when the light is extinguished and you’re left alone the dark with only the frailty of your thoughts. (8/10)

If you're, say, a fan of Elend, or of Burzum's more ambient, keyboard-laden side, maybe you have been looking for something similar, even more ambient and meditative. Maybe you have tried to listen to one of those "sounds of nature" new age CDs, and realized just how bad they are. Just some waves and pretentious keyboards supposed to take you to another level of consciousness, right? And yet they were telling you that you could relax and meditate to them? What a scam. Sure, some of the black metal intros and instrumentals were quite close to what you really needed, but they were too short. Shouldn't there be someone trustworthy, someone "true" doing whole albums in that particular direction? Look no further.

Vinterriket's mastermind and the only member, Christoph Ziegler, lives in a house at the end of some German village with a good view of the forest. Being a misanthropic lover of the darker side of nature, he spends his time recording ambient albums with added sounds from his surroundings. On Lichtschleier, the fifth official full-length Vinterriket album, he has gone completely minimalistic – this time there are no vocals whatsoever, just synthesizers, slowest of the slow pianos, some subliminal effects, and the sounds of wind.

So little – yet so much.

With the lights turned off, Lichtschleier (robe of light) can become anything you want it to be, and take you anywhere you want to go, providing that it's a dark, gloomy, oppressive place with occasional beams of cold light.

You could imagine yourself being lost in a snowy forest, twitching at every sound behind you and watching your breath freeze, wondering for how long you could go on before your body collapses back into the earth from which it came. Every shape and shadow in the snow could be a fiendish face and the impenetrable fog could hide just about anything, but certainly nothing benevolent – unless you accept the invitation to become one with it.

You could be standing on a mountain top with no civilization within eyereach, beholding the colorless landscapes and the creation of a new day, which will be just like the new day before – but it will not matter because you'll be at a timeless, frozen place anyway. Even if your imagination fails you, there is visual help in the shape of the last track, a .mpg video of the title track with black and white, handheld camera recorded footage of exactly what you thought it would be. Dark, primordial nature.

When the Vinterriket CD came to my mailbox, it was one of those hot and busy summer days when everything and everyone seemed to be here just to annoy me with their views, behavior or merely by their existence. I came home, but I really wanted to be somewhere else, in a dreamy mythical place where I could just lie on the ground in some cold and grim Scandinavian forest, look at the moon peeking through the branches of threatening trees, listen to the gusts of wind and let trolls take me away. Lichtschleier couldn't have arrived at a more appropriate time. It might not have done all that, but I could have sworn that it had lowered the temperature in my room. (9.2/10)

A simple acoustic guitar part repeated over and over, accompanied by some beeping electric guitar strings brings forth A Fire Is Meant for Burning. As the music continues, the electric guitar goes into a melody of its own amongst the acoustic riff, which stays the same. Thus is the glory of Vlor, the content is basically instrumental music with two guitar parts, bass, and electronic and/or sampled elements.

Each song starts off with an acoustic riff that stays the same throughout the whole song. Another guitar part will eventually add to the sound, and the bass and the electronic sounds join in. Although the songs use the same riff over and over, the sound seems to spread out the farther into the song you go, causing a wider, more intense sound.

The main problem with A Fire Is Meant for Burning is that all the exclusively instrumental music seems to fade into the background. It's very much like "spare time with a guitar" with very simple clean guitar melodies that repeat ad nauseam. The good side is that it's not distracting, and could offer a pleasant experience. You might sort of think of it somehow as a less interesting version of Agalloch. (5.5/10)

Imaad Wasif has a long history as a musician, most recently touring with the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, both as an opening act and as a guitarist with the group. But he deserves his own top billing on the strength of this album alone.

Imaad Wasif’s overall mood tone is melancholy, not upbeat — the product of some inner struggle that is familiar yet alien enough to oneself to allow one to appreciate it. His voice is smooth, with just the right amount of quaver in songs like "Isolation" to convey how truly he has lived the lyrics, and pitched just high enough at moments that one might be reminded of Chet Baker — some of the sentiments here are the same.

Wasif is a man with a guitar, mostly acoustic, with hints of other instruments hovering around the edges, blown there like smoke. The speed varies, as does the thickness of the smoke. Some tracks are stripped down voice and the barest guitar, leaving us to resolve the conflict between the beauty of the music and the heartache of the lyrics.

The most forceful of the songs, "Coil," incorporates a number of sounds external to the basics, and drives harder; this seems to come straight out of the lyrics, as the repeated "I love you" of "Coil" is almost forced upon us, as if Wasif could make the person so addressed love him back simply by the force of repetition.

