The Metal Minute

Thank You

2011-10-12T06:04:00.005-04:00

Steve Harris - Iron Maiden (c) Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Well, chums, I'm afraid it's come to that point where I must wind down The Metal Minute.

I've had to step aside once before, but I've reached an impasse where my familial obligations and new avenues of opportunity have forced me into this decision. I'm not trying to pull a Brett Favre here, folks. I simply lack the personal time as a working man, father and husband and I find myself with continued pressure to find compensating work in order to protect my family and nurture my growth as a writer.

I have multiple projects in progress and a couple of decent leads to hopefully push me forward in what I love doing. At the same time, I must continue to hunt for extra income in order to scratch out a living. Those who've read me a long time know the past few years have presented more challenge than reward and this year is no exception. Sorry, but the starving artist method doesn't work for me. The bills need paid and my son is growing so quickly as kids do. I have to be his father on top of a writer and therein lies the rub. I love music and I've cherished the opportunity to be a rock journalist all these years, but I love my family more and they must come first. Thus The Metal Minute must take an indefinite nap.

The site will remain live, of course, but as mentioned last week, I do have a new blog I would like to coax you over to, The Crash Pad of Ray Van Horn, Jr. Simply click here:
The Crash Pad of Ray Van Horn, Jr.

The Crash Pad of Ray Van Horn, Jr. will be updated regularly. In fact, there's plenty of material there for you to gnaw on right now, so please visit and bookmark the site as you have so generously with this one. I will gladly trade links with you. The tone of the new blog will be less regimented but I'll still talk about film, music, books and life. Its primary purpose will serve as a homebase for all of my writing projects and announcements, plus whatever's lurking inside my twisted cranium. As support for the site grows, I could foresee throwing up archive excerpts of a few old interviews I've done and perhaps new ones. For instance, I have chats with Jaz Coleman of Killing Joke, Laura Pleasants of Kylesa and Viveca Hawkins and Thomas Pridgen of The Memorials that I've had stashed, two for Retaliate #2 before said venture was derailed.

I will remain connected to the entertainment industry. If anything, I've only just begun to grow with it. I welcome any proposed assignments, gigs, collaborations and grant opportunities. Please contact me using the email address noted here at the site and pitch away! Or simply let me know what you folks are up to and bounce on over to The Crash Pad.

As always, I thank each and every one of you for making this site a success. All of the bands, labels, video distributors and publicists have kept me fired up when coffee doesn't necessarily cut it in the mornings. Thanks to Devin Walsh, Alex Gilbert and those donating their writing talents to give me a break now and then when I needed one. Special thanks to Sheila Eggenberger for more than a year's worth of off-site camaraderie. Her social network cheerleading of this site was mega. Thanks to my regular commentators and playlist playmates. The Negative Nancies and potshot artists were thankfully kept to a minimum here at The Metal Minute, always a good thing when you're building your rep. I'm honored to have all of you in my stable of friends. To the thundering tune of Black Tusk and Chthonic this morning, I'm with you always.

I'll see you when I see you.

Visit me at: The Crash Pad of Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Album/DVD Review: Doro - 25 Years in Rock

2011-10-11T05:58:00.008-04:00

Doro - 25 Years in Rock
2011 Nuclear Blast Records
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Gads, can Doro Pesch throw a party. No doubt the memories of her 25th anniversary bash are still fresh in Doro's mind, to which she must be clinging in the aftershock of losing her Long Island home from the remnants Hurricane Irene. Hopefully at this point, the metal queen is licking her wounds watching the playback of her CD/DVD combo pack, 25 Years in Rock, because it was one hell of a show. As if her 20th anniversary concert wasn't memorable enough.

Five years have swept by since Doro's famous double decade gala (i.e. 20 Years a Warrior Soul) in her hometown of Dusseldorf, Germany. That outrageous revelry included guest appearances by Lemmy and Mikkey Dee of Motorhead, Udo Dirkschneider, Saxon, Blaze Bailey, Jean Beauvoir and a stint with her old Warlock running mates. It was a metal gig for the ages, yet for her quarter century celebration, Doro ups the ante with a major league stage set, pyro tech, metalhead cheerleaders, backing vocalists dressed like monks and an unbelievable cavalcade of guests.

Back to Dusseldorf we go for 25 Years in Rock and this is one of the loudest crowds you'll ever witness in a near-capacity-filled auditorium which Doro and her band pummels with tenacity. Even better that the two-and-a-half hour, 27 song set comprising 25 Years in Rock is loaded nearly halfway with Warlock songs on top of some of Doro Pesch's mightier solo cuts, including some from her most recent album, Fear No Evil. A generous portion of the Warlock tunes are fielded by Doro's current ensemble featuring Johnny Dee (drums), Oli Polatai (keys and guitars), Luca Princiotta (guitars and keys), Nick Douglas (bass) and Joe Taylor (guitars). While these guys are well-versed in the Warlock catalog having played with Doro for so long, it's still a giddy thing they whip out "Earthshaker Rock" and "Hellraiser" from Hellbound on top of the usual round of Triumph and Agony cuts "East Meets West," "Metal Tango," "I Rule the Ruins," "Fur Immer" and of course, Doro's perpetual rally cry, "All We Are."

Even better the True as Steel lineup of Warlock joins Doro onstage once again for a blistering mini set of "Burning the Witches," "True as Steel" and "Fight For Rock." Peter Szigeti and Niko Arvanitis are demonic shredders as ever, while Frank Rittel and Michael Eurich haven't lost a step either. This Warlock quasi-reunion is nothing short of spectacular, even more so than they were for Doro's 20th anniversary set. Next time, though, we want to hear "Mr. Gold," chums.

Speaking of spectacular, Doro's guest list for 25 Years in Rock is going to remain amongst her finest moments onstage. You have Bobby "Blitz" Ellsworth joining Doro for a rocking duet on "Always Live to Win," Jean Beauvoir making a second shindig appearance on "Burn it Up," Chris Boltendahl and Axel Rudi Pell riding shotgun on "East Meets West" and even Warrel Dane steps up to the plate during the Warlock set on "True as Steel." The centerpieces of Doro's guests are of course, her femme rocker vocal section on "Celebrate," including Sabina Classen of Holy Moses, Floor Jansen of After Forever, Jackie Chambers and Enid Williams from Girlschool, Liv Kristine Espenaes Krull of Leaves' Eyes, Liv Jagrell from Sister Sin and Ji-In Cho of Krypteria. Doro unintentionally overpowers her party-down backing section, but you can chalk that up to Doro's enthusiasm and her guests' graciousness to keep the spotlight where it needs to be. As it is, Doro and Tarja Turunen just about bring Dusseldorf to its knees on their duet for "Walking With the Angels."

All pretty incredible stuff, but nothing compared to Klaus Meine and Rudy Schenker coming onstage with Doro's band to rip out a pair of Scorpions covers, "Big City Nights" and "Rock You Like a Hurricane." This suddenly-iconic joining of forces ignites 25 Years in Rock with profound intensity. Meine and Schenker escalate the show with their mere presence and while Doro gags in a couple of spots (no doubt due to the unbelievable pressure set before her to throw down with the kingly Klaus), she soon revs it up along with her band and without a doubt, this will go down as a watermark in Doro's prolific career.

Happier still is how thunderous Doro's Fear No Evil selections sound live. The frequently tinny final cut of the studio album robbed much of its power, now retained in a live capacity. "Night of the Warlock," "Herzblut," "Celebrate" and "Walking With the Angels" are punchy, occasionally rowdy and perfectly punctuated.

25 Years in Rock comes as a triple pack with the live DVD, a hefty behind-the-scenes film (not to mention a huge gaggle of extra live video from Doro's 2,500th concert, Wacken 2009 and more) and a 40 minute audio accompaniment of selections from the show. All-told, one massive replay of a metal fiesta for the ages. Once the stage fills with more metal personalities than you count (Lemmy Kilmister, Tom Angelripper and Alexander Krull amongst them) during "All We Are," it's sheer evidence of how treasured Doro Pesch is to this scene. God bless Doro for as long as she can rock us with her majesty.

Rating: ****1/2

Album Review: Death - Individual Thought Patterns Reissue

2011-10-10T06:00:00.010-04:00

Death - Individual Thought Patterns 3CD reissue
2011 Relapse Records
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

1993 was when I graduated college and entered a crummy, recession-driven job market not altogether unlike the one we're in now. In some ways, I find irony that Death's outrageously memorable Individual Thought Patterns surfaces in both markets. This year, Relapse Records brings us Chuck Schuldiner's fifth album under the Death moniker in a special three-disc reissue featuring live material, a studio outtake of "The Exorcist" and four track demos amidst the bonus features.

Wish I'd tripped across Individual Thought Patterns in 1993 instead of later in life, but you see, the American metal market had been driven underground by apathy and an effective determination to rid the world of hairball heaven. I had already drifted away from metal to explore other genres, though still keeping an ear out for exciting things in the heavy underground. Too bad this one missed my radar initially. As rash a statement as this will be, I now find little in the grunge movement (except for maybe Mudhoney and early Soundgarden) which killed American metal that stands up from a craftsmanship standpoint to Individual Thought Patterns, not to mention Schuldiner's work surrounding this pivotal release. Had the metal world embraced Human, Individual Thought Patterns and Symbolic--not to mention the likewise brilliant Sound of Perseverence from 1998--would the genre have gone down so easily? There's plenty of excuses to dismiss metal and hard rock with Slaughter and Firehouse as its facemen. No excuse whatsoever when you had music as powerful as Death still chugging along beneath the fluff and the glitz.

Consider the superpower lineup flanking Chuck Schuldiner in '93 to record Individual Thought Patterns: Andy LaRoque, Steve DiGiorgio and Gene Hoglan. Of this triumvirate, only LaRoque was a metal household name at the time for his stature as King Diamond's six string impresario. Set against a shredding god like Chuck Schuldiner? Criminey, that's worth your ticket alone. While DiGiorgio and Sadus had farmed a cult audience, the hotshot story of the Individual Thought Patterns ensemble is naturally Gene Hoglan, today one of the hottest drummers on the planet.

If you're reading this, you're more than likely well-acquainted with Individual Thought Patterns, but the quick skinny on this album is that it remains one of Schuldiner's most supreme efforts--and metal's, by attrition. The logical evolution stemmed from 1990's Spiritual Healing and '91's Human, Individual Thought Patterns cultivates an intricate and effortless mash between death metal, thrash and power punch. This is undoubtedly what Schuldiner envisioned before there was ever such a thing as 1987's Scream Bloody Gore.

While Schuldiner has his share of critics (namely those he'd shown the gate over the constant fluctuation of his creative designs), this is one of his statement pieces as a music writer. Even if you don't have the constitution to roll with such ferocity and careening speed, you have to admire Schuldiner's fearless outlining on Individual Thought Patterns. He was one of the first metal freaks aside from Voivod to allow for prog and jazz elements amidst the careening speed, which Individual Thought Patterns well embraces. "Destiny" is a prime example, but you hear it all over the place on this album, thanks in large portion to Steve DiGiorgio's subliminal funk-a-matics.

You still get plenty of velocity throughout this album along with a then-strange musicality. It's so much you understand Schuldiner's ralphing and permissive signature veers which invite periods of scale-driven harmonies on "Out of Touch," "In Human Form," "Nothing is Everything" and "Mentally Blind." Let's not forget "Trapped in a Corner" and "The Philosopher," the latter of which actually made the cut at MTV. "Trapped in a Corner" features some insane jazzy bass from Steve DiGiorgio, even while the song bursts with faster thrash than most anyone playing metal in 1993--though Napalm Death and Morbid Angel would soon change those rules. "The Philosopher" may be the slowest cut on this album (you know MTV wasn't going to take one for "Overactive Imagination" if Schuldiner had cut a video), but it's an ornate distortion bomb dashed by heavy riffs and more of DiGiorgio's say what? Herbie Hancock-esque note plunks.

Of course, the most savory details of Individual Thought Patterns are shared between Chuck Schuldiner and Andy LaRoque, yet the collective efforts thrown into this album are why it is now revered--if not back in 1993. MTV was cool enough to throw Death into its confused rotation, though they disrespectfully served "The Philosopher" up for Beavis and Butthead's verbal cannonade after the cartoon rejects find out that's not the kid from Pearl Jam's "Jeremy" video. As if. No disrespect intended to Pearl Jam, but they couldn't light one of Chuck Schuldiner's farts in the technicality department, though no doubt Beavis and Butthead would welcome such a prospect with maniacal huffing and hawing.

This edition of Individual Thought Patterns is remastered by the illustrious Steve Douches and comes with two CDs of bonus material including a live set from 1993 in Germany. Amongst the live tracks are "Leprosy," "Lack of Comprehension," "Zombie Ritual," "Flattening of Emotions," "Suicide Machine" and "Living Monstrosity," along with "Overactive Imagination," "In Human Form" and "Trapped In a Corner" from Individual Thought Patterns. The third disc contains Individual Thought Patterns demos noodled by Chuck and Gene Hoglan on a four track in December, 1992.

We may living in a recession again, but the times have changed for metal. It's still underground but there's an unspoken respect factor from artists playing other styles, while the late Chuck Schuldiner is now one of the most respected musicians of his time. He may have invited bad karma unto himself by naming his band Death, but his music has become immortal. Individual Thought Patterns is but one chapter in his massive legacy.

Rating: ****1/2

Van of the Dead DVD Review: The Howling Reborn

2011-10-08T06:46:00.008-04:00

The Howling Reborn
2011 Anchor Bay Entertainment
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Of all the franchises to reboot, they just hadda go to the turd cutting Howling series...

Never mind the fact Joe Dante's original film The Howling in 1981 is mostly considered a genre classic, even though it veered away from Gary Brandner's original novel. Howling IV: The Original Nightmare is the closest to Brandner's vision, yet the six sequels following Dante's began a chain of abysmal wretchedness beginning with Howling II: Your Sister Is A Werewolf, one of the most despicable movies ever shot, pick your genre. Not even the heavenly rack of Sybil Danning nor the appearance of Christopher Lee could rescue that turkey. It never really got any better along the way, festering to pointlessness by the time 1995's cruddy Howling VII: New Moon Rising hit the video shelves. Even the interminable Witchcraft series was slightly better than those Howling sequels, and that's saying very little.

Yet here we are again in 2011 with The Howling Reborn, another attempt to breathe honor into a miserable slew of horror dreck. For the second time, Gary Brandner's The Howling II novel is consulted and promptly abandoned. Howling II the film resembled almost nothing of Brandner's vision and while it's a surprisingly decent entry for the first hour anyway, The Howling Reborn takes inspiration from Brandner in the slightest sense and creates its own contemporary stamp upon this series.

Starring Landon Liboiron (Terra Nova), Lindsey Shaw (10 Things I Hate About You) and Ivana Milicevic (Casino Royale), The Howling Reborn offers nothing in tribute to any of its predecessors. It is its own beast, pun intended. For awhile, The Howling Reborn plays like a teen angst Twilight vehicle for werewolves, but ultimately it falls to pieces in a slipshod finale with lame-o wolf digs and a Nowheresville battle resembling the hopeless ending of The Wolf Man remake.

Landon Liboiron plays Will Kidman, a pencil thin high school senior whom, we learn immediately, has a serious problem. He's a freakin' werewolf, borne from a mother who's supposedly killed in an attack from a lycanthrope. As Will nears graduation, he finally bonds with Lindsey Shaw's edgy punkette, Eliana Wynter--whom Will has maintained a longtime crush on. He's sketched her numerous times but has never had the nerve to approach her. Of course, the big reason for that is Eliana has a mad dog Russian boyfriend who routinely kicks the crap out of Will. Will, however, soon flips out and kills the boyfriend en route to the discovery he carries tainted blood.

The Howling Reborn tricks its audience into thinking Eliana is allied with the creepy teen wolf pack skulking around an urban parochial-esque school--one heavily guarded with steel doors. Really, her dark jaggedness is a ruse to push Will into finding his confidence and making his move in her direction. Eliana happens to be falling for him from a distance. Despite a couple of continuity flubs, the bottom line is Eliana's vampish tough girl persona is an act as her refusal to commit body and soul to a man is held in check in wait of the purest form of love. Naturally Will represents this higher love, even as a werewolf. Consequently, Eliana becomes so dedicated to Will she offers him a pact to let him transform her into a werewolf so they can be together eternally. Never mind Eliana never really grieves for her ex-boyfriend, whom Will has shredded. None of it matters after Will puts himself on the line for her once challenged by the werewolf pack hell-bent on recruiting him into their throng. Eliana will face Hell itself with Will at this point.

It's when Will's mother Catherine (Ivana Milicevic) resurfaces in a slinkier image and as the alpha leader of this werewolf clique where Will is forced to make the choice between Eliana or surrendering to the wolfsbane summoning him to the next phase of evolution.

Again, the first hour of The Howling Reborn is relatively well-crafted and for the most part, intriguing. A plus, the acting is tight, the occasional humor (mostly provided by Will's best friend Sachin) is spot-on and for awhile anyway, it seems like director Joe Nimziki has his act together. You allow him the suspension of disbelief hall pass because Nimziki really does seem to want to give horror fans a memorable werewolf flick. With Will videotaping his transformation as evidence lycanthropes exist, all set to go viral as a global warning, this is a pleasant twist upon a beat-to-death genre.

Will is somewhat sympathetic, his widower father is reasonably tragic (later getting picked up and pummeled by his own wife in an unrecognizable form) and Eliana is a plain Jane with an attitude who rocks a plaid skirt and you actually believe she's in love with Will. You're disappointed she doesn't shag him in the library once breathlessly testing his limits, not so much for the nudity scorned, but because you actually care. Point to Nimziki, also one of the film's principal writers. Even though the rave scene where Eliana coaxes Will out to finally meet her face-to-face is unstable due to some overly shifty maneuvers where Nimziki clouds who is who in the werewolf underground lurking at the dance party, we still want to see these kids together...at that point, anyway.

