By Natalie Zed

I don’t believe there’s such a thing as a bad metal show. Even if the bands are horrendous and the vibe is weird, I’ll manage to have a good time because, well, it’s metal. Like that adage about sex and pizza, even when a metal show is bad, it’s still pretty good. This particular evening, however, was definitely one that went off the rails, for a variety of reasons.

It’s a well-known fact, at least to anyone who reads my reviews or follows me on Twitter (@NatalieZed), that I loathe and detest the Sound Academy as a venue. The sound is terrible, unless you’re dead front-and-centre, the drinks are ridiculously overpriced and it’s located down on the docks of Polson Pier. This location can be decent in the summer, when a cool breeze is blowing off the lake and one can bike or walk down. But on a frigid, late-January night when angry sleet turned all the roads to ice, I flat out hated it and resented every freezing step to this inconvenient location.

As soon as I was in the door and began to thaw out, my chilly mood dissolved. I was looking forward to a solid night of aggressive performances and for a bit, it looked like the rest of the night would be smooth sailing. Darkest Hour played a straightforward, but enjoyable set. Their set-list was drawn heavily from their most recent release, The Human Romance, which is the most pedestrian, and my least favourite, of their albums. However, this is the material they’re currently most excited about, and they play it well. I was also pleased that they at least played an up-tempo version of “No God,” from The Eternal Return, and closed with “Doomsayer (The Beginning of the End).” Their set was bright and tightly wound, and did a great job setting a solid pace.

The momentum of the evening unfortunately ground to halt, as fans had to wait for Suicide Silence, who began their set 45 minutes behind schedule. By the time their blasting deathcore struck up, the Sound Academy was bursting at the seams. Frontman Mitch Lucker Becan spent the set perched above his bandmates, crouching on a riser and demanding that the entire crowd put up their middle fingers and leave them up all night as a giant “fuck you!” to the world. This heralded one of the most awkward and hostile sets I’ve ever witnessed. Shortly after telling the crowd to keep flipping the bird, Lucker turned on his audience, threatening a woman in the front row, saying that he would knock her teeth out if she kept flipping him off. Next, he asked the crowd, “How many of you like sleeping with women? NOT MEN, ONLY WOWEN.” Finally, he began to order the pit around like a disgruntled gym teacher, micro-managing a wall of death and then demanding a circle pit. I’ve never disliked someone on stage as much as I disliked Mitch Lucker, and he made it genuinely difficult to enjoy their performance. “Bludgeoned to Death” had a driving violence to it and “Fuck Everything” featured a nihilistic purity I could otherwise get behind, but Lucker made it all unpleasant.

It was up to headliners Machine Head to deliver the magic, and I’m pleased to report they did an excellent job. Their set was definitely the most technically involved of the night, and huge screens displayed a complex suite of images to accompany the music, ranging from alchemical symbols to religiously charged etchings and spiraling, hallucinatory patterns. The set leaned towards newer material, and “Locust” and “Darkness Within” certainly went over well with the crowd. That said, it was unquestionably older numbers like “Bulldozer” and “The Blood, The Sweat, The Tears” that got the crowd roaring. It was great to see the change in the crowd as the fans reacted with passion and enthusiasm, rather than halfheartedly responding to being ordered about like cattle. There was love in the room again and that turned the night around.

However, before their set concluded, a couple of things convinced me to cut the night a little short. Just as “Ten Ton Hammer” began to gather momentum, someone standing next to me pooped his pants. He originally tried to deny it and blame the stench on someone else. Thankfully his buddy wasn’t buying it and dragged the fellow away. I fled to the back of the venue to escape the lingering stink and promptly witnessed a kid fall down, turn blue and begin to retch uncontrollably. As security whisked the fallen, hopefully just alcohol-poisoned youngster away, I decided that the universe was giving me a sign to abandon ship.

Live review by Craig Haze; Photos by Greg Parsons

A small, passionate, vocal crowd greeted Neurosis’ Scott Kelly and Baroness’ John Baizley for their show in New Zealand’s capital on their current solo acoustic tour. With able support from an NZ rock icon, Craig Radford, the night was filled with heartfelt, intense performances. The crowd may have been slim, but it added to the intimacy, and fans stood transfixed by an evening of outstanding and emotionally charged suites.

