Cynic - Focus (1993)

Cynic has developed quite a legacy despite the relative sparsity of their collective output. Part of this is the involvement of constituent members in other legendary projects like Death, but much of the credit falls squarely upon the shoulders of the debut Focus. If any album was to be considered an anomaly among the burgeoning death metal scene of the early 90s, it was this one. The band had eschewed the sheer technical thrash of their earlier demos to evolve into an entity the likes which we had simply never heard. Progression had not been unheard of by this time: bands like Pestilence, Atheist and Death were clearly exploring and expanding the boundaries of the genre's definition, grafting fluctuations of form into the marrow of their compositions. But for Cynic, thinking outside the box was not some surreal infusion developed over a number of official releases: it had already been molded into their vertebrae by the time Roadrunner put this album out.

Describing the music here is almost as much a challenge as it was to first listen to it upon release. Highly technical, meandering melodic guitar lines are set in a latticework of talented jazz and rock drumming, with abundant leads set off the primary rhythmic patterns almost as tangents to the central emotions. Instead of simply growling, which might normally have sufficed, guitarist and front man has incorporated a robotic vocal filter which casts an otherworldly, cybernetic gloss over the sheen of the hectic instrumentation. The level of proficiency here is staggering. Cynic made progressive-peak Death sound like rank amateur schoolchildren, and all without the expense of losing strong songwriting values. Copious amounts of guitar synthesizer were incorporated (akin to Pestilence on their Spheres album), but most impressive is the use of the Chapman Stick. In fact, Sean Malone is the backbone of this entire recording. At times I feel like I could just crank down the guitars, vocals and percussion and just listen to his bass playing, a stunning evocation of adventurous fusion that was unrivaled at this time.

The intelligence of Focus is not only found in the music, but in the conceptual groundwork for the lyrics. Applied mythology, astrophysics, and philosophy are woven into its considerable curves, and no expense is spared in creating an ambient awning that suits each thematic extraction. "Veil of Maya" dawns with the mechanical grace of the vocals above a deeper, clean voice and busily percolated bass lines, before the chorus and guttural counterbalance arrive over a stolid miasma of precision thrashing. It's an incredibly uplifting piece, comparable to what Atheist had built on Unquestionable Presence, but more in depth. "Celestial Voyage" is perhaps best known for that snaking, incredulous opening guitar streak, but its subdued, jazzy verses are brilliant as they explode against the metallic current like stars going supernova, witness through the safety of a vast telescope, but no less beautiful. "The Eagle Nature" is marginally more choppy, with the very Death-like guitar tone cutting through it, think of it as a more advanced thesis on what Chuck was trying to achieve through Human. Love those descending vocals around :30.

Then comes "Sentiment" with its pumping bass-lines and wondrous jungle of tribal percussion and sailing, effects-driven vocals. Mid-ranged female vocals are incorporated to create a terse narrative to the musical escalation, and I just love the darkening climax around 1:30. "Uroboric Forms" is again quite similar to the material Reinert and Masvidal were performing on Human, but more intense and memorable, with further female presence, this time ethereal. However, my favorite song here might just be "I'm But a Wave to..." and its scintillating, terrifying architecture of warped synthesizers and cyclic dissonance. I wasn't so compelled by the song "How Could I": it's fascinating, but the individual melodies did not stand out among the album as a whole. As for the instrumental "Textures", it's basically a volcanic orgasm of aural conjecture, and pretty much exactly how you want to pace such a track when it doesn't have the lyrics to back it: sine waves of lucid pleasure exploding into cautious acrobatics, and then back again...

I have noted elsewhere that Brutality's unexpected Screams of Anguish was the best of the Florida death works of 1993, but Focus has one up on even that cult classic, because it simply transcends the entire genre, becomes something OTHER. Something at once beautiful and alien. There are times when I don't love the highly processed production (a similar hurdle that albums like Spheres and Symbolic also face), but Scott Burns manages not to completely cock this up. I can only imagine the guy's face when Cynic presented the material to him. How the fuck am I going to handle THIS one? That he manages to do so without losing many of the myriad nuances is a credit to his ability, though I'd advise that anyone interested lean towards the Roadrunner remaster from 2004 which sounds an inkling better. Focus is not at all a perfect offering because at times it feels as if there is almost too much happening, and one of the tunes seems to trail the rest in quality, but really there was nothing else like it and there hasn't been since...

