Decibel #116 - June 2014 by Red Flag Media

scorpions In Trance

goatwhore studio report

extremity retained death metal book excerpt!

e xt r e m e ly e xt r e m e  d e c i b e l m ag az i n e . c o m

’s

Dave

Brockie 1963-2014 a tribute to oderus

free 

iron reagan flexi disc inside!

june 2014 // No. 116

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Floor Vallenfyre Marty Friedman Young Widows Lord Mantis Devil You Know

e xtr e m e ly e xt r e me

June 2014 [T116] decibelmagazine.com

68 cover story

dave brockie

The universe mourns

upfront 12 news Great, more fucking obituaries 16 metal muthas:

pyrrhon

24 archspire Hilarious riff tracks 26 lost society Speed kills

No skepticism in this house

28 young widows Happiness is all the rage

17 killing is my business Press charges

30 acheron Sacrifice and termination

18 grinding it out Extreme teenage makeover

32 lord mantis Degenerated and vegetated

19 brewtal truth Omens of liver disease

34 stoneburner Drawn and quartered together

20 cry now, cry later The d’oh in Udo 20 studio report:

36 gravehill Ugly in the mourning

goatwhore

Their rage is relentless

features

reviews

38 call and response with

81 lead review Conflicting approaches team up and fight for Mayhem on Esoteric Warfare

devil you know

Howard Jones worships our false idols 40 vallenfyre Rebirth in the family 42 floor Friends in low places 44 book except:

extremity retained Vignettes from Jason Netherton’s new death metal chronicle

48 special feature:

going non-metal

When the riot turns pussy

82 album reviews Records that don’t get high, but if you’re holding… including the latest from Eyehategod, Triptykon, Down, Skinfather and Autopsy 108 sub:culture Max Cavalera’s roots are showing 112 south pole dispatch Chopped and Scrooged

52 q&a: marty friedman The prodigal rising sun 56 the decibel

hall of fame

cover photo by Jamie Betts contents photo by Locked Illusions Photography

The entrance of In Trance launched Scorpions to new proto-metal heights

Decibel (ISSN 1557-2137) is published monthly by Red Flag Media, Inc., 1032 Arch Street, 3rd Floor, Philadelphia, PA 19107. Annual subscription price is $29.95. Periodical postage, Philadelphia, PA, and other mailing offices. Submission of manuscripts, illustrations and/or photographs must be accompanied by a stamped, self-addressed envelope. The publisher assumes no responsibility for unsolicited materials. Postmaster send changes of address for Decibel to Red Flag Media, 1032 Arch Street, 3rd Floor, Philadelphia PA 19107. Copyright© 2014 by Red Flag Media, Inc. All issn 1557-2137 | usps 023142 rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission of the publisher is strictly prohibited. 4 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

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extremely extreme

June 2014 [T116]

Publi s her

Alex Mulcahy

Editor -In-Chief

Albert Mudrian

Co ntr ibuting Wr iters

alex@redflagmedia.com albert@decibelmagazine.com

managing Editor

Andrew Bonazelli

andrew@decibelmagazine.com ar t di rector

Bruno Guerreiro

just words

photo by Jeremy Saffer

bruno@decibelmagazine.com Co ntro lle r

cu s tomer se rvice

Dave Brockie’s death, I found myself deep inside a YouTube rabbit hole. The first clicks were classic videos “Gor-Gor,” “Black and Huge” and “The Road Behind,” followed by a few minutes of Phallus in Wonderland, then a sample of a more recent cover of Billy Ocean’s “Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car” before I eventually landed on GWAR’s 1990 appearance on The Joan Rivers Show. If you haven’t seen it, that eight-minute segment embodies everything that made GWAR and Brockie’s Oderus Urungus character so special. Highlights include Oderus recalling the story of Charlotte police confiscating the Cuttlefish of Cthulhu after removing it with a laser saw before claiming that they wanted to smoke confiscated crack with him at the station. I have no idea what airs on TV now (guessing live executions and celebrity bowel movements), but the fact that this was on in the middle of the day 24 fucking years ago is deeply satisfying. My wife similarly turned to YouTube for closure. Though not a hardcore GWAR—or metal—fan, she and her sister used to sing along to “Sick of You” while driving around as teenagers. Soon she stumbled upon “Sick of You”’s crude but endearing video, which she never knew actually existed. After watching it, she called me and said, “I would have never imagined something so ridiculous could ever actually bring a tear to my eye.” I never stopped to think about what GWAR meant, because I never had to. GWAR was just always there, at least for me when I first started dabbling in extreme metal in 1990. Most metal fans likely never did either, unless you were one of the countless members of the Richmond arts and music community that Brockie and GWAR supported for over a quarter-century. Whether that was helping Municipal Waste and Lamb of God get their first major national tour exposure or simply employing half the city’s artist population at the Slave Pit over the years, Brockie did this not out of obligation or for political capital, but simply because that’s the kind of guy he was. Even the music he wrote and recorded with GWAR for our Decibel podcast was a complete favor, which made things that much more awkward when I had to tell him that I thought the first version he turned in totally sucked. Luckily, a provocateur of Brockie’s stature was impervious to criticism. If he wasn't, GWAR wouldn’t have lasted 30 seconds, let alone 30 years. Fortunately for us, he crammed more prosthetics, blood and jizz in that three-decade span than anyone else will see in their lifetimes. As J. Bennett’s wise friend said [see page 78], thanks for the memories, Dave. albert mudrian, Editor-in-Chief

Patty Moran patty@decibelmagazine.com

co ntr ibuting ar tis ts

Chuck BB, Mark Rudolph

adve r tising

Albert Mudrian

albert@decibelmagazine.com

Moments after learning of

from the editor

Nicole Jarman nicole@redflagmedia.com

540.878.5756 unde r to nes secti on

Drew Juergens

drew@decibelmagazine.com

Online Deciblo g editor

Andrew Bonazelli

online adve r tising

Ben Umanov

andrew@decibelmagazine.com

ben@blastbeatnetwork.com

Anthony Bartkewicz Adrien Begrand J. Bennett Shawn Bosler Brent Burton Richard Christy Liz Ciavarella-Brenner John Darnielle Jerry A. Deathburger Chris Dick Sean Frasier Jeanne Fury Nick Green Joe Gross Jonathan Horsley Scott Koerber Daniel Lake Frank Lemke Shawn Macomber Shane Mehling Kirk Miller Justin M. Norton Matt Olivo Dutch Pearce Etan Rosenbloom Kevin Sharp Rod Smith Zach Smith Kevin Stewart-Panko Adem Tepedelen Jeff Treppel Jeff Wagner Co ntr ibuting photo gr aphers

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To order by phone: 1.215.625.9850 (10 a.m. – 5 p.m. EST) To order by fax: 1.215.625.9967 To order online: www.decibelmagazine.com Decibel (ISSN 1557-2137) is published monthly by Red Flag Media, Inc., 1032 Arch Street, 3rd Floor, Philadelphia, PA 19107. Annual subscription price is $29.95. Periodical postage, Philadelphia, PA, and other mailing offices. Submission of manuscripts, illustrations and/or photographs must be accompanied by a stamped, self-addressed envelope. The publisher assumes no responsibility for unsolicited materials. Postmaster send changes of address for Decibel to Red Flag Media, 1032 Arch Street, 3rd Floor, Philadelphia PA 19107. Copyright ©2014 by Red Flag Media, Inc. All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission of the publisher is strictly prohibited. PR INTED IN U SA

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fanbase Reader of the Month 1989, when the usual aesthetics of the era—neon, peroxide, glitz—segued into something that looked a little like a snuff video shot in a Third World war zone. The band wore costumes that suggested The Road Warrior staged by the creators of Fraggle Rock. I sat transfixed, finger poised over the record button on the VHS remote, waiting for a sign. Was I in or out? Then the title came up on screen—“Black and Huge”—and, laughing, totally awestruck, I hit record. It’s very sad to have lost Dave Brockie, a true original with big smarts and a killer sense of humor. You claim to have read our Editor in Chief’s book Choosing Death a dozen times. Don’t you have any more books?

Nick Crowe

Toronto, Ontario This issue’s cover story is a tribute to Dave Brockie. Pretty much every metal fan has a GWAR story. What’s yours?

Like any Canadian metalhead of a certain age (read: trudging into middle age), I grew up watching Much Music’s metal show, The [Pepsi] Power Hour. Sure, you’d get your share of hair metal (not to mention baffling, repeated plays of bands like Vow Wow, King Kobra and Autograph), but they’d also sprinkle in a fair bit of the good stuff: Celtic Frost, Razor, Morbid Angel’s classic “Immortal Rites” clip. But there was nothing like the shock one day, probably in

8 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

Yes, Choosing Death is a perpetual favorite, as are other transcendent works of literature like David Lee Roth’s Crazy From the Heat and Dave Stieb’s Tomorrow I’ll Be Perfect. As a father of two small children, it’s as much Captain Underpants as Cormac McCarthy these days, but I tend to like the dark stuff: Daniel Woodrell, George Pelecanos, Ron Rash, Benjamin Whitmer, Pete Dexter, Frank Bill and the like: page-turners with grit and substance. Shameless plug: I’m also a writer and my first novel, A Cold Night for Alligators, was published in Canada and the U.S. three years ago. I’m busy finishing up another based on the five years I spent working as a janitor in a psychiatric hospital. You’re a resident of the great country of Canada. Can you take a moment to dispel a myth that we Americans have about our dear neighbors to the north?

Well, I eat bacon, settled on plaid as a “look” in about grade two, and am pretty sure I’ve used “eh” in both its inquisitive and punctuative forms today. But, digging a little deeper into the lexicon of Canadian stereotypes, I’ve given up wearing beaver pelts on casual Friday and no, I don’t know your friend Ron from Ontario. Yes, our milk really does comes in bags, but no, I’m not more polite than you—just tired and passive. But you don’t need me to dispel stereotypes of the kinder, gentler variety—our mayor Rob Ford has been busy destroying those, one drunken stupor at a time. We’re already working on the dB Tour lineup for 2015, but we value reader input, so tell us who should be on it?

Very tough to top this year’s lineup, but how about easing up on the tempos a little for us fogeys in the back? I’d have it double as an all-Decibel HOF tour: Sleep, Floor, Eyehategod and Earth (because Earth 2 is hitting the HOF this year, right?) with regional support acts Rwake, Weedeater, Pallbearer, YOB, Keelhaul, Inter Arma, Eagle Twin and Milligram (yes, the last two have split, but since you got Carcass and Gorguts on the road, I’m sure this is just a niggly detail). Biggest challenge will be getting the whole caravan through Canadian customs for the northern dates. So, I’d suggest a standby roster of Canuck replacement players including Sons of OTIS, fiftywatthead, Bison BC and, hey, if we’re aiming large, Voivod and Sacrifice.

Chuck BB is the illustrator of the graphic novels Black Metal, Vol. 1. and Black Metal, Vol. 2 For more info and art, head over to chuckbb.com

web gems presents:

f Suckness o s o ie n h Symp In which we recount the most the insane and inspired posts of g blo month from our comrades in

NAPALM DEATH COVERS CARDIACS

OTEP SHAMAYA CLAIMS “FAKE NEWS” SITES “SENSATIONALIZED” HER MAYHEM/HOMOPHOBIA TWEETS It’s hard to give too much of a shit about Otep in 2014, but in case you inexplicably do, here’s your long story short: The “cultural arsonist” frontwoman recently tweeted “Lots of ppl asking why we aren’t on @MayhemFest this year. Could it be that one of their corporate sponsors is openly homophobic? Hmmm...” She then promptly backtracked and belittled all the “fake news blogs” that reported on the tweet, saying, “They invent fake controversies w/out investigating, w/out questioning, just to incite readers.” So much for accountability. How will we ever forge ahead?

Here’s something actually important. U.K. experimentalists Cardiacs have had a massive influence on tons of the independent music we cherish today. Napalm Death agree. Sadly, Cardiacs ringleader Tim Smith is still slowly recovering from a heart attack and stroke he suffered in 2010. So, our favorite Brummie grinders tackled “To Go Off and Things,” now available on their Bandcamp page, “recorded in tribute to the man (and the band), but also as a humble gesture to raise funds for Tim’s ongoing rehabilitation.” Go throw down less than two bucks for a noble cause at napalmdeath.bandcamp.com.

Arch Enemy War Eternal

TAGS: NAPALM DEATH, CARDIACS

Devil You Know Seven Years Alone

TAGS: OTEP, ROCKSTAR ENERGY DRINK MAYHEM FESTIVAL

METAL DUDE SINGS KATY PERRY’S “DARK HORSE” IN 20 DIFFERENT STYLES Katy Perry’s most recent album, Prism, has a lot of shitty songs, and the trap-leaning “Dark Horse” is one of them. For no good reason, a longhair recorded himself covering the hit single in 20 different vocal styles, some of which are metal. As MS co-founder Vince says, “Although five of the 20 styles in which he sings … are metal—Iron Maiden, Pantera, Metallica, Slipknot and Type O Negative—I actually kinda enjoyed the non-metal sections more; his impersonations of Michael Jackson, Boyz II Men and John Mayer are spot-on.” As far as we’re concerned, his Peter impression “steeles” the show. TAGS: KATY PERRY

PROFESSOR REWARDS STUDENT FOR USING GWAR ON AN EXAM How could we not include a GWAR post? Not sure what class MetalSucks reader Miles B. was taking (presumably something historyrelated), but in answer to the two-point bonus question “Who built the pyramids?” (provided answers: aliens, Egyptians, George W. Bush), he drew a picture of Oderus. His teacher very awesomely remarked, “Best answer so far!” and then followed up with, “With the help of King Diamond?” Our profs would have fractured our skulls with yardsticks, so good work, Miles! TAGS: GWAR

Visit www.metalsucks.net 1 0 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

Nothing Bent Nail

Gwar

Sick of You Visit the official Decibel channel at Metal Injection http://www.metalinjection.tv/decibel

news

Jason McCash

Selim Lemouchi

Of all of metal’s subgenres, doom gets the closest to the real challenges

“You rarely meet a motherfucker as real as Selim,” praises Black Anvil bassist/vocalist Paul Delaney, who befriended the Dutch guitarist in the late ’90s. During that time, Lemouchi was touring in other people’s bands, racked by doubt and confusion, personal darkness and substance abuse. He later reflected that he felt disconnected from the self he was meant to be, and eight years ago he redirected his energy toward reclaiming his own spiritual identity. He briefly withdrew from music and turned to painting—a willful activity that traced archetypal figures of both pain and possibility; a ritualistic activity that required his own blood be loosed and smeared on walls as a grateful sacrifice to the forces of death. Lemouchi returned to music with the help of his sister Farida and the satanic tenets he both touted and fervently protected. His vision gave the Devil’s Blood its clarity of purpose and its chilling, alluring sonic character. The Devil’s Blood became Lemouchi’s vehicle for exploring his fascination with death’s role inside and outside himself. Delaney reports that “I found this band’s demo [in 2007] and fucking fell in love with it. [Knowing it was Selim made it] that much more personal.” For his audience, Lemouchi’s death is jarring because his creative output was suddenly interrupted. Though he and Farida decided that the Devil’s Blood had run its course last year, he inaugurated a conceptual offshoot, Selim Lemouchi & His Enemies, whose Earth Air Spirit Water Fire still vibrates with musical ideas. For himself, though, Lemouchi’s death was the continuation of a journey that he seemed neither afraid nor ashamed to take. He felt that death was an apex, a fulfillment of all expectations, as well as a removal of the veil that distorts our connection to our deepest selves. In one interview, he rejected peace as a final destination and suggested that there would be no reason to grieve for him. “It’s easy to turn a situation like this into something about yourself,” Delaney remarks. “As affected as I am by this, it isn’t about me. It’s about a guy that followed his path.” —Daniel Lake

of our lives. Black metal is the romantic heart. Grind is the anime blur. Doom is the street poetry, Bukowski in 4/4 time. Black Sabbath came first with tales of war, madness and global catastrophe. In the ’80s, Saint Vitus offered a more intimate take with songs about depression (“The Lost Feeling”), alcoholism (“Dying Inside”) and alienation (“Born Too Late”). At the same time, doom offers the flipside: tales of power and revenge; a stubborn attitude; a sense that you can leave the world behind with your music for a while and carry on. The Gates of Slumber, one of the best doom bands in the past decadeplus, offered both: escapism and angst. Bassist Jason McCash, who died in early April just weeks before his birthday, was the backbone that brought their music to life. Their earliest records and their breakthrough Conqueror (Decibel’s #5 album of 2008) were indebted to Robert E. Howard and fantasy. But GOS also tackled very human concerns, especially on their swansong The Wretch; “To the Rack With Them” is on the surface a story about executions, but could also be read as a critique of working hell in the corporate consumer wasteland. Friends say McCash dealt with some of the same struggles detailed in his band’s autobiographical songs. But he is best remembered as one of the twin engines that powered the Gates of Slumber along with “Iron” Bob Fouts. Doom can’t work without groove. It needs a rhythm section that makes the music lumber and gallop, like it did on “Trapped in the Web” and “Blood and Thunder.” Instead of just parroting the other instruments, McCash used his creativity and chops to expand and build underneath the music, much like bass icon Geezer Butler first did decades earlier. McCash’s friend and bandmate Karl Simon recently said something we already know: There will be no more Gates of Slumber. Without Jason McCash, it wouldn’t sound the same. McCash leaves and a wife and three children, and will be missed. —Justin M. Norton 1 2 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

(1980-2014)

jason mccash photo by Scott Kinkade

(1976-2014)

news It was an honor and a privilege to be able to write about great music that doesn’t usually get covered in a magazine like Decibel. Wait, there is no magazine like Decibel. Most music magazines suck so bad.

 Wages of kin

Seward (c) with the two coolest kids in the world

Metal

Muthas

Scott Seward’s cheeky and erudite meditations on ugly music anchored the pages of Decibel for the better part of its first decade. Now the fan-favorite is retired from writing and living a quiet life as a family man in the land that inspired 1,000 Norman Rockwell paintings. Er, sort of… —Nick Green One of your most enduring legacies is the creation of Metal Muthas. Are you surprised the column has lasted this long?

I love reading the Metal Muthas interviews every month. Metal moms are badass. Seeing the column is a little bittersweet now, though. The first interview I did was with my friend Mary Hernandez, the mother of Tombs drummer Andrew Hernandez, and sadly, she passed away last year. I really miss her. She was an amazing woman. Your noise column, The Wages of Din, ended with a cliffhanger in issue #083. Here’s your chance to give it a proper send-off: Go!

I just want to thank everyone who sent me 1 4 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

music for Din. You have no idea how much amazing music I heard because of that column. It was an embarrassment of noisy riches. And it was an honor and a privilege to be able to write about great music that doesn’t usually get covered in a magazine like Decibel. Wait, there is no magazine like Decibel. Most music magazines suck so bad. For the last several years, you’ve owned and operated John Doe, Jr. Used Records and Books in Greenfield, MA. How’s business?

It’s okay! Other than my family and friends, all I really care about is old records, and I make my living selling them, so things are good.

As your YouTube channel reveals, you have a rather unusual routine on workdays. What are some good records to drink coffee and meditate to?

I always listen to loud music (which is meditative to me) before I open the store because I get a lot of old-timers coming in during business hours, and I don’t want to scare them away. So, anything on my favorite label, Utech Records, or Bathory. Lots and lots of Bathory. How old will your kids have to be before you let them write for Decibel?

Despite the fact that my boys, who are 8 and 11, have been hearing metal since they were in the womb, they’re both really into modern “electro.” Kids these days... I can only hope that they become pissed-off surly teens and begin to follow the left hand path. They’re a little too happy with life right now to be metal writers. A

d e c i b e l : j u n e 2 0 14 : 1 5

news now slaying Wonder what Decibel world HQ has been rocking for the past month? Well, here are the records we listened to most while committing cultural arson.

Metal

Muthas Because not all of us were spawned in the darkest recesses of hell

This Month's Mutha: Jean Moore Mutha of Doug Moore of Pyrrhon

Can you tell us a little bit about yourself?

I grew up in Philadelphia. I worked for a couple of years and then went back to school for a business degree in hopes of getting a better job. I worked as an accountant for most of the next 15 years. One of the things that has always been important to us as a family is music. We took Doug to his first concert when he was nine or 10. The band was Smashing Pumpkins. We were a little surprised because we were the only folks there as a family. What was Doug’s hometown like?

Radnor’s a pretty homogenous suburb with an excellent high school. Doug’s experience was pretty mixed. He benefited from one English teacher who was extremely academically rigorous, and contributed tremendously to Doug’s love of writing and language. On the other side, Doug never really felt like he fit in well. I think that his love of metal was an expression of his frustration with his surroundings. Doug looks pretty unhinged when he’s onstage. Do you worry about him when you see Pyrrhon concert footage? 1 6 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

Doug’s demeanor onstage is performance art that expresses and reinforces the message in Pyrrhon’s music, much of which is about the brutality of our world and the anger, helplessness and despair that result. Doug graduated from the University of Pennsylvania. What do you think of his decision to play heavy metal and run a metal blog?

I think a good education trains us to think critically. I also think that there are many positive ways, including artistic expression, to use those critical thinking skills to contribute. Doug is an incredibly hard-working, disciplined guy who is also a gifted musician and writer, and has spent years developing those talents. You can’t help but see all of this come together in an amazing way in Pyrrhon’s lyrics and music, and in Doug’s writing. Did you know that Rich Hoak of Brutal Truth went to the University of Pennsylvania?

No, I had no idea that Rich Hoak went to Penn! Doug says he met Rich during college and saw him at shows. I’ll bet there are other metal musicians who went to Penn, too. —Justin M. Norton

Albert Mudrian : e d i t o r i n c h i e f  Autopsy, Tourniquets, Hacksaws and Graves  Tombs, Savage Gold  Agalloch, The Serpent & the Sphere  GWAR, Scumdogs of the Universe  Carcass, Necroticism: Descanting the Insalubrious ---------------------------------Andrew Bonazelli : m a n a g i n g e d i t o r  Trap Them, Blissfucker  Dum Dum Girls, Too True  Carcass, Heartwork  Wolvhammer, Clawing Into Black Sun  Agalloch, The Serpent & the Sphere ---------------------------------Patty Moran : c u s t o m e r s e r v i c e  Neurosis, Enemy of the Sun  Hater, The 2nd  The Breeders, Title TK  Failure, Comfort  Front 242, Front by Front ---------------------------------Bruno Guerreiro : a r t d i r e c t o r  GWAR, Scumdogs of the Universe  Vallenfyre, Splinters  The Atlas Moth, The Old Believer  Agalloch, The Serpent & the Sphere  Paradise Lost, Paradise Lost

guest slayer

---------------------------------Rebecca Vernon : s u b r o s a  Corrections House, Last City Zero  Gravecode Nebula, Sempiternal Void  The Cure, Disintegration  Cult Leader, Nothing for Us Here  Swans, Children of God/ World of Skin

ramblings Killing is my Business Each month, Decibel demystifies a different aspect of the heavy metal industry

by Etan Rosenbloom

• Death Cult PR-mageddon •

ith recording costs approaching zero, and online platforms making it possible to distribute an album for free, the quantity of press releases that metal journalists receive has increased exponentially in recent years. Convincing me not to hit “delete” before listening to your album can be tough. That’s why a good publicist is more important than ever.

“There are so many writers and bloggers covering metal now for a huge array of publications,” says Kim Kelly of Catharsis PR, which represents 20-odd extreme acts. “That makes for a lot of busy people for a band to reach. Hiring someone whose entire job is making sure press folk are listening to your album adds an extra level of security.” In general, the rates that PR firms will charge vary according to the work involved and the client’s cash flow. An unsigned band might pay a flat $200 a month for a publicist to promote its upcoming album to websites; it’s not unheard of that larger firms will charge more established acts thousands per month. At the most basic level, a publicist’s job is to keep the client’s name and music in the spotlight. That might involve pitching album reviews and features to magazines, getting news sites to pick up tour announcements, or arranging on-air interviews or giveaways with radio shows. A good publicist knows which outlets are receptive to track premieres; which prefer in-depth interviews; which freelancers love grindcore, but usually trash thrash, or vice versa. For a metal label, publicity is simply a cost of doing business. Century Media and Nuclear Blast have in-house publicists; others hire independent firms to help cut through the inbox clutter. One of the longest-running is Earsplit PR, run by Dave Brenner and his wife (and Decibel scribe) Liz Ciavarella-Brenner. They represent much of the A389, Neurot, Relapse and

Unique Leader rosters. While Ciavarella-Brenner admits that outlets tend to favor bands with label backing, Earsplit also take on many worthy unknowns. “Sometimes hard-working, unsigned artists are the most deserving, loyal and overall appreciative folks we operate with,” says Dave Brenner. “We’ll always try to use our access… to spotlight the independent/unsigned acts on the roster.” Publicity serves a real financial need for bands and labels. Ideally, increased awareness breeds increased income. But it’s not always the case. Working in PR also means managing your client’s expectations. “Some bands have unreasonable goals too early in the proverbial ‘game,’” says Ciavarella-Brenner. “Unless a band is willing to appreciate the coverage of the smaller blogs and zines and gradually work their way up, they will be discouraged pretty quickly.” “Wait until you have something a publicist can use,” Kelly suggests. “‘This band is great!’ is less effective than ‘This band is great, and they have a rad new album coming out in two months!’” Brenner’s advice: “Gain a badass local following and reach some people on your own first. Sell a few copies of your own handhewn products to the devotees you accumulate… and when you feel the time is right, get out there and pay us massive amounts of cash to make you ultra famous.” A Visit the Deciblog for more advice from this month’s panel of professional press conjurers.

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ramblings

A joyful noise I’ve always been addicted to noise. When I

was a kid, it was the band KISS. I remember my parents taking us to our first concerts and meet-and-greets. We all went to the local record store Peaches to meet KISS on the Destroyer tour. I remember being blown away when they pulled up in their limousines. I collected The Originals as a triple package—it had rub-on tattoos and stickers. We read the magazines that told stories of their blood-spitting chaos. When I got a record signed by Ace Frehley that day, it was big-time for me. The show itself was full of pyrotechnics and ridiculousness. Naturally, the following weeks were spent air-guitaring and blowing up large cans of gas. Yes, I have been friends with stupid for a long time. I guess the downside was I had to go through the same routine with my sister when she became a fan of the Osmonds. That sucked so fucking bad… From there, fireworks was my thing. I remember taping an M-80 to my Evel Knievel stunt cycle and blowing it to pieces. I think my G.I. Joe took a hit for the team as well. Noise never got old. I remember a time when my mother used to take my sister and I record shopping. Motörhead’s Ace of Spades was on the rack. She would point out Filthy Phil and crack jokes about my hair looking like “Motörhead” in the morning. All I saw were these super-ugly dudes looking Clint Eastwood badass. Later she got me the record as a gag gift. Little did she know that it would alter my life. Soon I was watching the Plasmatics on the TV show Fridays, the Ramones on Sha Na Na, and Devo and Fear on Saturday Night Live.

Extreme Conditions Demand Extreme Editorials From Brutal Truth Frontman Kevin Sharp Another mistake my mother made was leaving me to my own devices downtown while she was running errands. I saw some dudes with blue hair walking by the Varsity—a local landmark fast food joint—so, ignoring my mom, I followed them down to the 688 Club and my first punk gig. Corrosion of Conformity was playing with DDT and Neon Christ. It was on. Bad haircuts with less than awesome bands. The noise and the obnoxiousness of punk appealed to me. Then someone played me Venom, who were happy to swap anarchy for Satan. It was all noise… Then there was Atlanta in general. At the time, the only thing to do downtown at night was find trouble. We’d drop acid and go to night court and watch people get in trouble. Plus, the Butthole Surfers were based out of Atlanta for a bit, and there was trouble there. Everyone who was unusual was corralled in one part of town. Metalheads were going to punk gigs and vice versa. I guess the best example of that was the time Venom was going to play the Metroplex— the clash was obvious. I look back years later at what seems like dreams of periods in my life. These dreams were all based on touching the extreme. And although I have made a life out of it, there is a fine line between crossing over and disrespecting the good time. Sure, there is always a bill to pay for whatever act of noise, but I’ve been lucky to generally balance noise and oblivion. I’d like to say I’m older and wiser, but at 47, noise and stupid are still comfortable shoes. A

The noise and the obnoxiousness of punk appealed to me. Then someone played me Venom, who were happy to swap anarchy for Satan. It was all noise…

1 8 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

l a t rew

Btruth

guide to staying kvlt while drunk… and drunk while kvlt by adem tepedelen

Broken Hope’s

European Beer Diary

hicago death metal lifers Broken Hope kicked off the new year with Immolation for a 24-date assault on Europe in support of their latest album, Omen of Disease. While the reunited/ revitalized quintet no doubt had plenty of tales to tell regarding the usual on-tour debauchery, we just wanted to hear about the beer. Drummer Mike Miczek gave us his six-pack of highlights (and a lowlight). Zywiec Porter 9.5% Jan 22, Warsaw, Poland

Trapped for 10 hours at Chopin Airport in Warsaw waiting for our bus to pick us up, I stumbled into a convenience store and bought a bottle of Zywiec Porter. Classic coffee and chocolate flavors melded with a malt punch and a little alcohol bite at the end. At 9.5% ABV, this is a porter with balls! Anker Blond 6.5% Jan. 25, Zurich, Switzerland

We played a festival in Zurich and the venue was kind enough to supply us with this gem. The floral sweetness perfectly contrasted with the multitude of black Adem Tepedelen’s metal bands on the bill own European alongside Immolation tour would have and us. The promoter a lot of stops in Belgium.

i l l u s t r at i o n b y j . p. f l e x n e r

venue the afternoon before we played. We decided it was a good time to have an old-fashioned barbeque and drink the night away. Bob from Immolation brought out a bag of Belgian beers he was gifted in Holland, which included Black Albert Belgian Royal Stout [by De Struise]. Massive malty chocolate and toasted oat flavors in a full-bodied, jet-black appearance. Amazing. told us the next day that close to 800 liters of beer were consumed! Köstritzer Schwarzbier 4.8% Jan. 28, Osnabrück, Germany

After arriving in Germany, we and the Immolation guys went in search of food. We wound up at a little corner restaurant, and after looking at the beer list decided any thing with “Schwarz” (black) in the name must be worth a shot! Medium-bodied and sweet, with roasted malt notes that went well with my Ćevapčići. I was not disappointed!

Mahn & Ohlerich Bier 4.9%

Fortuna Wisniowa 5.1%

Jan. 29, Rostock, Germany

Feb 21, Gdynia, Poland

Broken Hope literally played a barn in middle-ofnowhere Germany. While the catering was amazing, I can’t say the same for this beer. The label read “with mild gehopt,” but the hops in this beer were as easy to find as the venue we were playing! Maybe my taste buds have been desensitized from years of West Coast IPA abuse.

