Tenebrae in Perpetuum & Krohm - Split (2010)

The most satisfying split releases are those that manage to provide new material from a pair of artists whose styles complement each other well, so Italians Tenebrae in Perpetuum and Washington State's Krohm already have this in common, as both produce huge and resonant walls of slowly moving black metal that rely centrally on the emotions of despair and obscure majesty to mesmerize the audience into a state of loss; loss not for having listened to the audio work, but loss in that the music will summon dire feelings of regret or self punishment for one's perceived failures in life. Debemur Morti is perhaps the perfect label for such sorrow laden convictions, and the both of the artists level out with about 21 minutes of material that is difficult to escape once you have let yourself in the front door.

Tenebrae in Perpetuum are one of my favorite bands on the Italian scene, and I was a major fan of the cavernous, diabolic tones found on their latest opus L'Eterno Maligno Silenzio, which came during a year in which numerous such releases were making their scars upon my spirit. Here, the band offer a trio of Roman numerated tracks that are all around 6-7 minutes in length, with titanic, rasping vocals over stringy, resonant guitars that breed only ghostlike qualities as they writhe across a bottomless ravine of abyssal rhythms. They seem to become more engrossing as they proceed: "I" fires on all confrontational cylinders, a mirror of their recent full length efforts; "II" uses clean, sparse guitars to great effect as the vocals erupt like wells of blood newly prospected from a human host, and then the battering assault begins in earnest. "III" provides a continued storm, and whilst I can't award it for being unique, its dips in and out of clean, creepy tones make for unseasoned but breathtaking transitions.

The US band Krohm is tonally warmer, more complete than their Italian counterparts here. Whereas Tenebrae leaves some element of their sound strictly to the imagination, with a thin if throbbing bass mechanic, Numinas creates a fuller body with the more prominent use of synths, and thick rocking surges that remind of earlier Katatonia meets Agalloch, and a more individual streak to each of his three pieces: the desperate, dreary majesty of "The Black Bridge", the hissing asylum dementia of "Toccato Dalla Desecrazione", and the almost mighty metal transformation of "Sentinel Monolith", which is the single most breathtaking track on this entire split. Despite the slight tonal variations, Numinas is a good match for the Italians, because both provoke a semblance of melancholic riffing which they excel at despite any familiarity it bears with other artists of the depressive black metal scene.

This is a quality split, but it's not for the impatient. The songs are not extremely long, all hovering about the 7 minute mark, but they still take some time to work their witching ways and castrate the remaining hope and soul of the listener. This said, I would not really recommend it to anyone who was not already familiar and morbidly delirious over the bands' prior output, or dense and depressive black metal in the vein of Shining. Krohm comes out slightly head due to the slightly stronger character of his pieces, but the Italians are not far behind, and should quite please fans of Antico Misticismo or L'Eterno Maligno Silenzio.

Verdict: Win [7.5/10]

http://www.krohmcrypt.com/

Hell Militia - Last Station on the Road to Death (2010)

I can't say it enough times: black metal is now at such a peak of over saturation that newer bands will only stand out by doing something original with their material, or by simply besting everything in a particular niche within the greater genre. Too often do I hear promos and demos from bands that do a fair enough job of creating the elusive, grim atmosphere with hostile blasting and dank, mid paced rhythms that we've come to know so well, but nothing exemplary. Its amazing to me at times that there still exists such a widespread support base for the style, since you would think so many would by now have moved on or moved over...

Hell Militia's Last Station on the Road to Death is the followup to their 2005 debut Canonisation of the Foul Spirit, which had a pretty excellent title and cover, yet offered little more than the bare minimum you expect when you spin a black metal record: dark, gruesome tones but little to no interesting procession of notes and chords. On the spectrum of darkness, they fall quite far to the right, churning out a pure and traditional sequence that draws from the Norse classics of Mayhem, Darkthrone, Bathory and Burzum, but ends up reminding one of the orthodox Swedish bands like Ondskapt. To their credit, they are fully capable of mixing and producing a dense mesh of hostility that never quite feels comfortable or safe in the slightest, and the members have a wealth of experience in other French acts like Vorkreist, Merrimack, Gestapo 666, Arkhon Infaustus, Antaeus, and so forth.