It's when Catherine and her werewolf brood entraps her son and Eliana inside the school with the graduation ceremony going down outside when this film takes a downward spiral. The creatures are bland and unexciting, while the edits of the werewolf attacks are choppy and dizzying. You can tell this is low budget horror by the quick and annoying framing of those ho-hum werewolves. It has nothing to do with establishing fear and paranoia. It's because the costumes stink. God, for the awesome dinner party scene from The Company of Wolves... Strange, though, how the brief but effective slivers of CGI-aided transformations of Catherine's lycanthrope army come long after the hokey showdown. A case of being too much, too late once they come. We needed them far earlier in the film instead of being part of a rush job in an uninspired deneumont.

The film's messy closing finds Eliana emphatically coaxing Will to make love to her and turn her into a werewolf. He does surrender and rakes her back with his claws in partial transformation. By this time, we no longer care about watching them hump, because it's all so clumsy and dumb--especially with a handful of lycanthropes circulating about the school on their trails. Even though Nimziki takes precaution by having Will and Eliana throw discarded pieces of clothing to "throw off" their scents, you just don't buy into it any longer. This is supposed to be looked upon as Eliana's penultimate sacrifice and there's a noble offscreen narrative from Will while he plunges his face into her breasts (sorry fellas, they don't come out) about his generation having no concept of what true love is. Unfortunately, its placement within a high tension moment is just out of rhythm. We needed this revelation in a more intimate setting for us to give a damn.

Eliana naturally later arrives in the nick of time, herself a werewolf, to save Will an inglorious dispatching at the paws of Mommy Wolfie. Meanwhile, the graduation ceremonies are ensuing outside the school in a downpour while all of this stupid carnage ensues. Say what? It's a real shame, this implausibility, because the majority of Joe Nimziki's storyline inside the school is plenty plausible, save for the fact nobody (along with Eliana) seems to give a rat's ass the Russian boyfriend bit it in the stairwell. Even though you suspect there's something awry with Ivana Milicevic when she briefly soothes Will outside school, there's something promising in her prediction of his revenge that doesn't get capitalized on. Yeah, a later scene of Will being served the finger of Eliana's ex on a hot dog roll by one of the clandestine werewolves in the school cafeteria is hilarious, but it's also indication this film is going straight downhill from there.

The Howling Reborn becomes so much of a cheat you don't even care about the epilogue snippets within the end credits. Will's video goes viral across the planet, the world prepares to stand down against a werewolf invasion, electricity goes out to the tune of a...you know what. Whatever.

Seriously, The Howling Reborn might've stood a better chance directly remaking Dante's film, even if it deserves props for trying to roll on its own merits. The merits keep your attention for awhile, but in the end, we want Dee Wallace Stone to show up and rain havoc with a spray of silver-tipped ammunition to lay the whole enterprise to rest, permanently. We'll never get that lucky, though.

Book Review: The Armageddon Chord by Jeremy Wagner

2011-10-07T06:21:00.013-04:00

The Armageddon Chord by Jeremy Wagner
2011 kNight Romance Publishing
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

You might know Jeremy Wagner, guitarist from Broken Hope and Lupara. Over the years, you might've read Wagner in the pages of Rip, Terrorizer and Metal Edge. The guy's a metalhead and he has some cred, suffice it to say. He has the qualifications to pen a novel about a metal shredder pit against the forces of evil in a guitar throwdown for the end of days.

The Armageddon Chord is Wagner's debut novel and therein lies the caveat. Wagner's expertise on guitar gear and stage and studio mechanics are par excellence. Also sharp is his knowledge on Egyptian and biblical history. These collide in a quirky R-rated Tales From the Darkside episode, The Armageddon Chord, a story where an unsympathetic guitar wizard is forced by a slimy corporate villain and his deformed Nazi sidekick into opening the gates of Hell.

Wagner's lead, Kirk Vaisto, is considered in this novel's cosmos, the God of Guitar. Kirk, former guitarist of a sleaze rock band, Cardinal Slynn, is running the ruts of a prolific solo career. The most we know of Kirk Vaisto is he rose to fame as a teenage prodigy and currently lives in swank without someone to love, save for his one night stands. Vaisto is relatively comfortable as a loner despite his fame, which leaves him ripe for the wooing by a pair of satanists, conglomerate overlord Festus Baustone and his Hitler-worshipping Egyptologist, Helmut Hartkopff. Helmut has unearthed a lost papyrus of music, the key to raising the devil from his underworld chamber. Helmut's hated financier Baustone simply craves immortality and considers no monetary figure high enough to achieve eternal life, even if life consists of a wasteland thereafter. As we learn, Baustone is so depraved he'll sell out his own offspring to get what he wants. The powermad partners in sin thus seek out Vaisto as a musical medium to finish the translations into playable music form and to expound them as a death sentence against mankind.

The plot of The Armageddon Chord is as nutty as it sounds. Vaisto unwittingly discovers the evil powers lurking behind the music once he scorches them from his bleeding fingers. His studio fries after playing it the first time and possessed by the music, Vaisto is introduced to horrific visions of death orgies, demon armies scalding the earth and his own carcass strapped to a giant guitar. Though he wants nothing to do with the music after learning its destructive capacities, Vaisto is coerced by Baustone and Hartkopff into fulfilling his contractual obligations and worse, extending them to their devious whims. Like Vader to Lando Calrissian, the deal just gets worse.

Along the way, Vaisto finds his former bandmate, Jack Slynn, who was reported to have died, though we learn Slynn has gone underground in fear of of his life. Slynn attracted Baustone's undivided attention after getting his daughter Mona, pregnant, then using her like a piece of trash, going so far as to kick her the gut while carrying their child. Wagner's introduction of Slynn is more the excuse to bring Mona Baustone into the picture. Mona oversees Kirk's translation progress and, go figure, they do the hump-dee-hump and fall in in love. Their bond is "cemented" when Daddy Baustone treats her like a pawn, worse than Jack Slynn ever did.

Vaisto is also confronted by a strange old priest, Father Zacharelli, who brings Kirk a guitar made of fragments from the sacred cross and nails used to crucify Jesus Christ. Though Vaisto is dubious of it all, Zacharelli convinces Vaisto enough to accept the holy guitar, which becomes an instrument of salvation once Kirk has unleashed Hell in a concert spectacle that rattles the entire planet.

To Wagner's credit, he has the guts to show Satan as pure evil and he, better than Stryper ever did, shows the glory of God in the name of metal. As Lucifer really is just a mascot of heavy metal, The Armaggedon Chord taps into the deceiver's vile propensities and exploits them for his story almost as effectively as Mercyful Fate's Don't Break the Oath. A lot of folks reading this story are going to chuckle when Helmut turns into a demon and literally pisses on the dismembered remains of his former benefactor. They're also likely to squint when Wagner has Satan declare himself the brother of Christ and morphs his image into a like representation of Jesus in the attempt to manipulate Kirk.

On the other hand, however, Wagner's novel is full of faults, the sign of a developing writer. You don't really buy into the romance between Kirk and Mona because there's not much glue between them before they skin it and shag one another. You would think Kirk is dubious of Mona, reported by Jack Slynn to be a stalker extreme, albeit the argument could be made Kirk has a soft side for the troubles she'd endured by Jack. Yes, people meet and are smitten by instant attraction, but to have Kirk suddenly cave in to Mona just because they got vertical? There could've been more potatoes with the meat to make us understand why they fell for one another. Love at first fuck? Only in Bon Scott's microcosm.

Worse, you have to wonder how a non-believer suddenly converted after God has chosen him to eradicate the devil has the wherewithal to continue his filthy conduct of speak after all he's been through. Vaisto is literally saved in the story's climax and embraces God's will to act as His channel. There's something virtuous God saw in Kirk Vaisto that Wagner implies but doesn't follow up on. We're to assume Vaisto's God-given gift of virtuosity was bestowed upon him as God's future knight specifically for this showdown. Okay, so we don't expect Vaisto to go puritan afterwards, but all of the excessive profanity in the final chapter tells us Vaisto isn't better off whatsoever for his traumas. Sure, he's reaming out his scuzbag manager for getting him into this mess, but you would think Vaisto learned a little humility.

A lot of the names of things, people and events are schlocky, as if Wagner subconciously mashed Mad and Hustler magazines with Hit Parader in his brain stew. Those, and Spawn comics. Consider band names like Korncobb, Snothole and Armored Darlings, a singer named Dizzy Letchfield and a guitarist named Bag 'O Shit Boggs. Seriously? At one point, the devil speaks like an old woman as he badgers Vaisto. Umm, does anyone else start saying "Why you do this to me, Dami?" in their heads? That's from The Exorcist, in case you miss the reference. While The Armageddon Chord has been compared to Joe Lansdale by one reviewer, Writer of the Purple Sage and Bubba Ho-Tep this is not. Wagner has a minute touch of Lansdale's bizarre hands, but they still need mucho mojo refinement.

Though The Armageddon Chord is a stealthy 253 pages in large print, there are times when Wagner smothers us with more tekkie information than needs be in order to keep things rolling. Wagner is astute in creating a rock 'n roll hell and in many spots he writes compelling passages that turns the book into a steamrolling juggernaut. Unfortunately, there are many cliches and skids that are the mark of a beginner. Aside from Mona, we don't really care too much about any of these people, and many of her lines are just the stuff of male fantasy. When Wagner explicitly describes the sex between Kirk and Mona, it's juicy but it's also Penthouse Forum. Flashing her tits at Kirk when they are separated from one another in trailers prior to the big hellraising concert? Yeah, you get why Wagner uses it as a tension breaker, but would people under such duress really act that way? What happens backstage doesn't always remain there, as Wagner implies in his writing.

Suffice it to say, The Armageddon Chord is absolutely silly, but Jeremy Wagner does demonstrate the ability to pen a start-to-finish concept with enough historical and technical decoration to flesh the venture out. Left with its bawdy elements intact, The Armageddon Chord would make a riotous episode in a Masters of Horror-themed cable anthology.

Not to rip on Wagner too much, because we want to encourage him as an author. Musicians today aren't allowed the luxury of artist development as they flub and flaw on the voyage towards their ultimate voice. Wagner as an individual artist is engaging himself and his audience on the same flux as his associated bands. Let's see what he dishes out next before further tattooing his work or praising it.

Album Review: Wayne Static - Pighammer

2011-10-06T05:44:00.005-04:00

Wayne Static - Pighammer
2011 Dirthouse Records
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

So now we have something we might subtitle "Otsego Solo," the debut album from Wayne Static as an individual artist. Pighammer is the album in question and if your main question is how much different this album is from Static-X, well, not much, honestly. That ends up being a good thing since Static-X is one of the few bands from the long-dead "nu metal" explosion that still carries any weight.

In a concept stewed beneath his electro-shocked tower coif, Wayne Static masterminds a humping 42 minute groove metal album that (on the front) comes off as a ripping merge between Motel Hell, Autopsy, The Human Centipede and Bride of Frankenstein. Pighammer is Wayne Static's intentionally demented quasi concept album about a fetish-oriented plastic surgeon who likes to sew pig snouts to beautiful ladies. For the disarming artwork of Pighammer, it's no surprise Wayne Static utilized his wife, ex-porn star Tera Wray Static.

There's no love dumping on this album, only random bits of Wray Static's sex panting ("Static Killer") and her other haunted vocal plants, while Wayne engineers the guitars, bass, programming, synths and beats. Though this brings the Pighammer enterprise down to a more singular, rawer method of attack, Wayne Static's capacity for hip-shaking furrows does him favor. Start a War and Shadow Zone began an age of stripped for Static-X, so it's only natural Wayne Static follows suit on his own. He keeps the album on a throb for much of the ride before slinking to the finish line on an intentional drag. In other words, very much like a Static-X record.

While the contributions of Koichi Fukuda and Nick Oshiro (and before he split for Soulfly, Tony Campos) create more depth in tone and tempo, at least Wayne Static proves on Pighammer he can assemble a largely entertaining "evil disco" record on his own. The whole pig hammer ethos is a metaphoric smoke screen for Static's actual underlying message: his getting off of drugs.

Sometimes the message is blunt, such as "Get it Together," which you can get the gist in title alone. No doubt Tera has helped Wayne Static do just that, and though the insinuation of a solo record hints possible dischord within the main band, there's no doubt Pighammer is Static's personal purge. He's got it together on the driving "Around the Turn," "Chrome Nation," "Assasins of Youth" and the double-tripped "Thunder Invader," all worthy of a Static-X album, much less this one. Wayne Static's rhythmic scat-huffed vocals are as sharp as ever on these cuts, as are his riffs and electro washes.

Even though Static is relegated more to drum machines on this album, you don't mind it so much since there's still a swing to Pighammer that separates it from industrial and commercial metal, two tags forever heaped upon Static-X but not wholly accurate. Pighammer might've stood better to carry some extra momentum into the final third of the album, once "Shifter" turns the speed knob and sequencers backwards. Still, Wayne Static pours out some nasty riffage and wallowing vocals (drifting into Jonathan Davis territory on "Shifter's" bridges) along with a heaving bob that would steer other bands directly onto FM hard rock radio. "Slave" could have no problem banging out on today's FM next to Nick Oshiro's former band, Seether, while Wayne's chilly synths give the track a trippy shake.

As Koichi Fukuda is romping around with Drugstore Fanatics in the duration of Static-X's hiatus, Wayne Static throws a pretty cool rip 'n rave on Pighammer. It's been 12 years since Static-X's Wisconsin Death Trip, and much of that album's (and Machine's, for that matter) scorching density has been traded away for leaner drives. Pighammer is no different in mentality and is overall impressive as a one-man-jam. Wayne Static has kicked his assassins of youth to the curb through his marriage and his music and that's the bigger picture.

Rating: ***1/12

Whattya Listenin' to Wednesday - 10/5/11

2011-10-05T07:20:00.003-04:00

Literally late for the road, so a quick howdy, everybody.

Adding the new Wayne Static solo record and possibly The Howling Reborn to the master list of stuff coming up.

I have a new blog, The Crash Pad of Ray Van Horn, Jr. which I invite you to jump over at http://rayvanhornjr2.blogspot.com/ More later on what the new blog stands for.

Be true, gang...

Mastodon - The Hunter
Mastodon - Crack the Skye
Opeth - Deliverance
Opeth - Damnation
Opeth - Blackwater Park
Opeth - Ghost Reveries
Opeth - Heritage
Wayne Static - Pighammer
Sleep - Sleep's Holy Mountain
Black Sabbath - Master of Reality
Deep Purple - The Shades of Deep Purple
Deep Purple - Come Taste the Band
Alice in Chains - Facelift
Mike Oldfield - Tubular Bells
Orange Goblin - Frequencies From Planet Ten
Bitches Sin - The Rapture
War - Anthology 1970 - 1994
Steve Miller Band - Young Hearts: Complete Greatest Hits
Grateful Dead - Wake of the Flood
Janis Joplin with Big Brother - Live at Winterland '68
The Raveonettes - Chain Gang of Love
Run-DMC - s/t
Run-DMC - Tougher Than Leather
Run-DMC - Raising Hell
Givers - In Light

Van of the Dead Blu Ray/DVD Review: Scre4m

2011-10-04T00:30:00.004-04:00

Scre4m
Anchor Bay Entertainment/Dimension Films
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

The arrival of Scre4m (or Scream 4, if you prefer) last year was met with mixed reviews and fewer box office returns than Dimension Films and The Weinstein Company had hoped for. After all, Rob Zombie's Halloween cookouts brought them enough duckets to count on a Scream revival. We are living in harsh times where the economy dictates film attendance, yet the critical element to a movie prospering or floundering is what it has to offer jaded, video-addicted audiences stubborn to part with ten bucks a pop.

The thing with Wes Craven's decision to once again helm the horror franchise he began in 1996 is Scre4m knows precisely where we're at as a society. The key is matching up its trademark villain to a world more technologically advanced and more desensitized than when Scream first haunted theaters. By now there's very little jolt and juice behind Ghostface. He/she shows up so frequently in a Scream film the audience is even more benumbed to the Edvard Munch-inspired death persona than a Jason Voorhees romp.

You'd think everything Ghostface has to offer us has been exercised to full elasticity through the first three Scream films. Really, there's very little dynamic to Ghostface. Some young neurotic soul dons the shroud and the ghoul mask, calls all of the victims ahead of time and badgers the piss out them via a voice scrambler. The running gag since Drew Barrymore immortalized frame one of the original Scream has been to query victims about their favorite horror flicks before carving them up.

Suffice it to say, this is exactly what you're going to get in Scre4m, yet the banner phrase "New Decade, New Rules" applies not only the techno dweeb overhauling to bring the series into modern times. It specifically applies to the running farce throughout the Scream series. In the spirit of Scream 2 and large chunks of the original film, Scre4m roasts today's horror realm which is dictated by remakes, reboots and recycling. Indeed, Scre4m deliberately recycles itself in the interest of satirizing itself.

While Scre4m doesn't wholly deliver the impact of its predecessors, you do have to give it props for a blaster cast of refugees from the first three films, i.e. Neve Campbell, Courtney Cox and David Arquette, mingled with current generation teen sex symbol Emma Roberts and a game gaggle of newer names: Hayden Panettier, Rory Culkin and Adam Brody. Moreover, you have to give Scre4m further props for having the moxy to declare itself a reboot within a reboot. In other words, Ghostface is going old school by recreating the events of the first Scream, only this time, ol' pale puss gets to do it through the world of 4G smart phones, webcams and the internet. Remember, the worldwide web was still relegated to mostly dial-up when the first Scream hit theaters and this film was in danger of similar antiquity by association. At least Generation Tech was around to upgrade it. Otherwise, why bother?

In Scre4m, Neve Campbell's enduring lead Sidney Prescott has done well for herself in the world as author to a non-fiction recount of the traumas she's faced at the multiple hands comprising Ghostface. Why in the world she'd ever want to return to Woodsboro where the previous carnage has ensued is left to the realm of suspension of disbelief, but Sidney's homecoming for a book signing kicks Ghostie back into action. As mentioned, Ghostface's rampaging is designed to mimic the original slayings as a twisted tribute and revamp.