How I miss Poland! The crowd went nuts for us that night, chanting “Broken Hope” between almost every song we played. This beer was given to me by a friend. Huge cherry flavor with a bitter malt ending. I like to call this style of beer “barley pop” because it is very carbonated and sweet. Not a bad drink to enjoy right after you get offstage. Certainly better than the skunky Carlsberg that had been sitting in the dressing room all day. A

De Struise Black Albert Belgian Royal Stout 13% Feb. 2, Rome, Italy

The tour had a day off, so we arrived at the

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ramblings

now cry later * cry by brunofsky by j. bennett illustration

Fuck you,

u.d.o. rules Dear Fuckface,

And by Fuckface I mean the supreme douche-lord who wrote the review of U.D.O.’s Animal House in the November 1987 issue of Hit Parader or Circus or whatever rag I was reading on the shitter at Randy’s place the other day. I don’t know what kind of drugs you were smoking, buddy, but your review was WAY off the mark 27 years ago, and it’s even further off the mark today. Two out of five skulls or whatever? You must’ve been fucking high as fuck. Okay, so all the songs on Animal House were written by Accept before Udo went solo. So fucking what? Udo had the good taste to get Mathias Dieth from Sinner on guitar, and Peter Szigeti and Frank Ritell from motherfucking Warlock on guitar and bass. That’s motherfucking Warlock featuring the one and only Doro Pesch on lead vocals. And don’t you dare talk shit on Doro, dude. She’s the love of my life, and if you say even one slightly shitty thing about her, I will cut you. She’s even hotter than the chick with the chainsaw on the cover of the first Accept album, who was my number one fantasy woman until I discovered Doro. I love her with my whole body and soul, and you can fuck right off. In your half-assed review, you say you don’t like the little German kids singing the chorus on “They Want War.” Are you kidding me? That’s some Pink Floyd shit right there. It only proves what I’ve been saying for years: Udo Dirkschneider is the Roger Waters of metal. Go ahead and deny it. You can’t. Because he is. I’ve always wondered why Udo and Mathias are the only band members who appear in the “They Want War” video, though. Maybe the others guys were at the salon or whatever. Which is cool. I get that. You gotta look good for the ladies. 2 0 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

You also said “We Want It Loud” is a “cheesy metal anthem.” DUDE. Are you deaf? ARE YOU DEAF? I think you might be. I agree that the song isn’t as good as KISS’s admittedly similar “I Love It Loud,” but holding anyone up to the genius songwriting duo of Paul and Gene is like comparing them to, I don’t know, John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Except that everybody knows John and Paul run like a distant fifth or sixth to Paul and Gene. I mean, you’ve got Sammy Hagar and Eddie Van Halen in there, David Coverdale and Steve Vai, Mutt Lange and Joe Elliott… shit, the list is endless. But, bro. BRO. You are such a hack that even when you talked about the songs that you liked—“Go Back to Hell” and the title track— you didn’t do them justice. You said “Go Back to Hell” was “catchy” and the title track was “technically impressive.” You didn’t even come close to saying what you should have said, which is that THESE ARE TWO OF THE BEST SONGS EVER SUNG BY A HUMAN. Notice I didn’t qualify it by saying “a German human.” I’m talking about humans everywhere because I’m not prejudiced

like you. You are clearly racist against U.D.O., and that is not cool. Anyway. I hope the last 27 years and 13 U.D.O. albums have shown you the error of your ways. If not, get with it, for fuck’s sake. It’s 2014 and U.D.O. STILL RULES. Sincerely, The Future A

d e c i b e l : j u n e 2 0 14 : 2 1

in the studio

*goatwhore

studio report

Goatwhore title

Constricting the Rage of the Merciless S tudio

Mana Recording Studios, St. Petersburg, FL Producer

Erik Rutan release date

July 8 label

Metal Blade

here the last record was like a drunken bar brawl, this one is more like a serial killer’s murder spree,” reasons Goatwhore guitarist/vocalist Sammy Duet of the band’s new full-length. “I think it’s more disturbed. There’s a lot of almost suicidal-sounding stuff on there. I might have taken things too far this time...” Famous last words. At press time, New Orleans’ beloved blackened death/thrash miscreants— Duet, vocalist Ben Falgoust, drummer Zack Simmons and bassist James Harvey—were burrowed deep within the confines of Mana Recording Studios in St. Petersburg, FL alongside audio wizard Erik Rutan, tracking the follow-up to 2012’s critically-adored Blood for the Master. “If we went to someone else, it would be a total disaster,” Duet says of Rutan, who, having recorded the band since 2006’s A Haunting Curse, has become as integral to Goatwhore’s apocalyptic sound and vision as the members themselves. “Rutan knows exactly what to do with us. He understands our outlook and what we want out of an album instead of coming away with some shiny, polished, sterile, digitally-manipulated piece of shit album that’s completely fake and false.” A product of grief, self-torment and societal disdain, Goatwhore’s latest work promises to take

their habitually high-octane hymns of debauchery to a more cerebral realm of bitterness and despair. “It was definitely cathartic… a release of some very negative vibes that were pent up,” Duet reveals. Still rife with the abrasive subnuclear riff torrents, lyrical blasphemies and primal, Celtic Frostian nods for which the band has become synonymous, Duet speaks more in terms of tone and overall atmosphere. “It’s definitely a very depressing album. There are parts that will make you very sad, but there are also parts that are very angry. This album definitely has a darker mentality to it.” There’s even a ballad, though certainly not in the loving, traditional sense. “It’s the heaviest song on the album,” Duet explains. “I wrote a part on an acoustic guitar, and every time I hear it I just want to grab a shotgun and blow my fucking brains out. It’s definitely not a very uplifting piece at all. It’s a very sad piece… but not like some sad, sappy bullshit. It’s literally psychotic-sad. That’s what we’re trying to portray on this album: the total evil of the soul. Give up hope. There’s no future.” —Liz Ciavarella-Brenner

studio short shots

Death pioneers Incantation had partnered with Mars Studios since 1998 until conflicting schedules forced them to use three studios for their currently untitled 10th album. Still, founding guitarist/vocalist John McEntee says the patchwork recording process has been surprisingly smooth. “The most important thing with the album is that we’re able to capture a real good vibe,” McEntee e-mails between sessions. “Everything’s meshing very naturally, and things are coming together really great.”

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limits of darkness on this album.” Bassist/ lyricist Chuck Sherwood adds that the songs explore darkness, with topics like “sky burial, necromancy, a cult in ancient Prussia and pure blasphemy.” While the band invited song title suggestions from their fans on Facebook, McEntee insists it was just a curious joke. That means the title “Fuckwolves” won’t be present when the album’s released on Listenable in June. —Sean Frasier

incantation photo by Kristoff Bates

“I think for the most part, you know what Incantation intend to you’re getting with Incantation, but at the time there’s definitely a lot of twists and “push the limits of darkness” same turns that we’ve never done before,” McEntee continues. “We really wanted to push the on tenth studio album

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archspire

Archspire

rchspire guitarist and World of Warcraft enthusiast Dean Lamb wants you to know something: death metal is a weird and ridiculous genre of music. Now, before you start ragin’ ‘n’ rampagin’ with flammables in one hand and Archspire’s two albums (All Shall Align and the newlyreleased The Lucid Collective) in the other, know that Lamb isn’t spewing mainstream “kill your dog, rape your mother” negativity; nor is he trend-hopping like Williamsburg dipshits spraying e-cig vapor and ironic semen all over overpriced Burzum vinyl. Nah, for Lamb and his bandmates, “playing really fast with really low vocals is funny, but so awesome at the same time! Yes, you can say, ‘what totally weird music,’ but you also have to remember not to take yourself so seriously.” ¶ To wit, the Vancouver-based quintet takes their deathly form far and beyond, summoning inspirations old and new—Cynic, Atheist, Beyond Creation, Decapitated—while maintaining a fantastical, outlandish and humorous sensibility. Examples: Lamb plays an eight-string while his counterpart, Tobi Morelli, harmonizes and complements on seven strings. Vocalist Oli Peters mines his bizarre imagination, writing songs about, according to Lamb, 2 4 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

“lucid dreaming, a monster made out of teeth, a king who creates duplicates of himself who then overthrow him, and a guy who feeds himself to his backyard pig. His lyrics are crazy, macabre horror stories. I really want him to write a book!” Lamb goes on to describe their songwriting process as “antidemocratic. Every part we write has to be loved by every person or it’s scrapped.” The band has also taken the Rollins Band-esque step of listing their soundman, Mark McKitrick, as a member. “I wanted to put him in our promo pictures,” exclaims Lamb, “but he wasn’t into it. He tours with us and does a ton of work behind the scenes; we realize a band is a product of a collective of people.” Then, there’s Archspire’s need for speed. Drummer Spencer Prewett’s blasting on The Lucid Collective teeters between technical wizardy, overwhelming brutality and absurd parody. It’s something

he is recognized for, having done hometown drum clinics promoted as “one of Canada’s fastest metal drummers.” “Sometimes we’re sitting in a room and writing parts that make us laugh because they’re so ridiculous and fast,” smiles Lamb. “It’s like, ‘What are we doing? We’re between the ages of 26 and 32—shouldn’t we go get jobs or something?’ But it’s what keeps things interesting and fun. We call it ‘leveling up,’ like a video game. Every time we do something faster or learn a new technique, it’s like, ‘I just leveled up!’ “We want to be tech-death,” he finishes. “We don’t want to go in a more progressive or melodic direction. I love progressive music, but I don’t want to be in a progressive band, though I will include some of that perspective in our style. We just want to do the most quality tech-death we can.” —Kevin Stewart-Panko

Jackie Bjornert

There’s nothing silent (or pretentious) about Vancouver tech-death warriors’ lucidity

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lost society

Lost Society

Fun Finnish thrash powered by cheap, shitty Finnish beer

he youth want to thrash. And who can blame them? The genre’s founding tenets—drink, party, headbang, destroy, repeat—are right in line with your average teenager’s idea of a good time. Finnish quartet Lost Society features two teens in their ranks—drummer Ossi Paananen is 19, and guitarist/vocalist Samy Elbanna is 18—and bassist Mirko Lehtinen (20) and guitarist Arttu Lesonen (21) aren’t so far from their teen years to have forgotten the joy of having zero responsibilities and lots of free time. So, yeah, why not play some thrash? “It’s just the pure and honest feel about thrash that makes it so appealing to [me],” Elbanna explains to Decibel via email. “It’s just about having a good time!” ¶ “Having a good time,” is a recurring theme in Elbanna’s answers to our questions. And it’s pretty clear from Lost Society’s second album for Nuclear Blast, Terror Hungry, that it’s a priority for the young band. No deep themes, dark subject matter or heavy 2 6 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

lyrics here. In fact the most brutal (make that “brewtal”) song is “Brewtal Awakening,” about a killer… hangover. “It’s about a dude who once again wakes up in terrible condition,” Elbanna writes, “but it’s time for the second round once again. We have quite a bit of the alcohol-induced lyricism in the songs.” If anyone was paying attention, we panned Lost Society’s first album, Fast Loud Death, in these pages a year ago, noting that while the quartet had a lot of enthusiasm, they lacked some songwriting skills. That deficiency has been rectified on Terror Hungry. They were able to harness their youthful potential in a collection of tunes that seem like proper songs, not just aimless thrash-a-thons. “We have all progressed with our own instruments a lot since Fast Loud Death,” Elbanna explains, “so

the riffage and overall feel to the album just got much tighter. There’s definitely more technical stuff than before, and even more groovy stuff and mixtures of genres. There’s a bit of a darker feel to the [material] also, which came very naturally for some reason.” But, don’t worry; as noted above, it’s still about “having a good time.” A good time fueled by cheap Finnish beer, naturally. Lost Society make no apologies for their malt-beverage choices. Because this is thrash metal, after all. When you chug, you chug. “All of us are the kind of people who stick with the cheapest beer, especially in Finland since everything is so fucking expensive,” Elbanna notes. “So, I’d say the best beer to go with Finnish thrash is KOFF! It’s the cheapest and, many say, the shittiest beer you can find from Finland. That’s our favorite!” —Adem Tepedelen

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young widows

Young Widows

No pain, no gain for free-at-last Louisville post-hardcore heroes

he making of Young Widows’ last record, 2011’s In and Out of Youth and Lightness, was not exactly a good time. It was—how should we put this?—an astonishingly tedious, emotionally traumatic hot mess. The eye of the storm was singer/guitarist Evan Patterson’s divorce. Exacerbating the situation was the fact that the writing and recording process grated every last nerve in his body. ¶ Was it worth it, for the sake of art? Maybe. Maybe not. According to Patterson, there are songs on that album he never wants to sing again. ¶ “We’d spend 10 practices playing the same part for three hours—really meticulous things that actually at times were truly unenjoyable to perform and play live,” he says. ¶ Mercifully, the Louisville, KY, band’s latest record, Easy Pain, had an entirely different genesis. Patterson, Nick Thieneman (bass/vocals) and Jeremy McMonigle (drums) wrote it in no more than two practices; then, for the next three years, 2 8 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

they played some of the songs live, with Patterson improvising the lyrics. When the time came to enter the studio, they recorded all the music and then took a six-week break. Patterson headed to Santa Fe (where he spends a good deal of time) and wrote the lyrics in one week. The trio’s goal was to relax and have fun, something that had gotten either lost or overlooked. After four albums, the band still is, in Patterson’s words, a hobby, something that exists primarily for pleasure’s sake—not profit’s. “It was the least stressful of any recording that I’ve ever done for Young Widows,” he says. “It’s odd because it’s the most destructive recording we’ve ever made. And because we set out to make this record that was harsher than anything we’ve done, it kinda made things open for, in a way, being sloppier and more instinctual and loose.”

With every muddy groove, strangled riff and convulsing time change, the music on Easy Pain luxuriates in that freedom. Compounding the album’s glorious ruptures is Patterson’s trippy, sinister caterwauling. “As strange as it is,” he says, “singing about murder or the end of the world in fictional songs is a lot more enjoyable than singing about emotional trauma.” And for the first time, he’s more concerned with his contributions as a singer than as a guitarist. “I’ve gone from wanting to make guitar parts and riffs that were barely digestible, and now I want to make vocals that are barely digestible,” Patterson says, and he feels better able to perform those duties. “The last record, I was like, ‘Do I even know how to fucking sing?’” he says. “Three years later, I’m like, ‘Oh wait, I think I know how to fucking sing!’” —Jeanne Fury

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acheron

Acheron

Veteran Rust Belt evildoers go down a long and winding river

n the surface, Acheron represent everything the general public once feared about underground extreme metal. The cover art for their new album, Kult des Hasses— their first record in five years—shows naked women sitting around a pentagram reveling in the blood given to them by a hooded goat-figure. That description alone would be enough to make Granny swoon. But Granny is dead. The general public has grown calloused to Satanic imagery. Yet bands like Acheron remain, instead of turning into phantasmagoric orbs and being sucked back into the compact discs from whence they came after the kids who listened to them were grounded by scared/concerned parents. ¶ “The positive thing is that society has been losing a lot of its fear about religion and embracing [its] darker side,” says bassist/vocalist Vincent Crowley. “The negative aspect is that some Satanic symbols and aesthetics have become watered down and trendy.” Indeed, what’s kept Acheron and their fans around these past 25 years has not been 3 0 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

superficial scare tactics. Kult des Hasses epitomizes what underground metal has come to stand for: the sacrifice is worth it. “We didn’t have a huge budget, so there was no time for fucking around … I was worried about how it was going to turn out,” Crowley says of recording the new album with producer Dan Swanö. But, as it turned out, Kult des Hasses is just as Crowley says: “even more aggressive and blasphemous” than any Acheron album yet. Longtime drummer Kyle Severn (see also: Incantation, since Diabolical Conquest) and newly enlisted guitarist Art Taylor complete Acheron’s unholy trinity. “Every band person says, ‘This is our best album’ when it comes out. And I have done the same in the past and have meant it,” Crowley says. “But with [Kult des Hasses], I firmly stand behind that.”

As for Swanö, he’s crafted yet another album that’s as massive as it can be without sounding unnatural. The tunes are as catchy as they are infernal, but those hooks everyone keeps talking about are played by clenched fists. Acheron aren’t some overnight sensation inspired by a chance meeting at the crossroads. Nor is Kult des Hasses the work of some reclusive genius conducting the shadows of his drafty study. This is metal-edged rock ‘n’ roll sharpened on the skulls of a frothing and obstinate fan base. “Some bands try too hard to be ‘evil,’ while others almost make a mockery out of it,” Crowley concludes. “We are just ourselves. Like us or hate us. The fact is that Acheron has been the real fucking deal for over two decades now.” —Dutch Pearce

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lord mantis

ntering the nauseous musical world of Lord Mantis has always demanded a heavy emotional price, the equivalent of 30 silver pieces measured in moral fortitude. Drawn from the congealing, fermenting talents of vocalist Charlie Fell (occasional drummer for Von and Nachtmystium), Avichi mastermind Andrew Markuszewski, Abigail Williams original Ken Sorceron and Indian drummer Bill Bumgardner, it’s hardly surprising that Lord Mantis sound like sludge and black metal gleefully splitting a spite-fuck baby. And then there’s the artwork. ¶ “Both [2012’s] Pervertor and [new album] Death Mask featured transgendered humans on the covers, something we as a band are totally comfortable with,” relates Fell over email. “We view the band as a transgendered entity. Some people have grossly misinterpreted the album art. Lord Mantis in no way, shape or form holds any transmisogynistic views.” ¶ Fell has some great insight about recording Death Mask, including his renewed focus on vocals and the tremendous possibilities inherent in letting four ultra-capable musicians hash out their dark ideas, even while being all up in each other’s shit (“My nose is firmly up everyone’s ass most the time, as is Drew and Ken’s.”) But when we asked about the direction 3 2 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

Lord Mantis

The gravity of depravity weighs hard on provocative sludge upstarts

he took when writing Death Mask, the floodgates burst. “I wanted the album to be based on personal experience and real-life horror,” he begins. “I overdosed on methadone about two years ago and had this real crazy out-of-body experience. A friend had given me a bottle of methadone—not because I was trying to quit heroin, but because you can get really fucking high with it if you switch over once in a while. I had taken it before and it had kicked in pretty quickly. So, I was drinking it this time and didn’t feel shit, so I thought, ‘Must not be working, better take another pull,’ and kept ripping it. Eventually I drank the entire bottle. It kicked in and I kept getting higher and higher, and I kinda felt myself fade out into nothing. I woke up in an ambulance in sheer terror and

panic. Every breath I tried to take, I could feel something trying to take it away. I felt something pulling me underneath the ambulance, and I was fighting to stay conscious. The hospital is only four blocks from my house; that ride felt like hours. I really felt what it was like to truly become nothing. It freaked me out, and at the same time it was the most intense moment I’ve ever felt. “This [band] definitely reflects my personality and emotional and mental state,” Fell continues. “It confirms my unhappiness and depression a lot of times. I ignore those things a lot and have to face them when I make this nasty music. That’s who I am at this point in my life. Maybe that will change one day, or maybe I’ll snuff myself out before then.” —Daniel Lake

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stoneburner

Stoneburner

Portland sludge unit moves forward, slowly

or a band whose first recorded work appeared in 2009, Stoneburner have decades of mutual history. According to bassist/vocalist Damon Kelly, “Me and Jesse [McKinnon, drums/vocals] and Jason [Depew, guitar] all grew up in Ashland in three different decades. Jason was in a band with my father when I was a child, and then Jesse and Jason were in a band when I was in like middle school and high school. And they were just real cool guys, you know? Jesse was that dude walking around in an Unsane shirt, and I was the kid walking around in a Candiria windbreaker. ‘Dude, you like that? Cool! You like that? Sweet!’ And then I moved to Portland some years later and we just became even better friends, and when the time came and they were looking for a new bass player, they came to me … It was just a natural fit, you know?” ¶ McKinnon adds, “We got lucky with Elijah [Boland, guitars], the one 3 4 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

guy that’s not from Oregon. He grew up in Montana, so what else is he going to do but play guitar for thousands and thousands of hours a day his whole childhood, you know?” Despite their punk/hardcore backgrounds, their music has much more in common with low-and-slow misery merchants like Eyehategod, Grief and Neurosis (whose Neurot label they recently joined). Life Drawing, Stoneburner’s second fulllength, channels the frustrations of everyday life into a truly expansive, pissed-off sludge crawl. “Although it’s not necessarily at the moment that our lives suck, they tend to suck quite often,” Kelly explains. “Just the day-to-day grind that we go through to get through our lives—this is how I cope with the worst parts of my life. Even if they haven’t happened recently, I can recollect the moments that

have made me the person that I am through my bass, with these dudes complementing me perfectly.” According to McKinnon, “This record pretty much sums up two years for us. We didn’t really intend it to be so long when we started writing it—the thing is over an hour long, it’s kind of a monster— but when it came time to record, we just said, ‘Let’s just put down everything we’ve done in the last two years, because it’s been kind of a rough couple years.’ There are parts of it that really feel like they were written in our soggy basement in the middle of winter, and parts that kind of brighten up, and you can tell that someone was drunk and pissed off and it was the middle of the summertime. We just kind of said, ‘Fuck it, this is two years of our lives—let’s get it out there and move forward.’” —Jeff Treppel

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gravehill

Gravehill

There’s no school like the old school for Californian death disciples

t’s less than a day removed from Gravehill’s album release show in Los Angeles when vocalist Mike Abominator recounts the physical abuse he endured during the set. “We’re getting old, let me tell you that. You feel that hourglass go against you, and the walkers and canes start coming out,” he laughs. “It’s definitely harder to recover in the morning.” ¶ While wearing 80-pound spiked leatherwear onstage may account for some of those aches and pains, Abominator is accustomed to sacrificing comfort for the sake of a memorable performance. Still, he admits their blood-smeared aesthetic is sometimes received too seriously. “Some people try to lump us into the grim black metal category because of the blood and spikes and whatnot,” he explains. “We’re not pretending to be super grim or evil, like we sleep in a crypt and drink blood all the time, stab poseurs, or put whiskey in our cereal. Well, wait, we do that last part.”¶ After Matt “Hellfiend” Harvey and “Bodybag Bob” Babcock departed in 2011 to focus on Exhumed, Abominator admits that replacing musicians of that pedigree 3 6 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

was no simple task. But Gravehill’s new guitar tandem—Hell Messiah and CC DeKill—has made immediate, positive (see: putrid) contributions. “These guys are phenomenal musicians and they’re awesome dudes, great band members,” Abominator shares. “Even Matt heard them and said their playing is almost too good for this ugly-ass death metal we play.” This is probably clear already, but “ugly-ass death metal” sounds like “mission accomplished” to Gravehill. With nine tracks of skin-flaying riffs and zero-bullshit attitude, Death Curse—their third full-length—celebrates throwback primitivism and the good ol’ days of tape-trading newspaper ads, illustrating respect for their predecessors even more explicitly with guest appearances from Chris Reifert, Eric Cutler and Kam Lee. There’s no interest in modifying a genre they love as is, stylistically or lyrically.

“I’m not writing about rainbows and unicorns and ice cream, as much as I love that stuff,” states Abominator. “I’m writing about the devil, death, destruction and suffering—all the good stuff that metal should be about.” The focus has been on the oldschool spirit since Abominator convinced drummer (and lone original member) Thorgrimm to reanimate the band in 2006, and that dwarfs the individual talents in the band. “Gravehill is bigger than any of the members,” Abominator says. “The concept itself; continuing to raise the flag of old-school death metal, carrying that torch. We don’t give a shit what people say or who likes us. This band keeps us out of prison, insane asylums and correctional facilities. It helps keep us functioning in society. It really could be anybody in this band, as long as they have that mindset.” —Sean Frasier

This is some ominous, epic stuff. HIM on codeine? Triptykon, “Boleskine House”

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Oh shit! It’s America’s most polarizing pulverizers— Emmure! And this time around, they offer such lyrical insight as “I fucking hate you/You get what you deserve” as a chorus. You can’t accuse them of leaving too much to the imagination. But waitasec! Didn’t these guys write songs about Transformers a couple records back?

CALL&RESPONSE

devil you know 05

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Killer Be Killed, “Wings of Feather and Wax” from: Killer Be Killed [THE SKINNY] They just want to ’fly

Somewhere in the middle of this, it feels like a Roadrunner Records Class of 2002 mash-up. That’s definitely Max Cavalera swinging in like Cheetah from Tarzan in the midst of some big-fat riffs that have a whiff of the “nü” about ’em. It’s too early for this to be some brand new Slipknot, though that sure sounds like Corey crooning. Is that Greg from Dillinger? Oh, wait… it’s another one of them supergroups.

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To celebrate the release

of his band’s debut full-length, The Beauty of Destruction, we sent Devil You Know frontman Howard Jones seven tracks

culled from the latest batch of new releases and reissues. Here’s what our man had to say in between (presumably) paying homage to the album featuring Dio’s final studio appearance.

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Eyehategod, “Trying to Crack the Hard Dollar” from: Eyehategod [THE SKINNY] Dark side of the spoon

This is some ominous, epic stuff. HIM on codeine? It sounds like something that was recorded somewhere very cold, bleak and probably not very fun. This is what music sounds like recorded on the ocean floor. Or Scandinavia.

Eyehategod gets me every time. No band sounds as unnerving and unnerved as these NOLA bad boys. It’s been years since they’ve mustered up anything new, and this sounds pretty nasty. I love this band, but I’m glad I’m not in this band. They do this so we don’t have to.

•••••••

Autopsy, “Parasitic Eye” from: Tourniquets, Hacksaws and Graves [THE SKINNY] Chop shop can’t stop, won’t stop This is fucking awesome. Whoever this is sounds like a practitioner of the heavy arts. It just gets heavier and heavier, riffier and riffier. Then the vocals come in and it all explodes into a puddle of all things hellish before settling into a riff straight out of the void.

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Triptykon, “Boleskine House” from: Melana Chasmata [THE SKINNY] Tom G., Ville Valo—what’s the diff?

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•••••••

Emmure, “Nemesis” from: Eternal Enemies [THE SKINNY] Yeah… we miss Decibot, too

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Portrait, “At the Ghost Gate” from: Crossroads [THE SKINNY] Paranormal activity Is this the European monarch known as King Diamond? Mmmm… no, but it definitely comes from a land steeped in the magic of metal. Swedes? Arthurians? Canadians?

•••••••

Teitanbood, “Anteinfierno” from: Death [THE SKINNY] Spanish inquisition Smaug’s bowels! Whitehot, noisy black metal recorded in a blender and sped up to 78 RPM. I like my blackness, but this one ain’t necessarily got a beat you can dance to. A

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How Vallenfyre restored Greg Mackintosh’s faith in music by Justin M. Norton

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reg Mackintosh was 10 days into a Paradise Lost tour of the United Kingdom in 2009 when he received the call that would change everything: his father was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Not long after, doctors realized that the cancer was terminal and had spread from his lungs. His father died that December, and Mackintosh looked for ways to assuage his grief. So, he picked up a pen and pad.

My father supported me when I was a kid. [Vallenfyre] was kind of a full reminiscence and a way of getting through it. Greg Mackintosh

“I was screwed up for a few months,” Mackintosh says, roughly five years removed from the ordeal, shortly before the release of Vallenfyre’s second album, Splinters. “My counselor suggested that I write things down from day to day, and it turned into songwriting. My father supported me when I was a kid. It was kind of a full reminiscence and a way of getting through it.” There were reasons his feelings ran so deep: Mackintosh says his father was in part responsible for his success. He encouraged Mackintosh’s earliest musical pursuits and drove Paradise Lost to their first gig because none of the kids had a license. In the same way that many people think of a fallen family member when they eat a certain meal or smell a pipe or a cigar, Mackintosh feels close to his father when writing and playing music. “One of the ways I deal with it kind of subconsciously is I think he’s still there,” he says. “The music is a way of perpetuating that. There are no rights and wrong with the grieving process—people all do it very differently.” Vallenfyre—which also features Hamish Glencross of My Dying Bride on guitars and Adrian Erlandsson of At the Gates and Paradise Lost on drums—has continued past early hardships and grown musically for their second album. The band is still an outlet for Mackintosh’s grief; tough feelings and losses don’t heal quickly. The title track is about how his father’s death splintered his family. But there are also other concerns: self-medication, mental illness, corruption, war and the rise of the aggressive underclass. Mackintosh said there were rumblings from the beginning that Vallenfyre was a vanity project. He says it was the opposite—a group of old friends that wanted to have fun writing music that honored their favorite bands. Mackintosh grew up during the glory days of tape-trading, and discovered Autopsy and Repulsion when connecting with other fans from around the world. Vallenfyre’s first record, A Fragile King, was a straightforward reminiscence of those days. In writing Splinters, the band wanted to take that blueprint and make it something that felt like it couldn’t be anything else. The album continues to cite Mackintosh’s formative bands, but does so in the best possible way. You can hear pieces of Bolt Thrower, Harmony Corruption-

era Napalm Death and Amebix. Yet the record feels like a statement rather than homage. There was good chemistry from the outset, even if Mackintosh initially used the band to exorcise his hurt. His bandmates stepped in at the perfect time. “I asked them to get involved to lighten the load a little bit and make it a little more collaborative,” he says. “It’s a very honest way to start a band, and most of the good bands start up this way.” That sincerity continues on Splinters, which proves that there is much more to Vallenfyre. Mackintosh says that working together for a few years allowed the band to vary their approach and experiment even more: oldschool grindcore meets crust and doom metal. It also helped that Mackintosh was in a much better place for the second go-round, even if he is admittedly still on medication. “You can’t help but wear your influences on your sleeve on a first record because you have an image in mind,” he says. “But this is a collaborative record and it wasn’t as oppressing to create. From the very first day, I was sending riffs to the guys. I wasn’t sitting in a dark room for six months.” In some ways, Mackintosh says Vallenfyre has restored his faith in music after a quartercentury of writing and recording, negotiating with labels and navigating the pitfalls of the music industry, particularly in a time when earning a living as a musician is almost impossible. “We started off as fairly cynical in the first place, but you can’t help but be entrenched in the cynicism of the music business,” he says. “To be able to cut through that and have it be like a first record with no expectations was liberating.” As Vallenfyre has developed, Macintosh says his work with his more famous other band has crystallized. He also has a renewed sense of purpose, even if he’s not a guy to embrace getwell mantras. “It kind of helped define what I wanted for Paradise Lost and what I wanted Paradise Lost to be, because I think I was losing sight of that,” he says. “What should be included in a band like Paradise Lost and what shouldn’t be included? Vallenfyre has reinvigorated me as a musician and identified what’s important. I took something that was a really horrible thing and made it into something positive, something that restored my faith in the music business.” A d e c i b e l : j u n e 2 0 14 : 41

Decibel Hall-of-Famers Floor come roaring back with a new studio LP by Jason Heller

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When

asked how he feels to be releasing a new Floor album, Oblation, in 2014—that is, 20 years after recording the band’s debut, Dove, which wasn’t actually released until 2002—Floor’s singer/guitarist Steve Brooks seems a little confused. Okay, a lot confused. ¶ “Twenty years?” he repeats incredulously. “No, we recorded that last record in 2001. Oh, you mean Dove? We recorded that in… 1994. So it has been 20 years. Oh my god. It feels like it was 10 years ago. Goddammit. Holy shit.” Holy shit indeed. His confusion is understandable. The history of Floor has been a convoluted one—from their formation in Florida in 1992 to their shelved-for-a-decade first album Dove to their towering self-titled full-length from 2002. Floor was recently inducted into Decibel’s Hall of Fame, and not a day too soon: The album’s doom-infused crawl, hardcore-inspired intensity and pop-punk-like hooks sounded like nothing that came before it, yet it felt as inevitable as Armageddon. The final lineup of the band—Brooks, guitarist/ bassist Anthony Vialon and drummer Henry Wilson—dissolved in 1996, after which Brooks drew even more acclaim as the frontman of the relatively upbeat Torche. But a ravenously received Floor reunion tour in 2010 led to a renewal of the pull that drew Floor together in the first place. “We’d been playing shows, and I kind of brought up the idea to Anthony,” Brooks says, his memory of more recent events clearly a little sharper. “I was like, ‘Do you want to do another record?’ And he was like, ‘I was just about to ask you that.’ That’s about all it was. So, we just made it happen.” From that casual proposal, an album began to form. But Brooks and company wanted to do more than coast on the past. As he explains, “We’re a lot more focused now than we were. I just think we’ve all really grown. We know a little more of what we want. All of us are so much better now at what we did back then. Oblation pieced together really well. Our main focus was to not have this record sound like Floor did on the self-titled record. We wanted to take it further, try newer things. I definitely didn’t want it to sound like Torche, where I’ve gone in that different direction. Anthony and Henry have very different styles than the guys I play with in Torche. It’s like starting over. We’re a new band again.”