Unfortunately, this band is simply not as interesting as most of those, despite the tragedy and terror they can summon through their carefully measured tones alone. The events of Last Station on the Road to Death begin to unfold with some degree of promise, but they quickly fade out to dull song structures and note selections that do not completely deliver on the band's excellent engineering. "Always the Same" is an intro piece with drug addiction samples, and "Born Without Light" is a surge of traditional black metal with some hellish, whaling sounds deep in the background. Yet the ambiance the band creates to layer their sound very often seems to highlight the bankruptcy of the riffing, and we're offered songs that sound delicious in a sonic context, but never drive into the memory, harry or haunt beyond the direct listening. The band are either blasting through a thick bass tone and blasted punishment ("Et Inferno Ego") or plucking through eerie but familiar, ringing strings ("The Ultimate Deception") or slowly broiling, long winded misanthropy ("The Pig That Became a God") which is in dire need of a chopping to focus in on its stronger riffs.

Blasphemy and darkness abound in Hell Militia's explorations of themes, occasionally outside of simply Satan, but without better tunes to carry these messages, they are bound to plummet into the realm of the obscure and too soon forgotten. The band can clearly carve out an atmosphere and restrain themselves from impulsive, indulgent composition, but there is just too little to sate the curiosity of one who has heard the style very often. The cover of infamous punk icon GG Allin's "Shoot Knife Strangle Beat & Crucify" might come as unexpected; lyrically it fits directly in with what the band are expressing, and its a fairly welcome surprise that stands out among the original compositions. The total content of Last Station on the Road to Death is simply not compelling enough to recommend among a crowded field of so many other black metal releases, but if you're a fan of the grimmer field of French black metal that includes Merrimack but not experimental acts like Blut Aus Nord or Deathspell Omega, you could look to Hell Militia as a band that have a better grasp of atmosphere than many, even if they don't write good enough guitar parts to matter in the end.

Verdict: Indifference [6.25/10]

http://evilness.com/hellmilitia/index2.htm

Hellyeah - Stampede (2010)

The fact that a second Hellyeah album has manifested itself is proof that either there is a divine entity who fucking hates us all, that we are merely the receptacles of a several-tiered, torturous joke at the behest of one Vinnie Paul, or that major label record executives in the United States are batshit bonkers. Okay, we know that the last one is true regardless, but the jury is out on the others. But let's give Hellyeah some credit this time: they at least shelled out a few dollars to some hack for a stampede of bulls on the cover, instead of another boorish photo session that the members could stroke themselves to as they must, staring in the mirror each evening before a gig in front of whatever LCD audience actually gives them the time of day.

I'm going to give Hellyeah a little more credit than even this, because while Stampede sucks at the donkey trough almost as much as its predecessor, its clearly better in almost every means imaginable. The production is just as clean and professional as one would expect from this seasoned crew inhabiting the nu-metal pantheon, and Chad's vocals are a little better, as he seems to be channeling Bay Area thrash gods James Hetfield and Chuck Billy on half of the tracks. The lyrics, while still dumb as a stump, do more to convey that feeling of God fearing, fire breathing Texas motherfucker aggression that any of us with a taste for fun would truly expect from a band of this sort. For example:

Ya see I sold my soul at the cross in the road,
Somewhere down in Texas where the devil had spoke,
Said boy you wanna be somebody sign on the line,
I said I gotta raise some hell so I ain't got the time

Fair enough, my good men, fair enough. I can get behind this. It spits fumes. It spits gasoline. It's not tactful, and it's not poetic, but it's honest and makes me want to fight someone, somewhere, at some point in time, and that is exactly what I want out of a band with Vinnie Paul behind the sticks and a herd of bulls trampling the dust on the cover. You can draw a little blood to this first song, "Cowboy Way", which seems like a Pantera dingleberry hanging on from the Great Southern Trendkill days, with the mildly more thrashin' vocal delivery. Sure, the tuning of the guitars and relative, plugging simplicity of the riff patterns feel rudimentary at best, but I didn't immediately question if the world was one big Candid Camera episode starring myself as I did listening through the previous album.

Instead of surging to some rock hook track like they did on the debut, the band continues to barrel forth through a hostile number "The Debt That All Men Pay". They save the rock track for third, "Hell of a Time", but at least it seems to have some more attitude. "Stampede" reminds me a lot of the song "Hellyeah" from the s/t...perhaps the band has some twisted plan to record one shitty thrash-gone-nugroove title track each time they hit the studio. Needless to say, it sucks, and the rest of the album follows suit, with the "Cemetery Gates" meets "Fade to Black" bullshit of "Better Man", horrible vocal/riff exchange of "It's On!", the chugging lowdown grime of "Pole Rider" and dumb wigga grooves saturating "Alive and Well" until the rock chorus erupts.

