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!
When analyzing the early output of a band that would go on to define an entire genre, it's easy to immediately mark their debut as the best of the craft, especially when it sort of ties together the ingredients that were hinted at by earlier acts. Giving credit where it's due, Kill 'Em All, Scream Bloody Gore, and other genre-cementing albums do indeed contain the fervor of precisely what made the genre so wonderful. Despite obvious evolution in Metallica and Death respectively, there's absolutely no question that their debuts are still some of the best in their genres, at least in my humblest of opinions. Sweden's Bathory is different, because in a weird kind of way, that very evolution was what was needed to bring them to the top of their own craft. Maybe part of it is the fact that similar first-wave black metal bands were doing precisely the same thing that was found on their debut album, but the fact is I still wouldn't rate many of them much higher than this, so what's the scoop?
All of this is relevant because, whether I want to admit it or not, Bathory isn't as special as I had thought for so many years, and I say that as someone who absolutely adores this record. In less than a half hour, taking the form of eight tracks, the Swedes have crafted one of the most unsavory, grating sounding albums that anyone had heard at the time, chock full of degraded thrash metal riffing and solos. Vocally, Quorthon matched the energy with an equally rusty surface channeled through a nasally passage that, while in a vacuum isn't exactly pleasant, beside the music feels right. Without casting a darkened atmosphere through mixing and mastering, they instead created a life-crushing feeling through already existing extreme metal in what I imagine is circumstance. They simply didn't have the capital to clean anything up, so the end result was one of the most raw experiences that still captures the exact feeling I want when I pull this disc out; I can't hear it without feeling like I'm in an abandoned toolshed full of rust, metal chips, oil, and sharp objects with no lights to help me avoid these things.
The downside of such a dark and dirty excursion is that standouts are rare, a problem that early death and thrash outings didn't usually have. Many of the solos get pretty buried under the noise of breakneck riffs and blasting drums, adding to why I listen to this for the feeling rather than the chops. That doesn't mean there aren't exceptions to the rule. Indeed, when the tempo calms itself a bit, you can get the mildest gleaning of light at the end of the tunnel. "Necromansy" comes to mind, with its steadier rhythms and competent playing that still captures the hopeless imagery of being trapped in a rusty machine shop in the middle of a goat pen (Black Phillip, is that you?). I also must throw a nod to "Raise The Dead," since I think this is the biggest hint of the full, genre-defining black metal shape that Bathory would take in a few years. Its steadier drum-crushes and longer, drawn-out vocal snarls invoke an evil aura that blows anything else on this record out of the water.
Otherwise, it's a matter of picking your poison. "War" is compelling because of how mean it sounds, but is equally repetitive and unremarkable outside of the vibe that insulates it. "Reaper" seems like lots of fun, and like "Sacrifice," it at least has some clarity in the guitar solos. But taken bit by bit, Bathory isn't really anything more than what their first-wave contemporaries in Venom, Hellhammer, or early Sodom were doing. It just happens to project a rougher realization than their peers, and would soon evolve into what I call the black metal equivalent of Metallica; being in the right place at the right time likely helped so much in that regard. Thankfully, due to its short runtime and general craft that few bands have been able to replicate, I appreciate every corner of it, with all of its flaws and overlooked redundancies.
I stumbled upon Grotesqueries via one of my favorite labels several years ago, though their demo stage didn't do a lot for me. It wasn't until the following year when Caligari also released their first full-length, which felt far more complete in execution (naturally). A one-man show out of Boston, this gore-obsessed project quite swiftly crafted a to-the-point but compelling debut in the form of Vile Crematory, one I find myself coming back to somewhat regularly. The album art alone with its colors should easily catch the eye.
For one, Grotesqueries absolutely nails that perfect balance of crafting something ugly and marshy while still preserving some semblance of a clean surface. Similarly, this dodges anything I'd really call technical while still managing to craft longer songs that use repetition to their advantage, aided with extremely sturdy bridges. All of this molds wonderfully with the vocals, which have a gruesome snarl under the already guttural style, trading this out for the occasional shriek. The end result is something that feels like an original sounding ode to the Florida scene in combining aesthetics used both by Cannibal Corpse and Morbid Angel; the blood and filth lyrical content of the former meeting the undeniably evil veneer of David and Trey.
