Deceased - The Blueprints for Madness (1995)

As crucial as Deceased's sophomore full-length was to the development of their later works, The Blueprints for Madness might better be dubbed 'The Blueprints of Better Albums to Come'. For while its riffing variation and the horror-borne atmosphere through the album are nearly as potent as its successor Fearless Undead Machines, the production here pretty much kills the deal, holding it back from that plateau of greatness they've since achieved and, in my humble opinion, never stepped down from. It isn't that this album lacks charisma, but the guitar tracking in particular leaves much to desire, and I'd almost love to hear a remix of Blueprints. Keep the music, toss in better leads, and certainly keep the incredible Wes Benscoter artwork (one of his finest), but fix that ugly tone...

This is not quite the refined, melodic Deceased many will recognize from records like Surreal Overdose and Supernatural Addiction, with all the tasty speed metal flurries and British influenced harmonies, but you get a lot more of their punk, hardcore, splatter-thrash and even a tint of grind, all brought forth from the 1991 debut Luck of the Corpse. Tunes like "Into the Bizarre" bring out a lot of the early Voivod circa 1984-1986, though not quite so eerie or dissonant in terms of atmosphere. Even a few, slower, dreary, doom-inflected guitars show up. King's vocals are at their roughest here, from his usual haughty barks and vapid, mournful refrains to more directly harrowing growls and rasps level with the other extreme metal of the mid-90s (some provided by Les, the bassist). The drums have a pretty organic mix, lots of power to the fills and a very blocky sounding kick drum that manages to present itself despite the smudge of the guitars. Bass is pretty good, and the leads slice through the mix with a decent effect, but the rhythm tracks sound far too muddy and indistinct and they're hands down my least favorite elements...

It's not that you can't make out most of the notes, or even all the notes, but they just sound so cruddy to my ears. When the band is churning out an accelerated rhythm in basic punk/grind chord progression like in the calamitous "Alternate Dimension", it doesn't make much of a difference, but when they hit the slower palm muted power riffs it's fairly repulsive, and not in a positive way. It seems like a conscious decision, too, because it's not like the rest of the instruments and the vocals sound so underwhelming; in particular there are sequences where Fowley is barking out some insane line with just enough reverb that it sounds truly ominous. No, it's just a pretty fledgling tone that suffocates the note patterns rather than letting them breathe and sear themselves into the listeners' memory. Not that the drums and bass sound exemplary, they're vaguely demo level in depth, but the fusion of deeper, surgical thrashing guitars and corroded meathook chugs deserved a little more polish.

Otherwise, the lyrics and concepts behind the songs here are classic sci-fi weird/horror which Deceased have proven one of the best at translating into the medium. As with the later albums, Fowley really gets into character, and each piece feels like a 'story', often told from a first person perspective, which draws my imagination back to late nights watching films on the TV horror block which were morbid and memorable despite a lack of budget. Synthesizers, samples and other orchestration appear sparsely throughout the 52 minute run-time, always contributing atmospherically even where they lack fidelity. The Blueprints for Madness is no slouch when it comes to composition: there are tons of riffs erupting everywhere, all of them varied, and many quite good, but the production doesn't allow them to reach their full, terrifying potential. The Virginians seem to possess a curious, linear progression in terms of their records' quality, and this one definitely inches beyond the debut, but they would only keep improving after this; and for that reason, even if this is well above average, I rarely break this out over Fearless Undead Machines, etc.

Verdict: Win [7.75/10] (sanity tries to last)

http://www.upthetombstones.net/

Ripper - ...and the Dead Shall Rise (1986)

Akin to fellow 80s acts like King Diamond, Impaler, Exorcist and Halloween, the Texas Ripper sought to espouse the horror themed theatrics of big names KISS and Alice Cooper into a harder hitting metal sound you could place somewhere between trad 'eavy metal and the emergent USPM scene. Granted, they were a painfully obscure act, on a rather tight budget, so one might forgive the trashy vampire cabaret look they were aiming for, immediately apparent from the cover photograph. In terms of quality, they had some potential to them that was muddled by what I might dub 'too many paws in the puddin'. The decision to use the vocals of all four members is the primary suspect, creating a cheap and cheesy sense of inconsistency in bad need of an edit.