Still a 'hell no' for Hellyeah here, and Stampede certainly doesn't elevate the band beyond the suck territories, but its undoubtedly better crafted than the first record out. For a few moments, at least, you can be transported to a hard ass world where your guns, tobacco and attitude are all that separate you from the precipice of death. However, I still feel like this band should stop 'horsing' around (haw haw) and KICK some ASS! Write a concept album about some famous cowboy or something, and enhance both the musical skill and ambition. Clearly these guys can play what they need to play, and judging by the vocal improvement alone, Chad is up to the task of something far better than what he's written here or in the awful Mudvayne. So make it happen already, and kick our asses back into the 19th century.

Verdict: Epic Fail [1.75/10] (another day in the trenches)

http://www.hellyeahband.com/

Hellyeah - Hellyeah (2007)

Despite what most bigoted anti-rural Americans would tell you, we could always use a few more heavy Southern rock bands, especially if they're willing to take the rustic, bumpkin grooves of a Molly Hatchet or Lynyrd Skynyrd, and the more recent, unsung Agony Column and Raging Slab and run with this cross-section of styles into a more extreme territory. Having drummer Vinnie Paul of Pantera adopt such a formula for his post-Damageplan project is not such a stretch; this man has grown up among such influences and both of his alma maters were certainly exhibited traits of nasty Texas grooves and shotgun rodeo attitude.

But the problem with Hellyeah starts long before the baneful first notes of the namesake track even erupt, and you need look no further than the absolutely shoddy cover image, which has 'poseurs' written all over it, a bunch of men in cowboy hats prominently displaying tattoos, crossed 'tough guy' arms or Vinnie's 'Here's lookin' at you, slickster rock pose', with the longhairs tucked conveniently behind for some metallic cred. With the undeniable notoriety and success Pantera, and the shitty bands Damageplan and Mudvayne (whose members represent 80% of this lineup, joined by guitarist Tom Maxwell of Nothingface), wouldn't you think a little more could be scrounged up than a flaming pose shot affixed to a horrendous Photoshop logo? This album was issued through Epic/Sony records, so are you fucking kidding? A little effort goes a long way, and the image fronting this debut shows none. It does not bode well for the musical content...

...and once you've peeled away every urge to simply toss this in the dustbin then and there, summoning up the old wives' morality play on never judging a book by its cover, you are greeted with a moderately bouncy thrash riff and Chad Gray's Southern charged hybrid of Rob Zombie, Phil Anselmo and David of Disturbed. I won't deny the man has some power in his pipes, but he's so often used it for the wrong reasons, and this is just the latest, an awful smattering of nu-metal aggression that wouldn't be sufficient for the backstage at an OzzFest. The remainder of the band also phones in the material, creating generic verse-chorus songs out of horrendously juvenile lyrics that wouldn't fly if the band members were 12. I mean, even in this very first song, the thrash rhythm disappears within a moment, ceded to an atrocious bounce-core groove chorus which was only mildly entertaining when Biohazard did it numerous times in the early 90s. As for the lyrics...

If ya don't give a shit ya getcha hellyeah
Throwin' fists in the pit ya getcha hellyeah
Think you're fuckin' with this well hell no.
Balls, volume, strength getcha come on
Drinking beer smoking weed ya getcha hellyeah
Gotta bruised attitude ya getcha hellyeah,
Think you're fuckin' with this well hell no
Balls, volume, strength getcha come on

Seriously, is there a human being in this country, or this world dumb enough to actually think that these are good or inspiring lyrics? FUCK OFF.

Beyond this abortion, the band immediately lurches into a big melodic radio rocker you'd expect out of Puddle of Mudd or any other failure to launch at Alice in Chain's rectum. More melodic chords, a typical ascending pattern of notes and no lights on at home. Fuck, if I wanted to listen to this shit I'd just stick to Corrosion of Conformity's midlife crisis. The rest of the album merely bounces between these poles. The aggressive content includes the rappy stupidity of "Matter of Time", the more thrash-heavy "Waging War", and "Rotten to the Core". Wannabe Alice in Chains songs include "Star" and "Nausea", the latter being the one track on this album that is even mildly catchy, and even then only for a few seconds. I'd love to point out some other strengths here, but aside from the production, to which plenty of resources were poured into, there is just nothing one can say, for any of this pedestrian mental disability manifesto.