Hell, this is such an intimidating exhibition of foresight that Cynic themselves would not deign to follow it up for quite some time. I can imagine nigh on endless nights of poring over reams of written material, hurtling it all to the trash bin on accounts of not being good enough. A lot of pensive drinking, or moving on to other projects in hopes that the time apart would somehow surpass what the band started. Ironically enough, they managed that exact feat 15 years later with Traced in Air, a revelatory if more tranquil experience which benefits from far superior and rounded production standards, though a bit of a 'grower'. Alas, the albums are as different as they are the same, and I'm happy to own and experience both on a regular basis: but Focus is the more historically potent, because it helped force open a passage that only the most daring would follow.

Verdict: Win [8.75/10] (balance every joy with a grief)

http://www.cyniconline.com/

Aosoth - III (2011)

Almost in a parallel opposition to popular French countrymen Deathspell Omega and Blut Aus Nord, Aosoth commit some of the most unabashed and brutal atrocities in modern black metal. However, like those acts, they are wholly endowed with the ability to concoct a harrowing atmosphere. Here upon Aosoth III, they have done so, with an album so massively produced and hostile that all the seraphim who experience it have no choice but to beat their wings or lose them through a swift, infernal devolution. But with this new album, the Frenchmen also draw comparisons to the current crop of highly cavernous, retrograde death metal acts that are populating the sub cellars and sepulchers of the underground: delivered through the impossible, thick resonance of their doom-driven guitar tone.

III is divided up into six Roman numeric titles, a practice which is confessedly growing tired the more I see it, as it serves only to leech distinction from its each constituent track. However, this is a minor annoyance, because this is not exactly the sort of experience you want to half-ass and split into components. The entire affair is a vaunted fright fest of clamor and chaos, a hybrid of drudging semantics that do not eschew some degree of creativity. Example: track "II" at around 1:10, where the monolithic discourse is interwoven with a limb of insectoid dissonance below a faint, screaming choir-like synthesizer and slowly escalating chords. "III" begins with the low thrum of piano strikes and noisy gravitas before a steady succession of battering double bass and the thick miasma of chords. "IV" represents a sparse, jangling evil construed through the debris of a landscape which no divine light has ever shone itself; while "VI" streams through alternating abyssal winds of terrible force and pensive, withdrawn regrets.

This is about 45 minutes all told, with various pieces running from 6-9 minutes in length, but trust me when I advise that you'll want to clear your calendar for the whole conflagration. I won't call Aosoth III subtle, because there's not much hidden in the background. All of its teetering layers of ambiance are rather direct, separated only by their disparate volume in the mix, but its highly effective at destroying your afternoon. I found both of the band's prior full-lengths to be passable, in particular Ashes of Angels, but this is easily a more consistent experience for those seeking to immerse themselves in a most dire realization of their surroundings, a window that cuts through the pleasantries of mundane being to reveal the appalling, parasitic subtext of all Creation. Had Aosoth included a spade and coffin with this record, I might never be writing to you again. Your loss, I'm sure. The stakes have been raised, and they're ready to welcome our unsuspecting, human husks.

Verdict: Win [8.25/10]

http://www.myspace.com/aosoth616

Resurrection - Embalmed Existence (1993)

Resurrection might have come along a few years too late to avoid the precedents that had been laid by their Floridian peers, but they did an admirable job of refining the bludgeoning force of Deicide, Pestilence, Obituary, and Death into something nonetheless worth a listen. What's more, the band used a series of narrative vignettes to herald each of the tracks here, an unusual idea that, despite feeling somewhat cheesy in retrospect, actually works in acclimating the listener to the beating he or she is about to receive. In other words, Embalmed Existence is not afraid to take a risk or two, and while this is my no means a legendary, top shelf ordeal, I have no hesitation in naming it one of the better Florida death records of 1993, with more durability than even heavyweights like Morbid Angel and Atheist were able to muster that year.