The band was formed relatively early on, in the later 70s, but nothing really manifest until the middle of the next decade. Musically, these guys (and gal) wrote loud, visceral heavy metal riffs with a bit of chugging force to them that seemed like a grimier alternative to acts like Manowar, Tyrant or the Canadian Thor. The note patterns were not particularly interesting or spectacular choices, but they're efficient and in their own way quite abrasive, and surefire arena pleasures in that they function off simplistic progressions of chords that seem custom generated to catalyze headbanging among their audience. The pace is generally mid and muscular, with some palm muting to propel the girder-strength of the chords, but they'll occasionally also incorporate a decent, whiny lead or melodic sequence that hints at further dimension. A few of the tunes like "Sinister Minister" have an almost psychedelic Sabbath flair to them, perhaps due to the rawer fiber of the guitar tracking and 70s appeal of the chops, but overall it really places itself in that crushing 80s vibe.

The caveat is that instead of Viking berzerkers baring their pectorals, you've got a gaggle of graveyard ghouls in mascara and clothes you'd expect to see in a theater adaptation of an Edgar Allen Poe story. With the exception of the genre anthem "Metal Mission", all of these songs deal with blood sucking, mortality, naughty bondage ("Don't tie me down, just tie me up..." was their catchiest phrase here) and other themes you can soak in the moonlight of a fantasized Halloween night, in those halcyon days when leather, liquor, sleaze and excitement walked hand in hand with tricking and treating. That said, these guys were clearly raised more on Gothic horror than exploitation and gore, so don't expect too much blood and guts. They were hardly burning churches and sacrificing live animals on stage, they just put together the look for fun and laughs and obviously a live reaction that they might not otherwise have gotten.

One characteristic that really stood out to me on the album were the synthesizers (contributed by a friend of the band), which some might accuse of being overused, but might genuinely be the best part of this. Most are used as intros, but a few pop up at other choice climaxes to great effect. Very John Carpenter aesthetically, as if they were written to score an alternate sort of slasher film to Halloween. Honestly, they build up such a level of creepy, campy nostalgia and expectations that the riffing and heavy metal architecture often feels like a letdown. The real issue, though, is that all four members decided to contribute vocals. The female vocalist and bassist Sadie Paine (they all had handles like that) really lets go like a whiskey swilling harpy in tunes like "Night Cruizer" or "Don't Tie Me Down"; she clearly had a great pitch and volume, and might have made a female counterpart for the King himself; sure to please fans of groups like Bitch or Hellion, but at the same time, she can get on your nerves pretty quickly. As for the male vocals, one of the guy's has a haughty pitch redolent of the US Tyrant or maybe Lips of Anvil at his most manly, but the rest are downright inconsistent if not corny (like in the interchange of "Sinister Minister" which is just too much to bear).

The production here's a bit raw and underdeveloped, no surprise since I've read that this was basically a pair of demos smashed together into a full-length format, but you can generally pick up what they're putting down, and it's not a lot worse than some of the earlier recordings on labels like New Renaissance or Metal Blade. The drums are smashy and cluttered, and the bass doesn't do much of interest, but the vocals and guitars are loud enough to smother these minor nitpicks and in general it conjures a brash, lively, live feeling to it which captures what they might have sounded like at a gig. One of the crucial traits during this period was, of course, the memorable chorus, since metal was nearly on par with pop in terms of popularity, and I feel that Ripper really come up short in this department, no matter how much shouting or howling they use to deliver those money shot lines between verses. Combined with the average riffing, the irritating contrast in the varied vocals, and the fact that the keys seem to atmospherically outclass the metal ingredients, it's not much of a stretch to understand why they never really broke out...

Those quips aside, Ripper is hardly some awful band of nothings, and ...and the Dead Shall Rise has become somewhat of a collectable, especially in recent years when cult heavy metal is once again in vogue. I might even go as far as to say it's better than it looks. Fans of acts like the aforementioned Hellion, Halloween, or Exorcist, or other unsung undergrounders like Diamond Rexx or Witch might discover they enjoy this, but it's nonetheless a bit amateurish compared to some of the stunning US metalworks of 1986. Those interested will probably have an easier time picking up the Black Widow Records re-release from 2003, and the band even released a followup in 2009 through that imprint, called The Dead Have Rizen, which I have not heard and can't comment on (I think it's only got 1-2 original members). This debut might fall below the radar of even some of the most diehard devotees of this niche, so if you like horror and unwashed 80s sincerity, check it out while you're carving your next pumpkin.

Verdict: Indifference [6.25/10] (I look almost human by the light of the moon)

http://www.ripperrizen.com/

Gruesome Stuff Relish - Horror Rises from the Tomb (2008)

Spain has served as a safe harbor for some pretty sick fucks this past decade, particularly in regards to the goregrind/death metal set, but while acts like Machetazo, Haemorrhage and Avulsed seem to have a genuine sense of spattered pathos surrounding their recordings, the Asturias trio Gruesome Stuff Relish definitely delves into the more campy side of the slaughterhouse. No surprise, then, that this makes them a pretty snug fit for the US based Razorback Records, who thrive off this sort of concentrated silliness and released the band's first two full-length efforts. Unfortunately, though there are a few admirable qualities to the Spaniards' approach to this rapidly tiring niche, I found the painfully average riffing to null my appreciation in short order.

