Monday, October 20, 2014
What's more, Hessian have the novelty of utilizing a male/female vocalist/guitarist duo who do their best to surpass their own limitations by laying those flaws bare, grafting together suave harmonies and rustic sincerity. They also don't shy away with a little 'narrative', like screams or gloomier male whispers that shadow Salli Wason's lines. The guitars cruise along with lo-fi, slightly filthed out rhythms in that old British tradition, primitive melodies glazing the shuffle and charge of classic, grainy radio rock riff progressions which shift seamlessly into leads; minimal enough that the vocals take charge and so noisy in execution that the album constantly feels like a rehearsal taping with little regard to polish or overproduction. The drums have that live hiss to the crashes, and box-like kicks and snares which sound like the kit cost $100 from a mail-in catalog in the 60s. You think I'm saying that like it's an insult but believe me: totally the opposite. The bass-lines bounce along haphazardly, following the general note placements of the guitars but curving off enough on their own to feel like their not falling asleep at the wheel.
Every once in awhile Hessian will rattle out some really generic chord progression that has simply been played out so many times that it could have been cooked a little further, and that's a value issue, since it reeks of a lapse into laziness; but in general I think that, for a band so intent on touching its roots, and yours, they do a damn fine job of coming off as imaginative, and not just another soulless clone of the specter of the past. Like they want to take this style and really open it up, run with it, lace it with variation, color and spunk, which goes really nicely with lyrics rooted in fantasy, mysticism and cult horror. The acoustic folk/rock sequences are very well integrated amidst the dirty, thundering riffs to give the music a bit of a Coven feel, only they extend this outward into a more malign aesthetic than coming across like a troupe of hippy Mansonites that want to shoot acid while they shoot your live-ins with bullets...no, these are necromancers weaving a far more prolonged, tragic fate from you from their obsidian towers, and while Bachelor of Black Arts isn't quite a masterpiece of a debut, it's nonetheless magical. Saving throw failed, mother fuckers, this one got me good.
Verdict: Win [8.5/10]
Friday, October 17, 2014
The riffing progressions were still distinctly Shermann/Wead, with a huge emphasis on groovier patterns as heard in cuts like "Torture (1629)", "The Night" and "Crossroads". Personally I found the guitar tone and production of Dead Again in general to be solid, a little on the dry side but fully evocative of those moonlit, classy horror aesthetics that the King had always invested himself into with both bands. The producer here was involved with In the Shadows, and King did a lot of the mixing himself, so it's not a coincidence that this is thematically and atmospherically a spiritual successor to the 1993 reunion epic, with a lot of those grooves that just storm in and cut out against the lighter material ("Since Forever", etc). The problem for me is just that the songs lack the extra, intangible 'something' which made for such a hot streak from the time Don't Break the Oath had arrived all the way to efforts like Time and The Spider's Lullabye. It's not an ineffably lazy round of tunes like one will find on the painfully sterile Graveyard, which had a mix like a Tupperware party in Prude county, but for whatever reason the songs just don't connect with me quite like most of the albums that were released before it.
Sharlee D'Angelo's performance here is solid in tone but rather forgettable, I often feel like a few more interesting grooves in his own playing might have supplemented the rhythm guitars with the 'edge' I needed to carve them into my memory. The leads are in general pretty bleak, you can perceive all the shredding and technique the guys are capable of meting out, but emotionally the breaks all seem rather phoned in and fit to order the song structures rather than the phantoms and haunts which underscore many of the lyrical themes. The drums sound good, mostly laying out standard hard rock rhythms since a lot of the material is fairly mid-level on the energy and momentum scales. As for Diamond himself, he gives the usual versatile performance, but doesn't seem to imbue a lot of the individual lines and stories with the same level of personality you'd remember from Melissa, or Don't Break the Oath, or even Fatal Portrait. On a technical level, most elements that went into this recording don't sound out of place or digressive from the three full-lengths before it, but once you get beneath the surface it just seems a bit hollow...
