By Atanamar Sunyata. [Over at his blog Mindful of Metal, Mr. Sunyata writes dense little poems in exaltation of metal, then cleverly disguises them as metal reviews. The format fits perfectly for our Short and to the point column, so here's a roundup of albums from a year ago, or so, that we didn't get around to cover.By Atanamar Sunyata.
[Over at his blog Mindful of Metal, Mr. Sunyata writes dense little poems in exaltation of metal, then cleverly disguises them as metal reviews. The format fits perfectly for our Short and to the point column, so here's a roundup of albums from a year ago, or so, that we didn't get around to cover. From Khthoniik Cerviiks to Gygax, let Atanamar guide you to what is best in life.]
|Artwork by Khraâl Vri*ïl|
A gem of extreme artifice. Pleasing, perplexing death-black oddity. Voivod vaulting The Chasm, or Atheist genuflecting in the Chapel of Ghouls. Elastic and intricate. Loosely woven, elusive threads bound by a knot of riffs most mighty. Much more compelling than their demo; a tall order.
Single-minded savagery. Beastly death-drone minus the murk. Charismatic, guttural ravings rife with murderous intent. Dense, hyperblasting epiphanies writ in guitar tones most meaty.
|Artwork by Orion Landau.|
A tremendous album. A skillful sidestep of the immutable tech-death template. Strong whiffs of Death and Cynic whipped to admirably stiff peaks. Less interstellar circus, less fucks given. Equal measures creativity, subtlety, and heaviness that feel timeless. Warmer, more introspect, more sprawling. Leads and solos that beg for hyperbolic adjectives and your best air guitar. Their finest hour, methinks.
A revelatory blaze of light amidst a bleak black metal desert. Rides a bolt of Cascadian lightning, but does the deed without sycophantic intent. Whorls and eddies of dense melodic alchemy evoke the nofucksgiving of Weakling, while skirting the esoteric inhumanity of Krallice. An organic outburst of utter chaos, with a feeling of uncalculated necessity. An inexorable undertow, a bullseye of atmosphere and riffs, a no-mercy killing.
Unabashed heaviness of the auld school, executed with charismatic aplomb. This is how I want my straight-up heavy metal served, but modern purveyors consistently disappoint. Gygax roll a natural 20, threading the needle of impossibly compelling mojo. More Thin Lizzy than Maiden, more rocking’ than a sack of Deep Purple socks. Vocals more earnest than Mike Scalzi, less operatic than Russel Allen, somehow perfect. Righteous riffs, songwriting, fucking Dungeons & Dragons. What is best in life?