The debut also benefits from great production and even greater cover art. Granted, Scott Burns and Dan Seagrave were the usual standbys for this scene, but both did good by Resurrection. The mix is pummeling and clear throughout, with a nice contrast of hammering rhythms and leads. The frontal image whisks the listener to phallic catacombs of obscurity, which seems to suit the music wonderfully. Embalmed Existence is hardly choked with riffing innovation, and you can certainly hear very clear similarities to Slowly We Rot, Leprosy, Cause of Death, and the Deicide s/t twisted through its eight original compositions, but they are quite capable of packaging tight, skilled musicianship into primal patterns of gorgeous evil that alternate between massive chord schemes and chugging morbidity. Even better, the band has an unusual knack for writing an almost 'uplifting' bridge element into an otherwise brutal piece.

You hear this right away in "Disembodied", a polished bludgeon interlaced with deep chimes and melodic chords (reminiscent of Pestilence) both in the bridge and conclusion, a somewhat wider emotional palette than one was used to from a death metal tune. "Rage Within" uses more of the massive chords, creating a parallel to Obituary that is betrayed only by Paul Degloyer's less carnal vocals. "Embalmed Existence" has more in common with Death (Leprosy and Spiritual Healing), with strong, memorable riffs and just a hint of menace; while "Torture Chamber" is redolent of the pummeling sedition of Deicide or Malevolent Creation. Perhaps the best songs arrive near the end of the record: the determined "Test of Fate" with its writhing slugfest of guitars and "Pure Be Damned" with its concrete lead and bridge sequence and cheap, effective breakdown.

The cover of KISS' "War Machine" might not have that same, groovy power as the original, but it's a curious choice for a death metal band, and DeGloyer's growling brings it in line with the band's own compositions, if it lacks some of the same low-end thunder. Overall, though, this debut does deserve the status of a minor cult classic. It's not complex, the lyrics are mediocre, and for the most part its not original in the slightest, but it surely captures the mood of its era with a fine balance of brutality and subtle depth. Of course, being that they're not the fastest or most proficient pick of the litter, Resurrection would be relatively overlooked despite their qualities. They had one of the better early death metal records on the Nuclear Blast roster, but despite their visibility, they never seemed to get anywhere, and maintained relative silence for 15 years until their cleverly titled comeback Mistaken for Dead.

Verdict: Win [7.75/10] (they yearn for my knowledge)

http://www.myspace.com/resurrectionfl

Malevolent Creation - Stillborn (1993)

I'm not sure if it can be attributed to creative constipation, or a dead set determination to maintain stylistic consistency through a career of diminishing returns, but Malevolent Creation are a band that peaked early and then proceeded to write what is essentially the same album through several decades. Okay, not the exact SAME album, there are minor deviations here or there, shifts in their production paradigms, altered rosters, curving apertures of slower and faster based material, but you catch my drift. I don't mean to hate on the band, because there is a positive side to this strategy (or lack of a strategy): the band has never, to my knowledge, released a stinker of a record, at least not a full-length under this particular moniker (the side band Hateplow is another story).

Stillborn was their third and final album through Roadrunner, and had absolutely nothing going for it over its predecessors. There were a few personnel changes, with Rob Barrett (guitar) and Jason Blachowicz (bass) exiting and Jon Rubin (guitar) coming on board, but other than that, it's a facsimile of the concepts the band were already utilizing. Perhaps this is a little more 'slamming' than the first two albums, as tracks like "The Way of All Flesh" and "Genetic Affliction" have some tremendous, concrete cracking breakdowns, but this was not at all unusual for US death metal as such chugging grooves strode hand in hand with a largely crossover audience. All the riffs are performed here with competence and energy enough to compete with any of their Florida peers, and yet the music just never seems to stick. Bruising the listener, but never really breaking skin.

