By Jonathan Smith

With a sound that brings to mind a combination of trance-inducing black metal, neo-folk instrumentals, and a Ridley Scott epic, Germany’s Imperium Dekadenz offer up Procella Vadens. The promo for the album notes that “far from reproducing the stereotypical political, religious, or misanthropic themes of their genre, Imperium Dekadenz clad metaphors of human transience, ashes, dust, and shadows into an antique attire with a penchant for the Roman Empire.” While it’s questionable whether the band haven’t left behind one set of stereotypes only to embrace another, what isn’t questionable is that Imperium Dekadenz have produced an awesome album that is one of the best that the black metal genre has to offer so far this year.

Metal fans have heard before most of the elements that Procella Vadens has to offer. However, what’s important is that even what sounds familiar is done so well. “Die Hoffnung Stirbt” opens the album with a haunting, minimalist piano melody, a sign of one of the many shapes of things to come. By the time “A Million Moons” is finished, the band have proven their chops when it comes to producing buzzing, tremelo-thick black metal that is captivatingly rhythmic in its seeming simplicity. “À la nuit tombante” is a sweeping acoustic-powered track accompanied by epic synth fills, and it sets up the tone for the album’s crashing centre piece, “An Autumn Serenade.” The latter begins with another piano intro before a cascade of metallic chords comes bursting onto the scene. Before it’s done, the track has reverted to a softer acoustic approach accompanied by the sound of blowing wind before the band revs back up again for the big finish. Vocalist Horaz actually sounds like he’s straining his voice almost to the breaking point, and given the epic nature of the material, it’s appropriate. “The Descent Into Hades” sounds like a piece that could be written by Hans Zimmer (with a touch of Blade Runner-era Vangelis mixed in) and that wouldn’t be out of place on the soundtrack to the latest historical epic out of Hollywood. Though it doesn’t always break new ground, Procella Vadens is a powerful piece of work that deserves to be praised.

(Season of Mist)

Rating: 8.5

Anytime someone mentions the word supergroup, I automatically get images of overblown bad jokes like Rock Star: Supernova, Audioslave, or Zwan springing to mind. Excessive, bloated, overly vaunted – the groups rarely live up to their potential, and the cynic in me screams “Ca$h-in!”

But then unsung drum god Richard Christy announced his new project Charred Walls of the Damned last year, and a lot of metalheads held it high in anticipation. The lineup’s there and it reads like a Who’s-who of metal (¾ of it a Who’s-who of Iced Earth): veteran Steve DiGiorgio on bass, “Ripper” Owens on vocals, hot-shit producer Jason Suecof on guitar, and Christy on drums – instant masterpiece, right?

Well, it’s a hell of a debut, for sure. Christy’s topnotch drumwork has always been jaw-dropping, that’s no different here; and yes, since joining The Howard Stern Show in 2004, we knew the guy knew his way around prank phone calls (the name of the band is an in-joke reference to an on-air prank call Christy made to a Christian radio call-in show) – but who knew he was such a strong songwriter as well? Every track stands on its own as a memorable piece of power-thrash, with a healthy flavour of old-school trad thrown in for good measure. It’s no secret the guy’s a big King Diamond fan, so the tracks are reminiscent of the King’s finest work, but it’s subtle and honorific, and the album ultimately stands on its own.

”Ghost Town” opens the disc with a classic Christy spaz-fill (it’s really his track), and the disc never lets off from there. But it’s the guitar work of Jason Suecof and the vocals of Ripper Owens that particularly shine through on the rest of the disc – especially evident on “From the Abyss” – and “Blood on Wood”, with its anthemic chorus, really, really spotlights Ripper’s mighty vocal talents. It’s nice to finally see him in a band situation where his talents aren’t automatically held up against the singers who were in the band before him. DiGiorgio holds the whole bottom end tightly together like the seasoned journeyman he is, though they could have mixed his bass in a little higher – the work he’s doing gets a little lost in places.

If I have one complaint about the record, it’s a minor one, and it’s that, at thirty-five minutes, the disc is over just as I’m starting to really get into it. Here’s hoping that on the next disc, the band gets to stretch out a bit more and offers up an album that’s a little longer. All in all, Charred Walls… is a solid piece of all-out metal from a seasoned group of players who fit really, really well together.