Even on the ambitious 14-minute title track, which is a jumbled mesh of mundane progressive rock swells, corny narratives and a few seconds of the most inspired and excellent harmonies to be found here. Others, like "Fear" start off really ripe and then grow progressively less compelling, while a tune like "The Lady Who Cries" is rather a dud that I struggle to remember at all. What I find most curious is that I find King Diamond at its heights and lows to be better and worse than Mercyful Fate. Abigail and The Eye just marginally surpass Don't Breath the Oath in my estimation, though I realize that's not the Officially Approved Opinion™; but on the other hand, records like Give Me Your Soul... and the dreaded Graveyard aren't fit to spit-shine Dead Again's inverted crucifix. So, as gloomy as I might have made my position seem in the opening paragraph, it's a testament to this band, that even the album I'm least likely to appreciate in their catalog, still isn't entirely a drag. In fact, this would make a pretty solid 4-5 track EP if all the better licks and vocal hooks were abridged. But it remains In the Shadows' less attractive younger sister, safe to propose to if you blew it when you were dating the original, but in the back of your mind, you'll always be wondering where that might have led if you just weren't such an asshole... And, yeah, I realize 'sister' is probably a bad choice of words when discussing the Mercyful/Diamond canon.
Verdict: Indifference [6.75/10] (I'm drifting still)
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Parody of the Mass is not so thematic or atmospheric as its successors The Horror Grandeur or Sketch of Supposed Murder, in which Jack was bringing forth industrial/electronic influences more to the fore, but this does at least show some traces of that. The black metal performed here doesn't often take on the tremolo picked, traditional face so much as it involves a lot of slower chugging patterns with the 'orchestration' carrying the melody, but he'll also lay out these big unexpected grooves and squeals ("Healing the Blind") and break down into these impish 'horror' sequences where the metal drops out, and the drums will press on with vocal modulated narration that is simultaneously cheesy and endearing, so bad its so good and so forth. But there are more tranquil moments of escapism, like the piano/string instrumental "Torn" or the sweeping finale "The End" where the keys feel a lot more like an actual symphony, and it actually inspires some raw emotion. Otherwise, from a production perspective this all sounds tight...the bass is audible, the drums beats are fulfilling if unimaginative, and Jack's nasty rasp was definitely first class among his Norse peers Ihsahn, Satyr and Nattefrost in the 90s.
If you loathe the heavily keyboard-infused black metal, this won't prove an exception, because this was never a band drifting in favor of the Darkthrone/old Burzum style, rather floating away. I've long thought of this band's progression as a sort of aural analog to how horror movies evolved in the 90s and 2000s, the genre oversaturated with a lot of bad CGI ghosts and kill scenes and this guy was also sort of embracing the technology towards his own compositional evolution. But I like Morgul a lot more than most of that shit, and this was the birth of the transformation. My few tangible issues with the songs here are that, 1) several of the riffing sequences are too repetitious for too long, and 2) the guitars here only rarely spike off into a harmony or interesting note progression, too often settling as a pure rhythmic countermeasure to the symphonics, which is kind of boring regardless of who the artist is. Beyond that, this is a good album, Mikael Hedlund (Hypocrisy) and Terje Refsnes did a good job assembling it and if you're actually into bands like Crest of Darkness, Gloomy Grim, old Cradle of Filth and Dimmu Borgir then it's worth an 'approach', even if you don't end up buying it a drink or taking it home for an evening of passionate faux-Goth lovemaking.
Verdict: Win [7.75/10]
Monday, October 13, 2014
Exhumed first came onto my radar with the Relapse debut Gore Metal, although they had already been butchering cadavers for nearly a decade prior to that, manifesting right about the time that British classics like Symphonies of Sickness, Realm of Chaos and From Enslavement to Obliteration were starting to make ripples across the pond. So it's not too much of a stretch that this early grind sound plays so prominently into their development. Yet Matt Harvey, Ross Sewage and company imbued this with a healthy helping of carnal thrash, Floridian morbidity (in particular from the Scream Bloody Gore/Leprosy era of Death) and a lot more structure than progenitor efforts like Scum and Reek of Putrefaction would ever be accused of. Carcass is what I hear the most clearly, to be sure, with to the warring guttural and snarl vocals and flesh-churning guitar tone, but not every riff progression is some analog for those meat-hating metallurgists. Where their British forerunners had a more political theme behind their songs, citing medical journals to make the listener sick to his/her stomach, you can tell from the get-go that Exhumed were more interested in the slasher and gore genres of horror film...so these cold, forensic lyrics, which have a similar clinical quality to them, seem more like the aftermath of a murder spree...