I enjoy the lead breaks throughout the album, and a few tracks like "Dominion of Terror", "Ethnic Cleansing" and the desperate, thriving finale "Disciples of Abhorrence" offer more or less what you'd expect from an active, touring band like this: dynamic awareness and decisive, taut brutality. Alas, the sound here is just not all that great. I felt a greater disparity between the volume of Brett Hoffmann's vocals and the music pummeling beneath them, and there are very few interesting or exciting rhythm guitars I'd ever desire to puzzle out or revisit. Most of the Malevolent Creation full-lengths inhabit the same breadth of the qualitative spectrum, but there's nothing on Stillborn you can't get elsewhere, and better, even from Fasciana and co. themselves. This is one of the band's studio lows. The Ten Commandments, Retribution, and a number of the Malevolent albums since this one simply have more to offer from both the songwriting and production perspectives.

Verdict: Indifference [6.25/10]

http://www.myspace.com/malevolentcreation

Atheist - Elements (1993)

Elements has often received a bit of slack from the metal press and audience due to its extreme bait-and-switch of genre classification. However, it doesn't exactly take the acuity of a trend forecaster to see that this was where Atheist was headed, was ALWAYS headed as they had woven the threads of both Piece of Time and its superior successor Unquestionable Presence. The 'elemental' concept behind its construction is perhaps not the most novel of ideas, even for the 90s, as it had been explored as far back as classical times, but for the progressive/death metal genre it was indeed something unexpected. What's more, the fact that this was practically a posthumous effort, used to fill out their Metal Blade contract, and still ends up at the very threshold of quality is nothing short of amusing.

Go into this with a few deflated expectations from their frenetic sophomore album, and a mind open to the outside influences the band are expanding upon, and you might come out slightly the richer for it. Elements has its share of non-metal diversions, manifest mainly through interludes like the jazzy bounce of "Samba Briza", ambient guitar wailing of "Displacement" and "Fractal", or the subtle, stream-like clean tones of "See You Again". These are all quite brief, and though they do fill up a third of the track list, the remaining eight integrate Atheist's signature schizoid metallic components, albeit with a palette even wider than Unquestionable Presence. I found it curious that the band included not only a representation of "Fire", "Earth", "Air" and "Water", but also tracks devoted to another classical trilogy of elements "Animal", "Mineral" and plant ("Green"), with the title track finale serving as a curious congruence of all the above.

My biggest gripe with the album is that I didn't always feel the music itself was used as an apt aural metaphor for its corresponding substance. For example, "Green" lurches about like some stilted and confused behemoth, but other than perhaps a fantastic mental image of a walking or series of falling trees, I couldn't feel how it related. Same with "Water". I could see how the thick, popping bass-lines and swirling vortex might represent some maelstrom or whirlpool, but it did not seem to offer much submersion into this important element. "Air" is a bit more successful, despite the choppiness of its pacing, the calmer intro and ensuing structure did feel redolent of shifting jet streams or whorls of force. "Animal" becomes the most experimental as far as its architecture, with clinical, technical guitar lines woven below Shaefer's resonant tribal chaos, but "Mineral" felt a measure too playful to match its subterranean implications.

The remaining elemental representations are pretty good though, almost as if the album was intentionally back-loaded with quality. The swaying, searing "Fire' is the best single piece on the album, cast in a flux of ember-like jazzy passages and stoking furnace fusion. "Earth" rampages about with a steady, tectonic sureness but also deviates into sprightly, manic rhythms like banks of sharp crystals; and "Elements" justifies its nearly six minute length with some fascinating notation. The mix of the album is not one of its fortes, as Schaefer often feels too clanging and metallic even in elements where that style doesn't suit the atmosphere, but then, those atmospheres never feel 100% accurate to their adopted matter to begin with. Having three guitarists for this (they added Frank Emmi to the lineup) doesn't make much of a difference.

You'll never get that same, bewildered impression that Unquestionable Presence leaves you with, however I would not consider that a negative: a smoother, subtler companion was exactly what I would have wished for, and even though Elements is the band's worst overall full-length, and the band's heart was perhaps not fully involved, there are still just enough ideas to pick through to recommend at least a few listens.

