review by: Brandon Strader

The 2005 debut from this Spanish four-piece starts out with a beautiful, 3 ½-minute intro that sounds quite similar to Blakagir (reviewed in this issue), but the major difference is that the band segues into some awesome, melodic black/death metal after a short intro on the second song, "Out of the Cave." The band features among its ranks a real violinist (Jesús Villalba), so you know it’s got to be good.

The music is an incredible mixture of melodic guitars, violins, and also nice keyboards provided by vocalist / guitarist Óscar Martín. The bass is completely audible, as is each instrument, which pretty much confirms that this is one of the most clear cult blackened folk metal albums out there. Vocalist Martín switches between clean vocals and meaty screams, but relies on the screams for the most part.

review by: Matt Smith

review by: Chaim Drishner

review by: Avi Shaked

review by: Larissa Glasser

review by: Avi Shaked

review by: Brandon Strader

review by: %%Mladen Škot%%

This should be a very short review, because, while listening to Nocturnal, there's hardly any free time for thinking. Thirty five minutes. Thirty five thousand riffs, drum fills and rhythm changes. Bestial brutality, unrivalled technicality and relentless speed. More groove than you'd know what to do with. And blastbeats. Wherever possible. Crystal sharp sound. Demented vocals, bloodthirsty lyrics. Get it. Now.

Wow, that was easy. If there's anything else that needs explanation, here's a little more information. Nocturnal is The Black Dahlia Murder's third album, and probably the best one so far. The type of metal that the Michigan quintet performs is somewhere between modern thrash and technical death, with a slight touch of black. It's easy to compare the guitars to The Haunted, but where The Haunted sound like it was hard for them to come up with all those riffs, and to play them, The Black Dahlia Murder guitarists sound like it was the easiest thing in the world for them. And they do it all the time. Apart from those up (seriously, VERY up) tempo parts ricocheting all over the place (read: endless staccato riffs with blastbeats following them), there are the more simple straightforward grinding parts that actually sound like they were harder to play.

The best thing in the overall picture is that, a few acoustic seconds aside, there are no breaks, interludes, quiet parts or introspection. Anywhere. Nocturnal is brutal all the way, wherever you look. For a change, finally an album with no boring parts whatsoever.

There's also the small matter of the drumming. Shannon Lucas hits so many things that it would take two or three normal drummers to play them at once, or at least it seems so. Just listen to him. Always doing more than expected, and apparently never without new ideas, lifting the songs to an even more brutal level. The drums sound triggered and snappy, but it simply had to be like that, because some of this could have gone unnoticed otherwise. Blastbeats, two kicks, stops and starts, drum melodies (if they can be called that...) I could have sworn that on "I Worship Only What You Bleed" he actually took the cymbal pattern of Deicide's "They are the Children of the Underworld" and made it his own. But that's the only moment where The Black Dahlia Murder actually resemble someone. The rest of the time, there's too much happening to give you an opportunity to start asking such futile questions.

Another "small matter" concerns the vocals. Trevor Strnad's screams are just plain irritating, at least until you've gotten used to them. But look at it this way: the guy had to make himself noticed, okay? He's the frontman, after all. And if you look at it in yet another way, Nocturnal has an unexpected side — follow just the lyrics and try to ignore everything but the vocals, and you get something completely different. It becomes a collection of macabre stories told by someone who has probably been there, and the rest of the band provides a zombified soundtrack.

Some might complain about the solos, a bit too similar and perhaps pointless, but what do you expect them to be when the rhythm guitars already play more stuff than other people put in their solos? No, nothing to complain about at all. Nocturnal is a quick, wild blast and the time spent on listening to it flies faster than the instruments do. Endless fun. (8.7/10)

review by: Ignacio Coluccio

review by: Bastiaan de Vries

review by: Roberto Martinelli

review by: Mladen Škot

When did German become such a beautiful language? For anyone into folk or Pagan metal, it's time to lay your swords aside, stop thinking about crushing those monks' skulls for a while, and start moisty-eyed fantasies about forests, Valkyries, heroes, legends, tragedies, unspoiled nature and the glorious days of the past. And blushing. Carved in Stone is simply that much warm and disarming.

The only Carved in Stone member, Swawa, also plays the keyboards and flute in a Viking metal band called Taunusheim, but right now that's not important. This is about her solo albums, of which Tales of Glory & Tragedy is the new, third one. It's a gem. Simple as that. Just as simple and precious are the songs. There are ten of them, and each of them is different. They have two things in common — Swawa's voice and her acoustic guitar. They are sung in German or English, apart from one in Norwegian. And they always seem to be too short, because, even with just those few elements, there's no way of not paying attention to every note, every vocal nuance and even to every tiny bit of silence between the notes.

Tales of Glory & Tragedy was, once again, recorded in the Schwarzdorn home studio. While the sound is, if played through the headphones, merely adequate, play it through the speakers and Carved in Stone simply possesses the space. The first track, "Abschied," is a lament about a dying friend (whose hand, while the blood runs from his wounds, seeks his sword — right now you know whether you should continue reading this or — well, piss off). The guitar is minimal, there's an ever-so-silent flute in the air, and the melody is mesmerizing. Swawa's voice moves from natural and gentle to almost a soprano, retaining the sincerity and feeling, until the choir enters in the end. For just once, and it's already gone — but remembered forever.

"If I Could Only" is a melancholic, almost childish (well, it is about a child asking questions), naive and endlessly charming song about lost and long forgotten bonds between man and nature...

...and there are eight other songs, every one with its own feeling and theme. Be it archaic, sad, bitter or pensive, it is always perfect. If Swawa has a story to tell, it sounds like a story and makes the listener wonder what was behind it, when it took place and why it had to be so. Some answers will have to remain a mystery, but it feels like a revelation. Someone is telling the things you should have known for yourself, in such a simple and sincere language — and melody — that it makes you feel like an idiot for even asking. Take for an example "Mighty Friends" with its outrageously and gloriously plain lyrics. Yes, pathetic worshippers of the weak god, the noble riders are coming, and yes, those are real swords. Why the confused look on your faces? And what do you mean you don't know what honor is?

It is 2007, yet Tales of Glory & Tragedy sounds as if it could have been made any time during the last millennium. From the grievous beginning to the last, almost rocking "As the Rain Keeps Falling," it's impossible to come across a less than beautiful moment on it. To whoever was it that has sent this CD in for reviewing — thank you. Now where was that sword... (9.6/10)

review by: Chaim Drishner

review by: Ignacio Coluccio

review by: Ignacio Coluccio

Denial fiend is a Tampa, Florida-based horror-metal project featuring Terry Butler on bass (Six Feet Under, Massacre, Death), Kam Lee on vocals (Massacre, Death, Mantas), Curtis Beeson on drums (Nasty Savage, Lowbrow) and Sam Williams on guitars (Down by Law, Pseudo Heroes).

They specialize in a musical style that's “rooted in the tradition of classic thrash and death metal bands such as Celtic Frost, Massacre and Venom.” I consider this to be an old-school-pals-hook-up-together occasion, because way back in the ‘80s both Terry Butler and Kam Lee were both in Massacre at some point.

The guys started working with Sam Williams and his Pseudo Heroes (a different kettle of fish with melodic punk rock in the vein of Hüsker Dü, Dinosaur Jr., Motörhead and the Descendants). This eventually resulted in Denial Fiend thing, which already took off in the spring of 2006.

It may already be obvious that Denial Fiend is by no means an extreme death metal band, because there are not as much lyrics about brutal violence and gore. Instead most songs are zombie-based.