(Metal Blade Records)

Rating: 7.0

By Adrien Begrand

Has thrash become the “dad rock” of metal? Judging by the staggering number of grey hairs that could be seen on this night (including just a couple on the temples of yours truly!), it certainly seems to be the case. Of course, if there was a concert to bring out the old school headbangers in full force, some with their kids in tow, it was this one. Not only was Megadeth bringing along fellow Bay Area thrash legends Testament and Exodus along for their spring tour of North America, but Dave Mustaine and crew were set to perform the classic Rust in Peace album in celebration of its 20th anniversary, while Testament had promised to play their great 1987 debut The Legacy in its entirety. Three hours of music, with 95% of the songs coming from before 1991? For someone like myself, who had long lamented passing on a Motorhead/Exodus/Exciter triple bill in the summer of 1985 (I was a 14 year-old idiot) and missing a Megadeth/Testament show in 1991, this was a nice opportunity for some sort of atonement, but more importantly a chance to bask in music that was so dear to so many of us during our teens, and looking around it was more than evident that I wasn’t the only one thinking that.

That these three bands are still able to draw big crowds of younger listeners is a testament (sorry) to their longevity and the timelessness of their classic material, and it was great to see such a diverse mix of ages pack into Saskatoon’s Prairieland warehouse Park on this foggy March evening. It’s not often that you get an opening band that is plenty capable of headlining a show of their own, but when you’re seeing the mighty Exodus as the first band of a triple bill, you know you’re in for a memorable show. Seasoned pros that they are, the band swaggered onstage and wasted no time in getting the pits moving, thanks to a bevy of tracks focusing primarily on their 1985-89 era, kicking into a hugely impressive run of “Bonded by Blood”, “The Last Act of Defiance”, “Fabulous Disaster”, “A Lesson in Violence”, and underrated Pleasures of the Flesh nugget “Brain Dead”.

Exodus’s post-2005 rebirth has been very pleasing to witness, and it’s great to see vocalist Rob Dukes settling nicely into his role as frontman. He’s a terrific foil for longtime guitarist Gary Holt and his energy is contagious, igniting circle pit after circle pit (”The Toxic Waltz” was pure mayhem), and as usual, instigating a wall of death during “Strike of the Beast”. In fact, tonight Dukes would be the centre of attention in more ways than one, as two days after celebrating Megadeth guitarist Chris Broadrick’s birthday onstage in Calgary, it was his turn, as Chuck Billy and his Testament mates brought out the ubiquitous birthday cake, which, of course, got the inevitable toss into the rabid crowd, inciting a food fight so vicious the entire floor smelled of cake and frosting for the next half hour.

Testament, meanwhile, was beset with problems from the get-go. Eric Peterson’s guitar failed to work for a good chunk of “Over the Wall”, the mix was rather muddy, and Chuck Billy’s vocals were so drenched in reverb that they were near incomprehensible. Still, this is Testament after all, and it’s hard not to have fun even if there are the odd snafus. With former Megadeth guitarist Glen Drover ably filling in for Alex Skolnick, the guys carted out The Legacy’s nine tracks in sequence, standouts being “The Haunting”, “Burnt Offerings”, and “Curse the Legions of Death”. Billy needed some help hitting the high notes during the über-catchy “Alone in the Dark”, but the band pulled the song off nicely. Although we all expected “Aplocalyptic City” to end their set, the band did toss in one surprise inclusion before doing so, treating the jubilant crowd to the classic “Into the Pit”, making sure the Testament fans in the hall went home happy.