In addition to a reboot of the Floor sound— more texture, strategic use of pedals, and deployment of space alongside Brooks’ and Vialon’s trademark “bomb-string” low-end onslaught—there’s a newfound lyrical introspection and depth. Which comes as something of a shock, seeing as how the Floor of old seemed to love serving up word salad. “We collaborated, me and Anthony, on lyrics,” Brooks elaborates. “I usually came up with a melody, and he’d write the story. Certain things have meaning to me, but my words are mostly filler in a lot of ways. I’m not a storyteller. I’m not a poet. Things make sense to me, but they might not to anyone else. That’s why I

“We had some ideas for that song,” Brooks explains, “then Melissa came in. She had this really cool melody. So, I was like, ‘Well, fuck yeah. Let’s use that.’ I was really happy that we got her to sing on it. It really worked for that song. It’s crazy, because when her and I harmonize together, her voice and my voice sound kind of computerized. When I heard it played back, I was like, ‘Oh shit, this is fucking rad.’ I wish she was in the band.” Not that Floor need to adjust their chemistry that radically, despite Brooks’ humble insistence that singing is “something that I’ve just grown into. I’m still growing with that. I’m still learning how to sing.” You’d never know it while listening to Oblation’s closer, “Forever Still,” a slab of tectonically proportioned guitar-pop complete with the soaring line, “I’m walking back to you to resurrect our love.” You’d also never know that Floor still glues songs together the old-fashioned way: with punk spirit and spit. “When we got back together to write the new album, we would just drive a song until we hit a wall,” Brooks recalls. “Then we’d move on to the next one. We had so many different ideas, so many different songs we were working on at the same time. I couldn’t even say when we fully wrote our first new song together, or what that song was.” What is clear is that the new album’s title track, “Oblation,” is a full-throated, open-throttle lullaby of celestial sludge that sends the strongest signal possible that Floor is back on the force. “Remember / Begin tomorrow,” Brooks chants. It’s as if he’s commanding himself and the rest of band to dig deep into Floor’s past—and their future, a prospect that looks increasingly positive. “Anthony had stuff that he’d been writing over the past 10 years, so he had tons of material,” Brooks says. “We all got together and wrote the record from there. I had to tell Anthony to stop at one point. I was like, ‘All right, dude. We’ve got enough parts for 18 songs here. Let’s just keep what we have for the next record.’” Next record? Looks like Oblation isn’t a oneoff. Floor is once again a bona fide, ongoing concern. As Brooks admits, “I’ve got time on my hands in between Torche. I’m just really excited to be working with Anthony and Henry again. It’s been a long time.” Just don’t remind him exactly how long. A

We had so many different ideas, so many different songs we were working on at the same time. I couldn’t even say when we fully wrote our first new song together, or what that song was.

 photo by Kassi Kelley McKamey

Steve Brooks don’t want anyone reading into the dumb shit I say. I would throw lyrics at Anthony, and he’d say, ‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ and I’d say, ‘Fuck, I don’t give a shit.’ But Anthony had a lot of ideas, so a lot of the lyrics on the new album came from his side. He had a lot more to say on this record than I did. There are a lot of spiritual things and stuff he’s into. I wanted the lyrics to make a little more sense that way.” Does that mean Oblation heralds a kindler, gentler Floor? Well, kinda. The playfully aggressive, surrealist-catchphrase era of the band seems to be done for the moment, and a more graceful sincerity—dare we say sensitivity?—has taken its place. On one of Oblation’s standout tracks, the tellingly titled “Homegoings and Transitions,” Melissa Hope Friedman—“Anthony’s better half,” as Brooks calls her—contributes lyrics and ethereal vocals. The way she harmonizes with Brooks over that pulsing mudslide of a song feels downright angelic, in an eerie sort of way.

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MiseryLoves Company Excerpts from Jason Netherton’s Extremity Retained: Notes From the Death Metal Underground by Jason Netherton Handshake, Inc., 2014

You

may have noticed that we at Decibel think highly of oral histories and death metal tomes. Jason Netherton, longtime bassist/vocalist of Baltimorebased deathgrind institution Misery Index, has combined the forms in Extremity Retained: Notes From the Death Metal Underground. Three years in the making, Extremity Retained interweaves diverse firstperson accounts of live shows, fanzines, tape-trading, performance techniques and much more in an effort to encapsulate the last quarter-century of death metal. Illustrator Matt “Putrid Gore” Carr contributes cover art as Netherton’s exhaustive succession of anecdotes outlines death metal’s incredible evolution. The seeds for the book were planted when Netherton was swapping stories backstage at a random Euro open-air fest in 2010. “By capturing these firsthand accounts in text,” he says, “I hope that the readers can really ‘smell’ the energy of how authentic, spontaneous and fun the underground was in the early days—as well as through the ’90s and beyond.” We got a whiff, and we’re proud to bring you this series of excerpts. —Andrew Bonazelli

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Ross Dolan and Robert Vigna

(Immolation) [The Euro Trip, 1988] After [France], we went up to Sweden, where we met up with the Nihilist guys, as well as the guys in Dismember, Carbonized, Treblinka and more. The weird thing is they—Nihilist—were just splitting up at the time, and had just gotten rid of Johnny [Hedlund, who went on to form Unleashed]. So, Will [Rahmer] and I ended up staying with Johnny, and Bob and the other guys stayed with Nicke [Andersson] and Fred [Estby]. Those guys were like 16 at the time, just kids, but they totally hooked us up and we stayed at their house with them and their parents. Johnny was a little older, so he had an apartment with his girlfriend. When we were there, we ended up back at their rehearsal spot, and we watched them jam, and it sounded tight as hell. It was ridiculous; it sounded like an album. After that, they asked us to play, so we got on their instruments and it was like, “clink, clink, clink.” I mean, granted, we were on vacation and had not played in a few weeks, but we sucked. In that way, it was just another eye-opener that we really had to get our shit together. But watching them was amazing. Nicke, he was a killer lefthanded drummer, and he was actually showing Uffe [Cederlund] some leads and shit, and he would just take the guitar and flip it around and show him the riffs upside down! Mitch Harris

(Napalm Death, Righteous Pigs) [Harmony Corruption and the U.S. Grindcrusher Tour]

The show in Los Angeles on that tour was the most memorable. Napalm Death had already done a weekend in New York City before I joined the band, but this show was the first one

out there, at a place called the Reseda Country Club [on April 20, 1991]. I remember it as a good show, but there was some kind of a gang riot and fights, and apparently some people were stabbed, and I think a few people died. There were all kinds of stage invasions going on, and at one point this guy gets up onstage and grabs this jug of smoke fluid for the smoke machine, thinking it’s water or something. The stage tech is like, “Don’t drink that, mate!” However, he takes a big drink of it and then jumps back into the crowd. The funny thing is my parents came to that show from Las Vegas, and they couldn’t believe what the fuck just happened. In fact, everyone in the room couldn’t believe what happened. Dan Seagrave (artist) [Underground Illegitimacy]

At the time [1989], the cover for Morbid Angel’s Altars of Madness was something that I was actually doing just for myself. When I brought the half-finished work to a meeting at the label [Earache] with David Vincent in attendance, it was decided then to use that piece for the album. I was aware of the death metal a little by that time, so I knew what I was getting into. [My thoughts on death metal in the beginning were] that it seemed like a heavier, grittier extension of the thrash scene. I was intrigued by it, though, because it seemed to have the gift of being this underground, illegitimate, raw thing

 Performing sacrifices

Assorted flyer compilation from the book

[which I connected with] because that’s exactly what I felt like as an artist then—who had left art college with an E grade. Doug Cerrito (ex-Suffocation) [“Maybe we can do this as a career?”]

Our first “real” North American tour was with Dismember and Vader in 1993. Back at that time, it was like a shoo-in: You signed with Roadrunner and you got tours through this agency called TCI, and your merchandise would end up going through a company called Blue Grape. The tour manager at the time was a guy named Paul Glackin, and he worked for TCI, and he was the guy taking care of Dismember and Vader. Actually, the tour started as Deicide, Dismember and Vader, but Deicide only ended up doing like half of the States. Something ended up happening with them, so we took over after they dropped off. Vader played first on the package, ’cause they were probably the newest band, as they had just released their debut, The Ultimate Incantation. Next was Dismember, who were kind of in the same boat as us because they were supporting their first album, but maybe because they were from Europe they didn’t have as much of a buzz stateside as us at the time; I can’t recall.

I remember it as a good show, but there was some kind of a gang riot and fights, and apparently some people were stabbed, and I think a few people died. —Mitch Harris d e c i b e l : j u n e 2 0 14 : 4 5

We were all in vans. We had our own, and Dismember and Vader were in another van, and I mean, they were stuffed in there. We didn’t know any of the guys in those bands before, but we all got along great. It wasn’t a full U.S. tour and we didn’t go everywhere, but we did go to California and back, Canada, and I remember everything ending in New York, because the other bands flew home from there. It wasn’t great everywhere; only in the hot spots. I mean, if you played North Carolina or something, then it was kind of weak, but when we got to California we were like, “Holy shit.” Places like that, Texas, and even Canada and Mexico, those were the first areas we hit that actually had good crowds with good numbers to see us. At that point you even start thinking, “Maybe we can do this as a career?” It started to kick in like that. It was way more than we expected. We were just isolated; we didn’t know what was going on out there, really. We hadn’t met many people in the scene yet at that point.

ing it, ’cause on top of being well-prepared, the songs were really, really good. I remembering hearing songs like “Frozen” or “The Somberlain,” with all these fantastic guitar harmonies, and it made me think, “If I am recording bands that are this good, this is a cool thing to be doing for a living.” In this way, The Somberlain was recorded with bass, two guitars and drums at the same time. Then, as soon as we were ready, we just backed up the tape, and Jon and the other guitar player put the headphones on and overdubbed themselves one more time. So, we had two guitar tracks from each player. It was the only way; there were no weird cues or click tracks. No scratch guitars were ever recorded; it was just the takes. Later I eventually got a machine where I could punch in and out, but because the drums would sometimes get into the guitar mics or the punch-ins were weird, I’d try to track the songs in one take. Anders Schultz (Unleashed)

Dan Swanö

[Kicked Out of the U.K. … Twice]

(Unisound Studios, Edge of Sanity)

In our history, we’ve played at least one show without one of the other band members. On one tour, they even had to play without me! Johnny [Hedlund] played the drums when I got deported out of England. It was on another Morbid Angel tour we did in Europe in 1992. In those days, England was like the U.S.: It was not a part of the EU or anything, so you needed work permits to play in the U.K. I think we were sharing the bus with Morbid Angel, and we were told the same thing as when we went to the U.S., with the record label saying, “Yeah, it’s no problem to get in there; just tell them you are fans of Morbid Angel traveling with the band.” So, we were on the same tour bus, and it was just obvious we were a band. Morbid Angel had all their permits, so we just went on the boat from France over to England, and customs knew right away that we were a band. So, we get in the line anyway, and they ask me what I’m doing, so I tell them, “Uh,

[Dissection’s The Somberlain]

From those early sessions, the best experience was really a tie between Dissection’s The Somberlain and Opeth’s Orchid. Early on I didn’t get to work with that much talent, but later on that got a lot better. There were a lot of bands that got out of the noise of their rehearsal rooms for the first time, into kind of a proper studio, and some were just not ready. Dissection was completely different. They recorded EPs and demos before, and I was not taking their “studio virginity” like with Marduk or Katatonia. With Dissection, all of the songs were ready, and they were recorded a couple of times before, and the only song that was new at the time of the recording was the opening song “Black Horizons.” Jon [Nödtveidt] actually played all the guitars and bass on that one ’cause he kind of wrote it just a few days before they came to the studio. With that session, I was really enjoy-

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nothing, just going to watch the shows.” So, the customs guy asks me, “How much money do you have on you?” And I replied, “I don’t know, maybe 1,000 Deutschmarks or something.” At least that is what I was owed from the merch money until that point, but I didn’t have it on me. So, the guy asked me to let him see the money, and I said, “Well, our merch guy owes it to me.” Then he got me, and was like, “Ahhh, you lie… get out!” That was all they needed, so a second later there are two cops taking me away to put me in detention. At that point, our merch guy saw what happened, so he bundled up a wad of cash and lobbed it over the cops at me. I caught it, and that’s what ended up saving me. The next day they put me back on the boat to France. Obviously, I had no cell phone—you didn’t have them in those days—so I was stuck at the port in Calais, France by myself, trying to figure out what to do. The tour was supposed to be in the U.K. and Ireland for the next week, so I called my parents and they put me in touch with the record label. They got me train tickets to Holland, where they thought it would be a good idea to try and fly me back to the U.K. to rejoin the tour. So, I flew in to try to get back into the country, and of course they see the big rejection stamp in my passport right away. So, they put me in detention again for two days at the Manchester airport, where they interrogated me asking about “who my band was,” because they wanted to get the other guys as well. So, I didn’t tell them, and they ended up sending me back on a plane to Amsterdam, where I spent the night by myself until I could get a train back to Sweden. I came home and went right to a bar where I saw my friends, and they were like, “What are you doing here?” I stayed home until they flew me back to meet the tour again in Holland a week later. So, ultimately Johnny ended up playing drums for a few shows on that leg of the tour, and Pete Sandoval filled in as well. A

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So, your favorite band’s going soft. Decibel examines why they changed— and why they might someday change back. by Kevin Stewart-Panko

4 8 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

may not be on par with the Kennedy assassination, the moon

landing, 9/11 or the Blue Jays defeating the Phillies in the ’93 World Series, but it’s a solid bet that multitudes of old-school Metallica fans remember where they were when they first laid ears on the Black Album. Or the reaction travelers along Entombed’s Left Hand Path had to Same Difference. Or how Baroness devotees felt about Yellow & Green once they got past “Take My Bones Away” and “March to the Sea.” Then there’s Cold Lake. People can’t stop rippin’ on that one; it’s been scientifically proven. ¶ Conversely, any long-in-the-tooth musician type will tell you that if you write enough music, time, experience and the absorption of new influences will move your creative output off any linear path. There are exceptions to any rule, but generally speaking, any band’s point A will differ from their point B, and even long-recognized stalwarts of musical homeostasis like AC/DC and Motörhead have Flick of the Switch and Snake Bite Love floating in their respective crappers. While most bands temper growth with some adherence to their roots, there are those who take deliberate and calculated steps away from their original sound, coming out the other end of the process a very different beast. THE MECHANICS OF CHANGE AND ALIENATION Let’s clarify something while we’re crouched on this piece’s starting line, waiting to uncoil in what many are assuming—hoping?—is going to be an explosion of judgmental finger-pointing and a targeting of metal’s biggest sellouts. Sorry, folks, but we’re not equating transformation with quality reduction. For the purposes of the next couple thousand words, we’re exploring why and how musicians stray from their roots. Music is subjective, and personal taste is yada yada yada. So, if you’re still hung up on U.K. gothic doom/death institution Paradise Lost experimenting with darkened electro-rock on 1999’s Host—dude, that was 15 years ago! It’s more appropriate to ask, “At what point was the decision made, and what was the catalyst?” However, if you’re still hurt and stinging, feel free to scream, “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!” Gregor Mackintosh won’t mind. Or care. “The main reason, and it sounds really crap to say this, was boredom,” says the band’s gentlemanly guitarist. “We did Icon and Draconian Times, and found our niche. But we were on the road or recording with no time off for four years. We were just burnt out on that kind of thing, and had heard enough of it to last a lifetime. It was a combination of what was interesting me at the time and always being into dark and miserable music. At that point in the ’90s, there wasn’t too much that was inspiring;

metal was fragmented with nü-metal, industrial, funk metal. The electronic stuff at the time was dark as fuck.” Since forming in 1987, Cynic have been a model of perpetual progress. Their growth across the span of four demos they recorded before signing to Roadrunner for 1993’s slow-burning prog/ death/thrash/fusion classic Focus is astounding; and chances are, come the future, people will be speaking similarly of their recently released third album, Kindly Bent to Free Us, despite its incorporation of jazz and new age elements. “I always say I was grateful to Hurricane Andrew,” says guitarist/vocalist Paul Masvidal, referencing the tropical storm that devastated the band's Miami hometown in the summer of 1992. “We were intending to do a record when the hur-

At that point in the ’90s, there wasn’t too much that was inspiring; metal was fragmented with nü-metal, industrial, funk metal. The electronic stuff at the time was dark as fuck. —Gregor Mackintosh, Paradise Lost  photo by ester segarr a

ricane devastated south Florida. We had a year to put ourselves back together, experienced a growth spurt as musicians, and ended up making Focus, an interesting record that covered a lot of territory. What we’re doing now isn’t that far away from Focus, but once you remove the growls, a certain kind of riffing and some double-bass, you move beyond the original set of ideals. I think our gig has always been stepping out of the cocoon that defines us; to redefine the band and stay honest.” The story of Alcest sees the predominately oneman project, helmed by Stéphane “Neige” Paut, starting out as traditional black metal in 2001. “I wasn’t doing anything really personal, just imitating [my] Norwegian heroes,” he laughs. But after a specific and significant celestial experience, Paut started gradually adding shoegaze, dreampop and post-punk to the point where—these days—Alcest can hardly be categorized as metal. “This band is done as a representation of this dream world I had,” Paut stresses. “The tools I had back then were related to metal because that’s all I was listening to. If I had been into something else, maybe it would have come out differently. [New album] Shelter is completely without metal elements, and I don’t think I’ll be going back.” Two of the more drastic changes in the annals of death metal abandonment come from Germany. Pyogenesis made their initial mark on extreme music with a trio of monolithic and aristocratic doom/death EPs released in 1992, while Morgoth’s early works and 1991 Cursed album were highly respected during the genre’s heyday. Both gigged alongside Pestilence, Autopsy, Anathema and all over the European festival circuit before Pyogenesis transformed into an alt-rock/pop-punk band on 1995’s Twinaleblood and Unpop two years later, while Morgoth industrialized postpunk on 1996’s Feel Sorry for the Fanatic. “It wasn’t really a decision,” offers Pyogenesis vocalist/guitarist Flo Schwarz, cryptically. “When we wrote the songs, they turned out more melodic, and adding melodic vocals to them was obvious. We didn’t really feel like leaving our genre, but it was natural and wasn’t that big [a deal for us]. I think it had to do with the music we listened to, besides metal, and our technical abilities. If you’re into punk and metal, which to me are relatives, it’s obvious to include the best of each genre into your compositions and let yourself be inspired by them.” “We were looking for new ways to express ourselves, and developed into something different,” says vocalist Marc Grewe about Morgoth’s switcheroo. “We were bored with death metal. In the mid’90s, there were a lot of bands playing faster, grunting more brutally and so on, but it wasn’t anything new. Bands were d e c i b e l : j u n e 2 0 14 : 4 9

I’d always had a melodic sensibility

getting more extreme, but I wanted to incorporate into Cynic. were lacking creativity. I thought the best and heaviIt was a genuine, honest exploration, est albums were written in and I don’t think there was too much the late ’80s and early ’90s, of an uncomfortable phase. and there was no need to follow that. Even though —paul masvidal, Cynic we knew the die-hard fans wouldn’t understand, we just wanted to discover a different way.” The common theme is that none of these bands actively denied their desire to avoid repetition or the boredom that follows years of playing the same style and touring with similar-sounding culprits. Hell, biology tells us that human beings are in a constant state of cellular regeneration, and that every seven years each and every one of us is theoretically a different person. Think about that when the seven-year-itch hits your marriage or you’re wondering why Finland’s Xysma made the move from their late ’80s death/grind formative years to stoner metal with Lotto in 1996. However, as Michael Jordan’s baseball career illustrated, just because you’re good at one thing, it doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll be as good at another. Logically, one would think musiEVERYONE AT THE THROAT cians who initially cut their teeth on rock and OF EVERYONE ELSE metal—and played it for years—would experiWith musical change comes change in other ence difficulty adjusting to creating music they aspects of band life. If the listener experiences a didn’t have a history with. drastically different final product, it also likely “I tell you what: It actually felt kind of libermeans there were shifts behind the scenes, if not ating and exciting,” recalls Mackintosh. “It was an opening of a Pandora’s box of internal power like a kid getting a new toy. There was a bit of struggles. “Musical differences” may sometimes finding our feet; like you said, it wasn’t my back- be a catch-all phrase designed to cloak the reality ground, so there was some faltering, but it felt behind lineup shake-ups, but on many occasions, like a breath of fresh air. People say stuff like we a schism erupts when a band’s chief songwriter did it because we wanted to go more commercial, steps out further than other members want to or but it’s the opposite. We had a very definite fan think makes sense. Watch Some Kind of Monster; base that we could have made even bigger if we while he didn’t lash out violently or with ultihad played the game, but we couldn’t do that matums, Kirk Hammett probably spoke the most and [be] honest about it. If anything, we were forcefully he ever had when Lars and James told almost shooting ourselves in the foot.” him there weren’t going to be guitar solos on St. “I’d always had a melodic sensibility I wanted Anger. to incorporate into Cynic,” explains Masvidal. “It changed everything,” says Paradise “It was a genuine, honest exploration, and I Lost’s Mackintosh about the band’s Host-era don’t think there was too much of an uncomfort- songwriting process. “And, oh yeah, [there was] able phase. Let’s not forget that before Cynic, lots of strife in the band. It was only really me I started out playing classical guitar; those are and [vocalist] Nick [Holmes] who were into that actually my roots before I got into rock and kind of stuff. We basically took the band down metal. Then, there was the jazz thing in late that route. But still, everyone enjoyed doing Host high school and college. I think it’s just a matter because we totally indulged and said, ‘Fuck it!’ of a creative person absorbing information and We had just signed to EMI and they were throwbeing an active student.” ing money at us, and we just spent, spent, spent. “When I turned 17, I started listening to To record Host, rather than go into a studio, we indie rock, new wave, old-school goth music and rented a huge mansion that was owned by Jane post-punk,” says Alcest’s Paut. “It was easier to Seymour, the actress, bought a studio, built it create something different having heard these into the house and lived there for three months. other bands. If I had never opened myself to EMI were flying us first-class everywhere, and other genres, I’d probably still be playing metal, it was probably one of the most fun times I’ve I guess. To keep being inspired, it’s important ever had. to make drastic choices, not compromise and do “We knew there would be a huge backlash, but music for me.” we wanted to do something that made us happy, “You have to make yourself happy before you and weren’t thinking about consequences. That can make anyone else happy,” adds Mackintosh. really hit us on the next album, Believe in Nothing, 5 0 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

which was the hangover period. The label saw how much we spent, and kept us in cages with businessmen looking over our shoulders. When we left EMI, we owed them a million pounds, but they didn’t care. I think that year we were Robbie Williams’ tax write-off.” “We were very cynical,” says Morgoth’s Grewe. “We had some good experiences with death metal, but the scene wasn’t the same as it was in the beginning. Also, our personal influences shifted towards wider musical interests. Even the upcoming ‘hardcore-underground’ electronic music, which was fresh, underground and rebellious in Germany, wasn’t taboo. It was just an emotional and honest thing we had to do. To record an album like Cursed again would have been a betrayal to ourselves, even if we knew it would have been way more commercially successful.” Once these types of new sounds make the public rounds, as expected, fans and the metal community feel betrayed. The inevitable cry of “sellout!” follows like stink on a sock. “When Focus came out, it was not loved,” Masvidal says. “Not to be judgemental of the metal scene, but there’s a Palaeolithic component where fans want to hold bands as static museum pieces, and the moment you leave that, you’ve betrayed them. The same thing happened when [2011’s] Carbon-Based Anatomy [EP] came out after [2008 album] Traced in Air. People were saying, ‘Man, Traced in Air. That’s the one!’ even though when it was released people were calling it new age shit! [Laughs] That’s understandable, but we as artists change. We have new lives, are growing and expanding on multiple levels, and have to express that as well.” “It’s really love/hate with Alcest,” says Paut. “Every time we release something, people always

say, ‘Oh, the previous one was better.’ I think that’s because the bands are evolving faster than the fans, and we don’t want to repeat ourselves. We are completely free to do what we want, so why wouldn’t we try different things and keep the excitement intact? I listen to death metal and sometimes I wonder how those guys keep motivated, playing more or less the same album over and over. We’re always going to evolve, so I guess people will always be mad at us.” “Of course, some couldn’t understand the changes,” says Pyogenesis’ Schwarz, “but surprisingly, a lot of fans that still loved the older stuff followed us.” “Host charted in various countries,” recalls Mackintosh, “but I think that was because EMI know what they’re doing when it comes to selling records. They didn’t care or understand it, but could sell it. Coming from the metal scene, we knew how narrow-minded things are and expected the backlash, but it was cool that some people understood what we were trying to do. By the time we finished touring Host, our audience was really diverse. I came from that narrowminded extreme music world, and still am there to some extent, and it was nice to have that diversity for a while. I guess it’s like any artist that’s gone longer than 15 years or whatever— they have different periods. Look at someone like David Bowie; he’s had completely different eras of his career, and people remember him for one specific era.”

IN ON THE ROUNDABOUT As we’ve seen in the last few years, many bands who meandered away from their roots have been inching back towards their early styles. Whether it’s pining for the sounds that truly stir their souls, admitting mistakes, growing out of  alcest photo by Andy Julia

a proverbial phase or recognizing where their financial, emotional and artistic bread is actually buttered, Metallica delivered Death Magnetic, Entombed rediscovered the HM-2 from Uprising onwards, and we can’t forget Surgical Steel. Regardless of how fans believe these compare to those bands’ definitive works, they are undeniable steps backwards, so to speak. “It was the same thing in reverse,” explains Mackintosh about Paradise Lost bringing back the metal. “The shift to electronic rock was more overnight, but coming back to metal was a much slower process. On [2002’s] Symbol of Life, Rhys Fulber produced. He comes from an electronic background, but loves metal and was a big fan. He got in touch, saying he could help us focus, and we owe him a lot because he helped guide us. In particular, we had a song called ‘Over the Madness,’ and he wanted me to improvise a huge solo on it. I wasn’t totally into the idea, but did it anyway, and that’s when it clicked that I actually do like playing guitar and metal. From then on, we’ve slowly worked our way back. We’ve been together for quite a while with pretty much the same lineup, and getting through all that made us stronger; we know our limits and personalities, and it’s the same musically. It’s kind of like growing up; you go through periods where you doubt yourself. It’s all been one huge learning curve.” “There are absolutely no regrets about releasing that album—it’s helped give Morgoth a wider range of knowledge in writing music nowadays,” says Grewe about the band’s 1995 experience, but also their rejuvenated interest in death metal following a best-of release and return to playing live. “For future releases, we will for sure go back to our roots, but we still have a few riffs and elements here and there

To keep being inspired, it’s important to make drastic choices, not compromise and do music for me. —Stéphane “Neige” Paut, Alcest

that will probably remind people of FSFTF. Plus, the experience of writing FSFTF definitely helps our songwriting nowadays, being able to integrate weird twists and abstract soundschemes into the early-years brutality. “I played mixes of Kindly Bent to Free Us to my older brother,” says Masvidal. “He’s a classic rock guy. He doesn’t even listen to modern rock and, as he’s gotten older, his tastes have mellowed; and he was like, ‘Holy shit! This is fucking brutal!’ You realize it comes down to perspective, and it’s so subjective. If all you listen to is blast beats and growls, Cynic is going to disappoint you. But put us on Coachella and we’re one of the heaviest bands there. The new stuff has some really heavy moments, and actually has more distorted guitar than any of our other records. Our heaviness and intensity is more emotional, subtle, insidious and deeper. It’s just the way we’re approaching it; it feels different because we’re not clobbering you over the head.” “I can appreciate every step of the band’s career, and wouldn’t change a thing,” concludes Mackintosh. “Regret is a pretty stupid waste of time. Every step of the way was there for a reason so we could arrive here. Now, I have an increased vigor for metal’s diversity; I see it for what it is and understand it a lot better than I used to.” A d e c i b e l : j u n e 2 0 14 : 5 1

QA Marty

friedman w i t h

Former megadeth axe-slinger on living in Japan, becoming a TV star, and his first U.S. solo album in forever story by j. bennett 5 2 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

t’s 10 a.m. Japanese Standard Time, and Marty Friedman is running the U.S. interview gauntlet via Skype from his Tokyo apartment. “I was doublebooked all last week because I forgot that you guys have Daylight Savings,” he says. That’s probably because Friedman hasn’t lived stateside in over a decade. After rising to Shrapnel Records prominence in the late ’80s with Cacophony and spending the ’90s as lead shredder for Megadeth—he played on Rust in Peace, Countdown to Extinction, Youthanasia and the two clunkers that followed—he decided he’d had enough of MegaDave’s antics and moved to Tokyo in 2003. Within months, he became the guitar player for a famous Japanese singer, and later the star of an insanely popular television show called Rock Fujiyama. This month, he’ll release Inferno, a solo album that marks his return to the international stage and features guest shots from Children of Bodom mainman Alexi Laiho, Revocation mastermind David Davidson and his old Cacophony partner, Jason Becker. You’ve been living in Japan for 10 years now. What prompted the move?