Scre4m begins with a nutty sequence of fakeout intros as part of the ongoing Stab film series which inflates Ghostface's gory macro world. As you'll remember, the spoofy Stab movies within the Scream series were created out of Sidney's bloody encounters with Ghostface. As of Scre4m, we've now come up to Stab 7 (a blatant nyuk nyuk, of course) and a group of horror film geeks at Woodsboro High throw a Stab franchise party which does and doesn't become a focal point for Ghostface's hack 'em manuevers.

Instead of going for the obvious slice up at the party, however, Ghostie shows up in other spots designed to mirror scenes specific to the original film. Always keep in mind with this film that it is intentionally spoofing the whole enterprise even down to the more minute details.

Emma Roberts plays Jill, Sidney's distant cousin who has never met her until Sidney's arrival in Woodsboro. David Arquette's bumbling cop hero Dewey is now the town sheriff, while the sizzling Courtney Cox reprises her reporter with a 'tude lead, Gale. Whatever reported personal problems Arquette and Cox may have had in the time between Scream 3 and Scre4m are professionally put to the back burner. They're nearly as chemically sharp as the previous films, though Dewey takes everything serious to the point of critical mass while Gale just wants him to respect her investigative prowess. After all, she too has written books about the Woodsboro murders and both are put into action in apposite directions while Ghostie does what he does.

While Scre4m tries to fake you out with Jill's hyper-obsessive ex-boyfriend, Trevor (Nico Tortorella), you can pretty much figure out who Ghostface is and who the partner in crime is, since once again, this film is a pointed provocation of the original film. There isn't much amplitude to Scre4m's finale, though you do find yourself shaking your head at how long it takes to wrap up business.

Scre4m is more or less a popcorn horror film in which its characters laugh all the way through Shaun of the Dead and of course, the snarky Stab series. A hilarious jibe from the script comes when the kids at the Stab party are reciting every line in unison. Scre4m wants to be from-the-hip clever like Scream 2 and its genre in-jokes are admirable but not overly riotous. Sometimes Ghostface lingers too long in the midst of a killing, in full pause as if waiting for Craven to yell cut. Somehow, you don't imagine that was part of the intended humor. Still, Scre4m has fun with itself and if you're old school, you have to laugh at the film's torching of contemporary horror "rules," one of which includes using CGI-aided gutting sequences.

Hopefully there's no Stab 8 lingering about...

Album Review: Mastodon - The Hunter

2011-10-01T10:15:00.009-04:00

Mastodon - The Hunter
2011 Reprise Records
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Mastodon has now reached a critical point in their careers, not that one would assume it to be the case. Riding high on a major label yet commanding the respect of the underground which gave them flight, Mastodon is still one of the mightiest metal acts of this generation--if not the mightiest.

For a band that has written its own rules, Mastodon finds themselves in a precarious position marketing-wise. Normally no one recording a second indisputable masterpiece as Mastodon did in 2009 with Crack the Skye would have to answer to any powers but their own. Yet, where Mastodon finds themselves as of their fifth album The Hunter is in answer to their label--at least to an extent.

"Curl of the Burl," the first single off of The Hunter, is so atypical of Mastodon one automatically feels the band was compelled to write a straightforward rocking ditty to appease Reprise/Warner Brothers. After all, the megalabel conglomerate has invested a fair chunk into Mastodon and eventually the check comes due. In this case, Mastodon has to pay up with a potential hit single--or at least a sincere attempt at one. "Curl of the Burl" is a rhythmic chugger that takes some getting used to if you're still hung over from the dizzying sludge prog Mastodon has thrown at their listeners from Leviathan on up. "Curl of the Burl" is FM friendly and thus the track has nudged its way through the airwaves. We're happy for Mastodon, but still leery. Motley Crue and Metallica were never the same after FM gobbled them up.

Would we say Mastodon has sold out? Absolutely not. Would we say they've crossed over? Well, at least through the first few tracks of The Hunter we could say they've made a case for mainstream acceptance. Albeit the safe and steady radio hawks are likely going to be tailspun by the time "Stargasm" and "Octopus Has No Friends" start whirling like the Mastodon we know and love.

The sure shot statement about The Hunter, however, is that Mastodon has dipped back into the gargantuan riff structure and prog patterns of Leviathan and replicated them with a veteran's polish. While there's a curious perfection to this Leviathan update, this also permits Mastodon to include occasional sublets of Led Zeppelin (i.e. "Octopus Has No Friends") and Yes ("All the Heavy Lifting"). Hell, we get a blatant though tasty rip on the Steve Miller Band at the beginning of "Creature Lives" with a Lucas-esque THX overhaul of the spacey synth intro to Miller's "Jet Airliner."

While "Black Tongue" retains Mastodon's trademark heavy stamping and note bobbing, there's a hair more musicality to it and therein lies the primary mojo to The Hunter. Hard-edged musicality versus climactic thunder. Safe to say Brent Hinds is snug with his mountain man clean wailing, because The Hunter's songs are tailored for maximum impact yet with enough restraint to let Hinds color them vocally. He is Ozzy-esque on the psychedelic title track, while Hinds, Troy Sanders and Brann Dailor harmonize together on the snakebiting "Dry Gone Valley" to create a gnarly Josh Homme-Layne Staley cadence. Then again, there's no way to describe the band's chuckly yipping on "Creature Lives." Did we honestly foresee this as far back as Remission? Not really.

Speaking of Brann Dailor, the man deserves Drummer of the Year accolades without challenge. Only Dave Lombardo can surpass this cat and yet, Dailor's supreme tommy gun snares, rumbling rolls and perfect floor tom strikes (at double or single beat) offer the metal drumming performance of 2011. Dailor is always money, yet The Hunter might be his comeuppance--as if he already hasn't had it with Leviathan, Blood Mountain and Crack the Skye. No matter how tempered and driven the songs are on The Hunter, be it "Black Tongue," "Blasteroid," "Dry Gone Valley," "Thickening" and "Curl of the Burl," of course, you can count on Brann Dailor to give them all more excitement and flair with his detailed skin work.

If The Hunter has any guilty offenses, it's simply giving their label what they want, which is a shrewdly-focused album still with their massive hooves planted in the scene giving them life. Outside of Slayer, Mastodon is the heaviest act the majors will bank on (almost nobody in the big leagues would sign a band based on the mashing detonation Mastodon dishes on "Spectrelight") but it's to the band's credit they remain progressive artists in the process of keeping their employers happy. They dash "Bedazzled Fingernails" with enough weird electronics to remain heavily quirky, while the gorgeous yet trippy "The Sparrow" still runs as the most accessible tune Mastodon has ever written, "Curl of the Burl" notwithstanding. On "The Sparrow," Mastodon professes to pursue happiness with diligence, and the sludgy guitar solos make their point amidst the song's dreamy swoon.

In the end, The Hunter is another huge success for Mastodon. "Curl of the Burl" is a grower but it is a sign to take note of as Mastodon continues to hammer the metal scene with its prolific might. However, for all the commercial plying Mastodon employs on The Hunter, they respectfully counter it with blazing prog and the occasional bit of nuttiness to prove they still have their metal hearts where they're supposed to be.

Rating: ****

Album Review: Opeth - Heritage

2011-09-29T06:56:00.010-04:00

Opeth - Heritage
2011 Roadrunner Records
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

You have to feel maybe a hair sorry for Opeth. After scoring huge with the metal public on Ghost Reveries, the lords of Goth have been forced by attrition to keep up with their own hype. Not that Opeth are overtly concerned about hype, per se, but when you're reputed as one of the most articulate dark metal acts on the planet, well, it's difficult to top the stream of excellence ranging from Damnation to Blackwater Park to the breakout sensation that was Ghost Reveries.

It's been three years since Opeth released Watershed, an album that was well-received by the press and metal fans alike, however, it was clear that the ethereal mojo of Blackwater Park and Ghost Reveries had disippated. Instead, Watershed embarked Opeth upon a new path of rock and prog-driven exploration that allowed for hammering organs and the diving crunch chords of Deep Purple and early years Pink Floyd. In other words, hype be damned, Opeth is doing what they want--get on board if you're of like mind.

On their tenth "observation" (as Opeth likes to refer to their records) Heritage, the same motifs are embraced, only this time Opeth really goes for the gusto by hailing some Jethro Tull into their arcane music world. The rowdy flutes akin to Tull's Ian Anderson play a heavy hand in the later songs amidst Opeth's acoustic-laden, Mellotron-splashed and growl-removed Heritage. Hard to consider them death metal or even Goth metal, at least for this round. Instead, Opeth re-emerges with their classical training doing them much service along with their King Crimson affinities to create a hybrid of whispery prog-gloom that still reverberates. Opeth's reknowned signature swaps of the past are less the story on Heritage as the emphasis is more on modified textures and candlelit mood scapes.

Exchanging their thunderclapped climaxes for a more sensual attack to their songwriting on Heritage, Opeth proves yet again they're fearless artisans. The quietus woven by the piano-led intro piece, "Heritage" carries a subliminal jazz splash ala Vince Guaraldi, even in the midst of its melancholic crawl. You already know by instinct Opeth is branching for something beyond even their own studious capabilities. Though Opeth shakes out their limbs on "The Devil's Orchard" straight from "Heritage's" haunting apoplexy, stand ready for dips into Mellotron atmospherics and King Crimson progression in "The Devil's Orchard's" final stanza.

The thing with this album even more than any Opeth has written is that there is a commanding sway into classic prog ala King Crimson, Jethro Tull, Yes, Pink Floyd, ELP, Spock's Beard and of course, the more elaborate hoists of Deep Purple. Opeth more or less summons the subvert power of their acoustic dementia splayed out on Damnation and they accent, accent, accent all over Heritage. They climax in spurts, opting more for canvassing their Swedish fugue with the might of slow-rolling titania, but only after extensive periods of decorative sedation.

"I Feel the Dark" rides on a large caress of acoustics and Moogs while Mikael Akerfeldt courageously relies on the oomph of his clean vocals here and throughout the entire album. "Slither" afterwards merges its devil-may-care gust with a wildly-appropriate Deep Purple thrum, complete with rockout organs from Per Wiberg (who strangely left the band after recording this album) and guitar riffs that unabashedly attempt to mirror Ritchie Blackmore. All the juicier Opeth closes "Slither" with a Renaissance-flavored outro that even Blackmore himself would smirk at. At 4:03, "Slither" is a quickly-realized foray into pattern variance which feels complete yet strangely barren at the end.

Said barrenness is retained in the ghostly "Nepenthe," where the acoustics and keys are barely audible, creating a paranoid expectancy swirling lightly in a tempered jazz-rock mode ala Steely Dan. The pace abruptly shifts to quick outbursts of King Crimson prog detonations before settling again, resuming this methodology a few bars until wandering back into the ether from which the track began.

Hence, Heritage does require more patience and understanding for what Opeth is trying to achieve. This album is even more territorial than anything Opeth has recorded in the past and Akerfeldt's gutsy decision to throw out all demonic ralphs even in an album dedicated to the telling of good and evil will alienate a few people. The strength of his cleans, however, make Heritage more of a forceful enterprise, considering the vibe is well-stripped and luxuriant. The alluring details on "Haxprocess" would be cheated if Akerfeldt began chuffing at the expected pauses and tone shifts. Instead, "Haxprocess" relies more on reserved tapestries of acoustic, synth and reeled-in distortion to make a bold statement.

The same can be said of the lengthier "Famine," which at least booms periodically and channels through winding progression and maniacal fluting, all carried to rhythmic perfection on the sucessive shorter track "The Lines In My Hand." The latter song is where Heritage as an album climaxes and it's a loud and busy payoff for all the note-bled treading beforehand. A method to the madness, as the saying goes.

Thus the sweeping passages in the final two minutes of "Folklore" are maddeningly gorgeous. How could a band carry us through so many pastures of volume to crest on a stunning breeze we've expected all the way and yet never see coming in "Folklore?" As brilliant as the acoustic, electric, Moog and organ-hushed finale, "Marrow of the Earth," ending this venture on a jagged beauty even Mike Oldfield would be proud of.

Heritage has been described by a few as a creeper album since it makes the listener work as hard as Opeth themselves did to create it. When all is said and done, however, Heritage is the musical embodiment of a Heironymous Bosch painting where perpetual purgatory reigns with the uncertainty of salvation or perdition.

Heritage is a reflection of human fear and a cautious tread towards the banks of evil. Opeth has never been more seductive in their work and this is one of the most seductive bands in the world. Instead of clouting and routing their audience this time, they strive for high art in the vein of their cherished audile old masters. You may crave more explosions from Heritage, but when they come, you will feel more than elated. The rest of it, you'll be amazed by Opeth's daring craftsmanship, even more than you were the first time you heard Blackwater Park or Orchid long beforehand.

Rating: ****

Whattya Listenin' to Wednesday - 9/28/11

2011-09-28T06:15:00.003-04:00

Greetings, folks, still getting my bearings today, so we'll keep the chatter reserved to add the new Opeth album, Heritage and the Scream 4 DVD to The Metal Minute's immediate prospectus.

Likely most of you have already heard the new Mastodon album, The Hunter, while I'm still letting it swim around in my ears before coming to full judgment. What are your thoughts on it, peeps?

As always, your support of this site is more than appreciated.

Primus - Sailing the Seas of Cheese
Primus - Pork Soda
Primus - Antipop
Primus - Green Naugahyde
Mastodon - The Hunter
Opeth - Heritage
Gary Moore - Live at Montreux 2010
Black Pussy - On Blonde EP
Holy Moses - Queen of Siam
Holy Moses - Finished With the Dogs
Alice Cooper - Billion Dollar Babies
Alice Cooper - Welcome to My Nightmare
Alice Cooper - Dada
Alice Cooper - From the Inside
Bitches Sin - The Rapture
Corrosion of Conformity - Wiseblood
Corrision of Conformity - In the Arms of God
Every Time I Die - Hot Damn!
It's Casual - Stop Listening to Bad Music
It's Casual - The New Los Angeles
It's Casual - Buicregl
Joan Jett and The Blackhearts - Greatest Hits
Grateful Dead - The Grateful Dead
Grateful Dead - Blues for Allah
Grateful Dead - Workingman's Dead
Grateful Dead - American Beauty
Fleet Foxes - Helplessness Blues
Tron: Legacy soundtrack
Raphael Saadiq - Stone Rollin'
The Civil Wars - Barton Hollow

Album Review: Gary Moore - Live at Montreux 2010

2011-09-27T06:00:00.006-04:00

Gary Moore - Live at Montreux 2010
2011 Eagle Records
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Earlier in the year, we were stung with the loss of former Thin Lizzy and journeyman guitar genius, Gary Moore. Even more of a shock to hear of his passing when you consider Moore was reported by everyone who knew him to be musically invigorated and eager to rip away. Moore was said to be in excellent shape by those close to him and working on a Celtic-flavored rock album. If his unfinished studio work reflected even a miniscule shred of his final performance at the Montreux Jazz Festival last year, man, were we robbed as a listening body.

Gary Moore was no stranger to playing (much less attending) Montreux. One of the revered festival's recurring performers, Moore gave Lake Geneva a blistering display of his capabilities in 2010. Though nobody could've seen it coming, Moore had saved his best for last.

While Gary Moore has spent more than a fair chunk of his career slinging blues and jazz in the studio and particularly onstage at Montreux, it's this 2010 set where Moore lowers the boom and summons the loud. Fair to say Moore's reconnection with keyboardist and collborator Neil Carter unlocked some old rock chests that blows this Montreux concert up in a way some fans might've thought would remain locked. Still in cahoots with Primal Scream drummer Darrin Mooney along with former Jethro Tull bassist Jon Noyce, Moore's band gallavanting through last year's European Summer of Rock jaunt did much to elevate his stature.

A recent Thin Lizzy awareness (and reformation) likewise brought Moore back into the rock limelight as one of its most beloved members behind Phil Lynott. Even though Moore's most recent studio album Bad For You Baby was blues-oriented, it's clear as the thundering decibels in this set Moore was set to rock.

The Celtic rock album Moore was reportedly recording fueled his drive to slam and a few songs from that project are premiered on Live at Montreux 2010: "Days of Heroes," "Oh Wild One" and "Where Are You Now." Ranging from gallant to reverential, these new "previews," if you will, haunt happily of Thin Lizzy ("Days of Heroes") and of the experimental nature of his 1973 album Grinding Stone. The gin and the bangers waft about Moore's entire set, and it's clear his Irish pride has never waned. At age 58, Moore was even more the patriot of his motherland than ever. All he needed was some dulcimer and bodhran, but instead his frets did all the marching in this highly inspired performance.

Joyous for veteran fans, the majority of Moore's set is derived from his eighties' post-Lizzy solo work. "Out in the Fields" and "Military Man" check in from 1985's Run For Cover, as well as "Empty Rooms" from 1983's Victims of the Future in a mash medley alongside "So Far Away." Moore continues his revisit to the eighties with a selection from '89's After the War, "Blood of Emeralds." Though Moore's 1987 release Wild Frontier isn't always heralded by critics, the stout, Murphy's-fueled stomper "Over the Hills and Far Away" along with the whispery "Johnny Boy" make appearances. In fact, "Over the Hills and Far Away" leads the set like a mission statement, hauled out with a devastating guitar solo by Moore. Suffice it to say, his solos on Live at Montreux 2010 are some of the most captivating of his live recordings. The longer he wails, the more he bleeds into your ears.

Fitting, however, that Moore closes this spectacular set on an emotional high with an 11-minute extension of "Parisienne Walkways" from 1979's Back On the Streets, a song originally featuring vocal work and a co-writing credit by Phil Lynott. With six extra minutes largely dedicated to sparkling, piercing and adoring solo work, Moore could never know this would be one of his final moments onstage, but assuredly it ranks amongst his finest. This "Parisienne Walkways" just might've served as the parallel bridge to Lynott on the other side, and we can well assume the latter greeted his comrade with a loving embrace and some outrageous corn whiskey from a bottomless bell jar.