So in short, you're not getting a kickass Southern groove metal record here. You might have thought you were signing up for such a prospect, what with the cowboy hats, the Christawful band moniker and raucous attitudes. What Hellyeah is, is just a celebrity sausagefest of failure. Failure to write good music, failure as proof of a band concept, failure to even lick the boots of the band's other project (most of which are utter poo poo themselves). How about you tough guys harden the fuck up and write something worthwhile? Take all of this largely undeserved celebrity you have ridden into this major label deal, and write us an album that makes us want to drink rattlesnake venom, plant boots in city liberal hipster asses and shatter whiskey bottles at 100 yards with rifles? "Alcohaulin' Ass"? Clearly you need to lay off the sauce and haul some ass in other areas, like writing music that might validate the waste of space you are.

Verdict: Epic Fail [.25/10] (a little bit thirsty, a little bit used)

http://www.hellyeahband.com/

Accept - Blood of the Nations (2010)

As a massive fan of Accept and Udo Dirkschneider, solo career going on 30 years, it's a difficult prospect for me to face the legendary German band without their iconic vocalist. I've tried once before, when the band released their 1989 album Eat the Heat with David Reece, and got burned, but then, I had been warned, right? Well, it's been 14 years since Accept put out the last record with Udo on the microphone, the lackluster but nonetheless fun Predator. The former front man has been maintaining his solo career with an excellent track record of material that has ranged from good to wonderful, and propelling his Brian Johnson-like air raid successfully into the power metal format. So what of the rest of Accept? Well, they've been working their way up to this.

For whatever reasons, Udo and Wolf haven't come to terms, and the band have once again reached out to a new singer, this one with a bit of history: Mark Tornillo, who was and still is a member of traditional New Jersey hard rock/metal act TT Quick. As a general tightwad and massive fan of the original Accept heyday from about 1980-1986, I was dreading this maneuver, but I have to admit, I am very relieved to plant my size 13 Sketcher sneakers right one my one into my fat head, because Tornillo has actually done a decent job with this material. This is no hack work like the hiring of Blaze Bayley to replace Bruce Dickinson, or Tim 'Tries Too Hard' Owens to replace Rob Halford. Mark Tornillo is not only decent at emulating Udo's brand of vocal mayhem, but he's got a little of his own personality, especially when he delivers in a lower, cleaner tone. Now for the million dollar question. Is he superior in any way to Udo? Fuck no, not in a million years; but let's give some credit where credit is due. The man came into a situation of massive fan bias, he stood and he delivered this record. There is a lot to be said for that.

Thus the onus of responsibility for whether or not Blood of the Nations is a keeper falls on Wolf Hoffman, and to ensure the album is in veteran hands, guitarist Herman Frank, bassist Peter Baltes and drumming madman Stefan Schwarzmann have all returned to the fold. The album is well written and benefits from a great, balanced production which highlights all of the band's traditional characteristics: mid to fast paced rockers and anthems which will have fists shaking all night. Like the U.D.O. solo work, or Saxon of the past decade, the Germans have efficiently modernized their roots mayhem to streamline with the younger power metal crowd, while never abandoning their decades old supporters. There's nothing showy or musically impressive about what Accept does here, in fact they've been dated in that arena for at least two decades, but no flash bulbs are required for this session, because it's got heart where it matters.

Most have already become familiar with the first single/video "Teutonic Terror", which is a pretty standard mid-paced power metal anthem with some simple melodic adornment that gets the head banging with its bombing bass-lines and makes for a smooth introduction to Tornillo's presence, with some 'whoa oh oh' backing vocals and a decent lead segment. This is really nothing special, but it does well to evoke the Accept we all knew and loved in the 80s, with enough modern polish to remain relevant. "The Abyss" opens with a stock slow power metal riff which will sound entirely familiar to everyone who listens to German material of its likeness, but they mix it up with a slice of mystique in the verse and a raging chorus that will sate fans of anything from U.D.O. to Grave Digger. Other standouts are the moody and atmospheric, crushing "Shades of Death" with its acoustic intro and slight orchestration; "Rolling Thunder" which is pure, hit the highway power metal; "New World Comin'", in which the buzz of the bass in the intro and slow, measured riffing remind me of 90s albums like Deathrow or Predator, if less aggressive; and the closing, epic "Bucket of Hate", a music box gone manic power metal and one of the most exciting pieces on this entire album.