This is essentially another of those groups which owes its very existence to what Carcass were doing in the late 80s, with perhaps an inkling of Repulsion thrown in for good measure, and the B-movie/exploitation film lyrical influence that most of their label mates and goregrind peers all share (with threadbare lyrics akin to Mortician). Riffs are churned out in a bevy of familiar, primitive chord progressions that have just as much in common with punk as metal, but with a sordid darkness to them that reminds me of a mesh of Bolt Thrower and Autopsy. I did enjoy the layer of raucous filth applied to the guitar tone, almost like a punk Obituary on tunes like "The Symbol of Tupanamba" but the actual patterns of chords don't seem as if the band spent a large amount of time and detail in constructing them, and it quickly becomes a been-there, heard-that sort of record which is doing little more than paying tribute to its influences. Granted, some will argue that this in of itself is the charm in a record like Horror Rises from the Tomb, but to be honest with you I'm getting a little tired of the apathetic acceptance of effortless metal music just because it looks good and the band cares about things we want to hear...like zombies, cannibal, serial killers, tits...

I'm not accusing this record of being particularly awful at what it sets out to accomplish, mind you, but there is very little to distinguish it from its carnal peers; only when I listen to, say, Exhumed's Slaughtercult, I am rewarded with manic riffing and grisly intensity that makes it worth the while. The shortened track lengths and lack of much variety here really hit a wall after about 5-6 tracks, and though I dig the repulsive grinding edge to the guitar and the violent brickwork laid out by the drummer here, and even the broad and bloody pairing of the Carcass-styled rasp and growl (occasionally sauteed in a more swishy guttural inflection), it's that lack of interesting or truly entertaining riffs that really wore out its welcome. Admittedly, the colorful and horrific camp of the cover collage is pretty sweet, and I like that they never over-splurge on the use of samples, but musically this sophomore just wasn't on par with Ghoul, Machetazo, Frightmare, Splatterhouse, Blood Freak or the many other haunted house freaks and blood suckers filling out this niche. S'alright, but I get more chills and thrills from a single line of Vincent Price dialogue.

Verdict: Indifference [5.5/10]

http://www.myspace.com/gruesomestuff

Blood Freak - Sleaze Merchants (2003)

Had there been a Razorback-like record imprint in the late 80s, and had Blood Freak 'actually existed' during that time period, then I've little doubt they'd be one of grindcore's beloved cult acts on a tier just below the greats like Carcass or Repulsion. Alas, despite the retrofit 'demo' recordings tacked onto the end of their debut, this was just not to be, and they're more or less just a low-rent alternative to other Razorback artists like Splatterhouse or Ghoul, only far simpler in execution. Granted, I can't exactly hold this sort of misdirection against the Oregonians, as it fits their retro flavored modus operandi for horror and exploitation films quite well, but even though the dirty laundry is out in the open, I think this is not exactly a ploy that many avid underground maniacs might appreciate.

Sleaze Merchants is, in fact, the band's first album, recorded and released pretty soon after the band's 21st century formation, and it bears a lot of the typical calling cards of its label and aesthetic niche. Lighthearted splatter, gore and chills delivered through brief, concise tunes clocking rarely beyond 2-2 1/2 minutes, with a handful of riffs splayed out in 'fun' progressions heavily reminiscent of English forebears like Bolt Thrower, Carcass and Napalm Death. There's a bit of a D-beat influence also, generally written in to set-up or counterbalance a faster, Floridian tremolo palm mute riff circa Death or maybe Autopsy. Another curious characteristic are the bolder, rock & roll grooves sparsely strewn through the record, which remind me of Australians Blood Duster, in terms of how they contrast against the grind elements. The lead licks are admittedly superlative, a lot of fun, though they also channel more of a hard rock style than the frenetic and randomness generally applied to solos in extreme, grinding death.