There just came this point in time where I found myself listening to Japanese music only. I really, really got into it. The current Japanese music at that time was blowing my mind and I just had to be a part of the music scene here rather than what was going on in America at the time, which really wasn’t my cup of tea.

What were some of the initial stumbling blocks you encountered in moving to a new country with a totally different culture?

Well, my previous experiences in Japan had always been as an international act on tour. When you do that, you’ve got a whole staff catering to your every whim and making sure everything works out. You’re in a five-star hotel, and you just got to the venue and do whatever else it is you normally do on tour. When you come here

managed by them right now. It was tons of hard work—harder than anything I’ve done in my whole life—but it ultimately gave me the freedom to do whatever I want musically. What was the TV show?

It was supposed to be a one-off. The English translation of the title would be Mr. Heavy Metal. It was basically a comedy variety show, kind of a parody of heavy metal stuff. We’d basically take actors and models and celebrities—people outside of music—and we’d expose their heavy metal fandom. In Japan, there’s a lot of people like this. They might be an actor starring in a drama, but if you interview them, they’ve got a closetful of rock memorabilia or something like that. So, we’d get these people on the show and do like a typical Japanese game-show type thing, but with musical numbers that were very strange combinations of famous heavy metal songs and famous Japanese songs, which were an incredible amount of work for me to arrange. But that concept turned into a show called Rock Fujiyama, which was supposed to air for 13 weeks, but it was such a big hit that it went for 52. Since then, I’ve done every kind of television program you could imagine—political shows, cooking shows, educational shows, sports, news—everything.

Which Japanese artists in particular?

It seems like there are millions that I like, but I’ve worked with every single one of them at this point. But what really attracted me to Japanese music wasn’t the heavy metal or hard rock, but the pop scene, which is just so adventurous here. There’s so many great, unique, futuristic stuff going on—bands like Perfume, Mr. Children, AKB48, but if you’re into full-on metal, there’s this absolutely fantastic band called Maximum the Hormone. Then there’s Dir En Grey, who are like the pioneers of really heavy visual music. The list goes on forever. You had a considerable Japanese following even before you moved—people who were fans of your work with Megadeth and Cacophony.

Yeah, absolutely. But the funny thing about Japan is that domestic music fans are separate from international music fans. So, when I came over here, the international music fans knew me really well from my past stuff, but the people who listen to J-pop, Japanese pop music—which is like 80 percent of the people here—they didn’t know who I was. Then I started playing with some popular Japanese artists and it was like, “Who’s this new white guy?” [Laughs] That was extremely humbling, but it’s exactly what I wanted to do. I literally started from zero and then I surpassed everything I had done before coming here. So, it was a journey, but it was really fulfilling one.

I’ve been so content with what I’ve been doing in Japan—I have complete musical freedom; I’m on a major label here, and they don’t force me to do anything I don’t want to do. to live, none of that is true. Plus, I didn’t really want to rely on my international fan base or my international connections. I really came to Japan to be part of the domestic music scene, so I really had to start from zero and get into the world of Japanese music, which is a totally different world than what I had been in before. That could’ve been a problem, but I got very lucky at the beginning—three months after I moved here, I joined the band of this Japanese pop star called Nanase Aikawa, which got me into a whole new world of people who had nothing to do with international music and everything to do with domestic music. Then another stroke of luck happened because I got into television right away, and that broke everything wide open. I had no intention of doing that, but I was offered a TV show, and I decided to give it a try. It turned out to be a hit and lasted for five seasons. Suddenly, I was being managed by the biggest network-TV management company in the whole country, and I’m still

You must be pretty recognizable on the street, then—beyond being a white dude in a sea of Japanese. What has your TV career done to your privacy?

[Laughs] It’s definitely a thing. I can’t ride the train. I try to avoid crowded places, but I’m not a reclusive type. I like to go out and do normal things. If I get recognized, that’s great—I’m happy to talk with people and sign autographs— but I try to avoid it whenever possible. The good thing about Japan is that I can wear a [surgical] mask whenever I go out and nobody thinks that’s weird over here. If I tie my hair back and put a mask on, I can usually go about my business without getting recognized. What about the language? Did you know any Japanese before you moved there, or did you learn after you arrived?

I’d been speaking Japanese almost fluently before I came here. It’s always been kind of a hobby of mine. Whenever I would come d e c i b e l : j u n e 2 0 14 : 5 3

 An Itinerant abroad

J-Pop enthusiast Friedman brings the instru-metal

leave here because I’m completely satisfied with what I’m doing. But it came to the point where I was seeing a lot of people from around the world who have continued to support me, even though it’s not that easy to find my records outside of Japan. A lot of the stuff I’m doing is not even titled in English. So, I started to take those fans into consideration, and I decided to do something that’s not Japaneseoriented, but rather something that’s meant for the entire world. You did an interview recently in which you were asked what your advice was for aspiring musicians, and you said that they should avoid instrumental music because it’s a dead-end street. And yet Inferno is mostly instrumental. What’s up with that?

here on tour, I’d do my interviews in Japanese and stuff like that. By the time I moved here, I was fluent. Now I’ve been here so long that it’s almost easier to speak in Japanese than English. You’ve recorded quite a few solo albums that were made specifically for the Japanese market.

That’s right. The most recent one is actually my 13th album. Of the solo albums I made here in Japan, several of them were released worldwide, but not simultaneously. They were released in Japan first, and then licensed elsewhere. During that time, I basically focused on Japan. I did three tours of Europe, but everything else was really in Japan. But now with this new record, I’m gonna concentrate on everywhere else. So, Inferno was made specifically to expand your horizons beyond Japan?

Absolutely. It’s something I knew I was gonna do at some point, but I really wanted to do it in a big way. To be completely honest with you, I’ve been so content with what I’ve been doing in Japan—I have complete musical freedom; I’m on a major label here, and they don’t force me to do anything I don’t want to do. I’ve done 600 TV shows, and I’m stimulated beyond belief with the variety of work I get to do. So, it just never really occurred to me that I could ever desire to 5 4 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

[Laughs] Yeah, I’m a hypocrite. The funny thing about artists is that they often contradict themselves, and I’m certainly guilty of that. But I really do think instrumental music is a dead-end street if you’re an aspiring musician. I’ve been playing for a long time, and I’ve got a certain fan base. And the good thing about my fan base is that it’s not just one set of people. In Japan, most people know me from a particular television program—they don’t even know that I do music. Some people only know me from my solo albums. Other people only know me from my past career, which is certainly the case in America. So, people know me from many different things, which affords me the luxury of doing whatever I want, be it instrumental or vocal. But if you’re just starting out, instrumental music is tough to make a career out of. And to be honest with you, I’m not really a fan of instrumental music. I don’t listen to much of it. Usually when I hear it, I get pissed off because I’d do it differently. That’s an honest answer. The music I listen to is 100 percent music with vocals, and that’s how I set out to make my instrumental music. It’s hard to explain, but it’s a different mentality than someone who is immersed in instrumental music. But yeah, you can pretty much say I’m a hypocrite. You’ve got a ton of guest musicians on this record—Alexi Laiho, David Davidson, Danko

Jones. Were these musicians suggested to you, or were you familiar with their work beforehand?

I had known of these guys, but my record label, Prosthetic, sent me this list of people who had mentioned that they were influenced by me in interviews and stuff like that. I haven’t followed much media outside of Japan. I’m extremely up to date on Japanese media, but I’m not current on much outside of here. When they sent this list of people and what they said about me, I was just floored. I had no idea my influence had traveled that far, and with such successful people and great players. So, I was very flattered and decided to ask some of them if they’d be interested. They really came through in a big way and just kicked my ass all over the place. One of the people you collaborated with is your old Cacophony bandmate, Jason Becker, who has Lou Gehrig’s Disease and can’t play guitar or even speak anymore. How did you work around that?

It worked pretty much the same way we did in Cacophony. We’d both have our ideas for songs, and I’d gather and arrange them into a framework. In Jason’s documentary, which I highly recommend—it’s called Not Dead Yet—there’s a scene where he’s working on a piece of music that’s really cool. So, I got in touch with him and asked if he was using it for anything, and suggested maybe we could collaborate on my new record. So, he ended up sending me a whole mess of ideas, and I thought, “This is my chance to bring Cacophony into 2014.” We’ve both evolved so much since those days, and this is the first time we’ve collaborated since then, so the stakes were super high in my mind as far as how cool this song had to be. I played all the electric guitars on the song, but I wanted to get Jason’s feel exactly right on the acoustic parts so I got this guy named Ewan Dobson, a Canadian guy who’s an absolutely fantastic acoustic guitarist, to play all of the parts I arranged for Jason. And he played them exactly the way Jason would do it. So, the spirit of Jason is really there, not only in the songwriting, but in the playing as well. It’s the 2014 version of what Cacophony would have been. Jason was diagnosed in 1990, and it seems like his life has been pretty rough, to say the least. Have you been in touch with him the whole time?

The whole time. Nothing’s changed. We’re best friends. You’d crack up if you saw our emails together—we just rank on each other and call each other bastards. He’s the most positive, normal dude you’d ever meet. There’s never once a depressing note from him. I’m sure he’s going through unbelievable trials every day, but you’d never know it from our conversations because he’s the ultimate positive influence. I can never, ever get bummed about anything because he’s out there kicking ass. A

112

installment No.____ in a series exploring landmark albums in the badass pantheon of extreme metal

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story by chris dick

River Getting Wide F the making of Scorpions’ In Trance

or most Americans, the earliest Scorpions song we remember is “The Zoo,” “No One Like You” or mega-hit “Rock You Like a Hurricane.” But the Hannoverbased hard rockers had a storied history well before they were MTV and rock radio darlings. See, before the stadium tours, worldwide sales chart domination—six consecutive platinum albums from Animal Magnetism to Crazy World— and becoming Germany’s greatest musical export ever, the Scorpions were just like any new band with hopes and dreams. When the young guns hit the scene in 1972 with debut album Lonesome Crow, they were part of the fabric that made up what was then (and is still) known as Krautrock. That experimentalist Conny Plank helmed the production reins is telling of Scorpions’ formative association with a scene from which they’d eventually go to great lengths to distance themselves. But the path was set and there was no turning back. Although Lonesome Crow and follow-up Fly to the Rainbow were fantastically riveting, they were, in hindsight, bridge albums, connection points between psychedelic Krautrock overtures to blues/classical-inflected hard rock. The lineup change that happened prior to Fly to the Rainbow was also pivotal. Not only did Dawn Road members Uli Jon Roth (guitars), Francis Buchholz (bass) and Jürgen Rosenthal (drums) join the fold—guitarist Rudolf Schenker’s younger brother Michael jetted to join British heavy metal pioneers UFO— but the songwriting dynamic changed with it. No longer a collective songwriting team, the Scorpions split into two camps, with Rudolf and vocalist Klaus Meine on one side and Roth on the other. This blueprint would make Scorpions ultra-famous later in life. But In Trance is where it all came together. While Rosenthal was replaced by Belgian skinsmith Rudy Lenners, the Germans were sigdBHoF112 nificantly more comfortable in their own skin by album number three. With bravado, talent, and producer Dieter Dierks polishing the edges, the Scorpions crafted an album for the ages. True, In Trance owes some In Trance of its melodic bliss to Wishbone Ash and a bit of its heft to Steppenwolf, RCA but, in the end, it’s undeniably Scorpions. From the fiery opener “Dark September 1975 ( Europe) Lady” through the brilliance of closing track “Night Lights,” In Trance Proto-metal stuns with its dexterity and tunefulness. hurricane brewing No doubt the Scorpions were loud, boisterous and, to some extent, gritty. The hallmarks of heavy metal were present on In Trance. But unlike their peers in England and America, the Germans were also unrepentantly melodic. “Evening Wind,” “Life’s Like a River” and “Living and Dying” are genuine power ballads, where Rudolf and Roth ceremoniously pair with Meine’s unmistakable pipes and workaday lyrics. So, it’s with great reverence that we welcome the Scorpions—in all their proto-heavy metal glory—to the Hall.

Scorpions

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No. 112 Scorpions in trance  Sting operation

Get lost in the eyes of the In Trance lineup

We started at 11 after breakfast and worked until 1 after midnight. You cannot keep up with that kind of a schedule when you take drugs or drink. Access for women into the studio was not permitted. Even our girlfriends had to stay out.

F r a n c i s Bu c h ho lz What was making music like in 1974-1975? RUDOLF SCHENKER: It was very difficult for a

German band to go to foreign countries to play. It wasn’t easy for us to make music in the ’70s, even in Germany, ’cause the style we played wasn’t typical for Germany. Krautrock was typical. We were already on the way away from that. I was also involved in management. I was forcing the record companies to put a clause in the contract that wherever we play—foreign countries—they have to release the album. That was very important for us. Without that, we would’ve never made it. We tried really hard to get out of Germany. To go to France. Go to Belgium. Go to Holland. And later England. That was a good way for us to get more fans around Europe. Once we had a base, we had the opportunity to find the right producer and to drive our career in a more successful way. It was an adventure. What makes the Scorpions different from bands from other countries is back in the ’70s, we had to book our gigs through the unemployment office. We had no management other than me. So, I had to call a guy named Mr. Adler to request a gig. “We, the Scorpions, are available in the next two-three weeks to play.” He would say, “Ya! Ya! We have a gig available in Goslar.” It was this bullshit that made us want to play in other countries and to hire a manager not from Germany. There was no

management in Germany. So, on one hand, I was trying to get us gigs in Germany, and [on] the other I was trying to find us a reliable person to help us manage through the bullshit. FRANCIS BUCHHOLZ: When we formed the new Scorpions, the record company, which had released the very first album in 1971, dropped us. They believed our sound was not bluesy enough. A concert promoter in our hometown, Hannover, got us a couple of engagements, and he then connected us to RCA Records in Hamburg, Germany. They offered us a contract with a very small share of royalties for the band. I believe Rudolf had the idea to put in a clause that—if we played concerts in a foreign country—RCA would have to put out our album in that country’s stores. No problem for RCA; in return, they would pay us an even smaller percentage on foreign income. It did not matter to us. This way we had our album in the stores wherever we toured. Rudolf and I did the management of the band in those days. I personally have never worked with that unemployment office that Rudolf is still talking about. I was of the opinion [that] if artist management is not permitted in Germany, then we just take care of it ourselves. That worked out absolutely fine, and it was legal! We organized our first tour of about 30 shows throughout Germany—clubs only—but that gave us a lot of stage experience. I had posters and j u n e 2 0 14 : 5 8 : d e c i b e l

fliers printed, arranged the travel and hotel bookings, took care of the contracts between the club and us. That was an adventure, for sure, and it also needed a lot of preparation and taking care of paying the bills. We got a manager later to book the concerts for us, taking that burden off our shoulders. KLAUS MEINE: It was a huge adventure. I think we were so inspired by all the British bands that came over in the ’60s and became popular. The Stones, the Beatles, the Who—all those bands. When we started the Scorpions and recorded our first albums—Lonesome Crow and Fly to the Rainbow—we were a young band. Very much at the beginning we were looking for our musical DNA, especially with Fly to the Rainbow when Uli Jon Roth [joined] the band. He was very inspired by Jimi Hendrix. Having this psychedelic sound kind of put us in what was then called Krautrock. Today, Krautrock is cult. You know, bands like Neu! But we never liked being branded Krautrock. So, in ’74 we worked with [Reinhold] Mack, who became a producer for the Stones and Queen. We recorded Fly to the Rainbow with him. There were a few songs, like “This Is My Song”, that had a touch of what would be the songwriting team of Schenker/Meine. With Uli writing songs like “Fly to the Rainbow”—which was almost like a rock opera—we were still trying to find our sound. ULI JON ROTH: It was very open. First of all, we were very young. I, in particular, was the youngest in the band. I was 19-20 at best. Of course, that is different from when you’re 30 or 40. Everything was exciting at the time. It was like going into uncharted territory. We came from Germany, but we were influenced by that which came from America and England. At that time, we were, to my knowledge, pretty much the only German band to choose that path of heavy duty guitar and heavy duty vocals. And the extreme melodic aspect. I remember, when we first started out in ’73, which was just prior to Fly to the Rainbow, that what we did was a little bit outside the mainstream. Most bands were doing Krautrock, which was very different. We were doing what back then was called melodic hard rock. The term “heavy metal” vaguely existed, but nobody ever mentioned it in connection with a band like us. That came later in the ’80s. So, it was exciting in the sense that every album we did was a new milestone of discovery. At least, that’s what it felt like to me. Every year, we had audible and visible progress. We were getting better as songwriters and, of course, at the same time the

No. 112 Scorpions in trance

We had the worst covers in the world. One after the next. We should’ve gotten an award. The award for the ultimate bad taste.

U l i J on R ot h  Sex offenders

Some of the Scorps' most notoriously provocative covers

band was starting to have more impact. That was probably around ’75. RUDY LENNERS: A little recklessness, a bit of madness and, of course, a lot of motivation trying to live from one’s music, which was not so easy at that time.

in the studio. The whole band formed the appearance of the songs. SCHENKER: When we wrote Lonesome Crow, it was all done in one room, together. I mean, my brother [Michael] was in the band. But it was very much a band jamming. When Uli Jon Roth came into the band, he said, “No, he who wrote it gets the credit [for the song].” So, I started to write songs on Fly to the Rainbow. I was like, “Wow! I can write songs!” [Laughs] That’s a good thing. I remember the song “In Trance” was basically born in a church in Belgium. That’s what kind of inspired the whole album, from my point of view.

How quickly did the material for In Trance come together after Fly to the Rainbow? ROTH: Songwriting for us was always very quick, as far as I remember. Of course, Rudolf and Klaus wrote one half and I wrote the other. Sometimes Rudolf’s songs had a longer genesis. I remember some of the songs that appeared on [1979’s] Lovedrive he was working on while I was still in the band. About my own songs, they came together very quickly. I would say it was effortless [to write songs]. SCHENKER: The songwriting, in those days, was very easy. We were always searching for the right style. I remember I would wake up, skip breakfast to write songs. I had so many songs. Uli had so many songs. And our songs were different— his was more Hendrix—but somehow they were connected to each other. It made an interesting picture. Then, when we found Dieter [Dierks], we really had a team for the Scorpions. BUCHHOLZ: Our guitar players Uli and Rudolf came up with the song ideas. Uli’s songs were rather thought through. Rudolf’s were pretty rough. We worked on all the ideas in our rehearsal room in our hometown of Hannover. The guitar players’ Marshall amplifiers were so loud that everybody’s ears were ringing after each rehearsal. It was not possible to get more detailed arrangements done there. So, at a certain point, we decided to get the final arrangements done in the studio. That all took time. I do not recall how much. Weeks, rather months. LENNERS: After the Fly to the Rainbow tour (1974) in Europe, Scorpions were searching for a new drummer because Jürgen Rosenthal had to do his military service. After two tests performed, I finally went into the band on the last tour date in Belgium; Then, to Hannover to prepare an important tour in France. Well-known German

producer Dieter Dierks “felt under the spell” after one of these concerts, and wanted to produce a new album as soon as possible. Then we began the In Trance rehearsals and pre-production before going to Dierks’ own studio.

There was a stylistic shift in the music at this stage. The psychedelic elements were minimized. Why was that? Sounds like you were keen on separating yourselves from bands like Can, Amon Düül II, Tangerine Dream, etc. MEINE: Between psychedelic and rock, there was

So, you wrote as individuals, not as a group? ROTH: We very much wrote as individuals. There

was Rudolf on one side. I was on the other. Rudolf would write riffs and have ideas for melodies, and Klaus would put melodies and lyrics to them. I tended to work on my stuff alone, except for very rarely when we came up with something together. My stuff I would bring into the rehearsal room fully finished. Rudolf’s stuff was usually the chords and the vocal melodies. The rest would be worked out in the rehearsal room or the studio. BUCHHOLZ: Uli mostly came up with a whole concept for his song ideas. He was quite sure how his ideas should sound with the band. Rudolf had a different approach. He played us chord changes on his guitar with a rough vocal idea. We played along with him, getting ideas, what to play. Improvising. All those ideas were put together first in the rehearsal room, then later j u n e 2 0 14 : 6 0 : d e c i b e l

a lot of rock in the first two records. It was just a different mix of all our musical influences. We were a rock band. You could hear in a lot of tracks from the early material that we were looking for our own musical identity. We were shaping the band. We also had a change on the lead guitar. Michael Schenker left for UFO after the first album and Uli Jon Roth came in. He was more influenced by Jimi Hendrix. As composers—songwriters—there were two different songwriting teams. For a good part of the ‘70s, it was an exciting for our fans. We were new musicians. It was a journey, but nobody knew where it would go. There were many cool tracks that came out of our early work. But still we tried to find the direction. In ’78, after Uli left—he wanted to fulfill his own musical visions—and Matthias Jabs joined the band, we became even more focused in our direction. This result you could hear in the

No. 112 Scorpions in trance ’80s. But In Trance is a good marking point because we worked— for the first time—with producer Dieter Dierks. He helped shape the band. To find the right musical direction, which was more hard rock. ROTH: I can only speak for myself. I don’t really know what went on in Rudolf’s head. We were always talking to each other, but we didn’t speak a lot about music. [Laughs] I don’t think Rudolf thought too much about those bands, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t either. The only way we knew what was going on was when we’d play festivals. That’s when we realized we were pretty different from the other German bands. We were not Krautrock. That’s for sure. BUCHHOLZ: Those bands played a totally different style from what we wanted. I have never listened to that kind of music. Originally, I came from playing the blues and ’60s rock, especially the Chicago Electric Blues, which was influenced by black music from the south of the USA. I was a fan of rock bands like Free, and I also liked listening to soul music. It is my opinion that the German press and radio people tried—in cooperation with German record labels—to support something different coming out of Germany. That was Krautrock. Consequently, we did not get well supported by press and radio. We had decided to go a different direction. LENNERS: When I came into the Scorpions, the band and I were more involved in hard rock music, but during my years with them, I often played festivals with a lot of Krautrock bands like Guru Guru, Grobschnitt, Can, Kraan and Amon Düül. For me, it was a special moment ’cause my musical culture was not really based on this kind of German music. The songs also got shorter. Do you remember trying to tailor the sound? ROTH: I don’t think it was deliberate. It just

happened. In Trance didn’t have an epic like “Fly to the Rainbow” or “Earthquake” [from Roth’s Earthquake]. It just was a collection of shorter songs. Each one of which had a length it was supposed to have. For myself, I didn’t look left or right. I didn’t feel like we were competing with any band whatsoever. We were really doing what came natural to us. That’s my perspective. Rudolf may’ve been more strategic in his thinking, but if he was, it wasn’t apparent to me. We made decisions based on the strengths of what was on the table. The nice thing about the Scorpions—all through the time when I was in the band—was there were never any arguments. No “This is my song.” No “This is your song.” There was none of that. We were a really good team. Whenever there was a song in front of us, we would just go for it, regardless of who wrote it. We were quite different from most bands in that respect, where there’s warfare behind the scenes.

BUCHHOLZ: It just happened. We were very sound-oriented and quite sophisticated in the way we recorded our instruments. Dieter had a microphone collection and by trying [them] out, we selected the best-sounding microphone to be placed in front of my bass loudspeakers. We also used a separate channel to record the signal directly from my bass guitar into the mixing desk. Dieter had a good understanding about sound. He also used some sophisticated high-end compressors, which we put between my bass and the recording tape. Every instrument got its special attention, and we did not finish working on the sound until everybody was completely satisfied. When we had breakfast, somebody used to vacuum clean the floors in the studio. And it happened that that person accidentally moved a microphone position. Coming back into the studio, we realized, What happened to the guitar sound? Nobody had an idea. For some time, it did not come into anybody’s mind that a microphone might have been moved.

The twin guitar lead was maybe the advent of Wishbone Ash. On In Trance, Rudolf and Uli use it to maximum effect. What was it like writing those parts, like on “Dark Lady”? SCHENKER: Exactly! We were inspired, in those days, by Wishbone Ash. ROTH: The thing is, I know Rudolf and Michael [Schenker] were big Wishbone Ash fans. Wishbone Ash were definitely an influential band at the time. Some of the dual guitar leads you hear on very early Scorpions—like on “This Is My Song”—definitely had that feeling to them. When it comes to my own dual harmony leads, which pretty much started on In Trance, [they] were more classical in approach. The song “In Trance” has the double trills. I remember Dieter said, “Oh, that sounds like [Claude] Debussy!” I didn’t really relate that to Debussy, but it was a similar approach in harmonic terms. The first time I really experimented with dual harmony leads was just before In Trance. We had actually recorded a couple of Sweet covers for a German publisher, who wanted to put German lyrics to some Sweet songs. I think one was “Fox on the Run.” We agreed, naturally. They ended up being pretty orchestral. We took that much further on Taken by Force with the song “We’ll Burn the Sky.” The middle has a three-part harmony.

How did Uli end up singing on “Dark Lady” and “Sun in My Hand”? MEINE: To me, I was the lead vocalist. I never

thought that Uli was a good singer. Uli was always an outstanding guitarist and musician. His vocal skills were very much limited. In those years, he took the lead vocals for a lot of songs. I was more part of the songwriting team with Rudolf. Well, we were shaping up our songwriting skills. Our songs, the songs Rudolf and I did, had a certain vibe. They had a stamp. j u n e 2 0 14 : 6 2 : d e c i b e l

Rudolf wrote with my voice in mind. It was always with a beautiful melody. He always came up with great melodies, and that fact was he had a vocalist who could sing with those melodies. For a good melody, you need a good singer who can deliver. With Uli, the way he constructed or wrote his songs, like “Drifting Sun” or “Evening Wind,” I couldn’t connect with them. The way those songs were written, they weren’t for me. I like those songs a lot! For this material, I probably said to Uli, “You sing it. You feel it. You wrote it. Record it with your voice and with your expression.” That’s the reason he was the singer on a few songs. For Uli, it was all about expression and attitude. To this day, I think he did a good job. There were some songs that Uli wrote—like “Yellow Raven”—that I did. I picked the songs I really liked. That’s how we did it. ROTH: It was always different. “Dark Lady” was never supposed to be me singing. This happened in the studio. We did a demo, and I wanted Klaus to sing it. But Dieter said to me, “No, I want you to sing it.” It was more of a suggestion. That was his idea, and we stuck with it. I was aware I wasn’t the singer. Klaus was the singer. However, having said that, my style of writing had a strong Hendrix—even Dylan—kind of feel. Some of that material was unsuitable for Klaus’ approach. I guess that’s how I ended up singing, warts and all. [Laughs] I added a very exotic feel to it all. That being said, the song “Evening Wind” was supposed to be me singing. When Klaus heard it, he said, “No, that one’s for me!” In some ways, we were remarkably loose. In others, we were very organized and well thought out. For instance, my guitar leads would be worked out note for note. I’d record them as I had written them. Describe the business atmosphere in the band at the time. You were just starting to break into international territories. A first for a Germanbased band. BUCHHOLZ: Uli intentionally stayed away from the business, Klaus did not seem to be interested, our Belgian drummer Rudy Lenners was busy learning German. So, Rudolf and I took care of the business side of the band, and we used concert agencies to book our tours. Around 1975-1976, we [had] toured all over Europe already. ROTH: The Scorpions were incredibly non-businessoriented when I was in the band. [Laughs] We were just a bunch of guys playing music. We didn’t care about the money. One of us looked after the cash from gigs, but for the most part, we would always come home with 10 bucks in our pockets, with the rest going to the bus, the equipment and so forth. Later on, when we started to make money, I had no idea what was happening. Suddenly, our records were going gold and we were getting huge checks through the post. I remember thinking, “Wow! This is interesting…”

No. 112 Scorpions in trance We were completely disinterested in the business, I think. Rudolf had spent time managing the band, but when it came down to it, the decisions were always artistic. Money played a very secondary role. That’s my memory from the entire time I was in the band. I only understood how the business works afterward when I was doing Electric Sun. I had to learn how it all worked. It wasn’t an easy thing to learn. I thought it was kind of anathema to me. I came from a point of view where I thought all music should be for free. I remember for years I’d play without a fee. I thought there was something kind of dirty about it. Later on, I realized I could not go on playing for free. I had to pay my bills. It was then I became corrupted by the dark side. [Laughs] Now, I charge a fee. It’s been said that Dieter Dierks “discovered” Scorpions. How true is that statement? SCHENKER: Well, I called Dieter. I said to him, “Dieter, look, we have something in mind. We’re watching you. You did a very good job with Atlantis. We want to try you out. What do you think about working together?” He said, “Why not? When’s your next gig?” Our next gig was in Düsseldorf, a festival over two nights. MEINE: In those early days, we were looking for a good producer. We played a show in Düsseldorf, a festival if I remember correctly. Our time on stage was crazy. Like at 3 o’clock in the morning. The whole venue was asleep. In sleeping bags. In the venue. [Laughs] It was an overnighter. When we played, everybody woke up. The whole venue. They got up on their feet. When Dieter heard people saying, “Ah, Scorpions played really late at night, but they were great”—people went nuts at that show—[he] wanted to meet. We had a feeling the chemistry was good. He was motivated. He had his own studio outside of Cologne. We went to check it out. We liked Dieter right from the beginning. He was very knowledgeable. He was already working with up-and-coming bands, and they were starting to become successful, so we felt he was the right guy for us. It was a key point when we met Dieter in ’75. After that, nothing could stop us. ROTH: I can’t say this is true at all. I can say he discovered Scorpions for himself. The Scorpions were already an established entity by the time he came onto the scene. The Scorpions had Lonesome Crow with Michael [Schenker]. Then, we had Fly to the Rainbow that we kind of produced ourselves. However, there was good collaboration between Dieter and the Scorpions. No doubt about that. He was a good producer. And he was good for the Scorpions. The band went from strength to strength with Dieter. Even when I was in the band, the writing was on the wall. There was only one way to go, and that was up, up, up. Every album had twice the impact of the

We played a [festival] in Düsseldorf. Our time on stage was crazy. Like at 3 o’clock in the morning. The whole venue was asleep. In sleeping bags. In the venue. When we played, everybody woke up.