Verdict: Win [7/10] (sharing forces for the living)

http://www.atheistmusic.com/

Spearhead - Theomachia (2011)

England seems to be a new hot spot for fast paced hybrids of death and black metal intent on taking absolutely no prisoners. Among these I'd number Scythian and Spearhead among the front runners, the former having debuted in recent years, the latter now pummeling the fuck out of us for the third time with Theomachia. This is a hostile piece of work here, a hyper accelerated freight train wrought with such production that the band had not previously attained through Deathless Steel Command or Decrowning the Irenarch, rich and direct guitar tones and inhuman skin smashing slathered in a brutal, vexed prose. Think classic Morbid Angel if they had a bit of a street gang leaning to them, an infusion of grind and hardcore anger, almost like Benediction's later efforts if they were ramped up in ability and effectiveness.

I can't promise that the riffing here is all that memorable, as Spearhead seems to just go with what works at a million miles and hour and then rarely elaborates or hurls a surprise in your direction, but the overall impact of their music will continue to beat you until you can't bruise any more. What's more, the additional trappings of the album are really well done, like the churning holocaust of the "Eschatos" intro with its ensuing male chants of gravitas; or the escalation of the martial interlude "Praesagium" with its sampled narrative. Of the sheer metallic content, I found favor in the Bolt Thrower-like shellfire grooves of "Herald the Lightning", which alternates into some of the slower rhythms of the entire album, or the relentless "Autocrator" with its massive, hefty frontal assault and then some styling, steady breakdowns which will transform even the most jaded witness into a fist swinging, belligerent hessian. There are also some worthwhile leads in "Polemos Pater Panton" that offset the stop/start marching steel hymns.

Admittedly, though, the songs do lack a bit of distinction, resting fully upon the foundation of riffs that will feel familiar to anyone having listened through extreme black or death metal through the years. In fact, despite the tendency people have to label this band a hybrid, there are little to no black elements outside of the sheer, ruthless velocity and a mild connection to the blackened war metal we've heard out of Poland or Scandinavia (earlier Marduk, War,etc.) This is for the most part a straight burst of grinding death to the face, with production values that keep it loud and fresh through the speakers, and lyrics well versed in the Roman Empire and other historical points of power and notice. If you're on a sojourn for unadulterated missile speed, taut execution and crushing grooves, then Theomachia should sate such wanderlust: this is not fit for walking on eggshells, but for trampling the entire chicken coop. If instead you prefer your warfare subtle, with distinguished riffing that you'll want to repeatedly visit through the years, then this album falls somewhere short of enemy lines.

Verdict: Win [7/10]

http://www.myspace.com/spearheadofficial

Judecca - Awakened by the Stench of the Dead EP (1993)

1993 must have been a busy year for Judecca, because not only did they have their previous demo content released with the Scenes of an Obscure Death EP, but also this shorter work featuring three new songs. The difference in the production here is huge, with the Florida cult coming in closer to their more mainstream peers. There's not a large shift in the dark, brooding guitar tone, but the drums are loud, present, and vastly more powerful than the tin and wan weakness of the demos. Some of the charm of their crude atmosphere may actually be lost here, but through the 10 minutes, Judecca craft a reasonably varied array that straddles both the death and doom genres.

Strangely, Awakened by the Stench of the Dead opens with its most brutal, chugging and brief piece in "Forensic Pathology". Just under two minutes of brute force in the vein of Deicide, Bolt Thrower and Suffocation, with a bit of squealing and rampant, mid-paced double bass. The vocals are rather resonant here, about the hugest aspect of their sound, and it's fun enough to listen though it might feel derivative and soulless due to its lack of a compelling central riff. "The Black Blood of Christ" is over twice the length, with some samples of wind and banal acoustic guitars heralding the chugging death/doom sequences. Once more, the huge vocals are pretty good, as well as the spooky narrative part in the bridge; but despite casting an efficient gloom, the composition is not that thrilling. "Evil Born" falls between the other two, a bouncing, simplistic rhythm bursting on after the baby sample, then picking up to a straight, brutal thrash riff with double bass.