The show kicked off early. At 8.15 pm, Maurice Beckett from NZ post-rock luminaries Jakob took the stage under his Desbot moniker to a scant five souls. Running through a 30 minute set of heaving drone reminiscent of SunnO))) and Jesu, Desbot’s sound may have been the antithesis of what was to follow but it was an excellent dose of feedback-fuelled rock.

Craig Radford, frontman for long-running NZ crusty metal legends Sticky Filth, was up next. After apologizing for not having played a solo acoustic gig for a few years, he then set to dazzling the gathering crowd. Starting out with the rousing “The Devil Plays Guitar”, Radford, who is renowned for composing working-class hymns, delivered half an hour of impassioned dirty blues interspersed with effusive praise for his co-performers and the show’s promoter. Before performing the song “Hate Remains”— found on Sticky Filth’s latest album Fourth Domain—he assured us it wasn’t about us (“just one person in particular”) drawing a solid laugh from the crowd. Finishing up with the epic multipart cowboy narrative, “Dust and Dirt”, Radford’s short but intense set was a stellar introduction for what followed.

Baroness frontman John Baizley took the stage, immediately endearing himself by admitting it was a nerve-racking proposition playing solo. He asked us to gather close, explaining that it would make things hell of a lot easier for him, and the crowd dully responded, setting up a nice friendly huddle. Baizely began his 45-minute set with Baroness’ “Steel that Sleeps the Eye” before treating us all to some of the tracks he’s been working on for the next Baroness album. He explained it had been a weird year for him, not touring in order to write the next album, and if the tracks he played are any indication of what’s in store on Baroness’ next release, then prepare yourself for some psych-heavy dramatic majesty.

Baizely admitted to some trepidation in playing the gig, this being only his second show without Baroness, but he needn’t have worried—the crowd lapped it up. Although he never divulged song titles, he talked at length about the songs themselves. Before one particularly heartbreaking tune he revealed it was some “hard shit to perform”, which spoke volumes about his easy rapport with the audience. Plus, the song pretty much had everyone verging on tears. Baizley was in fine voice throughout; his husky vocals evoked a beautiful sense of fragility and melancholy in the acoustic setting. He moved briskly through a series of soulful, gorgeously presented tunes, picking up his electric guitar for a couple of elegiac, hard-strumming numbers, and ending on a haunting rendition of Bruce Springsteen’s “In my Fathers House”. His set seemed way too short, but we were privileged to see him a solo setting.

With no real changeover needed between sets, aside from swapping over a guitar, Scott Kelly sat down at the mic less than five minutes after Baizley’s exit and proceeded to flat-out mesmerize the audience. There were tracks from both his solo albums, along with covers and a new Shrinebuilder number he’d written in preparation for their next album—or, as Kelly noted, “if we ever get it together enough to make another album.”

His set was faultless. You could have heard a pin drop for the first five tracks, the entire venue transfixed by Kelly’s rumbling, graveled baritone. “The Ladder in my Blood” and “Searchers”, both from his latest solo album, The Wake, were heartily cheered. His performance proved him to be a master craftsman. He chatted happily with the crowd, saying he’d love to get Neurosis down here to play, praising NZ’s beauty, and jokingly telling us he was considering moving here himself, “depending on who wins those elections.” The smallish crowd made for some great to and fro between Kelly and the audience. But when he closed his eyes and leant into the mic to play his darkened folk and rough country tunes, the show took on a whole new ritualized atmosphere—with Kelly becoming the doom-laden preacher leading the ceremony.

Kelly sounded great throughout; his voice, rising and falling in mournful cadence, was deeply charismatic, and the honest and forthright delivery of the tunes made for an evening drenched in authenticity. He finished his set by inviting John Baizley back onto the stage for a couple of numbers, ending on a powerful version of Townes Van Zandt’s “St John the Gambler”. No encore, just two men packing up their guitar cases and shuffling off the stage in the face of a crowd essentially stunned by an evening of poignant, heart-wrenching roots music.

By Craig Haze

It all begins at the end of one man’s life. He hangs on the noose, lit by a single spotlight as a viscous clot of blood gradually oozes from his mouth. Misshapen, deformed and attired in archaic garments he dangles, suspended in death, as dark ambient shamans Ulver are hidden below him on a blacked-out stage.