The Blood of the Nations is not perfect by any means, and there are a few stock tunes here like "Pandemic" and "Time Machine" which, while not really flawed, simply drift in one of the fleshy listening ports and back out the other, but I feel like the remainder of the material is strong. The lead-in video "Teutonic Terror" turns out not to be one of the best of the bunch, but let's keep in mind that with the "Time Machine" bonus track, this is over 70 minutes of new Accept...and at least 50 minutes of that are exactly what we've all been hoping might one day happen again, a work of very solid quality. Tornillo is not as unflinchingly psychotic as his predecessor, but who the fuck really is? No one is going to replace The Man, and no one needs to. Wolf Hoffmann and his merry band have put their writing gears to the grind, their pedals to the proverbial metal and delivered a tight, focused comeback album that conjures up the strengths of Accept past, present, and with some persistence, the future. The pooch has not been screwed here; it's still wagging its virginal tail and tongue, waiting for you to pick up and toss its balls to the wall and beyond.

Verdict: Win [8/10]

http://www.acceptworldwide.com/

Hexenhaus - Dejavoodoo (1997)

Suddenly, like a sea storm breaking on an uncaring pier of sharp rocks, the Hexenhaus machine had come to a halt after releasing the enticing third album Awakening in 1991. With such a promising direction and increase in musical dementia, one really hoped they would capitalize by releasing their magnum opus, but alas, like Babylon, thrash would crash and burn its way out of the public consciousness and this Swedish act, too, would disappear from the annals of potential...for a spell. This is mostly likely due to the fact that guitarist Mike Wead was busy in King Diamond in the early 90s, later joining Mercyful Fate as well in 1996, both of which were far better paying gigs in which to apply his skills, not to mention higher visibility with tours, interviews, and a massive installed fan base.

As it turns out, we were not to be ultimately let down by Wead or Hexenhaus, because there was one more full-length in the works, and come 1997, Dejavoodoo would arrive through Black Mark Productions, a better label than their previous Active for metal music, being the home of Quorthon and his family members and at this time working with a number of great Swede bands like Lake of Tears and Necrophobic. Impressively, despite the six year gap in releases, this album came packaged with the same lineup as Awakening, and a comparable style, hyper charged with musicianship, a more intense alternative to Wead's work with Diamond/Fate given a tech thrash injection that would send fans of Mekong Delta, Watchtower and Psychotic Waltz into fits of self-pleasure. The rhythm section returns for their most intense battery yet, especially drummer Billy St. John, and vocalist Lyon has also polished his approach, smoother and more controlled tones than the previous album.

But the riffs...the riffs clearly steal the show on this album, as we hear early on with the melodic, cycling aggression of "Reborn (at the Back of Beyond)", both mystical and progressive and a wonderful evolution of the band's early 90s aim. The increased production values of Dejavoodoo inc comparison to the prior output are quite necessary and instrumental to this album's success, each ripple of brilliant axe work captured in the clinical, paranoid amber "Phobia", a surge of perfectly sharpened thrash dementia which explores the fears of the listener as much as those of the lyrical narrator. 8 and a half minutes thrash by here, but you'll hardly notice, as the band's dynamics and pace are so well maintained. Another lengthy track follows, the 8 minutes of "Nocturnal Rites", which begins with a blissful clean guitar passage that morphs into subtle strikes of a synthesizer behind a wall of beautiful, slow cruising riffs that arch and collapse until Lyon arrives, a helmsman on a ship to insanity, emitting beautiful choruses above the heavy rain of this dark, nocturnal seascape.

"Dejavoodoo" itself is a wondrous little shred exercise, melodies glinting over a crunchy, hammering backbone and swells of cautionary keyboard, leading up to the music box intro that heralds "From the Cradle to the Grave", eclipsed by creepy, haunted synth lines and doom-like melodies, demented Lyon narrative reminiscent of lower-pitched Geoff Tate. This is the most experimentally structured of the album's tracks, but also one of the most gripping. The finale of the band's career, "Rise Babylon Rise", has its work cut out for it, but brings all the tools for the task, a roiling intro of synthesizers and muted guitars busting out into some of the most beautiful and climactic melodies of the entire Hexenhaus catalog. A great song to close with, and the only regret could be that there would be no more...

