Showing posts with label 1988. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1988. Show all posts

September 3, 2017

Pestilence - Malleus Maleficarum

An Autothrall Classic. I often liken the world of metal music to the Greek pantheon. In it, there are gods, titans, heroes, priests and worshipers. Worshipers do their best to imitate the various gods
An Autothrall Classic. Originally published here.


I often liken the world of metal music to the Greek pantheon. In it, there are gods, titans, heroes, priests and worshipers. Worshipers do their best to imitate the various gods, patching together their many aspects into something resembling metal music, but rarely worthy of any but the most dim recognition. Heroes are those bands which rise to the challenge of the gods, upping the ante with faster speeds, technical arrangements, and modern production values that their deities simply never had at their disposal. Priests act as ciphers, directly aping the words and music of their exalted, keeping it alive throughout the decades and causing endless rebirth cycles of their genres, elements, and so forth through the crowds of worshipers. The gods would be the most famous, successful or even notorious bands. The big names: Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath, Metallica, Slayer, Judas Priest, and so forth. Bands so famous that they can launch and sell out world tours, support their great grandchildren through college with ease, and will survive on VH1 'best of' specials until the end of time. But then there are the titans...mighty forces of old who were 'defeated' or cast down by the gods, despite their infinite prowess and crafting of the very foundations of the form.

Within metal music, this translates to those bands who wrote classic, excellent albums that for whatever reason went over the heads or out of reach of the starved masses in the 70s and 80s. There are a great number of these titans, and though their power source may seem long since diminished, some have seen a rebirth in the years of late, through the concentrated worship of an underground of devout cultists that have simply never given them up. For myself, Pestilence would be one such entity, both my favorite Dutch metal artist since the dawn of the power chord, and the band responsible for two of my hands-down, absolute favorite metal albums period, in death, death/thrash or any other sub-genre. But Pestilence are also a band of transitions. No two albums really sound the same, unless you count Resurrection Macabre from 2009, which seems to be a time capsule back to the pristine dementia of their first two full-length efforts.

By 1988, Pestilence were a band entering a transitional phase that bridged the thrashing roots of their demo days with the surge in extremity many artists were twisting into what we have now long lavished as the death metal genre. Here on their debut Malleus Maleficarum, you can hear both the sire and the child; the former through the crisp, punchy precision and frenzied mosh pit energy that explode at nearly any second on the album; the latter through the hoarse, festering vocals, the cold and clinical lyrics and production, and the muted speed sections which are stupendously good. Martin Van Drunen, at his career best on both the Pestilence records he was involved with, was in my opinion the most distinct and impressive frontman in death metal. Others have been impressive, no doubt: John Tardy, Craig Pillard, Chris Reifert, Jeff Becera, or even Chuck Schuldiner before he decided he was going to become a pseudo-intellectual cosmonaut. But for myself, it was Van Drunen who brought this all together, with a bruising, tortured weight to his vocals that is rarely matched about 20 years and 20,000 death metal bands later. His vocals were a little fainter here than on Consuming Impulse, sounding much like a chain-smoking malpractice surgeon serial killer who just escaped hell and wound up at the local emergency ward.

But he's not the only engine that keeps this titan lurching forward. Marco Foddis is a hammer-adept who operates at a high level of precision running either high or low speeds, with a clean polish that seemed rather uncanny compared to many of death metal's other prototype drum mixes. Patrick Mameli, the band's core and general, has written a non-stop, 38 minute barrage of surgical riffing which stands among the best in all of death and thrash metal, with an obvious proficiency above and beyond the average axe-slinger of his day. He performs both bass and guitar here on the album, and while the former is a little subdued in the mix, the rhythm guitars are enforced by Randy Meinhard (on his only Pestilence album, before Patrick Uterwijk would step in) and barely give you the time to notice. Armed with a proper Kalle Trapp knob twiddling (he has also mixed and produced work by Destruction and Blind Guardian, among others), Malleus Maleficarum has a pinpoint, eerie but honest tone to it, which seems strangely haunting even by today's far more advanced parameters.

But really, it's all about the vocals and the riffs. While the album is not necessarily as brutal as its brilliant, crushing successor, it creates a faster paced, technical environment in which the mad doctor flourishes his scalpels and begins a series of careful, taut incisions that maximize the pain and bleeding of the unfortunate patient. Tracks like "Extreme Unction", "Systematic Instruction", "Cycle of Existence" and "Bacterial Surgery" move with some the most violent, breakneck speed thrashing since Slayer's Reign in Blood a few years prior, all the while vomiting forth a series of unforgettable riffs that are both menacing and rather unique for their day. There is far more than just speed to this band, the compositions themselves are impressive, and the album never leaves you hanging on a guitar line even bordering on uninspired, as Van Drunen howls above the seething mass a slew of serious business lyrics that made most thrash and death metal of the 80s seem absolutely infantile by comparison.

