Despite being one of the most liked albums in Dokken's arsenal by the greater metal fanbase, I find it funny that their fourth full-length is also one of the most difficult to pen down to a greater narrative. On one hand, Back For The Attack could be seen as a return to form for the fans that weren't overly keen on the glammier leanings that coated Under Lock And Key. Yet, its less-focused approach seems to result in a lot of solid tracks that don't hold up to the quality of the previous two records, feeling instead like a lot of throwaways that (just) got lucky. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that it runs more than an hour in length?
Thankfully, there are several explosive standouts that not only reignite the heaviness that coated Tooth And Nail, but reflect its superior songwriting. Opener "Kiss Of Death" is one of my favorite songs Don and co. ever wrote, as the riffwork borders speed metal that matches clear but powerful vocal wails, being such an immaculate way to kick off the energy. On the entire other side of the album, we of course have the spooky season classic "Dream Warriors," not only a fantastic ode to the Nightmare On Elm Street film of the same title, but an incredible number on its own. The softer licks create such a cool atmosphere that almost feels somber, before letting in a hopeful chorus that exudes the same strength as the album's opener. And I can't not mention the centerpiece instrumental "Mr. Scary," George Lynch's greatest humblebrag in terms of showcasing his technical abilities that still feel extremely catchy.
Actually, that may be the best way to sum up the rest of the album; it's catchy as hell! Very few other songs standout in technical construction and booming memorability the way the aforementioned ones do, but I also struggle to find a single song on Back For The Attack that straight up sucks or is too obvious of a filler. "So Many Tears" and "Standing In The Shadows" opt for the more emotion-laced direction, the former caking on their signature gang chorus, while "Burning Like A Flame" and "Stop Fighting Love" amp up the feel-good grooves. I also really want to shout out "Night By Night," as it falls somewhere in between, likely a more obvious filler that still manages to be one of my favorites. None of these songs are anything overly notable, but every time I hear them, I'm glad they're on.
Frankly, I chalk a lot of this album's existence up to the sheer fact that the CD was in its early stages. Because Dokken could record an hour's worth of music, they simply did, and the results just happened to be a whole lot of fun. It does unfortunately hold it a step back from their previous two records, as some songs surely could have been cut out, and others given a little more focus. But as a whole, I consider this to be a very happy accident that I find myself coming back to just as regularly as the other classics.
Much like several of their counterparts, Greece's Rotting Christ played a crucial role in the black metal genre's evolution. Sticking to the first-wave line of emphasizing gruff riffs while borrowing from the atmospheric grain that covered much of the Norwegian scene, it's no surprise that the warmer approach is more appealing to yours truly. The debut record Thy Mighty Contract, however, is now known to only be a sampling of what the Greeks would become, evolving into a more gothic-tinted project. Perhaps they just needed to get the God-hating flavors out while they were young?
Jokes aside, I actually find that Rotting Christ's first full-length already hinted at the direction they would go, despite the emphasis on such a sinking feeling around evil and damnation. No doubt, this record is swarming with proverbial demons, giving an even more zombified sound with the loose production and degrading guitar tones. Hateful drum blasts often take the forefront (one of my only criticisms) that nonetheless still give a harder punch to the otherwise rusty riffing. But for every time we find this happening, we also encounter crystal clear synths, and a vocal approach that matches them with clarity, despite their ugliness.
That's probably what I love so much about Thy Mighty Contract, how hideous it sounds without being overly in your face. If that's not enough, the jammy rhythms that touch melody on the likes of "Fgmenth, Thy Gift" or "His Sleeping Majesty" are so memorable, despite this sheen. Those synths near the end of "The Coronation Of The Serpent" work as a cool break from the otherwise crushing drive of this song. Even closer "The Fourth Knight Of Revelation" gleans this a bit, loading the horrendous base with prettier toppings in a near-epic fashion. It makes me wonder if the band always wanted to go the way of the more accessible, concept-based direction from the start, but just weren't committed to the bit yet. Regardless, I'm glad they weren't, because that also made room for furious ragers such as "Dive The Deepest Abyss" that shed any ounce of emotion for ugly, burning hate.
For many reasons, I certainly need to be in a specific mood for this flavor of metal, but when it hits, it hits hard. The band would evolve in ways that are clearly more refined, with more purpose, if not more reaching more impactful heights. But the first few albums cast the familiar flame that I tend to remain in. As the saying goes, go with the devil you know, and in this case, it's like the fallen angel himself is right there with me.
The Jake E. Lee era of Ozzy Osbourne's '80s output is one that I think tends to get glazed over if not because of being sandwiched between the legends Randy Rhoads and Zakk Wylde, then because of the glammier tendencies that present on his records. Unsurprisingly, this is something that I think enhances both Bark At The Moon and The Ultimate Sin. While the title track of the one we have before us may be the only pass that's granted by the masses, it's also the sole reason I somewhat consider Bark to be a spooky season record. I mean really, outside of that song, nothing really screams ghouls and ghosts, right?
Mostly. While the raging speeds, inspiring vocals, and sharp leads of said track my claim the album's fame, I do think the rest of the album matches the fervor on vibes alone. Indeed, much of the record feels calmer and less abrasive, but fits into the mold via cooler veneers, synths that don't exactly sync up with power ballads (with one exception), and a deburred surface that equally coats the already massive title track. In fact, I would argue that this is exactly what makes the slower numbers work so well with the heavier bangers. At no point does the colder atmosphere steal from the somber emotions of the steady, nor hamper the passion behind the tough.
Thus, examining the other seven tracks reveals a sturdy and muscular record that's unafraid of catchy or poppy. "Rock 'N Roll Rebel" may be one of the most obvious tracks, with its predictable lyrics and simplistic layout, but the earworm element to it makes it forgivable. If that doesn't, then consider that it's stuck next to "Centre Of Eternity," one that captures the same ferocious speed and attitude as the infamous title track, but I'd argue even better. The synths on this allow the vibes to match organically, and I truly can't get enough of the punch of these tunes. On a more meaningful front, "Slow Down" casts the same energy while looking more at life's unstoppable momentum rather than anything remotely spooky.
We're then left with the four calmer tracks, and I should note that calmer doesn't always mean softer. Sure, "So Tired" is the one exception I mentioned earlier, being a sugary ballad that I love and can understand why others may not. But it matches the emotional energy of the following "Slow Down," before slipping into "Waiting For Darkness," a beautiful closer that nearly taps into existential territory under a seemingly welcoming umbrella. "Now You See It (Now You Don't)" is possibly the record's most throwaway track that nonetheless serves to fill the gap with fun chops; again, at least the synths in this one match the general vibe. "You're No Different" similarly deals in the same subject as "Rock 'N Roll Rebel," if not more mature sounding by utilizing gloom to dirty up the otherwise harmless ballad.