Clearly this was a Judecca more equipped to compete with their peers in the underground, yet the band still lacked a lot of the character of the more famous acts like Death, Morbid Angel, Cannibal Corpse, Deicide, and so forth. Thus it's not much of a surprise that they remained in the grasp of obscurity with no real hope of escape. That said, this isn't all bad, and those who lack demanding tastes and simply want an imminently dark, slow face crushing are not turned away by the admittedly slim content of this.

Verdict: Indifference [6/10]

Morbid Angel - Covenant (1993)

You don't get a chance to review the best-selling death metal album of all time every day. Just once is enough, and if the various arcane and mechanical procedures factoring into this selection are to be believed and up to date, that album is Covenant, the third full-length from Florida's maniacal Morbid Angel. Much like Blessed Are the Sick, this is an album I've long held to be overwrought with excess acts of fellatio from the death metal audience. It's not surprising, as it arrived in that fragile space and time when many brutal subordinates were first exploring the genre. Just in observing the raw numbers it pushed, it's rather obvious that Covenant wound up in the hands of many who had no previous contact with such extremity. But this success might also be partially attributed to the album's visibility, as it was the first of two released through the then-major (now defunct) Giant Records.

I'd also draw attention to the fact that this album is like a cheetah running the 100 yard dash against a motley band of tortoises and beached whales. It's energy might not have held out indefinitely against its shelled and blubbered competitors, but it didn't need to. One burst rush at the finish line, and we have our Gold medalist. Covenant is pretty fucking fast, enough that Pete Sandoval might have turned it into an informercial for weight loss had be been so inclined. It's perhaps not so explosive and impressive for 1993 as Reign in Blood and Darkness Descends felt in 1986, but it makes the majority of Blessed Are the Sick sound like an overnight IV drip bag. That's not to say the speed necessarily translates into quality. Like its predecessor, I had a subdued reaction to this when it was first released. There were clearly some good moments to be found throughout the 40+ available, but there are definitely a number of full tracks I feel no adverse reaction to skipping entirely, though I've felt more of a 'growing' attraction to this than the sophomore which confounds me today with its fanatical and formidable palanquin of diehard devotees.

The first impressions the album leaves are admittedly rather mixed. I was very psyched that the band had returned to the lethal ballast of Altars of Madness, and yet I found not a single riff throughout "Rapture" to reach said quality, not even the morbid weave of the messy lead. The exhaustion of Sandoval is admirable, but ultimately hollow with no good guitars affixed to it. Thankfully, "Pain Divine" compensates once the first few rhythms burst by into the solemn melodic snaking around :30, and I rather enjoy Vincent's vocals on this, which bear a ghastly countenance not unlike the early Death albums. "World of Shit (The Promised Land)" changes gears to a punishing crawl manifest through thicker bass and a swampy sequence of notes that foreshadow much of Domination and Formulas Fatal to the Flesh, but I'd attest that I like the slower segments than the faster. "The Lion's Den" has a similar flow to it, though more thrashing and concrete, while a few of the other tracks like "Vengeance in Mine" and "Blood on My Hands" have little more than wild, wretched leads to balance off their ceaseless, banal brutality.

Once you dig a little deeper, there are a few more interesting pieces in wait, like the versatile and inspiring "Sworn to the Black", my favorite song of the whole album for its steady, warlike fervor and the slice of the leads. "Angel of Disease", an early Morbid Angel tune being repressed here from their unreleased demo/debut album, is likewise curious, opening with a fairy splattered heavy metal sequence before some great grooves akin to those of the Altars of Madness era. Don't much like the vocals though. "Nar Mattaru" is a mere synthesizer sequence to herald the closer "God of Emptiness", which is yet another quality piece that serves as precursor to the following album, albeit with interesting vocals cast in a deeper, almost demonic narration that makes the listener feel as if he or she were traveling through a dimensional tear to a plane of twisted, formless horrors that will soon devour him/her.