Klau s Me ine previous one. Virgin Killer was the first to go gold. Taken by Force was very successful, too. Our first albums were more cult successes in America. Tokyo Tapes was our first worldwide release. We went from RCA to EMI, and that’s when the Scorpions really took off. What was it like working with Dierks on In Trance? ROTH: He was a very good producer. We got on very well, except for a few instances. I was upset because we took forever doing the backing tracks—drums, bass and rhythm—and then there was only two days left for lead guitars. I was kind of upset about that. I thought we should spend more time on the lead guitars. That was probably my only bone of contention. We were a very good team. The atmosphere was positive. He was an incredible worker. He never slept. He went on forever during the night. He never lost concentration. That was quite something, his sheer stamina. We kept up with him, though. [Laughs] LENNERS: A great experience! Imagine, I come from nowhere without any experience, or almost [none]. He showed us [how to play] “right,” drumming like a human machine, but with groove and, of course, a lot of tricks.

Any fun studio stories that you remember from the In Trance sessions? Studio reputations back in the ’70s were pretty legendary, full of loose women, drugs and booze. MEINE: Part of the deal with Dieter was that he

had a few studios and a guest house for the musicians. We stayed at the guest house. I remember sharing a double bed with Rudolf. We were like an old couple. [Laughs] We would talk ourselves into sleep. We’d talk for hours about the songs, how we could improve this or that. It was like The Waltons. “Goodnight, John-Boy.” [Laughs] You can’t imagine! I remember years later, a hotel opened not too far from the studio. It was a piece of luxury to move into a real hotel. We finally had our own rooms, our own beds and our own TVs. In the studio, I remember we were playing those songs over and over, though. In those days, it was the whole band playing the songs, learning the songs, improving the songs, changing the lyrics, going back and forth. We were working almost 24 hours per day. There was a nice pub outside the studio around the corner. I remember, we had a lot of j u n e 2 0 14 : 6 4 : d e c i b e l

late nights at that pub, and when the Cologne Carnival got going, we were totally drunk. Dieter would say to us, “No, now’s not the time. Let’s go back into the studio. Now!” We’d go back into the studio all drunk and fucked up, record a few songs, and go to the guest house. Only the next day we could hear how crap we were. [Laughs] ROTH: We were the opposite of what people might think. There were no girls. There were no drugs. [Laughs] No, it’s true! Maybe on the road… in the studio, we were all business. There wasn’t even alcohol in the studio. So, definitely no drugs. It was quite boring, actually, in that sense. We were really just working on the record. When I was in the band and when we were in the studio, we didn’t have any of that. Maybe that’s why we did a good job. We weren’t distracted. We were totally single-minded. To me, the album was like a matter of life and death. I took it so seriously. I had the feeling everybody else did as well. That did set the band apart a lot. Scorpions were single-minded and focused. We didn’t dilly-dally. BUCHHOLZ: That “reputation” is something writers liked to describe. Other bands had different ways around the studio situation. To us, studio always meant “work.” We wanted to get things done. No distraction from the music whatsoever. We started at 11 after breakfast and worked until 1 after midnight. You cannot keep up with that kind of a schedule when you take drugs or drink. Access for women into the studio was not permitted. Even our girlfriends had to stay out. That was Dierks’ strict advice, and it was good that way. We kept our focus on the music alone. LENNERS: Right before [we were] to record the album, the band was suddenly ill, some with fever, probably a virus from “German” food. We were all obliged to do our best to continue the recording sessions ’cause of the [RCA] schedule. The peak was reached by repeating and recording, especially the song “In Trance,” at least 20 times to reach the final—and good—version. Listen to that song one more time. You’ll feel the heat, the fever and the sweat. The original cover for In Trance featured nudity. It was later changed. Was this the doing of the marketing department of RCA? BUCHHOLZ: Do you remember the Hendrix album cover of Electric Ladyland? Compared to that, In Trance has got a rather soft and decent cover. Artistically, I rate ours better than the Hendrix cover. Anyway, Uli came up with that idea,

No. 112 Scorpions in trance  A hypnotic read

Captured in the pages of German rock mag Bravo, circa 1975

and our record company RCA got everything arranged. I think the cover is quite cool. They printed it originally on a special carton with a not shiny surface. SCHENKER: That was Uli’s idea! He thought it would be great to have a sexy lady on the cover. Maybe he was thinking about a foxy lady on the cover. [Laughs] He was so inspired by Jimi Hendrix he eventually lived with one of Jimi’s ex-girlfriends in London. But, he came up with the lady over the guitar. The photographer, [Michael] von Gimbut, did a great job. It was sexy, but not overdone. It was done in the right way. Arty. MEINE: We all liked the idea of rock ‘n’ roll and sex being like brother and sister. The cover for In Trance kind of started Scorpions on a controversial path. I gather this was intentional for marketing and promotional purposes. What do you make of that all these years later?

stepped up the ladder.

MEINE: For us, it was the beginning of our love

BUCHHOLZ: When we played in Germany, we

affair with crazy, sometimes over-the-top covers. That’s all I’ll say about that. [Laughs] ROTH: We had the worst covers in the world. One after the next. We should’ve gotten an award. The award for the ultimate bad taste. [Laughs] I remember thinking the Fly to the Rainbow cover was a disaster. The only good thing about that cover is that it’s so easy to sign, with any kind of pen. All the other ones, you need silver pens. Other than that, I think the cover completely sucks. The second one has become a classic. It might be bad taste, but the worst one was album number three, Virgin Killer. In America, it had a very nondescript cover. But the ideas were of the record company. I must say none of us thought anything was wrong with them at the time.

always drove home, when the next day was off. It was always Rudolf and myself who drove. I remember our van breaking down in the early morning hours. I sat at the steering wheel; everybody else was asleep. I checked the engine. The ventilation belt had been broken. I got a lift by a friendly car passing by, drove to the next village, into a still-open discotheque, and had the disk jockey ask the girls for nylons. Luckily, I got them, back to the van and creeping under the car, I was able to replace that belt with that pair of knotted nylons. LENNERS: Concerning the In Trance tour in Germany, I have a rather special story to tell you: At the time, we used fireworks and smoke effects on stage. At the end of the show, smoke was spread from the drum [riser]. But just before the “moment,” the smoke machine became too hot. Due to the excessive heat, I suddenly fell backwards. The audience did not see me behind the drums for several (long) minutes. I was totally stunned, but what a show!

What was touring like back then? Do you have any special memories while supporting In Trance? MEINE: In those days, we were driving in our

vans, with all the equipment in the back. We’d sleep on the way back from the gig. I remember waking up one morning with the Marshall sign on my cheek. [Laughs] It was a huge adventure. But a lot of hard work. With every show, we played for our lives. In ’75, we played our first shows in England at the Marquee, where the Stones and Jimi Hendrix had played. All of a sudden, a few young kids from Hannover, Germany were on the same stage. We were living our dreams, having fun. We were tired of playing clubs by then. We wanted to go to bigger stages. At the time, we supported Sweet, which was more like glam rock. They were really popular in the early ’70s. With them, we played bigger arenas. This was the real deal. You had to deal with it, playing in front of a few thousand people. They obviously didn’t come to see this young German band. They came to see Sweet. But we learned a lot. Like every young band. We

What do you make of In Trance being labeled a classic? BUCHHOLZ: That is something that should be left to music critics. Or, to the course of life. I do not like labeling things I have done. I do not want to compare it to other records, because I see myself too close to the picture. SCHENKER: It’s always difficult. Our albums are always far away from what I think of them. But, I know you need boxes to put stuff in. No question about that. When we did In Trance, it was more experimental hard rock. And later, when we did Virgin Killer, I felt our sound was so overdone that people—normal people—took their headphones off when it was done. They were happy to have the album over with. In those days, most music was very soft. What we did—as j u n e 2 0 14 : 6 6 : d e c i b e l

well as Dieter—was put everything in overdrive. We were pretty hard. Klaus was singing so high, he almost lost his voice while we were recording. From this point, though, it’s a classic. No question about it. I’m happy we made it into an international classic rock “box,” if you know what I’m saying. We are happy bastards now. [Laughs] ROTH: I understand the importance of In Trance. I feel proud to have been a part of it. It’s part of my personal life and history. There was a time when I couldn’t care less. I really disconnected from it all. I was only looking at the future. There came a point when I realized the album meant a lot to a lot of people. I started to realize why, as stupid as that sounds. Back then, while we were doing it, I was more interested in the process of doing new music. I wasn’t proud of what we had recorded. That’s what I remember. I was always looking at the future. I was such a perfectionist then. In my mind, I was concentrating more on the flaws. Thinking how inferior to what they could’ve been. It’s only been with distance and with the mellowness of age that I started seeing things differently. Now, I’m not bothered by the level of imperfection. I see different things in our music now. If you had the chance to do it all over again, would you change anything? BUCHHOLZ: No, I would not change anything. Every album is a reflection of what we were at that point in time. They are unique. I do not want to travel back in time. Never look back! There are moments in life when you have to make a decision: This is it! SCHENKER: No, I think there are moments in time. You can always do things better. It’s important to remember if you do redo things, you always think you did it better the second or third time. But maybe that’s not true. The moment and place are the right. That’s the baby. That’s when the baby starts walking and talking. [Laughs] In Trance was our baby, looking back. MEINE: Not really. It is what it is. It has a strong title song, the chords especially. The hook has a strong punchline. ROTH: Oh, yeah! I don’t know if it’d be any better. When I was 19, I was a different person. I was making different discoveries. When you know things better, you go about things differently. Some of what I would change would be for the better. But maybe some of it probably not. [Laughs] You know, when I play the songs live, I change the parts I wasn’t too happy with. I try to balance them out when I play live. LENNERS: It was my first album with Scorpions. Maybe I could have had a little more experience in studio. Would have been beneficial. But no regrets, ’cause I put all my positive “trance” energy into the project. A

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I don’t really get the whole wearing girls’ pants thing, but who the hell am I to judge anyone? I’ve got a dead midget hanging out of my ass.

Dave Brockie re: AFI’s “Miss Murder,” Call and Response sep. 2006 | issue #023

R.I.P. dave brockie j u n e 2 0 13 : d e c i b e l

goodnight sweet scumdog The life and legacy of Dave Brockie 1963 to

2014

n M a rc h 2 3 , we we re as sho cke d as any b o dy to l e a r n t h at D av i d Mu r r ay B r o c k i e h a d p r e m a tu rely p ass e d aw ay at age 50 . T he sh it - st i r r i ng , s e m e n - s pr ay i ng v i s i on ar y w a s ju s t a s re l e v ant , ac tive and ubiquitous as he was at any time of his over 30 ye ars le adi ng G WAR t h rou g h a gau nt le t of upro ar i ou s d e pr av it y. We k n e w r i g ht aw ay t h at it w a s i nc u mb e nt up on us to honor t he m a d m an b eh i nd O d e r us Urungus. S o, we rushed to get in touch with contemporaries, b andmates and f r iends, a l l of w hom va liant ly stepp e d up to p ay t r ibute to Bro ck i e i n t he he ar t felt , out r age ous e ss ay s you’re ab out to re a d. T h i s toi l e t e ar t h won’t b e t h e s am e w it hout you, D ave. — An dr e w B o n a ze l l i

 photo by Jamie Bet ts

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R.I.P. Dave Brockie 6 9

Chris Bopst : Balsac, 1984-1987

On Dave Brockie, Multifarious Flesh and Blood (excerpted from eulogy at Dave Brockie’s memorial, April 1, 2014)

adies and gentlemen, it is my unenviable task to try to define the glorious, bouncing, bursting-at-the-seams ball of light that was our friend, comrade and brother, Mr. David Murray Brockie. The idea that anyone could sum up who he was with mere words is absurd, for he was a man that could not be defined. As I’m sure all of us who knew him can relate, in the parade of memories and emotions that has engulfed us since his passing, Dave lived a life that spawned a million stories. Not all them can or should be told, but one thing that bonds all of them together is that all of them are all true. There is not a word in the English language that doesn’t accurately describe Dave, but at the same time, they are frightfully incapable of conveying the true meaning and depth of who he was. Having thought about him and who he was this past week, I keep coming back to one thing: Dave Brockie was a human being. And what a gloriously wonderful human

being he was. Nobody I have known embodied what it means to be a human being more than him. Every emotion, every inspiration and every passion this world can throw at you, Dave embraced and lived with every fiber of his being. Through him, I learned what it means to truly live. Knowing him made me want to be a better person. He instilled in me that life is first and foremost a participation sport. Through him, I learned the importance of active engagement, commitment and work. I learned to never say never, to eternally question authority and to grab life by its great big filthy cock and to suck the living fucking shit out it until it did my bidding. For these things, I will be forever grateful to Dave. Was he perfect? FUCK NO. For all of his commendable, loveable attributes, he could be a fucking asshole capable of unspeakable evil. But that’s why I loved Dave. He was so amazingly imperfect. He lived life with his heart on his sleeve and let his emotions flow through him without restriction. Sometimes those emotions took him to dark places, but

Cremator and Digestor : bassist and Guitarist of Ghoul On Dave Brockie, Showman Extraordinaire CREMATOR: Well, of course people know GWAR shows are bloody affairs. You

can’t kill that many people onstage every night and not make a mess. When we toured with GWAR and Oderus Urungus, we learned that behind this chaos was order and teamwork. We had excelled in odor, but not order. They saw potential to guide Ghoul’s murderous sprees into something sanguineously sublime. DIGESTOR: Our stage show at the time was a crude

simulacrum of GWAR’s. Giant robots, menacing weapons, and huge, hairy proto-humans filled each tiny, spray-painted stage we played. But by the end of our first show with them, we realized we needed to up the sophistication level of our preshow preparation and stage show, even in some 70

not so obvious ways. By the end of that three-week run, our stage show was a slightly less crude simulacrum of GWAR’s, and they continued to teach us things that we took home to the catacombs with us. CREMATOR: Those monsters Digestor mentions,

they would just come out and dance, only to

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no matter how cruel and insensitive he could be, you always knew that was his fucked up way of proving to you that he cared. And that was a big part of who Dave was. Sometimes you had to go to battle against him. And if you did battle against Dave, you had to bring your A-Game. Being around Dave was never a dull moment, because you never knew which Dave you were going to get. Sometimes you’d get the tender, maternal Dave, the Dave that was your most passionate champion. Or you could get the evil Dave, the Dave that took great fiendish delight in breaking you down for his amusement. But no matter which Dave I got, I loved them all because they all were infinitely fascinating, intelligent, hilarious and real. It’s been said that you can judge a man by the lives he touched. To my GWAR brothers and sisters, there is not a day that goes by that I am not amazed by your collective accomplishments. Whenever someone finds out I was in GWAR, I am always quick to tell them I had nothing to do with its success, and that the band only got good after I left, but know that I am humbled to be part of something that is so much bigger than myself. As the days, weeks and months pass and we all go back to our lives, the most important thing I’d like to impart is that we should never forget that our best days are in front of us. I know that sounds like bullshit, and sometimes even I don’t believe it, but it’s true. Our best days are not behind us—they are in front of us. This is what I learned from Dave Brockie. As sad and distraught as we may be, what we need to take from his life was his unbelievable zest for living and apply it to our own lives. So, here’s to you, Dave. Thank you for making my life more interesting, funny and enjoyable. Thank you for your amazing wit, your insatiable intellect and boundless compassion. Thank you for your indelible spirit, drive and dedication. But most of all, thank you for being my friend.

stumble away. GWAR taught us that the brainless peons called “metal fans” demanded blood and violence, and lo, we should give it to them with mighty battles! The same peons wanted to be abused by their masters, and how Oderus excelled at this: killing, eating, raping, and generally berating the crowd of freaks and misfits. Never a word came from his lips that didn’t slice to the quick. Though our spoken English is cruder than our native Creepsylvanian, we do our best to follow the Scumdog’s will to always speak honestly and free from societal mores. DIGESTOR: But, of course, even before we met

GWAR, they had an enormous influence on us. I can remember being a mere whelp of a carnival geek and watching a crusty old VHS copy memorial photos by E ve Alle yne

sure we were doing ok. Naturally, we were sickened by the shameless display of compassion and concern, but had we been well-adjusted adults, we might have found it “touching,” or perhaps “awe-inspiring.” CREMATOR: The humans impressed into servi-

of Live From Antarctica over and over; dreaming of someday taking out my deep-seated aggression on crowds of ignorant American peasants. The violence, humor and spectacle of GWAR was unlike anything I had ever seen in a metal band. When we got the call from the slave known as “Brockie” that GWAR was offering to take us out to slay our way across North America with them, it was a lifelong dream come true. Had we looked at the contract a little closer, maybe we would have noticed the “Cuttlefish Servicing” clause, but by the time we did, it was too late. CREMATOR: In my youth, I was obsessed with

GWAR. Between my hours scouring for scraps of brie and baguettes in the slums of Paris, I would feverishly dissect Oderus’ lyrics to reveal the detailed mythos of these alien barbarians hidden

inside his damaged brain. I managed to fashion a zoetrope tape of their first movie, Phallus in Wonderland, and watched it endlessly to glean new ways to kill and offend. I knew something in my life had changed once I was introduced to GWAR … I had become a much more awful person obsessed with death, gore and bad puns. When we finally met them, we were like, “Huh… these guys are pretty nice.” DIGESTOR: Indeed, when they aren’t spewing

the audience with gouts of blood and beheading world leaders, they are some of the most downto-earth performers you’d ever want to meet. During our first run with them, they tragically lost a Scumdog in Flattus, and a friend and guitarist in Cory Smoot. In their darkest hour, they went out of their way to comfort us and make

DIGESTOR: They’ve really done it better than

anyone for longer than anyone. In the middle of it all was Brockie: a creative force to be reckoned with, and a personality of cosmic proportions. His loss will be felt for a long time to come. We don’t know what the future of GWAR might be, but we will always be grateful to Brockie and the rest of GWAR for giving us a glimpse into their world and teaching us better ways to be assholes to people who are nice enough to voluntarily give us money.

Shouldering the burden Freeman's posthumous Oderus tattoo

JON FREEMAN, FREEMAN PROMOTIONS

tude by the Scumdogs—such as Brockie, MX2, Blargl Flurg and so many more—are all very inspiring. Through decades attending GWAR shows, I have seen them scurrying about, seemingly trodden underfoot by every monster that came their way. But really, these humans are the integral gears of a team, a family built on the shoulders of Oderus Urungus and GWAR. They build all the things that keep GWAR going. The swords, the armor, the monsters—everything is done by GWAR and their Slave Pit! The ethos is D.I.Y., not as a means to do things on the cheap, but to express themselves and have some fucking fun. We learned just by watching them that we could do our own thing, too: kill people our own way, make our own things to destroy, make a show like we would want to see and hear. Oh, and also drug and enslave a few numbskulls to do our bidding while we’re busy playing onstage. The idiots do it for peanuts.

On Dave Brockie, Unlikely World-Dominator

hen I was asked to write this piece, I was really apprehensive about it. How do I sum up my friendship and working relationship with Dave Brockie? Well, I know it’s something that I can’t do in one essay, but I can tell some amazing stories about great times we had together both professionally and personally. I never would have thought that I’d be working with the guy who shot fake jizz all over my face one Easter Sunday when I was 16 years old, but I guess it was some sort of sick sign. Over the five years we knew each other, Dave and I had a great working relationship, but we also became great friends. If I could have had an older brother, I think it would have been Dave—that’s just how 72

we were. I could talk to him about anything, and he could do the same. Sure, we talked a lot about business, but there were plenty of phone calls that were just two friends talking, and that’s something I will always remember. While I can’t really go into what our last conversation was about, just know that it was a typical Freeman/Brockie conversation: We ended up talking a lot of

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g h o u l p h o t o b y s l av e g e r m / / P h o t o a n d tat t o o a r t b y A m y B l a c k

shit. But that’s what we did. If that was my last conversation with him, I’m totally OK with that. It’s been a little over four years since I started Freeman Promotions. I had a couple of great clients at the onset, and was starting to get everything together. At my previous job, I had developed a really good relationship with everyone in GWAR, especially Dave. When the time came, they were one of the first names to come over to Freeman Promotions. It was also around this time that I was given my GWAR nickname. To the whole band, I was known as “Baby Metal,” and it stuck. When I turned 30, Dave mentioned that we needed to change it, but they couldn’t think of anything better, so I stayed “Baby Metal.” Believe it or not, that is how I was listed in his phone. Speaking of my 30th birthday, I have to say it was definitely one of my most memorable. My birthday is January 1, so New Year’s Eve is always a party. It turned out that Dave had planned on renting a house on the Outer Banks of North Carolina with some of the GWAR guys, the Iron Reagan dudes and some other great friends. He thought it would be a great idea if I came out there, too, so I joined up with the guys on their tour, rode back to Richmond, and then we went and celebrated my birthday. It was a weekend I’ll never forget. Working with GWAR, suffice it to say, is not like working with other bands. One of my favorite things to do with Dave was write GWAR press releases. It usually would start with me supplying the meat and potatoes, and then Dave would “Oderus-ize” it. Essentially, he would come back with a draft containing the sickest shit you could imagine. Not only did it make me smile, but also it made me proud to know I was getting this crazy stuff out there to the masses. How many other artists can you work with where there’s a protracted email exchange about changing the phrase “Lindsay Lohan’s diseased twat” to “Lindsay Lohan’s diseased puss”? That’s the kind of stuff that Dave and I dealt with. Sometimes it would get so over the top that we had to censor things, but that’s how we rolled. People always assumed that GWAR was an underground band, but working together, we definitely got the band the mainstream acknowledgement they had always deserved. I remember accompanying Dave to his appearances on Red Eye With Greg Gutfeld and being in tears laughing at all the things he came up with. Who would have ever thought he would get on FOX News? Then again, who would have thought we’d pull off all the other stuff that we did? Two performances on Late Night With Jimmy Fallon. Being a “Danette” for the day on The Dan Patrick Show. Oderus was a guest on Opie and Anthony, The Artie Lange Show and so many others that I cant even think of at the 74

moment. Man, did we do some crazy shit! Press trips with Dave were legendary. Whenever I had him in New York City, our itinerary would be so jam-packed that we were both exhausted by the end of the day. But Dave would never let anyone down. One day he was so tired, and we had one last interview to do. I thought he would want to cancel it, but he powered through and came out with one of the best and funniest things we have done together: Oderus reading [children’s book] Goodnight Moon for Loudwire, in the way that only Oderus could. One thing we had to constantly keep in mind was getting the Oderus costume from place to place. That thing is fucking heavy. Usually I would drive, and we would drag out the hockey bag that contained our warty alien friend. Once, we were walking to the Fuse studios, and of course the hockey bag had ripped, so there was a giant shoulder spike sticking out. We walked by this homeless guy who was asking for money, and he was like, “Hey man, are you in GWAR?” Dave looked at him, smiled and said, “No, we aren’t in the band—we just carry their shit around.” Things like that I’ll never forget. (And just in case you were wondering, yes,

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being GWAR’s publicist includes the glorious task of carrying the costume from place to place. I may have bitched about it here and there, but we always kicked ass. After a day of killer press, we’d always end things with a great dinner and a few beers.) Another side of Dave that people maybe didn’t get to see was just how down to earth he was. I remember many times where I was having a bad day or really bummed out about something, and I could always call him and talk about it. He did the same with me. One time, I had to run home to North Carolina when my mom was in a serious accident and in the hospital for a few weeks. He called me every day to see how I was doing, and even got on the phone with my mom to see how she was. She had a really bad concussion and didn’t remember much, but to this day she still says, “It was so nice when Brockie called me in the hospital—I don’t remember much from that time, but I do remember that.” It was things like this that made Dave such a special person, and those that knew him on a personal level could attest to it as well. Not that he always had it, but he would give you money if you were in a tight spot. I mean, he would

give you the shirt off his back if you needed one, but that fucker also stole clothes, too. One time he was doing FOX News, and they didn’t want to show Oderus’ bare ass. I just happened to have an extra pair of shorts that he “borrowed” for the appearance. He then proceeded to keep the shorts and wear them all the time, probably until he lost them. I don’t do it a lot, but sometimes I’ll go out on tour with a band that I’m working with. I used to do this a fair amount with GWAR. Usually, I’d plan it around a handful of dates that ended up with me either going back home to Jersey, or to Richmond with the band. I would usually stay at Dave’s house when I was in the latter, and he was a really good host. Every morning, there would be a cup of coffee waiting for me, and truth be told, we spent a lot of the time just hanging out at his place. When we went out, everyone knew Dave, and he knew everyone else. He would always take the time to talk to people, take a picture or sign an autograph. This wasn’t just in Richmond—this was everywhere. After each and

every show, Dave would be the last person out there hanging out with the fans. That’s the kind of person he was. I really thought this would be hard to write, but thinking about all the good times we had made this a pretty cathartic process. While it’s still hard to believe that he’s gone and I won’t get random phone calls and random shit anymore, I know that Oderus will always be watching out for me from Scumdoggia. And Dave will, too— wherever he is. I mean, he’s already fucking with me from beyond. The worst thing that I ever had to do in my career was send out the statement about his passing, and I think he knew that—as I was trying to format the damn thing, it just kept fucking up, over and over. I could feel him laughing and making fun of me like he usually would. Although he may be gone from “This Toilet Earth,” he will always be in my mind and heart as one of the best friends that I have ever had. I love you, you sick fuck, and I will see you on the other side.

MIKE BISHOP : BEEFCAKE THE MIGHTY, 1987 – 1993 AND 1998 - 1999 On Dave Brockie, Unlikely Progressive

ave Brockie was one of the greatest frontmen to ever take the stage, in metal or any other genre. It’s a strong claim, I know, but if you saw him perform, even once, you know what I mean. ¶ Brockie thought of himself as an entertainer in the classic sense. I suppose you could liken him to David Lee Roth, Alice Cooper and Freddie Mercury in this respect. Like these performers, Brockie sold it every night, putting every ounce of energy into his performances with GWAR. And like these singers, he brought more than a voice to the stage. Brockie marshaled emotional energy, brilliant stage banter, masterful instincts for slapstick and improvisational comedy to capture and hold the audience his band earned over the course of 30 years. His ideas of what it meant to sing for a band, perform music and write lyrics were utterly unique and original. GWAR was Brockie’s band, and he led it as ably as Duke Ellington led his

orchestra: assembling players, visual artists, performers and technicians, convincing them of his vision and drawing upon their strengths to make something far greater than the sum of its parts. The band became Brockie’s medium, a platform for his twisted sense of humor. I feel safe in saying that in GWAR, Dave was responsible for creating something unparalleled in rock history. That is to say, there has never been a rock group and a rock singer who produced art in the way that GWAR and Dave Brockie have. GWAR was and is avantgarde art. How many heavy metal bands can lay claim

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We’d play a couple songs and do some damage, but mostly we just stood there and let the guitars feed back and talked about how great we were.

Dave Brockie Still Not Sick of You: An Oral History of GWAR oct. 2009 | issue #060

to that? Brockie himself was a serious painter. I mean, there was nothing serious about his work—it was all hilarious, but also quite good. His paintings are mostly textural works with heavy applications of paint and brushstrokes that bear the influence of Van Gogh. He favored multi-layered works depicting numerous humanoid and demonic subjects doing horrible things to one another, like a comic book version of Hieronymus Bosch. The works often depict misshapen figures, images of disfigured bodies and the carnage of war, calling to mind Dadaists George Grosz and Otto Dix. Indeed, under Brockie’s leadership, GWAR pursued the artistic goals of the historical avant-garde—to impact life and the viewer through shock; to disrupt traditional modes of artistic address and attitudes surrounding art and music; to expresses the confusion and terror of modernity while holding on to a sense of irony, humor and mischief. It all sounds so lofty, and Brockie would hate that, so let me explain. GWAR made meaning the way Brockie made meaning—by drawing out the absurd and by pushing one another to come up with ever more absurd and offensive ideas. GWAR was a story we told ourselves, making it up as we went along. We came up with many of the storylines and concepts during informal latenight conversations on the tour bus, still pumped up from the rush of the performance, covered in makeup, when none of us could sleep. We kept the show alive in our imaginations, talking for hours as we stared out into the night at the dark landscapes and glowing lines of the highway. These became a canvas against which we imag-

b i s h o p & b r o c k i e p h o t o b y k at h e r i n e l e at h e r w o o d

ined possibility, trying to top one another with ever more outrageous ideas. An idea had to have the right balance. It had to be hilarious, gross, absurd, offensive and obscene. If it met that balance and was clearly just not right, we said it was wrong, and that meant we should do it! Brockie was the test. If you had an idea that could make him laugh and bellow out “That is so wrong!” then you knew you were on the right track. And of course, Brockie himself was a master of obscenity—it was his principle medium. As Dave’s lifelong friend and bandmate Scott Krahl said at the recent memorial service, “Dave was the wrongest of the wrong!” Everything puerile and ridiculous about GWAR was his doing, and it would not have been the same without him. A great example of how Brockie shaped GWAR’s aesthetic was his engagement with AIDS and homosexuality in the lyrics and performances of the band. Dave’s brother Andrew was openly gay, and died of AIDS just as GWAR was getting started touring and putting out records. Andrew was a tremendous influence in Dave’s life. I met him only a few times, but remember him as a wonderful, kind and very quick-witted man. Scott Krahl (who was close to Brockie as an adolescent) has noted that Andrew’s wit and highly developed sense of humor helped push Dave’s intellect and improvisational skill. Certainly, Dave loved his brother fiercely, and he made meaning out of Andrew’s passing. In a

time when people were ignoring AIDS, characterizing it as a “gay thing,” Dave Brockie was talking about AIDS and homosexuality onstage and in the songs he wrote for GWAR. Of course, it was in his own twisted, utterly inappropriate and offensive way, but it was nonetheless effective. He introduced the idea of AIDS Beer, GWAR’s favorite brand that we always drank onstage, and in numerous songs and skits he claimed a sort of queer identity with Oderus, the pansexual monster. Say what you will—by the early ’90s, Brockie had introduced the possibility of critical thinking to the brains of thousands of teenage fans who shouted the lyrics to “Have You Seen Me” with him at the top of their lungs: “I’m gay and I’m proud!” Brockie reveled in GWAR’s ability to summon both humor and terror, and in so many ways, his aesthetic defines the band, even down to the way they handle their business. Brockie and Hunter Jackson were the driving forces behind the unique collective concept that organizes Slave Pit, the production company that makes GWAR. Brockie was key in making this real, and without him I am positive the band never would have gotten off the ground. Dave identified as both a musician and an artist, and he insisted that the visual artists and stage actors were always viewed as full partners and members of the band. Even now, whether you play music or sculpt foam, we are all just “slaves” of GWAR. This arrangement of including the artists in the group is unique.

There have been groups with elaborate stage shows before, such as Alice Cooper and KISS, but none of them credited the artists responsible for building their props and costumes as full members. On the contrary, in GWAR, the artists responsible for the costumes and props are not only members, but the very beating heart of the band, the engine that makes it go. Dave Brockie was a born leader. At his memorial service, we all found ourselves talking about this, reciting what sounded like cliches you would use to describe a drill sergeant, but it was all true. He made us want to be better, to do more, and he was without a doubt the only person in the world who could have harnessed and led something as chaotic as GWAR. The one word that kept popping into my brain as I was writing his eulogy was “possibility.” Dave Brockie introduced possibility into my life. He showed me through example that whatever I wanted to be, it was in my power to realize it. He was the single most driven person I have ever known, and his drive was infectious. Brockie made my rock and roll dreams come true when he asked me to be in GWAR, and I am proud every day of my life that I was a part of this band, his band, his project, that will never be replicated. Like Brockie himself, it is utterly unique, and I cherish it. I can only hope now to live in some measure as Dave lived: dedicated to being himself and taking the world as one long, absurd, crazy, terrifying, hilarious joke.