On the surface, I can understand the very fair criticisms that Bark At The Moon is often on the receiving end of. But for every aspect that makes this skippable for some, there's an aspect that makes it special to me, and I revisit it around this season every year at minimum. Ozzy Osbourne certainly had better albums, but even better doesn't dampen great. I look at this one much the same as I look at Iron Maiden's Fear Of The Dark.
Sweden's Hexenhaus is one of those bands that would have popped up at the perfect time for the small blip of tech-thrash dominance in the late '80s, but never made the impact one would suspect. Perhaps its because of the region's death metal focus at the time, or maybe I'm just full of shit. Either way, their debut record A Tribute To Insanity has had me on a clutch for several years now, for very good reasons. It may just be that they manage such a brash sound without really feeling overly heavy, or I guess, without trying to be.
By that, I simply mean there's no reliance on the South American / German aura of fierce meanness or black/death leanings. The tones aren't overly crushing, and the riffs feel steady enough for the more technical aspects to shine beautifully, despite a fairly untouched production. Yet, the vocals come through with a comprehensive hue that gets its brashness from the echo-snarls that contrast the otherwise accessible energy, and I think that's why it feels so special. With that in mind, the more advanced rhythms and fret-happy solos simply act as a bonus, rather than the main sell.
Moreover, Hexenhaus doesn't really feel the need to hide much, so you don't have to look too far beyond the surface to grasp their schtick. Simpler tracks like "Delirious" do such a splendid job in weaving together groovy thrash chops and vocals that don't feel overly ambitious, but just want to make a point. "Incubus" even features what feels like a breakdown carried by raw drum-patters near the end, and I love the speed metal frenzy that is "Memento Mori - The Dead Are Restless." At the same time, you get the ten minute centerfold "As Darkness Falls" which winds up pressing forth with more unsettling energy via drastic shifts, varying techniques for leads, and a terror-laced drive that nonetheless is packed with beefy melody.
It would likely be unfair to claim that A Tribute To Insanity got shafted, as there's definitely enough of a following around this record that isn't lost on me. But I also think that if it was released elsewhere, maybe it would have made a larger impact. The band would go on to do a few more records with similar degrees of attention, but if you're just going to listen to one, I'd say make it this one.
Well, I finally found it. Something that equally feels traditional heavy metal, glam metal, and a taste of grunge without any of them oiling the water and refusing to mesh. At a glance, I more or less pictured Detroit's Madhouse to be a late-to-the-game Anthrax ripoff that serves a purpose but a purpose few find any need for. But tease my hair and hand me a flannel, because the debut self-titled record managed to make a sound that Alice In Chains could have morphed into but ultimately didn't. That's not a complaint, because I'm glad we got what we did with them, but perhaps this fills the gap I never knew was even there.
Musically, Madhouse aren't even writing anything riveting. In terms of the first record's mechanics, it plays like a KISS record that opts for more metal-oriented riffing without losing the catchiness, sleaze, or rock 'n roll undertow. The solos are pretty to-the-point, no weird formats or vague ideas are really used, and without paying much attention, you get your basic VHS metal band that may stand in for a scene on a trashy horror film. But it isn't deeper details that require close attention to catch what makes this feel interesting.
Rather, it's literally the vibes. There's no doubt that the earlier NWOBHM acts work as a template, if the production, attitude, and sheer heat are anything to go off of. But equally, tracks like "Keep It Hush" and "I'll Be Back For More" would fit in perfectly on a Ratt or Van Halen record, not simply because of the sexual aromas but because of the delivery. Under all this grit and must is what could pass for pop choruses and biker riffs that manage to not feel uneven. And if that wasn't enough, the grungier aspect works into tracks like "Need A Girl," an acoustic kick-started number that gives the slightest Eddie Vedder snarl. The hella corny "Blood Is Thicker" also feels like it predicted the decade; 1991 was only the beginning of this movement, but Madhouse seemed to have an idea of what was to come.
Much like John Carpenter's Prince Of Darkness, it's vibes alone that sells me on this. The songwriting is just fine, sometimes even stupid, being familiar enough to scratch the right itch when in the right mood. But the delivery has me so stunned. The fact that all of this exists on the same work and doesn't feel extremely awkward or forced, but instead charming is wild. You can only take a band with a song titled "Shake Your T-N-A" so seriously, but if any of this weirdness tickles your fancy in any capacity, I say it's worth hearing just once.
Out of all the eastern bloc countries that tapped into the metal scene in the '80s, I always felt Poland churned out the most visceral bands, if KAT are anything to go by. Recently, one that tops even them in intensity was brought to my attention called Magnus, a band I've been sleeping on for entirely too long. Simply put, they captured the first-wave black metal movement as well as any South American counterpart. Scarlet Slaughterer was the first full length, a hodgepodge of different directions under this scope.
I say this because, despite the brevity and limitations of early black metal, the burning fury of this expresses itself in several forms. Across the board, you have degraded thrash riffing with varying degrees of tempo but equally mean in execution, thanks to a coarse coating on the surface. Tagging along is an extremely brash vocal style, caking on the raspy shouts pumped full of anger, meeting the occasional falsetto that makes no attempt to come off clean. To round that out, a predictable but welcomed helping of hellish lyrics surrounded by death and destruction give this a campy fascia that nonetheless is loaded with charm.
Sme albums may feel disjointed due to jarring differences in pace, but this general vibe boosts Scarlet Slaughterer rather than harms it. On one hand, you have the steadier bangers that amp up a bass presence for a wavier flow, like "Crosses Of War" and its almost catchy chops. Similarly, you can easily move to "Messenger Of Hell" and its doom-laced crawl. On the other, much of this consists of breakneck slashes that come through in "Pharisee," topped with exceptional solos and gut-punching blast beats. Some fall into hardcore aesthetic, such as the fast and obvious "Rabies" or "Man Condemned," and others feel like a direct nod to early Slayer. In fact, the title track itself sounds like a mangled iteration of "Hell Awaits," if only because of the progressions and delivery.
For its era, Magnus was nothing overly new or original, but I found it to be executed exceptionally. The chaos and corniness gives it lots of charm, the reckless delivery never feels like it lacks focus, and nasty rhythmic integrity is found just below the surface of basically every song. Perhaps the right mood is required for this, but I think any first-wave black metal enjoyer should seek this out.
Australia's Mortification has to be one of my favorite anomalies in existence. By 1991, it wasn't uncommon to find metal of the righteous tongue, but doing it in the death/thrash style in a country that had such little influence in the metalsphere seems like an interesting melting pot in hindsight. Given the extremely raw and absolutely hateful feeling of their style, it almost seems like a paradox. Simply titled Mortification, there's a reason why this still sticks today and works into my regular rotation.