Followers of false belief praise idolatry
Worship statues made of stone the adoration
Depiction of the gods in human shapes
Inhuman rituals, biblical transgression
A weapon in your right-hand, in your left a rosary
The polytheistic-monotheistic war
Believers of Almighty prepare to die
Explain to me, what are you fighting for?

For a closer examination, try the bridge riff and terrifying lead at 1:00 of "Subordinate to the Domination", which breaks for a dual speed/chug tag-team like a sped-up "Raining Blood". What of the frolicking, plague-stricken rhythms of "Chemo Therapy", which play out like a cancer ward patient uprising? What of "Commandments", with its creepy acoustic plucking that cedes for an escalation into turbine powered thrashing violence? The wormlike, gnawing death mutes that thread themselves through "Parridice"? The album even offers a few hints at instrumental grace, like the doomed acoustics of "Osculum Infame" placed against a background of swelling synthesizer and screeching, wailing electrics. Or the morbid, brightly blooded chords and dire melodies of the title track, which serves as an intro to the thrashing lead-in to "Antromorphia".

Malleus Malifecarum is unstoppable. It's a beast, superior to more successful thrash albums of 1988 like ...and Justice for All, So Far, So Good... So What!, or The New Order. Yes, it was that good, even among the highly admirable company of that year's many other masterworks, like Death's Leprosy, Coroner's Punishment for Decadence, and Voivod's Dimension Hatröss. The album delivers on all fronts: musically and lyrically. I would cite 'emotionally', except that the album is so highly successful at estranging emotions in favor of its volatile, murderous melange. There is not a single note here, even within the lead bursts that I would alter. It's a prime example of almost everything I loved about the late 80s progression of thrash metal from its crude roots of broken glass, street fighting feel-good misanthropy through its bachelor's, master's and finally PhD in artistic expression. Though this isn't my favorite Pestilence album, it's every bit as flawless as Consuming Impulse, disintegrates the vast percentile of other metal albums of the past 22 years until they become dust, and belongs at the forefront of any thrash or death metal collection of taste. No gods, new or old, can keep this titan buried forever.

June 27, 2016

Death - Leprosy

An Autothrall Classic. For the longest time the Death reissues on the Relapse Records' Bandcamp were only available in expensive ($25) editions with lots of frankly unnecessary rehearsal/live versions of the songs.
[For the longest time the Death reissues on the Relapse Records' Bandcamp were only available in expensive ($25) editions with lots of frankly unnecessary rehearsal/live versions of the songs. I mean four extra versions of "Open Casket"? That's only of interest for the most fanatical collectors. Thankfully Relapse has now released trimmed down editions for a much more reasonable price ($12). Half the price, half the number of "Open Casket" bonus versions. We approve, and we celebrate with:]

An Autothrall Classic. Originally published here.

Edward J. Repka

Where Scream Bloody Gore provided us with a glimpse of corpse strewn genius, it was Chuck Schuldiner's sophomore monstrosity Leprosy that would hammer in the final coffin nails: death metal had truly arrived, and with it an almost entire musical landscape would either book passage on the funeral barge or sink into the Lethe. Sure, thrash had of brilliance yet to offer, and to an extent, many considered Leprosy itself to fall under that category in its day. But as time has proven, it is by far one of the most expressive, beatific statements of brutality and evil that I've ever experienced, and I enjoy it with the same solidarity today as I did over 20 years ago. In fact, I hold it upon the same lofty plateau of carnage as I place a Consuming Impulse, Realm of Chaos, Left Hand Path, or Altars of Madness: a mastery of the genre's fundamentals, with unanimously catchy songs to boot.

Yes, I said catchy. Many might forget that the inauguration of death metal was not simply a thing of blunt, indifferent brutality or charnel atmospheres, but actual song craft. Such a large ratio of the genre's rabid followers today came into the fold in the 90s or beyond that I fear many might have taken (or still take) an album like Leprosy for granted. For example, you won't hear excess storms of double bass, blasting or technical drumming here where they're not viable. This was well before the market had been cornered by Cryptopsy or Suffocation. Bill Andrews' beats offer nothing more than a concrete foundation for the wondrous, insanely well written riffs and the thick as thieves bass lines, rolling on his bass drums where applicable. And know what? Nothing more is needed for this album whatsoever, because the star side of beef in this slaughter house is without any doubt the guitar riffing and the caustic vocal torments of Schuldiner.