A piano plays a fragile lament while rumbling effects and growling samples ebb and flow. And a song that is one man’s coda becomes redefined as a sunrise is projected upon the screen behind the band, and Kristoffer Rygg steps up to the microphone to begin “EOS”. Thus begins Ulver: The Norwegian National Opera, the mesmerizing and stunning beautiful live DVD release from Norway’s masters of avant-garde and enigmatic electronica.

Ulver of course know a few things about redefining expectations. At one stage they were a celebrated black metal band, but in the late ’90s they dispensed with the traditional accoutrements of black metal and morphed into an entirely different beast. Traces of their metal past remain fixed in their DNA, especially in their desolate iciness and forever-questioning aesthetic, but for many years now the band has been releasing acclaimed works that blend progressive electronica and glacial neo-classical treatments with shimmering, hypnotic rock.

Aside from one show in 1993, Ulver had always been a studio-based outfit. But in 2009 the band was lured onto the stage for Norway’s Festival of Literature, which in turn led to them play a series of sold-out shows in some of Europe’s most renowned venues throughout 2010. Ulver: The Norwegian National Opera was recorded in Oslo at the end of that touring cycle, not long before the band went into the studio to record 2011′s highly rated Wars of the Roses album. Captured by 6 HD cameras, the show features guest appearances by electronics guru Christian Fennesz and performance artist Ian Johnstone (who plays the aforementioned role of the late Mr. Ark Todd, and look out for his inscrutable resurrection to end the show on an enigmatic note).

The DVD features material from throughout Ulver’s electronic and experimental years, with tracks from the Perdition City, Svidd Neger, Blood Inside and Shadows of the Sun albums, and the Silence Teaches You How to Sing and A Quick Fix of Melancholy EPs. It’s best to think of the DVD in terms of an all-encompassing experience. Breaking the show down into constituent parts defeats its purpose entirely. I could obviously explain to you how the band’s performances of “For the Love of God”, “Funebre” or “Let the Children Go” play out in regard to the overall set, but there’s a clue on the DVD menu to remind you that plucking fragments from the show is inadvisable—there’s no ‘play all’ choice here, just one word: witness. That, more than any of the words I’m about to type, sums the DVD up perfectly.

Spectacular visual accompaniments are projected on a mammoth screen behind the band. Ulver’s set is built atop waves of oscillating and juxtaposing currents, and as the rhythmic pulse shifts the imagery evolves. Varying images of mankind’s atrocities, nature’s majesty and preternatural mystery mimic the cadence of the show perfectly. The vast array of metaphoric, allegorical or representative imagery bolsters or offers a stark counterpoint to the tracks, and as the show progresses it becomes impossible to separate the visual from the musical.

That’s not to suggest that taken in isolation the music is somehow lacking, it’s not, and a CD release of the soundtrack alone would be incredible. The vintage synths, creeping effects, droning guitar, dulcet vocals, piano and percussion that Ulver wield all fuse into a singularly mesmeric force. The set-list has obviously been assembled with a cinematic vision (perhaps operatic is more apt), and the music alone sets you on a path where the idea of stepping off is unfeasible. For 90-plus minutes the band unhurriedly manipulates and tweaks their sound. With many songs bleeding into one another, Ulver constructs a show that takes you on a skillfully paced, sweeping and euphonious voyage—where the pitch and sway, the crescendos and hypnotic undercurrents, guide you through a raft of emotive states.

I had high expectations for Ulver: The Norwegian National Opera and I was not, for one second, anything less than enthralled. Expertly edited by Erlend Gjertsen, and mixed by the band at their own Crystal Canyon Studios in Oslo, the entire package is pristinely rendered, and is a sumptuous feast for the eyes and the ears. Ulver have always been a prime example of the transformative beauty of artists dedicated to producing work that is innovative and imaginative. And galvanized and inspired by celestial, terrestrial and otherworldly endeavors, Ulver: The Norwegian National Opera is a firm reminder of the transfixing (and yes, even transcendental) power of authentically progressive music. I couldn’t recommend it highly enough.

(Kscope)

By Gruesome Greg

Lost amongst the Pentagrams, Bisons and 40 Watt Suns of the label, this record came out on Metal Blade late last month, another foray into doom from the company that first brought you Trouble. Misery Wizard is the first full-length release from this Rhode Island trio, though it’s clear from the first note that they’ve taken a few classes at the University of Doom Metal.

