D.A.M. - Inside Out (1991)

1991. The Black Album. Thrash Armageddon. Armed with a cover art that was arguably worse than their debut album, and one of Andreas Marschall's worst, England's D.A.M. waded heroically back into the fray to seek redemption one last time, before getting their connection to Noise Records and stardom severed forever. And would you believe it? They actually, as far as these things went, surpassed themselves with room to spare, tightening in on the riffcraft and overall songwriting to create a respectable justification for their existence. No, this is not the sort of cult classic you need to bust out and bloodhound immediately (though a recent 2012 reissue ensures you can do just that if interested), but I admire that D.A.M. managed to refine themselves without at all changing course from where they were on the debut, and even if it was too late to really make a difference, since the genre was coming off its incline to the decline, they can listen back on this with some pride.

First, Jason McLoughlin's vocals here are dramatically improved, focusing in more on his higher range and shrieks successfully to create a sort of wretched wickedness somewhere between David Wayne, Eric A. K., Leszek Szpigiel and Bobby 'Blitz'. The guy is generally a pleasure to listen to throughout the album, often shrill, spectral and haunting when he hits his peak, even if a few of the lines become repetitive during verses. Also, the approach is a better complement to the music, which has taken on a more desperate, melodic presence through a more memorable selection of riffs. They still implement a lot of mid-paced muted picking as the norm, but the deeper chords and chugs are measured off against a more clinical sense of harmony, while retaining the solid ear for lead-work that was one of the few positives off the debut...hell, these are even better structured, like the solo through "House of Cards" which actually carries some emotional depth. Honestly, the record is so piercing and melodic that it flirts with power/thrash territory, not as technical or nuanced as something like Toxik or Realm, but the angry riffs and vocals might certainly appeal to fans of groups like Apocrypha, Sanctuary, (early) Hexx, Toranaga, (late 80s) Fates Warning, Vicious Rumors and Metal Church, especially on the moodier pieces like "Winter's Tear".

The rhythm section is likewise stronger here, with more reverb and power behind the drums and a lot more meat on the bass to help distinguish it from the rhythm guitars. That's not to say the beats are necessarily aggressive or demanding, but the mix alone ensures they feel more exciting alongside the other instruments, and you'll feel every stick clap in your ear and kick rumble in your colon. Inside Out does occasionally lapse into some bland riffing patterns, and a few tunes (like "The Innocent One") are outright hit-or-miss, but even the worst material through the hour of content (assuming the CD 'bonus tracks') is superior than sitting through the drab, insipid slog that was Human Wreckage. Lyrics are meek and topical, with songs about domestic violence, abortion, etc, but like the first record, generally no worse than a lot of the other second or third tier thrash acts (especially from the US).

This is not a perfect record, not even a great one, but there's this vibrant, constant notion of 'this is our last chance, let's go for the posts' that pervades the experience. Score! Though I admit I grabbed this out of a bargain bin for about $2 US a few years after its release, having no faith or expectations and just wanting it for my collection, I remember being almost floored at how the band had upped the ante. Hell, if they had released a third record with a comparable, incremental rise in quality, they might have created a bonafide, timeless classic on an ailing British scene. Bittersweet, because yeah, too little, too late, but at least they've got something to smile about, as do those of us in the limited audience. En garde, 1991.

Verdict: Win [7.5/10] (don't they know that we exist)

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D.A.M. - Human Wreckage (1989)

Perhaps one of the least distinctive bands on the entire Noise Records roster (along with Grinder), Morecambe's D.A.M. was snapped up near the tail end of the thrash craze of the 80s. But to be fair to these Englishmen, sticking out amidst a stable that included Coroner, Voivod, Helloween, Celtic Frost, Kreator, Sabbat, Tankard, Destruction, and a dozen other legacy acts of their caliber would be difficult for anyone to accomplish, so one can hardly count this among their faults...but fear not, because they've got plenty of others, beginning and ending with the fact that their songwriting and overall style were so painfully average that their acronym is about the only thing I could remember about them unless you were shoving this record directly into my face. And that's the problem, here, because by the time their debut Human Wreckage arrived, the medium had already been kicked into the stratosphere both commercially ('the Big Four') and artistically (Coroner, Artillery, and others either had released their brilliant showstoppers or were on the verge of doing so).