But the music, that better recounts the actual act, with this fat, voluptuous rhythm guitar tone which feels like someone packed Repulsion's Horrified into some delicious, fatty livestock, seasoned it with Pestilence's Consuming Impulse and then served it raw, by the slice. Regardless of whether you want to call this 'gore-grind' or 'death-grind', the songs eschew the obnoxious practice of :50 of blasting, sloppy riffs and haiku-like lazy political ravings and morph into pure metal tunes, with demented, wailing leads that fit the tireless momentum perfectly. Oh, fear not, there are loads of blast beats, but these are balanced off against the death/thrashing obtrusions of a Leprosy, squirming entrail Symphonies of Sickness grooves, and King/Hanneman frenzies which abandon all home of coherent melodic components to reward the listener a more fresh perspective on 'the kill', the undiluted chaos of pure violence. Col Jones keeps the time with loads of fills ricocheting around the mix, and a solid tone to the kicks, toms and snare which don't mirror the more processed sounding drums of the brutal tech death movement that was in full swing by this point; and the bass guitar metes out the normal grinding fuzz, but still seems quite corpulent beneath the incendiary six-strings.
Gore Metal didn't tear my face off nearly as much as its successor, but to this day I think it's rightly a 90s 'classic' in the field which doesn't seem to age much...in fact I enjoy the album more than I did when initially exposed to it, and would easily recommend it to anyone who just wants some kinetic mayhem emanating through the speakers. Again, it's not exactly a repackaged Carcass, they've managed that themselves with Surgical Steel...but if you were seeking out a 'mirror universe' of that band who let themselves loosen up and have fun, this was the album that quenched the urge long before retro death became this overcrowded norm. A well-fed upgrade to a wealth of classic grind, tearing its way across the States and beyond, while General Surgery was simultaneously flavoring the same inspiration with their native Swedish crust overseas. This disc definitely scored the first few goals for bringing this sound back around, before being joined by wingmen like Impaled, Ghoul and Frightmare a little further into the game. Well worth owning this grisly, controlled charcuterie.
Verdict: Win [8.5/10] (a condition impossible to correct)
Friday, October 10, 2014
Rhythm guitars definitely swerve slightly into Swedish territory, which is nothing new here, but the difference is how he constructs the riffs themselves, which take on an often more thrashy aesthetic more directly reminiscent of a median between Slayer and Carcass. Pair this up with Patrick's gruesome gutturals, which often sound like a rent in the time continuum from which some vast, otherworldly eyeball is staring forth, and then sprinkle loads of simple but effective melodies, both airy and tremolo-picked above the death/thrashing vortex below and you've come up with a fairly close approximation to how this album sounds. Like esteemed labelmates Ghoul, the 'fun factor' doesn't really ever leave the picture...but that's not to say he isn't spitting out some serious lyrics or writing music that favorable evokes death metal's underpinnings of terror and helplessness, he is just more apt to conjure up mental visions of Hammer Horror flicks, or black/white classics, rather than the edgy and uncomfortable torture porn which serves as much of modern horror. And I like that, that sort of passionate but lighthearted spin on the medium which Razorback has long exemplified, because when you're staring too long into the abyss, it's good to break for a beer and a laugh.
The Barrens seems a little more morose a title than the album sounds, but it's still plenty dark, a midnight matinee delivered with loads of themes and samples. The strength of the music does vary, with the occasional outbreak of some boring d-beat driven riff or a chord sequence that doesn't really go anywhere, but even within the limited subset of styles in which Crypticus experiments, he does manage to achieve some degree of variation, and though the music is never 'complex', he does seem to invest a lot of shifting time signatures and structures into even the shorter pieces. I will say that I did not always love the drum tone on this one, it feels a little too loud and mechanical, in particular the lower end of the kit, which sort of contrasts against the more atmospheric combinations of the grinding rhythm guitar, ugly growls, and lead harmonies and melodies. But when this record totally comes together, like the beginning of "Ceremonial Surgery" or the old Entombed-like groove that opens up "Misanthropy Mine", I am reminded of why this is an act that will still take me some time to grow tired of. Not his best album, but definitely consistent.