The crunchy riffs of opener “Astaroth” pretty much do all the talking, though we do get some chanted vocals, and even a verse or two, about halfway in. Vocals are in that semi-operatic style, somewhere between Messiah and Witchfinder, and suit the music aptly. A couple of the snake-like riffs that follow bring the likes of Saint Vitus to mind. These kids know their stuff…

The title track follows, a slow, pounding piece of doom clocking in at just over 11 minutes. Definitely a hint of epicness here, think Argus or Candlemass, albeit with the bludgeoning repetitiveness of Reverend Bizarre. (I’ll admit that I can only take RB in small doses…) “Quest” continues on its journey, just a minute shy of its predecessor. Another piece of pounding, downtuned despondency—well, you get the picture.

I gotta say, while these guys don’t reinvent the wheel (or anything else, for that matter), they’ve got a pretty decent slice of doom on their hands here. Just trim the fat, and the next one’ll be even tastier.

(Metal Blade)

By Jason Wellwood

Aggressor do their damnedest not to sound like anyone else. It would be easy to label the band ‘thrash’ so that readers would know what to expect without listening, but that would be selling the band short. There is an obvious dedication to heavy music of all sorts within Aggressor’s song writing, thrash is the most prevalent sound perhaps, but definitely not the only one. Aggressor have taken the sound of early 80’s thrash, added a few dashes of traditional metal and a twist of 90’s alternative to make Beyond All Reckoning an exceptional piece of Canadian metal. ‘What is Me’ and ‘Justice Lost’ set the overall tone for the album: galloping tempos, duelling guitars, gruff vocals, and groove. In fact the thing about Beyond All Reckoning that stands out the most is that no matter how fast and heavy the songs get, there is an obvious groove to everything. The break at about three minutes in to ‘Unto The World’ is a perfect example.

‘More To Discover’, a balladesque track, has a spoken dedication to Mike Alexander, the bass player for Evile who passed away suddenly in 2009 that, combined with the feel of the song, raises goose bumps. Moody as hell, the song starts off with a beautiful acoustic intro which leads to heavy alternative feel and into some galloping thrash to finish things off. A ballad, yes, but not one that will be getting many folks slow dancing! By the time you get to ‘Redemption’ there is almost nothing that the Aggressor could throw at you that would surprise you, but the song not only features the heaviest vocal on the album, it also turns some of the sharpest corners of all the songs, complete with a chugging hard rock riff and amazing guitar solo that stops on a dime to finish the song that leaves you feeling like maybe you need to play the album again. And again.

Beyond All Reckoning is a solid album throughout, and the fact that you can’t completely pin down the sound of Aggressor is exactly what makes them so good. This is an album best experienced beginning to end, though you couldn’t go wrong picking any one track to listen to. For my money, that’s the mark of a great album.

(Self Released)

By Natalie Zed; Concert photos by Adam Wills

The line to get in to Lamb of God is officially the longest line I have ever seen in front of the Phoenix. The line of black t-shirts stretched for nearly a block. The line also moved slowly, as security searched bags and patted everyone down thoroughly – not without cause, it seemed, as I watched the dude in front of me in line hastily discard two full-sized box cutters security guards demanded that everyone empty their pockets. As soon as I finally got inside, wrangled a beer and staked out a relatively safe spot, I settled in for the night and prepared to be amazed.

Local opener Manahan did an excellent job warming up the crowd. Hailing from Keswick, Ontario and fronted by the shockingly young Cory Manahan (who is not yet twenty), Manahan are defined by their energy and amazing raw talent. Cory Manahan‘s guitar skills are simply preternatural. He is both nimble and passionate, and the songs are hooky and enjoyable, showcasing Manahan’s talent without being overly showy or complex. Manahan recently attracted the attention of renowned metal writer Carl Begai, and after this show it is easy to see why. They were an excellent choice as an opening, and they played a smart, slick and exciting to watch. They already have so much to work with, and so much potential, I can’t help but expect great things from them in the future.

The Acacia Strain, I am sorry to say, were disappointing. The Massachusetts deathcore band do not rev my engine, and their performance fell decidedly flat at this show. Their aesthetic embraces an uncompromising nihilism and negativity that is trying at the best of times, as they do not seem to be angry for anything but anger’s sake. This was an particularly ineffective attitude to have at this event, where the crowd was abuzz with positivity, collectively overjoyed at the prospect of the headlining set. The Acacia Strain’s set drew heavily from Wormwood, their most recent and homogenous record, and the featureless chugs of the riffing plus Vincent Bennett‘s uniform growls became a wall of while noise. The crowd were receptive and moshed along, but I can’t help but think everyone was so excited that they would have moshed to anything.