Given that the likes of Sepultura and Morbid Saint had left a pretty menacing mark on the scene, you may expect this to seem like just another one, but a couple things allow this to hold a flame to other classics. For one, the hellish guitar tones meeting the raw atmosphere compliment the straightforward drum blasts that coat this entire record, striking that perfect balance of underproduced but full of clarity. I also wager that this general vibe relishes in more punk-oriented chops beneath the surface than most will pick up upon first listen. I certainly wouldn't go as far as calling this anything falling into the hardcore realm, but the smallest attention to detail will reveal the flavors amidst the thrash foundation.
One of the sneakier examples to me would be "Bathed In Blood" due to its start/stop aura that captures otherwise overtly thrashy rhythms with precise speed. Doing this with such masterful death metal vocals and nothing going over the top is likely one of my favorite features on Mortification. Similarly, shorter numbers like "Break The Curse" sounds like a death-covered Black Flag song, and "No Return" glean hints of crossover fury with its explosive speeds contrasting a calmer center. However, I would even say some songs, such as "Ritual Warfare" almost touch catchiness, mostly because of the sharp basslines pummeling along with the advanced drumming, and the memorable chorus. The longer "Satan's Doom" draws this out into doom territory, but not once does it lose its focus. I guess the short version of saying all of this is that the band has an ear for rhythm, which is sometimes all it takes to be supreme.
I really love how nicely all of these pieces fit together, and that they're executed with such brevity (a theme that unfortunately would not stick around for subsequent albums). Bands like Mortification are so fun, where they take all of the evil themes that Christianity wants to combat and turns them into a proverbial lake of fire meant to capture their figurative threat in musical form. It sounds as evil as the album art looks, but they manage to still sneak three crosses into the logo, matching the covert way righteous messages make it into the otherwise harsh delivery. Anybody that digs the earlier death/thrash sound should absolutely give this holy grail a try.
Blackened thrash and throwback heavy metal bands are amongst the hardest to mess up, being in such great abundance that it's sometimes equally hard to find ones that stand above their peers. More often than not, it's that "blackened heavy" balance that strikes a real chord, however Dallas's Myth Carver might manage to sidestep any of this by treading that traditional ground that just feels, simply extreme? The lone EP Twist Of Fate could be boiled down to a really aggressive USPM effort, but the sheer feeling of this suggests otherwise. I wouldn't describe this as anything in the actual extreme camp, but the energy could certainly hold a flame to those styles.
In other words, this is stylistically a heavy metal effort of only four tracks that breezes by in under twenty minutes, but has an aura so fierce and a writing style so captivating that I can't help but praise its ambition. Underneath the extremely loud production, echoed soundscapes, menacing falsettos, and crushing rhythms lies a fair amount of melody and passion. When things settle down briefly, the vocals boast such a concise ear for pitch that fits with the angrier punches as easily as the toned-down ones. Thus, every track comes off with superior fervor that is really rare for an act so early in its development, releasing only singles before this.
"Untamed Steel" starts us off with no warning, matching its title to what could trick somebody into thinking you're in for a thrash banger, considering the speed, grit, and power that channels through such raw energy. If you had any doubts, "Thunderkill" follows this up with a more obvious nod towards emotion, sneaking in clearer vocals without letting go any of the rage that carry the riffs. Similarly, "Shadow Firmament" assaults the listener with power-stance rhythms, baking in a wonderfully timed solo that yet again, doesn't let go of the power but manages to make the gang-chant chorus feel organic, stripped of any campiness. "Iron Helm" then closes us off on a similar note, if not caking on harsher vocals a little heavier.
The sheer fact that I struggle with categorizing Myth Carver is all I really need to know that we've got something unique sounding. Traditional metal is very much a spectrum, but it's quite rare that it showcases such a mean playing field without entering the extreme boundaries, and if that's not enough, Twist Of Fate backs it with memorable songwriting too. If power metal around myth, history and nerdy shit actually sounded as threatening as it often tries to, this would be the outcome. Do not sleep on this.
The recent film known as Backrooms might be one of the most interesting movies to come out in several years, if for no other reason than its falling action. It wraps up its plot by suggesting distortions of banal objects of life as slight jogs in memory, representing the way the mind often chooses how to remember something, be it from a narrative, trauma, or weird facets of nostalgia. It seems that in the now forty years since Slayer's Reign In Blood hit the market, people who were around for it or retrospectively look back to their discovery of it see it as something different than what it really is, which I posit is around a narrative of one of two things. Either the entire thing is non-memorable and just focuses on extreme speeds in exchange for songwriting, save for the bookends, or it's an unstoppable force of aggression that sidestepped even Hell Awaits and paved the path for death metal.
I think both takes are absurd. It really isn't that deep.
Prior to its release, the Bay Area giants had already been crafting thrash metal with extreme speed, ghastly delivery, and horrific subject matter around Satan, Hell, death, and torment. The only thing that really divorces Reign In Blood on a structural level from its predecessors is its more refined production, and swift songwriting. Indeed, only three tracks surpass the three minute mark, and two of them are the classic bookenders that everyone gives a pass when analyzing the record. But I shrewdly reject that the meat of the album is either completely forgettable or taken to a new level. Instead, Slayer's third record is simply an evolution of what they've been doing, landing at the right place at the right time.
And that very thing is no-frills thrash metal. While often played fast, the genre doesn't necessarily have to follow the speed metal template in all of its songs. Much of this record is built with a very sturdy, intentional foundation of swift transitions, catchy rhythms, compelling vocal delivery, and perhaps most importantly, remarkable timing. Extreme speeds, like in any record of the more aggressive thrash type, are merely an ingredient, even if some songs drive with that more than others. If there's anywhere this comes off as a fault, it might be in King's solos, as many of them blitz through with seemingly little rhyme or reason, failing to match the compelling nature of the crushing riffs, or Tom's equally menacing outbursts.
We'll start first with "Criminally Insane," likely my favorite song on the record. A steady drive makes up almost all of this song's genius, cramming several phases into less than three minutes' time that I seldom see pulled off so well. Lombardo's simple drum-echo leading into the also simple rhythm breaks perfectly into the faster meat of the song, before returning to this for its "take your fuckin' life!" bridge. In other words, the speeds almost acted as a cover for a thicker impact that sticks in my head more than any other on the record. Of course, opener "Angel Of Death" is an obvious one, which also breaks in on some of the fastest speeds on the record. But the truth is, like with "Criminally Insane," the song's apex is the slow center that carries with concise riffing and poetic snarl that perfectly paints the horrific images of human experimentation; think of it as the abdomen of the song's proverbial body. Following "Piece By Piece" may be even more impressive in that vocally, it's one of the most comprehensible songs to be found, contrasting the breakneck rhythms nicely.
Such genius placement is found all over the place. "Alters Of Sacrifice" into "Jesus Saves" are an incredible center-piece, with the former yet again slowing down with purpose as a pummeling echo of its fast intro, letting the latter build gradual suspense before ripping into its otherwise simpler second half. "Postmortem" is another fun one, sometimes getting the same pass that "Raining Blood" gets, perhaps thanks to its thunderous move into that song's airy intro, but even ignoring that, "Raining Blood" really just adopts the same tactic of slow introduction, gradual build, and extreme frenzy inspired by the steadier riff. But I probably prefer "Postmortem" if for no other reason than the majority of it allows Tom's vocals to shine brighter than anywhere else, coinciding wonderfully with Hanneman's more precise ear.