Verdict: Win [7.5/10]
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Also, the guitar riffing here is very solidly produced and, while wholly traditional heavy/power metal in construction, the primary reason I was compelled to come back to these songs repeatedly and remember to write about the album come Halloween month. This is hands down one of the better records I've heard on the StormSpell Records roster. Not to sling any mud at the Californian label, because I certainly appreciate how it helps carry the torch for this niche, but I have occasionally come across some supbar records there which seem to be more heavily interested in the inhalation of their own nostalgic fumes than in really recreating the 'magic' of 80s thrash, speed and heavy metal. As for Midnight Priest, they seem like they're right on the edge of snatching that spirit back from the ether, by combining "Abigail" meets "Them" meets "Don't Break the Oath" era eloquent lead work with some meatier, middle class charging metal thunder riffs. It's far from a masterpiece, nor would it have been in 1984-5, but it's absolutely capable of evoking some of that old escapism when it tries.
You've got the obligatory acoustic, crystalline guitar parts reminiscent of how they were treated on the later 80s King Diamond material (including The Eye), and also the haunted churchyard intro which felt like someone translating a Poe piece into atmosphere. And then you've got those sturdy, mid-paced, roiling, lightly rusted iron guitars that climb up and down the spires of mystique and horror, while 'The Priest' will occasionally throw out some dead-wringer for KD's ethereal falsetto in tunes like "Segredo de Família". Yes, the tragic bloodline theme of records like Them and Conspiracy is also present in the lyrics here, which I couldn't completely translate, but seem rather obvious on the surface. The drums have a nice splash and crash to them, and the bass is audible if not interesting, but it's truly the vocals and guitars which drive my affectations for the music, especially when they lay out some unexpected, evil groove that would have killed me dead when I was 15. And then, in tunes like "No Calor do Inferno", they show an equal propensity for knocking out straight old Helloween style raging power metal anthems, so it never really feels like a complete xerox of that old Danish aesthetic, which works in the record's favor.
Production is good and beefy, not polished to a sterile finish, with the guitars really loud to the point that they often convey a bit of graininess in the ears. Just enough reverb in place to create those crucial moonlit night atmospheres, as the mind revels in fantasies of chilling after hours in the European autumn or winter, and I think the eponymous proves that Midnight Priest had a very clear, concise vision of where they wanted this to go, the music reflecting the artwork and vice versa. This is not at all an ambitious sort of album that reveals to me that the band can go 'further' than its influences, which frankly we could use a lot more of among today's retro-flavored metal scene. But provided you're open to the Portuguese vocals, which you should be unless you're a rabid ape, this is a good, solid, 37 minutes of melodic heavy metal which pays its dues.
Verdict: Win [7.5/10]
Monday, October 6, 2014
In fact I liked Meet Thy Maker and No Survivors so much that I often wondered what more would become of the band in the near-decade since. King Fowley had done such a knockout job with the last Deceased disc (Surreal Overdose) that I wasn't sure this would ever come out of hibernation; thus was pleasantly surprised when the Gone to the Devil single came out through Hell's Headbangers last year, and the prospect of a new album on the near horizon. And it delivers. Maybe not to the extent that the last couple did, but it fits in snugly with a lot of the excellent retro metal of late, bands who have come to grips with the fact that they can't just reach back and xerox an era of sound, but can also write strong songs within those parameters which can resonate even in today's wasteland of iPad dreams, disingenuous politics and social inversion. But October 31 are not, and never have been trendy, they've been active for nearly 20 years, and kicked this off long before they thought anyone would remotely give a shit...before a lot of the retro metal-think had even become nostalgia yet. So on the one hand, this is old man metal for those who used to browse a little deeper in the used record and cassette bins than to merely hunt down Ozzy and Maiden bootlegs, for something more primal.