They do not make riffs like this anymore, not often at least. Such simple but instantaneously memorable fare that manages to encapsulate the menace and threat of a worldly change for the worse. In today's climate of brickwalled, ProTools brutality, death metal has transformed into an acrobatic light show in which the most gallantly executed tricks are fawned over by brooding masses that forget them once the following weeks upstaging has transpired. But how many are writing a riff that might actually scare the fuck out of you? I mean, no offense to Deeds of Flesh or Behemoth (I enjoy some material by both), but if you were alone in a morgue during a power outage, would you feel terrified if their music started to play in the background? Fuck no you wouldn't. It's brutal, indeed, but it doesn't possess that same skin crawling atmosphere, conjured directly through its notation. You don't feel that instant repulsion as if being covered in spiders, or that wondrous, jaw-dropping disbelief you might have felt when watching human entrails being exhumed from their corporeal hosts by the zombies in an 80s Romero flick.

I feel that sensation every time I listen through Leprosy, for nearly the entirety of its 39 minutes. Even at its most goofy and uplifting ("Forgotten Past"), I'd need to hold your hand in the theater when the lights go out. The slow, sure chords of the title track de-Christen the album, dire melodies cycling across Chuck's bass lines before that ineffably damning death howl erupts around :40. Jesus fuck, I feel like I'm staring at my own corpse while cold, dead spectral hands are forcing me backwards into the maw of the underworld. Yet, it's all still catchy, in particular where the guitars cut in before 2:00 and the searing velocity of the riff after that. Not many bands can stop/start you this often and hold your attention. This one could. "Born Dead" arrives with almost playful deviance, a gaggle of gremlins and fiends dancing on your hide as they stab it with poisoned barbs, fast and brutal guitars alternating into the escalation of pure chord force in the chorus, and then the clinical tapping sequence after 1:00 which is legendary.

"Forgotten Past", as hinted above, is even more playful with an almost happy-go-lucky muted punk veneer to its introductory riff. However, it soon collides into a graveyard wall, and the lower bridge/groove rhythm at 1:00 is a knockout. "Left to Die" begins with one of the creepiest riffs on the entire album, a surgical thrashing that feels like you're watching some unfortunate be pumped with formaldehyde while still drawing breath. Big, swaggering grooves cede towards another of those glorious, thick rhythms, and I dare you not to explode at the chorus, one of the most tangible and enduring statements of DEATH METAL to date. "Pull the Plug" follows, one of the most popular pieces from this sophomore, another smorgasboard of splatter and horror with at least 5 unforgettable riffs, and a chorus that has probably broken as many bones in mosh pits as anything else in all of thrash or death (excepting "Raining Blood", of course). Listen to that riff at 1:20. That is all I should have to say...

Yet Schuldiner, Andrews and Rick Rozz are not finished with us here, and they burst out the meaty, meandering causeway of "Open Casket", with another monolithic, almost doom metal breakdown bridging the verses. I particularly enjoy the wild nature of the lead in this one, shrill and cavernous and resonant across the pathological plague-scape of the album. "Primitive Ways" has a similar, escalating brightness about it that we were teased with in "Forgotten Past", but once again composed front to end with perfect, plausible guitar lines and Chuck's unforgettable, flesh stalking vocals. "Choke On It" festers with some of the same, slower breakdown segues that populate other songs here, but is marvelously concise and offers another of the album's most malevolent, genius riffs just before 1:30. All of these are seasoned in a lyrical sauce similar to the debut. Still heavy on simplistic imagery, but more consistently composed.

We are living in 'old as new' times, folks, with many younger artists turning back to the past for their inspiration. But I'll be damned if I wouldn't pay a band double for an album that made such flawless use of inspiring, simple rhythms; or one that could conjure such morbid malignancy without simply steering towards the cavernous, deep guttural terrain. The production here is perfect, raw but resonating through the listener's mind like an autopsy on the television set. You want to turn away, you want to squint but you're glued to the gore, fascinating by the fleshy flaws and organs that lie within all of us. Leprosy was one of the most repulsive yet alluring metal experiences I was honored to undertake in the 80s, alongside the over the top Slowly We Rot or Cause of Death, or the thrashing unto death transition of Pestilence. It's probably cool in some circles to rally against Chuck from beyond the grave, and my own feelings on Death are mixed once he transformed into a philosophical cosmonaut on the fourth album (half forgetting what got him there in the first place), but I am sure as a starving bear in a spring thaw that this is one of the best goddamn things I've ever heard in my middle-age nearing existence. Leprosy forever. May the limbs of all unworthy poseurs fester in putrid permanence.