Though Moore's out-of-nowhere death is befuddling, he leaves behind a legacy as a face man and proto axe warrior in Thin Lizzy, BBM, Colosseum II, Skid Row (not the one of the Sabo-Bach variety) and his own diverse body of work. Rocker, metalhead, blues man, jazz master, Gary Moore has always been considered underrated by most music writers and deep fans. If you don't believe it, step up to Live at Montreux 2010 and become converted. You will seldom hear a more wrenching display of six-string finesse. Bless you, Gary.

Rating: ****1/2

Album Review: Black Pussy - On Blonde EP

2011-09-23T07:39:00.004-04:00

Black Pussy - On Blonde EP
2011 Made in China Records
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Entering into the sexpot moniker sweepstakes behind Nashville Pussy, Alabama Thunderpussy and Pussy Galore comes Portland's Black Pussy. Also known as Black Pussy (IS GO), you can rest assured this is another gang of garage dwellers who may or may not toke as much as they would have you believe of their "stoner" tagged rawk.

Frankly, the term "stoner" has now become a passe buzz phrase carrying less buzz and more static. While Bongzilla and Weedeater are exactly the stoners they purport themselves to be--particularly in their tone-saturated hallucinogenics--stoner as a music description is now so broad it often hardly carries little of the pot element within its sound. The Mars Volta is considered by some to be stoner on top of mind-melding punk-prog. Such is the weird way of the music world.

Thus it's almost hopeless when a band marches in with a self-placed stamp of "stoner" upon its product, when subliminally you just know there's a marketing ploy behind it. There was a time when stoners were the riff raff of society. Now, thanks to Josh Homme, Fu Manchu, Wolfmother and The Black Keys, there's a strange pride to calling yourself a stoner band. Of course, Steppenwolf was there long ahead of the current crop and a lot of their music really was trippy beneath their blistered protesting. Let's not forget Redd Kross assisted in bridging this generation of young bands to the turbulent days of Hendrix and the Dead.

It's enough to have a provocative name like Black Pussy, but carrying a deliberate stoner sign overtop their heads (going so far as to mock the old sixties and seventies' album audiophile insignias with their coined "Stonersound" jibe) isn't anywhere near as provocative as their name. We could probably trip on the visual of a laidback hump-dee-hump with an afro-coiffed queen, swirling lava lamps, incense and strobes adding to the hazy-moist wet dream Black Pussy insinuates through their very being.

At the end of the day, though, it's the music that counts and Black Pussy makes no shame in plugging through the distorted channels of Kyuss, Fu Manchu and Fireball Ministry. Mastermined by Dustin Hill, who often mimicks Josh Homme vocally to great measures, Black Pussy's debut EP On Blonde shows a hint of promise even while offering the "stoner" genre very little it hasn't already seen.

There's an undeniable Kyuss-Fu kitsch to "Marijuana," "Swim(-A-)," "Ain't Talkin' About Love" and "Indiana" straight down to the lacing power chords, wood block/cowbell tempo taps, swirling sub solos and a drawn back vocal approach you know all too well. While "Can't Take Anymore" and "Blow Some Steam Off" pick up the pace with some gnarly acceleration, the theme of Black Pussy is to just take it easy. More than anything, it's evident Hill spent much time with Fu Manchu's California Crossing and King of the Road along with Josh Homme's entire recorded body.

There's nothing inherently wrong with Dustin Hill's songwriting ideology. Nothing wrong with nodding along to the juicy bass rubs oozing out of Black Pussy's amps on "Blow Some Steam Off" like, well...you know, that. It's simply the shaky wherewithal behind the shock value of Black Pussy's name. A stoner band doesn't advertise themselves as such. They often shy away from the tag. A true stoner band just plugs in and lets the waves carry their vibe, not a pre-issued statement.

Rating: ***

Album Review: Primus - Green Naugahyde

2011-09-22T05:59:00.004-04:00

Primus - Green Naugahyde
2011 Prawn Song
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Historically there has been a friendly tug-of-war between the metal and alternative sanctions in staking claim to Les Claypool and Primus. While headbangers boast the one-upsmanship of Claypool's involvement in prog thrashers Blind Illusion, Primus is that rare entity where nobody on this planet gets full dibs on claiming them as their own. Indeed, Primus is Martian music crafted beyond the capacity of us mere Earth folk, and it's not just because their eighth album is titled Green Naugahyde.

The Great Gazoo himself, Claypool, might be this generation's Frank Zappa, but it so happens he plays an unworldly bass, and not even the mighty Steve Harris or funk fiend Flea can push themselves into the same nebula Claypool floats in. While Claypool decrees through snaggleteeth that everything is made in China on Green Naugahyde's "Eternal Consumption Engine," really, in his farflung mind, everything is made in a microprocessing plant on Space Station #5--to which only he and his associates have access.

It's been since 1999 that we've had a Primus slab (and truly if a band deserved the term "slab" applied to their recorded work, this is the one) with the frequently brilliant Antipop. Twelve years of inactivity might prove quite the task for many bands to overcome, yet Primus 2011 sounds like nothing was missed through hiatus. Green Naugahyde is the culmination of Frizzle Fry, Pork Soda and Antipop and for their longtime horde of fans, Primus still sucks, but only as an endearment.

Returning back to the fold is early years (and former Sausage) drummer Jack Lane, in place of Tim Alexander. Fortunately for Claypool's demented purposes, Lane is equal to the task of Alexander on Green Naugahyde, thus you'd really have to know coming into this album there was a switch-up behind the skins. Meanwhile, Larry LaLonde continues to drive alongside Claypool's throbbing hip and in some ways, LaLonde has surpassed himself on Antipop and The Brown Album. No doubt it must've been some sitdown with Claypool in the songwriting sessions for Green Naughahyde, since LaLonde not only casts his fly buzzing and wad-chewed twanging. The man surreptitiously decorates beneath Claypool's inhuman bass-o-phonics. Only LaLonde can smartly detail a luminescent series of sparkling notes and outrageous slides underneath Les Claypool's Transformers-esque bass robotics on "Jilly's On Smack." It's testament to both artists' instincts they gel as effectively as they do even after a lengthy layoff.

"Lee Van Cleef" is hilarious with Claypool's comical plying for the whereabouts of the western film legend, while LaLonde's jerkout tugs are well reminiscent of Primus' huckabilly South Park theme, lending to the jokey ambience. While in the process of nodding to their past, there's no denying "Last Salmon Man" rings true of "Here Come the Bastards" from Sailing the Seas of Cheese. Only difference is Claypool and LaLonde are thrice the musicians they were in 1991, particularly during "Last Salmon Man's" jam-spiced solo section. Jack Lane's slip and shuffle tempo behind them and his gut-checking floor tom echoes elevate "Last Salmon Man" into the here and now.

Lane impresses at every turn on Green Naugahyde and his percussion on "Eternal Consumption Engine" turns Les Claypool into even more of a cheery wackadoodle. Surely, Claypool "really likes it" with his tendency to set the song up like "Mr. Krinkle" but more to a carny flavor. Lane is fantabulous on the funkerific "Tragedy's A-Comin'" and "Green Ranger," where his hi-hat tripping is just as groovy as his White Men Can Funk rhythm. Somehow, you get the feeling a cameo by George Clinton or Bootsy Collins might not've been out of line on either of these songs. Further, we would no doubt be in for one hell of a treat to see Sly and the Family Stone's Larry Graham with Claypool in a bass throwdown for the ages.

Other crazy, cosmic trips you can look forward to on this album are "Moron TV," "Green Ranger" and the bombastic, slithering "HOINFODAMAN," the latter being born straight from the Frizzle Fry and Suck On This era of Primus and will no doubt become a huge crowd pleaser. In its own way, the nutty thrusting (and terrific percussion) beneath "Extinction Burst" comes straight out of the same hiss-popped skillet.

While Sailing the Seas of Cheese is widely considered Primus' calling card album, it's a box of chunky punk cereal in comparison to what this band is capable of now. Green Naugahyde is a complicated album but only in the sense that all three components of Primus demand your attention. One of the most rhythmic albums Primus has recorded outside of Antipop, Green Naugahyde serves you toast smeared with apple butter from its great space toaster where metalheads, altheads, progheads and gearheads can come together in strange harmony.

Mars needs women, since they're well-represented by musicians.

Rating: ****

Whattya Listenin' to Wednesday - 9/21/11

2011-09-21T06:13:00.005-04:00

Morning, fellow freakazoids! Welcome to another Wednesday check-in of your playlists. At the very least, welcome to the halfway point of the work week--or school week if that applies to you.

Last week began with immense promise as relates to a few personal projects and potential projects, then the week fell on its arse come the end. I lost the second of two Van Horn family members in the span of a month, and I'm still a bit shaken up, but as always, music is my savior and therapist and thus I fight on. Though the Grateful Dead occupied my ears most of the week, that certainly wasn't intended to provoke the karma wheel as my uncle passed away. To my Aunt Maxine and Uncle Carl, may you finally settle your differences in the afterlife and try to excuse whatever you see of me from your new vantage point of existence. I'm proud of who I am, but I know my subscription to life isn't for all tastes.

It doesn't help the following day we got stung with a monster car repair bill on my wife's vehicle that has been the bane of our existence the past few years. Once my wife can get rid of that piece of junk, I'm going to sledge the four-wheeled bitch, assuming it hasn't been traded in. And so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes, like Nick Lowe (also figuring into my listening pleasures this week) would wag.

So with that, I'm hungry for a turnaround of fortunes this week and here at The Metal Minute we'll keep the machine rolling for your headbanging edification. Coming up in the immediate future we'll be checking out new joints from Primus, Doro Pesch, Hull, Black Pussy, Gary Moore, Wolves in the Throne Room, Chthonic, DC4, Crash Street Kids and Zeroking, not necessarily in that order.

I've received a ton of correspondence in email and tweeting form and I've been making all efforts to respond to each one of you. If I haven't, please stand by. I'm not ignoring you purposefully. You all are the real beautiful people, so don't change...

X - Under the Big Black Sun
Alice Cooper - Love it to Death
Alice Cooper - Alice Cooper Goes to Hell
Alice Cooper - Along Came a Spider
Alice Cooper - Welcome 2 My Nightmare
Landmine Marathon - Gallows
Saxon - Call to Arms
Primus - Green Naugahyde
Black Sabbath - Paranoid
Black Pussy - s/t EP
Slough Feg - Hardworlder
Grateful Dead - The Grateful Dead
Grateful Dead - Workingman's Dead
Grateful Dead - Aoxomoxoa
Grateful Dead - Wake of the Flood
Grateful Dead - Blues for Allah
Grateful Dead - From the Mars Hotel
Grateful Dead - In the Dark
Ratdog - Evening Moods
Kingfish - s/t
Peter Gabriel - Up
Saturday Night Fever soundtrack
Elvis Costello - When I Was Cruel
Nick Lowe - Quiet Please...The New Best of Nick Lowe

Album Review: Saxon - Call to Arms

2011-09-18T09:58:00.008-04:00

Saxon - Call to Arms
2011 Militia Guard Music/UDR/EMI
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

God bless Saxon. For a band once calling themselves Son of a Bitch, the dukes of decibel demolition are striking the lands with their 19th album. Likely nobody ever gave them that much of a chance back in the late seventies before Son of a Bitch switched to their time-honored moniker, Saxon. Still, here we are in 2011 and Saxon continues to survive with a couple of original members, Paul Quinn and the always stout Biff Byford. Call to Arms, Saxon's latest round of aural wreckage, shows a courageous wherewithal to stay true and thus becomes a mandatory grab if you're a power metal fiend.

Whether you've been paying attention or not, Saxon has been on quite a roll through the metal revival, officially starting with 2004's Lionheart, though most fans would give Saxon a mighty fist of approval for 1999's Metalhead. Still, Lionheart seemed to be the necessary oil to moving the re-affirmed juggernaut at full speed. Successive albums The Inner Sanctum and Into the Labyrinth showed the metal world Saxon still has the guts and the glory, while Call to Arms may yet become their proudest moment of the 2000s.

Some folks have been whispering Wheels of Steel and Crusader under their breaths whilst describing Call to Arms, and sure, there's cases to be made on the speedier selections such as "Hammer of the Gods" and "Afterburner." There's more to it than that. though. While Saxon turns a few knobs back to reduce some of the previous albums' beef, Call to Arms finds its groove on a charted throwback course while still maintaining a modern polish.

Saxon are sonic warriors on "Hammer of the Gods," "Chasing the Bullet" and "Call to Arms," making them nearly untouchable lords of loud. Yet they take a humble nod towards Thin Lizzy on "Ballad of the Working Man" on its verses and choruses before rocking the number with some wicked soloing. Thin Lizzy was always a working class rock 'n roll band, while Saxon might be the working class' metallic answer. Either way, "Ballad of the Working Man" is just as heroic for its stomping whiskey in the jar empathy as much Saxon's own will to prosper on "Surviving Against the Odds" and "Back in '79."

Maybe "Back in '79" and the two "Call to Arms" selections (the second appearing with orchestral supplementation) may be corny for modern audiences, yet metal has always had its teeth gnashed against a cob. Better the chewing come from the likes of the steel-jawed Saxon, who sells it better than most out there. When Biff Byford plies for you to show him your hands, you're not likely to argue with him. As one of the NWOBHM's eternal figureheads, Biff and Saxon take their roles seriously. "Back in '79" is a mean mutha autobiography of a band we should relish more than we do as a collective metal body.

Tempered by more recent ballads hailing little to no muckity muck such as "Mists of Avalon" on this album, we have long forgiven Saxon for the syrupy and limp noodled Rock the Nations and Destiny from 1986 and 1988 respectively. Saxon today has the system down pat and we're more than happy to oblige an occasional swerve into the slow, particularly when we get to rock out to "Chasing the Bullet," "No Rest for the Wicked," "Afterburner" and "Hammer of the Gods."

No reinventing the wheel of steel here, Saxon keeps the machine calibrated and moving past 3000 rpms. Call to Arms is a rocker and that's as apt a compliment as we can pay them.

Rating: ****

Album Review: Landmine Marathon - Gallows

2011-09-17T14:54:00.006-04:00

Landmine Marathon - Gallows
2011 Prosthetic Records
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Grace Perry is to Landmine Marathon what Angela Gossow is to Arch Enemy, Sabina Classen to Holy Moses and Krysta Cameron to Iwrestledabearonce. It just so happens Perry huffs and growls her innards to their straining point in a band that fancies a vibe plunged between Agnostic Front and Napalm Death with scant elbow room for much else.

Some might argue Perry has to work harder in a band demanding such a strenuous task from her, but already through four albums, you know where Landmine Marathon stands musically and Perry does too. She's up to the task, so you'd better be as well. Following last year's Sovereign Descent, Perry and her crashed-up marauders fire up the charges once again on Gallows, an album offering little differentiation than what they've released prior. No doubt exactly what their fans want.

Minus a concentrated effort of guitar soloing on Gallows which was practically remiss on Sovereign Descent, Landmine Marathon still retains the cacaphonous detonation of their namesake, a modus operandi not for the squeamish. Crunk and clunk served in brittle helpings on "Three Snake Leaves," "Liver and Lungs," "Cloaked in Red" and "Cutting Flesh and Bone," Landmine Marathon dishes it brutal and even more brutal--skip the appetizers.

"Knife From My Sleeve" may have a slow-winding intro, but there's little else (minus a few random tempo-skidding breakdowns) on Gallows that doesn't clock in past the shockwaves of a 50-megaton strike in a no-man's land gulch. Those just cozying up with Landmine Marathon for the first time might feel the impatient urge to grab some Madball, Terror and Morbid Angel after their introduction. At least "Cloaked in Red" has a badass punk groove and Slayer-esque death throes (not to mention a blinky King-Hanneman solo yank) to change things up a hair. As for their existing fans, they'll be headbanging on a constant from their media player into the mosh pit once Landmine Marathon hits their towns.

By now, there's no more geek factor to Grace Perry's animalistic yowling at the fore of a 'core-grind hybrid. Perry is the star attraction to Landmine Marathon, sure, but the bigger picture is this group can duke it out with the best of their ilk and God bless 'em, they have the tact to keep their work to a short running time. Smart maneuvering when you have a fairly redundant songwriting scheme. Then again, as the song title on track seven indicates, Landmine Marathon's only creative goal is to leave you beaten and left blind.

You've been served.

Rating: ***1/2

Happy Friday, Readers...

2011-09-16T06:17:00.003-04:00

Just because this makes me smile on a day I really need to so I can stay motivated. Happy Friday, all, back to business over the weekend.

Album Review: Alice Cooper - Welcome 2 My Nightmare

2011-09-15T06:19:00.006-04:00

Alice Cooper - Welcome 2 My Nightmare
2011 Universal Music Enterprises
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Uncle Alice is back, not that he ever left. This is still one of the most pliable entertainers still haunting the scene. Alice Cooper may not have been given immediate due for his more recent albums such as The Eyes of Alice Cooper, Dragontown, Dirty Diamonds and 2008's groovy-freaky hedonism jaunt, Along Came a Spider, but the man's legend has surreptitiously risen even more beneath the radar. Recently Alice Cooper has been bestowed with a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction and iconic bestowments from Kerrang! and the Revolver Golden God Awards. Alice remains a king of his domain and best of all, he continuously delivers what his subjects want.

Perhaps all of this just fanfare inspired Alice Cooper to attempt something that almost never fully works: a sequel to his own best-known body of work, Welcome to My Nightmare. It takes a lot of stones to take on the task of writing a connector piece to an album written almost 40 years ago. Yeah, get your head around that a second, if you will. Alice has been on the scene for that long, and while Queensryche found themselves nailed to the cross more often than not for Operation Mindcrime II, Uncle Alice will be a lock not to suffer the same fate with Welcome 2 My Nightmare.