As usual, the band implement loads of samples to introduce just about every track, but in Blood Freak's defense a lot of these are somewhat mortifying and well-selected from appropriate cult works like Night of the Creeps, Blood Diner and Blood Demon. Just the first few seconds of most of the songs here had my girlfriend screaming at me to shut the disc off, so mission accomplished. Vocals are a meaty guttural bark interspersed with both Carcass-esque snarls and even more ominous, toilet-boil flush gurgles which are outright hilarious where they appear; it's also pretty funny that the 'demo' tracks only incorporate the first two of these timbres, basically dating them to the late 80s when only a few bands like Carcass and Deicide were spewing them forth. The drums are solid but perhaps a bit too tin beneath the bulk of the guitar tone, which is repulsively swollen through both the slower, grooving movements (like the bridge of "Awakening the Beast") or the intensified, uptempo sequences. The bass, while audible, does little more than ape the guitar.

If you're not averse to the themes typical to the Razorback lineup, and admire the cheesy gore and terror that multi-instrumentalist and vocalist Maniac Neil himself worships, then Sleaze Merchants is certainly a decent means with which to kill 30 or so minutes. But be warned that the song structures are exceedingly simple, with only about 1-2 riffs each that hardly feel fresh more than they feel juxtaposed from acts like Carcass, Impaled or Exhumed. As a grind record, it's not that intense, more like a Halloween party with enough rock in the guitar patterns to render it somewhat accessible to your guests. My main issue with the album is that, while Blood Freak is quite adept at snatching samples, the riffs are never as volatile and impressive as other acts with the same gimmick, and ultimately it's no deeper than the cover artwork. If you find it fun to look at, then you'll probably also enjoy listening, but it hardly leaves behind a smoking, cannibal infested crater.

Verdict: Win [7/10]

http://www.slashermetal.com/bloodfreak/

Torn the Fuck Apart - ...the Dissection of Christ (2012)

One would never accuse this Kansas band of 'sugarcoating' anything, as they've chosen not only one of the most provocative names possible to write under, but also a pretty blatantly offensive album title and artwork sure to distance them from their neighbors. Not that this is anything novel in the realm of extreme metal. Torn the Fuck Apart just happens to walk the most direct, sacrilegious, unflinching path possible in expressing its unrest, and this translates very cleanly over to their musical output, which is unremittingly overwhelming in its violent impulse. Whether the band is laying into some meat-fisted groove or exploding into a more technically inclined bloodshower, about the only respite they'll grant you are the samples or the minute long instrumental "Purgatorium", which creates a bizarre contrast against the surrounding punishment.

This is no mere band of slam thugs: surely, they've got that side of the spectrum covered with a battery of palm-muted grooves, but these are often interspersed through fits of more technical, clinical guitar work. A perfect example of this is the title track, where the perplexing variety of riffs creates the impression of the listener's gruesome death being cut between two film clips: one of a rhinoceros trampling, the other a school of piranha stripping off the flesh and then thrashing about a red stream. A lot of the hyper riffs are influenced by groups like Suffocation, Deicide, Cryptopsy, and Cannibal Corpse, and a few of the grooves even feel similar to what the more brutal deathcore acts snuff out. While I can't say I was in love with many of the group's guitar progressions, some credit is due for how they manage to constantly send something different hurtling n your direction, making it almost impossible to sit complacent or become bored. I was especially into the frenetic streams of choppy mutes fashioned into very uncomfortable, skin tearing, and the reflexive and harried drum-work, but there's not really a particular category in which the band would be considered weak.

That said, I felt like the band might have oversampled a bit, since pretty much every track begins with a clip for somewhere, and I didn't feel it always necessary to break up the flow of fists and knees. While the loud sewer bass, drums and barked guttural vocals are all represented pretty well, I felt like the guitars were occasionally uneven in tone. For instance, it's great that the band incorporates some melody into the bridge of "Dead Religion" to offset the savage technicality, but it felt a little limp in execution. Also, while the band keep really busy throughout this album and flaunt some degree of versatility, overall the songs don't leave any impact other than the craters in my bones and cranium. Considering all of the weapons at their disposal, and they've got many (these guys can play), I think a little added focus would transfer into the memorability of the songwriting. Perhaps more ominous atmosphere created through some more evil sounding, less violent riff architecture would be a good match for the murderous lyrical blasphemy. In the end, though, while I didn't make a major connection to the music, there's not much of a limitation to their capabilities, and next time they roll the bones, watch out...

Verdict: Indifference [6.75/10] (cut and crack the skull)

http://www.tornthefuckapart.com/

Malignancy - Eugenics (2012)

Though I've never been as fond of Malignancy as their close friends (and Roger J. Beaujard's primary band) Mortician, they're nonetheless one of enduring East Coast institutions in brutality, and have released a few decent records like 1999's Intrauterine Cannibalism with a fair amount of technicality alongside a less refined production quality than you'd find elsewhere in the USDM field. They've also possessed a somewhat uncanny characteristic that's difficult to place; perhaps through the enthusiastic, vile choice of album titles and song concepts, or the spurious performance of the guitars and drums, they've always had a different means of constructing their songs than many run of the mill brutal/tech bands mimicking Cannibal Corpse and Suffocation.