Megadeth concerts are always fun, but we all know MegaDave can be a bit predictable when it comes to his setlists, often merely churning out the hits with few or no left-field song choices. So although we knew full well we’d get the requisite material like “Peace Sells”, “Symphony of Destruction”, “Wake Up Dead”, and “Holy Wars…The Punishment Due”, the prospect of finally hearing some Megadeth deep cuts was absolutely tantalizing. With bassist Dave Ellefson being welcomed back into the fold it was all the more reason to look forward to this show, and the packed crowd gave him a huge ovation when he strode onstage with his mates to kick into “Set the World Afire”. After a tight run-through of “Wake Up Dead” and “In My Darkest Hour” (it always takes Megadeth a few songs to get going), the Rust in Peace festivities began, and as expected, the highlights were those rarely-played mid-album gems: “Poison Was the Cure”, with Ellefson’s memorable intro, the murky groove of “Lucretia”, and especially the wicked “Tornado of Souls”, with some of the sickest riffing and solos in Megadeth’s deep catalogue. Hell, even Ellefson and drummer Shawn Drover jammed on “Dawn Patrol”, giving the dude a good couple minutes in the spotlight.

After “Rust in Peace…Polaris” brought the middle portion of the set to a rousing finish, the boys carted out a few more staples in the form of Endgame standout “Headcrusher”, the fan fave “Trust”, and the requisite one-two of “Symphony” and “Peace Sells”. Mustaine must be in a better place these days, as he seemed surprisingly jovial during the entire show, graciously acknowledging Exodus and Testament, his stage presence less prickly, his vocals often more impassioned than usual. What spoke volumes the most, however, was when he let Ellefson stride onstage alone to thank the crowd himself and introduce “Peace Sells” with that bassline that only sounds right when heard through his own rig.

When the baby boomers got wrapped up in rosy-hued Sixties nostalgia 25 years ago, those of us in what would come to be known as Generation X scoffed at such shameless living in the past. My, how the tables have turned, as those of us in our 30s and 40s now can’t get enough of these retro gimmicks. But when it’s all done as well as Megadeth, Testament, and Exodus are doing on this can’t-miss tour, we won’t hesitate to live in the past for a few hours. For this music writer, though, it’s back to the present day, to listen to and write about killer new albums by Armored Saint, Overkill, and Ratt, and to remember to snag a presale ticket to Iron Maiden this summer. Wait, what year is it again?

By Rob Hughes

The seven-inch seems an ideal format for grindcore. Five to ten minutes is the perfect time span for a band to make a statement and keep the listener enthused, even wanting more. The format also has a ton of punk rock history and DIY credibility behind it.

Ottawa’s Fuck the Facts have gone the DIY 7-inch route with the Unnamed EP. It’s inspiring to see a band throwing themselves into their art like this, taking control of how their music is presented and promoted. Each of the 500 copies (available on clear and black vinyl) is handmade and numbered by the band, with art and design by vocalist Mélanie Mongeon. The result is beautiful, to state it unbrutally. Check out that vellum—it ain’t just for wedding invitations. The last time I came across a record packaged with vellum was Monoliths and Dimensions by SUNN O))), and that didn’t rock as hard as this does. For those who don’t cling to the idea of recorded music on physical formats, ordering the EP gets you a download code for the tracks in 320k MP3 format (it’s also available as a download only).

The music crushes. The EP’s six tracks showcase Fuck the Facts’s brutal approach, incorporating a spectrum of everything grinding, deadly, and black. The songs are shockingly tight, and surprising at every turn. Side one is relentless, from the “unnamed” title track’s feedback and blast beat opening to centrepiece “Loss Upon Loss” to “Wake” and its cluster-bomb attack. Side two changes the pace with the “Time is a Dictator,” a haunting piece with spoken vocals and chiming guitars, followed by the record’s “epic” (three and a half minutes!) “La Tete Hors De L’eau,” which injects some dissonant elements into the death/grind. The gut-churning “Doghead” finishes the EP in a 36-second torrent of bile. The whole thing is ruthless, vicious, and extremely impressive. The fact is, less than 12 minutes is ample time for Fuck the Facts to fuck you right up.

http://www.myspace.com/fuckthefacts

Rating: 9.0

By Melissa Andrews

I really enjoy when a bands play fast to sound heavy and thrashy but still have enough musicality that the songs still sound like music and not just playing fast to show how uber quick their guitar or drum playing is. The very recently released Arsis album, Starve for the Devil manages to fast and provide guitar parts that are memorable. The vocals are good and growley sounding but listening closely the words are almost understandable.