It's the respect for the original work, plus the respect for himself and his fans that allows us to give a cheerful thumbs-up to this project. The highest compliment we can pay to Welcome 2 My Nightmare is that this is its own beast. While there's undertones of the seventies on "I Am Made of You," "When Hell Comes Home" and "The Nightmare Returns," songs with subliminal tubular bells haunting their chiming melodies, this album is thoroughly updated with a powerful punch and an elder statesman's appreciation for what transcends the decades separating these bodies of work.

Alice Cooper best bridges his 1975 masterwork to modern life on "The Congregation," a song with enough Love it to Death era and Gary Glitter struts poofed up to a loud retro kick The Black Keys are no doubt taking strong note of.

"Caffeine" is a slamming bit of rock agitation with a PT Barnum blow-up beneath the cagey humor. Here Uncle Alice gives us a bit of nyuk nyuk explanation as to why he and his alter-alter ego Steven are wracked by this ever-continuing cerebral melodrama. A bad caffeine trip. If you've ever drank enough cups of coffee in succession, the near-paralysis and catatonic head trips left at the end of that java onslaught will toy with your noodle. Said from this writer's personal experience.

Now, are we to insinuate Alice Cooper has sold us a huckstering, nyeh-nyeh, fooled you rock opera, all plugged by the simplistic revelation that drinking too much coffee cooks you rightly? No, of course not. Welcome 2 My Nightmare is more the rock cartoon that Rob Zombie could've had with his Haunted World of El Superbeasto if the latter wasn't more obsessed with tit humor every other frame. It takes a gifted artist to know that hillbilly shakes and oom-pah bandstanding are riotous ways to portray a brain bake, conveyed through "A Runaway Train" and "Last Man On Earth" respectively.

Then there's the hilarious rock roast, "Disco Bloodbath Boogie Fever," an intentionally nutty blast which is shrewder than you think. Consider this Alice's torching of the original disco era in which he was forced to tinker with on some of his late seventies' work, not to mention bits of the original Welcome to My Nightmare. It's also an acknowledgement that today's pop scene is lost in a disco revival and it well serves this new nightmare Alice Cooper is spinning for our consumption like the master showman he is. Alice's clownish rapping on "Disco Bloodbath" is nearly as funny as the "disco is hell, that's where we're at" choruses. Only he could get away with such lunacy, along with a hummable toe-tapper like "I'll Bite Your Face Off" that has planted blues and country beneath its twisted rock groove. Wait for the cadelabra-lit piano breakdown on that one. Riot. Nearly as much a riot as Alice's hung ten surfing bird, "Ghouls Gone Wild."

Also, only Alice Cooper could get away with bringing hip hop-pop megastar Ke$ha into his refined carnival of dementia. Their duet on "What Baby Wants" is sketchy on paper but ends up being a fun pop rock jerk-out, as catchy as anything else on Welcome 2 My Nightmare, and the hooks are out all over it.

Part of why this album works so much is due to the rogue's gallery of musicians and collaborators Alice corrals. Cool enough he has past associates such as Dick Wagner, Michael Bruce, Steve Hunter, Dennis Dunaway and Neal Smith coming by for the party. Welcome 2 My Nightmare is graced with the presence of Bob Ezrin, overseer of the original Nightmare and without a doubt, the alignment of theory and mind pays off dividends once again. Cameos by Vince Gill, John 5 and Patterson Hood of the Drive By Truckers on top of Ke$ha only add to this album's festivities. Always thinking in the moment, that Alice. No wonder Steven doesn't stand a chance in his three-ring sanguinary world.

While nothing here rings ethereal-eternal like "Cold Ethyl," "The Black Widow", "Steven" and "Only Women Bleed," Welcome 2 My Nightmare is a banging capsule of Alice's long standing in the music industry and for good measure, he sends out a breathy love note to his fans with "Something to Remember Me By." Written as if in 1975, this one has a pretty poison you just know has dastardly designs beneath the sweetness and effervesence. All implied, never stated, make sure you ask Uncle Alice to tip his top hat to make sure there's nothing murderous beneath as he croons "Something to Remember Me By" to you.

Welcome 2 My Nightmare didn't need to be stellar, but it did need to be worthy enough to carry its daunting title. It's more than worthy; it's a huge success and even more inspired than Along Came a Spider, which was damned fun in its own right. This is one is heavier in sound than Welcome to My Nightmare, while the latter is heavier in the classic sense. Put together, they're yin and yan separated by generations. Uncle Alice seems proud the world cares so much about him, because his pride sounds off resplendently on this album.

Run, Steven, run...

Rating: ****

To Buy Welcome 2 My Nightmare, click here:

Buy Welcome 2 My Nightmare

Whattya Listenin' to Wednesday - 9/14/11

2011-09-14T05:58:00.003-04:00

Hails, readers! Hope this week finds everyone safe, healthy and in good spirits.

Got much on the plate this week and those to come, so I'll keep things on the short end and invite you back for an upcoming review of the new Alice Cooper album, a sequel to his most revered body of work, Welcome 2 My Nightmare. Lots more action beyond that is in queue, so keep it bookmarked here, folks.

Salud...

Red Hot Chili Peppers - Freaky Styley
Red Hot Chili Peppers - s/t
Red Hot Chili Peppers - The Uplift Mofo Party Plan
Red Hot Chili Peppers - I'm With You
WASP - The Headless Children
WASP - s/t
WASP - The Last Command
WASP - Inside the Electric Circus
WASP - The Crimson Idol
WASP - Unholy Terror
WASP - The Neon God Part 2: The Demise
WASP - Babylon
Alice Cooper - Welcome 2 My Nightmare
Grateful Dead - American Beauty
Roger Glover and The Guilty Party - If Life Was Easy
Fear Factory - Demanufacture
Fear Factory - Digimortal
Korpiklaani - Voice of Wilderness
Korpiklaani - Tales Along This Road
Korpiklaani - Tervaskanto
Korpiklaani - Korven Kuningas
Enslaved - Isa
Assjack - s/t
Judgment Night soundtrack
Peter Gabriel - Peter Gabriel (Scratch)
Foster the People - Torches

The Metal Minute's 100 Metal Albums You Can't Live Without: Post Discussion

2011-09-13T06:14:00.008-04:00

As I mentioned when starting this list, I'm not the kind to put myself out there unless I really believe in what I'm doing. "Lists" should always come with the caveat of subjectivity because they only speak directly for those who compile them. They don't necessarily include the opinions of all because what we regard as universal truths will always be subject to scrutiny by a few or a lot of people with differing thoughts. It's why we're human.

Still, I did make the attempt to keep my readership in mind when generating a compendium of this nature. You have to include Guns n' Roses, Metallica and Pantera even if you're like me, the kind of guy who both loves and loathes radio. I'm a little mamby pamby, I'll admit, when it comes to radio. I'd be thrilled to pieces to accept an on-air gig, yet the nature of nurture FM can milk out of a single song has ruined my everyday appreciation of the aforementioned groups.

Nevertheless, Appetite for Destruction needs to be here. Master of Puppets needs to be here. Vulgar Display of Power needs to be here. You have to acknowledge the contributions of the artists who walloped the world with their craft and despite their mass appeal, you can't turn a snooty nose away from them, no matter how "street" you want to appear as a rock critic.

On the other end of the spectrum, I found it difficult having to slice out other albums I would consider mandatory to metal's evolution. You may or may not agree, but I consider the Scorpions' Lovedrive, Def Leppard's High 'n Dry and the self-titled debut by Metal Church to be worthy albums of the genre. Even if Def Leppard went pop from Hysteria on out, High 'n Dry and Pyromania are stellar albums. The Scorpions scored big with a handful of crossover cuts (of which two are played on the radio to the tune of a mondo glut) but that doesn't mean they're not an important band. Lovedrive was originally on this list and sadly got trimmed, no disrespect intended. I still think fondly of my interview with Mathias Jabs and almost feel the need to apologize to him and the band as they too, along with Judas Priest, bid us farewell.

As I stacked albums on my desk for consideration, I came across many underground bands I felt should at least be in contention for this list. Gonin-Ish, Korpiklaani, Long Distance Calling, Made Out of Babies, Darsombra, Blind Illusion, Wolves in the Throne Room, Agalloch, Rosetta, Mouth of the Architect, My Dying Bride, Katatonia, Bloodbath, Iwrestledabearonce, Nachtmystium...all bands I wish could've made it. I wanted Arch Enemy, Unearth and Shadows Fall to make the cut, and I'm sure there are many of you out there gritting your teeth having not seen them here.

Sometimes I picked albums where the artist had better selections. WASP's The Headless Children, for example. Should it have been on here? Oh, hell yes, it should've. Incredible album, as is WASP's The Crimson Idol, but in those cases, it came down to what should be considered indisposable by everyone who digs the genre, not necessarily a biased pick--and assuredly, this list is well-biased. If it wasn't biased, Iron Maiden (whom I consider the greatest metal band on the planet) wouldn't have had four picks, Priest three, Anthrax three, etc. This bias, however, was countered by how much of a cultural impact I felt the albums delivered.

Again, all subjective and honestly, this was a pain in the ass to hedge down, albeit it was a labor of love, as the colloquialism goes. I needed a break from reviewing as some new projects are being pitched my way. This was a fun diversion and a way to get my steam gathered up again.

So that being said, I hope you enjoyed The Metal Minute's 100 Albums You Can't Live Without and I invite everyone to express your thoughts here and offer up some of your choices for albums no metalhead should be caught dead without. The feedback I've been given to this point has turned up familiar names and a lot of obscure ones. Subjectivity at its best.

As always, I thank you for your continued support of The Metal Minute...

The Metal Minute's 100 Metal Albums You Can't Live Without: Numbers 10 to 1

2011-09-12T05:48:00.008-04:00

10. Rainbow - Rising

This album deserves iconic status yet only receives one depending on certain circles. Arguably better songwriting than Ritchie Blackmore's time in Deep Purple and here is where Ronnie James Dio first made his name, not to mention Cozy Powell, Jimmy Bain and Tony Carey. Every song on Rising is letter perfection. "Stargazer" is heavy metal's answer to Zeppelin's "Kashmir," while the hyperactive band soloing on "A Light in the Black" stands as a heavy metal highlight worthy of constant re-investigation.

9. Opeth - Blackwater Park

The high priests of Goth metal. While I wanted to include My Dying Bride on this list, this sector of metal belongs almost exclusively to Opeth. Nobody of their breed possesses Opeth's collective song theory and precise sculptures of four bars in each segment to their music. You can sit there and count off the fourths, it's that exact. Rembrandts of their dark art, Blackwater Park has been said to have brought tears to some listeners and it is that emotional.

8. Mastodon - Leviathan

One of the most mind-blowing albums in the past ten years, much less metal's history. It's nearly too much to consume on the first couple go-rounds, that's how intricate Mastodon is. Detailed to excellence and heavier than your senior aunt's bra, there's not enough accolades one can heap upon Leviathan.

7. Metallica - Master of Puppets

This is an album I literally ran from my bedroom and up the train tracks to the music store to buy after borrowing it from a friend. I was that devasted by Master the first time I heard it. It rightly deserves a high mark on anyone's list, but nowadays, it carries an air of melancholy. I remember when Cliff Burton was killed just as Master was gaining steam in the metal community. And unfortunately, I just cannot stomach hearing any of these songs on "Mandatory Metallica" segments on FM radio because it's just too damned hypocritical.

6. Judas Priest - British Steel

Even non-metal fans love "Breaking the Law" and that's scary, but it's also testament to what a great freaking band Judas Priest is and how revered British Steel as an album is. We'll miss you, guys, the past decade-plus has been controversial, but thanks for British Steel and all the amazing works that stand proud in the name of metal.

5. Guns N' Roses - Appetite for Destruction

It's fashionable for everyone ranking as a critic to a beer-drinking, living for the weekender to cite Appetite for Destruction as a world class album. Well, yeah, it is. I've reached the point where I could go without ever hearing "Welcome to the Jungle," "Paradise City" and "Sweet Child 'O Mine" on the goddamn radio again, but I could never live without having access to "My Michelle," "Think About You" and "Nightrain."

4. Black Sabbath - s/t

When everyone claims Black Sabbath to be the original heavy metal band, this is the album, not necessarily Paranoid (as great as the latter is) which backs all of it up. Black Sabbath still stands as one of the most confrontational albums the world's ever known. Diabolical in sound, yet carrying an urgency to call out social injustice, Black Sabbath were bigger hippies than most ever acknowledged them to be. Think about that, you hippie bashers.

3. Iron Maiden - Number of the Beast

This album is so much more about "Run to the Hills," the song which everyone will remember Iron Maiden for. So much more. Number of the Beast is one of the first genuine metal masterpieces boasting an improbable switch-up in vocals that surpassed anyone's expectations. Even the lesser-cited songs like "Gangland" and "Invaders" are sheer brilliance. In much shorter time than Iron Maiden's later albums, they carry their listeners on a metal odyssey very few can match.

2. Iron Maiden - Powerslave

This is my personal favorite heavy metal album of all-time. Everything preceding Powerslave are supreme classics, yet I have never felt anything for a metal album in quite the same manner as I do Powerslave. "2 Minutes to Midnight" and "Aces High" are a pair of Maiden's most-respected individual songs, yet I feel literally carried aloft by "Losfer Words (Big 'Orra)," "The Duellists," "Flash of the Blade," "Back in the Village" and of course, the titanic "Rime of the Ancient Mariner." Creatively-speaking, this is Iron Maiden's most adventurous and escapist record, and not a single lick is out of whack. Powerslave and the final selection on this list are, in my opinion, the most perfect albums of the genre.

1. Slayer - Reign in Blood

This is the album we should all ask one another the question "What were you doing the first time you heard Reign in Blood?" It's this album that made the entire music world bend an ear and say "Whoa..." It's been empirically proven in studies that Slayer has reached more diverse professions than any other band in metal's history. A half hour is all they needed to lift everyone by their collective chins and knock 'em on their duffs. This is the penultimate metal listening experience for all generations and those to come. For the record, I was sitting on my bedroom floor in 1987 once I finally caught up to Reign in Blood (released the year prior) and saying "Whoa..."

The Metal Minute's 100 Metal Albums You Can't Live Without: Numbers 19 to 11

2011-09-11T00:35:00.005-04:00

19. Hanoi Rocks - Bangkok Shocks, Saigon Shakes, Hanoi Rocks

Glam metal carries a stigma but not all of it is deserved. At times, glam is just as effective and nasty as you like it in metal. Hanoi Rocks are the uncrowned kings of glam and could kick every one of their contemporaries straight in the nards. It was an unspoken truth back in the eighties when glam spelled out big bucks for major label hair hucksters. Unfortunately, Hanoi Rocks wasn't told of the payout line.

18. Overkill - Feel the Fire

I'm always tempted to choose Taking Over before Feel the Fire because of the memories affiliated with the former album. Nothing said metal to me on a personal level than walking around with a boom box blaring Overkill's "Deny the Cross" from Taking Over and pissing off a crowd of old folks. I will always cherish that memory, yet Feel the Fire is Overkill's birthright album. As one of the very first bands to mesh NWOBHM and thrash, this is one record that never gets mentioned as a transcontinental bridge, though everyone does recognize its importance to metal.

17. Kiss - Dressed to Kill

Even though Creatures of the Night is the only true metal album Kiss recorded (and it's damned good one you do need to own), it's the dirty grooves and huffing raunch of Dressed to Kill which helped make Kiss legends beyond their kabuki makeup and fireball stage antics. One of the genuinely substantial albums Kiss laid down in a career filled more with plies for commercial acceptance, Dressed to Kill is pure swagger and a hot time from start-to-finish.

16. Boris - Pink

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Boris is the coolest band alive right now. They're cool because they don't know it nor do they care. This is a band with more ideas swirling in their heads and they have the capacity to give projection to all them. Evolving from a Sleep and Sunn O))) mode of bombastic tone drags, Boris can do it all. Sludge, rawk, blues, death metal, drone, prog, alternative and greasy rock 'n roll. All found on Pink and most of their recent offerings beginning with Akuma No Uta. This is one of the most important units around and I will always cherish both sets I've seen them play, on top of interviewing Atsuo through a Japanese interpreter.

15. Pantera - Vulgar Display of Power

For its widespread impact upon the genre alone, Vulgar Display of Power is a mandatory selection. I favor Cowboys From Hell for its rowdiness, but Pantera's shift from glammed up power rockers to the ultimate proto beasts of their day was realized in full on this album. Over the years, my enthusiasm for this band has waned due to overexposure, but Dimebag left an undeniable influence upon future riff-chug-oriented guitarists and Pantera gave us hope (for a little while, anyway) that metal in America was going to stick around during the nineties.

14. Twisted Sister - Under the Blade

I've come to appreciate You Can't Stop Rock 'n Roll as Twisted Sister's best written album overall, but Under the Blade is one of heavy metal's crown jewels, even if the band doesn't necessarily agree. Woe be to your sorry ass if you don't know these songs.

13. Anthrax - Spreading the Disease

Not as consistently blazing as Fistful of Metal nor as streamlined as Among the Living, Spreading the Disease is still one of thrash's earliest "holy shit" albums. Scott Ian and Danny Spitz are pure electricity on this album and to this day, no matter how good Anthrax is, they have never recreated the overpowering sizzle of "Gung Ho," one of metal's greatest single tunes.

12. Alice Cooper - Love it to Death

Uncle Alice remains a pivotal figurehead of rock and metal and even though he's had a couple of random slip-ups in his career, very very few stand up to the regality of Alice Cooper. Gruesome theatrics and audile rock nightmares are only a couple dimensions to Alice Cooper's stature. Love it to Death boasts "I'm Eighteen," one of the cornerstone anthems of rebel rock, yet the album as a whole is daring, inventive and it should be considered one of the first authentic heavy metal albums along with anything Zeppelin and Sabbath laid down.