Eugenics, the band's second full-length for Willowtip Records (and third overall), continues this pattern of spastic, elasticized pacing, picking and intensity with the best produced barrage of pinches, squeals and psychotic hyper-blasting whirlwinds the band has ever conceived beneath the guttural percussion of the front man Danny Nelson. Lots of broken, fragmented beats lurch and collide about a chaotic matrix of incendiary, almost comically hysteric rhythmic tension, each piece a vortex of manic riffing which sounds like it's been snatched from some other brutal death outlet and then placed in a blender on top speed. Of special note here was the performance of Roger Beaujard on bass (he was previously the drummer), who adds a necessary level of harried proficiency that helps balance out the mischievous spunk of Ron Kachnic's frenzied note progressions. Who knew the guy was a regular Steve DiGiorgio or Roger Patterson? I also can't say I've encountered many guitarists in this niche who can squeal which such dynamic perfection as Kachnic...you could probably remove all the chords and chugs and his performance would still be amusing...

The entirety of Eugenics thus has an admittedly 'playful' feel to it, that is until the entire band finds itself on the same page and charges through a pummeling blast that will spin your head off its spinal support column.
At just about every turn, the band is throwing something different at the listener, and as a result the album demands a few listens just to absorb everything, even the more immediately excellent and memorable pieces like "Cryptobiosis" with its incredible, high-strung grooves. The production is more accessible than their later 90s fare, with a great balance between all instruments and vocals, I only wish I could hear Roger just a fraction more since he's going ballistic on that bass and it occasionally doesn't stand out so much beneath the rhythm guitar. The songs and lyrics deal with more than just your average gore, but with societal collapse and apocalyptic radiation, a great brutal death metal alternative to something like the Fallout and Borderlands games or the C.H.U.D. films. In sum, I'd say that the album's arsenal of acrobatic sensibilities outlives the quality of many individual tracks, but I enjoyed it as much as anything else in their backlog, if not more.

Verdict: Win [7.25/10]

http://www.facebook.com/MalignancyOfficial

The Food of the Gods (1976)

As much of a sucker as I am for films about giant-sized animals terrorizing human beings, The Food of the Gods is not one I've had the 'pleasure' of experiencing until recently, when the ladyfriend and I were in the mood for something a bit of awful to counteract the seriousness of our daily lives. It's a 70s piece based on a 1904 H.G. Wells novel that, despite its cautionary implications, has never been one of his most famous works, but nonetheless was ahead of its time if you take into account the thousands of environmental backlash science fiction stories and films that have since manifest due to the social conscience and political protest. When I say 'based on', I meant that in the loosest of terms, because it transplants a tiny bit of the tale into modern (70s) times, which is honestly part of why the film's plot falls to pieces in very short order...

GIANT SPOILERS AHEAD

This Food of the Gods is no Godzilla, so instead of mankind's destruction arriving in the form of a massive radioactive lizard due to nuclear testing, it gently bubbles up from the earth like a great bowl of curds 'n' whey, on a not so remote British Columbian island which we are given very little other information about. Directly on the property of a pair of the dumbest elderly folk you might ever see in a film, Mr. and Mrs. Skinner, one of whom has raced off on the local ferry to try and find more information and possibly profit from the discover. For, you see, ingestion of the 'F.O.T.G.' by young animals causes them to grow up to astounding heights, and through the film we see some cheesy transparent wasps (who solidify to a plastic like composition when they're actually on the body of an actor), rooster and chickens (somehow being kept in the Skinners' small barn), grub worms (I think in the original there were earwigs), and of course, the fucking rats, which are truly the stars of this piece, if there are any.

Onto this scene busts a pregnant couple, a trio of football guys (reduced to a 'pair' fairly early on), and a businessman who wants to exploit Mr. Skinner's discovery, not to mention his lovely assistant who is of course to be set up with the lead jock. I recognized a few of the actors, like Marjoe Gortner who was also in the awful sci-fi epic Starcrash as the lead, Ida Lupino as Mrs. Skinner, and Ralph Meeker of The Dirty Dozen and Kiss Me Deadly, but this was hardly a gathering of star power. Of course, being an archaic horror movie, most of the characters act completely irrational through the film, making terrible mistakes and not seeing the obvious 'writing on the wall', that their lives are in fucking danger from fucking giant fucking animals! Seriously, people, one WHIFF of a giant rooster, or a wasp turning my friend into a swollen bag of bruised skin and pus, and I am the hell out of this place, forever. I'll get the army, I'll get the mounties, or whatever those Canadians use to protect themselves. No way in hell am I keeping some in my barn, or leaving my elderly wife behind in a forest full of giant wasps and rats being led by a menacing albino...