Perhaps a release date penned for Halloween would have been quite suitable, but what the hell. And a lot of hell there is, with titles seemingly inspired by 1950s-1960s horror B-movies like “Return to the Tombs of the Cursed Blind Dead,” “Son of the Creature from the Black Lagoon” and “Frankenstein Conquers the World.” A notable guest appearance comes from Mike Browning, formerly of Morbid Angel, on “Return to the Tombs.”

They Rise is basically a fun album and shouldn’t be judged too harshly for that. Because most members have a very eloquent past in death metal and because it translates into a solidly produced rot and roll album (thanks to Brian Elliott), I can’t say it’s a bad album. The only thing that I think the songs could have done without are the “go!-go!-go!” and “hey!-hey!-hey!” gang chants here and there, unless they were from a zombie football team. But even then the voices should have been more putrid and decayed, because now they sound “too sporty.”

With regard to Venom, they only distilled their early days “bad taste rock and roll” aspect and left out the satanic vibe which seems to me like experiencing France at the sized-down Eiffel tower in Las Vegas. However, horror freaks and — to a certain degree — fans of Entombed might have an interest in checking this one out. (6.5/10)

They Rise retails with a bonus DVD called “Undead Vision,” which is a short documentary/interview disc covering the history of the band members and the Tampa death metal scene, as well as more information on the origins of Denial Fiend.

I was fascinated by the strange red and blurry cover design, so I wrote a little note to Scott O'Dell, their man on the bass. I started with a question about the release date, because I somewhere read the album was supposed to be out already last year. Why a delay of nearly a whole year? O'Dell replies:

“The September 18th, 2007 release date is the release date for the album... The CD was supposed to be released last October but we kept running into problems after problems with the label or the distro... to get it out...but mostly it was the distro... We changed the dates a few times and even had  a CD RELEASE PARTY IN JANUARY without it being released HEHE... We had the CDs ourselves to sell but didn’t get release until SEPT almost a year later.

The front cover is a blood spot from a crime scene.... (under the microscope) nothing more, nothing less.... in the beginning, everyone was in a rush to get the CD out so we went with something simple.

The picture [of a building in the booklet, ed.] isn’t a church... It's The Buffalo Psychiatric Center. I took that picture because over the years here in Buffalo, NY, lots of people DIED inside that place and it has also scared the Hell out of me growing up here... it's now closed.”

Apart from "Saevar Nidr," a perfect interlude with acoustic guitars, female voice and the rumbling of the wind, and the last track "Gen Niflheim..." which again brings in mind Emperor's "The Wanderer," there actually are some other instances where Drautran stop to take a break from the battle. And this is where the problems begin.

Damn the demands for perfection. With so many shit bands around, why complain about something as mighty and impressive as Drautran? But it's their own fault. With the sound, the ideas and the execution reaching such sky high standards, every little mistake becomes a needle stabbing you in the eye. Then they start revealing themselves. Why is this acoustic interlude so long and repetitive? Why does that song end like this, with one repeating thrash riff, when it wasn't called for? Isn't this part coming too soon in the song, and shouldn't the song have been longer? Shouldn't all of them have been longer? And why do random parts like these work on NeChrist, while here they sound just like random parts? And the list keeps growing longer.

And murkiness it shall be. The Iowa duo, Envenom Ascension, have most probably nailed the sound they were after, as on their second album everything is more or less clouded. The guitars in particular have a sort of through-the-water, not-fully-distorted sound: It's somewhat hard to make out what exactly all the pieces of the drum kit are doing and the screams are coming from somewhere beyond.

Speaking of "true" black metal sound, Envenom Ascension's sound particularities sum up to a decent, quite unique, foggy, nightside atmosphere. Then, furthering the discussion on black metal, the songwriting could have been better as there's nothing that hasn't been used before — on Murkland it has only been drawn out into songs that are too long.

Using any of the nine songs as an example, some things become obvious. Although there are some digressions such as murky acoustic interludes and intro melodies, the rest is fairly predictable, namely simple chord sequences played with a linear progression. In other words, a couple of seconds of one chord, then strumming another one for the same amount of time, and so on.

Envenom Ascension have wisely spiced the songs up with another guitar layer, playing around the base chords, but the fact remains that after a song or two everything gets too repetitive. How the long, sharp screams come and go in simple patterns and are completely undecipherable don't help the general picture.

And the result is as chaotic (or even chaotically bad) as one would expect. Some decent parts here and there, a lot of boring ones, and some truly unbearable segments... far more than one would like to see. And it's not something that I have against the genre, it's just Uczulony in particular. It doesn't share any of each genre's qualities, instead opting for an incoherent, obviously computer‑generated paste job that gets nowhere.

review by: Larissa Glasser

Hordes of the Morningstar’s Torture features raw and competent American black metal from the infernal depths of San Antonio, Texas. The Realm of Absu thankfully sports more BM adherents than my Yankee-ass bias assumed. Hordes of the Morningstar mix Morbid Angel and Emporor influences into a fine potion of hyperblast and screaming dissonance.

The state in which the national parks of Congo are in is terrible. Trying to protect the wildlife and the forests, nearly a hundred rangers a year die from the hands of poachers who carry way better firearms. But it's still nothing compared to countless people killed each day by various militias.

But hey, let's sing about lubricated love, daddy's banana and screwdriver defloration instead. The good thing with idiots is that some of them can pull it off and amuse you for a while. In Hot Buttered Anal's defense, there's even an ecological song called "Freedom for the Lobsters" and their brand of simple punk rock isn't without diversity. There's an obvious effort invested into writing the lyrics and making the booklet artwork look like a hairy cartoon cockwork, explicit enough to make you hide Please Kill Me from your friends and family.

Sadly, there's the music, too. If you can stand listening to the Ramones for a couple of times, and to The Clash for quite a few times more, Hot Buttered Anal won't be that lucky. The simple, rehashed and recycled punk riffs are just a background for the joke that the lyrics are. And how many times can you listen to the same joke? Unfortunately, even the way Bob Cocks is trying to tell the joke isn't quite convincing or funny. Man, if you wrote those lyrics, don't sound that fake and embarrassed singing them! It's your CD and you better sound like you mean it.

However, if you think that gay cowboy robots need love too (even though they shoot synthetic goo), go on, get Please Kill Me and enjoy. A bad review will just make you want it more, right? So here it is. (2.5/10)

review by: Brandon Strader

The latest offering from Kosmos is an awesome display of whatever it is. It’s got vintage ‘70s vibes, some nice drawbars and organs, distinct progressive rock overtones as well as funky bass and percussion topped off with psychedelic movements.

In the first song alone, the band succeeds with a mind-bending jam complete with trumpets, wild drumming, and some really wacky effects on the guitar. You hear that “wah-squibble” sound around the 4:30 mark on the appropriately titled “Psycho”? Yeah. It’s awesome.

The drums on “Dream” are cheesy, electronic sounds until a couple bongo taps enter after a minute or so. Compared to the first track, “Dream” is much calmer and duller. It almost seems like a MIDI arrangement due to the drums and the stale samples used on the track.

“Grand Grizou” returns to the rock with nice synthesizers, the return of the drawbar, and the heavy riffs and real drums. There’s a good use of what sounds like maracas in the left speaker. It’s more of a groovy track with some very nice synth leads thrown in. Get out your tie-dye shirts and lava lamps for this one!

As a whole, Kosmos seems like a more song-oriented version of Estradasphere. The lack of vocalists really makes no negative impact on the music; it is very instrumental in nature, and the sounds used throughout each track are really more interesting than listening to some high-pitched dude sing about who-cares-what (although if I had to choose the perfect vocalist for this style of music, it would probably be Geddy Lee, or someone who sounds like him).

“Indu Kush” features “ahh” vocals and has an Indian theme, though there isn’t really anything there that qualifies as lyrics on this particular track. “Much Too Old” does introduce a vocalist half way through the album? Heck. They’re strange vocals that make the song sound cheesy like “Monster Mash” or something.