Yes, this was the final hour for the Swedish band, and let us hand them credit where it is deserved, for the band completed a career without ever once dipping below the precipice of greatness. I often find myself juggling between this record and the darker, simpler debut A Tribute to Insanity, which featured a much different vocalist and a more direct, ominous brand of brute, measured thrashing, and I am declaring here that it is Dejavoodoo which offers the band at their very finest. The quality of each track is quite good, the musicianship superb but balanced, and the mixing quality at its peak here. Coming out against a period where quality thrash, especially that of a progressive nature, was almost unheard of, it easily compensates for any investment of time and money you could pour into it, and then some.

Verdict: Win [8.75/10] (no more whistling in the dark)

Hexenhaus - Awakening (1991)

Despite their parent genre hanging over the edge of the abyss by the time it would see the light of creation, Hexenhaus' third album Awakening retains the general quality of its predecessors, but also starts to explore new territory due to the addition of yet another new front man in Thomas Lyon, who had been kicking around for years in an obscure Swedish thrash outfit called Hatred. Lyon has a higher pitched, wavering voice distinct from his predecessors Tommie Agrippa and Nick Johansson, and in fact he sounds more like a John Arch of Fates Warning or Alan Tecchio of Watchtower. In fact, the entire album seems as if Mike Wead had desired to explore a more complex ground, and Awakening could be considered a solid example of progressive, technical European thrash, running in the circles of a Mekong Delta, Depressive Age, or Deathrow, or US acts Psychotic Waltz and Watchtower.

Though quite a stretch from the debut A Tribute to Insanity, Hexenhaus bear the brunt of this new direction well, and Awakening is yet another delight in their catalog to peruse, and further proof of a sound body of work that should never have been ignored by the raving tech thrash lunatics out there. The music is punchy, effective, and proficient, and as the intro "Shadows of Sleep" parts its acoustic gleanings, the title track erupts with a number of well plotted riffs on a course for the same schizophrenic madness that made one salivate over a Deception Ignored, Control and Resistance or Realm's Endless War, even if Hexenhaus are not quite so complex or bewildering in delivery. For the riff hound, there are plenty of bones to horde just in this song alone, and a superb lead sequence that cedes into dark, thrashing currents, screeches and whispers. "Betrayed (By Justice)" continues with some flowing, popping bass and wonderfully demented guitars that explode like a dynamic, melodic asylum.

Even more ambitiously, the band next lurch into the 11 minute epic "Necronomicon Ex Mortis" with a pretty large riff count of quality, and some sequences in which the synthesizer is adeptly added to create the epic atmosphere such a composition usually requires to stay fresh and inviting through its lengthy discourse. "Code 29" is a graceful, flighty instrumental which sets up the two-fisted pumping, mid-paced thrash riffs of "The Forthcoming Fall", which phase in and out of elegant power not unlike a more technical adept to Messiah Marcolin's post-Candlemass work in Memento Mori. "Sea of Blood" surges with a killer, frenetic fill riff in the verse that shifts into brilliant and savage speed metal with tiny flourishes of shred-work, and "Paradise of Pain" feels like its natural continuation, with similar guitar work. If you've enjoy the album up to this point, the remaining tracks "The Eternal Nightmare Act II" and "Incubus" will continue to titillate, cornucopias of quality and inventive riff work that draw you deeper into the band's nearly spastic madness.

Awakening is not so dire or brute as A Tribute to Insanity, and a lot more involved musically than The Edge of Eternity, but its a very natural progression. The band have not repeated themselves in the vocal chair, but they still retain enough elements of that initial savagery to bludgeon through the heightened flight of Mike Weak and Marco A. Nicosia, who manically captivate the listener with their busywork over a tight and efficient rhythm department. The mix of this record is still fairly dark, straightforward and organic like the prior albums, and by 1991, they were elevating to the top of the technical thrash/speed pool despite the rest of the genre sinking like a faulty cruise liner. There has never been enough buzz around Hexenhaus, so here is the chance to rectify that, track down their legacy and partake.

Verdict: Win [8.25/10] (innocent in uncertainty)

Hexenhaus - The Edge of Eternity (1990)

I truly enjoyed the Hexenhaus debut A Tribute to Insanity from the year 1988. Not only was it one of the best examples of a thrash and power hybrid from Sweden in that decade, and a well-composed, cruel romp in the vein of a Metal Church or Savatage with the heavy turned up, but it was also Mike Wead's best work outside of material with Mercyful Fate & King Diamond. When I discovered the project would be returning for a sophomore effort, my expectations were severely elevated, even though the debut had only recently arrived through the Metal Blade reissue, and it remains their most visible work (all of the subsequent offerings were so obscure that many did not know of their existence).