All of this means little if it the songs themselves hold little weight, but Vile Crematory absolutely nails this. The eruptive feeling achieved with the huge drums and crushing weight of the riffs makes for some of the meanest death metal songs I've heard in a while. "Corpsejuice" is a go-to because of its relentless gradient utilizing minimal tactic, which falls wonderfully into the intro of "Gorrified (The Ageless Malignancy)" and its thunderous bass. Longer tunes like closer "Dismembered Fears" and the opening "Hypnagogic Transmutation" that work in several phases with extremely tight bridges and loads of groove might be the best songs. Similarly, doom/death lovers could get something from the trudges of "The Dweller's Threnody," or for the opposite effect, the body-horror stench and chaos of "Meat You With Chain" brings an energy not felt elsewhere. The latter tune just barely hints at a cosmic feel on the back half, which I appreciate.
Frankly, I'm not sure why it took me so long to talk about this record. It sold me upon first listen back when it came out (maybe I was on a break from reviewing), and I think any seasoned death metal fan will get something out of it as well. Rarely does something so rudimentary in format land such a hard blow, but I'll be damned if the mastermind here didn't create a unique identity, and the standout vocals absolutely help. Talk about music that sounds as cool as the artwork looks.
Sadistic Force - Midnight Assassin Goat Throne Records - 2023 9.5/10
At the start of the decade, Texas's Sadistic Force made a decent impression on me with their straightforward black/thrash sound that was nothing special but nonetheless strong. At minimum, they knew how to have fun and not take it too seriously. This evolves heavily on the band's follow up three years ago now, titled Midnight Assassin. Not only does that fun angle morph into a more horror-oriented image, but the sound itself cements into something a visibly more notable.
The band has always had an ear for crafting something catchier, and this time around it's done in a way that's more concise but not necessarily cleaner. Longer songs with shifts in tone and higher emphasis on lead guitar prowess dominate more of the record, trading the otherwise catchier but less-involved approach for tighter tunes that feel just as mean. Thus, we get a combo of strong choruses that mesh well with muscular tangents, avoiding any awkwardness. Frankly, I have to throw them props for not simply leaning heavier into the black metal side of things (a decent but sometimes predictable evolution) and calling it a day, but actually coming from a more intricate thrash metal approach.
Of course, this doesn't mean that Midnight Assassin isn't full of harsh shrieks, pummeling drums, and a horrific overlay; it just manages to work in several facets. "Corpsewood Curse" makes this known right away, fusing horror aesthetic with advanced leads that jump all over the place, presenting the album's longest tune. Similarly, "Marked For Death" takes a calmer approach to work a menacing stomp into the narrative, even including acoustic guitars for some flair, while the title track covers us in tremolos and breakneck speeds to trick us into the otherwise steadier march. Fear not, as there's still room for more straightforward blackened speed metal that the band made their name from. "Speeding Black Leather Hell" should tell you what you're in for just based on the title alone, served with gang chants and straightforward rhythms, but even the solo here curates a dramatic shift that caught even me off guard. Hell, "Nuremburg Nights" lets in what almost feels like a Motorhead-inspired black 'n roll vibe to pair with the macabre lyrics, and again, I really can't get over how well all of this works together.
It may still be tough to call Sadistic Force overly original, but having an identity separate from the larger scene is absolutely something they've nailed with their second full-length. A multi-faceted approach in the black/thrash realm is one of my favorite things to come by, and the Texans have done it. Beneath the noise sits layers of borderline classic tints that one could trace back to the first wave if they wanted to. Fans of Hellripper, Witchery, Bewitched, and the likes should seek this one out.
Long past the classic era, Judas Priest would enter the new millennium in uncertainty. Dropping something as game-changing as Painkiller only to completely shift directions with a different vocalist and everything was sure to generate a liminal "space between space" era that likely felt directionless at the time. For that, I can only imagine what it must have felt like for the longtime fan when Angel Of Retribution was released in 2005. In a vacuum, one wouldn't be able to tell that this modern take on the 1990 style would go to define their career even two decades later, thus I can only imagine it was nothing short of exciting. Folks, welcome to the start of what I call the "comeback" era, one that never truly ended.