Before long, however, it was time for the undisputed headliners to begin their set. Smoke machines worked for quite some time before the band made their triumphant entrance, creating a moody fog that made the red and blue lighting seem like it was melting across the room. When Lamb of God made their entrance and the opening chords to “Desolation” sounded, the room erupted. Not for a moment during their entire set did the energy flag, either that from the stage or from the audience. The outspoken and charismatic vocalist Randy Blythe wholeheartedly embraced his role of master of ceremonies, and proved to be both an eloquent and positive. He spoke of playing a show at the Opera House in Toronto years ago, on the very first tour that took them more from spitting distance from their home in Richmond, Virginia. It seems Toronto has had a special place in the band members’ hearts since that first warm reception. It was clear that after a string of stadium shows opening for the likes of Metallica, playing the Phoenix felt positively intimate, and that connection was something both Lamb of God and their fans relished.

The set was as blistering as it was moving. “Walk With Me In Hell” turned into a whole-venue sing-a-long number, and “Ruin” was as transcendent as it was great and terrible. They also played a lot of material from the new album, Resolution, including “The Undertow” and “The Number 6,” which even live comes across as a smoother, slicker and more mature incarnation of their classic, groovy American heavy metal. The crowd was positively rabid, members of the audience throwing themselves at the stage an each other. The entire floor of the Phoenix eventually became a pit, the area right on front of the stage was like a maelstrom, with little eddies and whirlpools breaking out all the way to the very back wall. The venue eventually threw the rear doors open to ease the infernal heat, and people’s bodies near the exit gave off visible steam when the cool air hit them. It was exhausting and sweaty and exultant, the most love concentrated into a single performance that I have seen in a long time.

It’s official: I am moving to Randonesia.

By Sean Palmerston; Photos by Albert Mansour

Last Friday night was a good night. It was road trip time with good friends and I got to knock another band off my bucket list of must-see groups. The band in question was legendary NY crew Riot. Around the time that Hellbound.ca got rolling in June of 1999, the band played their first reunion show with the Thundersteel era line up of the band and we were lucky enough to have Pharaoh guitar slinger Matt Johnsen do a very thorough review of the show (read it here). It sounded pretty awesome and fellow Hellbound scribe Rob Kachluba decided there and then that if the band played anywhere locally we had to go.

The “local show” ended up being in Rochester NY, some three hours away from Hellbound HQ in Hamilton, ON, but Rob, Albert Mansour and I made the trek after work on Friday night to check it out. Mr. Kachluba was worried about getting there too late to see the entire Riot set, so we departed at 6:45 in hopes of making it to the venue for 10. There was no problem there, we got in and acquainted with the place only to discover that (a) there were four opening bands and (b) the second of said four was still on stage. Great. I have no idea who selected these bands, but I hope they paid him for the honour to open up for Riot. It’s the only thing that would make sense. None of these bands fit well with Riot’s sound, so it was pretty painful waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

It was nearly midnight when Riot hit the stage, after a strangely garbled intro, the three instrumentalists of the band got things going with a ripsnorting take on the classic instrumental “Narita” before vocalist Tony Moore joined them onstage for “Fight Or Fall” and showed the crowd almost immediately that he still has terrific pipes. Moore never missed or dropped a note all night. His voice was perfect through out, just like the performance by the rest of his band. Of course, Riot guitarist and founding member Mark Reale wasn’t there for the show. I am sure you all know by now that he passed away only a few days after this show, but the band had his guitar case front and centre on stage in tribute to their missing leader. In his absence, the band’s lead guitarist Mike Flyntz did such an amazing job that it’s still giving me goosebumps a week later. Having never seen him perform live before, I can definitely say that Flyntz is very underrated. Looking similar to Jeff Beck, he had no problem filling the air with wicked riffs and some very tasty soloing without becoming showy.

Over the course of nearly eighty minutes the band played a great selection of material from the early years of the band as well as the Thundersteel/Privilege of Power years. It was just fantastic to hear “Road Racin” and “Warrior” side by side with new track “Riot” and my personal fave Thundersteel song “Flight Of The Warrior”. Bassist Don Van Stavern was the most animated, jumping up on the stage’s outer wall and pushing the crowd to really get into it; drummer Bobby Jarzombek was in great shape, never missing a fill and even throwing in some cymbal splashes behind his head. This band live is a well-oiled machine indeed!