Right from the first song on the album “Forced to Rock” the guitar playing is impressive. Every single song on the album has at least one guitar riff that is something you want to listen to again. Some of the guitar solos I found a bit disappointing but those usually were short.

The band recently finished a North American tour opening for Arch Enemy, another show that I’m rather disappointed I missed. There’s a terrific review of the Toronto date on Hellbound by Ola Mazzuca, which you can read here.

(Nuclear Blast USA)

7.5

By Kyle Harcott

The concept of the covers album is a risky one. Nothing wrong with slapping one on as a B-side or extra track. But to propose a whole album of covers often begs the question, “What? Have they run out of their own material already?” When you decide to make the cover album an ongoing series, you run the risk of self-parody; Six Feet Under are getting dangerously close to that point with Graveyard Classics III.

As a caveat, I can tell you I’ve never been a huge fan of 6FU (other than Warpath, which is rad), but I’m always at least a little curious to hear Chris Barnes’ Cookie-Monstered takes on some of the old chestnuts. Inappropriate as the choice of some covers has been in the past (The Monkees? Hendrix? The entire Back In Black album?!), there’s always a certain level of tongue-in-cheek that goes along with listening to these discs. Luckily, this time around, the sound is there. The guitars are well-produced and give the disc that extra lockjaw crunch that’s needed. But a lot of the covers just really, really don’t fit, and that unfortunately supercedes a lot of my ability to enjoy this disc.

Case in point: Kicking off proceedings is Mercyful Fate’s “A Dangerous Meeting”. The very notion of Cookie-Monster Barnes attempting to pull off a King Diamond vocal is laughable, and the end result is pretty much what you’d expect. Musically, it’s a faithful and hefty rendition. But Barnes may as well be gurgling ‘Happy Birthday’ over the track for all it matters. I mean, come on, the Fate cover was meant as a joke, right? Is this some kind of 4:20, Cheech & Chong humour that non-dope-smokers just won’t get?

They follow up the Fate cover with Canada’s other national anthem, “Metal on Metal” by Anvil. Timely, as everybody got caught up in ‘Anvil fever’ last year as well, and at first, it’s fun hearing 6FU’s take on it But for me, the novelty of hearing Barnes’ stilted burble over familiar tracks wanes real quick, and with a lot of these tracks, I found myself wanting to go back and listen to the original songs instead.

A few times, though, it works: 6FU manages to pull off Metallica’s “Frayed Ends Of Sanity” faithfully, the guitars finally taking precedence over Barnes’ vo-kills. Exciter’s ”Pounding Metal”, and Twisted Sister’s “Destroyer” come off pretty good too, they’re the kind of monolithic songs well-suited to Barnes’ sink-drain-bark-and-quack. Steve Swanson’s guitar work on Prong’s “Snap Your Fingers, Snap Your Neck” stands out as well.

But that’s about it. The rest of the covers don’t really bring anything to the table except annoyance or the inevitable what-were-they-thinking facepalm. Yes, BTO’s”Not Fragile” has been long overdue for the metal treatment (previous versions by Tesla and Acid King notwithstanding) just maybe not by Barnes. All in all, about half of the tracks are good, the rest feel like filler. Good god, what will they do for the inevitable GCIV?

(Metal Blade)

Album rating: 5.0

By Tate Bengtson

The concept is simple, the execution unyielding, the principle uncompromising. Concept, execution, and principle may be summed up quite simply: death metal. Welcome to the macabre underworld of Vasaeleth. To pinch a famous phrase: abandon hope all ye who enter.

Serving as the creative vehicle for Antinom (drums) and O.A. (everything else), Vasaeleth blends the impenetrable murk of Incantation’s Onward to Golgotha with the Texan-style ritualistic malevolence of Imprecation’s Theurgia Goetia Summa. Low, indecipherable growls collide with the buzz of coarsely textured guitars while the drums attack with discombobulating frenzy. The primary source of Vasaeleth’s power rests in its oscillation between turbulent fast sections and dreadful slow passages. While its uptempo attack is an opaque and perplexing onslaught of indistinct riffs, the measured precision of its slow sections speaks to a very fine grasp of all things mysterious and macabre. It is within the latter mode that the spectacularly sick vision of Vasaeleth reveals its singularity; with every note pronounced and the mood unmistakably occult, Vasaeleth moves beyond the avowedly anti-theistic stance of Incantation and towards the recovery of a more primordial and ritualistic way of relating to death that recalls Imprecation.