11. Accept - Restless and Wild

I truly adore Metal Heart and Balls to the Wall and wish there was room for both on this list, but Restless and Wild is the foundation of both Accept and U.D.O., not to mention damn near every power metal band of the eighties and beyond.

The Metal Minute's 100 Metal Albums You Can't Live Without: Numbers 29 to 20

2011-09-10T00:32:00.006-04:00

29. Melvins - Stoner Witch

The deep music heads know Nirvana was the punked-up version of the Melvins, whom Kurt Cobain held in huge regard. The stories of Cobain sitting in the basement where the Melvins practiced weaves a dreamy, wish-you-were-there notoriety that should lure you to these guys. Also one of the most thunderous club acts you'll ever witness, the Melvins are sludge royalty.

28. Deep Purple - In Rock

This is one the heaviest albums of all-time, period. Metal's roots stem beyond Sabbath, going all the way back to Link Wray's pivotal power chord. Yet the MKII era of Deep Purple showed how to project with volume, aggression, tenacity and a disregard for decibel maximization. Zeppelin has been credited as the loudest live band in history, but In Rock might be the loudest album in history.

27. System of a Down - Toxicity

As important an album, culturally-speaking, as the Bad Brains' I Against I. System of a Down leaves behind a short career filled with a masterful catalog. Toxicity may have broken the band to a commercial avenue nobody saw coming, yet it's quantifiably the I Against I and The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan of its day. Few albums seek to change the world before winning any proficiency accolades. Toxicity, like System of a Down's entire recorded body, is ethics-bound.

26. Ozzy Osbourne - Diary of a Madman

The second metal album I ever heard in-between Maiden's Killers and Dio's Holy Diver, Ozzy's Diary of a Madman is to me, his most important solo album. Blizzard of Ozz is his most acclaimed and certainly a must-have album, yet the cartoon character Ozzy later became is a strange cariacature of the dangerous and wreckless Ozzy Osbourne (with the loving textures of axe maestro Randy Rhodes) who put out this hallowed slab.

25. Venom - Black Metal

Speaking of cartoons, we come to Venom. I'll be honest, there was a time in my life when I was freaking afraid of this band. Moreover, I was afraid of what they represented. One day, though, I realized Venom were more satirists of satanism and paganism than actual proponents of it. Once you get past that and past Venom's sloppy, clunky performance style, you get them.

24. Iron Maiden - Killers

Let us not forget Paul DiAnno was no slouch on the mike. Few bands are blessed to have two dynamic powerhouses singing for them, and even though Bruce Dickinson remains forevermore the voice of Iron Maiden (sorry, Paul and Blaze), Killers is an exceptional display of metal vocalization and building song progression that would simply go bonkers on its successive album. Killers is a haunting album from the cover on down to its guts and every song here is just as classic to metalheads as Maiden's future body of work.

23. Dio - The Last in Line

Most people would take Holy Diver over The Last in Line and I have no arguments against it. That's actually accurate and though Holy Diver is superior, I hold a candle for this one simply for the amount of time I spent with Ronnie singing the title cut, "We Rock" and "Egypt (The Chains Are Falling)" into my ears as a teenager.

22. Van Halen - s/t

Frequently a starting point for many would-be rockers and metalheads, the first time you hear Van Halen's '78 debut will be aural masturbation. As crucial to the widespread panic of heavy metal and hard rock as Black Sabbath's Paranoid, Van Halen is one of the most sonically-disruptive and sensory-pleasing audile experiences you'll ever soak up in your lifetime.

21. Voivod - Nothingface

Yes, Voivod are simply that good to get three nods on this list. I once wrote a piece when Nothingface came out in 1989 in which I declared them to be the band of the future. They damn well should've been, but heavy metal became outlawed in North America and Voivod's responses after Nothingface varied from confused to outraged, though almost always interesting. Nothingface, however, is a prime example of how to effectively seam signature shifts and tempo changes. Prog metal owes everything to this album after King Crimson.

20. Megadeth - Rust in Peace

I will always root for Dave Mustaine and Megadeth and though the 'deth catalog has been filled with ups and downs, Rust in Peace is Mustaine's crowning achievement. One of the first true magnum opuses of thrash after Master of Puppets (no missed ironies, of course) and Reign in Blood, Rust in Peace still astonishes and it's just a bit more articulate than Master when you break the parts down. You go, Dave...

The Metal Minute's 100 Metal Albums You Can't Live Without: Numbers 39 to 30

2011-09-09T06:20:00.008-04:00

39. Lamb of God - As the Palaces Burn

In the metal revival, there are few bands striking the limelight who produced a genuine future artifact like Lamb of God did on their way up the totem with As the Palaces Burn. This is one of the most agitated, alarming and beautifully maniacal albums of the modern age.

38. Sigh - Imaginary Sonicscape

Asia is red-hot with metal and punk acts. Gonin-Ish, Boris, Chthonic and Balzac are a few standout groups, while Sigh are on another planet altogether. Mostly considered a black-death hybrid, Sigh is equal to the speed of Chthonic yet are even more inventive when the urges strike. Imaginary Sonicscopes is an album that would bury less-capable groups with its 'round the bend mood changes and lunatic genre blends. By the final note, you've been subjected to one of the most intelligent tunnels of excavation you're going to stumble into.

37. Amorphis - Tales From the Thousand Lakes

Amorphis deserves credit, if for nothing else, their fearlessness in discovering a voice. That voice is subject to change in this group and each album is a suspenseful query prior to its release date. In a couple cases, Amorphis' bravado to change up their identity has hurt them, yet they maintain a loyal fan base and much of it stems from their early-on windswept speed-death metal odyssey, Tales From the Thousand Lakes.

36. Fear Factory - Demanufacture

Is there any other band outside of Slayer and Pantera who young artists wish to emulate more than this one? Raymond Herrera redefined metal drumming after Dave Lombardo, and his signature blast beat has been mimicked and modified by would-be double-bass crushers from all walks of life. On top of it, Fear Factory married metallic grooves with sequencers and electronica to create one of the deadliest, most ambient sounds out there.

35. Queensryche - Operation Mindcrime

Often referred to as "the thinking man's heavy metal," Queensryche penned an Orwellian masterpiece which will never be topped, even by themselves. Only Pink Floyd's The Wall is a more haunted rock dystopia, yet Queensryche (still with Chris DeGarmo in the fold) created a heaving, soaring and ultimately tragic caveat about mind control and violence that is still a magnificent story to submit yourself to--pun intended.

34. AC/DC - Let There Be Rock

Everyone has a favorite AC/DC album and it's usually Back in Black or Highway to Hell. Both are crucial albums by the band that accepted their roles as scruffy heathens and played them up to the max. Dirty Deeds and High Voltage are likewise mandatory, but for the ultimate ear-blasting, sonic clout upon your thrashing noodle, it's Let There Be Rock or bust.

33. Overkill - Horrorscope

One of the most endurant metal bands in history, Overkill has seldom let anyone down on their albums, even if only Blitz and DD Verni represent the halcyon lineup, bisected by the time Horrorscope was released in 1991. That being said, Horrorscope is still one of Overkill's biggest triumphs. Nobody then would've considered the follow-up to the ravenous The Years of Decay to be this good without Bobby Gustafson, but it sure as hell was.

32. Slayer - Hell Awaits

One of the most frightening metal albums ever recorded. The legacy of Slayer was imprinted upon metal with Reign in Blood, but it was already forged beforehand. Still capable of rattling your spine.

31. Judas Priest - Sad Wings of Destiny

If I wanted to, I could dot this list with a huge bulk of Priest's catalog, since Defenders of the Faith, Screaming for Vengeance, Stained Class, Point of Entry and even Painkiller deserve to make the cut. However, it must be said that Judas Priest's long standing in the music community is best served due to their earlier works of metal impressionism. Sad Wings of Destiny is a somewhat hazy verve of rough 'n ready exploration that by now should be considered high art.

30. Prong - Beg to Differ

Cleansing put Prong on the map and Prove You Wrong might be their finest bit of songwriting, while Rude Awakening had a lot of balls for its grooves and experimenting, but for me, it's all about Beg to Differ. One of the heaviest trios outside of Motorhead, Prong delivered a series of metalhead classics beginning with this one that had slivers of "Lost and Found" and "For Dear Life" hoisted onto the original Headbangers Ball for commercial break purposes after S.O.D. had ruled it. Put up against Nirvana at the time Prong started getting hot, the mass population would obviously go with Cobain and company, but we knew the truth.

Van of the Dead Interview: Stevan Mena, Director of Bereavement

2011-09-08T05:57:00.016-04:00

In 2004, Stevan Mena piqued the horror scene with Malevolence, a searing indie venture reportedly made on credit cards. Now the little indie venture that could has been expanded with Bereavement, a prequel offering us a garish look into the brutal microcosm which proverbially reared Martin, the unfeeling butcher of Malevolence.

Kidnapped as a child by another tortured soul and exposed to a savage underbelly within a Pennsylvania slaughterhouse, Martin's desensitized homicidal tendencies is unraveled methodically in Bereavement, the second of three planned films by Mena centered around this inhuman killer. I had the opportunity to catch up with the writer, director and producer to gain some more insight into Bereavement's cryptic narrative.

Bereavement is, of course, your prequel to Malevolence in which you've painted a bloody abstract of Martin and how he came to be the savage killer in the latter movie. In the process, Bereavement comes off as more of a standalone film, particularly if a casual viewer is unaware of the tie-in between both films. Certainly this was your intent, to be able to lure audiences who know the thread and those who don't?

Sure, I think the film has a few surprises even for those who have seen Malevolence and kind of know what is going to happen. But I definitely wanted the film to be able to stand on its own.

I understand you originally had more than three hours worth of footage for Bereavement. What was the hardest scenes for you to cut and do you feel the film was compromised in any way having to trim down to an hour forty?

That is a myth created by an interview where an exaggeration was taken out of context. The film was never anywhere near three hours, and no, I think the film is exactly where it needs to be, and anything that was deleted needed to go. I think they're great scenes. In fact, one was so good it was distracting from the main plotline, so it had to go.

A lot of folks are bringing up Friday the 13th and Halloween by means of comparison to both Malevolence and Bereavement. In the case of this film, I'm feeling a bit of Tobe Hooper's Texas Chainsaw Massacre and of course, the Ed Gein case more so than the others. I've seen a quote that you feel Bereavement is closer to The Shining. How so?

Comparing Bereavement to Texas Chainsaw is like comparing Unforgiven to The Searchers simply because they both wore cowboy hats. Bereavement is a complex, layered film about cycles of violence, the nature of evil, family dysfunction, horrific violence and the effects of that violence told in a realistic way. Texas also has a slaughterhouse, but that is where the comparison ends--except for maybe dysfunctional families. I feel it’s closer to The Shining because of the way I approached the dramatic elements of the story: the small child caught in the middle of all that violence, and how he deals with it, the paternal figure and the abuse, and the boy’s ultimate triumph over the father. The sweeping vistas, the overall scope of the film, the complex narrative, I think are more reminiscent of The Shining than Texas. I’m a huge fan of both of those classics, and have watched each dozens of times.

What's particularly creepy about Bereavement is the bloody mentoring Martin receives via Brett Rickaby's Graham Sutter. There's a fine line in telling this story regarding which character's degeneracy should deliver more impact, since Graham is tormented by his own demons, which he passes on to Martin. Martin, of course, is beyond feeling physical pain and his inhibitions finally explode in the finale and carry forth in Malevolence. As creator of these murderous beings in both films, is Martin or Graham more reprehensible, in your mind?

Graham, although a victim because of his upbringing, is far more reprehensible. He chose this road in a misguided bid to assuage his own guilt, and only through an epiphany of his own pain and suffering does he realize he’s been deceived by himself, and he does regret his actions. Whereas Martin was pulled into this world, and unlike Sutter, wasn’t given a choice. However, Martin, in actuality, is the ultimate evil. His inability to feel pain, and therefore, empathize with his victims' suffering, is actually the most dangerous of the two. Martin truly is a cold-blooded killer, because he literally doesn’t feel one way or the other about it. It’s just what he does. No remorse.

Having a pair of twins (Spencer and Peyton List) play in Bereavement had to have been quite an adventure, given the general nature of twin rivalries. Both of the siblings exhibited tremendous maturity in this film, but how do you recall them interacting off-camera, amongst themselves and with the rest of the cast?

Total professionals. Fantastic, talented kids. Both have a bright future ahead of them. I’d work with either one of them again in a second. I don’t have enough superlatives to say about them or their work ethic--at 9 years old then.

The brutal things Spencer List had to submit himself to in the role of Martin really shows immense maturity on his part. Scenes of torture, disemboweling, screaming women, blood cascading into his face and the knife in the hand scene really push the envelope for the viewer, yet I can only imagine what that child must've been thinking during the filming of Bereavement. I'm sure you've experienced older actors unwilling to submit themselves to what that young man did, right?

Spencer kept asking for more blood. Spencer kept begging for me to let him kill his sister on camera. He had more fun than any of us. We were all worried about the time, getting the shot. He was just having a ball. It may look frightening on camera, but to him it was just pure fun. It only looks scary after all the sound and music are added. On the set it’s all fake, and no one is deceived of that.

Have you had to field any backlash from parent groups or child advocacy groups for the aforementioned scenes Spencer List portrays?

No, I wish! Our tiny film could use the publicity! In the end, it’s only a movie, and sanity wins out, but in the interim, that crap makes for great publicity!

(laughs) Tell me about working with Alexandra Daddario. You have so many leads and strong secondary characters despite a relatively small cast. A lot of this film was carried on her shoulders in bringing an outside story into the main thread where her shattered world collides with an even more shattered world. Alexandra brought a cautious sexuality to the story which turns her character Allison from rebellious, hormonal outsider into a would-be heroine. What would you think was the hardest dimension to Alexandra's portrayal to keep Allison an integral part of the plot?

Keeping perspective on the level of emotion. She could have played Allison as a depressed kid where things just get worse and worse, but she was able to balance the emotion and keep Allison’s character from drifting too dark too soon. And to keep the character grounded so the audience could get invested, and not just to feel sorry for her, to see her many sides. There’s plenty of time to feel sorry for her later.

As a parent, I would say the opening sequence of Bereavement unnerved me even more than the graphic butchery. You established the film's true, underscored horror zone by Martin's kidnapping. It had me thinking of the local news P.S. announcement "It's 11:00, do you know where your children are?" Does the premise you've established with Bereavement ever strike home with you at all?

Of course, it’s a common human fear, and it establishes the reality of where the film is coming from. I write about things I think are scary and uncomfortable to me.

It's been reported that Malevolence and Bereavement are part of a planned trilogy. Where do you plan on taking us next, since we've been throttled quite mercilessly already in these two films?

After Malevolence, Martin is on his own in the world. The third film chronicles his journey back home, and the “wonderful” reunion with his family.

Interview (c) 2011 Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Whattya Listenin' to Wednesday - 9/7/11

2011-09-07T06:03:00.002-04:00

Greetings, chums. For those of you who had a three-day weekend, hope it was relaxing or at least safe. Thoughts go out to those who've been displaced by the Texas wildfires or those knee-deep in water throughout the gulf states. We've had your rains up in these parts for nearly two days, so we're sharing your pain on the heels of the earthquake and hurricane. Serious, Mother Nature, put a cork in it, will ya?

Hope everyone's enjoying The Metal Minute's 100 Albums You Can't Live Without. The site meter's been red-hot, and I feel rewarded so many are checking the list out. I've had some random bits of feedback off-site and I'm happy those of you who've reached out are digging it. We'll reach the top spot by the end of next week, so keep on coming back.

You'll probably have noticed a new tag on the site, "Van of the Dead." As I'm being serviced by more horror outlets, I decided to highjack the column title from my Retaliate digital mag until that venue in-stasis has a chance to resurrect itself. Coming this week, "Van of the Dead" is pleased to bring you a sit-down with Bereavement, Malevolence and Brutal Massacre director, Stevan Mena.

So get ready for that, plus reviews and the round up of the albums countdown. Should be a killer week.

Cheers, ya'll...

Enslaved - Below the Lights
Hank III's Attention Deficit Domination - s/t
Hank III's 3 Bar Ranch - Cattle Callin'
Assjack - s/t
Saxon - Call to Arms
Iron Maiden - Killers
Iron Maiden - Number of the Beast
Iron Maiden - Piece of Mind
Iron Maiden - Powerslave
Iron Maiden - Dance of Death
Iron Maiden - The Final Frontier
Emperor - Anthems to the Welkin at Dusk
Mercyful Fate - Don't Break the Oath
Satyricon - Nemesis Divina
WASP - Inside the Electric Circus
Made Out of Babies - Trophy
Butthole Surfers - Independent Worm Saloon
Metal Church - s/t
Static-X - Wisconsin Death Trip
Red Hot Chili Peppers - I'm With You
The Dresden Dolls - s/t
Filter - The Trouble With Angels
David Byrne - Look Into the Eyeball
David Byrne - Uh-oh
Peter Gabriel - Peter Gabriel (Car)
Peter Gabriel - Peter Gabriel (Melt)
Peter Gabriel - Passion
AC/DC - Black Ice
Ben Harper - Fight For Your Mind
Fistful of Mercy - As I Call You Down
Tedeschi Trucks Band - Revelator
Zero 7 - When It Falls
Zero 7 - The Garden

The Metal Minute's 100 Metal Albums You Can't Live Without: Numbers 49 to 40

2011-09-06T06:17:00.009-04:00

49. Motorhead - Ace of Spades

No, Lemmy doesn't feel Motorhead is a metal band nor a punk band. Yes, Motorhead is simply a louder than fuck rock 'n roll band. It doesn't mean we should dismiss them from a list of Metal Albums You Can't Live Without. If this one's not in your collection, you're just lame.

48. Destruction - Eternal Devastation

As mentioned with Kreator, Destruction were fearsome thrash mongrels of their time before both bands surrendered to strange experimental albums a few years after American thrash acts did likewise. Eternal Devastation, however, is a whirling tsunami of speed you simply must subject yourself to. Its reckless velocity is the equivalent of a rough night on the Zipper ride.