Consisting entirely of the classic lineup (minus drums, as those were never that consistent), Judas Priest very clearly set a stage that attempts to pick up where they left off fifteen years earlier, almost dismissing the Owens albums as in-betweener side gigs. I say this only because Angel Of Retribution takes virtually nothing from them, skipping all of the '90s-isms that coated those records. Instead, they arguably strip things back the other direction in a musical sense, trading bombastic and crunchier production for softer clarity. This forgiving atmosphere does not take away from the heaviness of a decent number of the songs, but rather just dulls their tips. Inject a refreshing punch to the songwriting, with its focus on hooks, emotion, and drive, and you've got what was quite unique for its time.
In other words, 2005 was several years before the traditional metal revival that came to dominate a new generation of bands, and the dual-axe veterans were ahead of the curve they themselves influenced. Almost nothing is overzealous, channeling that "we're still young!" energy into several memorable moments. For one, "Hellrider" almost encapsulates the band's entire vibe with one longer, eccentric vibe, while opener "Judas Rising" channels the same energy into a far faster and blunt impression with machine precision. It may come off as a bit on-the-nose, but I think they were pretty self aware of what they were doing. If you had any doubts, "Deal With The Devil" follows it up with a steadier kick, completing the one-two punch we all love to see on efforts like this.
The few times Rob and co. step away from safety land pretty nicely, with only one exception. Perhaps a hot take, but closer "Lochness" absolutely did not need to be thirteen minutes long, and the constant, repetitive pinch-harmonics make me dislike it enough to hold the entire back a notch; never mind the fact that "Eulogy" would have been a perfect closer, keeping the overall runtime breezy too. Otherwise, the other breaks from this traditional norm fit right in. "Angel" is one of my favorite songs of this era, a masterful ballad built on wailing emotion, with slow build utilized by the drums before unleashing a heavier sendoff. Similarly, while nothing exceptional, I appreciate "Revolution" for incorporating doom-riffage to add personality to the traditional formula, and even its follow-up "Worth Fighting For" has a sneaky edge to its somber tone.
In hindsight, Angel Of Retribution isn't overly special, and Firepower will always be my number-one pick from the "comeback" era, but I still find so much charm in this. It was unique for the time, it breathed new life in what the band had already crafted for themselves, and perhaps best of all, even their peers weren't doing the same thing. Iron Maiden had moved on to longer, progressive epics as the norm; Scorpions had fallen entirely into the pop/alt rock realm; Black Sabbath was basically non-existent. With its corny fillers and mild flaws, this record is a force to be reckoned with, and returning to it is always a pleasant time.
Judas Priest - Invincible Shield Sony Records - 2024 7/10
For those that don't know, 2018's Firepower took yours truly by absolute storm, working past forty years of releasing full-lengths, and it would have been the perfect send-off for Judas Priest's career. There's a key part of that statement, though; would have been. Six years later, the British heavy metal titans dropped another full-length, making little impact on me at the time. After some time to properly take it in, I felt there's no better time than the present to check out Invincible Shield again. They've created a hard act for themselves to follow, but time sometimes rids me of that expectation.
Similar to the path they've been on, the latest effort from Rob and co. displays the same base with mild alterations on the surface. Power metal-induced traditional metal under a modern banner with that post-Painkiller flair still reigns, going with the cleaner production that proved to work well last time. Similarly, there's a slight attempt at keeping things varied, even opening on chorus-earworm heavy hitters upfront with "Panic Attack" taking the more sing-along route while "The Serpent And The King" amps up the intensity. Hell, perhaps one lesson the band learned was not overdoing the length, clocking in near the fifty minute mark rather than the hour (or more) mark, giving us sturdy footing.
Alas, I can't pretend that I still don't feel underwhelmed. Only part of it is the fact that this was already perfected the last time, with Invincible Shield bringing absolutely nothing new to the table. After all, no band can reinvent the wheel over and over again, especially a band that played a large role in inventing said proverbial wheel in the first place. However, there's a very obvious step-back in songwriting exchanged for what's arguably heavier chops. I won't pretend that much of this isn't more aggressive, showing blatantly in the likes of "With God As My Witness," but it's lacking where it matters. Most of these songs don't have the emotional charge in delivery that I came to love; the opening numbers I mentioned that clearly rely on catchy elements fall short in repetitive and lackluster choruses; "Devil In Disguise" and "Escape From Reality" attempting that slower-crawl is missing the doomy grit; even the epic buildups attempted in several spots really don't sell me, and closer "Giants In The Sky" misses the attempted emotional charge. If there's any actual standout that comes close to deserving praise, it's "Crown Of Horns" and its anthemic vibes actually feeling focused.