If there is one criticism that I may level against the band, it is that the fast sections often come across as little more than a foil for the almighty slow passages. While the faster sections are often interchangeable and tend to blur into a maniacal, barely-controlled gallop (which is not a particularly bad quality in my books, and Vasaeleth does make this work in its favor), the slower sections demonstrate the depth and range of techniques at its disposal. The band does overcome this minor problem on some tracks, notably “Spirit of Noxious Miasmas,” where emphatic rhythmic breaks punctuate the uptempo drive. This song – which also serves as the album’s apex – demonstrates the full range of Vasaeleth’s capabilities as a foreboding introduction segues into one of the most powerful slow sections on the album before launching into a blitzkrieg assault.

While the resurgence of death metal that adheres to the early 90s model is a welcome trend, we are now at a point where the initial exhilaration is diminishing and greater critical analysis is leveled upon every new contender to that once-forsaken throne. This higher level of scrutiny reveals a band that has internalized the spirit of the genre at the zenith of its creative realization, but has gone further than simply aping its influences; yes, Incantation is an obvious and justified comparison, but it is the band’s cognizance of early 90s Texan death metal, as embodied by the aforementioned Imprecation, that lends Vasaeleth an atmosphere and approach distinct from its contemporaries. While additional putrefied flesh may need to be added to the band’s fast sections, its crushing slow passages and knack for crafting fluid, multi-faceted song structures speaks of a promising role for Vasaeleth in the movement to restore death metal to its morbid greatness.

(Profound Lore)

Rating: 8.5

I was mostly intrigued by the lengthy interviews with Varg Vikernes of Burzum.  While I’m not a fan of his music–or his politics–the man has become somewhat of a legend, a cult figure of sorts, due to his criminal exploits.  Turns out, he’s pretty well-spoken and has strong camera presence, even when he’s talking nonsense.  (His version of Euronymous’ murder shoulda had a laugh track in the background…)  The filmmakers, Aaron Aites and Audrey Ewell, dug up several archival newspaper clippings and Norwegian news coverage of his crimes, showing us why Varg was known as the OJ Simpson of Norway in the mid-90’s.

But aside from Varg, the film falls flat.  The other principal character, Fenriz of Darkthrone fame, is dispassionate, emotionless, and seems to lead a rather boring life.  The filmmakers have stated that they spent two years living in Norway, and were hanging out with Fenriz (real name Gylve Nagell) for months before they started filming.  Perhaps that’s why he appears disinterested–or simply uninteresting.  On the other hand, when shown conducting a phone interview with some magazine, he’s outspoken and passionate.  After hanging up, he turns to the camera and says “One down, one to go,” as if the interview was just a charade.  That being said, viewers of the film could have used some of that feigned enthusiasm, which we might have gotten had he been speaking to a serious documentary crew, and not two of his “pals” with a camera.  Familiarity breeds contempt, as they say…

The film revolves around Varg and Fenriz, perhaps a little too much.  While other musicians (members of Immortal, Ulver and Satyricon) are interviewed, their screen time shows them answering questions about Burzum, Mayhem, or church burnings.  And the doc doesn’t really focus on the music.  We get a few anecdotes here and there, about Euronymous inventing the “black metal riff,” the low production values of the first Burzum recording, how Peaceville begrudgingly agreed not to remix Darkthrone’s debut–but less screen time is given to discussion of the music than to shots of Fenriz walking through streets and forests, or of the various American retail outlets in downtown Oslo.