All this leaves us with is three fillers, admittedly the more "forgettable" ones, which is what hurts this album more than some of the other classics. "Necrophobic" is possibly the one exception I'll lend to the randomness narrative, as the sub-two minute track quite literally does just feel like speed for speed's sake exercise, save for the last, what, ten seconds? "Reborn" and "Epidemic" are also underwhelming amidst the rest, representing a slight drop-off on the B-side before closing with menacing fervor. But with all of this said, I don't think any of them are bad, just far easier to overlook. At least they still fit the general vibe, utilizing the same type of layout with perhaps a little less magic.
Those three songs are likely what I owe the crux of how Reign In Blood is often remembered to. For some reason, it's like every song with obvious intent and careful placement, despite pacing nuances and poetic flow, get overlooked or lumped in with those. Or, they all just simply get a pass because "fuckin' Slayer!" and the speeds helped pave the path for more extreme genres. I don't buy it; I won't pretend that it's all listener error, or a lack of attention to detail, because for some of us, this style just doesn't quite land. But at the end of the day, I really don't think it's that deep. This was another thrash metal record, that continued the extreme speeds, crushing atmosphere, and jarring lyrics that had been around since Venom and Motorhead kicked things up a notch, and it landed at the right place at the right time. Additionally, most of the songs are just that fucking good! It isn't the extreme speeds that simply made (or didn't deserve) the impact, it's the songwriting, and the song delivery, in the same year that Metallica was taking the world by storm. Far simpler than we're ready to admit, it seems.
From time to time, I'll come across a band that manages to sell me more on their radio-legacy era than their earlier metal roots, being the opposite situation of what most metal enjoyers find themselves in. Denmark's Volbeat is one of those bands for me, as the groovy and pummeling grit of The Strength, The Sound, The Songs and its follow up do little for me save for a a few songs here and there. Perhaps owing to the awkwardness that may come from transitioning out of a now defunct death metal band's remnants, it would take three or four albums before Michael Poulson and co. found their footing. With that said, I find the first hint at what they wanted to be all about to be among some of their finest work, that being the third record titled Guitar Gangsters & Cadillac Blood.
Considering the lyrical themes, album title, and artistic style, it became clear that it's this point in the game that Volbeat wanted to aim for that Cash-Metallica-Danzig hybrid that centers around storytelling and quasi-western energy. While hinted at before, things solidify here thanks to warmer guitar tones and a cleaner production that still prioritizes meaty rhythms and a powerful delivery. Much of the latter is owed to Poulson's signature bolt, but equally this contributes to the emotional pull and honest depth that goes into the structures, despite how simplistic they often are. The end result winds up being something that sounds awfully generic and gimmicky on paper (which would sneak up on them after a few mainstream albums) but at this stage truly feels refreshing and refined.
For the most part, that's thanks to the balance we find between the muscular oomph and the soothing clarity on the more emotional tracks. "Back To Prom" may be one of my favorite songs the band ever did, not even clocking in at two minutes but still driving strong melodies and convincing riffs under an otherwise melancholic and nostalgic vibe. Actually, reflections on a time well remembered seem to poke through pretty frequently on this record, tapped into nicely in the acoustic sadness of "We," and perhaps in a more energetic way on "Maybelline I Hofteholder." Hell, even the cover of Hank Williams' "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry" seeps into the cracks so organically that what could have been disastrous winds up working beautifully.
Of course, Guitar Gangsters & Cadillac Blood still holds plenty of meanness to represent its id. The band's first big hit "Still Counting" showcases this wonderfully, due to its seemingly harmless intro breaking into a furious rhythm that would fit right into a thrash metal record. Similarly, "Hallelujah Goat" rides on this same energy, and the title track opens things up with a shady attitude that sets the scene quite nicely. There is some obvious filler that holds this back just a tad bit, as cutting a track or two could have made things slightly less overblown, but not a note feels as though it's out of place or completely unflattering.
Thus, I like to see Guitar Gangsters & Cadillac Blood as a happy accident that gets overshadowed by everything around it. Its predecessors are often the only records a mainstream hater will bother with, while its follow-ups could almost be called "metal for people who don't like metal." Between the two is this gem, one that utilizes the western vibes without overdoing it, keeps the simplicity without going stale, and cakes on emotion without compromising the heavy bottom. The littlest shift in the wrong direction could have ruined everything, but whether intentional or not, Volbeat got it right this time. If you only listen to one of their albums, let it be this.
It's always fun to find what appears to be a good old throwback band in heavy metal's most population-dense country. Satan's Fall come from Finland, having held that name for about a decade and some lore prior to that as well. But it would be the album that flew under my radar a few years back that snagged my interest. Destination Destruction swept my attention from album art alone, if not for the band's name.
As quick as it may be to call them a throwback band, despite all of what would seem like obvious nods, Satan's Fall actually does little in the realm of capturing a classic feel. It would be more apt to describe them as falling into the more power metal oriented sphere, if anything throwing back perhaps to the '90s European sound while avoiding too many bells and whistles. Yet, the cleanliness in their delivery is pristine, matching the revival era of Judas Priest in tone and song structure. The outcome of their sophomore thus winds up being something that's caught between a throwback and a modern spin.
How this lands depends entirely on your mood. Frankly, I think the better numbers are the ones that dodge falsettos in exchange for catchier melodies and warmer flanks to do the lifting, like in "Garden Of Fire." Similarly, the near epic "Monster's Ball" slows things down and cools the jets to a point that's almost soothing while still fitting in. I also can't pretend that some songs don't strike this balance right in the middle, as "Swines For Slaughter" kicks out aggressive falsettos in an almost welcoming way. Its beefy leads certainly elevate it, and I could say the same effects are achieved in closer "Dark Star" opting for a oceanic flow from its guitars.
Ultimately, Destination Destruction is a sturdy and strong release that definitely requires a specific taste for melody and cleanliness that can be too much to some, but is helped by strong writing and compelling delivery. It would be fair to say that it's far friendlier than it looks, but that's not turned me away before. Fans of Blind Guardian, Savatage, Helloween, or later Judas Priest should find something worthwhile. After all, what else could you expect from a band that throws a Power Rangers cover on as a bonus track?
By this time in Twisted Sister's career, the band was in shambles over personal matters, if the un-sturdiness of Come Out And Play was anything to predict things off of. 1987's Love Is For Suckers was intended to be a Dee Snider solo work, but wound up with the Twisted Sister name due to record label obligations, and mixed participation from Jay Jay, Eddie, and the rest. Despite being the least well-received record from the band's classic run, I'll take the bold path and say that I still think it's a step up from its predecessor. Sure, it's about as campy and predictable as it looks, but sometimes that works well.