May 6, 2015

Razor - Violent Restitution

An Autothrall Classic. Violent Restitution is the thrash metal equivalent of being manacled to a batting cage and having each member of the Bad New Bears roster beat you in the ribs, liver, balls, and upside the skull a few times in successio
An Autothrall Classic. Originally published here.

Cover art by Steve Hutchens

Violent Restitution is the thrash metal equivalent of being manacled to a batting cage and having each member of the Bad New Bears roster beat you in the ribs, liver, balls, and upside the skull a few times in succession; then to smirk and spit in your eye as they hand off the sporty bludgeon to their next teammate. It's just THAT fucking entertaining and abusive, and in my opinion, one of the most fun, frenetic and simply intense efforts of its kind in existence; certainly one of the most incendiary and memorable speed/thrash records of the 80s outside of Germany or California. I've gotten so much enjoyment from this album in the past quarter century, that despite having purchased the LP, cassette and CD versions, I feel like I owe Dave Carlo at least another $100 dollars and a six-pack.

You know the old saying 'they don't make 'em like they used to'? Well, this is the living, serrated proof of that statement's validity. Even though I'm annually inundated with countless, excellent examples of blackened thrash, death/thrash or hyperactive paeans to the 80s, many of which manage to successfully ape the visceral excitement of a record like this, there's nothing quite the same. Like a Reign in Blood, Darkness Descends or Zombie Attack, it fashions the most straightforward of intentions into a seamless bloodthirst. Fast drums, angry riffs hurtling past you at a mile a minute, and gruesome vocals that sound like they're coming from a man who was just stabbed in the face during some barroom altercation with a half-broken glass bottle. No riff seems out of place, no derelict tempo or stylistic diversion enters the frame to diminish its momentum. Violent Restitution never pretends to be what it's not, knows and respects its own boundaries, and offers you precisely what its cover implies: an escape into social unrest, serial killer b-flicks, and a repository for unchecked, unapologetic masculinity. So close to perfection that you can taste it. In fact, if I wasn't such a massive nerd for Voivod in their prime, this would prove my favorite Canadian metal record. Ever.

Like its chronological/national neighbor Dimension Hatröss, Violent Restitution is a concept album. But the theme here isn't rocket science or speculative microscopic adventure. No, this is about 14 ways to kick your ass so hard that you'll have to floss your colon after it comes up through your throat and breaks all your teeth. The riffing provides the central force, tireless escapades of rapid mute picking and barrages of chords, coiled in the potency of Carlo's chosen tone. The guitars have more punch than almost any other Razor record. Less reverberated and atmosphere than an Evil Invaders or Executioner's Song, but denser and more effective than an Open Hostility. While Dave is the epitome of the thrash rhythm guitarist, even more so than fellow Canadian Jeff Waters of Annihilator, he's also quite capable of unhinged leads ("Eve of the Storm", "I'll Only Say It Once") that offer the bluesy, burning wildness metal snagged from its hard rock ancestry; or brief, spurious runs up and down the higher strings which add an extra level of chaos and acceleration to the standard machine gunning rhythm matrix he radiates.

Everything else on this album is secondary to that guitar, but by no means does it go down without a fight. Rob Mills' drums slap along like empty buckets being strung along a dragster on the speedway, and while there's not a lot of variation in what he's playing, he amply fills the shoes of predecessor M-Bro. Adam Carlo, younger brother do Dave, is the other new member on bass; and though his lines do little more than to mimic the guitars and increase their depth, there's this natural, pluggy tone to his playing that pounds away at your eardrums like the pulse of a heroine addict who just realized he's out of supply. Overall though, the album's engineers and producer (Brian Taylor, who had also worked with other Canadian mainstays like Sacrifice) did a knockout job of presenting Razor in this pummeling, pungent sound that easily trumps the airy aesthetics of its predecessor Custom Killing, or the thinner mix of Malicious Intent.