One gets the sense that the filmmakers just followed people around with cameras, and didn’t stop to ask any tough questions.  This approach to documentary film-making can be effective at times, as seen in Anvil!  The Story of Anvil.  However, to make it work, you need strong characters (Lips fits the bill) and something has to be happening, like Anvil’s European Tour From Hell.  Varg certainly counts as a character, but he spends the duration of the film sitting in prison.  The only two “events” shown in the film are black metal-related art exhibitions, one of paintings and photography, and the other a performance piece involving Frost from Satyricon.  While Aites and Ewell film the artist behind these exhibits, they don’t really question his motives.  And when Fenriz visits the art exhibit in Stockholm, the potential for a strong scene is squandered.  After looking at the paintings and photos, he shakes hands with the exhibitor, then says “I need a smoke”–before the film cuts to a scene of smoldering churches.

My journalistic instinct in that situation would compel me to ask “Well, what do you think about all this!?” But apparently that never occured to Aites nor Ewell.  I didn’t major in broadcasting when I went to journalism school, instead going the magazine-writing route, but watching Until the Light… reminded me of a principle that was drilled into us when I worked on the Ryerson Review of Journalism.  Essentially, the length of a piece that would run in the magazine was determined by the amount of research that went into it.  For example, we were expected to do 50 interviews for a 2,500 word story, even though most of those sources would never make it into the piece.  Along those lines, I feel that the filmmakers didn’t do enough research–especially in the interview department–to produce a 90-minute, feature-length documentary.  They musta spent most of their two years in Norway getting drunk in the forest, cuz there definitely wasn’t two years’ worth of footage in this film.  As it stands, the best parts of Until the Light… could be condensed into a half-hour public TV special on Varg Vikernes and the church-burning scandal, as it’s the only aspect of Norwegian black metal that’s examined with any depth.

In fact, I feel that the mini-doc on Norwegian BM included in the special features of Metal: A Headbanger’s Journey did a better job of capturing the essence of the genre and its relation to Norwegian culture, Sam Dunn saying “I see your extended fellatio sessions with Varg Vikernes, and raise you… an inteview with the pastor whose church he burnt down!”

Like many other aspects of Until the Light Takes Us, the final scene could have been much better.  Fenriz returns to Helvete, the notorious underground record store ran by Euronymous, to find that the place is not what it used to be.  He makes some comment about how it’s really different, then picks up his cell phone.  End scene.  What would’ve been more effective is if the cameras actually followed Fenriz inside, contrasting shots of the current location with old photographs from back in the day.  Or, y’know, they could have always asked Fenriz that age-old question: “How does this make you feel?”

While I wasn’t a huge fan of Global Metal, Sam Dunn’s sophomore effort, (my thoughts on that here-ya don’t hafta even scroll down!) I still left the theatre feeling that I’d seen an interesting, informative documentary.  That was not the case on this return visit to the Royal.  After watching Until the Light Takes Us, I came away feeling puzzled and unfulfilled, not unlike when I saw Harmony Korine’s latest flick at TIFF.

When it comes to metal film-making, Aites and Ewell’s tiny hands couldn’t carry Dunn’s jock.  Their work will certainly garner some interest in the extreme metal community, and some screenings on the art house circuit, but should not be mistaken for a professionally-produced doc.  If you don’t have any interest is seeing Varg or listening to what he has to say, then don’t bother with this film.  Just look up “Frost stabs couch” or something on YouTube, cuz that shit’s hilarious!

Peace,

Greg

P.S.: Smokin’ Green gives y’all the lodown on the heavy bands playing CMW next weekend.  Be sure to tune in tonite at 1 am at 88.1 fm on yer radio, channel 947 on yer TV, or www.ckln.fm on yer computer!

So, without further adieu, here is Natalie’s first installment in what Hellbound likes to refer to as “Postcards From Natalie Zed”…

Blackguard – Profugus Mortis

I first saw BLACKGUARD perform with ENSIFERUM, EX DEO, and SWASHBUCKLE on December 1st 2009. Their energy, graciousness and leather pants left me smitten, as did the combination of a black metal aesthetic with the cheerful cheekiness of folk. Paul Ablaze is a charismatic bugger, and “This Round’s On Me” is positively infectious. The album, in contrast, is surprisingly chilly and stoic. The sound is dominated by the keyboard battling the guitar, and while it’s definitely a friendly sparring match, it is most certainly a fight. I was also surprised by the reliance on black vocals with no warmth or contrast. Like an evening of drinking gone slightly awry, I expected to spend an evening sipping scotch neat with this album, and instead wound up doing shots.
(Nuclear Blast 2009)