My personal guess is that because Dee Snider more or less wound up as the mastermind behind this, there was less room for awkwardness and a better path for a straight vision. Said vision is what we'll call the most obvious pop-friendly record in the band's discography. I wouldn't go as far as calling it soft, but considering the band's reputation as one of the meaner and heavier bands in the glam metal field, this is very clearly the most fitting of that title. Harder structures aren't absent, but they're sharing a lot of space with emphasis on melody, emotion, and commercial accessibility.
And it's a shame that Love Is For Suckers didn't really land the hits like it could have, because I think they're the most standout tunes here. Leading single "Hot Love" still holds Dee's booming delivery and big drum-kicks the band became known for, but the softer backing licks that ride beside the verses tap into some vibrance rare even for the genre. To the opposite end, the power ballad "You Are All That I Need" is criminally overlooked, as its pre-chorus and build into the gang-chorus lets it be one of my favorite hair band ballads of the time. Admittedly, "Me And The Boys" may be one of the more obvious cheese-fillers here, but I'm not about to pretend that it doesn't scratch the fun itch really nicely.
Still, within the cracks of the standout tunes still lies some grittier songs than you'd expect. The reimagining of Gary Private's "Love Is For Suckers" that wound up taking the album title rides on some muscular riffs and snarling attitude that we're all familiar with. I even dig the closing "Yeah Right!" with its pummeling rhythms and heavy energy, despite its silliness. Conversely, you will have to get through a few glaring fillers that aren't even accidently good, like the embarrassingly generic "I'm So Hot For You," or the cartoonish "One Bad Habit," but I suppose they at least fits the overall vibe nicely?
I'm not here to pretend that Twisted Sister's final classic outing is a hidden gem that got unfair criticism, as there are certainly some laughable aspects to this (starting with the album art). But that aside, I do think it's a little over-hated, is far more linear and thought-out than its predecessor, and has some material worth seeking out. After all, it's not like thirty-eight minutes is that demanding of one's time. Take away what you will, but I think this aged like wine.
With the mixed-bag of a trilogy behind us, it would see Ghost Bath head into 2025 with their first record outside of that frame since the debut, ultimately being what made me want to revisit the band as a whole. Given how the albums have changed from one to another while retaining the same general existential hatred (to varying degrees of success), I really had no clue what to expect going into album number five. Titled Rose Thorn Necklace, the name and album art alone makes one assume a move away from the harsher black metal sheen that coated Self Loather is imminent. I was mostly incorrect.
Being the shortest record by the band to date, this clocks in just past the thirty minute mark, continuing the more conventional song format at the expense of repetitive layering that the early albums utilized. Contrary to its look, Ghost Bath still tap deep into the black metal ground that made such a stark difference on its predecessor, however it's oddly cleaned up and refined in a way that still offers thick layers. Even on the cleaner leads, a far brighter tone is used that manages to create what I'll call "dense light." Regardless of how hard some of the erupting drums and mean shrieks come in, these always make their way to the top. Similarly, more vocal variance is used, doubling down on the death metal growls to muck up the otherwise foggy air. If that's not enough, even higher pitched versions of the howls this band became known for make their way in from time to time, if you can even picture that.
And while that latter point may seem like the main detractor to simply get past, the fact is Rose Thorn Necklace is even less remarkable than the its predecessor despite being fifteen minutes shorter. In this crunched time, there's not a single memorable track, save for maybe the borderline dance rhythms in "Vodka Butterfly" (and that's a hell of a stretch). Cleaner layers and more conventional writing is cool and all, but it's even less inspiring than before. Musically, it's still littered with random, melancholic soft passages that redo what was perfected the first time or two, offering absolutely no hooks. It's still full of campy ass sadboi songs titled like "Well, I Tried Drowning Today" and "Thinly Sliced Heart Muscle" that are too ridiculous to not be irony, but aren't. Random sections of Dennis (the sole contributor) coughing and injections of crying or moaning haven't been removed from the formula, and the areas that trade all of this for raw aggression like the riffy "Dandelion Tea" are just alright; more extreme metal by the numbers.
Maybe I'm too hard on the band overall, and maybe it's a result of tackling a style I don't often turn to, but maybe it's also just a case of certain experiments having a shelf life. I appreciate the hell out of Moonlover, and with its flaws, Funeral is at least fun in retrospect. But there really isn't too much more you can do here that isn't simply retreading former success to a less commendable degrees. The only other options are simply abandoning the depressive elements to avoid falling into self-parody by accident, or abandoning the black metal and making goth rock or post rock. The North Dakota project has done neither, and now we're at this standstill that could prove me wrong in the future, but as for now, is completely skippable.
Seeing the longest gap between releases since the band's inception, Ghost Bath came back to round out the trilogy of albums with their fourth overall full-length in 2021. Staying just as on the nose as ever with its title, Self Loather dials back some of the overdone intricacies that absolutely butchered its predecessor, giving us a more refined record. Stylistically, this is the most the band has evolved since beginning the trilogy after the shaky and experimental debut. It just comes down to whether or not it lands better than the last evolution, which did not.
Quite quickly, it's evident that Ghost Bath have embraced the traces of metal that everything prior had to a far greater degree. We aren't void of the cleaner licks and melodies that wound up being the band's best strength, but all across the board we get far more metal-oriented rhythms, devious drum kicks, and vocals far more aligned with the traditional blackened shriek in favor of the now less-prominent cry-wails. Moreover, the average song length has decreased tremendously, forcing the ambient atmosphere to take a back seat as repetition no longer fits within the mold. The result is that we get compact tracks that are structured in a slightly more accessible way, even if the style itself is nasty (using both terms somewhat liberally).
Where I still have gripes is in the sheer lack of irony and otherwise unremarkable aspects of Self Loather. They've sidestepped anything that I would call bad this time around, but even the more traditional structures give very few moments that stand out. Opener "Convince Me To Bleed" has strength in its leads, and the menacing tone is nice, but once I was past that surprising element, it felt like goth-laced default Norwegian black metal. "A Crystal Lattice" is an objectively perfect song in this style, ripping through with fury I've never seen from Ghost Bath before, and I'll even toss some points to its cooler center leads with a noisy background, I just struggle to find too many other moments that swing this hard. Funny enough, the longest track "Sanguine Mask" may be the most unique tune on the disc, relying on deep chugs and death metal gutturals, something that makes an appearance from time to time, while also tapping into more familiar territory atmosphere-wise.
The matured foundation that didn't save the former record at all is thankfully carried over, which was definitely a solid touch. But for all of these positives, there's a counterpart. I really can't take things like the crying in "Hide From The Sun," random coughing and throaty groans on tons of these songs, or the unironic silliness of a title like "I Hope Death Finds Me Well" seriously at all. I get it; the "depressive" aspect of this style is not lost on me, and I could handle bits of this in the earlier stage, but the way things have evolved makes it sound like mature men in their thirties co-writing music with teenagers. I love where Self Loather took things, and the foundation on this is great, I just see little reason to return to it.