Kosmos is great on their psychedelic prog tracks. Some of the more “free-spirited” ones, like the aforementioned “Indu Kush,” seem pretty out of place. It’s the same kind of thing that plagued Estradasphere’s Palace of MirrorsThe diverse genres are awesome, and the songs are brilliant, yet after listening to a fast paced rocker, it can be a bit tiring to listen to five minutes of droning tribal music. There’s a lot of experimentation, and each song is a glimpse into a unique style. It would be more appropriate to give a rating for each song individually. Nonetheless, Kosmos is a solid acquisition for the progsters out there! (7.5/10)

Hearing the first tones of this album immediately made me think of of Entombed. Then, as the vocals entered there were elements of Fear Factory. That first impression was correct by all means because in the promotional text Kruger clearly cite Entombed as an influence, which is  reflected in a distinct “Swedish sound,” thanks to Frederik Norstrom (who also worked for In Flames, Dimmu Borgir and Arch Enemy —  whose  “Stigmata” remains one of my favorite melo-death albums).

The name Fear Factory springs up to my mind because of the mix of raw, drawn out scream-singing and clean vocals.

Be prepared for a thundering 47-minute ride because there will be little room for resting. There are melancholy and moody parts, and there are moments of sheer brilliance where raging complexities come together and gel into a huge blob of emotion. My favorite title would be “Queen of The Meadow,” of which the second half is sheer interwoven guitar progmetal insanity. And the drums, unmistakably the driving force on the whole album, are impressive throughout.

With just a bare minimum of keyboards, strings or pianos, Limbonic Art manage to sound more symphonic than most of the orchestra abusers of this day and age. Not just because they play so fast that you don't have the time to stop and wonder if there should have been anything else. The riffs themselves are the "anything else." They'll go swirling up and down, in and out, thrash, stop and descend, never ceasing to draw attention. Speed-picking whenever possible (if you've seen a Dark Funeral live recording you know how lazy those guitarists can be, but not here). Legacy of Evil’s songs are so full of surprises that it's going to take a few listens before you realize how many glorious or ominous moments have passed you by, and just how many more times you'll have to listen to the album before you learn where the adrenalin rushes are, so that they don't always come as such a surprise.

Lozen doesn't suffer from the "we're girls playing extreme music"‑syndrome, as they don't really _sound_ like everyone's supposed to like them just because they are girls. Probably because they are really, really good. And fun.

Heavy yet catchy, experimental yet understandable, complex conceptually yet simple technically, Enemies Against Power displays a lot of variety without a single minute of incoherency. The riffs are atonal but you can make out most of them without feeling like they are just playing random notes. Or maybe they are, but it doesn't seem like that from our side.

It might surprise you, but they are just guitars + drums, plus the vocals, but Lozen doesn't sound weak or anything like that (hell, I noticed that they didn't have a bass player when I was on track five). Why? Because the guitar tone is as crunchy as it gets. Clean vocals get mixed with downtuned guitar riffs and doomy drums, and the result's a grunge version of melodic sludge doom, but normal doom, rock, noise rock and psych are all present here. So much that you can't say they play a specific genre. But well, that's understandable, they have one of the best influences list ever found on a Myspace.

There’s a valid point to make about “compilation” albums, whether they are live or simply a collection of the band’s best songs: the material from the band’s entire career is on display, and it’s much easier to experience the songwriting similarities between pretty much every song they’ve done. Megadeth isn’t the most creative or extraordinary band, but they do decently with what they’ve got. After listening to this live double-CD, you will probably need to let your ears relax for a while before putting on another disc. It’s a rough transition when you experience bass and mid-range again after this long, long show. Someone looking to get into Megadeth should not start with this live CD. On a sidenote, Opeth is releasing The Roundhouse Tapes; that is how a live CD should sound. (3.14/10)

note by: Roberto Martinelli

Oh, come on. Live in Buenos Aires is a very fine sounding live record. I'm not crazy about Megadeth's music, either, but the record is big, powerful, and if you dig these thrash icons, you'll be glad you picked this record up.

The wolves still howl, the sparks of the Moonspell fire are still flying through the warm night, just like then, right now. At the risk of making a naive fool out of myself, Under Satanae does sound warm, sincere, romantic and recorded with care and respect. Oh yes, and erotic / gothic / satanic, like it's supposed to be.

Quality and enjoyment aside, you have to wonder why someone who’s in a band makes an album by himself that sounds pretty much what his regular band would sound like. What, were the rest of the guys too busy? Are they pissed?

Ok, ok. If you want to nitpick, Steve Moore solo has a few differences. Drum machine instead of actual percussion is one. More meandering and “exploratory” musical passages is another. But, really, unless you’re a major student of Zombi, you’d think this was their latest album.

The vocals are familiar, but musically N.I.L. show an occasionally different approach, shown by the style of the intro, which features a mandolin, or another short atmospheric track on acoustic guitar, plus a resonating glass bowl, as well as an against-the-stream cover of an ancient ‘80s song from Big Black.

On the other hand, there are also weaker moments like on the downright boring “Negative Frequency Entity,” which plods on and on. The final song, “Leaving the Self Behind,” is not much different and I wonder how much (alleged) hard rehearsing it took to play the same three to four chords over and over.

I have listened to Nihilism is Liberation about 10 times now, and what I think is truly lacking on the album is some emotion, as if Imperial is just a little too much at ease with his growls. Listen and imagine to the music the hysterical vocals of — say — an early Burzum and you might understand what I mean with that. Yes, I know Imperial is not Grishnack, but my point is that I am missing a touch of despair, a bit of of trVe drËmË.

The only real complaints that can be leveled at Terra Necrosis focus on originality and technicality. There are plenty of fans who like hearing the older stuff rehashed and view any rash experimentation with disdain and disappointment; clearly, many bands are more than willing to cater to that view either through their own visions of how metal should sound or through a lack of creativity.

The cosmic hermetism as displayed here leaves much to be guessed at, not the least for Non Opus Dei’s tendency of using Latin, English, German, and Polish titles in their albums. In that sense, The Quintessence has a bit of a coherence problem. And whereas the aforementioned interlude “Oczy Tej Kobiety” and the equally fascinating outro, the manic flute-folk of “Gdy Faun poszed! Na wojne¼” are very colourful additions, I am not very impressed by the comparatively ordinary and somewhat silly “Das Ist Krieg,” which would be more in place in the black metal circus of Carpathian Forest, including the occasional vocal mix of Klimorh’s with what I call “the angry neighbour’s voice” (like in “The Eternal Dance”).

The Quintessence offers a few very interesting things, but as a concept album, it is too fragmented. The music, on the other hand, is a good example of contemporary and skillfully executed progressive black metal from Poland. Check this one out or at least remember their name. (6.5/10)

The music sounds quite unpleasant while the guitars are going beserk in a thrash-metal manner. This album, whose title translates to “In the Battlefields,” is in almost every aspect a perfectly adequate product but something slightly regrettable is the way the drums sound so unnatural, maybe even electronically triggered, which would be the last thing I’d like to hear on an album in tribute of the old ways of battle. It doesn’t mean the drums aren’t good, because they damn right are, but the way they sound is just very different from the other musical elements.

The guitar is the dominating force, expertly playing something between Suffocation and Morbid Angel, without mercy and with little to no repetition, keeping you wandering what the next riff will be and always surprising you when it comes. Although they could have simply kept it straight brutal and still drop countless jaws, Oath to Vanquish even show some ambient tendencies — if you can stretch your imagination as far as to accept grind moments with screams, blastbeats, burning guitar riffs and poignant bass melodies as "ambient." Transcendental hell, maybe?