J. BENNETT : WRITER, GWAR COVER STORY, DECIBEL #075 On Dave Brockie, Icon of the Inappropriate

ave Brockie was a huge prick. ¶ I almost said no when Albert asked me to write an obituary for him. I’d only met the man once. In fact, my entire relationship with him consisted of two 30-minute phone calls a few years apart, and maybe eight or nine hours of listening to him run his mouth at the Slave Pit in Richmond when I wrote Decibel’s cover story on GWAR for the January 2011 issue. Which barely qualifies me to write an obituary for man who spent 30 of his 50 years on this planet doing all kinds of gross shit like defiling murder victims, spraying fake body fluids over hundreds of thousands of adoring fans, and then going on FOX News to yell about it at top fucking volume. I mean, how is some drunken, severely underpaid hack like myself expected to come up with a fitting tribute to a guy who wore a rubber mask and fishnets to work? Shouldn’t such a thankless task fall squarely on the shoulders of a family member or close friend, even if that family member or friend can’t string a sentence together to save their lives? This is why I don’t do this sort of thing. Whenever I get asked to write an obituary, I always say no. Plus, Justin Norton already wrote a genuinely heartfelt tribute to Brockie on photo by jon pushnik

the Deciblog. It’s a lose/lose situation. Then Albert said he’d triple my normal rate. So, here goes: Did I say Dave Brockie was a huge prick? I meant he had a huge prick. In fact, what I remember most about Dave was his cock. It was massive. It was thick, meaty and had to be almost two feet long. I first saw it at the Slave Pit. He whipped it out and put it on a table in his office. Albert and I were admiring it. Dave called it the Cuttlefish of Cthulhu. He was standing there in his d e c i b e l : j u n e 2 0 14

R.I.P. Dave Brockie 7 7

office, no shirt, no pants, just pointing at it like it was the best thing ever. (That’s another thing about Brockie: He hated pants.) When he walked out of the room to take a piss, he left it on the table. I’ve never seen another cock like it, and I probably never will. When Brockie passed away on March 23, the world lost a true heavy metal hero. In GWAR frontman Oderus Urungus, Brockie created a character like no other: a foul-mouthed, crackaddicted, horrible-smelling space monkey with an incorrigible sense of humor and a gigantic penis. If there’s any integrity left in this world, his bandmates will bury it with him. The character and the cock. Family, friends and fans everywhere will mourn Brockie’s death, and they should: 50 years old isn’t nearly old enough. But don’t spend too much time feeling shitty about it. If you wanna

feel really bad, just think about all the people you know who are chained to jobs they hate and lives they wish they could do over. Dave didn’t have that problem. He built his own artistic empire from the ground up. He did what he wanted. He said what he wanted. He may have died sitting up in an armchair, but he lived free. That might sound corny, but if you’re really honest with yourself, you know that what it sounds like and what it actually means are two very different things. Out of all the Oderus/Brockie photos plastered on social media the day after he passed, there was only one I saw that got the caption right. Of course most of them were of the standard and predictable “R.I.P.” variety. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s appropriate. But here’s the thing: Dave Brockie wasn’t an appropriate guy. In fact, he was decidedly inappropriate. He shot a load

on JonBenét Ramsey. He pulled a fish—and a dead baby—out of Lori Petersen’s vagina. It may have been fake, but he did it onstage every night in front of live audiences that numbered in the thousands. The term “politically correct” was not in Dave’s vocabulary. He did not give a fuck. He tapped into one of those unspoken truths that most of us will never even admit is true in the first place: It’s only offensive if you’re the type of person who gets offended. It was a friend of mine who got the caption right: He posted a photo of Brockie-as-Oderus onstage, cock in hand, with a glorious stream of green jizz arcing from the tip and presumably onto the crowd. The caption read, “Thanks for the memories.” I may have only met the man once, but I say this with the utmost confidence: Dave Brockie wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

RANDY BLYTHE : LAMB OF GOD VOCALIST On Dave Brockie, Richmond Reprobate

hen I think of Dave Brockie, there are two completely different entities in my head. Brockie was always himself around me (I don’t think he knew any other way to be); he didn’t suffer from multiple personality disorder or anything, and I don’t think he knew that, in my mind, he was two different things. Most importantly, he was my friend; but what the other Dave was—the Dave that Dave didn’t even know existed—was so much more than a mere friend to me. I always loved the friend Brockie, even when he pissed me off, which he did more than once. I have a ton of funny stories about hanging out with him, just like everyone else who knew him does. And we all respected the hell out of him as an artist. But the other Brockie—the one I knew existed, but couldn’t really define until his death—this is the Brockie I would like to talk about here. In 1989, I was 18 years old. Disguised as a college student, I moved to Richmond, VA, from my fair state’s Tidewater area. I attended Virginia Commonwealth University on and off for the next six years or so, until, like so many before me, I fell into a trap of academic lethargy and restaurant work. That was followed by the almost inevitable vicious downward spiral into alcoholism and bad relationships that accompany working in the food industry during your 20s. I didn’t move to Richmond with the intent of getting a college degree; I moved to Richmond because there was a thriving underground scene. At 18, I thought I was God’s gift to punk rock, and I was after two things: cute punk rock girls and awesome punk rock shows. Upon my arrival in Richmond, I quickly discovered that no one gave a shit about how “punk rock” I thought I was, nor was I some sort of 78

mohawked casanova. I made out with a few good-looking girls, but the legions of hot chicks I had envisioned waiting with bated breath for my arrival were busy paying attention to dudes who actually had something going on with their lives, not a cocky scrub like me. I succeeded significantly more at going to shows just about every night of the week, as my academic record can attest. One evening I walked into 7-Eleven to get some smokes, and I saw 10 or 15 people in line, drenched from head to toe in what appeared to be fake blood and a variety of other unidentifiable colored liquids. They were all laughing and seemed to be in a great mood, as if they had just left some secret party of such epic proportions that I was immediately envious. (One other thing I succeeded in doing was going to a lot of parties. My academic record reflected that as well.) “What the hell happened to you guys?” I asked. “We just came from GWAR!” they replied. “What,” I asked slowly, “is a GWAR?” Later that year, I went to see what all the hoopla was about. My ﬁrst GWAR show was downstairs at the Metro/Rockitz, and I wasn’t old enough to drink yet (legally). As a precautionary measure, just in case the band sucked

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and I got bored, I ingested three hits of highquality blotter acid. This ensured that I was a) in an extra-impressionable state of mind, and b) in no way, shape or form prepared for what ensued after GWAR finally lurched their way through the crowd to the stage. I left the show that night soaked in the red stuff, head spinning. It had been incredible—one of the craziest, coolest things I had ever seen, with or without the aid of psychedelics. But even better than the amazing show was the fact that the band was from right there in Richmond. I wanted to meet these guys, but I had no idea of who they were. They were mysterious to me, but they were a local mystery, one I knew I could solve one day, and maybe even be a small part of. I don’t specifically remember meeting Dave for the first time, but I remember early on knowing that he was a presence. Not a human on earth ever described him as mild-mannered, a wallflower or inconspicuous—Dave would have made a lousy ninja. Brockie cut an almost larger-than-life figure, but it was a very, very smart figure. There was wit and purpose behind

all the bluster and over-the-top mannerisms. And I was somewhat shocked when I learned that big, booming voice actually knew who I was, and even remembered my name. My band had just started to play out in Richmond, and I remember one particularly crappy show at a local club called Twisters. We were first on the bill, playing to a quarter-full club of people who weren’t impressed by our crude early attempts at songwriting. I saw Dave leaning against the bar and smirking at me as I pushed our equipment out the back door. The show sucked, and I must have looked bummed out, because he actually said to me, “Hey Randy! It’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock and roll, babyyyyy...” and began laughing hysterically as he ordered himself another beer. When Lamb of God put out our first album, GWAR took us on our first real tour. I didn’t know what a tour manager was. I didn’t know what a monitor guy was. I thought that having a lighting guy was something that only bands like Led Zeppelin or KISS did. Having a lighting guy was not punk rock. I discovered on that tour that, while being an idiotic punk rocker was indeed a whole lot of fun, it would not pay any bills. In order to do that, you had to work. Watching and talking to Dave taught me my first lessons on how to do that work, to be a professional band. After I drunkenly sleepwalked off a roof at a party the fourth show of that tour, knocking myself unconscious and breaking my arm, I did the rest of the shows in a cast. Every gig was excruciatingly painful—each breath I screamed out sent all the blood in my body rushing to my broken wing and the giant metal pins sticking through it. I saw Dave watching me a few times, and I noticed his nod of approval when he saw me working through the pain. This made me even more determined to play as hard as I could—I had been stupid, and now I was paying the price, but tour was no place for crybabies. You buy the ticket, you take the ride. Go hard, or go home. Dave would always compliment me when we put out a new record, and tell me he was proud of me. This meant more to me than anything any record reviewer or meaningless Grammy nomination ever could. You see, Dave was someone I actually knew and respected who did things his way; who followed his own very twisted, brilliant vision and made it work. He made it work because he worked, and he believed in his work. And Dave was always working when I stopped by to see him at the Slave Pit. Doing press, painting pictures, writing or repairing Oderus. One day I was summoned by Dave to the Pit—this is how I always thought of going to the Slave Pit when Dave called. Being summoned was different than just popping by, because I knew he had some idea he wanted to involve me in. When I arrived, Dave excitedly

I hate war and what it does to life. But I love it, too—it’s like the ultimate train wreck, and I’ve been staring at it forever.

Dave Brockie GWAR of Attrition sep. 2013 | issue #107

dragged me into his office, shut the door and began outlining his plan. “I have an idea,” he boomed out. “I call it... THROID. There will be this... thing, like a giant mountain of goo. The audience will be seated all the way around it. The show will start quietly, with atmospheric noises that will gradually build to a thundering crescendo of pure insanity— we’ll get Devin Townsend to do the music. As the music slowly builds, lights will start shining outwards from inside this thing, and the thing will begin to spin. The thing will spin faster and faster, and gelatinous ooze will begin flying from it, coating the audience. The lights will get brighter and brighter, beginning to painfully blind the audience.” His voice was picking up in speed and intensity along with his story. “Slowly, from the center of this mountain of shrieking, flashing, oozeflinging primordial stuff, a pitiful human-like figure will slowly and painfully arise, dripping mucus and shaking in the agony of its terrible birthing. This new thing will struggle mightily until it finally stands, screaming in anguish as the mountain around it spins faster and faster until it finally explodes, completely drenching the audience and leaving everyone blind, deaf and completely horrified!” He gasped, pausing to actually breathe for a second. “Randy, that thing is you. YOU ARE THROID! We’ll do five shows: New York, London, Berlin, Tokyo, and like Lima, Ohio or somewhere like that. It will be awesome.” I looked at Dave’s face, glistening with sweat and excitement, and said without hesitation, “I’ll do it!” I didn’t know what exactly it was that I would be doing, or whether or not it could possibly kill me. I didn’t see the point of it, I didn’t really understand what in the hell he was ranting on about, or what THROID actually was. But I knew that if Dave had decided I was THROID, then I was going to be THROID, and by God I would be the very best THROID that I could be, because I knew it would be awesome. I believed

him, and I believed in him. He had made GWAR work, which is one of the most far-fetched things you can imagine. Why not whatever the hell THROID was? I’m sorry he passed before we ever brought THROID to life onstage, but as long as I live, THROID lives on in me. Brockie made it so. When I went to prison in the Czech Republic, Dave was very vocal in his support for me. I couldn’t get any news of what was going on back home, but when I was locked up in that crumbling 123-year-old prison, wondering if it would be 10 years before I saw home again, I didn’t daydream about Obama sending in SEAL Team 6 to break me out. I daydreamed about GWAR coming over in costume and busting me out. Why not? They’ve successfully executed just about every other whacked-out idea there is. If anyone could have made that happen, it would have been Dave. I was talking to my wife shortly after Dave died, telling her for the millionth time about being outside the first show we did with GWAR on that first tour. Before the gig, I was walking backstage and I saw Brockie standing there on the loading dock with his arms folded across his broad chest, inspecting the line of fans that stretched around the Birch Hill Nightclub in New Jersey. He had a look of immense satisfaction on his face, and he looked all the world to me like some fanny pack and Redskins jersey-wearing medieval lord surveying the subjects of his realm. He turned to me, his eyes gleaming with pride, saying with the utmost affection for these people in his deep raspy voice, “We have the weirdest fans in the world.” I love that story, and I love thinking about how happy Dave looked, standing proudly on that loading dock as the sun went down over New Jersey. I’ve told it to my wife countless times since that day. She always humors me and listens, because she’s a good woman who knows how much I loved Dave, and how happy it’s always made me to remember him in that moment, even long before he died. But this time, instead of just laughing politely and making a mental note to start buying me some Geritol, I heard her voice come over the phone in the sweetest answer possible to his statement. “Oh honey, he gave them a home,” she said. And she was right. I thought about that statement for a while, and I realized that that was what the other Dave was to me. That other Dave had given me a home, too. He had brought me into his life and his community; had supported me, encouraged me, given me opportunities to do the work. He had shared what I believed was his greatest possession: his unwavering belief that an artist could and should follow their muse as they see fit, and to hell with what anyone else thinks. This man that I respected so much had given me belief in myself. He had given me a home. A

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They Do Declare

june Reviews by the numbers

3 girlfriend metal 1 funeral-for-afriend metal 24

no-friend metal

Mayhem's fifth album is the grand summation of a 30-year war

wo decades since their controversial reactivation, the never-prolific Mayhem finally defined their sound. Before Mayhem this, each album was wildly distinctive from the others, and Esoteric Warfare predicting the band’s next step was always impossible. Esoteric Warfare Season of mist puts the brakes on the chaotic shape-shifting. Its 10 songs survey all that came before without resting on nostalgic laurels. It is, undeniably, one of Mayhem’s greatest declarations. It’s at least a shit-ton better than Chimera. ¶ Esoteric Warfare also proves Mayhem uncannily good at rebounding after a significant loss. For some enthusiasts, a Blasphemer-less Mayhem is as concerning as one without Euronymous. It was he, after all, who defined the sound, shape and daring of post-Euronymous Mayhem.

Illustration by Mark Rudolph [markrudolph.com]

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Enter new axeman Teloch, who graduates from black metal training camp to an appointment amongst the elite. The bandage over the wound of Blasphemer’s absence is that Teloch’s style is uncannily similar to his predecessor’s: He uses all six strings, is adept at sculpting dissonance, and plays with Voivod-ian spirit. Initial impressions of Esoteric Warfare were gained via the “Psywar” single, the weakest of these 10 songs. A dull blur of steely noise, it seemed to hint that this would be a Chimera-like album, but Esoteric Warfare stretches further and wider, with each member operating at his highest level. Even—and I’m not kidding— Necrobutcher. Listening to the fluctuating textures in opener “Watcher” is like witnessing the shifting of tectonic plates. Guitar, drums and bass have their own sonic character, slicing pristinely and powerfully. The whole album wields a sharpness that delivers audiophile-level intrigue without getting antiseptic—it helps that Hellhammer’s drums aren’t as absurdly triggered-sounding as usual. While the first part of Esoteric Warfare offers much of interest, its second half is skullfuckingly incredible. Those who wanted more of what Grand Declaration of War offered will appreciate its masses of fractured guitar lines, unhurried hypnotic rhythms and cold monolithic vistas. “Six Seconds” links to the innovative GDOW in its turbulent technicality, and successive tracks “Throne of Time” and “Corpse of Care” expand thereon. The latter’s stop/start churn and brief but wholly effective a cappella moment makes its four minutes feel like something of epic proportion. Penultimate track “Posthuman” burbles weirdly, like post-black metal magma, and the concluding “Aion Suntalia” sculpts grimness into odd cosmic shapes. As for the mad Hungarian, Attila Csihar puts in a career-best performance throughout. His work in “Mylab” alone proves his eccentric genius. Mayhem have finally found a definitive sound again. Not as forbiddingly blurred as Ordo Ad Chao, not as monochromatic as Chimera, not as experimentally brave as Grand Declaration, yet bearing strong references to each, this can confidently be called “the true Mayhem.” The core band here has paid it dues long enough to proclaim itself so, and traditionalists will keep crying into their goblets of blood. Boo-hoo. —Jeff Wagner 8 2 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

Cubo de Sangre

K a m u e l a , H I  w w w. c u b o d e s a n g r e . c o m

Cubo de Sangre’s maxim is “Los Discos Mas Peligrosos,” or for those who didn’t pass sixth grade Spanish, “The Most Dangerous Discs.” The label name’s Spanish—probably a tongue-through-cheek take on Roger Corman’s A Bucket of Blood—and so too is its motto. Of all places, Cubo de Sangre shouldn’t be HQ-ed in the Aloha State, but it is. We figured Cubo de Sangre’s mainman James Grell—ex-Crowd Control Activities and ex-Relapse back office—would pick a more suitable name, like Poi’Boy Productions or Shark Attax Records. Anyway, Grell has curated a fine Swordwielder roster of artists, the latest of which Grim Visions of Battle is either Swedish crust ‘n’ thrashers Three new songs and four re-recorded songs make Swordwielder or Spanish Discore their way to Swordwielder’s nutjobs Bitch Witch. From a product debut. Now, moniker and standpoint, Cubo de Sangre issues album title at first blush might steer away the its foul tuneage on compact disc cool kids, but there’s not an ounce of power and purveyed wax in various colors metal, Viking metal or Napalm Records metal in Swordwielder’s crust-death ‘n’ roll. In some and pressings. So, if underground ways, Grim Visions reminds of Entombed’s acts with nonconformist music on a To Ride, Shoot Straight and Speak the Truth, very independent label is your deal, but with more grime, less Nicke Andersson, and just the right amount of Hear Nothing then Cubo de Sangre’s your best new See Nothing Say Nothing. The difference is bedfellow. —Chris Dick these Swedes are alarmingly melodic. Not

Bitch Witch Bitch Witch Originally released in 2012, Cubo de Sangre’s got it going again on limited edition vinyl and CD (666 copies of each, natch). Comprised of three Madrilenians making all kinds of lo-fi noise, from grindcore to D-beat punk, Bitch Witch is certified vent music. Pissed because your job sucks? Bitch Witch’ll assuage your homicidal feelings with their escapist din. Vocally, it’s fairly, uh, “witchy.” From “A Hell on Heels a.k.a Disfuck” to the junked up Motörheadisms of opener “Mother Crust,” Bitch Witch’s frontwoman snarls, snorts and screams like she’s possessed to hate. The brutally simple approach won’t appease most heshers, but the blown-out crotch crew will certainly find (dis)satisfaction in Bitch Witch’s brazen attack. FYI. The Spaniards have a new sixsong EP out, Too Old Too Punk.

that close proximity to Dark Tranquillity, In Flames or At the Gates has anything to do with Swordwielder’s musical outlook, but there are moments throughout Grim Visions where I’m wondering if John Zwetsloot or Johan Bohlin aren’t on guitar.

Vulgaari Vulgaari Featuring members of Bastard Saint, Vulgaari is the Twin Cities’ newest— well, this release is from 2012—sludge-doom outfit. Right out of the gate, Vulgaari’s glacial pace and mega-ton heaviness are evident. If this were any other release on any other indie, it’d be typical beardo doom. But the Minnesotans aren’t typical. Guitarists Brent Hedtke, Todd Haug and Zack Kinsey employ a 4AD-like approach to break up the slow-moving dirges. Ethereal slides, dreamy note choices and eerie motifs combine with Vulgaari’s Morgion-meets(early) Godflesh-esque heft to create truthly otherworldly experiences.

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“Messenger are totally unafraid to mix it up; the flutes of prog and Americana-style violins meet hard-rocking drums and pop-sensible vocal work, and it all amounts to a most novel and prodigious production.” - Kristoffer Rygg, Ulver

Sabbath Assembly return with their 3rd album Quaternity. With special guests from Hexvessel, Gorguts, Pinkish Black, Sunn O))), Behold...The Arctopus and Negative Plane.

This power trio is the real deal and their LP harkens back to the golden age when heavy rock music was upbeat, skillfully played, energetic, edgy, and bursting with goodtime sunshine vibes

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record reviews

Aborted

Necrotic Manifesto Century Media

Aborted Fetus

Private Judgment Day C o m at o s e

What is it with extreme metal and abortion? According to Encyclopaedia Metallum, there are nearly a dozen bands with the term “Aborted” in their moniker, including the hilariously named Abörted Hitler Cöck (who have a song called “Aroused by Childhood Obesity”). There are 34 with the word “abortion” in their album title. Shouldn’t we get all of these bands together for some kind of festival? “Abortionfest” might help get the censors worked up. Aborted are doubtless one of the originators of abortion nomenclature, and a mainstay in European death metal for decades. Sven de Caluwé and his Belgian posse have been making their own blend of death since 1995. And I’ll be damned if Necrotic Manifesto isn’t an entertaining listen from pillar to post. You can’t attach any superlatives to this album, but the band just straight up brings it. De Caluwé in particular gives a memorable performance, with screeches that will inspire YouTube imitators. Ignore the haters that cry deathcore; Aborted’s eighth album is worthy. As for Aborted Fetus, well, this one sounds as good as a tableside seat at your elderly neighbor’s colonoscopy. The whole buffet of extremity is rolled out for your dining pleasure: pig squeals, incomprehensible riffs and Hostel-style audio samples. There are song titles that Panko will undoubtedly love, like “Garden of Kidney Stones” and “Fuck in a Pesthole.” But the greatest feat of this album is that Aborted Fetus can take an under-two-minute song and make it feel as long as “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.” Like a colonoscopy, you are so anesthetized that you’ll forget it.

Agalloch, The Serpent and the Sphere

Against the grain, donning the mantle of profound lore | p r o f o u n d l o r e In a way, it’s almost too bad Agalloch didn’t lift vocals from some supreme Russian doom creation for Serpent’s ice giant of an opener, “Birth and Death of the Pillars of Creation.” For the first time on record, America’s answer to Norwegian sylvanism have paired long, ringing clean guitar notes with slow, granite-fisted chords and percussion—a perfect cavern through which to drag the tectonic grumbling those epic funeral orchestrators call a voice. But John Haughm’s whisper-rasps are his own, and they hardly disappoint. The song is a triumph for a band filthy with triumphs, and it leads listeners into an album of staggering focus and beauty. Ideas fall in a flurry around each song, some accumulating while others melt quickly away. Both Haughm’s hissed lyrical conceits and the scattered windy acoustic

pieces accent Serpent’s explorative bent. “The Astral Dialogue” throttles up the metal attitude with drum blasts, bristling melodic riffs and Jason William Walton’s murmuring-Balrog bass work. “Dark Matter Gods” rests an insistently inquisitive guitar line on a bed of snarling chords. “Celestial Effigy” begins by spilling gorgeous arpeggiations over a similar formula, later shape-shifting into an Amesoeurslike swing. “Plateau of the Ages” is an instrumental stunner, simmering the most spacious, spectral dark metal manifestations into a heavens-beckoning stew of primal urge and release. Thus Agalloch bookend The Serpent with two of their most affecting masterpieces, and again redefine themselves without shedding any of the familiar markers. To any longtime fans holding their breath, anticipating Agalloch’s long overdue misstep, for now, breathe easy. —Daniel Lake

—Justin M. Norton

Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovell

Check ’Em Before You Wreck ’Em Rise above

Blues brothers

Before metal was metal, it was basically hardass blues pushed to extremes. White boys could never truly relate to the cultural implications of the genre (slavery, oppression, hard mutherfuckin’ life, etc.), so they just cranked every 8 4 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

fucking knob on their amps/guitars/effects pedals to the right and used whatever squall their tube amp provided to express their own kind of angst/ennui. Which worked to pretty good effect from about ’67 to ’73. Call it protometal or hard rock or whatever, but there was some seriously worthy music beyond Zeppelin and Sabbath made in this discovery phase of extreme music. Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovell have clearly heard and digested every one of those early examples of the genre—from the Groundhogs to Dust to Mountain—and they know that

everything necessary to make some hard, groovy music lies within the five basic notes of the pentatonic scale. That and a cowbell, maybe. Which is to say that the heart of every song here is rooted in the blues, and the heaviness is derived primarily from the intensity of the playing and the level of distortion. And that’s sufficient, we’ll gladly confirm. Check ’Em Before You Wreck ’Em is heavy music in its simplest form: drop-tuned riff, thunderous drumming (single bass drum, natch), and bass lines you can both hear and feel. Whereas most modern “retro” metal feels forced to some

Veleda Thorsson

Partial birth pairing

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degree, this recording could have been transported directly from the ’70s. Absolutely nothing is out of place. But more importantly, the songs are impeccable, so it’s about much more than just the aesthetic. Yeah, the white man stole the blues, but he used that ill-gotten booty to invent heavy metal. —Adem Tepedelen

Assassins

---by Shane Mehling ----

War of Aggression e O n e / G oo d F i g h t M u s i c

Serving the public trust

Hey, Detroit. How you doing? Not so well, I see. Jack White left for Nashville, but Kid Rock stayed. You’re bankrupt. The city’s being converted into casinos and urban farms. And all your money’s tied up in Matthew Stafford. (Is it football season yet?) Rich musical legacy aside, Detroit hasn’t exactly set the hard rock world on fire for a while. Regrettably, your new town pride, Assassins, aren’t going to change that, either. Not bad, though, these guys. Metalcore with harmonies. A subtle use of keyboards and symphonic flourishes and interludes called “Interlude.” Tracks like “The United” certainly possess a syncopated aggression: I saw the breakdown and the pit forming in my head in about 10 seconds. And again, those little synth-y bits add a bit of heft to the proceedings. Full-bodied, this metal. Also, possessive of anger and nonconformity and passive-aggressive song titles (“In God You Trust,” emphasis ours). But: not really a rallying cry for the city. Detroit seems ripe for something new. Not EDM new (that’s covered), but new angry. A band, a collective that’s the product of failed dreams and a decayed urban war zone. Not so much “active rock” pissed. Get better, Rock City. —Kirk Miller

Autopsy

Tourniquets, Hacksaws and Graves Peaceville

“They’re baaaack”

When The Headless Ritual landed with a thud in 2013, Autopsyphiles around the globe collectively shuddered, ran back to their Severed Survival and Mental Funeral LPs, fondled them obsessively, and looked to the sky as if god had suddenly fallen. The sheer indifference around The Headless Ritual was deafening. True, Autopsy had skidmarked its underwear before (Shitfun was largely ignored in 1995). But after a solid comeback effort in Macabre Eternal, few thought Autopsy would re-shit the bed. Well, they did. 8 6 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

In which we assess the damage done on this month’s Filthiest vinyl Bloodlet Entheogen (double 12-inch) [ A 3 8 9 ] There are only 1,000 of these, so either pick it up or be a goddamn chump who missed out on this completely rad, classic record that comes with a giant damn poster of the rad, classic artwork by Aaron Turner. If you don’t want to hear “Eucharist” on remastered vinyl, then you’re a bad person and I’ll see you in hell.

In the Shit/Priapus Split 7-inch [ G i v e P r a i s e ] I was already aware of Priapus, deathgrind madmen who never met a blast beat they couldn’t sadistically shred over. On these two tracks, they serve up more variation, with some slower, molten riffs, finishing off their side with this skronky, twisted part that’s the best thing I probably heard all month. But In the Shit are no lightweights, a tar pit of Assück-influenced, powerviolated, worldfucking grind. Buy this today.

Cemetery Piss Such the Vultures Love 7-inch [ C r i c k e t C e m e t e r y ] So, I was mad stoked to be reviewing a band called Cemetery Piss because, in a sea of metal names, that is still one motherfucking metal name. But, surprisingly, this record is far odder than I expected. Keyboards, blurry BM guitars, screeching vocals reverbed to death and maybe a drum machine? Either way, I am thoroughly enjoying what sounds like the Locust trying to make fun of black metal, but still managing to pull it off in spite of themselves.

Burning Ghats Something Other Than Yourself 12-inch [ s e l f released]

A “burning ghat” is essentially where bodies are cremated, or so I learned from Wikipedia. Anyway, this is the kind of metallic hardcore stuff you get from the Converge and Trap Them crowd, the grindy-thrashy-moshy/lots of short songs/lots of feedback crowd. It’s solid. Nothing that really separates it from any of those other bands, but you probably really like those bands, so you’ll probably like this.

Cannabis Corpse/Ghoul Splatterhash 12-inch [ Ta n k c r i m e s ] I can’t guarantee that any of this music can top the painting on front: both bands’ members, apparently slaughtering all the not-high squares with weed monsters and a bong held like a Gatling gun. But there are two death metal songs by CC matched with two demonic thrashers by Ghoul, and it’s exactly what you would expect, so here’s a random lyric: “Psychic detectives used their gifts to try and find some clues.”

Primitive Man/Xaphan Split 7-inch [ i n i t ] Children, this is brutality. Though coming from two different schools—grinding doom and hardcore—both of these bands are just rampant, raging ruination. If you need that special soundtrack to put over footage of a genocide, I think I found it. But I would suggest putting a wooden spoon between your teeth before you press play.