Covenant is produced just as cleanly as Blessed Are the Sick, but there's something absorbing and unusual about its sound. Simultaneously organic and mechanical, the former through the rich and functional fabric of the guitar tone, the latter through the precision with which the band is known to perform. I'm not always able to make it through the play list without skipping at least 2-3 of the tracks, but for the most part it's a solid experience. For all its momentum, there are not as many moments of distinct atmosphere or delicious riffing as Altars of Madness, but it was clearly aimed back in that direction, and certain individual segments stand to memory in the near two decades since their conception. The lyrics are decent, flush with the concepts of the first two albums, and I also love the classical occult appeal of the cover image, which I'd consider more iconic than the music itself. Is there enough hereto justify it as the greatest seller in the whole of the genre? I think not. But at least that acclaim has been placed squarely upon the laurels of something somewhat exciting, something that doesn't suck.

Verdict: Win [7.5/10] (so what makes you supreme?)

http://www.morbidangel.com/

Death - Individual Thought Patterns (1993)

As much as I wish I might have sawed off and cauterized Chuck Schuldiner's legs around 1989, then kept him locked in a basement prison on a diet of human entrails and cheap horror films, there was simply not going to be any looking back for the Florida musician as he set his ambitions and aspirations anew for each full-length effort. That aside, the man definitely worked upon plateaus of creativity, rather than steep peaks and gorges, and the majority of his output consisted of two primary 'trilogies' or phases (excepting The Sound of Perseverance, which I'll likely complain about at great length elsewhere). Individual Thought Patterns represents the 'bridge' edition of the second trilogy, refining the concepts behind Human by extrapolating better songs from their nebulous midst.

Sure, many lavish such praise upon that fourth disc that one might think it was an evolutionary stopgap in human existence, but it takes only a single track from its successor to stifle such a misrepresentation, the all too aptly titled "Overactive Imagination". Here we experience all of the processed sterility of the 'New Death' of the 90s, sculpted into a more durable, memorable pattern of notes alternated between the jerkiness of the verse and the scalding momentum of its transitions. Schuldiner had once again acquired new musicians to help mold his visions: Sean Reinert and Paul Masvidal of Cynic replaced with King Diamond stalwart Andy La Rocque and thrashing thunder god Gene Hoglan (Dark Angel, World Wars I and II, the battle of Ragnarok, etc). Both get to work quite early here, with Hoglan's strength granting the recording a more formidable backbone than Death had ever possessed in the past, and LaRocque's considerable lead skill grafting a warmth and immortality to the solos here that simply crush those of Human.

Retained here: Steve DiGiorgio, who it turns out is the perfect counterweight to the new duo and Chuck's meticulous dynamic sensibility, fingers strutting along the fat strings as if their own existence were dependent on it. From "Overactive Imagination" we shift unto the more glorious "In Human Form" with its arching, credible verse patterns that cede to the most 'death metal' riff on the album at :40, adjoined to a beautiful, eerie solo. So far, Individual Thought Patterns has proven just as enduring as the 1990 effort Spiritual Healing, but will the good fortune hold? Yes and no. For the most part, the material here is heavily front-loaded, and I've long held the first four tracks to be the best of the litter, including the acrobatic variation of "Jealousy" with its thick streams of bass and the majestic climes of the bridge; and the provocative "Trapped in a Corner" for the progressive, spacey fusion burrowed in its depths, very much a reflection of what the band had sought out to achieve with Human.

For the rest, I feel it's quite possible to pick out a few strengths and leave the remainder on the cutting room floor. "The Philosopher" is perhaps the best known of its tracks, having boasted a grim video and a rollicking, rolling mosh ethic in its verse that had limbs flying about on the band's touring, but I've never considered it incredibly memorable. I enjoy the business and the atmospheric elements of "Mentally Blind", but despite its diversity, it reeks of 'kindly get to the damned point'. "Destiny" offers us a tranquil 30 seconds of calm before it folds into the clutter of aggression, but nothing else of interest really happens until the lead and choppy bridge melodies. I quite enjoy the charging emotions behind the title track. The taut velocity often thrust into "Out of Touch". The schizoid glaze of the guitars in "Nothing is Everything". None of these are top billing, but they're easily the measure of my favorite Human tracks like "Suicide Machine".