Applied Schizophrenic Science is brutal, but traces of art appear. For only their first album, Oath to Vanquish have really surprised. The sound is as good as it can be, with a certain old-school analog thickness. Since the mastering has been done by Colin Davies of Imperial Mastering, California, it's no surprise that everything is clear and precise. Maybe some will think we're talking about an obsolete Suffocation clone here, but Oath to Vanquish are much more than that. You can always count on their kind of expertness and just plain old enthusiasm to arouse interest. So, have a listen to Applied Schizophrenic Science and re-discover death metal with them. (8.2/10)

Trevor Peres: Daaamn, you're right, man. But look, now, why don't I just turn this knob, like this, aaallll the way up and now at least you can hear the solos alright.

Ralph Santolla: Fuckin' A! Thanks, dude. See how clever I was here — your songs are all kinda the same, but my solos are not in all the same places — look, this one is in the beginning of the song, and look now, I've put this one in the middle of the next song. Now it doesn't sound like all the tracks have the same structure.

Donald Tardy: Allright! And look how awesome my drums sound! Told you so! It's, like, I almost didn't have to play them at all!

John Tardy: Yeah, it's cool, but I kinda feel I didn't write enough lyrics. D'ya think I should've screamed "Inside your mind" a couple more times?

Apparently, way back in 2001, their main influence were Opeth and Katatonia. Today, clearly the influences have re-surfaced, but it's hard to see the point of playing simple chord structures along with two bass drums in one and the same tempo throughout three songs (the fourth one is an acoustic outro). Sure, the beat changes, the chords change and the screams come and go, but if you're waiting for anything memorable or touching, The Streams of the End will leave you disappointed.

Head Home is an avant‑garde way of playing traditional American music. It is more country than new so‑called country artists, but it certainly is _not_ country. Actually, I'd say they are indie (but other reviewers will probably call them punk or experimental as well), but they are not _that_ kind of indie. You know, the kind of indie with the guys and their guitars, singing about hippie things. And they are not the kind of indie with pop melodies and a normal rock band backing them, either.

O'death is a totally out of time band. This album could have been recorded 70 years ago and we wouldn't have noticed. You might say indie as a whole is like that, but it's not the same case here. Even Head Home's production is not normal, with a sound more related to black metal than anything else.

Mostly acoustical, Head Home is a complete reworking of everything you know as "traditional American." While O’death are not atonal by nature, some tracks remind of Bartok's usage of traditional Hungarian themes in the context of dissonant music... but with country. While that might tell you that they are not catchy, it's surprising but they are, and a great deal, at that. The vocalist's timbre and vocalization are interesting enough, but the whole album is catchy, ranging from totally danceable songs like “Allie Mae Reynolds,” to plain weird stuff like “Face Mask.” Like it or not, there's not a single moment on Head Home that's not interesting in a way or another. That's precisely why it's so great.

¼Well¼ there’s really not too much to say. “Rock And Roll” is the first single from this debut, and it is worthy of such a status. “Get Your Kicks” is a rocker with your typical repetition of the song title during the chorus¼ it is some extremely traditional stuff. It’ll knock you back a decade, and remind you of how awesome rock ‘n’ roll used to be before rap and hip-hop came along.

“In the Dark” is one of the tracks that goes beyond the basic happy, rockin’ style of the other tracks into a more traditional type of rock ‘n’ roll ballad. Of course, it’s still pretty much in the same realm. Poets & Pornstars, I guess you could say, is incredibly convincing as an album that could have existed decades ago. Every aspect is in place, and they haven’t crapped on the style whatsoever.

What with Thibideau's tendancy to up sticks and leave any band in danger of becoming a critical or commercial success, to retreat into deeply personal and often bafflingly inpenetrable music, Prints' opening track, “Easy Magic,” comes as something of a surprise. A big who‑let‑Billy‑Joel‑into‑the‑studio surprise, in fact; it seems that when you go too far left field you wrap around into easy‑listening land. “Easy Magic” is the kind of track that wouldn't have sounded out of place on a Californian AM station in the ‘70s, and its this location, very much right of the dial, that Prints have claimed as their territory on their debut.

Maybe Thibideau and Nelson know exactly what they're doing, though; the ‘70s have never really been rehabilitated in the same way that we now look back fondly to the ‘60s. Even the ‘80s — My God! — have managed to find their place in the sun, given the popularity of post‑punk bands like Interpol, Editors and Bloc Party. With this first album, Prints manage to give us a pretty good facsimile of the production of the time, with handclaps cosying up next to warm walls of Fender Rhodes‑esque keyboards. Lyrically, well, it's all encapsulated pretty well by the quote from Mr.Rotten above.

review by: Brandon Strader

Ruins of Faith took the predictable black metal route, but still, they quickly surpass my expectations. With “Pagan,” the band uses a lot of keyboards in the background as well as guitar leads harmonizing with each other in each speaker, and very grim screams.

The arrangements are epic, but they could have been more so if it weren’t for the screams and guitars overpowering the percussion. The toms are as loud as they should be, but all of the other percussive hits are way too quiet. Vakhtang Tskhvitava does a good job with the keyboards, as they hold the largest portion of the epic nature of To The Shrines of Ancestors; from the subtle inclusions in the heavy barrages, to the interludes and various opening / ending sections.

The band does use some familiar passages here and there, like during “The Everquest,” but they are able to pull it off with a ferocity that sounds like pure evil. They’re not quite as good as Chthonic, which garnered popularity from Ozzfest this summer, but they are definitely not far off, and they do sound pretty similar. The only real problem with To the Shrines of Ancestors is the relative quietness of the percussion. The music is ballistic; it has cojones. It’s a bit stereotypical from a conceptual standpoint, though. (7.77/10)

Blahblahblah, heavy metal, blah blah blah powerchords, riffs out of Black Sabbath's mid‑period, a little bit more aggression and heaviness just because, blah blah. That's Scarey Larry in a nutshell. The thing is, it's not horrible. It won't make you cringe, it'll just make you wonder why the hell they recorded an EP as pointless as Scarey Larry. Well, as pointless and boring, since all the tracks are pretty much the same, sans the title. "But they are heavy, and they talk about stopping war! And they are just like the gods, Black Sabbath!"

Sure thing, but Scarey Larry is still not worth it. They have no energy whatsoever, like they were forced by the frontman to play random riffs copied off other bands just so he'd be able to record an album full of his singing… which is good, but whatever.

The style on hand will appeal to Hacride fans: super heavy, pummeling, with definite worship of Meshuggah-style chunky, rhythmic riffing. The vibe is technical in its rhythmic presentation, but compared to Meshuggah, much more toned down, which leads to songs that are infectious in their fist-pumping grooves. This is a good thing. Compared to Hacride, Scarpoint’s style is again simpler, as this group focuses more on the groove and chug rather than exploring less common musical ideas.

Like every other metalcore-esque recommendation over the years, bar none, Scarpoint’s music is heavy and never ridiculous. This means no terrible clean vocal choruses and no sickening At the Gates rip-offs... ok, there are a few nods to the ubiquitous greats. The underlying relevance here is that Scarpoint aren’t adhering to the formula of what a metalcore band sounds like, but rather are doing something original.

But the point is that Scarpoint sound like a serious band, and they play their songs with conviction... and those songs are crushing and energized. Most importantly, the songs sound mean. With that said, The Silence We Deserve might be a song or two too long, but then again, I think Sepultura’s Beneath the Remains is a song or two too long as well.

Lyrics aside (and I mean: waaay aside), this Mexican quintet sounds like  average power metal subjected to a weird cosmetic treatment: the songs are horribly under-developed. Imagine an imaginary, unimaginative power metal band. Take the songs and cut off everything but the guitar solos to a bare minimum and you'll get something similar to Scelerata's debut, Darkness and Light.