47. Faith No More - King For a Day, Fool for a Lifetime

This is the album Faith No More devotees will hold over your head whether you're a true fan or a poser. The Real Thing damn well should be in your stable, as well as Angel Dust and Album of the Year, but the true fans speak loudly with this choice. Jim Martin may have been lone gone when King For a Day came out, but Trey Spruance's capacity for past downpicking as well as fusion jazz elevated Faith No More's songwriting and created a huge sense of urgency to this album.

46. Quicksand - Slip

The album I once thought was Fugazi when I was in a record store has remained a personal lifelong favorite. If there really is such a thing as "post metal," this is your album. It came as American heavy metal was on its way out the door, save for Slayer and Pantera, yet Quicksand's Slip is a methodic and tasty exercise in amp abuse. Slow and deliberate, these tunes are still way jacked with a compact energy you can't teach.

45. Nile - In Their Darkened Shrines

One of the fastest bands in metal history, listening to a Nile album is considered by many as the National Geographic of the genre for their well-researched plunges into Egyptian and Mesopotamian history. The fact Nile melts your brains in the process makes them one of the most severe listening experiences you'll ever confront in metal.

44. Anthrax - Among the Living

The breakout sensation of Among the Living forever cemented their place in metal history. The choice of most fans as their favorite, Among the Living is a relentless fireball of thrash that holds up today better than most. There was a new musicality to speed metal introduced by Anthrax on this album that should've been studied deeper by future bands, but thankfully hasn't. That retains the relevance of Among the Living, along with its comedic overtures.

43. Voivod - Killing Technology

A bit rougher than their future albums, Killing Technology is nonetheless a transitional moment in metal that will split your membranes open. It's such a furious album you'll need to go back through it a couple times to fully savor Piggy and Blacky's ebbing lines at hyperspeed, and I defy you to find a band outside of Maiden where the bassist can match the guitarist note-for-note and transition without ever losing one another. At this speed, Killing Technology surpasses spectacle.

42. Exodus - Bonded by Blood

Though only Tom Hunting and Gary Holt make up the leftover contingency of Exodus' more reknowned years, this band remains one of the most dedicated and quickest thrash acts out there. Bonded by Blood is more than just the what if? album Kirk Hammett might've further graced; it's the album that would've been credited as the birthright of thrash had there been no such thing as Metallica's Kill 'em All.

41. Metallica - Kill 'em All

I don't mean to harp on what's already been said infinitum about Metallica's transition from speed metal lords to jock rockers, but can you honestly step up to Kill 'em All and say it's the same band? Cliff Burton had a lot to do with the reason one inception of Metallica differs from the other, and despite the fact Metallica is regarded as metal's Led Zeppelin, in the beginning, Metallica belonged to us and not them.

40. Megadeth - Peace Sells...But Who's Buying?

Metallica was already on their way towards greatness through the first three albums by the time their former guitarist got his motors revving, but Peace Sells...But Who's Buying? remains a classic for its anger, its drive, its energy and there are few drummers in metal's history who can match Gar Samuelson's jazz-meets-thrash clanging attack which is a special feature unto itself. One of the most-played albums in my collection, I remember raking leaves one fall in my teen years and flipping the cassette of this album over and over and over and over while I worked. Ah, the good ol' days...

The Metal Minute's 100 Metal Albums You Can't Live Without: Numbers 59 to 50

2011-09-05T01:47:00.004-04:00

59. Deftones - White Pony

Around the Fur may be a hair better, but the Deftones hit a watermark with White Pony that remains one of the most bombastic efforts of its era. Chino Moreno's wallowing vocals are perfectly at home amidst the chaotic din the Deftones mined out on this album and later with Diamond Eyes. Moreno's note spelunking on the choruses of "Digital Bath" alone send shivers.

58. Static-X - Wisconsin Death Trip

Not much has been left to prosper from the short-lived nu-metal explosion of the late nineties, save for Korn, but Static-X proved there was tremendous groove to be fostered into the rhythmic guitar and bass struts of Wisconsin Death Trip. This is an album you can hump, dance and mosh to and it will ring your ears when all is said and done.

57. Kylesa - Static Tensions

Kylesa has become a major force in the art-sludge underground. There's not much better you can do than Static Tensions.

56. Enslaved - Isa

The unsung heroes of black metal, Enslaved. Their recent efforts Vertebrae and Axioma Ethica Odini and prior masterworks Eld, Blodhemn and Below the Lights are so good it's criminal they haven't reached a wider audience. Seriously, all of these albums are essential to any headbanger's collection as Enslaved has broken more black-folk-death-prog barriers than any of their contemporaries. They received a hefty bit of attention for Isa, and deservedly so. It's one of the most exquisite and catchy extreme metal albums ever recorded. "Neogenesis" gets in the running with Maiden and Helloween for all-time great metal epics.

55. Montrose - s/t

For my money, this is Sammy Hagar at his most volatile. Though it's Ronnie Montrose's show, this album is a collective blast of hard rocking fury that shakes its money maker and kicks a few tails in the process. Memorable riffs, a passionate performance by Hagar before he ever broke out and it was Ronnie Montrose on "Bad Motor Scooter" who engineered that sliding engine riff, not Mick Mars on "Kickstart My Heart." If there's anything that plucks my nerves, it's people who think Mars is a genius for that, when he borrowed it from Montrose and the blues guitarists before either of them.

54. The Dillinger Escape Plan - Miss Machine

Tech grind goes to new heights with The Dillinger Escape Plan, who elevated their craft in triplicate with Miss Machine. Going beyond mere ratchety metalcore and grind modes, Dillinger bravely fused electronics, rhythm and sublets that defied the odds of success. Fortunately for them, Miss Machine and its successor Ire Works are more than successes.

53. Dio - Holy Diver

Ronnie James Dio only got better following his stints in Elf, Rainbow and Black Sabbath. Already in his own league before releasing this revered solo debut, it was simply a matter of which directions Dio was going to follow. Holy Diver is full of both the extreme and the mainstream. Strange that "Rainbow in the Dark" sounds as sanitized today as Ozzy Osbourne's "Crazy Train," but Dio's signature power ballad remains a beacon call to everyone who wishes to feel embraced coming into the ranks of metalheads. The rest of Holy Diver seals your pact.

52. Ace Frehley - Kiss solo album

It's no secret the generally maligned Kiss solo albums of 1978 were cash cow products that backfired in every way imaginable. Stories of how retailers were forced to send back overages once the unenthusiastic public rejected the solo albums are now legendary. Paul Stanley and Peter Criss' albums were overall pretty timid and Gene Simmons had a few cool ditties, but his cover of "When You Wish Upon a Star" was a telling tale of how limp Kiss had become at that point in their careers. It was Ace Frehley's aversely outstanding solo album that makes them even worth talking about. "Rip it Out" became a future Ace standard and his wonderfully layered "Fractured Mirror" set a standard for others to follow--even Ace himself who had mixed results in his "sequels." Still, the album overall is a rock 'n roll punchout that proved a few things back then we're still debating today.

51. Between the Buried and Me - Colors

If The Dillinger Escape Plan opened new portals in tech grind, Between the Buried and Me jumped into them with their textbooks of Pink Floyd, Queen and The Cure snugly in tote. One of the most thoughtful and mathematic-oriented bands on the planet, Between the Buried and Me's Colors is a must-own, as is Alaska and well hell, their entire catalog. Behind Mastodon and Opeth as one of this generation's absolute best bands.

50. Kreator - Terrible Certainty

Much of Kreator's early catalog is indispensable, but Terrible Certainty did something for thrash and death metal they, along with their fellow Teutonic terrors Destruction and Sodom, should be championed for. Not only did Terrible Certainty reach a diverse global market, it put a fearsome, hairy facade upon speed metal when it was starting to grow a fashionable exterior in the American metal sector. This album kept thrash honest as it was starting to go commercial.

The Metal Minute's 100 Metal Albums You Can't Live Without: Numbers 69 to 60

2011-09-04T07:33:00.013-04:00

69: Black Sabbath - Mob Rules

Both Mob Rules and Heaven and Hell should be in your collections and perhaps Heaven and Hell is slightly more dramatic and polished, yet Mob Rules is a cataclysmic and relatively brutal experience when you step up to it the first time. Ronnie James Dio, as ever, is metal divinity on this heavier reinvention of Black Sabbath that deserved longer nurturing. Glad they had the opportunity to give it a final crack before Ronnie left us.

68: W.A.S.P. - s/t

One of the heaviest of those metal bands of the eighties which gained more press than the others. Hardly a mainstream band, but Blackie Lawless and Chris Holmes' antics and the band's notorious stage presence gave W.A.S.P. a ton of coverage. Over the years, W.A.S.P. has settled into a songwriting scheme that seldom deviates, but they get that rare pass like the Ramones, AC/DC and Motorhead because at their best, this band torches. Try and snag a copy of the self-titled debut with the once controversial "Fuck Like a Beast" bonus tagged to it.

67: Annihilator - Never Neverland

When stepping up to the molten shredding of Jeff Waters and Annihilator, make sure you don't just settle on Alice in Hell. Never Neverland is superior and is Annihilator's creative masterwork. Though Waters was considered a maverick in the middle years of Annihilator's career, he has left a mostly respectable catalog of albums, albeit Never Neverland supercedes all of them.

66: Deep Purple - Burn

The MKIII era of Deep Purple was one of its best, especially on Burn. The frontal attack of David Coverdale and Glenn Hughes might've been underappreciated back in the day, but history reveals this tag team to have produced a legendary quasi body of work together under the Deep Purple name. Burn is as good as any of the MKII Deep Purple albums and well deserves your attention. The subsequent album Stormbringer is being re-released due to audience demand and people still chase down the MKIV era Come Taste the Band for both the Coverdale-Hughes connection, but also Tommy Bolin, who has been forgiven by later generations (if not Purple's original followers) for taking over in Ritchie Blackmore's hallowed spot.

65: Jucifer - L'Autrichienne

This is one of those albums where you're not sure just what you've been subjected to until the initial clout has transpired and you spin it again. This is the ultimate combination of weirdness and exhilirating expression and it all glues together in the ears and the mind once you acclimate yourself to it. Brilliant is hardly the word to describe Jucifer.

64: Motley Crue - Too Fast for Love

In the strange cosmos of the rock world, Motley Crue is just as popular now as they ever were. Their unapologetic badness offstage has seldom hurt the Crue in terms of album sales. Only when heavy metal died in the U.S. did the Crue's fan base. Shame that the John Corabi-led self-titled Motley album was met more with scorn instead of praise since it's better than much of the Crue's work overall. Still, only Shout at the Devil (another Album You Can't Live Without) and Dr. Feelgood gets within reach of the greatness that is Too Fast For Love. Out the gate they established their street cred, albeit all of their subsequent albums ran with commercial empowerment that seldom hails the proto metal-punk rowdiness of this one.

63: Sepultura - Arise

Of course, Chaos A.D. and Roots are must-own albums, and if you're not one of the Derrick Green haters out there, there's plenty more Sepultura albums you should be getting around. Still, Arise broke Sepultura out of Brazil, which has become over the years a well-respected hub of metal from both a performer and audience standpoint. Arise was one of the fastest thrash albums of its time--and it still is.

62: Slough Feg - Ape Uprising

This may be a new name to many folks and if it is, get acquainted pronto. Slough Feg may never break out of the underground simply for their quizzical name, but this is a highly consistent power and speed metal hybrid frequently leaning on the NWOBHM side, albeit Slough Feg is just as decorative as they are loud. Ape Uprising (now topical due to the release of Rise of the Planet of the Apes) is frequently a gargantuan effort of punishment and articulation.

61: Celtic Frost - To Mega Therion

Would black metal have crossed over if not for Celtic Frost? Black metal purists may condemn the fact the genre ever gained widespread popularity and for that, you might be better to blame Cradle of Filth and Dimmu Borgir. It all began, however, with Hellhammer and Celtic Frost, who have been rightly recognized over the years as the instrumental force in legitimizing black metal. Venom may have made the world wake up to black metal, but their comical approach was sodomized and then refined by Celtic Frost. Into the Pandemonium took Celtic Frost and metal on an expressive course it would build from, yet To Mega Therion (and Mercyful Fate's Don't Break the Oath) might be considered black metal's first moment of supremity. This one is still beyond impressive.

60: Iron Maiden - Piece of Mind

The greatest metal band in the world had hit its full stride with Bruce Dickinson on Piece of Mind, even if Number of the Beast remains an iconic performance by all involved. From Killers to Powerslave (and even Somewhere in Time), Iron Maiden established themselves as sovereign metal artisans. "Flight of Icarus" was one of the very few heavy metal videos MTV played in its infancy years, but they and Rush forced MTV to acknowledge a heavier music spectrum existed out there. In their own way, you can thank "Flight of Icarus" and Piece of Mind for the genesis of Headbangers Ball.

Van of the Dead Movie Review: Chromeskull: Laid to Rest 2

2011-09-03T01:14:00.006-04:00

Chromeskull: Laid to Rest 2
2011 Image Entertainment
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

What do you say about the slasher film that hasn't been said since 1978 when John Carpenter first sprang Michael Myers upon us? Or, for that matter, Alfred Hitchcock with Norman Bates long before that in 1960?

The fact of the matter is slasher films have been beaten to death even since the mid-to-late eighties when they invaded theaters every other week, it seemed. A gorehound's feeding frenzy if you grew up in that period as I did. Still, as I've grown older and have had to stomach seeing virtually every memorable horror movie of the day either remade or rebooted, I've just about given up hope on the slasher genre.

With Friday the 13th 2 and Halloween 3-D already on the slow cooker for future release, I'm sighing out loud but know I'll be watching these goddamn sequel-reboots because I'm compelled to as a horror fan. Jason, Freddy, Leatherface and Michael have made their producers a little reinvestment coin with new players under their masks. Ultimately, though, it's the same ol' situation realized by younger eyes who know the rules and break them in ways they think are fresh, when in the end, they're corporate. It's just that corporate has been forced to man up a bit ever since Eli Roth's Hostel changed the game.

Director Robert Hall struck indie gold in 2009 with Laid to Rest, a nasty, nasty, nasty send-up of the left-for-dead slasher realm. For most viewers, the amped-up kill scenes in Laid to Rest were all the rage. Granted, it was indeed a sanguinary spectacle only outdone by Adam Green's two maul-erific Hatchet films. What was even more interesting about Laid to Rest was the fact it had an interesting cast, a creepy little plot and a claustrophobic opening that socked you right in the gut from first frame.

Like Hatchet, it also introduced a new badass villain, Chromeskull. Whereas Adam Green's Victor Crowley is a 2nd gen Jason Voorhees type of murdering mutant, Chromeskull is a calculating tech dweeb with a vicious penchant for torture and slaughter. The fact Chromeskull wears a video cam on his shoulder to film his dirty work and a silver plated mask that he glues to his face instead of strapping on is pretty wicked stuff. Especially if you saw the pulpy finale to Laid to Rest.

Which is right where the inevitable sequel, Chromeskull: Laid to Rest 2 picks up. As far as sequels go, there's something to be said about this one and the majority of it is positive.

If you thought the first Laid to Rest was a splashy endeavor, well, you're not even going to believe the splatter Robert Hall throws in your eyes with Chromeskull: Laid to Rest 2. Seriously, that's not mere hype. The kill scenes in this film are going to rank up there amongst the best of this generation of horror--and honestly, today's horror filmmakers can't pour on enough blood. However, there's a fine line between intensity and shlock. Chromeskull: Laid to Rest 2 ends up being pretty freaking intense.

After a cameo by Bobbi Sue Luther, who survived the first Laid to Rest, you can pretty much guess what befalls her in this film, aside from her getting nekked (assuming that's not a body double in the shower sequence). Her end fate, considering she was the focal point of the original film, is positively nauseating. A lot of contemporary horror filmmakers have lately subjected their heroes and heroines to much bodily and emotional grief throughout their films, only to snuff them out by the credit roll. Frankly, this tactic has already become overdone and is hardly shocking anymore. This time, Bobbi Sue Luther's amnesia-plagued lead only sticks around in the sequel to tidy up between films before Chromeskull assumes its own identity. Similar to the way Friday the 13th Part 2 from 1981 had Jason take out Adrienne King before the title screen erupted.

In a way, Chromeskull borrows from the Saw franchise as we discover Chromey has a savage acolyte, Preston (Brian Austin Green) who gets so deep into his "work," he tries to usurp the Chromeskull persona unto himself. Oddly enough, Chromeskull (Nick Principe) has his own crack squad (which includes Danielle Harris, quite the busy bee in her adult horror life these days) who scouts out his locations and victims. As Chromeskull was veritably face melted at the end of the first Laid to Rest, he is restored to health by privateering for-hire surgeons. As Dee Dee Ramone yakked in "Wart Hog," it's a sick world, sick sick sick...

Thomas Dekker (now popular from the Nightmare on Elm Street remake) reprises his role of Tommy from the original film. After he discovers the chewed up remains of Bobbi Sue Luther, he is once again sucked into Chromeskull's terror zone through Preston and ultimately the big steelhead himself. Thrown into the mix is the ultra-cute Angelina Armani, whose character Holland, is scheduled to have eye surgery once it's determined she is about to lose her sight altogether.

This is a rather clever maneuver on Robert Hall's part, to jack up the fear factor for Holland's plight as Chromeskull's main target. Similar to Bobbi Sue Luther, Armani is slung into a coffin as an instrument of torture. The fact her sight keeps going in and out on her increases the jagged edge the film dances on. A lot of Chromeskull: Laid to Rest 2 is hell-bent to outdo the original film in the gore department and it succeeds. Yet, it's the subliminal haunts which disturb as much as Chromeskull's texted provocations.