On the other, it's perfectly accessible, angry heavy/speed metal for just about anyone willing to overlook the fact it doesn't sound like it was recorded in a Tupperware factory. Simplistic, pounding chord progressions that we've no doubt heard before, just not necessarily with Fowley's distinctive, bitter and scowling tone casting about stories drawn from his usual alma mater: the horror genre. The rhythm guitars are neither bright nor fluttery like you'd hear in Euro power, which benefits from that sort of blinding elegance; but rather grounded and workmanlike, allowing the leads to just tear off into that semi-sporadic space which allows them plenty of wild, obnoxious emotion...like gremlins breaking loose in a steel mill. Bass guitars are muddy, throbbing and distorted, sounding like a tightrope or electrical cable about to snap at any moment, while the drums lay out a pretty layman set of beats and grooves which are all you really need in this situation. Beyond that, though, there is a lot of variation here, with riffs channeled from everything from airier NWOBHM in the Maiden vein to American staples like early Armored Saint and Lääz Rockit. Fully consistent, but not at all afraid to measure off more melodic sequences against the pulse pounding roadway metal that is more likely to get the heads banging.
Album really picks up on the third song, "Down at Lover's Lane", with its excellent contrast of that tiny, eerie background guitar against the main melody of the rhythm tracks, and then that voluptuous bass in the little breakdown which sets up the verse. Other favorites include "The House Where Evil Dwells", "Growing Old" and "Arsenic on the Rocks", most of which have these glorious old Maiden melodies coursing against the grimier, bruised under-riffing. When these guys break out a groove, it always transforms the tune's landscape into some 80s battle charge, kind of like you might have felt about songs like "The Trooper" when they felt fresh. But in the end, the album doesn't succeed for me off the riff selection alone...a lot of these, in less seasoned hands, might seem trite or predictable, but it's the context of October 31 which renews them. Even their cover of Icon's "Under My Gun" (from the eponymous s/t in 1984) just explodes out of the speakers, transformed into something their own rather than just a soulless analog for the original. There have been comments that King's vocals and the harder and faster material this band writes is a little too close to Deceased, and I can understand that to a point, but really, these are mostly different guys and there's a difference to how they play. A little less complex (not that Deceased are technical to begin with), and more burly with hearts worn right on their sleeves.
Certainly, though, one band will scratch the itch for the other if you go in realizing this band services a different set of King's influences, and if you also appreciate both the heavy/speed metal traditions and the darker thrash and proto-death metal involved with the other. A good album here, with only a few tracks dragging behind the rest in quality, but overall seamless in pacing and presentation, never wearing out its welcome over 42 minutes. The songs don't often grab me as much as several off Meet Thy Maker or its successor did, but this is definitely worthy of joining the regular rotation, arrives at the perfect time of year, not only for the excellent band name but also the feelings it evokes for when I was a denim-clad teenager with a frizzy, cowlick-ridden quasi-mullet, and a stolen, skunked beer from that cabinet dad seems to have forgotten, watching campy horror flicks like The Gate or Invaders from Mars, or any number of cliche slashers, standard definition pixel paradise, on cable TV. Remember that, when you watched those channels for the movies and not the multiple-season, award winning drama series? Then this record is for you.
Verdict: Win [8/10]
Friday, October 3, 2014
What manifests musically is some very stripped down, semi-meaty death/thrash/heavy metal circa King Fowley's October 31, but with tendencies to swerve off directly into Misfits-land, like in the verse of "The Leech and the Worm", or the chorus of "Tonight", where the simple punky chord progression is festooned with Lord Vladimir's best Glenn Danzig drawl. In other places like the opener, "Workin' for the Devil", there are higher pitched shrieks which I can only guess are an attempt to scratch a King Diamond itch, but these are an exception to the rule. Von Ghoul isn't just strictly trying to bite off his inspirations, though, so he throws in a more churning mid-ranged growl, or a ghastly growl like in "The Legend of the Swamp Hag". Variation isn't exactly a problem, and he strives for at least some charisma, but I often felt like the vocals felt too impromptu sounding, lending the record a loose and 'live' vibe, which isn't in of itself a flaw, only I just never found many of his lines convincingly catchy. More like goofy and serviceable, which mirrors my impressions of Workin' for the Devil as a whole, an album that is probably decent for a few cruises through the neighborhood on Halloween night, spraying some pumpkin spice confetti on the unwary Trick or Treaters, but not much valued beyond that...