Some will say I'm being rather harsh, and to their credit, this isn't a bad record. Maybe I dislike it more on principle than in execution, but the execution lets me down nonetheless, and in a vacuum I don't think I'd like it much better. Things are competent, the formula works, and everyone is good at what they're doing; but almost nothing sticks. Objectively, it's better than the rightfully critiqued Redeemer Of Souls, but I'll once again say that I'll take a rough-around-the-edges outing that still has a distinct identity over a safe, formulaic one that checks all the boxes. Judas Priest has done more for heavy metal than likely any band outside of Black Sabbath, and for that, they can go out with eternal respect and not lift another finger. This album is a sign that perhaps that's the move.
Following what we may consider Judas Priest's return to form in 2005's Angel Of Retribution, they would continue on that road of reinvigorated energy meeting nostalgia three years later. But unlike the other records that followed that template, they would step into arguably their most experimental effort in this era, maybe ever. Nostradamus saw the band not only tamper with a concept album, but inject musical elaborations that teeter on epic and opera. If that isn't a lot to take in, then perhaps its nearly two-hour runtime will be.
That very fact would prove to be the experiment's biggest retractor. On paper, their second record seeing Halford returning is presented pretty wonderfully. Powerful vocals meet boisterous and thick leads that utilize the bass to amp its presence even higher. Tight and clean production make it so nothing goes missed, with a healthy dose of theatrics and synthesized guitar attacks to add the littlest touch of flair. Throw in a decent ear for impactful hooks, and you've got about as great a template one can use for a strong epic journey.
Moreover, Nostradamus knows exactly when to employ meaner grit for a firmer impact as much as it does the same with softer veneers and emotion. Frankly, the first track (ignoring its intro) "Prophecy" is one of my favorite numbers of the post-2000s era; its opening riff, unrelenting drum blasts, and threatening pre-chorus break into a chanted release that all but brings me goosebumps. "Persecution" feels like a response to that one, morphing matched furious drive into speed, topped with what feels like a classic horror chase bit. "Pestilence And Plague" has some power metal tropes that breath hope beside upbeat chops meeting haunting synth, and "Lost Love" uses emotion and soft guitars to aid a sadness felt miles away. "Alone" coats a similar feeling, but definitely didn't need to be that long. Hell, even "Death" is loaded with obvious doom thrusts, maybe the only long track that holds momentum until its end.
Sadly, there's a tragic other side to all this; after about one third of the record, its thunderous embrace wares off. Normally, saying "this is simply too long" is not enough to tank an album too hard, but it will if that error seeps into many of the individual tracks. "Revelations" is seemingly a stronger number with its symphonic elements and galloping drive, but it meanders far too much for its own good. Both closers "Future Of Mankind" and the title track display this even worse, as by this point of the album it's even harder to forgive that. Make no mistake though, they're guilty of this in a vacuum too, and "Exiled" is a great example of why long repetition borders on corny. "Alone" is a fine example of what could have been a soothing acoustic bit turning into a repetitive mental drain. Even "War," as fun as its marching vigor comes off, is dampened by over five minutes of something that can barely repeat for three before it's overdone, and that's if you ignore its surrounding interludes. As a matter of fact, insult is added to injury with there being too damn many interludes. If you simply tacked those onto every track they precede (or follow?), it adds extra unneeded fluff to even the strong tracks, making any chance of overlooking all of this virtually impossible.
Judas Priest's experimental effort is not awkward nor poorly executed. It's competent, written with a formula that all but promises exceptionality, but falls into a tragic fate of doing entirely too much of a good thing. This is a pattern that would appear on every other post-Painkiller record albeit to a far more manageable degree, even hurting the better records just a notch. Had this been one-third its actual length, and baked the decent interludes into less repetitive main songs, this probably could have been one of the best albums of its time. Instead, we're left with something that's likely no coincidence that most of my favorite moments are on the first disc. Alas, while I may suggest hearing this at least once for all the completists and those who love context, the rest of you are better off using such an allotment of time to watch two Twin Peaks episodes, or four to five Seinfeld episodes.
_original_cover.jpg)