Most of the tracks linger somewhere in between, elaborating on the pleasure that fully allowing oneself to feel, even pain, brings. This is an elegant meditation, ideal for solitary listening and reflection. (9/10)

The vibes emitting from the introduction track to Wastefall’s Self-Exile, with its mainly Greek vocals, are powerful in creating the feeling that you're forsaken in a desert somewhere. The artwork also seems to feature plenty of sandy colors that helps to add to the desert-like imagery.

Self-Exile touches on several influences and styles within each song. Some songs are mellower than others, some feature all-out thrashing, while others are more funky with some great piano work. There are even some with a slight ballad touch. The production is clear and bright, which allows the sound to really penetrate and demand your attention.

Wastefall will surprise the listener by entering a jazzy jam, or a middle-eastern arrangement amongst their progressive metal stylings. The band succeeds in making complex, entertaining and emotional music that will keep you begging for more. Each song is distinct with its own sound and style. (7.5/10)

Wolverine are very talented at being nobodies. The started as a melodic death metal band. On their third album, Still, the Swedish quintet has decided to try to present their more melancholic influences to a mainstream rock audience. And, it has to be said, they have good ears. Every part of Still is an interpretation of obvious role models, such as Katatonia, Anathema, Opeth's slower stuff or modern US radio-friendly rock.

But in spite of a good sound, solid musicianship and various effects, the result is only superficially attractive. Wolverine have tried hard to recreate the moods and feelings but (as if afraid not to offend anyone, or to be more commercial) watered everything down into nice sounding but uninspired music, adding nothing of their own. It all sounds familiar but can't be exactly placed. What is missing is at least one point of connection, a moment of true inspiration. Or, simply: there is no personality. Especially the vocals, anonymous in colour and sounding like a hired session vocalist. To make things worse, the lyrics sound as if they have been written at the last minute.

With quite different, but equally bland songs, Still sounds like a soundtrack to a second-grade rock movie or a compilation for a late-night radio program. (4.8/10)

Well, the title says it all, really. Sparhawk, of slow-core demi-gods Low, sits down, plugs in and goes at it through nine pieces of six-string improv. Far from being a self-indulgent wankfest full of dive-bombing runs up and down the fretboard, Solo Guitar deals in the creation of atmosphere through stretched-out passages full of reverb that arch toward drone, peppering them with strings of languidly emphatic notes, restrained feedback and muffled noise. Those who find Low’s brand of hushed minimalism a tad too dense for their liking will fall into absolute spasms of delirium in the face of Sparhawk’s spare experimentation(s).

Based on the song titles, there appears to be a storyline woven through the album’s duration: a sleepy village, inclement weather on the horizon, a freighter drifting into the village’s harbor, weather and freighter collide, and the nebulous aftermath of that collision. Given the sounds that Sparhawk wrenches and coaxes from his instrument, Solo Guitar is a engaging enough listen on its own. The titular back-story creates a second tier of intrigue, investing the listener in the fate of this imagined ship.

Two long tracks serve as the album’s centerpiece — elongated pieces that set up the bulk of the story — while the other seven are brief punctuations of action pulling it towards conclusion. "Sagrado Corazon de Jesu (second attempt)" is overexposed light, a scene from a neo-western where a lone figure sits on a broken chair, strumming away in a huge room incongruously plunked down in the middle of an otherwise empty plain, the structure’s wall struts barely able to support the weight of a buckled roof as noon-time heat shimmers above the parched earth in hypnotic flutters that won’t cease until well after dusk. "How the Freighter Comes Into the Harbor" next serves as direct contradiction, that the typical lung-searing intensity isn’t going to hold and this day is going to prove very, very different. It begins forebodingly, the guitar mimicking a foghorn that slowly degenerates into series of high pitched notes that increase in volume and morph towards something more insistent, an incessant whine that grows more urgently until they coalesce into one ominous clarion call.

And while the other tracks don’t have the same breadth, they’re no less evocative. "How the Engine Room Sounds" couldn’t be more apt, full of churning roar, then the grinding hesitation of broken gears. Closing track "How It Ends" is a somnolent finale. As delicate as it is mysterious, guided by simple, tremolo accented chord progressions and seeded with understated plucking, it’s either a collective sigh of relief of disaster averted or a mournful coda. In either instance, a fitting and logical end. (7/10)

Gotta love these guys. Back for their fifth full length, these vegan hitmen once again don’t disappoint in the art department. Not as humourous — or nauseating, for those of a weaker constitution — as 2004’s Humanure, but provocative enough in its own right. The CD cover depicts (presumably) the goddess Kali floating above the drain of an abattoir floor, surrounded by meathooks; she’s wearing the requisite necklace of human skulls, and a variety of knives and cleavers protrude from every hand. The main difference, of course, is the very pissed off looking steer’s head perched upon the shoulders instead of the come-hither deadliness of a woman’s face. Destroyer of worlds, indeed. Best lay into the tempeh and seitan now and rescue your soul from a vicious circle of reincarnation. Or go to McDonald’s and grab a Big Mac. What the hell, live for today, free will and all that.