What that means is usually this: start a song with a solid melody. Let the singer sing two lines, then quickly go to the chorus, because you have those choir harmonies to show off, be they necessary or not. Then let the singer sing another two lines — or maybe just a bridge, and then FINALLY you can play your endless solo before mercifully allowing the singer to utter another ten words. The end. Next song.

Maybe it's a good thing because someone here, be it a singer or the rest of the band, isn't quite in tune. It takes six songs before Scelerata do something a bit more elaborate ("Endless" even features a nice harmonica solo) but it usually boils down to having more than one instrumental spot without real development. Aside from not knowing where to use it, there's nothing to complain about the musicianship, but sounding like Angra isn't the same as being like Angra.

When it comes down to Slavia’s music itself, Strength and Vision is a winner. The vibe is rabid and churning, and the music comes off with all the conviction that the band intended with its failed application of third-party music.

The guitar and bass tones are raw and buzzing, bleeding all over the place and teetering a fine line between being in and out of control. The drums are programmed, but conveyed in such a way to incite spirited fist pumping. Musically, Slavia combine simple, headbanging black metal sort of like Carpathian Forest used to, mixed with stirring, proud melodies that a project like Forteresse does (who use sampled pieces well, incidentally). The vocals are sort of a raspy bark, which goes perfectly well with the filthy militaristic vibe that emanates from Slavia’s full-throttle, groovy music.  

Strange voices near the end, old familiar friends given a different sound, taking a different path to reach a different destination. It confuses a little, it is almost a little bit boring, but then comes the grand finale where you sing, and we sing. Saving the best for last is always a good thing. We are loving this sleepover, and we are loving these people sleeping next to us.

review by: Chaim Drishner

Released originally in 2006 via Dead and Gone Records, and now seeing the light of day (and increased availability and public awareness, I guess) courtesy of Earache Records, SSS’, hands down, one of the best crossover albums this reviewer has ever heard in his couple of decades of listening to hard and heavy music.

SSS’ members look like a bunch of football hooligans, typical British rednecks or punks whose hey-days are over, hence down-trodden and disillusioned grown-up kids who had had high hopes and a passion for an improved society (but bitterly failed, of course). Once failed, they convey all their frustration and hatred through their music. Hell, this isn't music; this is an AGENDA.

Remember Excel? Uncle Slam? D.R.I., or early Suicidal Tendencies? Well, if you belong to my generation, you probably do. SSS, although being established in the year 2005, has conjured the ways of old, upgraded them, infused into them an overdose of enthusiasm and conviction through extra macho, testosterone-driven attitude and has delivered a thrash-meets-punk package of utmost quality and fun; real fun.

The vocals own a strange duality of being both half punk-rock in essence and half Benediction's Dave Ingram’s style: low yet still very casual; throaty yet clear in tone.

Unlike most of the ‘80s’ bands, the pitch is definitely lower and more brute-like compared to, let's say, D.R.I. The British accent, occasionally noticed, lends the vocals that singular and distinctive punk-ish edge that divides punk-rock from metal; The Exploited playing a very aggressive type of speed/thrash metal would be an adequate description, spiced-up with definite early Slayer influences

The riffs are phenomenal; not many chords involved, but each one — or any combination of which — hit the nail on its head, and ultimately make the record what it is: a highly enjoyable riff-fest; the ultimate slam-dance-meets-Pogo material. The production is excellent; the drum-kit sound is heavy and pristine, the bass lines notable and chunky. This is the perfect crossover album, if there ever was one, and any additional blubbering will simply ruin the fun. (9/10)

So, uh... yeah. They play ultrakvlt, protoblackmetalofdeath, or something. Meaning that everything's so fast and br00tal you just won't notice. As in, you won't notice the album. Not because it's so good it warps you somewhere else, or because it's a life‑changing experience so incredible that you just don't remember it, but because it's better not to pay any attention.

Total Death n' Live (sic) has the same vibe of Mayhem's Live in Marseille, except that, well, Mayhem's songs weren't terrible back then. I mean, sure, Suicidal Winds has a lot of energy, that's obvious. The singer must be crazy live, the drumming is quite psycho as well, but the songs just aren't good, save from the decent covers and one or two groove parts, so the energy gets lost in the middle, and all that comes out is a half‑assed attempt at being old school with a clear production and far‑less‑than‑menacing guitar work. The sloppy playing in some tracks doesn't help much, either.

It's not that Suicidal Winds are that horrible as avband, it's just that their songs are horrible, and they can't do much to make them enjoyable. That's what happens when you're too old‑school: your songs must be really good or your band is gonna suck, just because you play the same thing that millions of bands have played already.

review by: Brandon Strader

You can usually tell the “next popular band” by keeping an eye on the Century Media roster (and Nuclear Blast, as well.) Suicide Silence is so large in the metal scene that even my father heard about them and said, “Do you have this CD?” Strangely enough, however, we aren’t bombarded with metalcore, which is a sweet change of pace for the label. It’s great to see a genuinely brutal, blasphemous band getting the limelight from Century Media after so many “Ozzfest Battle of the Bands” dropouts signed to the label.

The band cycles through thrash riffs, harmonic riffs, and the disharmonic riffs we’ve grown to love so much over the years. Everyone loves a low, crunchy riff with an inserted pinch harmonic in the middle. Not enough people are using the pinch harmonics these days. “Hands of a Killer” is an awesome song just for its use of pinch harmonics, even though it’s a pretty brutal song to begin with. You think you’ve read this review before, do you? Well, there’s only so much one can say for this kind of music. Sure, the pinch harmonic riffs are cool to witness (and sent me into a couple weeks of experimental pinching) but as for the rest of the album, there’s really not anything spectacular.

The Cleansing is brutal as heck. The guitars are so present that it can be pretty difficult to listen to the CD with headphones. On a set of stereo speakers or in the car, however, is a great place for this CD to wreak the havoc that was intended for it. A bit of mediocrity is no surprise considering the popularity and genre of Suicide Silence’s The Cleansing, but you should certainly check it out for yourself. Everyone’s got their own tastes and views concerning originality. The Cleansing is heavy, and has plenty of crunch to get you through the day. (6.5/10 for the CD, 9/10 for the pinch harmonics themselves, huzzah!)

review by: Matt Smith

This cutting mix of hard-hitting death metal and quick, thrashy riffs has reached an excellent balance of the two. Death riffs are at its core, and most of Malice is composed of dark verses, deep growls and classic death grooves. Only intermittently, and with terrific timing, do the harmonized thrash lines emerge from the guitars to break up the otherwise straightforward death sound.

That Erik Rutan produced Malice should give you a pretty good idea of the general sound that Through the Eyes of the Dead exudes: deep, distorted guitars that don’t resonate long, flat-sounding drums and punctuated yells that sit within the instrumental mixture rather than rise above it. It is a fitting style that compliments the band’s technical, active musicianship.

Craving Pale Flesh is 14 minutes of death metal with mid-paced tempos and seemingly spontaneous blastbeat bursts. The sound of the growls are actually one of the most redeeming qualities of this EP, as a lot of “Slaughtered By Hand” is just quick powerchords played over and over in the left speaker while a simple lead ala early Opeth is played in the right speaker. In other occasions, there are generic riffs splattered with blastbeats that sound wicked mostly due to the accompaniment of the brutal growls.

“The Impaler” basically displays what a good death metal riff would sound like slowed down by 50%. There’s actually some similarity to Bloodbath coming out of this track, as the detuned guitars and some of the arrangements sound very reminiscent of that now defunct supergroup. The growls on Craving Pale Flesh are great, and the guitar tones and percussion are nice as well, but there’s not really anything unique here. It sounds like these guys could put on a great live show for sure, but they need to add some new dynamics to their music before they try to tackle the full-length.