Being the second installment of Ghost Bath's trilogy of exploring the dread of existentialism, their third full-length overall would finally see more than one year between releases for the first time. Starmourner, as on the nose as it can get for a counterpart to Moonlover, probably has one of my favorite album covers. However, the question of if the music itself matches remains; indeed, this was the last album by the North Dakota outfit I listened to upon release, and haven't since. Knowing the stylistic black/gaze direction the band went, seventy-one minutes of the same style seems like it could run into redundancy, should there not be another evolutionary step.
Unfortunately, that's partially what we end up with, and I was quickly reminded why I haven't revisited it in nine years. There are slight nuances between the trilogy's first installment and this one, which is often all you need, but I find it lacking. At its core, Starmourner is still just as atmospheric in terms of generating a cloudy hue over all of the songs, it's still loaded with howl-cry vocals that are undiscernible from one to another, and soft melodies meeting bright leads still see the "best" moments on the album (And I use that word pretty liberally). The issue is, this idea has a shelf life, and the slight evolutionary aspects either don't help, or completely hurt.
For one, bold as it may sound, Ghost Bath seem to have abandoned the already small traces of black metal that came before for chugs that lean closer to a hardcore aesthetic, short of the occasional blast beat. While this isn't a bad thing in a vacuum, the repetitive nature that Dennis Makula and co. cook up really does not blend well with that, and you wind up with literal minutes of the same chugs back to back like in "Ambrosial." There are some exceptions from time to time, as "Thrones" is very black metal through and through, but even then I struggle to call it more than a basic helping of nothing special. Similarly, the production may be even clearer, another thing that's not always bad in a vacuum; in fact, if there's a positive here, it's that the bass is more prominent than it has ever been before. But with that comes a clearer field for those unflattering vocals to sprout in, working as a focal point rather than a side facet that helped mask them on the previous record.
And finally, as I hinted at the top, all of these things are exacerbated by a record that's entirely too long. The prettier melodies that make up "Celestial" are undeniably pleasant, but hearing them go on for eight fucking minutes with only slight layer additions is exhausting; never mind the fact that a deeper look reveals extremely simplistic leads to begin with, but I'm not quite pretentious enough to care about that too much. But if that's not enough, most of the songs within themselves just meander and resurrect the feeling of minimal vision and maximum throwing ideas at the wall and seeing what sticks. That was passable on the first record due to its raw charm, but becomes impossible to overlook this time. Even if one went the familiar route of leaning on instrumentals again, two of the three, "Principalities" and "Ode," are tacked onto the end, at which point I'm just over this. Even if they weren't, all three are nothing to write home about.
Objectively, you could make a case that Starmourner showcases the most mature record Ghost Bath has put out up to its release, but that absolutely does not make it a better album. Evolution is needed for a style like this, but when every change causes a downgrade in quality, it's not worth it. Utilizing no change would just give us thirty more minutes (on the original forty) of what was a solid effort before, which is also no good. Funeral may have been amateur in execution and overly long, but its uniqueness and charm made many of its errors worth overlooking in the right mood. As for this? I say skip it entirely; it's less than mediocre, and you could make better use of seventy minutes.
P.S. I recently learned that the vocalist has another band called If I Could Kill Myself. Is there really no such thing as self-parody anymore?
It's pretty insane how in only a year's time, an extremely elementary-level band with such strange mystique surrounding them can not only grab a far larger audience, but craft a far more focused effort. In a weird way, Ghost Bath grew in popularity around the same time that the city they pretended to be from, Chongqing, began to grow in tourist appeal (and by the 2020s, neither seemed avoidable). This evolution started in the form of Moonlover, not only showcasing more predetermined thought up front, but also compressing things into a more digestible treat. We're left simply asking the question of whether or not this fared well, or if it stripped away the weird charms of yesterday.
And if you asked me personally, I'd tell you that Ghost Bath struck the perfect balance. The unflattering elements of Funeral are suppressed, and its strengths are touched up. Yes, your cry-wail vocal howls are still here, but they're more of a garnish than a focal point. Atmospherically, things aren't as degraded, while maintaining a blackened gradient that levels the playing field, allowing the best moments to jump out as needed. Like before, those elements are the guitar leads which feel sharp as ever, offering melodies with an array of emotion, and layering that boosts whatever mood is most appropriate for the song's structure.
More importantly, I can't stress how favorable it is that Moonlover trims off twenty minutes, offering only six real tracks and "The Sleeping Fields" intro, giving us a smoother ride all around. The melodic licks are equally as important as the atmosphere-drenched tremolos, likely the closest thing to actual black metal on the disc. At no point do I really get vibes that just simply sound like random alternative rock chops meeting a blackmosphere and unconventional vocals, but songwriting intent with an overall narrative. Thus, all we have left to ask ourselves is how pleasant the songwriting itself is.
For the most part, the answer ranges from absolutely gorgeous to decent but fitting. Interestingly, the two longest songs are the ones I cherish the most, both representing opposite sides of the emotional spectrum showcased. "Golden Number," eleven years after its release still blows me away, and I adore every minute of it. The blackened explosive build, breaking into an uplifting lead gives an aura of pulling oneself out of a pit of terror, before repetition molds into a chant hooking off of that same lead. The lone piano outing at the end is simply magnificent, and the nine minute length does not feel that long. On the other side of this is the immediately following, almost as long "Happyhouse," using layers to not only convey extreme sadness but a phase of absolute rage when it reaches its blast-beat apex (ignoring its goofy title).
Everything else falls somewhere in between. Structurally, we're offered more of the same in different variables, but none reach the sheer magnitude of those first two. "Beneath The Shade Tree" and "The Silver Flower (Part I)" are shorter instrumentals that act as a soft and cool core, boasting pleasant melodies via clean tones, the latter caking on a nature setting. "The Silver Flower (Part II)" breaks into the falling action via crushing stomps covered in pain-laced wails, sliding off its interlude quite nicely. You could honestly look at tracks four through six as one gigantic epic because of the way that they flow, but I digress. This brings us to "Death And The Maiden," closing things out by looping in hints at the intro's chords that reappeared a few times throughout the record's center.
My theory is that Ghost Bath was a throwaway, one-man project with a gimmick that started with weird ideas thrown together, until it wasn't; things actually stuck, and it had to come to full fruition, or risk remaining an unintentional self-parody (though some may argue that it's too late to turn back from that). Moonlover, like its predecessor, is an album that requires the right mood, but is far more intentional in construction, competent in execution, and most importantly, feels complete. Perhaps it drags a bit by the end, but at least it isn't relying on one thing to hold itself intact. Black metal nerds are more than likely going to scoff at it, shoegaze hipsters will absolutely adore it, but the best method is to just enjoy it for what it is; an emotional art piece.