Humanure was a leap forward from Cattle Decapitation’s previous output, where their attack matured with brick-wall tight song structures coupled with a production that finally did their creations justice. In addition, it boasted an unsettling dark ambient piece — "Men Before Swine" — as the closing track, which elevated the album from an effective exercise in brutality to a nightmare-inducing implement of terror. There’s no experimentation of that level found on Karma.Bloody.Karma,, but even as a lateral move it’s still a mighty satisfying slab of death-grind.

As always, the band’s technical ability is jaw-dropping. Insane drumming, loads of guitar strangulation, complicated rhythms, riff piled upon riff upon riff, super fast tempos and pulverizingly slow interruptions are all thrown into a turbulent arena of chaos barely held in check. You know, the usual. But as if to stave off any threat of total complacency, they’ve thrown a few new elements into the mix: a taste of funereal doom, guitar runs that sound like Iron Maiden draped with entrails and doused in blood, and nods to black metal stylings in both balls out speed and shrieked vox.

Standout track "Alone at the Landfill" brings a host of those disparate elements together and then dismantles them via an extended outro that combines haunted house atmosphere with grim, minor key guitar strokes and tortured wails ala Leviathan. And album closer "Of Human Pride and Flatulence" dispenses with the death-grind all together leaving only the grim and the wails. Both are welcome, yet mildly frustrating diversions, demonstrating that the band is more than capable of stepping out of their comfort zone while making you wish they would take it further. Maybe next album. (7/10)

Shamelessly gratuitous instrumental showmanship in the guise of musical worth raises red flags around Maelstrom. We love technical music as much as the next guy, and probably even more, but when a label tries to make us swallow that a particular album is the best thing ever because the people in it are like the Cirque du Soleil of the metal world, well, then, we wax skeptical.

Case in point: melodic prog metal Beyond Twilight and their latest album, For the Love and Art of the Making. The draw? For some reason, the band decided to play a bunch of their super detailed musical sections backwards. Seemingly for the hell of it. This leaves us to think for their next feat of personal one-uppance, Beyond Twilight will be playing their stuff backwards while standing on their heads, and perhaps with no safety net.

Of course, it doesn’t matter at all what whacko gimmicks any band uses, but rather how good the album is. Luckily, in this regard, For the Love and Art of the Making is an extremely well-accomplished record.

Something else had been worrying us. We bristle at concept albums (most of them are horribly self-absorbed in their often lame-o theme, and it gets in the way of the music), but are really, really wary of concept albums that consist of one huge composition. This is especially insufferable when no one on the engineering side bothers to split the song into tracks, so each time you pull the record out, it’s like a minor quest having to get through the whole, long-winded thing. And you know that even if it’s got 12 tracks, it’s still going to be long-winded, something that For the Love and Art of the Making is undoubtedly guilty as charged.

We dug some of the last Beyond Twilight album we reviewed, Section X. It was clear that the people in the band were superb musicians, and they had an amazing singer. But we felt the album got way too mired in its stylings, particularly because those overly abundant sections were far too steeped in some sort of amalgamation of the unchecked, artistic running amok of King Diamond and Andrew Lloyd Webber.

For the Love and Art of the Making is thankfully much more powerful and solid a release. Sure, you can point to the far heavier and bludgeoning production as a reason for this, but the compositions are in themselves more of a symphonic/power metal mold. The always outstanding vocalist is different, too, and his more traditional power metal style lends itself perfectly to this stylistic change.

In the end, For the Love and Art of the Making "suffers" from all the trappings of such a concept album as detailed above: it meanders. A lot. There are a few sections that would definitely be considered as songs, with groove, solos, hooks, and parts that repeat. But it seems that the majority of the album adheres to that theatrical penchant that Beyond Twilight exhibited in their previous work, but in a more original style. This isn’t to say that these important sections are unpleasant, for they are in their own right just as well written and performed as the more energizing sections. There are some very deliberate stylistic shifts, making Beyond Twilight’s brand of prog something like Ark meets Manticora, but with generous musical interludes.