We're not talking about anything groundbreakingly original, but if an album possesses the sound, the songwriting, the focus and the proficiency to present those in a best possible way, who could ask for more? Avoiding the traps of modern black metal, Valkyrja haven't tried to sound as fast, dirty or symphonic as possible. Instead, they concentrated on creating a single, cold feeling and nailed it. Think about alienation, desolation and despair, and then try to think of the best way to transform them into music. No, wrong guess. There's nothing remotely resembling Burzum, Xasthur or Striborg here. Valkyrja do it in the other classic black metal way - by creating a contrast.

Listening superficially, The Invocation of Demise at first resembles Marduk's World Funeral. It has its fair share of blastbeats, "The Vigil" could have been one of the slower Marduk tracks and the production is just as good. Wrong again. This just means that they are Swedish, and the songwriting is way more complex anyway. Valkyrja's music is of quite a different descent. It sounds hellish, but it comes from a very cold place. The blastbeats are furious, but they don't move. Two bass drums come and go, the cymbals are audibly flying around as J. Wallgren abuses the hell out of them, the fills are incredible, the drum sound is glorious (triggered, too loud but still perfectly fitting), but there is no positive energy. They aren't inviting you, they do it for themselves, in their own secluded space. A.L.'s vocals are sparse, coming in just to remind you he's still there, but maybe not for long. And the guitars ferociously explore any blackened metal territory you could think of, the rhythm shifts from slow to wild, sometimes repetitive, sometimes turning on a dime, but what should have been an inferno isn't. The crystal shards falling on your back aren't glass, they are ice.

Aeon sounds like a soundtrack, and that's partly why I say this is not Lustmord. It doesn't feel as complete as your average Cold Meat Industry album, except for those brief moments in the last track. It is, however, quite scary if you pay enough attention. For example, a guy talking backwards and a constant sound for about two minutes in track 4, followed by broken radio sounds of increasing volume. I'd nominate track 4 as one of the psychologically strongest dark ambient tracks, without a doubt. But the thing is that you need to pay a whole lot of attention to this album to really enjoy it, and that's something that isn't good when it comes to dark ambient (even Eno said the ambient should be good both when paying attention and when not, some thirty years ago).

Second: what's it like? Equal parts, and at the same time, headbanging metal and darkly Gothic. Imagine what would happen if Therion had just one, default, singer and instead of hiring an orchestra had to do nearly everything with just the guitars. Or - what Cradle of Filth used to do with black metal, The Vision Bleak now do with modern thrash, minus the erotic insinuations. The Vision Bleak don't sing about the usual Gothic stuff, but instead deal with wolves, sinister horror and other things that elegantly imply hidden evils. The Wolves go Hunt Their Prey isn't a concept album, but three of the songs form "The Black Pharaoh Trilogy," where The Vision Bleak show that there's more to be said about Nephren-Ka. And no, no Nile comparisons come to mind.

Who would be interested in The Wolves Go Hunt Their Prey? Just about everyone should be. Some of you might even want to recommend it to your friends, be they into metal or not. Some will just keep it for themselves and enjoy listening to a band that should be selling far bigger quantities of CDs than they do. For a moment, stop thinking about how black, death, thrash, ambient, Gothic, modern, commercial, underground, old-school or classic something is. The Vision Bleak are all of that at once, and still they sound thoroughly focused on being just one thing. Whatever that thing might be, it's lurking somewhere in the dark Franconian woods. (8.8/10)

The medieval drinking songs consist of highly melodic acoustic ballads and battle hymns, and since I find Russian a beautiful language, I personally don’t care whether it’s about preserving the future of the Caucasian race or baking pancakes. Fortunately for everyone, this re-issue from their second album from 2004 is greatly improved by the inclusion of rough English translations. And the lyrics are rather entertaining mythical stories about warriors and Vikings, princes and kings and the heroes of “Russland.” There’s even a bonus video bit included on the disc. I couldn’t get it to work, unfortunately, but they have a few very entertaining filmbits on their myspace page).

Musically it’s all very merry, but at times I’d wish I had a skyscraper-sized Monty Python hammer to smash the flute player like a measly little bug, because the flute sounds slightly out of tune next to the other instruments, which is VERY annoying (even despite, or perhaps exactly because the flute is played with precision)! The presence of the mouth harp is survivable, but that flute is killing me. Perhaps if I down half a bottle of Vodka I won’t notice anymore.

The rest the music is really good and I can understand why they are successful locally.

Moksha (born from the ashes of Spanish legends Shorebreak) come from the region of Catalonia and have released no fewer than four full-lengths since 2002. Moksha break the noisecore tendency on this compilation and head for more straightforward death metal with rock and roll influences. Their songs are very similar in style to the works of Entombed in the vein of 1996’s To Ride, Shoot Straight, and Speak the Truth! with a rich and heavy -- sometimes bluesy -- sound. Just listen to a song called “Keep on Walking” and I bet many would hardly believe they’re from Spain, but Sweden instead. Even the vocalist sounds similar to L.G. Petrov, to an amazing extent. However, the quality of these songs is high enough to see them as like-minded souls, not as mere “rot & roll” surrogates.

Moho is the newest band from Madrid on this split release and they have released two albums so far. On this compilation, they close the split with a massive, near 10-minute long sludgerocker called “El Segador.” The members of Moho have already played in a tremendous number of other bands. Two of the members, Raúl (guitar) and Iñaki (bass & vocals), used to be in a band with the strange name Like Peter at Home, who quit in may 2003 and started Moho shortly after. Moho’s influences range from the likes of Electric Wizard, Bongzilla, Black Sabbath, High on Fire, etc…

If there are any Kyuss or Fu Manchu fans out there: Check them out! Long drawn out grooviness, dudes!

My overall impression is that Madrid has plenty of good bands to offer and some are well worth monitoring. But this compilation doesn’t have anything groundbreaking or shockingly innovative, apart from the proof that Spain has bands in particular genres that can be considered just or nearly as good as examples from elsewhere in the world.

It surely has good material, and it’s plausible that Another Kind of Death and Moksha got what it takes to gain a bigger following outside of Spain. If you spot Waterloo for a couple bucks somewhere, then it’s definitely worth checking out. Otherwise, expect nothing that would knock you over and make you surrender like Napoleon at his final battle. (6/10)

review by: Brandon Strader

Whitechapel mix what’s standard and what’s uncommon about death metal. There’s some Gothenburg thrown in here and there amongst catchy choruses and hardcore breakdowns. They also use those generic palm-muted riffs with pig-inhaled grunts like soooo many other bands are doing these days. I say, leave it to Despised Icon to do that stuff, as they do it so well. Whitechapel definitely has a lot of great aspects to their sound, which builds to a climax when needed, like the ending of The Somatic Defilement’s title-track.

There’s a real pickle here. There’s some great content for sure, yet there’s a lot of generic stuff that holds most of the space. It’s definitely a CD to play at loud volumes in the car when you’re looking to turn a few heads, but for those seeking more, they’ll find that it’s really short and overly recycled. Whitechapel could have easily released a 10-minute EP featuring only this album’s top-notch material, while the rest of the stuff is more of a practice in ability. Sure, it sounds fun to play — it would be awesome to tear up a practice room or live setting with the heaviness and riffs that these guys grind out — but it just seems to give the CD a bit less weight in the long run.

review by: Roberto Martinelli

Helloween’s live performances are so uniformly tight, they can release a DVD in which you can switch back and forth between footage of shows on different continents, and it all fits together seamlessly.