The Edge of Eternity continues along the path set by the debut, though the band have slightly undergone a progressive renewal, or rather an increase in the technical thrash elements that weren't really present before, while the band hammered out should have been classics like "Eaten Alive". It's impressive that the band has remained this loyal, though, because the three members of Manninya Blade left the band after A Tribute to Insanity. In fact, the entire lineup on this sophomore has been replaced with the exception of Mike Wead himself. Vocalist Tommy Agrippa steps in for Nick Johanssen and does a fairly smash up job of it, with a tone just as cruel as Nick's, while the inclusion of Fifth Reason members Marco Nicosia and Marty Marteen provided a more competent counterbalance to Wead's twisted, diabolic riffing, all anchored with Billy St. John's effective kit crashing.

The trade off here is that the increased competence comes at the expense of the debut's very dark atmosphere. This isn't exactly bright as daisies, mind you, but while the honest, direct studio recording here is a more polished presentation, it lacks for some of the crushing weight heard earlier. Thankfully, the compositions are still quite good, Wead sailing across the frets with a number of stellar leads and biting thrash riffs in "The House of Lies", "The Eternal Nightmare" and "Prime Evil". Often the band will remind me heavily of their near neighbors Artillery, not ever achieving the level of perfect technical fluency that the brothers manifested on By Inheritance, but quite close to the riffing of a Terror Squad. There's not really a bad song among this bunch, and the two instrumental briefs are pretty nice, while the epic finale "At the Edge of Eternity", which clocks in at over 13 minutes, is quite deft at perking the listener's attention and never falling into the sinkhole of ennui that most overblown, long winded metal compositions are guilty of perpetuating.

Its easiest to categorize The Edge of Eternity as a thrash metal record, because for the largest fraction of its playtime it delivers powerful muted rhythms and fairly complex composition, but I think it might also hold an appeal to fans of darker, late 80s/90s power or progressive metal. Without sounding quite like any one band, the Hexenhaus crew channel a choice blend of Mercyful Fate, Artillery, Savatage, Heathen and Metal Church which is still a delight after 20 years. Its not the equal of the debut based solely on the fact it has less songs that burn their way straight to your mind, but its still worth a listen if you've never been exposed to their sound in the past. Its unfortunate this band never made the splash it could have, because all four of their albums are high quality despite the numerous lineup shifts, and they certainly deserved some recognition amidst the bailing masses of weak willed 'thrash' bands who abandoned ship completely to start funk, grunge, nu-metal and college indie rock outfits.

Verdict: Win [8/10] (I am the captor forever to be)

Heretic - Torture Knows No Boundary EP (1986)

Heretic is another of those painfully overlooked 80s acts who managed to produce an unsung classic in their sole full-length Breaking Point, an album I still listen to today with regular frequency. That would be the work that ultimately sold the band's then front man Mike Howe to replace David Wayne in Metal Church, who would ironically go on to front Reverend with the rest of the Heretic cast. But years before Howe even joined them, the Californian band already existed with a previous vocalist, one Julian Mendez, who had a weaker and shrill, but acceptable range to mix with the unit's hybrid of power and thrash metal aesthetics, and their first release through Metal Blade was an EP known as Torture Knows No Boundary.

This is 18 minutes of hard hitting, traditional power metal with a hint of early Metallica. Think mid 80s Judas Priest meets Kill 'Em All, and you're not far off the mark. Mendez is not as effective as the later Howe's deep, biting tone, instead reminding me of a median of two other Metal Blade vocalists: Lizzy Borden and Frank Tyson of the more obscure Krank. It's dirty in the lower registers, and pretty shrill at the heights, though he can't match the pitch and delivery of Lizzy himself. All this would be acceptable if he had been served a series of high quality tunes as on Breaking Point, but while the style doesn't differ, the riffs and composition of this debut were not yet fully gestated.

That's not to say Heretic didn't have a few scorchers on their hands, and I rather enjoyed "Blood Will Tell" and "Portrait of Faith". The former is a road worthy rush with some uplifting chord patterns that are fun to plug along to; the latter is hands down the best track here, with the catchiest riffs and arguably the most urgent and powerful due to the simple but effective bridge with gang vocals. "Riding With the Angels" is hardly offensive, but it has more of a straight up NWOBHM feel with Mendez whining across the predictable chord sequences. "Whitechapel" is worthwhile, with perhaps the most memorable chorus of this early material, with one of Julian's best screams and at least two good riffs, but the closing instrumental title track doesn't add much value (they'll pull off a far better instrumental on the full length called "Pale Shelter".