The riffs are alright, but all pretty safe and stockroom for punk, thrash or even the proto-power metal sequences, to the point that I can't point out a single moment that impressed me. Leads are present but disposable, lacking the emotional impact they generally require to stand out. Lyrically, it all tends to vie for the rhyme scheme, with plainspoken imagery linked directly to the films they celebrate (like The Gate). Production is vivid and never lacks in punch, and the cover art colorful without completely stepping into comic book caricature land ala Ghoul. There are also a considerable 15 tracks, of varying lengths and styles, including a cover of Slayer's "Tormentor" to top it all off; yet this actually doesn't end up working in the album's favor, because it feels like too much average material for too long. A myriad of decently placed samples throughout the songs help shape the kitschy horror theme, but without strong, explosive riffs or highly atmospheric moments to capitalize on them, they seem almost like an afterthought. We know silly masked bands are capable of also producing some excellent music, hell just listen to Scumdogs of the Universe, We Came for the Dead or Destroyer....this album just doesn't seem to strive for much. But, despite these many critiques, I didn't actually hate this at all. It's aware of its limitations, consistent in its formula. Promises and delivers a little whiff of nostalgia, parties hard, and then flies off on a broom. A B-movie you'll throw on for mood, never for story.
Verdict: Indifference [6/10]
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
It brings a little more visceral excitement than last time around, a little more violence at a faster clip and a lot more of Cannibal's death/thrash roots seem to have loosened in the earth and sprouted up around the sturdier quarter-century death metal trunk. While Torture seemed to be a slightly dialed back level of complexity to the decade of releases before it, A Skeletal Domain is more breakneck and threatening and definitely cranks up the velocity, to the point that some of the quicker guitar licks in cuts like "Sadistic Embodiment" seem to harbor a blitz of Teutonic speed/thrash, something I can't recall picking out very often from their earlier material. Of course, a lot of this is due to the production, which is perhaps as polished and immaculate as any other point in their career, and allows for the rhythm guitars to carve up a more clinical slab of meat than on some of their past splatter-platters, but there is just a fraction of deviation from where they were at a few years ago, enough variation that it doesn't come across too redundant to my ears...but I admit some bias, since it's rare that I come away from anything this band releases with any semblance of disappointment. They have almost always proven damned good at what they do, and even if this isn't likely to be a favorite in their discography, it certainly didn't slip past the Q.C. division when the master was shipped off to press.
Expect all the hallmarks of the Cannibal Corpse sound: Alex Webster's judicious exhibition of finger strength weaving webs of bass-lines all over the fucking steel-shaving rhythm guitars, which are performed with such surgical precision this time around that half the time I thought I was listening to a more brutal Nevermore during the faster picked, thrash-like progressions, though the slower chugs totally punch the listener in and through the gut region in mid-paced sequences. They still do a lot of those atmosphere octave chord placements circa their later 90s work, and George Corpsegrinder's syllabic patterns are more or less par for the course, but I was happy that they also left some space here for some simpler riffs that border on the atmospheric, evil moments they hinted at with records like Gallery of Suicide and Bloodthirst. I feel like this album might also be a chance to put to rest the complaints about Paul's drumming...not that I understand what these were ever about, since he's usually been pretty good, but the man is hitting like a tornado here, and even if they're not the most technical band in terms of blasting, his kit at least makes you feel like your head is being battered around with a club.
The lyrics are good as usual, psalms of psychotic murder which don't deviate from the norm...the one thing is that they seem to have lost their luster for really funny/disturbing song titles.."High Velocity Impact Spatter" and "Headlong Into Carnage" are alright, but any sense of 'shock value' seems to have been left way behind in the mid 90s. But this isn't exactly news, nor is it necessarily a flaw that upon their 13th album, the subject matter has taken on a more workmanlike character due to the gradual jadedness of the audience (myself included). At the end of the day, while I was probably the least impressed here that I had been since The Wretched Spawn a decade past, I don't feel let down or like I've wasted my money in the slightest. There's not even an outside chance that this is really going to change the minds of those long exhausted with the Cannibal aesthetics, but taken at face value, which all albums really should be, it's a hell of a beatdown that will remain enjoyable for months.