Riot’s set was a whirlwind affair, ending way too early. The band did give the smallish crowd of approximately 125 people an encore of “Swords and Tequila” and “Thundersteel”, but it was still way too short for my liking. I wish they could have played for two hours plus, but I am sure the absolute freezing temperature in the club – Tony Moore mentioned it was the first time he had ever played a show without breaking a sweat – didn’t encourage them to play any longer. Nonetheless, their set gets full marks from this impressed writer. I only hope that Reale’s death this week doesn’t mean this will be the band’s final US show ever. RIP Mr. Reale, you will be missed.

By Chris Dyck

The words “retro” and “throwback” get used a lot when describing music, especially in the rock and metal realm. In the case of Christian Mistress it goes way beyond that, sonically speaking anyway. Every single track on Possession is steeped in classic metal awesomeness. I’m hearing Stained Class era Judas Priest, a little Diamond Head, Heart and a kinda thrashy punk vibe. Someone said that they “distill classic heavy metal into the sound of now”… I would say that is a pretty accurate description, but they do lay the 79-83 sound on us pretty thick. So I’d say it is more “then” than “now”, by a mile.

The songs themsleves? Well, the first song is a winner for sure, the latter half of “Conviction” crushes, awesome guitar work, total shredder and “The Way Beyond” is a shit kicker. The more I listen to this record the more I dig it. These bros and ladybro can write bad ass metal for sure, and as much as I want to take some points off for shitty drum sounds and overall kinda weak production…I’m not going to, it’s a fucking fun Metal record so whatever. Hopefully next time they will try to polish it up just a bit, no need to intentionally have a weak drum sound, I get it…but I’m not feeling it. Just a bit more quality on the instrument sounds would be rad, Christine Davis‘ vocals are unreal. She brings up visions of mystics and gypsies and pentagrams whilst simultaneously summoning various skids from heavy metal parking lots, and I have heard she kills it live.

Overall these guys are pretty gnar. Pretty great little album considering it is only their second release. Relapse was smart to grab these guys, I think they will do pretty good this coming year. I am gonna go check them out next time they are in town for sure. If you dig NWOBHM you will dig this for sure and if you dont, there is probably something wrong with you?

(Relapse)

By Natalie Zed; live photos by Adam Wills

I’ve been looking forward to this show for ages. Fellow Hellbound writer and friend Justin M. Norton suggested I check out Ghost months ago and I was immediately smitten with the retro coolness of their sound, and the disparity of their surprisingly upbeat music paired with unabashedly occult and infernal lyrics. I was so disappointed when they could not get into the country to join Enslaved and Alcest on tour (recently I heard a rumour that was because they put their stage names on their visa forms – can you imagine working for the border and getting paperwork from Nameless Ghoul and Papa Emeritus?). When it was announced that they had successfully been cleared to travel and would be headlining, I was overjoyed. Theatricality is a necessary and vital part of heavy metal, in my mind. From the carefully choreographed violence of hardcore to the complex film projections of prog, the live metal experience is as much about putting on a show as it is purely playing music. Ghost promised to deliver on this front, and that definitely revs my engine.

The night started off somewhat lacklustre with a set from Ancient Vvisdom. The self-styled “metal rock ‘n’ roll” band from Austin, Texas sound a lot like a dirtier, folkier Alice In Chains. Though they had lots of carelessly applied makeup, battle jackets and small animal bones strewn about the stage, I got the feeling that they were playing, that they were really something more akin of a hard indie rock band just trying on the trappings of metal in an ironic way. The front man of Ancient VVisdom is also the percussionist (I can’t call someone who plays two cymbals and a tom a drummer, even if he uses a length of chain as often as drumsticks), and he certainly pours out energy into the performance. They did ease into their set, I can say that I enjoyed the last two songs, but they didn’t seem comfortable enough with their own aesthetic to really pull it off.