And yet, there are many situations throughout this film that could just have been avoided with a little common sense. For example, in one scene, the jocks pull up in their nifty jeep to help out the pregnant couple, whose RV has been left stranded in a ditch on the road; they offer to take them along, but even though the couple has mentioned they saw something strange already, the guy decides the jocks can just pick them up on the way back. Really! He leaves himself and his very pregnant woman right in danger's path, and sure enough, the rats come along eventually (but I'll say no more). The lead football guy Morgan actually attempts to fight off the giant hordes of rats, and succeeds, thanks to his strangely MacGuyver like practicality and knowledge of guns, jury-rigged explosives, electrified fences (he's got a portable generator in the jeep) and how to blow up a dam...which leads me to the stupidest part of The Food of the Gods, its 'climax'...

So throughout the film, the giant rats and other animal effects are achieved through a mix of tricky camera work presenting real film of rats imposed against the actors, and various models (like the Skinner's house in the final showdown, clearly a model/dollhouse tot he point its distracting). During close-ups of biting and killing, they're represented by what look like giant animatronic heads...pretty cool, actually. Once in awhile there is some degree of pathos when they're dragging down a dude and biting him to death, and in truth the rat actors handle this film like champs. Numerous rodents get shot with what seems to be air guns or paint balls of tomato paste or ketchup, and they go hurtling through the air. As lame and obvious as it seems, it's pretty darn fun. These things earned someone a paycheck for good reason. But then, in order to finish the fight, Morgan goes and blows up a damn. Yes, on a small island, which looks to have little other water than a few small ponds, there is suddenly this highland dam which is burst, then flows down and back UPHILL to the Skinners' place to drown the rats (who are not adapted to swim at their current size and weight).

Of course there was no real dam there, and you can faintly see the ocean behind it, so the water of the 'flood' is another special effect, and it all looks so hammy that any shredded suspension of disbelief that remained went right out the window in a fit of blustering laughter. What an inane ending to an inane film! Okay, so that's not 'exactly' the ending, but I won't reveal the predictable 'twist' after Morgan and the other survivors burn the rats bodies and clean up the drowned cottage. Let's just say you can see it coming from a few islands away, and it's been done dozens of times in other, similar ecologically-based films. Granted, for '76 it was more of a novel idea, but it still doesn't really explain where this shit came from to begin with? Hey, yeah, 'Food of the Gods'? Hi, it's Magma. Your neighbor. Yeah, the hot guy. Oil and I have decided that there's really no room for another volatile liquid beneath the earth, so you'll find an eviction notice posted to your stream. Actually, I like to imagine that there was fertility God lying in slumber beneath this island, and he had a wet dream which soaked through to the surface...

At any rate, this is a pretty shitty flick with a few laughs to it, that failed to make much of an impact during its box office haul and swiftly sunk to the level of B-horror. The actors don't try a hell of a lot, and why should they? The rats dominate most of the film, and even the 'sequel' that was released in the late 80s (with only a few story ties to this original). In HD there are a few nice scenes of the woods on the island, but apart from the hammy visuals of the rats and chickens, there aren't many effects of note. The score isn't particularly gripping or memorable, and the 'message' of the film has since been played out to death. It's also not really scary, as in many bad horror films the stupid victims resigned themselves to their deaths, when they should have been running. It's not like they weren't warned...so now I'm warning you, don't bother with this movie, even for free on Netflix, unless you're specifically seeking out something awful to kill time.

Verdict: Fail by the Tail [3/10]

Short Bus Pile Up - Repulsive Display of Human Upholstery (2010)

It would be difficult for me to discuss Short Bus Pile Up's Repulsive Display of Human Upholstery without first mentioning how absolutely phenomenal it looks. Not only 'graced' with one of Jon Zig's very best works, but I love how the Virginians' nearly unreadable logo really jives with the image behind it, that ghastly display of bones and flesh turned into room trappings. Even the fucking ceiling! One can just imagine the individual responsible for such a feat, taking the old 'Most Dangerous Game' plot to a whole other level of artistry, and clearly this is one of the best horror-themed visages I've ever seen for a death metal album. But it also comes with a caveat: that my superficial expectations for this music were set immediately quite high for the actual music.