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So, Tourniquets, Hacksaws and Graves is a bit of a make-good album for the legendary Californians. It’s actually hard to pinpoint why Tourniquets, Hacksaws & Graves is better than The Headless Ritual. Maybe Autopsy aren’t phoning it in like they were a year ago. They aren’t just riding the “Autopsy beat” ’cause it’s, well, Autopsy, or relying on Chris Reifert’s horror show vocals to distract from otherwise treadmill tunage. This is tried and true Autopsy now. “Forever Hungry” and “Savagery” feel like they were ripped right out of 1989, their gangly, dingy riffs touching parts of the brain they shouldn’t. “Parasitic Eye” is also of vintage origin. Like when death metal CD imports were either in longboxes or those stupid plastic cases (album art on top, CD and jewel case on the bottom). Then there’s “King of Flesh.” We all know Unleashed were inspired by Autopsy. With this song, it sounds the other way around. Only with Greg Mackintosh stepping in for the solo. As with all post-Hall of Fame era Autopsy, there’s lumps with the gems. Tourniquets, Hacksaws and Graves is no different. For every track that reminds of Autopsy’s greatness, there’s a track or two that should’ve been left in the rehearsal room. —Chris Dick

Avram

Metal Noam M o u n ta s t i c

Manufacturing more dissent

So, you like, respect and are a fan of someone. Not just a little—you really like, respect and are a fan of someone. What do you do to express your like, respect and fandom? Collect all their records. Write impassioned letters. Follow them on Twitter. Bake and send them cookies. Hang out in the bushes outside their house. Before it gets to the point where the long arm of the law is wrestling you out of shrubbery, a better option might be to sublimate your worship via the medium of song, like Amanda Machina, Daryl Moton and Nate Carson did in salutation of leftist intellectual polymath (and surprising good sport) Noam Chomsky— Avram being his given name. Created over the course of two years—though bassist Moton has apparently been composing his own Chomsky-based metal for a decade—with its namesake’s knowledge and blessing, Avram’s three-song debut introduces listeners to a variety of subgenre snippets, with the topics and cadence of Chomsky speeches acting as “lead vocals.” Blackened thrash, Voivod-ian discord, small bursts of neo-classical shred and vintage Metallica palm-muting underpin “No Right to Live.” Every band that ever called the Bay Area 8 8 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

Coffinworm, IV.I.VIII

You can count on them | p r o f o u n d l o r e For many, Coffinworm’s second full-length is one of the most anticipated of 2014. Expanding on their brilliantly gloomy and claustrophobic take on death-doom, these sewer-dwellers pack equal parts snot, venom and bile into their soundtrack of hammering hopelessness. 2010’s When All Became None took early death metal primitivism (Autopsy, Bolt Thrower, Repulsion) as the departure point for their sludgy blackened doom parade. Rad riffs (often meandering and single-note) would set a tone of crushing bleakness, yet were accented by a smart employment of disturbing melodies. The only small complaint was the sometimes heavy-handed manner in which the band would shift tempos—gears would flip frequently (a good thing), but sometimes a bit too jerkily. On IV.I.VIII, the band’s songwriting brains have expanded by preserving the

home in the ’80s—along with emulators worldwide—had an intro/instrumental similar to the mournful pick/chug/solo of “Weak and Miserable Men,” while “Minority of the Opulent” is rooted in bluesy sludge with funereal doom moments. The novelty and lack of musical direction/ individuality means Metal Noam probably won’t be a record talked about in years to come. But if you ever want to clear out a barn dance or sully the mood at a Young Republicans meeting, here’s the fuse to light that Molotov. One for the libtards and metal historians with a sense of humor amongst us. —Kevin Stewart-Panko

apocalyptic, begging-for-your-life tone, but adding a psychedelic, weird and sideways sense of spatial relations. Don’t get scared: “psychedelic” is not code for indie/postrock/shoegaze “experimental” bullshit, but rather a drugged-out perspective shift in songwriting. Herein the ceiling has expanded, and the tunes are filled with air and ambience, adding tension and focus. This sense of space is underscored by odd and eerie metallic clanging throughout, as if the dim and musty basement you’ve just awoken to find yourself in contains other prisoners attempting escape in rooms nearby. Tempos move seamlessly, aided by the steadfast drumming, dynamic grunt-screaming and intentionally building, layered guitars, sometimes vibing off early Godflesh and Burning Witch. If anything, the Worm have gotten doomier, most definitely creepier and, unbelievably, even heavier. —Shawn Bosler

The Body

I Shall Die Here RVNG

Fatal attraction

Those looking for a standard-issue doom fix may be unsettled by I Shall Die Here, the latest full-length from the Body. The Second Amendment-loving duo has a habit of augmenting its guitar-anddrums core with collaborators, such as the Assembly of Light Choir and Thou. But this time around, these Portland death freaks have linked

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themselves to electronic artist Bobby Krlic (a.k.a. Haxan Cloak), a collaborator who doesn’t seem to augment so much as remix. Overall, I Shall Die Here has a less organic—not to mention less rawk—sound than any of its predecessors. Opener “To Carry the Seeds of Death,” for example, begins with a siren-like wail and closes with two minutes of ominous electronics. While you can definitely hear Lee Buford’s drums and Chip King’s guitar in the mix, the Body are relegated to an almost sample-like role: They jam in order to provide Krlic with raw material. For that reason, the crackling, throbbing focus track “Hail to Thee, Everlasting Pain” could be easily mistaken for Prurient. Elsewhere, Krlic and the Body invoke Tangerine Dream (“Our Souls Were Clean”) and Stephen O’Malley’s artier side projects (“The Night Knows No Dawn”). Even when it’s clear that we’re hearing two dudes jamming in a room, very little of I Shall Die Here sounds like—you guessed it—two dudes jamming in a room. And, truth be told, the album’s better off for it. —Brent Burton

Cult Leader

Nothing for Us Here D e at h w i s h , I n c .

They suffer more

“Nihilism, short and to the point. These guys hate Jesus, life and you, and go a long way to prove it sonically.” That was Decibel’s own esteemed critic Waldo the Parrot’s take on Gaza’s No Absolutes in Human Suffering, one of his favorite albums of 2012. Then the Salt Lake City band went tits up under rather disturbing circumstances. Fortunately for Waldo and the rest of us, three out of the four members of the defunct Gaza— guitarist Michael Mason, drummer Casey Hansen and bassist Anthony Lucero—have regrouped to form Cult Leader. Lucero switched his role to vocals, and the band recruited new bassist Sam Richards. The guys clearly knew they had a good thing going with their old band, and mined much of its crushing, grinding malevolence for Nothing for Us Here, adding shades of Coalesce and Converge to the fold. “God’s Lonely Children” writhes under the weight of distortion and feedback, completely eradicating any flicker of hope you might have stored in your little heart. On “Mongrel,” Lucero brays, “I am a loyal dog / my name is sorrow / a name they gave me / when I took their joy away / with my first breath” from beneath dank wretchedness that is both mesmerizing and suffocating. “Skin Crawler” is a fist-first delivery of morally bankrupt mathy sludge, featuring a hopped-up punk backbone and cavernous hard9 0 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

core breakdowns. Really, Nothing makes it feel like we didn’t necessarily lose one great band, but rather gained a great new one. —Jeanne Fury

Decaying Purity 7 Malignant Resurrection of the Fallen Souls S e va r e d

Delightfully unrefined

Brutal. Technical. Death. But from Turkey! Pillaging all they encounter at BPMs mostly too fast to be played by real humans (there’s got to be some computer or cyborg assistant in those turbo-blasting bass thumpers), Decaying Purity deliver a finely produced platter of pummeling on album number three. Past records gained some traction on the international scene, leading their new U.S.-based label Sevared to rerelease their 2010 debut, Phases of Dimensional Torture. Malignant Resurrection is their official American unveiling and, well, it’s pretty damn brutal. It’s hard to say what’s really unique in the Decaying Purity playbook—this writer easily hears half a dozen Unique Leader-type bands lurking in these grooves—but what they do have is amazing chops, a solid sense of production (for such cacophony, there’s an incredible amount of clarity), and a knack for controlled demolition. The chaos tends to hit you in a distinct pattern, usually chromatic chugs (which question the need to ever slow down for even a second) followed by spiral, spidery tremolo-picked runs. Sometimes these runs will very briefly rest on a dissonant Immolation-like warble or a pummeling power chord hiccup. The vocals are standard guttural rasps and bellows, but the damn drums, as aforementioned, are relentless and inhuman. Big props also go to the amazing cover done by ace metal artist, Paolo Girardi. —Shawn Bosler

Descecresy

Chasmic Transcendence Xtreem Music

The title says it all

For most, when you say “Finnish metal,” the first thing that comes to mind isn’t necessarily gnarly old-school death. Most thoughts likely turn towards drunken wild oats-sowing folkies or goth-tinged power balladeers. Check the history books (or YouTube), but Finland also left its snaggletoothed mark on the early years of death. Bone up on lost gems like Depravity’s Silence of the Centuries or—especially— Convulse’s World Without God, the latter recently re-released by Relapse a few years back.

Now that we’ve clarified what sort of murky waters we’re wading in, please let me introduce you to your favorite new OSDM act: Descecresy! Holy friggin’ hell, does this band nail it—creepy graveyard-lurking atmospherics; mid-tempo groove-based chug squalls; short-and-sweet tunes that get straight to the kill shot; and songwriting that shows a maturity and focus well beyond a band only on album number three. Chasmic runs 14 songs, usually too many for a death metal record, but in every one reveals kaleidoscopic layers of ugly, grimy, heavy-assed goodness. The catchy and haunting riffs are relentless, and the way the axes weave Grave/Entombed-like death ‘n’ roll with Hooded Menace/Incantation-esque doom keeps the songs varied and expansive. Previous albums took more typical turns, balancing the slow-to-mid-tempo prowls with blast beat mayhem, but here, choosing to leave out all of the fast bits was obviously a calculated move. The result is a towering achievement, kind of their South of Heaven moment, really, where slower tempos have bolstered their mastery of gloomy, otherworldly heaviness. —Shawn Bosler

Die Choking

Th e C o m p o u n d

Cough, grind, cough

True story: A couple tracks into this excellent blend of latter-day Nasum burl ‘n’ groove and off-kilter GridLink-y nuttiness from current and former members of Total Fucking Destruction, Cop Problem and Burden, I got a medium-sized chunk of bourgeoisie flesh lodged in my semi-proletarian throat. (Apologies, fellow Starbucks patrons!) Considering my personal philosophical preference for laissez-faire voluntary exchange/unregulated mutual aid, the lyrical content of this self-titled EP and these punk grinders’ chosen moniker, I suppose my backfiring cannibalism might be labeled ironic, but I’m too chuffed on the jams and/or oxygen-deprived to waste much time mulling over definitions, never mind play What Would Alanis Say? How refreshing! I muse, tugging at a rubbery vein attached to the gizzard blockage as I pirouette crazily around the room looking for a chair back to upon which to attempt a self-administered Heimlich. It’s so rare for a record to really affect me these days… I crank the volume to drown out Rich Uncle Pennybags’ death rattle. He’s distracting me from my survival plan and, more importantly, the sick tuneage. You know, if this is the last record I ever review, I got lucky—with five songs clocking in

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at under six minutes, I’ll probably still be able to file before I lose consciousness! (*Scrawls out Post-it note for widow*: Pls sign paycheck over to Ramsey, New Jersey Starbucks tip jar. Also, live long life, be happy.) Cash money aside, though, I’ve been blessed with a exquisitely chaotic endtimes soundtrack that not only matches my increasingly intense muscle spasms eerily well, but also adds a sonic power and glory to an otherwise ignominious mortal coil shuffling. I’d ask Pennybags if he feels the same, but he permanently sissed out after the frenetic last blasts of “Low Finality.” RIP, bro. —Shawn Macomber

Drawers

Drawers Kaotoxin

What, Lattice was taken?

Band names for metal bands from non-English speaking countries can reach unheard-of levels of surrealism. Destiny Potato. We Butter the Bread With Butter. In its own quiet way, though, Drawers takes the cake. Could the French band be talking about underwear? Cabinetry? Or more simply, people who draw? Either way, it’s such a weirdly arbitrary word to use for a metal band, but considering that these guys settled on one simple, snappy word instead of a ridiculous five-word sentence fragment of a name, there’s something to be said about that. Go beyond that dubious band name, however, and the music on this second album turns out to be a very pleasant surprise. This is another case of a European band copping the style of popular American bands—most specifically the melodic, sludgy style of Melvins, Mastodon, early Baroness and Torche—but it’s done in convincing fashion throughout this surprisingly taut record. Always mindful to not let the songs overstay their welcome, the quintet keeps things to the point and, above all else, hooky enough to not let the dense guitars of Alexandre Berenguer and Laurent Bringer overwhelm everything. Niko Bastide’s vocals, while plenty harsh, leave just enough room for some personality to show, and complement the arrangements very well, especially on the startlingly dynamic “Bleak.” And you know what? When all is said and done, when the music is as good as what’s on this record, a stupid band name like Drawers does stick in your head. —Adrien Begrand 9 2 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

Down, Down IV: Part II

Carcosa has the best jukebox in town | d o w n / a d a First off, can we stop referring to Down as a supergroup? These guys have been brewing tunes together— admittedly with maddening gaps in their discography—for two decades. If there’s one thing Down ain’t, it’s a novelty act. The second chapter of the long-awaited four-EP series from the Nawlins stalwarts offers six songs and 36 inspired minutes of psychedelic sludge, galloping NWOBHM riffage, and booze ‘n’ blues doom. From Phil Anselmo’s feral opening scream to his last spectral croon, Down don’t waste a hook or a minute of your time. Jimmy Bower’s beats are the perfect bar-brawling accomplices for the rowdy riffs conjured by Pepper Keenan and newcomer Bobby Landgraf, kicking the songs in the guts for extra giddyap. With Kirk Windstein now departed to focus on Crowbar, Down seem more

Enthroned

Sovereigns Agonia

Panzer Division Marmaduke

Hard to believe that Belgian black metallers Enthroned have been at it since 1995 (Prophecies of Pagan Fire). That’s almost 20 years of Christ-slayin’ holocaust darkwinds. Hence, it’s not so hard to believe that Sovereigns is a direct descendent of predecessor Obsidium. The group’s days of juvenile black metal and terrible tin-can productions have given way to a Marduk-meets-Behemoth-like sensibility, where main cheese Nornagest assembles taut blasts of

interested in capturing the denim jacket majesty of Skynyrd at their outlaw peak, sprinkling the bayou swampscum with highway dust. “We Knew Him Well” and “Sufferer’s Years” swagger with the grit and confidence a combination of talent like this should unquestionably carry, “Hogshead Dogshead” feels like Trouble traded their favorite Bible for some good hash, and album closer “Bacchanalia” shifts abruptly from triumphant harmonized leads to meditative clean guitar and vaporous vocals that dissipate like purple smoke. NOLA’s muddy water mystique has evolved into a killer combination of Southern Gothic occult doom and dusty rock ‘n’ roll, painting a backwoods landscape littered with the Yellow King’s bound, horned victims and haunted ruins. True Detective’s second season just found its soundtrack. —Sean Frasier

hate and destruction as if they were expressly designed for war. While most of Sovereigns circles around Enthroned’s militaristic paradigm, there are pieces of music with different origins. “Of Feathers and Flames” is faintly industrialized, as if Enthroned imbibed on Red Harvest’s New World Rage Music EP for a while before heading back to dark rooms, with big black candles, and invocations written on the walls in forgotten tongues. “Of Shrines and Sovereigns,” despite its blast beat prologue, is pure atmosphere. The monk call throughout its midsection is harrowingly smart through a good set of cans, while Nornagest and sideman Neraath saw through some of the toughest angular riffs heard in ages. The song’s

Jody Dorignac

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follow-up, “The Edge of Agony,” is equally rife with vibes from stories as told by H.P. Lovecraft. Again, Enthroned change up the midsection as if they’re crafting a soundtrack to their own horrific demise. It’s actually quite hard to fault the Belgians for anything, really. Enthroned have learned the hard way—through painful iteration—and are now, with ripened age, far more vicious and dangerous than when Verwimp was chief cover artist. —Chris Dick

Eyehategod

Girly, Black Pretty and

Jeff Treppel sorts through all things pinkish

black so the rest of the staff doesn’t have to Lest you think the title of this column is sexist—it refers to the music, not the men in the backing bands. They are none of those things.

Eyehategod H o u s e cor e

Up to 23 years of abuse, and still not broken

Since Confederacy of Ruined Lives was released in 2000, I’ve realized the world is both a better and worse place than I could’ve ever surmised as some pimply idiot without more than 17 full years of experience on this earth. But it’s been a rough fucking road between albums for Eyehategod, now releasing this selftitled blast of misanthropy with Joey LaCaze’s original drum tracks intact in the aftermath of his passing. This could just be me looking for a silver lining on the blackest shitcloud, but EHG’s new music feels hopeful for the first time since they started assaulting basement crowds with feedback. “Agitation! Propaganda!” cranks out the furious crust that made In the Name of Suffering such a dangerous introduction before lashing out with the familiar, grimy sludge they perfected on Take as Needed for Pain. After 14 years, I wanted the oxymoronic comfort of an EHG record, and that’s exactly what this is. As a heckler lovingly shouted at them in Brooklyn last year, “Play your other song about drugs!” Still, “Parish Motel Sickness” and “Quitter’s Offensive” both shine with redemptive glimmers in their riffs that strike me as the closest to feelgood songwriting EHG have ventured. Sure, all chances of smiles and salad days are drowned in the relentless murk of “Robitussin and Rejection,” but those fleeting moments resound long after the amps cease squealing. Mike Williams may snarl about “the signal of abandoned dignity” on “Flags and Cities Bound,” but he’s certainly not referencing their emotive performances here. —Sean Frasier 9 4 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

Delain 1 know how to put together some incredibly catchy songs, but one wishes that they were just slightly less faceless—which is ironic, because the cover of The Human Contradiction (Napalm) is a giant picture of a face! Charlotte “Nuclear” Wessels’ face, to be precise, and since her husky voice is the main distinguishing characteristic of the band, it makes sense. The nightmare nursery rhyme “Here Come the Vultures” and “Your Body Is a Battlefield”’s mecha-Pat Benatar intensity land successfully, but Delain’s problem has never been a lack of hooks. It’s the fact that nothing about their music jumps out as being particularly, well, Delain. Battle Beast, 2 on the other hand, have a really distinct identity. Not on a musical level—Battle Beast (Nuclear Blast) delivers slick ’80s Euro metal that falls somewhere on the cheese tray between Lordi, Accept and Edguy. No, their appeal lies entirely on Noora Louhimo’s armored shoulder pads. She handles the usual Tarja Turunen-style operatic bombast effortlessly, sure, but then she rips into an Angela Gossow demon snarl or Udo Dirkschneider gravelgargle so seamlessly you’ll think it’s a different singer. It’s almost worth checking this out just for that “holy shit” moment when you realize it’s all her. Of course, how far you get after that will depend on how lactose-intolerant you are—and even those with healthy immune systems will cringe when they hit “Black Ninja.”

Aldious 3 have color-coordinated prom dresses and loads of talent, and on their third album, District Zero (BrightStar), they prove that the Dutch and Finnish got nothing on the Japanese. They bring the brilliant harmonies of J-pop to their high-energy anime-themesong metal, taking their cues as much from Puffy AmiYumi as Sonata Arctica. And despite looking like typical idols, they can shred—if you swapped out the vocals on “Re:peatedly,” you might think you were listening to (late-period) Children of Bodom. Personally, I’d rather listen to lovely singing than some Scandinavian dude screaming, anyway. Sorry, Alexi!

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Marty Friedman 8 Inferno

Prosthetic

Gus G

I Am the Fire C e n t u r y M e d ia

One panders, one has fun. Guess which one works?

Ah, the solo album by a guitarist, one of the sketchiest album ideas in metal, where a shredder is freed from the restraints of his regular collaborative work and given full creative control. In other words, a chance to wallow in self-indulgence with the ego-stroking knowledge that his or her name will be on the cover. In the case of these two releases, they contrast greatly—one by a guitarist with a very high profile, the other by a guy who decided to step out of the limelight—yielding very different results. Greek prodigy Gus G, Ozzy’s employee and leader of power metal faves Firewind, heads in a more mainstream, active rock-oriented direction on his solo debut. Featuring singers Mats Levén (Candlemass), Michael Starr (Steel Panther) and Alexia Rodriguez (Eyes Set to Kill), Gus’s overtly commercial hard rock compositions lack the energy of Firewind’s best moments, instead embracing bloated post-grunge sounds like tired glam metal dudes did in the 1990s. After enjoying life in Japan since leaving Megadeth in 2000, Marty Friedman has returned with a much higher profile, star-studded solo release. Wildly eclectic, veering from style to style with gleeful abandon, the energy of Inferno is palpable. Flamenco phenoms Rodrigo y Gabriela, Canadian garage rock great Danko Jones, jazz metal genius Jørgen Munkeby, Revocation’s David Davidson and Children of Bodom’s Alexi Laiho all feature prominently, with Friedman providing material that accurately echoes each artist’s own style, as well as instrumentals that showcase his own personal prog/power interests. It’s a vibrant record that, while plenty selfindulgent, remembers to have fun while doing so. —Adrien Begrand

High Water

High Water Vitriol

Whispers at the bus stop

The label that brought you Graf Orlock’s Doombox keeps upping the game with packaging: When removed from its jewel case and inserted into a CD player, the debut full-length from High Water magically 9 6 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

transforms into a Goo Goo Dolls greatest hits compilation. I’m only half fucking with you— there is a song (“Looking at the Sun”) that sounds exactly like the Goo Goo Dolls, and it’s easy to pick out because it follows a song (“Golden”) that sounds exactly like the Gin Blossoms. Readers of Decibel’s sister publication Magnet will be stoked on High Water’s artful synthesis of Dinosaur Jr, Neil Young’s warped Canadian vision of Americana and other ’90s guitar rock idioms. Readers of Magnet’s sister publication would be well served to remember—after washing the taste of vomit out of their mouths—that all of those things have been referenced enthusiastically within this publication’s own pages, too. Of course, none of this relates to the angular hardcore of Neal Sharma’s other band Ghostlimb, but if J Mascis can have free rein to hesh out, Sharma ought to be entitled to vacation with a fuzzbox and feedback. It’s worth noting that he’s an extremely potent lyricist—Sharma adjusts lenses and brings each song into sharp focus, and the album’s narrative of love and loss unfolds at a relaxed, appealing clip. More impressively, none of High Water’s material feels aggressively overworked. This may be due to the warm ambience of the live-to-tape studio sessions with Jack Shirley, who also recorded that little pink record that people won’t shut the fuck up about. On “Backlit,” Sharma takes note of all of the seemingly incongruous elements of High Water: “I’m aware of the danger of contrast, so I try to keep it in mind.” Nah, contrast is fun. —Nick Green

Ikillya

Vae Victis M e g af o r c e

Killin’ ya in the name of

In the eyes of many New York City locals, the city’s image as a bastion of cool has taken a considerable nosedive since the good-bad ol’ days, when punks owned the Bowery and a rebellious arts scene was flourishing in the East Village. Shoutouts to ex-mayor Giuliani, grotesque gentrification and Girls for shoving one foot-long shit sandwich after another down the city’s alreadyshit-stuffed piehole. Amid all the soul-scouring and crimes against culture, NYC’s metal scene has risen to the occasion, offering an antidote to the seemingly never-ending Disneyification. Ikillya’s second album is a reminder of how we locals have been spoiled rotten by the rampant local talent. Ikillya temper all their ugly, hulking power with ample grooves, calling to mind Lamb of God, Prong and Pantera—not surprising, since producer Josh Wilbur (Hatebreed, Lamb of God,

Gojira) was at the helm. There’s also a hefty, aggressive hardcore bent that gives the album an extra dose of tuff-guy street swagger. But it’s frontman Jason Lekberg who owns the spotlight. His scathing, beastly roars leap from the back of his throat while he maintains excellent pitch and control. All those lessons he took with Melissa Cross paid off—check the not-quite-clean singing on “Jekyll Better Hyde” for a sense of just how flexible this guy is. Vae victis is Latin for “woe to the conquered [ones],” and based on the pure energy this album radiates, Ikillya won’t be among the fallen. —Jeanne Fury

Impaled Nazarene

Vigorous and Liberating Death Osmose

What’s old is new (and dirty and raunchy) once more

Listening to new output from Impaled Nazarene 25 years in is akin to repeatedly watching your favorite movie—you know what you’re going to get. You know the dialogue, editing and camera angle minutiae inside out, and long ago studied what the extras were doing in the background (though it must be noted that, in the world of Impaled Nazarene, that movie is probably a grainy, gonzo orgy where flaming vodka shots run rampant as pentagram-shaped Cleveland steamers are being dropped on obscene silicone implants). Yet, whenever said flick is on the tube, you’ll be entertained. And so it is with the Finnish fuckers’ twelfth (!) full-length. Vigorous and Liberating Death is the band’s resurrection after a substantial break following 2010’s Road to the Octagon. This basically means they’re staying true to a longstanding blueprint, and that all the casual kinky sex, liver-ravaging, goatraping, Satan-worshipping and Christ-mocking they’re singing about in their native tongue are ramped up in highfalutin concept pieces like “Flaming Sword of Satan,” “Vestal Virgins” and “Drink Consultation.” It’s not just Sir Luttinen’s way with words that’s bursting with excitement, however. His delivery is as raw and scratchy as ever, yet complementary of the blackened thrashing riffs and beats, and machine-gun tempos. Little adjustments like the epic melodic wash (is that a keyboard?!) and stadium-rock string-bending leads in “Pathological Hunger for Violence” and the bass-centric “Martial Law” keep things interesting, but if you want rocket-paced, punky black metal capable of generating enough sin-tax revenue to keep a small country in the black, ImpNaz have delivered. Again. —Kevin Stewart-Panko

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record reviews

Mantar

Death by Burning S va r t

On Death by Burning, German/ Turkish duo Mantar hog up all the heavy in town with a deviant brew of gritty blackened doom punk that reeks of caverot, smoke and charred bone. The unsung, bassless power pair summons the seminal wisdoms of Motörhead, Melvins, Darkthrone, et al in sound and spirit, expelling 10 raucous combat hymns with zero filler. A deliberately unsubtle twosome, drummer Erinc Sakarya and guitarist/vocalist Hanno Klänhardt don’t beg for your attention; they insist upon it with a deluge of gnarly, subterranean riff mutations, blitzkrieg drum assaults and raw, contemptuous throat rasps beckoning imminent destruction. The record’s organic, echoing production and incomprehensibly grisly tone only complements all the ruckus. From the diseased rock swagger of opening psalm “Spit” to the rousing gang chants of “Astral Kannibal” to the Kvelertakian urgency of “The Huntsman,” Mantar exert an almost oppressive catchiness where even their most ominous moments of feedback-strewn amplifier worship yield an involuntary doom-nod (see: epic seven-plus minute closer “March of the Crows”). Indeed, the band crushes with the fluidity and force of a thousand waterfalls, their combined kinetic energy manifesting a sonic depth reminiscent of fellow two-piece moon-movers Black Cobra. Employing enough pace variations and mood shifts to keep things frothy throughout the record’s chest-heaving, 44-minute duration, Mantar make it clear that they know how to party. That this is only their debut makes their meteoric compositions of audio enormity all the more brow-raising. —Liz Ciavarella-Brenner

Massacre, Back From Beyond 5 Scream bloody bore | c e n t u r y m e d i a

Given that From Beyond has long since joined the pantheon of death metal classics, charting at a hugely respectable #58 in Decibel’s Top 100 Death Metal Albums of All Time, expectations of a new Massacre album should be off the scale. But times have changed, as have Massacre, a whole bunch of times. Nowadays, founding member Rick Rozz is joined by Florida DM stalwart Terry Butler on bass, with Mike Mazzonetto on drums and Edwin Webb on vocals. Maybe their HR problems are over; this lineup has been together since 2011, when they recorded the Condemned to the Shadows EP and gave us a couple of so-so tracks to go some way towards compensating for the irredeemable dreck of 1996’s Promise. Well, those same tracks have resurfaced

Priapism’s -core-influenced brand of American death metal is about 10 years late to the groundbreaking ceremony. Bands like the Red Chord, Animosity, Burnt by the Sun, etc., beat them to the floorpunch with the idea of putting Suffocation riffs and the outro of “Domination” into one song. But you wouldn’t know it listening to Priapism’s reissued debut album, Prey Pay Obey. Guitarist Michael Schick chugs and screeches like Norma Jean’s Bless the Martyr and Kiss the Child

never happened. And—as lucky as we’d all be if that were the case—there’s something refreshing about that. First released in 2012, Prey Pay Obey was reissued (with sick new artwork!) earlier this year. The music starts off predictably enough. Within the first minute of the first track, “Petrified Greed,” you get a floor-clearing breakdown, but it’s played for maybe one rep. Don’t get your mesh shorts in a twist—it comes back in. And when it does, it’ll have you grinning like a remorseless serial killer.