Enslaved – Vertebrae

Any sensation, sustained long enough, however pleasurable or painful, will eventually fade into numbness. Hit the same nerve enough times in the same way and you’ll eventually stop feeling it. ENSLAVED are intimately aware of this, and actively combat the formation of an auditory callus with Vertebrae. The constant changes in texture and intensity prevents complacency — as soon as I’d start to settle into the album it would shift. Gentle without any comfort. A series of beginnings. Death by sandpaper.
(Nuclear Blast 2008)

Testament – Demonic

My family is Russian. My grandfather, Vsevolod, taught me to do shots (with gingerale) when I was three years old. He also taught me to say the word “Nostrovia” (to health) as a toast. That word is also the final track on Demonic, which made me feel unexpectedly nostalgic. Even more unexpected was how that nostalgia provided an appropriate counterpoint to this experience. Despite being huge and towering and harsh, TESTAMENT handles the listener carefully. There is something warm under the death growl, something unexpectedly tender in this album that begins with a countdown to 666 and ends with a sincere toast to the listeners’ health.
(Prosthetic Records 2007) (re-issue)

Skeletonwitch – Breathing the Fire

There are two ways to burn energy. Some labour exhausts you, lessens you, takes whatever reserves you have. You walk away dead tired and fall asleep still wearing your clothes and and a sheen drying sweat. Then, much more rarely, there is the labour that leaves you energized, electric. Breathing the Fire burns out of the latter category. However relentless the thrash, however hard it worked me over, I felt like I could take (and give) more.
(Prosthetic Records 2009)
All That Remains – Overcome

I saw ALL THAT REMAINS at the Sound Academy on November 17th 2007, along with TAKING DAWN, MAYLENE AND THE SONS OF DISASTER, and LACUNA COIL. In the interest of full disclosure, I bought the ticket to see Lacuna, but ended up being completely pleased with the headliner as well. It certainly helped that their set had Tony Hawk-esque circle pit ramps. It was a chance meeting, an almost accidental flirtation that left me unexpectedly hot under the collar. Listening to the album, I thought, would be a continuation of that steamy introduction (with fewer teenagers who couldn’t control their elbows), a proper first date. Only expecting to be shown a good time, the album took an unexpectedly earnest turn around “Forever in Your Hands.” Expecting to be simply ridden hard and out a way wet, this album made me feel like I should call it the next day or at least invite it to breakfast.
(Prosthetic Records 2008)

The Black Dahlia Murder – Deflorate

In case you hadn’t noticed: the album art features an obese, Giger-esque giantess covered in uterus-pods, sitting atop an insect throne/war machine, incinerating a trio of agonized penitents. Also, the drumming on this album is making me draw some uncomfortably delicious comparisons between an ear drums, a drum skin, and a hymen. Deflorate indeed.
(Metal Blade 2009)

Drudkh – Autumn Aurora

I chose the worst possible moment to listen to Autumn Aurora for the first time. I was stressed and manic, over-caffeinated and behind on a writing deadline. What I found in DRUDKH was so anathema to that state of mind that I might have hated it simply for not giving me more angry, scattered energy. But by the time “Glare of Autumn” came on, I had stopped working or pacing and simply sat, listening.
DRUDKH soothes without draining and refreshes without comforting. Strange and lovely.
(Season of Mist 2009) (reissue)

Hatebreed – Hatebreed

I am completely willing to accept that this is one of those “it’s not you, it’s me” situations. You see, I hate to jog. Loathe and despise it, actually. I would rather be flogged than go for a run. I get the sense that were I the particular brand of masochist for whom the vice would be versa, I would love this album. It’s angry and fast and has exactly the right kind of aggressive drive to sustain gross physical exertion. Were I a runner, I would love HATEBREED.
(E1 Music 2009)

Axxis – Utopia

Somewhere in the depths of my roommate’s hard drive, there is a video clip. This video clip may or may not depict me in my underpants, several bourbon-with-limes to the good, dancing around like an idiot and singing along to “Utopia” at the top of my lungs. If this video ever makes it on to the internet, you can safely assume that my roommate is also now dead.
(AFM Records 2009)