No, Short Bus Pile Up do not quite live up to that level, because frankly there's nothing creepy, shocking or incredibly distinct about the music they perform. Hell, there are single riffs on oldies like Leprosy or Cause of Death that are more frightening and evil than the sum of every song on this disc. Once you're past the familiar, misogynistic brutality of the lyrics, song titles and artwork, it's nothing out of the ordinary. But that aside, where I find the value in this group is that they have one of the better takes I've experienced on the 'slam' subgenre of the style. Eschewing the meat-headed monotony of many of their peers to create an album that is better balanced rhythmically, they provide plenty of punch for the flailing fisted pit monkeys and also some uptempo, clinical surges of intensity that generate excitement. The songs are more highly developed than the earlier material I've heard, and add to this the very deep, murky and nihilistic production values of the record and there's no doubt this is serial killer slam to which few people are going to remain still...

Vocals here are a wretched guttural deep enough that it could very easily camouflage itself against the low tuned guitars and bass drum, and yet the three seem like a trio of neanderthals beating each others' children and tribeswomen over the head, dragging them back to their respective lairs, and keeping score on the wall with cave paintings of each others' blood. The riffs are never blindingly complicated, but there is clearly a bit of effort placed into the faster sequences, almost like a crud-soaked technical thrash that generates some excitement for those breakdowns; a crucial contrast that prevents the album from becoming boring. It also helps a lot that the lion's share of the songs are really short, around 2 minutes, but still pack themselves with plenty more note progressions and tempo shifts than your garden variety grind or gorecore. The mix to this is fairly organic, also, somewhat lo-fi in comparison to a lot of the other slam bands I've checked out. It can seem slightly muffled and under-polished, without those rich and meaty modern tones, and the bass lines on this album seem like little more than an afterthought to the guitar chugging, but it's desirably honest all told, like they recorded it in someone's $2500 basement studio.

Apart from maybe its great title and cover, I'm not sure Repulsive Display of Human Upholstery is going to ascend to a cult classic status 5-10 years down the line. But for what it is, it's pretty entertaining. Short, under 30 minutes with a few alternate song versions stitched to the end, and it never grows boring. I'd like to hear even more of that variety they hint at in the future. They've got the brawling and bouncing palm-mute rhythms down pat, but lack some wild, incendiary leads or atonal, freakish melodies that would create a more fulfilling atmosphere. Also, though they're unlikely to cause much friction with strict devotees of the genre, I get a little tired of the Cannibal Corpse/Mortician lyrical trappings, which these guys never seem to escape here unless you count the few scatological leanings; though in a few of their disgusting rhyme schemes they evoke a handful of memorable lines. I suppose after staring at that artwork for about 15 minutes every time I return to this disc, I just want something so much more atmospheric and sick; but taken at the music's face value, it definitely could be the start of something promising. Fans of USDM butchers Devourment, Lividity and Deeds of Flesh should check this out.

Verdict: Win [7.5/10] (bound by bruises)

https://www.facebook.com/shortbuspileup

Slaughter Brute - Systematic Transmutations (2012)

With a handle like Slaughter Brute, you'd expect this Ukrainian act to pull out all the stops and deliver one of the most grinding, grueling and grotesque experiences in death metal. And yet, there's a curious level of refinement to their compositional skills which renders their sophomore outing Systematic Transmutations slightly less crushing and more adventurous than I was predicting. Not that it's necessarily anything new in terms of technique or versatility, but there's just so much happening on this album that you're never given a moment's breath to think much about it. Of course, all of the traits common to brutal/tech death metal are present: pavement pounding double bass beats, guttural barked vocals, punching grooves and arpeggio skills all collapse into a controlled chaos.

This is 100% one of those mildly progressive, surgical and scientific albums which is not going to appeal to anyone whose idea of death metal ends at around 1993 and can't seem to stomach anything that isn't simply an endless recycling of those early aesthetics. Slaughter Brute has far more in common with acts like Spawn of Possession, Psycroptic, Necrophagist and Beyond Creation than Grave and Incantation. Systematic Transmutations is also a pretty clean recording, with little atmospherically occurring beyond the instruments themselves. The harried, machine gun percussion is polished and placed straight against the ears, while the guitars tone is thin and punchy enough to handle the rhythmic acrobatics, with plenty of digitized effects on the lead harmonies and upstart melodies to counteract the mute-streams and picking spasms. The bassist is particularly good, shifting between a low tone and some plunkier hysterics, and I found myself often following what he was rolling out beneath the frenetic arpeggios and contained chugging sequences. In truth, all of the instrumentation is up front and personal, clean but not so sterilized that it doesn't feel reproducible in a live environment, and if you think about it, this is fairly essential for a band performing which such precision timing.