Not sure if it's the change in musicians, or simply that Schuldiner was better able to flesh out his ideas for this record, but it's a noted improvement from its stagnant 1991 sibling. A revelation that not all will be lost in this creative transition from the pungent pits of gore to the social consciousness conveyed through the lyrics. This has essentially the same Scott Burns mix as the last album, if marginally more potent (though I would also attribute this to the superior structure of the songs). The songs are not all equally memorable, but the majority have at least something of value within their clinical carapaces. Individual Thought Patterns marks a steady escalation in qualiy that would persist through the following album, Symbolic, and though I'd never choose this over my beloved Leprosy or Scream Bloody Gore, it'll do in a pinch.

Verdict: Win [7.75/10] (flesh and eyes mean nothing)

http://www.emptywords.org/

Winds of Plague - Against the World (2011)

As lackluster as much of the hybrid genre's output has thus far been, I am not entirely oblique to the potential inherent in the fusion of death metal and hardcore music, i.e. deathcore. I've heard a handful of albums over the past few years that deliver on the promise, but painfully few in ratio to the amount being shoveled out in totality via the independent 'majors' and smaller imprints. It was only a matter of time before some of the emerging scenes' artists would apply adaptive strategies to the rapidly diminishing formula and California's Winds of Plague are clearly one such entity. You might have recognized the band's samurai mascot from their 2008 album Decimate the Weak, and here he/it sits once more in defiance of all those who would question the band's potency.

Well, I steadfastly expose my throat to the sweep of the daimyo's blade, because I am just not buying into this record. On the surface, Winds of Plagues posits an interesting merger: the blunt brutality of modern tough guy hardcore death chugging with a symphonic flair redolent of the bigger budget black metal mainstream: Cradle of Filth, Dimmu Borgir, Abigail Williams, and so forth. A curious concoction if there ever were one, and with such high visibility through the Century Media label, formidable standards of production, tight musicianship, and outside thinking, one that I would welcome were it to evoke memorable hymns to slaughter. Alas, Winds of Plague take such components and offer them in only a disparate congruence. The keyboards and the mosh-step brutality are fully in time with one another, mixed well on this fourth album, but the grace and mystique of the former can simply not obfuscate the pedestrian pounding of the other...

It starts well enough with the symphonic bombast and child choir of "Raise the Dead", but where something like Septicflesh's latest The Great Mass follows through with the execution of exotic and sweltering mystique alongside its superb guitars, this is too soon devolved by mindless chugging rhythms that would be completely empty without the accompaniment of the synths. Once the band breaks into the following "One for the Butcher", it just becomes a meandering, meathead bouncing anthem to the least common denominator. There's a half-decent thrash riff buried below the chorus, and then the band proceeds to channel a bit of Eastern mysticism with the keyboards of the bridge, but it's ultimately too much perspiration and not enough inspiration. This is the formula maintained here through other pitbound 'epics' like "Drop the Match" and "Refined in the Fire". The cheesy street struggle of the Hatebreed and Earth Crisis-derived palm mutes simply does not measure up to the atmospheric gloss above it. It's just tough guy core in sheep's clothing, the sheep being Therion or something.

Winds of Plague are not completely without talent here, they simply squander it away whole sale on their majestic, slamming drivel. For example, whenever the band breaks away from the predictable fist smashing rhythms into something faster or more thrash based, they steadily become a more inspiring outfit. The drumming here is very solid, as well as the synthesizers, provide you are the sort that goes out for such a huge, admittedly cheesy sound. The vocals are really the least impressive component, for they sound almost indistinct from thousands of deathcore and metalcore acts, and no amount of gang banging with guest vocalists like Jamey Jasta or wrestling legend the Ultimate Warrior is about to change that. I admire that these Californians are so bent on externalizing their genre to incorporate the theatrical, symphonic element, and this alone ensures that they're a more interesting act than, say, Carnifex or Whitechapel, but I am forced to wonder at their potential were they to drop the meager, frustrating mallcore overtures that no one will care about next week, and metal it all the fuck up!

Verdict: Fail [4.5/10]

http://www.myspace.com/windsofplague