So...what was left of the pie for D.A.M. ('Destruction and Mayhem') to gnaw upon? Just a few chunks of apple or peach at the bottom, scraped up with a dull and rusted fork and swallowed with a stale pint. Now, I'm not trying to make the case that these gentlemen were incompetent by any means: Human Wreckage is comprised of the standard, serviceable sort of thrash you'd find in many urban/suburban neighborhoods in both the States and Europe throughout the 80s. Most of us had a handful of local bands on this level in either the demo stage or getting their first label break before the wave broke with The Black Album and grunge, but D.A.M.'s own bit opportunity placed them among giants, or rather, giants-in-the-making. So I guess I must state up front that some of my unfavorable reaction to this record was colored by expectations I held for what was easily my favorite label of the time. There was a particular standard of quality I imagined for all efforts under the Noise banner, with the possible exception of some of the borderline hard rock/metal light releases. Yeah, there were disappointments, like Cold Lake, but these were 'after the fact', poor decisions made by the artists and their management that had the misfortune to follow masterpieces.

But with a band like this, it seems like Karl-Ulrich Walterbach and crew might have just randomly chosen a tape out of the slushpile (sheer speculation, for all I know they were the object of a bidding war). Human Wreckage is composed of incredibly bland 'street enforcer' thrash with a distinctly New York feel highly reminiscent of not only Anthrax (Among the Living, State of Euphoria) but occasionally some of the hardcore/thrash crossovers like Cro-Mags or Leeway. The standard practice here is mid-paced, palm muted rhythm guitar progressions configured into 90% completely predictable patterns, with only the rare exception to appreciate. Everyman thrash in redux. Fist pumping, 'plain Jane' riffs that have almost no inspirational qualities which are often accelerated into basic tremolo picked speed/thrash sequences which are just as dry of compelling notation as the mosh parts. No superb melodies inherent within the rhythm guitar riffs, and almost no capacity to incorporate wicked sounding minor riffs to create anything despotic, threatening or evil. So it's 'street thrash' without the meanness. About the best you could say for the writing is that they're pretty good at tacking on a little atmospheric lead here or there to spare the listener from utter boredom...

This was a Harris Johns production, so the guitars are going to rule the roost, but obviously not one of the better records he worked on. Clean, but at the same time, sterile. The drums have dreadfully little power, generally just slim snare-driven beats over the mid-speed stuff and then occasionally a clumsy and ineffective semi-blast when they speed up, the kick having all the character of a plastic bucket. Bass guitars thump along with all the presence of a salaryman passing you on the subway, effortless echoes of the rhythm guitar, almost like a pale shadow of Frank Bello without the muscle and personality. Attempts to 'dress us' Human Wreckage with classical guitar intros ("M.A.D.") and interludes ("Vendetta") fall flat on their faces since the material they setup is just so drastically uninspired, and a whole lot of weight is left on the vocalist's shoulders to entertain us. And the guy tries, using a bitter layman inflection which shifts between a mid and higher range, spinning a bit of acid and vitriol in there that reminds me of a lot of second tier Teutonic thrashers' accents, with a bit of Bobby 'Blitz' Ellsworth influence for good measure, and some gang shouts to back him. Definitely a loose cannon, and a lot of his lines outright suck, but one gets the impression that with better music he would have become much more unhinged and entertaining.

Most of the lyrics are far from terrible (though the chorus of the title track tries hard), but just combing over the song titles seems like they just lifted them from other bands' names or song titles, and it only adds to the generic quality that has plagued Human Wreckage for going on 25 years. A drooling teenage Noise fanboy, I picked this up for the label association alone, and it was one of those tapes I put on my headphones and then quickly shelved, thinking that perhaps I just wasn't 'getting it' and I could go back to it later. Turns out that wasn't the case, this is just really banal thrash that might give Sabbat's Mourning Has Broken a run for its money as a sleeping aid. A few tolerable tunes like "Terror Squad" and "Aliens", but even those lack the big hooks and choruses that I did then and do now continue to demand of this genre. D.A.M. obviously enjoys performing thrash metal (otherwise they would not still be at it), but sadly Human Wreckage was straight-to-the-bargain-bin shovelware. The surplus of a beyond-saturated signing spree.

Verdict: Fail [4.25/10] (pumping your body with all that shite)

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