The lyrics revolve around mind control and other forms of scary experimentation, dystopian technologies and a few traumatic situations like "Victim of Incest", so it's not strictly the gore, rape, and necrophiliac violation; it may, at times, actually try to make a point, and it's clearly more unique and interesting than their first album. Though the band's logo and the title font here are kinda cheap looking, the artwork is quite excellent, an H.R. Giger-styled fusion of bio-organic forms and machinery with a sexy symmetry that provides almost an optical illusion. Ultimately, I got quite a lot out of the record after numerous listens, with particular favorites in "Not Learned Integrants", "Hypoxemia Neural Phenom" and "Cyanotic Purulence". The intro and interlude pieces are well done, short ambient segues which reflect the band's futuristic ideas. It's neither perfect or incredibly memorable, and it won't be for everyone, since it's almost the antithesis of the Autopsy and Incantation worship currently trending; but if you're open to this sort of spurious and clinical modern death, then these guys should be added to your radar.

Verdict: Win [7.75/10]

http://www.slaughterbrute.com/

Morgul - Lost in Shadows Grey (1997)

Morgul has got to be one of the least known Norwegian extreme metal acts to have achieved their level of visibility, had anyone actually been looking. With albums out on Napalm Records, Century Media and Season of Mist, you'd think that they would have stirred up some further conversation, but I am hard pressed to find more than a handful of souls who have actually fucking listened to them, or even heard the name... It's honestly a shame, because most of  Charmock's (aka Jack D. Ripper) tunes are honestly quite good for what they are, and Morgul is probably the only Norse band of those early-mid 90s whose interest was strictly in promoting horror concepts through the genre, as opposed to the usual paeans of mythology, sacrilege and Satanic self-empowerment so common among peers.

Granted, black metal is the means to Morgul, and not the ends, and various of Ripper's albums have forayed into realms of industrial, Gothic and symphonic music. Even this debut, Lost in Shadows Grey, has a lot of riffs molded in a pure Black Sabbath vein (like in the bridge of "Hunger of the Immortals"), so that one could make a black/doom argument and not be far from the mark. Like a more Gothic structured, less psychedelic precursor to Furze. It's easily the most primitive of the project's discography, with really raw guitar tone that seems little more than at the demo level, but I have to admit I enjoyed the fuzzy honesty. The keys are incredibly cheesy, from operatic choir pads to the almost John Carpenter-like intro to "Enthroned", they're almost constantly being used to enforce that haunted castle atmosphere of the cover artwork. Jack also uses understated acoustics, samples of wolf howls and other predictable atmospherics, and very impressively, performs all of the instruments himself. And while the bass is not really important here, and his black rasps are status quo for the genre and not all that significant, he's admittedly not a bad guitarist, piano player or drummer.

Overall, the album does not distinguish itself very much in terms of individual riffs or songs, but functions more as a primal span towards fundamental gloom and morbid, rustic and antiquated European horror. There are a good variety of riffs, from the aforementioned Sabbath-like grooves to the faster paced tremolo lines, but nothing really incendiary like what Emperor or Immortal were pulling off around the same era. The tracks are quite long, and there are only 5 of them, ranging from about 7 1/2-9 minutes, but the journey is 100% consistent through its many contrasts, and you feel that solitary, fell grandeur for the full 41 minutes. I love the swarthy symphonic sequences like the opening to "My Bride...", despite their lo-fi nature, and you get the impression Charmock could damn well have written a number of albums in the vein of Mortiis' 'dungeon synth' style and I probably would have bought every one. On the other hand, I'd be damned to actually pick out a particular track as a favorite, the quality is very level throughout and though structured well, there isn't anything here which is novel or unique enough to really rush back to.

Despite the grandeur Charmock was aiming at here, Lost in Shadows Grey manages to avoid any sense of pretentiousness, thanks to the very down to earth production values. I'm sure there were about a thousand black metal demos in the mid 90s which sounded exactly like this, exploring the campier side of the genre, but I have to say I'm just a sucker for the sound. It takes me back to a place well before that scene really burst open, even though the album's chronological placement was not so early. The crudest of Morgul, no doubt, but still worth hearing, especially if you're a fan of records like Old Man's Child's Born of the Flickering, Dimmu Borgir's For All Tid or Satyricon's Dark Medieval Times. An appreciable gloom to accompany that next cup of tea on some misty, morose, overcast afternoon.

Verdict: Win [7.5/10]

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Morgul/26354186855