I should mention that the chainsaw samples, which appear at several points on the album, are excellent, and fire up the loins of the album's pacing even further. Unlike the ass-backwards, terrible Southern hard rock band Jackyl, whose cut "The Lumberjack" featured a chainsaw 'solo' and helped buy their fame, the gimmick is a lot more fun here, since it's obvious influenced more directly by the slasher flicks of the 70s and 80s. Violent Restitution, after all, is a very violent album, so when that buzzsaw begins a buzzin', it forces the listener to want to kick all that much harder. Razor also perfects their instrumental thrash opus here with "The Marshall Arts", an aptly pun-titled piece of moshing resilience which features some of the explosive riffing on the album straight out the starting gate. I'd place this in the arena with just about any other track of its sort, certainly with S.O.D.'s "March of the S.O.D." which had become so famous through its stint as the intro to Headbanger's Ball.

Stace 'Sheepdog's' vocals here are a tinge dry, but he's using the same register as the previous albums, with a lot of puerile, irascible barking and slight screams that beautiful permeate the brash hostility of the instrumental foundation. Alongside Jeff Becera or Cronos, this guy had hands down one of the best voices in the business, grimy in all the right ways and places. Violent Restitution would prove his swan song with Razor, and the metal scene in general (he did a brief jaunt with Infernal Majesty this same year that never amounted to anything), and let me say this: the loss is ours. Unlike most of the newly birthed thrashers of the current era, he has an instant character to his inflection that never evades your memory. It's not 'trying' to amount to anything, it simply is, and it's a fucking bloodbath well-suited to the hilariously blunt lyrics, a non stop flood of expressions guaranteed to get your face (or someone else's) clubbed in an alleyway.

41 minutes. 14 tracks. Choosing favorites among them would be nearly impossible, since the quality is so taut and consistent. Obviously "Behind Bars" has received much attention through covers (like the great Cannibal Corpse version), but "Hypertension", "Taste the Floor", "Enforcer" and so many others belong on a highlight reel of the 80s' greatest thrash. I also loved the smutty "Discipline", or "I'll Only Say It Once", which hearken back to the molten speed-dirt of Executioner's Song; and "Out of the Game" with that amazing mid-paced riff that just pops along up until the verse erupts. Only a hand few fall shy of perfection, like the title track, but at worst it's only enough that I could graze off a few points to my overall score. Yes, just a marginal increase in depth would have netted this a 10 out of 10, 100%, but it's nevertheless one of the most essential purchases a thrasher could make. Even in a year of brilliant extremity like Blood Fire Death, Punishment for Decadence, Leprosy, South of Heaven, The Morning After, and Malleus Maleficarum, this still earns a spot at the dinner table, and sharpened utensils with which to carve you up. Prepare for evisceration. Prepare for impact.


November 7, 2012

Napalm Death - Scum - From Enslavement to Obliteration



Napalm Death's Scum and From Enslavement to Obliteration. The birth of grindcore from 1987 and 1988. In the expanded and remastered 25 years anniversary versions. On the newly opened Earache Records Bandcamp. Oh yes! The press release for Scum states that
The album has been specially remastered from the original tapes using Full Dynamic Range (FDR), allowing the music’s nuances to shine through, giving the whole album a more ferocious and dynamic sound
This review from Freq tells what this actually means for you, the listener:
This re-issue has plenty of moments where you can hear THE FUCK out of the drummer, the vocal reverbs, the guitar crunch and so on. Weirdly, this feels like a moment when Grindcore has, by some cultural osmosis, been absorbed into a world where it’s really nice to hear every element of the playing on a record which, when I first heard it, was a baffling wall of noise.
In the end of this interview from Decibel Magazine, Mick Harris (the drummer on both albums) discusses Scum in context of the re-release. He describes it as essentially two different recordings with two different lineups and two different sounds:
the muddiness of side B and then the heaviness of side A—Justin [Broadrick] caught a bit of [Celtic] Frost on there, we won’t deny that! Quality influence but Justin’s take on it, that bend of the string and those little harmonics that he’d put at the start of it
Later he names side A the thrashier fare and calls side B just filth. This puts in words why side A was always my favorite, it does have a more metallic edge. And I can assure you, the menacing riffs of the title track and the fantastic blasting section in the middle of Siege of Power has never sounded better!

From Enslavement to Obliteration is an album I somehow never got around to - a mistake I intend to rectify right away. Off course The Metal Archives has lots of reviews of both these seminal albums, go here for Scum and here for FETO.


[Go to the post to view the Bandcamp player]

[Go to the post to view the Bandcamp player]