North Dakota's Ghost Bath is one of the least-likely but weirdly earliest discoveries in my extreme metal journey, as they hit my radar far before I had a true appreciation for these styles, let alone black metal itself. Thus, looking back to 2014 when they were an entire enigma to me, against my current understanding of musical nuances, and in an age where this band broke some serious ground, a seriously interesting retrospective look is inevitable. Being an obvious standout in the band's now five-album catalogue, it turns out that Funeral is the most fun one to revisit, despite all of its weaknesses and... niches.
By now it's no secret that Ghost Bath aren't simply black metal due to unforgiving breakneck backdrops, vicious vocal attacks, nor Satanic might in the form of meaner thrash templates. Rather, the debut works that label by softening the tones in some areas while heightening them in others. More often than not, your tremolos, a black metal staple, are presented under an airier sheen that go for the effect of unsettling without extreme. Reverberations play a large part, but the minor-toned rhythms are what really cast a light feeling of loneliness in an unfamiliar plane rather than in a cold dark forest, especially with those dissonant soft licks in the beginning of "Burial."
Though this is barely what would cause something to pass for metal alone, it's likely the regular presence of extreme drum blasts that contrast this to allow it to fall into this category. Such a delivery is equally what lands it in that "post / gaze / depressive" territory, black metal's corniest trend that broke in the past decade (which is really saying something). And of course, the elephant in the room is the moaning howl vocals that, due to a flat production, jump out far more than one is often ready for. While I find this to be really unflattering, the plus side is that the same effect is applied to the softer, alternative rock-oriented sadboi leads that single handedly save Funeral from being a dumpster fire.
And trust me when I say, this is the best reason to revisit the band's first record. A proper mood is absolutely needed, you'll want a high tolerance for horrendous vocals, and the ability to compartmentalize the different layers certainly can't hurt. But amidst this raw mess, there are some absolute fucking bangers that carry us away. Mentioning "Burial" again, it casts imagery of an actual funeral, and one in the environment that the Ophelia painting on the album art depicts. It has some of the meanest riffs on the whole album (which are few and far), as well as an eerie array of shrieks, calm leads, and epic feelings that would translate better on future efforts.
Use this as a template for combing the swamp for the other strong statements. Because of the vocals, instrumentals are a tactful move, and Funeral boasts four of them. "Birth" miraculously paints a life-giving emotion of redemption, being the sole happier feeling on the whole record, before "Forever" brings things back to reality to send us off. (Ever listen to "All For You" by Sister Hazel? The main lick on "Birth" almost mirrors its intro). "Procession" might be our most obvious example of soft-tremolos leading into a fierce blackened attack, while its predecessor "Silence" is a lone guitar number that fills the gap with another feeling of abandonment. The intro riff to "Calling" and the general progression of opener "Torment" are as full-on catchy as they are unsettling, working alt-rock rhythms with a grainy overcast. Meanwhile, "Sorrow" absolutely nails dirge-like facets with rain backing a piano; the chanting at the end of that one still makes my gut churn. Really, there are so many strong moments worth sifting the disc to find, though more than an hour of this was absolutely not necessary (especially the one minute of literally nothing that is "Afterlife").
Indeed, we have before us one of the most conflicting albums in terms of how I feel in my entire collection, and as smoothly as Ghost Bath's career may evolve, objectively better isn't always more interesting. In the right mood, this is an extremely nuanced art piece that casts an abstract narrative capable of making David Lynch blush (R.I.P.). In any other mood, it's a tough swallow, and I think the general makeup is very shoddy; it just got quite lucky when some of what was hurled at the wall actually stuck. Teenage me thought this was laughable in the way current me thinks Silencer is, though in retrospect they're almost nothing alike. I recall finding its "creepy" elements "creepier" when I thought Ghost Bath was from China, but that was likely some small-town white-boy casual racism at play (especially considering how much I've grow to adore China). If you like black metal, shoegaze, alternative rock, or any odd structured combo of those things, I say it's worth at least hearing to quell curiosities.
In my little streak of tackling old-guard thrash metal bands in the modern age, there seemed no better time to return to one of my favorite ones, despite letting me down back to back in 2016 and 2020 respectively. Like their Bay Area counterparts in Exodus and Megadeth, my bias sees them trudging on a bit past expiration. Admittedly, Para Bellum felt like a clear step up from what was going on in the previous two generic reruns, but upon revisiting, I still don't think it holds the weight that seems to have taken many a fan by storm. Nonetheless, if there's one sin I can't call it guilty of, that's it being a samey generic effort of repetition.
Indeed, Titans Of Creation did tamper with blackened experimentation, primarily in the vocal shrieks that become a tad more prominent this time around. However, blast beats and tremolo picking even up the ante a little bit. True, the former have been present in Testament songs in the past, but they take on a completely different role this time, which kind of realizes the aim that ultimately did little on their last record. Nothing is held back, as that makes itself evident immediately on opener "For The Love Of Pain," and "Witch Hunt" takes this to a faster front. The closing title track nears this territory too, though it's probably closer to the death metal influence that has long been a staple for Skolnick and co. Neat as this all may be, I think I can conclude that Testament isn't quite made for black metal, as it just makes me want to listen to actual black metal bands.
There is still lots of room for no-frills thrash fueled by societal strain, which I think found its meanest footing in "Infanticide A.I.," managing to lash back at this dystopian-gone-normal concept in a way that doesn't feel forced. Similarly, "Shadow People" casts a compelling net of equal parts compelling melody and crushing fury, taking the slot of my favorite track. But for every one of these, there's a generic by-the-numbers tune that feels empty, mainly looking at "High Noon," and "Nature Of The Beast" (as if "Black Jack" wasn't corny enough). "Room 117" could probably grow on me, as it has a charming flow and catchy vibe that doesn't fit but certainly isn't bad, as could "Havana Syndrome," which feels like filler that still works really well?
With all of this inconsistency going on, I have to also at least give Para Bellum props for having the audacity to sneak a ballad into this mix. Not just any ballad, but a long, drawn-out acoustic one in "Meant To Be." Softee Chuck Billy is an overlooked aspect of Testament that I am so glad made a comeback, even if this hardly fits in the context of the already jumbled record. A win is a win, and even in his old age the melancholic and emotional gradient is ever present, casting an epic build in the midst of chaos.
Therefore, giving credit where it's due, this is easily Testament's best work in over a decade. Like many in their scene, the bar isn't exactly set that high, but I can't pretend that there a couple songs here that made an impression on me. The album as a whole isn't remarkable, but the sheer boldness and ambition behind it is worth commending. Walking away with a few songs that actually stick is nice as well, and I can confidently say that this would be a hell of an album to end a long career on (so ya know, take the hint, guys).