So what you're left with are three pretty good tracks that foreshadow the greatness to come in but a few short years, and then two that just don't pass muster, for about 10-11 minutes of overall value. As a bonus to a reissue of Breaking Point, they'd function fairly well, but I'm not aware of such a compilation, so you're better off just to skip this and head straight for the full-length if you're new to the band. Torture Knows No Boundary is merely a footnote to a legacy that should be remembered for something far better, assuming that fresh fans beyond the core few in the know ever wake up and discover Heretic for themselves.

Verdict: Indifference [6.5/10] (the time is right)

Sanctus Daemoneon - The unaVOIDable (2010)

Having missed this unusual Danish acts debut Grey Metropolis two years ago, I had absolutely no idea what to expect from its followup, but there it was, sitting in my mailbox and calling out to me with the odd capitalization of its title and a rather striking image of smoke stacks and dense smogs, the band's rather minimal logo pinned in between in beautiful symmetry. Judging by the cover art, the title of this and their previous album, I was fully expecting to be struck by some harsh industrial black metal act, but was very surprised that Sanctus Daemoneon do not only avoid this mold, but they avoid nearly every mold you could tack upon them. I suppose the trio's aesthetic core would place them somewhere at a crossroads of depressive, minimal black metal, light use of ambient electronics and Gothic/shoegazer elements, but to actually hear the band in motion is quite evocative and unique.

The unaVOIDable is dispersed across 10 tracks in 47 minutes, each of which is title only by a Roman numeral. Thus, it is pretty clear that the best digestion of the product is taken as a whole, though not so exclusive that you couldn't split it into its components and appreciate them within the economy of the modern work & family life, though I'd keep this band away from your family, because feelings of confusion, depression and utter nihilism are bound to form upon the brow of any listener to these Danish gloomnauts. A standard 'night out' here includes a simple drum selection, programmed, while minimal waves of effected, Gothic tinged guitars and bleak, sparse electronics manifest alongside the grisly poetry of the frontman Corso. It's both an experience of calm and one of dire morbidity, as the lyrics and samples are positively negative. Often, as in the track "IV", the band will let a heavier face bleed through, and in these spaces they remind me slightly of the amazing Austrian band Summoning, but instead of mountains and monoliths of a fantasy setting, Sanctus Daemoneon channels the urban and decaying shadows of our own civilization's underbelly, our 'trade off' and toxic 'run off' for globalist expansion.

Trust me when I tell you that this is one hypnotic experience that becomes more difficult to escape the further in you travel. Particular favorites were the flowing, sewage-tribalism of "V", Corso's vocals evoking nightmares across the scintillation of atmospherics and jaded guitar twinge; "VII" feels like the makings of a calm, progressive ballad concentric within minimal circles, patiently transitioning shrill background noises to the fore while the vocals play like a rusted razor upon an uncertain wrist. Something like "IX" would be more accessible and almost funky like globes of blood dripping from said wrist to a rusted shower grate in masturbatory bliss, and the closer "X" sounds like an awkward Robert Smith moment, if Robert Smith forgot to clear his throat and became the grimmest motherfucker ever, letting his tea kettle whistle for a few seconds and then playing the most drawn out, 80s minimalist approximation of his main band, soon to be discarded when jokingly sacrificed to the record label.

If ANY of these descriptions made any sense to you, then you must immediately acquire this album and lose yourself in its wholly unintended charms, because you simply do not hear its like every day. The lyrics are also usually decent, though the subjects are predictable. Could this sophomore be better? Yes. Often the riffs evoke nothing more than a submissive atmosphere for which the vocals can coil about your spine, and the shrill tweaking sounds range from annoying to ravishing. This is best absorbed all at once, because the individual tracks do not express a wealth of variation. They're primarily slow and absolved to their fate, and you find yourself pining for some breath of differential, which does arrive in the form of a sample or new synth tone to keep you strung along, but I'd love to hear what this band could do in a more dynamic range. That being said, The unaVOIDable should indeed be unavoidable if you desire a sound that starts with extreme metal, cuts out most of the aggressive, harsh guitars and then goes caving in the yawning chasms of the soul, a last hour of decision on whether this world is worth it, or you'll take your chances with the next. As the band reminds us in their bio, 'Life is worth leaving', and the music certainly reflects this notion.

Verdict: Win [8.25/10] (the night no longer young)

http://www.myspace.com/sdaemoneon