Gojira – The Way Of All Flesh

In May of 2009, Lily the Pirate (my good friend, roommate, and fellow metal head) and I went out for a beer. On out way home, our streetcar stopped in front of The Mod Club on College Street. Unbeknownst to us, GOJIRA had played there that night (this was when my love for metal still bore its first blush and before 60% of my paycheque went to concert tickets). The show had just ended; suddenly the streetcar was full of sweaty boys all vibrating with excitement. Whenever one of them spotted a small herd of their damp-black-t-shirt-wearing brethren, they’d lean out the window and scream “GOJIRA” at each other. Lily and I looked at each other; we both knew that whatever had just happened was something that we wanted to get in on. This album is inseparable from the feeling I got sitting on that streetcar being completely surrounded by positive energy and the very best kind of exhaustion there is.
(Prosthetic Records 2008)

By Adrien Begrand

At the very beginning of Armored Saint’s sixth album, and first in ten years, we get a subtle little indication of just where this record is going to take us, and it’s so innocuous that we don’t even notice until we hear it a second time. It’s a tiny little cowbell intro, lightly tapped triplet beats that immediately make us wonder if a timbale roll will follow as the band launches into a cover of War’s “Low Rider”. Before we can wrap our heads around it, though, the raging “Loose Cannon” gets the album off to the races, and we’re immediately settled into that comfortable traditional metal sound that Armored Saint has excelled at for well over 25 years. Only this time around, as that intro foreshadows, we’re in for some cool surprises the further we delve into this much-anticipated release.

Having grown up in a heavily Hispanic-populated area of Los Angeles, bassist Joey Vera, guitarist Phil Sandoval, and drummer Gonzo Sandoval have never shied away from exploring their Latin musical roots in the past (”No Me Digas” on 2000’s Revelation, “Tribal Dance” on the 1991 classic Symbol of Salvation), but on La Raza the band delves deeper than ever before, and certainly in a lot more detail than longtime fans could have expected. However, the way they ease us into it is one of this album’s best attributes. The first four tracks are quintessential Armored Saint, as the aforementioned “Loose Cannon”, the dynamic, anthemic “Head On”, the riotous “Left Hook From Right Field”, and the confrontational “Get Off the Fence” all mine the same comfortably familiar NWOBHM-derived metal that has formed the band’s foundation since ’84’s great March of the Saint, led of course by John Bush, one of metal’s great voices. It’s an exuberant, slyly predictable 21 minute run, a perfect set-up for what turns out to be an extraordinary second half of the album.

From the fifth track on, it’s all about relaxed, sunny grooves and light touches of funk, main songwriter Vera taking us into his old neighbourhood. With its conga drums and slinky, Santana-esque bassline, the title track feels positively sweltering as the band works itself into a furious jam, culminating in a terrific extended solo break. The acoustic-tinged “Black Feet” draws from a richer sonic palette than we normally expect and is performed with verve, the simply titled “Blues” tastefully takes on an Alice in Chains vibe, while the wicked “Bandit Country” crackles with tension thanks to Vera’s taut, stuttering bassline, exploding into a chorus that puts the leather-lunged Bush front and centre. The best of the lot, and the best song on the entire record, is the languid “Chilled”, in which Latino and classic metal cultures interweave beautifully, the lugubrious verses and expressive lead fills by Jeff Duncan and Phil Sandoval wonderfully underscoring a towering performance by Bush.

Symbol of Salvation will always go down as Armored Saint’s definitive album, but you’d be hard pressed to find a record more concise, focused, and flat-out fun than La Raza. In fact, the only fault yours truly can find on this fabulous record is Bush’s lazy rhyming on the otherwise fiery “Little Monkey”. It feels like a creative rebirth for the band, and we can only hope Bush will stop wasting his time with Anthrax and stick with the band that he’s always meant to front, because to go another ten years without another Armored Saint album after the promise this one shows would be criminal. “It’s all pretty good,” Bush muses at one point on “Chilled”. That’s one hell of an understatement.

http://www.myspace.com/armoredsaint1

(Metal Blade)

Rating: 8