Those performances feature a very fine (and lengthy) selection of songs up through The Keeper of the Seven Keys, Part 3, and are all performed almost exactly like you hear them on the album. There are discrepancies from show to show (three shows in all) in terms of the sound mix and video representation, but all songs are spot on and sound great.

However, it is impossible to heartily recommend any visual performance featuring singer Andi Deris, whose incessant mugging and penchant for miming everything that he sings is insufferable. That aside, the man is in fine form and has a voice that is undeniably trained and effective. In this regard, one might be better off purchasing the audio-only version of Live on Three Continents.

This reminds us. The European market get this DVD release packaged with the audio CD, while we schmucks in the US have to get them separately. Where’s the love?

Aside from the live shows, the DVDs contain much time devoted to interviews and “candid” representations of the Helloween members. All this is interesting to view, but to a point. What inevitably gets old is how aggressively happy Helloween is. It’s like if they were any more jovial, they’d murder someone. Everything is a guffaw, a joke, a sarcastic or cynical quip. Any everyone must enjoy, dammit.

review by: Alisa Z

Each year, thousands of metalheads gather to participate in the Mecca of festivals, Wacken Open Air. Once again, the festival was sold out, with more than 70,000 people present for the musical adventures, the inebriated fun, and the capricious frolic. An annual metamorphosis takes place in this tiny German village, nested in the countryside not far from Hamburg, as its loitering placidity is transformed into kinetic onslaught.

The minute population of Wacken prepares for the sea of foreigners dressed in black and playing the devil's music, accepting that for a few days during the thermogenic month of August every aspect of their everyday life will be transformed.

A colourful but overlong consecution of cars is an indicator of the festival's popularity. Even days prior to the event itself, there are people camped near the festival site. As cars stood for hours in the phlegmatic traffic, a variety of activities could be observed, be it the people huddled together in order to discuss their plans for the upcoming hours or thirsty men drinking cold beer from the makeshift beer stand, their glabrous heads gleaming in the sun. Rumours circulate fast, as we heard about the reason for the traffic. Supposedly, cars were being searched for drugs. Whether or not that was true, no one knew for sure. The fact is that it is logical to assume that there will be queues prior to, during and after an event of this caliber, drug check or no drug check. All that can be advised is to grab a bunch of CDs you haven't listened to yet, or talk to the lovely people in the neighbouring cars.

Upon entering the village, you encounter a supermarket, a required stop if you had not bought food, liquor, cigarettes and other necessities beforehand. Packs of metal fans walked through the store, the jingling sound of metallic articles and the leaden shuffling of their toilsome shoes filling the soundscape, in search of the ingredients required for the desired level of amusement and exuberance. Since our goal was to avoid returning to the supermarket, therefore attempting to buy everything that we needed in that one trip, we had devised some clever techniques in order to make that possible. We had decided to buy frozen fruit and thermo-insulation bags in order to be able to construct a slapdash version of a fridge, which would allow us to keep ham, cheese and other comestibles fresh for longer.

As we returned to the dawdling progression of cars headed for the campsite, passing little pleasant houses and patches of vivid green, we could not help but feel anticipation and anxiety. Mud levels were higher than expected. Meanwhile, the quality of the food that was sold on site was lower than presupposed. But hey, we're metal and it's a festival! The idea of taking a freezing shower was one that appealed to few, hence the levels of hygiene were similar as that of your average urban bum. The only solution was to take that shower when the sun is beginning to rise, hardly an appealing thought to those who are still drunk at that hour or passed out.

The structure of the festival area is such that you have the core, the surrounding periphery and the further purlieu. The core consists of the collection of stages, besprinkled with food and drink stands. The periphery includes the alienated VIP site, the beer garden and the Metal Market, as well as food and drink stands. Both the core and the periphery also contain administrative services, such as a communications centre for the press, and a lost and found. It is in the purlieu that real mirth resides; for it is in these populated camp sites that you encounter the blossoming of friendships and experience the down-to-earth aspect of the festivities. In the camp sites, one can find shelter from the stressful frenzy as well as re-unite with friends, and perhaps, get to interact with new people.
On the first of August, a Wednesday, the metal fiesta began, with the lionized Mambo Kurt, a metal karaoke and the presence of the Wacken Open Air Firefighters in the beer garden. As Mambo Kurt entertained those present with his psychedelic versions of popular metal songs, the atmosphere became more and more elated and effusive. Perhaps this was due to the general spirit of the public, perhaps it was due to the perpetual consumption of alcohol that had unfortunately caused some to experience crapulence. The earlier hassles were slowly forgotten, instead replaced by simpler ones such as the quest for a clean toilet and the task of finding one's friends in the mobbed location. Having had time to unwind and prepare oneself for the obstacles ahead, the festival populace was more or less pleased.

The next day proved to be a test for some, accompanied by the traditional cold shower. It was either waking up quite early, when hot water was available, or getting enough rest but having to take a shower that would congeal one's vital organs. After this paradoxical situation, one had the choice between getting diluted and somewhat stale coffee or an icy beer. Many opt for beer. Our morning, however, began with a shot of a minty liquor called Fisherman's Friend. The moronic character of the beer queues is astounding. The queues start randomly, such that there are far more rows of people than the given space can hold. Claustrophobic, people await to be served, only to encounter the snail-like caterers who have decided to serve only one side of the clients. It's easy to lose one's temper in a situation like this, but most people just remain serene and patient.

Close to 5 P.M., British Blitzkrieg emerged onto the Black Stage. This heavy metal ensemble managed to attract a significant amount of people, who were enthusiastic about the fact that the metal festivities had finally begun. Meanwhile, French Wargasm played folksy black metal tunes as well as a fast-paced Dissection cover on the tented W.E.T. Stage. Next up on the Black Stage were Rose Tattoo, blowing the crowds away with their killer rock 'n roll. While Sodom and a number of guests were musically shattering the audience afterwards, Tyr were infusing the W.E.T. Stage with merry chanting and Viking tales. Humid bodies stood alongside each other, mesmerized by the band's charm. The tent was saturated, Faeroese songs floating through the atmosphere.

The festival ground was a giant piss-hole. The urine-soaked mud was covered with straw, which had eventually sunk into the mud. Who wants to wait in line, when one can piss all over the ground? Lucky us, standing near one of these piss holes, in order to see a killer Danish band, Hatesphere. It was either that, or stand far away and not be able to hear them, or to go into the pit. On the segregated Hellfest Stage (which was renamed to Party Stage for the next few days) Hatesphere were soliciting mad levels of energy, playing songs from the new album, such as "Drinking With the King of the Dead" and "Lies and Deceit." The sound was odd in a manner, a tad too warped with roughness, such that one had to be very selective about where to stand in order to be able to hear the music clearly. The same could be said about Overkill's performance, who followed on the Hellfest Stage. Energy and liveliness were present, as well as interaction with the multicultural crowd.

Saxon's excessively long performance back on the Black Stage was memorable, with a set that guaranteed that all the fans would be left satisfied (or close to it). This headlining act made sure to exhibit its status as heavy metal deities, including songs like "Strong Arm of the Law," "Red Star Falling," and "Denim and Leather." After the last show, those who had the power and the will to continue the revelry went to the Metal Karaoke. Those who didn't headed out towards the asylum of their tents.

The subsequent morning included a violent performance by Suidakra, which was hardly the preferred music for those who had a lovely hangover. Winners of the Polish Metal Battle, Corruption, had an interesting, albeit lame, stage presence. Stoner rock that early during the day did not seem to lure many people into the W.E.T. Stage tent. Not even the skanky girls who dressed up as nuns for one of the songs, stripping and kissing each other, could attract a significant crowd.