Priapism

here to round out an uneven album of stunning mediocrity, a record that seems willing to indulge a cool, old-school Florida death groove one minute before nodding out into some sort of aimless genero-chug the next. The opening track, “As We Wait to Die,” is case in point: A bit of serviceable power up front—yes, please; energetic if not inspired—falling away to nothing during an eye-wateringly dull verse that seems to crib its structure from Madball or something equally mindless. Oh yeah, it picks up again the end for a bit of aggro, but the energy is lost. This pattern repeats itself again and again. It doesn’t help that Webb is unconvincing on the mic, but not even Martin van Drunen swapping verses with John Tardy could roar this record out of the mire. Way too boring. —Jonathan Horsley

Prey Pay Obey E a r O n e P r od u c t i o n s

Behind its time

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Priapism are a band that also likes to fuck around. But only a little! The riffs are technical, yet they never stray from catchy. Still, some hotdoggery perseveres on the album—like that “stormy” three-minute clean-guitar interlude. But for all their subgenre commingling, Priapism are decidedly metal sans core. Paul Marak growls more than he yells/talks, and I don’t think Alani Schapperow’s double-bass stops even once. So, Prey Pay Obey is for those who believe metal is stronger than trends—and for fans of Job for a Cowboy. —Dutch Pearce

tim vasquez

Match game

NEUROT RECORDINGS STONEBURNER Life Drawing NR088 CD

JOHN BAIZLEY NATE HALL MIKE SCHEIDT Songs of Townes Van Zandt Vol. II NR089 CD

CORRECTIONS HOUSE Last City Zero NR087 CD

STRENGTH

STORE.NEUROTRECORDINGS.COM

VISION d e c i b e l : j u n e 2 0 14 : 9 9

record reviewsrecord reviews newnoise

swans, To Be Kind

Hurt. Agony. Pain. Love it. | Y o u n g G o d To Be Kind is the type of record that reviewers love. Not necessarily because they appreciate the music, but the scope is so immense, the layers so labyrinthine, the lyrics so dense, the undertaking so self-possessed that they feel justified whipping out every 10-dollar word in their lexicons to write oblique prose about what they’re hearing. Instead, here are some CliffsNotes, explaining nothing new to those familiar with this recent iteration of Swans, but hopefully at least giving a fence-

Prong

Ruining Lives Steamhammer/SPV

Still wouldn’t get very far on The Voice

To be perfectly honest with y’all, it’s been a long time since I paid a whole lot of attention to Prong. Last time they were skating circles on my radar, fingers and necks were being snapped 20 years ago! Encouragingly, I can still hum that melody like it was yesterday. Twenty years? Holy shit-snacks! Is time ripping by like the Spirit of America shooting across the Bonneville Salt Flats, or is it just me? 1 0 0 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

sitter some idea of what to expect. This album reaches over two hours, even longer than the overwhelming The Seer, and it mostly entails this: a spare rhythm or riff, played for a long-ass time, as various instruments join in to create a spiraling, jam-session cacophony. One of the tracks is predominantly an orchestral string arrangement, while another is noise-rock with a distorted horn section. The atmosphere moves between melancholy to sorta funky to enraged, as Michael Gira guides you through

these fresh hells with his alternating desert croons and unhinged rambling. Is it self-indulgent? It’s two fucking hours! There’s one song on here that’s longer than a grind band’s discography. Sure, it could be edited down, and some of the illogical, disparate elements they swerve into could have been taken out completely, but that’s not the point. So, what is the point of To Be Kind? [Cracks open thesaurus] To be a mesmeric Gordian knot that is purposefully exasperating so as to culminate in transcendence. —Shane Mehling

Whether you think the New York trio’s best era was 25 or two years ago, it would be unrealistic to expect Ruining Lives to be a mirror image of that block of time, as Prong have always been a band unafraid to squirm out from under the finger jerks like us attempt to put on them. Try and deny their drastic transformation between 1987’s Primitive Origins and Beg to Differ three years later; we dare ya. In its own vacuum/bubble/hyperbaric chamber, Ruining Lives is a pretty impressive beast. In a broader context, it’s another exercise of Prong tapping into their ability to write the sort of catchy shit that’s been stuck in heads since the Bush Sr. years. The sound may teeter

a bit too closely to smoothed-out FM radio/ Rocklahoma-type hard rock now and again, but Tommy Victor and his charges will throw any amount of waning into a murky river with blasts like “The Barriers” and “The Book of Change.” If there’s an element that really shines here, it’s Victor’s voice. “Absence of Light” and “Windows Shut” may be mature variations on the post-punk/industrial/thrash theme, but the meticulously considered phrasing is responsible for maximum hookiness, as well as the many of us who’ll be humming the choruses to “Turnover” and “Self Will Run Riot” in 20 years time. —Kevin Stewart-Panko

newnoise Raw Power

Tired and Furious Beer City

Barrel-aged hardcore

It’s all well and good for a geezer like Keith Morris to rekindle his ’80s glory days with punk supergroup OFF!, but what about the vets who never needed a comeback in the first place? Italy’s Raw Power have been kicking around since 1981, and in that time they’ve established themselves as survivors—even after the death in 2002 of founding guitarist Guiseppi Codeluppi, brother of singer Mauro “MP” Codeluppi. MP remains the only original member of Raw Power, but the band’s new album, Tired and Furious, carries on the Raw Power tradition. With new drummer Gianmarco Agosti, a fixture of Italy’s metal scene, alongside current guitarist Tommi Prodi and bassist Marco Massarenti, MP leads the troops on a lightning raid into enemy territory—the enemy being, basically, the entirety of our fucked-up world. That’s not to say Tired and Furious doesn’t come with its fair share of skate-ready fun. As usual, there are hooks and shout-alongs galore buried like landmines amid the album’s galloping, guttural hardcore. “Time to Remember” is even downright melodic, poignantly drawing on the band’s own history and legacy. On “Falling Down,” MP’s voice has eroded to a blunt implement of terror, and Prodi indulges in a squealing solo that evokes the apex of ’80s crossover. It’s the album’s title track, though, that draws all those various elements together: thrash, D-beat, skate-punk, Oi!, and meat-and-potatoes hardcore are fused into an anthem of ornery endurance that isn’t afraid to show the band’s gray hairs. Aging gracefully? Fuck that. With Tired and Furious, Raw Power are keeping middle age ugly. —Jason Heller

Skinfather

None Will Mourn S t r e e tc l e a n e r

Real cut-ups

Taking their moniker from a song off of Dismember’s Indecent and Obscene gives you a brief (but revealing) glimpse into the minds of these southern Californians. The sound is early ’90s Sweden, but while lots of bands from lots of places wave the ol’ yellow and blue with fervor, this quintet is probably more pissed at Rotten Sound for beating them to the Boss HM-2 shirt design—and even more pissed at Boss for discontinuing the holy grail of distortion pedals. Tangentially, if Boss had any sense of what the hell is brewing right

under their noses, they’d dust off the schematics, crawl on scraped and wounded knees to the original Japanese production crew, then drain the metal scene’s pockets in ways Scion could only dream of. But this review isn’t about a pedal—even though in a way, it is. Skinfather’s focus is a specific sound and style originating from a specific era that, for obvious reasons, has stood the test of time. Killer versions of that sound/style have graced us recently in the form of Black Breath, Trap Them, Feral and so on. None Will Mourn exists somewhere between being an exciting addition to the canon of Swedish-inspired death (for its brutality and adherence to the niche) and kind of just being there for those very same reasons. While they have a decent approximation of the buzzsaw in the holster, they don’t possess that all-encompassing, uppity excitement, preferring to add a sense of bleakness and near-mournful doom to “Dead Still” and “Impaled”—though “Drown in Black” and “Born of Despair” showcase the galloping aggression that has driven hundreds of similarly sourced albums. Overall, it’s worth a few spins while supporting Ben Ash’s online “reissue the HM-2” campaign. —Kevin Stewart-Panko

Stoneburner

Life Drawing Neurot

A son that never coasts

Neurot, a label founded by members of Neurosis, has long been home to the band’s aesthetic progeny. Now it’s home to Neurosis’ real-life progeny, too. Stoneburner’s bassist and vocalist Damon Kelly happens to be the oldest offspring of Neurosis frontman Scott Kelly. But don’t go assuming this is bold-faced nepotism. Stoneburner’s second full-length, Life Drawing, is just the sort of crusty, punk-infused metal one might ideally expect from this label. (Plus, who makes money on records anymore?) Paced slightly too fast to be an orthodox doom record, Life Drawing has just the right amount of weight and intensity to traffic in Neurosisstyle gravitas. And yet, this edgy record is full of things pops Kelly has never tried. On “An Apology to a Friend in Need,” Stoneburner’s two guitarists bust out some note-y licks that sound like Mastodon mimicking Thin Lizzy. And then they unleash some death-metallic pick squeals on “Done.” One of the band’s guitarists, Jason Depew, used to play in Buried at Sea, a slepton sludge act evoked on the speaker-collapsing opener “Some Can.” Seriously, if you’re one of those people shelling out $30 for a CD copy of Buried at Sea’s Migration, you need to check out d e c i b e l : j u n e 2 0 14 : 1 0 1

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record reviews

Stoneburner posthaste. This Portland outfit recaptures the blasted-out, hypno-tantric angularity of Depew’s old act better than anyone around. Perhaps Stoneburner’s brand of despondent heaviosity is out of step in this thrashy, funloving era. But, for anyone with a threadbare Neurosis shirt in the hamper, Life Drawing might just seem like a blessing. —Brent Burton

Teitanblood

Death

T H E A JN A O F F EN S I V E

One listen to Death (or, frankly, a mere three seconds into “Anteinfierno”) and the artlessness of Teitanblood’s second album title makes absolute sense. Quite simply, after more than an hour of envisioning the sonic discharge of seven gaping hell-gates, there just wasn’t any creativity left. None. Every ounce of emotional and physical energy has been poured, scooped, scraped and metaphysically channeled into achieving peak aural chaos and maximum spiritual entropy. The calorie conversion involved in summoning this kind of riotous density just seems inhuman. The Spaniards flaunt a stamina rivaled only by Philadelphia weirdos Cleric, as they careen through not one, not a few, but five double-digit death odes, including the 17-minute “Silence of the Great Martyrs.” Granted, most of that last track melts into a haunted-factory-turned-necromantic-chapel chant, but that only amplifies the overall impact. Death is what happens when the death/black vomit-ball plunges brazenly into noise territory. Rhythms aren’t indecipherable, but they’re so speed-blurred that they mostly serve as spiky waves of adrenaline. Guitars play actual riffs, but they’re so often diluted with manic, flickering string squeals and overlapping distortion that they become texture—if a helmet full of high-speed garbage disposal blades can be considered texture. Layered vocal elements groan and echo off each other, while the occasional wellplaced lull in pace (never volume) sculpts the music into shadowy, demonic shapes. Teitanblood offer the kind of deranged commotion that is so often absent from current music. Death is always metal, but noisy perversion leaks through everything and turns this album into a blasphemy well worth your soul. —Daniel Lake 1 0 2 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

Triptykon, Melana Chasmata

Let's just get the requisite Cold Lake joke out of the way now p r o w l i n g d e ath / c e n t u r y m e dia

In the same way that I feel like Inception presented an accurate representation of how Christopher Nolan dreams, it’s hard not to see the inside of Thomas Gabriel Fischer’s head as a threedimensional H.R. Giger painting. Sure, it’s somebody else’s work, and it only appears on the cover of Celtic Frost’s To Mega Therion, but those visuals so perfectly capture the essence of his music in an easy, horrifying snapshot that it’s hard to separate the two. It’s telling that Fischer has chosen to wrap both Triptykon releases in Giger’s trademark tentacle things. Eparistera Daimones featured a sketchier drawing, a work in progress. Melana Chasmata’s horrors are fully formed, shaded and gleaming and slick. This extends to the music as well. If Eparistera felt like an authoritative statement, Melana makes that

album feel like a mere mumbled insecurity. It’s impossible to even put your finger on what genre Fischer and his cohorts are working in—but it’s their own. While songs like “Boleskine House” hew closest to doom metal, their version of the style is influenced by an alternate universe where Cathedral were on 4AD. No “Tristesses De La Lune” here, though; despite the presence of wistful female singing and flourishes of gothic beauty, it’s all in the context of some of the heaviest, most menacing performances ever forced through an amplifier. The darkness is palpable, inescapable, overwhelming. It’s the work of the same man that crafted Morbid Tales 30 years ago. It’s just that the eldritch nightmares in his head have had three decades to grow, and he’s able to articulate them more clearly than ever. —Jeff Treppel

ester segarra

Give it to us raw and wriggling

(Find it at a record store. )

LACUNA COIL

Broken Crown Halo facebook.com/metalclub

mmn_titles-for-db_2014-06_half.indd 1

d e c i b e l : j u n e 2 0 14 : 1 0 3 4/9/2014 4:25:10 PM

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record reviews

Tortorum

Katabasis

W T C P r o d u ct i o n s

Hurtin’ for certain

Straight from Norway’s fiery armpit are Tortorum. Featuring a Norwegian, a Brit and a Pole, the Bergenites craft a wicked spell on second album Katabasis. Forget all the obscure black metal you fake-love—Tortorum are real. And really good. Immediately recalling the recent forays of Valkyrja, Watain and Marduk—along with nods to classic Emperor and Enslaved—Tortorum expertly mount melodic black metal. While these guys are both instrumentally adept—“In Nameless NonBeing” and “Into the Sixth Coil” exemplify Tortorum’s might—and superb songmasters, they never lose sight of the ultimate goal. From “The Great Appetence” to 10-minute closer “Beyond the Earth and Air and Sun,” they bring the dread, the fright and the haunt. These are real portraits of the Great Hell below, where souls are gleefully riven from hapless humans for an eternity of suffering. Guitarists Skyggen and Specter employ a wide variety of scare tactics. Their brutal chordbashing complements the melodic and dissonant tradeoffs. It’s a balancing act done well, actually. “As the Light Falls to Slaughter” is of particular note. The way they clash harmony with discordant strums is stunning. Frontman Barghest’s subterranean howls make altar boys out of bishops, while his moan feels truly, well, tortured. If there’s a downside—and this is nitpicking, really—it’s the way the ride cymbal and bell were mixed. Clearly, Tore Stjerna loves his ride cymbals loud in the soundscape. Tortorum probably don’t have a lot of cred points—ditto with Valkyrja—with basementdwellers and the bestial contingent, but Katabasis is black metal on a whole different level. That’s how it should be. —Chris Dick

Young Widows

Easy Pain

Temporary Residence Lt d

Real pain for my sham friends

Louisville, KY is bonded by two great traditions: painstakingly minimalist interpretations of hardcore’s bare essentials in the form of post-rock, and flashier arrangements of hardcore’s most mind-bending and musical parts in the form of post-hardcore. Traditional hardcore—the trailhead for both of these divergent forms—hasn’t had anything new to say for at least 20 years, but post-hardcore (and to a lesser 1 0 4 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

degree, post-rock) will continue to flourish until there’s no hardcore left to reject, retrofit and repurpose. Perhaps it’s specious to suggest that Young Widows are post-anything (except maybe “post-Breather Resist”), but the Louisville trio has always taken a very flexible approach to burying recognizable idioms under seven layers of cacophony. Of course, Easy Pain is almost diametrically opposed to 2011’s In and Out of Youth and Lightness, a muted, sparse recording in the vein of Coliseum (fronted by Ryan Patterson, brother of YW guitarist Evan). It’s worth noting that Young Widows skipped their last album in a recent run of full-album shows in favor of the comple-

mentary bookend Old Wounds. Young Widows work best as a delivery mechanism for gnarly, indigestible nuggets with lurching rhythms (“Kerosene Girl” and “King Sol”). Like fellow Jesus Lizard enthusiasts Pissed Jeans, major chords and bent notes create a busy canvas for some demented howling on “Doomed Moon” and “Bird Feeder.” But the synthesized parts on “Gift of Failure” and the opening of “The Last Young Widow” sound like a super-heavy Goblin and an equally pummeling alternate take on Kraftwerk’s The Man-Machine, the kind of chimerical Frankenstein inventions that used to only reside in Napoleon Dynamite’s sketchbook or soda fountain “suicides.” Dude, yes. —Nick Green

Vallenfyre, Splinters

Geezers with tweezers | c e n t u r y m e d i a A minute and a half into “Bereft,” the second track on Vallenfyre’s second album Splinters, Gregor Mackintosh bellows one of his many lyrics destined for a million death metal karaoke sessions: “I earned the right to walk a path of blasphemyyyy!!!” You sure did, Gregor. With Paradise Lost, My Dying Bride, At the Gates and Doom on their collective CV, Mackintosh and Vallenfyre have plenty of extreme music capital to spend. On Splinters, Vallenfyre invest it wisely in tighter, more extreme songs than the death-doom/D-beat golden oldies on their debut, A Fragile King. “Bereft,” “Splinters” and “Aghast” groan under the weight of their giant riffs, bejeweled with those signature Paradise Lost guitar leads and nearly demolished by Adrian Erlandsson’s castle-toppling drums. On the other end of the spectrum, Vallenfyre grind through the

Napalm Death homages “Instinct Slaughter” and “Thirst for Extinction,” their two shortest, most scabrous songs to date. We knew from A Fragile King that these four could concoct music that stands respectably alongside the finest work of their better-known bands. The revelation here is how modern Vallenfyre sound, even as they play styles of metal and grind that arguably haven’t been improved upon in 20 years. Part of it was the more collaborative songwriting process, which you can hear in the seamless genre cross-hatchings of “Savages Arise” and “Cattle.” Part of it is Kurt Ballou’s production work. Splinters sounds filthy, clear and huge—even the grindy tunes feel weighted down. But mostly, Vallenfyre sound energized by this music. It’s always nice when musicians that have nothing to prove still play like they do. —Etan Rosenbloom

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newnoise

record reviews Growing up, my parents were consumed with their work and careers to the point where I was basically raised by television, metal and whatever I could find to put on a slice of whole wheat bread. As a parent myself, I’m more the silent, lead-by-example type. What types of parents might this month’s hopefuls be? Let’s find out! by kevin stewart-panko

Blood Luxury Eyes Cry Blood My eyes bawled blood and tapped out trying to read their logo. Gotta give these Tazmanians props for the ambitious double-disc digipak, even if it is hindered by shitty image rendering and multi-directional stabs at progressive tech-metal as performed by dudes who are way outside their comfort zone taking multi-directional stabs at progressive tech-metal. “It doesn’t matter if you failed, as long as you went all out with your balls out. Now, let’s watch a Disney movie,” would be something you’d likely hear ’round their family dinner table. www.facebook.com/bloodluxury

Dirt Wizard No Son of Mine Their name may make them sound like a handheld vacuum, but this Peoria-based quartet doesn’t scrimp on the combustible energy that comes with a red-hot Orange amp, a stack of Marshall cabs and energy drink IVs. Red Fang, Alabama Thunderpussy and Orange Goblin are all in the mix. So is the fact that they probably adhere to the “it takes a village to raise a child” idea. And if that village happens to include a bunch of drunk, gun-totin’ bikers, then have at it. dirtwzard.bandcamp.com

Endless Chaos Rejected Atrocity These Winnipeggers aren’t exactly breaking ground in the area of monikers, titles and lyrics, but they definitely call a certain ’90s death/thrash aesthetic home, and it’s clear these dudes know how to balance ferocity, melody and partying like it’s the end of the world. You’d love being raised by them; they’ll take you to all-ages shows, give you beer and won’t freak out at the names of the bands in your record collection. Remember this when you’re thinking about taking the car without permission on Friday night, you ingrate! www.facebook.com/endlesschaos

Fist Fight in the Parking Lot Year of the Ox Firstly, love the name! Secondly, this band is made up of four of the most attractive people who’ve ever gathered to play metal in any dingy practice space anywhere. Thirdly, their sound is a weird amalgam of stoner/sludge and classic hair metal that’s not as lame as the previous part of this sentence makes it out to be. They’ll probably shock the townies on the FM radio/ sports bar circuit, not to mention the stuffed shirts of their white picket fence ’hood when their kids are tearing around, having fun and looking pretty. www.fistfightintheparkinglot.com

Gramary Death Inbound Finland’s Gramary have been unsigned for the majority of their 17-year existence. Take that bit of info for what it’s worth. I’ll take it to mean that no one has had faith in their combination of Dimmu of Filth symphonics, harsh melodies, supersonic blast-beating and vocalist Deil’s borderline Japcore screech. Black metal equals conservatism, which is antithetical to how I imagine them sending their kids to whatever passes for alternative learning schools in Lapland all gussied up in iconoclasm and corpsepaint. www.gramary.net

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Green Dragon Green Dragon I’m sure it gets a lot more lo-fi, loose and hazy than this New Jersey trio, but probably not much more. Imagine Monster Magnet dozing off in a musty basement after a three-day cough syrup, barbiturate and psych-rock jammola bender. Basically, imagine Monster Magnet. Kids? That business will never happen again after social services chewed them out for forgetting the twins at a rest stop in Hoboken. wearegreendragon.bandcamp.com

Hagstone Ancient, Majestic With Photoshopped monoliths gracing the cover, the title Ancient, Majestic and photos of dudes holding ancient weaponry, the first impression screams Mediterranean power metal. In actuality, Hagstone are a London-based unit playing both kinds of metal: stoner and doom. It’s a slow-motion slow burn with these Sabbath, Vitus and Cathedral worshippers, who’d take their kids out of the school system and home-school them, mostly so they could wake and bake instead of having to rise early to get the munchkins out the door. www.facebook.com/hagstoneUK

Last Fear Incidents Incidents is a blast of impressive Cannibal Corpse/ Death mayhem that comes from a quintet of folks who I’d assume to be the most hands-on parents in all the Netherlands. The packaging is a super-impressive, triplepanel, foldout, immaculately designed cardboard case, and vocalist Lisa Leerkamp’s voice belies her sex and gender by sounding like she’s gargling a rabid, chainsaw-juggling badger. The songs may ultimately lack in the catchiness department, but Last Fear display nothing but excellent promise here. www.lastfear.nl

Montany Biogenetic The fragmented history of this Dutch band goes back to 1989, includes a full-length released on Limb in 2002, and involves the sort of melodic hard rock/power metal-lite that goes over in Europe like crack and clean syringes do in downtown East Vancouver, but doesn’t register with most North Americans. Montany are all about polish, slickness, gloss, fantastical lyrics and inadvertent humor (they practically review Biogenetic in the liner notes!). They aren’t big on brutality or musical muscle, and seem like the kind of parents who’d sit down and teach their progeny via storytelling, anecdotes and stern talking-tos. www.montany.nl

Tungsten The Reservoir The skill this Philly sextet exhibits on The Reservoir is as ridiculous as it is classy. They love musical diversity, Yes, Dream Theater, the post-Cynic Portal demos and practicing eight to 10 hours a day. All they need to do is stop trying to impress by including everything they know about music in their own songs and find a decent producer/engineer to synthesize the elements of their sound. They strike us as very regimented, borderline “tiger” parents, where restrictive diets, exhausting schedules and knucklesmacking with a ruler when they make piano mistakes would be defining parts of their kids’ lives. www.tungstenphilly.com

the best new metal... at a metal club store near you this month

Epica

Aborted

THE QUANTUM ENIGMA

THE NECROTIC MANIFESTO

Devil You Know

Whitechapel

THE BEAUTY OF DESTRUCTION

OUR ENDLESS WAR

Insomnium

Triptykon

SHADOWS OF THE DYING SUN

MELANA CHASMATA

METAL MUSIC, NEWS AND THE STORES THAT ROCK AS HARD AS YOU DO. FIND YOUR METAL CLUB STORE AT FACEBOOK.COM/METALCLUB *TITLES AND PRICES VARY AT ALL STORES

Emmure ETERNAL ENEMIES

subculture

gear

Matt Olivo’s

Hammering on Brent Hinds' bloody, thunderous new pickups

Say what you will about Brent Hinds, but

Mastodon’s controversial guitarist/vocalist knows his songwriting and tone. He’s recently begun collaborating with the NASA of guitar pickup companies, Lace, to create his brand new Hammer Claws signature pickup set. The Lace design crew has proven that they can handle just about anything heavy artists want to vomit forth. Other Lace artist signature pup sets include Matt Pike (Dirty Heshers), Wino (Lifers) and Mastodon bandmate Bill Kelliher (Dissonant Aggressors). Obviously, Lace doesn’t piss about when it comes to heavy tone, so when we received the Hammer Claws in the mail, we enthusiastically installed them into a rock ‘n’ roll rampart Gibson SG Standard. Look

Under the Hood

Hammer Claws have a standard smooth chrome, pole-less cover with epoxy sealed coils in the back. The chrome on all Lace products is durable, brilliant and high-quality. To stand apart from this standard look, Lace laser-etched Hinds’ “Polynesian headdress” face tattoo symbol onto the lower right region. The standard “Lace Sensor” wording keeps it company in the upper left.

Hinds and lead designer Jeff Lace went back and forth with several prototypes. They finally settled on a high-output, bright attack number with a sweet mid-range peak freq. The output is indeed high, but less so than other heavy musicoriented Lace offerings. The balance of output and gain allows for a more versatile pup that a player like Hinds can take into cleaner areas without sacrificing tone. Jeff Lace explained to us that he achieved this design by impressively integrating three (!) different wire gauges into the coil windings, amongst other tech trickery. Suffice it say, it’s a wholly new design—not based on any previous Lace pup.

Matt Olivo is the founding guitarist of

extreme metal trailblazers Repulsion, whose Horrified LP ranks as Decibel’s #1 grindcore album of all time. 1 0 8 : j u n e 2 0 14 : d e c i b e l

Sound

All this pedigree could only be honored with a simple, balls-to-the-wall amp like our Marshall JCM800 half-stack. In high-gain mode, the bridge pup does not mess around—car crash crunch combines with a sweet classic rock mid-range punch. The high-end sizzles and shimmers with beautiful harmonic and dynamic responses. Low-end is a hard right to the bollocks with a broadened frequency range quite suitable for rock, metal, and even doom. The neck pup snarls and growls with very bad intentions. Complex harmonics reveal themselves in the upper ranges and, again, brilliant dynamic response contributes to this being an overall riff-inspiring design. On the clean side, we weren’t surprised at all to find both pups standing tall with full-fat tone, dynamics, glisten and sparkle. Summary

Lace and Brent Hinds, two made-in-the-USA originals, shine together with the Hammer Claws signature pickup set. In dirty or clean mode, a tonal multiverse is at your behest—Allman Brothers to Amon Amarth. We are floored. Price $195.00 A

For more info on this and other high-quality pickups, check out: www.lacemusic.com

horror

subculture

books

Richard Christy’s

The pub crawl in The World's End is for professional drinkers only

Arise and Fall

Max Cavalera pens a disappointingly disjointed autobiography My Bloody Roots: From Sepultura to Soulfly and Beyond by Max Cavalera with Joel McIver Jawbone Press, $19.95

Beer goes great with many things: beer and

chicken wings; beer and heavy metal shows; beer and making love to a lubed-up cardboard paper towel roll in an Orlando storage unit because you haven’t been laid in 10 years. As you can see, beer has been with me during many fun times. I knew that I’d love The World’s End when I first heard about it because it revolves around a bar crawl and robot aliens, two of my favorite subjects. It also helped that The World’s End was from the creators of horror comedy classic Shaun of the Dead. The World’s End is a fun mix of several of my favorite movies, including Halloween III: Season of the Witch, They Live and Strange Brew. My wife and I are both nervous fliers, and we love to watch movies that revolve around drinking (like Bad Santa) on the iPad while we have drinks on a plane. A good buzz soothes our nerves, and The World’s End will definitely be in our iPad airplane drinking rotation from now on. The movie starts with several buddies from school reuniting to try their hand at the Golden Mile, a 12-bar pub crawl in their hometown, which they failed to complete when they were younger. It’s pretty cool that the roles of the two main friends from Shaun of the Dead are reversed, with Simon Pegg now being the drunken partier and Nick Frost the uptight, responsible type. Pegg’s character totally reminds me of the obnoxious DJ in Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers, although unless you’re a Halloween dork who celebrates every sequel, no matter how bad they are (even the Busta Rhymes one), you probably have no idea who the hell I’m talking about. The World’s End is also the kind of movie I love; like From Dusk Till Dawn, it starts out as a specific type of movie, then does a turnaround halfway through into a totally different look. Basically, it goes from an oldbuddies-drinking movie into a robots-takingover-the-world movie—brilliant! I love that people can be replaced by the robots, similar to John Carpenter’s The Thing, where aliens were able to replicate humans. After a while, the friends don’t know who to trust, but the

great thing is that they continue on with their bar crawl. These are my kind of drinkers—even if the world is going to shit, finishing a bar crawl and drinking tons of beer still matters. If you like The World’s End, you should also check out This Is the End, another apocalyptic comedy that came out around the same time, which features a hilarious monstrous demon penis. Enough said. So, if you feel like kicking back with a few craft brews and watching a fun beerthemed sci-fi flick, I highly suggest checking out The World’s End. In keeping with The World’s End theme, my metal pick for this month is the brutally

brilliant “Eve of the Apocalypse” from Malevolent Creation’s perfect album, Retribution. Beginning with a creepy intro version of the theme from Henry, Portrait of a Serial Killer, then blasting into some crushing double bass fury from one of my favorite all-time drummers, Alex Marquez, this song is exactly what death metal should be: heavy, unrelenting, catchy and memorable. Retribution is a huge influence on me in many ways. The drumming, riffs, vocals and lyrics—everything is absolutely perfect! It’s definitely in my top five death metal albums of all time. So, for a truly “apocalyptic” night that you’ll never want to “end,” grab yourself a nice English brew (preferably Iron Maiden’s fabulous Trooper beer), watch The World’s End and crank up some Malevolent Creation “Eve of the Apocalypse”! A Well, until next month, keep your horror horrifying and your metal heavy, and make every day Halloween! Email me at richard@richardchristy.com

Given the influence of

Chaos A.D. and Roots on the metal world—particularly in the realm of nü-metal (bleah) and broadening the metal spectrum outside of the U.S. and England (bravo)—a firstperson account of a struggling Third World band reaching the level of Slayer should be instant canon. Think about it: a story of politics, poverty, repressive culture and family, united and torn apart by a kid who dug Venom. And all that’s lurking in My Bloody Roots. It’s often an engaging tale—who knew that Max and Igor initially rose from the upper middle class, with a model-turned-mom and a bureaucrat dad?—but the Sepultura mastermind falters by crafting his story as casual conversation, like he’s on a long, distracted spiel at a bar. Anecdotes appear and disappear. The book’s only structure comes from album and tour cycles, never pausing to examine or delve too deeply into a world most of us would never fathom. The big events are there. His father’s unexpected death. An angry young man consumed by music. Signing a U.S. deal. Recording with a tribe for Roots. His stepson’s death. The acrimonious break from Sepultura (looking for TMZlike details? It’s every manager/band story in the world). Missing, at least after Cavalera recounts his rather wild childhood, is a sense that one event is more important than another. Example: The frontman approaches his painkiller and booze addictions with the same nonchalance as he does, say, Soulfly’s endless quest to find a permanent bassist. His near-overdose merits two paragraphs, in between a longer discussion on why the name Nailbomb is more “punk” than “metal”-sounding—and via an extremely forced transition. (“We became Sick Man for a while, which we liked ... in some ways, I was a sick man myself.” Oof.) That said, My Bloody Roots is still one-third of a fantastically unique tale. Your best bet? Follow Sep fan Dave Grohl’s lead in the intro: He never mentions anything about Max’s life after Roots. He’s onto something. —Kirk Miller

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undertones

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Blood Fire Holopainen “My work is shit. Life is shit. All is shit. Only Scrooge McDuck is real.” —Thomas Gabriel Fischer

“When I consider the dark design at the heart of this work, I grow bitter over my own failure as an artist. God is dead.” —H.R. Giger

“In the work of the duck, we find a center of unquiet stasis. His quest is not our quest, but those who gaze from without find a platform from which to observe the terrain of the absolute in all its vastness. Its distance from the world of binary truth can only be felt, not understood. It is his life, but also his times. The life and times of Scrooge McDuck.”

“Sit down, Cascadian metal! It’s the duck’s time to shine!” —the Internet, relentlessly, for approximately eight weeks

“Did you hear about the duck album? LOL!” —your friends and relatives, exactly five days after the eight weeks

—one of the dudes from Blut Aus Nord or

“It’s the duck, innit? It’s the duck. The one with all the money, yeah? Scrooge, that’s him, right— Scrooge McDuck? The rich duck.”

“The Night and Wish of Tarja McSales”

—Ozzy Osbourne

—rejected counter-title from

Deathspell Omega, I’m not sure which

unnamed label executive

“Scroooooooooooooooooooooooge McDuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.”

“He listens to it when he thinks we are asleep. Who can sleep when the story of the duck is so loud? No one. No one can sleep.”

—Messiah Marcolin

—Marie Vikernes

“Nobama McBummer is the first thing I thought of, you know? You can’t tax this duck! Bet he didn’t shoot up the Klondike with a salad! I am so lonely, even in the company of others. Please help me. Please.”

“Finally, my story of my grandfather’s rapacious greed and his wanton despoiling of the pristine Alaskan wilderness can be told as it was always meant to be: through the universal language of symphonic power metal.”

—Ted Nugent

—Bartholomew “Occupy” McDuck

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“Fuck. I saw the press release and that’s what I said: ‘Fuck. Darnielle’s going to demand another special issue.’ The amount of money we lost on the Uli Jon Roth one, that right there is money we will never see again. Still, who am I kidding? The future of metal lies in Disney tieins. Bennett? Dick? Who wants to chase down the actual duck?” —Albert Mudrian, editor, Decibel Magazine A

Illustration by brunofsky