Verdict: Win [8/10] (slaughtered are the weakest first)
Monday, September 29, 2014
Dynamics. Halberd has them, and the fact that they never settle snugly into just one glacial pace or progression is critical not only to the album's flow, but the impression it leaves upon the audience. Just as much of a pure, late 80s death metal effort as its more prominent mating of styles, the band will break out into resonant tremolo picked patterns whose melodic inclinations reminded me (in a positive way) of the Entombed debut, but overall the churning and grinding of the rhythm guitars feels like it traces its lineage back to British legends Bolt Thrower, Napalm Death, perhaps even older Godflesh if we were to eschew the industrial instrumentation and just go with the riffing alone. Remnants of Crumbling Empires is essentially this cocktail of classic death metal tropes circa England, Finland, Sweden and Florida, shaken and stirred and served from the gut with an infusion of eerie keys that lend the experience an even more ominous, exotic presence like you might remember from a record like Celtic Frost's To Mega Therion. In fact, I've seen the band compared to Tom G. Warrior's latest incarnation Triptykon, but as a rare person who finds that band high on production values but bland on riff quality, I came away from Halberd with more of a Hooded Menace impression, sans the kitschy horror lyrics and titles. Which brings me to the next point...
Theme. Halberd is war metal, not in the genre sense that they sound like Blasphemy or Bestial Warlust, but through the lyrics and atmosphere. The band has a designated lyricist who pens these passionate odes to historical conflicts which are just not often enough thought about in metal music, and this was easily one of my favorite characteristics of the album. The Proskurov Pogroms in the earlier 20th century Ukraine, the Anglo-Zanzibar war of 1896, and the Boer Wars a few years after that, and not just written as a detached social studies lesson, but imbued with impassioned imagery that often puts the listener/reader right into the middle of the fray. This not only gives perspective to the album title, but also provides an entire other dimension of enjoyment that you wouldn't get from just another 'woe is me', vapid inscription of lily-white skinned lost lovers and tombstones that you'd expect from a lot of death/doom bands toeing the (My Dying Bride) line. As a prolific listener of metal, so often inundated with the same topics ad nauseam, I appreciated this, and the music reflects the subject matter well...faster sequences feel like your flesh is being ground up by pre-WWI artillery, and the slower, atmospheric passages feel like wraiths haunting the shadowy afterlife eaves of a battlefield.
The drums are programmed, which might prove an obstacle to purists, but not at all for me, since they keep themselves very busy, pregnant with fills and breaks in any mechanical monotony one might perceive. Vocals are divided into three tent camps: a deeper guttural, a bloodier Carcass-like rasp and then a few rare Warrior 'hoomph' exclamations that help usher in some excitement for a new riff switch. Even better, they don't skimp on the leads and melodies...Remnants if flooded with the things, so at any moment you're thinking some riff might feel a little too pedestrian or predictable, in comes this wild and furious relish. There's even a little bit of structural experimentation, particularly the slow and sparse chugged pacing found chunks of "Ignorance of Morbidity" where they let the cleaner guitars and dissonant ambiance glide alongside the gruesome growls (one of the Godflesh moments I hinted at earlier). The mix of the record isn't particularly grating or raw, but it's not clean and spiffy either, so it ends up with a sort of timeless quality about it that works hand in hand with the musical aesthetics on parade.
Few complaints, honestly...the bass guitars are not exactly obscured, but could certainly be a lot more interesting than they are for the vast majority of the album. I'm guessing there wasn't a devoted bass player when they put this together, and to be fair, a lot of older death metal records which inspired this one weren't bass heavy; yet there were points through the music in which a nice, unique groove could have been established alongside or even counter to the rhythm guitars. Also, I don't know that the longer of the four tracks (12 and 15 minutes respectively) benefited that much from their duration. Halberd compensated by keeping them kinetic, instead of endlessly recycling static chord patterns, but I really thought their style worked best in the 5-8 range, where they just roll over you like a horse-drawn cannon. These are minor issues, though, even more so when you consider the difficulties they must have faced in putting everything together without that physical proximity most bands have. On the whole, this is an excellent debut, never too derivative of any one source, and the leads, lyrics and hellish vitality of the rhythm guitar patterns are all immense. This should not be an unsigned act for very long.
Verdict: Win [8.5/10] (revolution rhymes with annihilation)