I’ve seen Blood Ceremony in smaller venues and less auspicious circumstances, and have always been impressed; at this show they completely blew me away with their intensity and skill. The band are based right here in Toronto, and are surely one of the city’s hard rock gems. They both terrorized and thrilled the Mod Club with a top-notch performance. Blood Ceremony call themselves “witch-rock,” and perform a combination of occult metal, harsh folk and horror infused classic rock. Frontwoman Alia O’Brien is an arresting figure, performing with heavy, Nefertiti-like eyeliner and black hot pants, the long fringes on her coat accentuating the swooping movements of her arms as she switched between singing (in a smoky, coke-dark voice), playing the flute (eerie and playful) and pressing the keys of the organ (oppressive and moody). Their set was vibrant, vital, heavy, and super playful and enjoyable too. They put on a weird performance that is also supremely great to witness. They have been deservedly enjoying quite a bit of success this year after the release of their sophomore album, Living With The Ancients (March 2011), and touring Europe. They deserve even more support, and especially more love and attention locally If you have not checked this band out I sincerely advise that you do!

Ghost are a band who thrive on theatricality; it is their life blood. A red velvet curtain obscured the stage the entire time the band was setting up, and came up as the opening notes of the intro music began to play, with the band already on stage and dramatically backlit. There can be no doubt that the undead cardinal Papa Emeritus and his band of hooded Nameless Ghouls are a imposing sight, and the dramatic coloured lighting in lurid shades of red, pink and green makes everything even more surreal.

Musically, however, it pains me to say that their set was only okay. Vocalist and front-demon Papa Emeritus’ voice started out on “Deus Culpa” kind of weird and pitchy, as though he had not warmed up.

Ghost clearly settled into the show, and while the performance never lagged and the illusion was seamless, the music was just decent. The cheerfulness of the record, Opus Eponymous, works as a recorded piece but as a live show the upbeat garage rock seems not only at odds with the incredible perfomativity of anything else, but becomes almost thin and weak in comparison. The performance benefited from a tight set, barely 50 minutes in length. Ghost played their whole album plus a cover of “Here Comes The Sun” (which was great) and no encore, just the red curtain coming down and again obscuring the stage. I fully enjoyed myself, loved the spectacle of it, and look I forward to the band touring and performing more, and in the process getting better at their live sets and improving their charisma.

By Kyle Harcott

Formerly kicking out snarly black’n’roll jams under the name Heathens, the recent name change to Wildernessking seems to have brought with it a fierce focus and commitment to play in a more forward-thinking style. While the basis is skull-ripping black metal at its core, The Writing of Gods… incorporates elements of rock, progressive, noise-rock and a smattering of post-rock to embellish its varied moods.

‘Rubicon’ opens, all vicious blur and tremolo-picking, no quarter given, and impressing its vehemence upon the listener with utmost urgency, until midway – when it breaks off into Enslaved territory, breaking down with soaring guitar riffs and thunderous mid-paced drums. The winter chill of ‘Discovery’ follows, ice-cold riffs relentlessly pelting, wind-chill-whipped along by frostbitten shrieks, summoning ice-breaking Norse-slave-ship rhythms in the middle breakdown, as the song hurls itself toward a storm-swept end.

Singer Keenan Oakes’ vocals are of special note throughout the album; his lacerating peal and equally-feral ravenous growl absolutely show-stopping. Meanwhile, the riffs, pythonic in size and scope, are incessant start-to-finish, coming down like meteorites fastballed by some sarcastic blackgod, shattering everything they come into contact with.

The triumphant ‘River’ is next, opening with a clarion of guitar harmony and galloping its way across clear-black stargaze, while ‘Utopia’ skirts battle-metal territory with a noise-rock bass intro, before dropping midway to a thudding doom pace. ‘Surrender’ is majestic and destroying, capitulating into a gargantuan rock solo at its outro, and the instrumental ‘Reveal’ showcases the band’s jaw-dropping musicianship. Finally, there is closer ‘Inifinity’, nine minutes of attackattackattack, absolutely brobdingnagian in riff, and hell bent for maximum volume infliction. Only -and just barely- at the song’s outro do we catch a glimpse of Wildernessking belaying their nonstop pummeling and show us a softer side, albeit a mournful one.

Ambitious and progressive, razor-raw and unrelenting, the debut from Cape Town’s WILDERNESSKING is passionate and exciting, and I’d daresay an early frontrunner in my book for one of the best of the year. Antithetic has really found something special in this band. Wildernessking appear poised for greatness, and are destined to make a name for themselves as leading the vanguard of cutting-edge black metal, and to put South Africa on the black-metal world map.

(Antithetic Records)