Right from the gate, I need to make it clear that I've had little time for or interest in anything Exodus has put out since Shovel Headed Kill Machine. Perhaps a controversial statement to call that one the end of a transitional era that started with Force Of Habit, everything following it has ranged from competent but uninspiring to outright bad, regardless of the frontman. So hearing that the Bay Area giants have re-recruited Rob Dukes for another record really didn't curate much excitement on my part. In fact, I went into Goliath with a pretty negative mindset alone.
And while I still don't particularly care for this record as a whole, I'm amazed to say that it actually did strike a few chords and wound up being something I consider at least worth acknowledging. After the long break, Dukes' vocals somehow sound more refined in his older age, feeling like a middle-ground between his former overdone shrieks and Zetro's signature snarl. Along with this, we find a little bit more focus that may just allow for a catchy number here or there, or at least one that feels somewhat engaging. For the most part, that lies with the ones that dial back the over-the-top aggression, likely just feeling more original, rather than the continuous rehashing of overproduced thrash by-the-numbers.
Unfortunately, that latter point is still all over the place. What really doesn't help is that buzzing tone that has plagued Exodus's riffs for the better part of two decades now. Similarly, they're still unable to escape overly try-hard, almost goofy lyrics that I can't believe came from people pushing sixty. "Hostis Humani Generis" definitely comes to mind first, and even as much as opener "3111" is an earworm, I really struggle to take its general plastic feel seriously (did anybody else hear the "111" as "world war one" on first listen?). I can appreciate the title track for taking a doom-laced approach in such a slow tempo to match the titan-like vibes, but it ultimately trudges on and leads nowhere. I could say the same about "Summon Of The God Unknown" as well, being far too long for its own good despite its obvious attempt at an (imminent) impact, and the delivery almost feels robotic.
On a more positive front, a couple songs help Goliath stand apart from other modern era records. "The Changing Me" feels like a true mosh anthem without it being obvious, and the thunderous bass and higher licks definitely help it. I'll throw it props for breaking precedence in the melodic chorus without being awkward. Speaking of melody, "Promise You This" is a nicer tune that cakes in plenty of that, allowing some older attitude to sneak in beside one of Gary Holt's best solos on the album. "2 Minutes Hate" has a groovy stomp to it that matches the refined vocal style quite well despite, you guessed it, my inability to take it very seriously. Beyond this, despite some decent licks near the end, I find myself tired of the album and its generic overcast by the time I reach the last few songs.
In the way I feel about the final Megadeth album, this isn't anything overly bad or worth scoffing at, but I have long reached the point of not wanting more from Exodus (even though I ever-so-slightly prefer this record to Megadeth). It certainly didn't need to exceed the fifty minute mark, but if this were the album the band went out on, I would say it could certainly be worse. Better than either Exhibition album, but that's a low bar. My biases are clear, and regardless of yours, I say tread lightly.
1985 has to be one of my favorite years for metal, if only because it was around then when all the late '70s and early '80s so-called "VHS metal" bands were spreading from their general heavy metal sleaze and adapting a more defined sounds. Dokken are such a fun example of this, as they heavily hinted at a warmer sound under the accessible yet thunderous scope in Tooth And Nailed, and leaned even deeper into the glam metal sensation without ditching the riffs, big solos, or attitude. George Lynch and co. long established their ability to even craft a ballad that doesn't drift from the roots in "Alone Again," so it only makes sense that they could spruce up the same idea and double down with MTV pop sensation while continuing to bring the weight. Perhaps less of a hot take now than it would have been a decade ago, Under Lock And Key is just as powerful, if only more accessible, and is pumped with just as much life as its heavier counterpart.
On the surface, all this really means is putting a little more of the catchy emphasis on the choruses, making them easy enough to sing-along to and become an earworm, while crispening up the production just a tad. If there's really one fundamental difference between the prior record and this one, it's the latter point. Indeed, the raw grit that came with some of the speed oriented tracks is void this time around, giving Dokken's overall vibe a welcoming aura, but less mean doesn't always mean less heavy, and it certainly doesn't signal a drop in quality. The fact is, every track still works wonders beside one another regardless of the varying degrees of hairspray being applied.
This becomes evident immediately. Opener "Unchain The Night" is one of the band's most iconic songs for good reason. Despite its melodic core and falsetto-laced chorus, that rhythm section has loads of crushing bite, and the clearer coating may even let the harder drumlines that carry it pop even more. "Lightning Strikes Again" comes through in a similar manner, hearkening back to the speedier elements that Dokken is no stranger to, doubling down with furious falsetto outbursts as the song sees itself out. On a similar note, "Til The Livin' End" caps us off with almost Dimebag-esque fret-crawls not uncommon on Pantera's I Am The Night, acting like a part two to "Lightning Strike Again." Hell, even as much as one could quickly dismiss the gang-chant corniness of "It's Not Love," it fits flawlessly into the bassy slow crawl and heavy backing. Full-fledged heavy hitters like this may be lesser in number, but their influence permeates the rest of the disc, and that consistency is crucial.
That very fact is why I'll urge you to observe the more "obvious" numbers with the same lens. "In My Dreams" screams pop-metal with Def Leppard coated radio rockisms all over it, but even if you don't like the incredibly catchy hooks that make its chorus so huge, one cannot ignore the gigantic solo and the riff-resolve that contrasts a nice crunch beside the synths. Similarly, "Don't Lie To Me" is an overlooked backside of this that I think utilizes the poppy chorus just as well with vocal trade-offs, even if the energy doesn't feel quite as mighty. Of course, I can't not mention "Slippin' Away," as it's very clearly a softee through and through, but beautiful composition under more genuine emotion lets its place beside "In My Dreams" feel so organic. I get why our heavy hunters may not like this one, but I don't think it feels out of place, and I love every minute of it (maybe it's because I too am a softee). "Will The Sun Rise" might just be this tune's counterpart, acting as an acceptance of the situation and curating a hopeful feeling on a somber, early morning.
The only factor holding Under Lock And Key back from double perfection is that its fillers are just a little less memorable than I'd like. "Jaded Heart" and "The Hunter" are not bad songs by any stretch of the word; the former seems to attempt an acoustic-driven repeat of "Alone Again" but sadly misses the same fervor. The latter is a decent sing-along that I dig well enough, but I'd be lying if I said I don't wind up coming off the energy of "Unchain The Night" just looking forward to hearing "In My Dreams." Regardless, if these are the worst songs on an album, then you've struck gold.
Under Lock And Key is full of bangers that landed big in LA with a fitting, overlooked counterpart, all wrapped up into one consistent ride full of fun, both heavy and hearty. If there's one reason why Dokken has such a heavy association with the glam metal world, I owe it to this record. Synths, clear production, and catchy choruses are all over the place, but I think it compliments the heavier foundation, rather than taking away from it. If I can be crass for a moment, it's like realizing that your partners sex toys are your friend, not your competition. Get out of your head and into your body, mate!