The biggest thing that could be called a downside to For the Love and Art of the Making is that for all its intricacy and care, the album leaves the listener wanting. For a prog album, it’s extremely short at 37 minutes and change. (Of course, you could say that 37 minutes is extremely long for a single song, but really, you would never think of it that way when you listen to it.) And since the apparent majority of this running time consists of the sort of musical wandering described above, you’re left with a feeling of not having had enough to sink your teeth into. This is the irony, considering all of what’s going on within that time. Still, it has an ineluctable sense of fluff much of the time despite any given section being enjoyable to listen to in itself.

Taking this all into consideration, we’re still highly recommending For the Love and Art of the Making for its undeniably interesting musical intricacy and worth. It’s just too strong of a product to say otherwise. For prog metal fans, it’s practically a must-buy, especially if you enjoy dissecting the albums you listen to. However, it’s important to take into consideration the would-be shortcomings outlined above. (8/10)

1996 was probably the greatest year for metal ever. It seemed as though everyone had something to say. Bands were releasing either groundbreaking albums or simply excellent ones, and a great number of today's highly respected bands has appeared in that exact year. Even today, when I get an older album and realize that it has been released in 1996, I have a feeling that it would be great – and it always is.

Black metal was at the peak of its popularity. But the situation was somewhat unfair for the bands not coming from Norway, apart from a couple of exceptions. Swedish bands were joking that, while they had to work hard, all that Norwegians had to do was to send a picture of them in corpsepaint, and they would instantly get a record deal and sell at least 5000 CDs.

One of those hard working bands was Setherial. After having released one demo, they struck a deal with Napalm records and went to The Abyss studio to record their debut, with young, promising producer Peter Tagtgren. After only nine days spent on recording and mixing, they came out with Nord – and now, 10 years later, it's still amazing.

The 12-minute long opening track, "In the Still of a Northern Fullmoon," starts simply – without a boring intro and with a blastbeat, instantly setting the pace for almost the whole of the album. Cold, majestic riffs follow and it takes several changes in rhythm before the vocals even begin – obviously this is a band that has something to say musically.

And they do: the atmosphere is chilling, majestic, proud, and solemn, but the music is restless. The drums are complex, unpredictable and played with a grim, determined feeling – it's even possible to separate them from the rest of the music and still enjoy them. The guitars are sublime, sharp and played with the same bloody-minded intent, with memorable melodies, constant but fluid changes and thoughtful riffs. The tempo shifts between short, slow passages and full-speed blasting, but never allowing a moment's rest. Occasional flourishes of keyboards and icy acoustic ornamentation appear above or below the music (hear it to believe it), but generally it's just guitars, bass and vocals caught in their own reality, creating sonic landscapes of deadly northern winters and wastelands.

Kraath's furious screams more complement the music than the other way around, and though a bit low in the mix, they never lose their importance, while varying in speed, pitch, intensity and rhythm. Sometimes they can become undecipherable, but the other songs are sung in Swedish and whatever titles like "I Skuggors Dunkla Sken" mean, it can't be anything happy. The songwriting is superb – even though the songs are between four and fourteen minutes long, their length doesn't really count because Nord is best when listened in one piece. And once that it starts, it commands the listener to do so.

Later on, Setherial worked on surpassing everything that popular Swedish bands like Marduk or Dark Funeral have ever done in any way. They have even outclassed the likable lunacy of Dark Funeral's lyrics – where on Secrets of the Black Arts, the word "Satan" appears 16 times, on Setherial's Hell Eternal it appears 33 times (counted by the reviewer) yet never becomes boring. Still, Setherial never reached the popularity of those bands. Why? Who knows. Maybe they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Looking in retrospection, Nord almost sounds like something that Emperor could have released between In the Nightside Eclipse and Anthems to the Welkin at Dusk. Yes, it is that good – one of the epitomes of Nordic black metal.

Sometimes all you really do need is three chords and the truth. While AC/DC’s linear hard rock / blues can be anathema to metal’s grandiosity, I make a guilt-free beeline towards For Those About to Rock, often on the eve of a roadtrip. One of my happiest "I am the cheese" moments last year was screeching along to "Let’s Get It Up" as I barreled down the most dangerous highway in Massachusetts towards my parents’ house.