At some point later during the day, there was a pandemonium amongst the populace as a result of a small fire that had began during the hottest time of the day. Apparently, some intelligent person had decided that it would be alright if he casually threw his lit cigarette butt into a pile of straw. It had seemed somewhat lethargic, with people lazily wandering around, not listening to the announcer who was urging people to move away from the fire. What was amusing was that for the majority of the time, the announcer was speaking in German, which meant that all those who understood German had a clear idea of what was going on and were aware of the demand to move away; the rest of those present were standing immobile with their faces displaying confusion. It was only a few minutes later that he hastily said, "Small fire, but big problem," continuing to urge everyone to vacate the area.

Subsequently, the next shows had to begin later, namely Amorphis. On the True Metal Stage, Amorphis were playing their discorded mélange of older songs and newer ones. Communic stepped onto the Party Stage in the scorching afternoon temperature. Intense music was accompanied with intense heat. Although their musical style can be compared to that of Nevermore, some distinctions are audible. Therion's theatrical performance was an attempt to fuse music with a dramatic spectacle, through the use of various outfits and props. The resulting situation was a concert that undermined the actual music, instead forcing the listener to observe each and every action of the band members. With a new male figure to do the band's lyrical bidding, namely Thomas Vikström, Therion gave a dramatically charged performance that was interesting to watch.

Thrash veterans Sabbat electrified the W.E.T. Stage, playing one of the greatest shows of the day. The crowd was excited, supportive and insane. With metallic armour enrobing their aging bodies, the musicians gave an excellent performance. "I got erection!" screamed Turbonegro's vocalist, as the already hyperactive atmosphere multiplied on the wide Black Stage. A splendid feature of the set was the vocalists striped pants, disguised as an American flag. An optical illusion in itself.

Germans JBO played an amusing gig, however ludicrous it was. Pink outfits. Pink instruments. Pink stage. Backstreet Boys cover? Yes, that's right. Perhaps the rest of us non-German speaking Wacken Open Air citizens could have enjoyed them more if we had understood the jokes they were making or the words that were spoken in between the songs. While some of us may not understand German, we can understand the language of "Let's party and act retarded!"

Il concerto italiano: Lacuna Coil emerged on the Black Stage in order to pump up the audience with supposed fervor and dynamism. A large number of teenage girls and frail-looking men had gathered around to listen to their highly polished neo-metal sound. The songs they played included "Heaven’s a Lie," "Our Truth," and a Depeche Mode cover. Meanwhile, Norsemen Enslaved gave the crowd a psychedelic experienced with their mostly progressive, at times raw, black metal style. Alienated into the confines of the Party Stage, this eccentric legion of musicians embarked the listeners onto a journey into a dark land, one of unimaginable treasures and macabre tones.

Fellow countrymen Dimmu Borgir were scheduled to capture the crowd's attention next. Impatiently, the festivalgoers awaited the manifestation of the devil to appear on stage. At last, it occurred. Their set-list contained songs such as "Progenies of the Great Apocalypse," "Cataclysm Children," "Sorgens Kammer," "Kings of the Carnival Creation" and of course, "The Serpentine Offering" from their latest release, In Sorte Diaboli. Tony Laureano (Nile, Angelcorpse) replaced Hellhammer, who could not perform due to an injury. The concert had definitely left plenty of people satisfied; nonetheless, a variety of sound problems accompanied the set. The drums seemed a tad too loud at times and the keyboards were not always audible. But hey, the audience loved them, since the whirlwind of fans headbanging and moving in a state of epileptic shock had demonstrated.

The quiet after the storm: In relative silence, the crowd shifted its attention towards the True Metal Stage, awaiting Iced Earth. The concert was not excessively smashing, but the band did manage to make a statement that they are indeed alive and kicking. At the same time, there was something entitled movie night on the local soccer field, lasting until 3 o'clock in the morning. The day ended with prismatic shows by Die Apokalyptischen Reiter and Samael. Once again, the populace had divided into those who had at least a drop of energy left to party on and those who were practically crawling from feebleness.

The first band to play on the True Metal Stage was Sacred Reich, whose performance was exceptional. As the blinding sunlight struck the huddled crowd, the clarity of the sound could be heard. Songs that glimmered and sound waves that emanated from the speakers and pierced the ears of the listener: those were the concert's achievements. Moonspell's stark appearance had turned all that was happy and foolishly festive into a celebration of misery and delirious pain, as this Portuguese grief-bomb leaked out its depressing songs. Soon after their show, joy was restored, as Stratovarius were scheduled to play next. Somewhat more gleeful and merry, this power-metal act had offered a more scintillating atmosphere, as was seen by the numerous beaming individuals who had been crowd-surfing.

On the W.E.T. Stage, meanwhile, Secrets of the Moon annihilated with their black metal bullet, loaded with forceful musical power. Swallow the Sun had forced the crowd to erupt into a fest of depressive tendencies, with music as gloomy as the darkest day of the year. Alas, all was illuminated with festive beer-drinking and reverberating hollering that accompanied the next band on the W.E.T. Stage, Finnish battle lords Turisas. To show their support and adoration for the band, a few members of Israel's Brothers of Beer were dressed up in combat gear and smeared in body paint, skin shining with patches of jet-black. Playing "Battle Metal" and a Boney M cover, Turisas made the crowd roar with ferocious joviality. It was at this particular concert that we lost our voices and damaged our throats.

Type O Negative's bland pleasantry of a performance went on for what seemed like forever. There was hardly any connection between the audience and the band, and this was further intensified by all the jokes that were told that the audience just didn't get. Next, Immortal were scheduled to devastate the horde, who were waiting in anticipation for a lengthened period of time. Fire, corpse-paint and topless men, a great symbol for black metal. Having played an agreeable set, these chicken-dancing Norsemen reinforced their reborn status into the extreme metal scene. Tyrants of the Northern Land, indeed.

Glittering letters, glaring bright and blinding the eyes of onlookers, decorated the stage while In Flames were playing. The show was high-powered, as the combined vigor of the musicians erupted in a melodic death bomb. On the Party Stage, Haggard's sultry spectacle strove to vaccinate the air with a certain darkness. Simultaneously, on the Black Stage, Cannibal Corpse were striving to incite a musical butchery. Even though the band has no legal right to play songs from the first few albums while in Germany, the set-list was satisfactory and downright savage. Having the honour of being the terminating band of the event, Vital Remains expelled their traditional death metal sound onto the spirited public that remained.

The last day of the festival had proved to be easier in a way, since the nomad-like living conditions were accepted. Most people gradually get accustomed to the fact that the state of overall hygiene and the level of comfort are low for the duration of a festival. Moreover, it's a metal festival, so the only thing to do is deal with it the way metalheads are known to. Excessive cleanliness, luxuries such as hot water and quality food are for those who don't work with the spirit of a festival, whose focus is a community feeling and togetherness while being subject to harsh temporary living conditions. No, we don't like shitting into a hole in the ground with flies colonising our behind while we're doing the dirty business. No, we don't like eating fried calamari from a caterer whose hands house fourteen different types of intestinal worms. No, we don't like having a mixture of piss, mud and straw glued to our shoes. No, we don't like being clammed together in a claustrophobic space while tripping over an array of drunk humanoids. But, hey, we like the concerts, the merriment and the joy of meeting new people.

Perhaps another reason why so many of us enjoy festivals is that we know that eventually we will have to go back to our normal, seemingly boring lives. As much as we enjoy the fun and the folly of an event like Wacken Open Air, our warm beds and our warm showers are by far, banal luxuries that we can enjoy until it is time for festival season. Sure, it seems like a great idea for some to have a year-long metalfest, but that doesn't mean that we will appreciate it as much; absence does make the heart grow fonder, after all. As the author of this article sits in the comfort of her cosy apartment, she cannot help but smile about the colourful spectrum of memories that she has of this festival, meanwhile hoping that next year’s version will be even better.