When a band manages to break through so big in the wake of bereavement, it’s got to feel like a cruel twist of fate. When AC/DC vocalist Bon Scott died from alcohol poisoning in 1980, the band hired Brain Johnson (ex-Geordie) to replace Scott. They told him, "Look, you’ve got to be ready to take a lot of shit from the fans." Johnson was nonplussed, and his performance both live and on record excelled. Scott and Johnson had different singing styles (indeed, Johnson’s higher pitch seemed to exceed human range), in addition to somewhat more working-class stage presence. Scott was an often flamboyant (but most assuredly heterosexual), snakelike, shirtless stage performer, while Johnson delivered a different package. He demonstrated more jagged movements, attacked the mike like his voice was a weapon, plus he had that gnarly cap!

Fans responded well, as AC/DC’s 1980 comeback album, Back in Black, sold their best yet. Next one up, For Those About to Rock, hit #1 in the United States. Of course, the band partly had producer Robert John "Mutt" Lange to thank, because he refined the band to the point where many discovered AC/DC on FM radio after Bon Scott died.

Inevitably, critics and fans alike coldly audit any band’s follow-up to a platinum-selling release. But For Those About to Rock transcends all and all that with crisp aggressiveness; I would even venture it has brutality. The album just has an angrier, more confident sound than Back in Black. Granted, there are not as many radio hits on it, but the songs sound more thick, more metal, more Angus.

As with "Hells Bells" on Back in Black, For Those About to Rock, We Salute You starts in slowly but steadily, like a cunning kitty. The song builds its stockade with descending chords, basic blues translated into a motif of impending battle. It’s got dirge, but also exhilaration as it increases into all that cannon-fire and velocity. AC/DC were never strangers to aggressively fast rock (don’t forget "Whole Lotta Rosie"), but there is a celebratory aspect to this opening track.

"Put the Finger on You" is actually the first song I remember hearing from this latter era of AC/DC, in the form of a concert video on "Night Flight" or something maverick. While it’s one of the poppier cuts, the "fuck with me, you get REALLY fucked" spirit of the lyrics is its primary strength. I really like when songs tell stories, rather than give a laundry list of "brutal" platitudes.

"Let’s Get it Up" was a skip-over for me in the early days, but years of listening to this old chestnut have endeared me to its essence of hard blues, perhaps the band’s most pure attempt on the album to address their roots without being entrenched in formula.

I’m only going to say this once, for the sake of accuracy: ANGUS YOUNG IS ONE OF THE FINEST LEAD GUITARISTS IN THE UNIVERSE. Thank you. Onward . . . .

"Inject the Venom" has a totally heavy opening riff and gallows humor lyrics.

"No mercy for the bad if they want it
No mercy for the bad if they plead
No mercy for the bad if they need it
No mercy for me!"

When the condemned are unrepentant, their execution is made more frightening than their worst deeds on earth. When you inject the venom, "it’ll be your last attack."

"Snowballed" is an odd one. One of the more country-influenced rock songs, its Outback identity makes for an interesting enough diversion.

"Evil Walks" is a return to morose dirge heaviness, almost Sabbath-like. Its riffing takes on a particularly jagged blues approach, as if every open G-chord is a machete. This one of the more disturbing cuts, and in retrospect, it seems an apt summary for the era of Thatcher, Reagan, and Noriega.

"C.O.D." revels in its demonic evangelical baiting. AC/DC’s demonization by the Christian Right — antichrist, devil’s child? imagination, please! — reached a crescendo when Night Stalker murderer Richard Ramirez was revealed to be a huge fan. Like the title track, "C.O.D." has a minimalist beginning, then steadily builds up to arena rock heaven. I mean come on, folks, listen to the old Robert Johnson sessions before seriously branding anything Satanic. THAT guy is music’s primary Faust.

"Breaking the Rules" shivers in the fierce shadow of the other tracks. It’s got that slow blues rock moxie that I love this band for, but the often ham-handed rhyming scheme of the lyrics is distracting.

"Night of the Long Knives" is a bit upbeat during its main verse riff for such a creepy title and subject. Look that term up in Wikipedia, or some such, for a glimpse of a gnarly episode in Nazi history. The chorus is a melodic, lighters-in-the-air achievement, and this helps the song survive.

"Spellbound" is an appropriate closer to this extraordinary time capsule, with really slow ACTUAL "It looks like I’m fucked now" blues:

"I got my hands in the fire . . .
. . . The world keeps on tumbling down . . ."

This is a turtle crawl dirge track, but powerful. Simplicity and bare-bones rock played through HUGE amps is but a part of AC/DC’s appeal and longevity. They take their time in the studio and don’t suck the salt wand for the sake of some dividends (hi, Courtney). This is superb hard rock, if a bit redneck-y, and if there were a desert island that would take me, this one would make a nice bookmark in the memory jukebox.