While Preston goes on a killing spree under Chromeskull's persona, the real McCoy gets the shits of it all and takes matters into his own bloody mits. Amongst the carnage he leaves in his sinewy wrath includes Detective King's (Owain Yeoman) entire Homicide team. While Preston has Chromey's mercenaries concoct him a six-pronged knife for his personal use (Preston's constant twirling of the death blades is unnerving unto itself), the majority of the wreckage is brought about with a single monster blade which slices, dices and carves the facial skins off of victims like a holiday turkey. It's that brutal, and we'll just leave it open-ended so as not to spoil the shocks.

Best of all, the acting in Chromeskull: Laid to Rest 2 is rather superb. The editing is air-tight, the pacing leaves almost no room to catch your breath and it's the air of professionalism behind this movie that makes it more than just a chum bucket of crimson slop, which Chromeskull: Laid to Rest 2 most certainly is.

Despite the blatant hint of a story continuation at the end of this film, there's already a reported script for a prequel, Laid to Rest 3: Conception, so beware or be excited. Stevan Mena just executed a very respectable prequel to his breakout massacre film, Malevolence, with Bereavement. If Robert Hall stays as red-hot as he has through the first two Laid to Rest films, hoo-whee are we in for a franchise we'll actually welcome to stick around.

Album Review: Hank III's Attention Deficit Domination - s/t

2011-09-02T06:21:00.007-04:00

Hank III's Attention Deficit Domination - s/t
2011 Hank 3 Records/Megaforce Records
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

You have to wonder if papa Bocephus is rubbing his chin wistfully or just shaking his head at his son Hank III's doings in the music biz. Not that the two men are on reported speaking terms, but you have to think by now part of what drives Hank III as an artist is grounded in anger. A part of that anger must assuredly stem from his strained relations with his dad, while Hank III himself has a little buckeroo out there for he whom recorded Three Hanks back in 1996 just to keep up the child support.

Keeping these things in mind, plus Hank III's disgruntlement with various record labels and his ongoing rumble with the Grand Ole Opry to reinstate his grandfather into their hypocritical hall of fame, it's no wonder the Hank the Youngest has recorded some pretty damned livid material in his energetic career.

When in a settled frame of mind, Hank III is a near doppelganger vocally of his gramps. III replicates Hank Williams' high end tenor twang and in the past he's been known to play his country albums in the old school Depression-era fashion--only with more risque lyrics. There's a gift in that, considering how commercialized, conservative and un-urgent today's country music is. George Jones might've been the genre's last true rebel until Hank III came along.

Brian Setzer, Southern Culture on the Skids and Reverend Horton Heat's advent of a country, bop and swing revival later evovled what's become known as psychobilly. The Koffin Kats, REO Speedealer, Tiger Army and Nekromantix gave soundtrack to a subculture based on Bettie sculpts and whiffleheads along with wallet chains and Catholic school skirts, all brought current with tattoos and piercings. A mutated underworld based on retro and a pliable market for the broad-minded Hank III to cater to.

Not that Hank III caters to anyone. If you don't understand this guy writes his own rules musically, then you're in for a big-time wakeup when his three new albums all launch together next week: the double album Ghost to a Ghost/Guttertown (which is country for awhile but unlike any Hank III album you're accustomed to), his outlandish metal-meets-auctioneering yapping on Cattle Callin' (attributed to his 3 Bar Ranch moniker) and Attention Deficit Domination.

The latter ends up being Hank III's hillbilly ode to doom metal. Slow, grinding chords, laborious beat structures and mondo distortion, this is the disarming world of Attention Deficit Domination. As with 3 Bar Ranch, Hank III fields all of the instruments. While this plays foil against him to certain latitudes, Attention Deficit Domination is some really brutal stuff nonetheless.

Not quite as dense as Saint Vitus, Candlemass or the mighty Black Sabbath, Hank III does create an effective enough soundscape of death dirge without a heavier fill of bass. Doom metal is largely hoisted on the bass position in creating the dank plunge into Hell sensation the low end provides. While Attention Deficit Domination is guided by Hank III's guitars, bass and drums, you're getting more of a shrill cadence, particularly when Hank turns on the sequencers and voice scramblers after the album establishes itself.

"In the Camouflage" and "I Feel Sacrificed" are both creepy and subliminally cheeky. You know Hank III is taking this project rather serious since doom purists will be quick to hypothetically impale imposters. Still, his backwoods wallowing on "I Feel Sacrificed" carries a chuckle-inducement we can only hope is intentional. The fact he seems to be roasting the entire pagan ethos on this album with the artwork, which includes comical placements of goat heads and even a whopping pair of breasts attributed to a faceless mamacita, you know there's a planted kitsch at work here. Hank III wants to be accepted by the metal community, but he also seems to want to point out how silly the genre can be. Not since the Dan Aykroyd/Tom Hanks film version of Dragnet has paganism been mocked in such riotous fashion.

As with 3 Bar Ranch, Hank III makes his point on the opening numbers, then begins to pelt his listeners with oddities and nerve-scraping soundwaves that tests them almost with deliberation. To roll with Hank, you're going to have to earn it. Even with Assjack, which is a mind-blowing sojourn into cowpunk-industrial catatonia, you have to bend a little when Hank III seeks to blast out your ear canals with sublet flotsam.

"Livin' Beyond Doom" might best make Attention Deficit Domination's case, in title and of course, in its impulsive thrust to enforce submission. Most doom bands allow their haunted grooves and their thundering drop-tuned bars to impose their will upon their audience. Hank III is a little more pissed off than simply forlorn and aggrieved. Hence, he employs the Jello Biafra, Al Jourgensen and Gibby Haynes method of voice filtering to the point Attention Deficit Domination does irk at times. In other words, Hank III is none too happy to share his love, take that as you will.

Still, the deal is not to take Attention Deficit Domination too seriously at all. We should applaud Hank III for his testicular fortitude to do whatever the frick he wants as an artist, even to the point of starting his own label in alliance with Megaforce and letting the cow chips fall where they may. We should also commend Hank for knowing his subject matter intimately. The guy plays death metal and punk with the same transitional effortlessness as Corrosion of Conformity. Nobody is going to gave Toby Keith a chance in hell at peeling off tremolos with the horns sign in the air. The horns coming from Hank III, however, we buy that without hesitation. Strange cosmos...

Rating: ***

Album Review: Hank III's 3 Bar Ranch - Cattle Callin'

2011-09-01T06:00:00.012-04:00

Hank III's 3 Bar Ranch - Cattle Callin'
2011 Hank 3 Records/Megaforce Records
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Welcome to "cattle core," folks...

Only a renegade hombre like Hank III could conceive of something so outrageous yet produced under reasonably honorable intentions. This is one of three albums the grandson of legendary country liege Hank Williams will be releasing simultaneously on the same day. Of those, Hank III's 3 Bar Ranch will go down as the strangest concoction this side of Mike Patton and Jello Biafra--and wait until you get to the zydeco at the gates of Hell second album of Hank III's double dip, Ghost to a Ghost/Guttertown.

If you're acclimated to the gonzo doings of Patton and Biafra's offshoot projects (not to mention the Butthole Surfers and even Brent Hinds of Mastodon's side gigs), you'll at least be prepared coming into 3 Bar Ranch's unbelievably weird Cattle Callin'. It's also unbelievably hilarious, whether Hank III intended it as such or not.

Fathom if you will, an unholy alliance between death metal, cowpunk, grindcore and thrash, all spewed singlehandedly by Hank III with dizzying sprays of cattle auctioneering overtop. Yeah, you're reading that correctly. Jettisoned from the inexplicably rapid mouths of actual cattle callers such as Tim Dowler, Joe Coggins, Hugh and Gwynn Howell, Mitch Jordan and others, you won't believe it at face value until you put this madcap son of a gun into your player.

Hank III chugs, twists, sears and propels insane crunch chords, gnashing guitar solos and ratchety drum smacking below the inhuman nattering of his dubbed auctioneer tracks. Cattle Callin' speeds and it huffs and it is a maniacal trip into an Arkansas hellhole where Hank III eventually twines in some filtered electro vocals--think Gibby Haynes--which pummel the snot out of the listener. Sometimes he pelts his audience with self-contained minute-plus blasts. Sometimes Hank III whirls up 10 minute marathons. For awhile, anyway, you'll be roaring along. If you think Gibby Haynes scatting all over Ministry's "Jesus Built My Hotrod" is a trip, it's a mere jaunt to the chicken shack by comparison to 3 Bar Ranch.

What starts out as a complete scream eventually becomes a major endurance test as Cattle Callin' clocks in at 75 minutes of, well, psychotic cattle calling with an unhinged metallic undercarriage. Honestly, though, most folks stepping up to 3 Bar Ranch are quite possibly going to check out halfway through once the joke's been worn out.

Yet Hank III doesn't intend for Cattle Callin' to be a joke. His very serious intent is to lure younger generations in the west towards keeping an old tradition alive, even if it means seducing them with loud, crashing crunk. On the positive, though, Hank's playing is damned good, to the point you can disect his reckless yet hammering instrumentation from the nerve-wracking layers of quick-lipped steer selling. Hank shreds as impressively as he picks on his country tunes, but all the better this raging polecat knows how to disseminate genres and yet appeal to both. Well, at least the metal and punk sanctions are more open-minded towards Hank III's pure country than vice-versa. Try line dancing to this shit, Austin City Limits...

Hank III's decision to independently release 3 Bar Ranch along with his doom project Attention Deficit Domination and the double album Ghost to a Ghost/Guttertown probably comes on the heels of his dissatisfaction with Curb Records, which really didn't know how to market Hank's wild side. At least his Hillbilly Joker album finally hit his fans, along with his punishing and frequently awesome Assjack endeavor.

Maybe only Mike Patton has more alter entities than Hank III, but the margin is closing quickly. No doubt Patton has to be saluting Cattle Callin' for its unapologetic moxy. This, along with Hank III's other two new albums, are all angry, bitter pills which you have to swallow sideways to get them down. Not many listeners have the constitution to hang with 3 Bar Ranch for the full hour fifteen, but catch what you can, because Cattle Callin' is history in the making. What that history is remains to be seen, but you'll at least have borne witness.

Rating: ***1/2

Whattya Listenin' to Wednesday - 8/31/11

2011-08-31T05:58:00.005-04:00

It's 5:30 a.m. and I've skipped the coffee since last night's chili is still rumbling inside and our adopted country-turned-punker-turned-metalhead Hank III has me already at full alert. Ol' Hank has three--count 'em, three--new albums coming out next week on the same day. The first is a one-man doom metal venture known as Attention Deficit Domination, the second is Hank's 3 Bar Ranch, which has Hank supplying death metal, thrash and hardcore lines (again, all instrumentation on his own) with overdubbed cattle calling blazing overtop. The other double album is one half country and weirdness (Ghost to a Ghost) and the second album is zydeco flung into the bowels of Hell (Guttertown).

You can be assured The Metal Minute will be breaking down some of Hank III's over-the-top madness and we're glad to count the grandson of a legend amongst our ranks. Hope Hank III wins his crusade against the Grand Ole Opry to skip the semantics and do the right thing by inducting Hank Williams into its Hall of Fame. On the other hand, it doesn't take a damn hall of fame to remind us that Williams the senior and Hank Snow are the godfathers of country.

Hope everyone is enjoying The Metal Minute's 100 Metal Albums You Can't Live Without. Do remember the list is subjective and not intended to serve as an official ranking system. That being said, be on the lookout for more of the 100 Metal Albums You Can't Live Without in-between aural examinations and the usual chaos here at the site.

Cheers, beers and in Hank III's case, steers...

Megadeth - The System Has Failed
Rainbow - Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow
Rainbow - Rising
Rainbow - Long Live Rock 'n Roll
Rainbow - Straight Between the Eyes
Rainbow - Live in Germany 1976
Hank III's Attention Deficit Domination - s/t
Hank III's 3 Bar Ranch - Cattle Callin'
Hank III - Ghost to a Ghost/Guttertown
Iron Maiden - Piece of Mind
Sweet - Desolation Boulevard
Anthrax - Worship Music
DC4 - Electric Ministry
Jimi Hendrix - South Saturn Delta
Stereolab - Dots and Loops
Arctic Monkeys - Favourite Worst Nightmare
Gary Numan - The Pleasure Principle
Ride - Nowhere
Ani DiFranco - Educated Guess
Ani DiFranco - Knuckle Down
Ani DiFranco - Reprieve

The Metal Minute's 100 Metal Albums You Can't Live Without: Numbers 79 to 70

2011-08-30T06:34:00.005-04:00

79: Thin Lizzy - Johnny the Fox

It's been debated whether Thin Lizzy is a pure heavy metal act. Well, yes and no, but they've been criminally overlooked for their frequently thunderous contributions which deserve a special award of merit for metal in evolution. Jailbreak is an album you can't live without, but Johnny the Fox is more adventurous, equally catchy and just a hair more aggressive, despite the couple syrupy ballads which are still damned fine tunes.

78: Chthonic - Mirror of Retribution

Seediq Bale is a mandatory listen for the sheer experience of feeling like you've been sucked into a black metal vortex. Still, Taiwanese black thrashers Chthonic have proved to be one of the most innovative and extreme bands on the planet right now. Their merge of traditional erhu strings entwined within their reckless speed usually creates tempests of sorrow worth submitting yourself to. Mirror of Retribution, however, showed a brilliant new dimension to Chthonic with dynamic change-ups and exhilirating melody within their portals of chaos. This is also a band not to be missed onstage.

77: Judas Priest - Hell Bent for Leather

A mega chunk of this list should be dominated by the Priest, but for the interim, let's take Hell Bent for Leather as one of their most perfect displays of rowdy tunefulness. "Delivering the Goods," "Evening Star," "Take On All the World," "Running Wild" and the title track...all imprintable classics. Let's not forget the mammoth "Green Manalishi," requested ad infinitum by every serious metalhead at a Priest show.

76: Whiplash - Power and Pain

There are plenty of thrash bands that were more popular than New Jersey's Whiplash, but seldom few speed metal albums hold equal measures of blazing insanity and street cred as Power and Pain does. A raw and chunky album, Power and Pain still impresses in this day with its gusty velocity and gutsy musicality.

75: Warlock - True as Steel

"All We Are" from Triumph and Agony may be considered Warlock's calling card anthem and in some respects, their preceding album Hellbound is a hair better, but for its place in metal history, you can't go wrong with True as Steel. A bit slicker than it needed to be, this one still rocks hard and introduced the metal world to its future queen, Doro Pesch.

74: Mercyful Fate - Don't Break the Oath

One of the most horrific metal albums in history, period. Forget the brackets of black and death metal, which Mercyful Fate easily hedges into. The legacy of King Diamond began with Mercyful Fate in an unforgettable plunge straight to Hell.

73: Saint Vitus - Born Too Late

Doom metal is attributed to Black Sabbath, of course, yet it was Saint Vitus who dared to resurrect the form, and they received no thanks from an early-on metal public split between thrash and death metal sanctions and the hairball partyheads. Vitus found their audience strangely amidst the punkers, who revered Black Sabbath nearly as much as the headbangers. Saint Vitus are now well-heralded, but they might've been born too early, in this case.

72: Pelican - The Fire In Our Throats Will Beckon the Thaw

Though this album betrays a few squawks and flubs, Pelican developed a powerful infrastructure of explorative drone metal and schematic progression. Similar to Isis' modes of tone building, when Pelican hits a climax on this album, the results range from beauteous to cataclysmic.

71: Sweet - Desolation Boulevard

Some considered Sweet a glam band and there are certain parallels, yet the bottom line is Desolation Boulevard is a beast of a hard rock album. It's chocked full of driving animals such as "AC/DC," (one of the first rock songs to roast bisexuality) "No You Don't," "Sweet F.A." and of course, its better-known tunes, "Ballroom Blitz," "Set Me Free" and "Fox On the Run." The latter were covered by the likes of Krokus, Heathen, Ace Frehley and Girlschool.

70: Candlemass - Nightfall

The greatest non-Sabbath doom album of all-time. Not much else needs to be said other than Nightfall is the standard to which all doom bands must answer to.

The Metal Minute's 100 Metal Albums You Can't Live Without: Numbers 89 to 80

2011-08-28T14:12:00.006-04:00

89: Manowar - Hail to England

Americans salute their forefathers in loud fashion. Manowar has never had any qualms in proclaiming themselves the heaviest band on Earth. At times, this declaration has played against them, but certainly Manowar is always prepared to back themselves up. This album is the mightiest in their catalog and certainly one of the mightiest metal records existing in the land.

88: Clutch - The Elephant Riders

Josh Homme may get most of the credit for the garage/stoner resurrection, but Fu Manchu and Clutch deserve a hand for being there ahead of the trend. The majority of Clutch's albums are worth getting your ears around, but The Elephant Riders is frequently mind-blowing and will force you to shake your ass if not your cranium.

87: Earth - Hex: Or Printing in the Infernal Method

The Deacon of Drone, Dylan Carlson. 'Nuff said...

86: Quiet Riot - Metal Health

Yeah, you can catch "Cum On Feel the Noize" on FM every damned day for the rest of your life, but Metal Health is a monster example of hard rock perfection. As slick as the black cadillac rumbling midway through the album, Quiet Riot may not have lived up to the potential of this album in later efforts (though Condition Critical has its moments), but they did record one hell of a catchy sumbitch in the beginning.

85: Dokken - Tooth and Nail

This choice is sure to piss off a few heavy than thou folks, yet at least for one album Dokken was louder than bombs. It's a shame the musical visions between the band's constituents took them down a less-bombastic path and inevitably split up the core parties.

84: Testament - The Legacy

One of the most revered thrash acts of all-time, and deservedly so. You could easily include Low, The Gathering and Demonic on this list as some of Testament's fiercest recordings. Still, here is where it all started, and though many fans peg The New Order as their favorite Testament album, The Legacy is a literal typhoon of speed metal.

83: Girlschool - Demolition

Girlschool's debut came shortly on the heels of The Runaways' break-up and it feels largely like one picking up the other's torch with the intent of honoring while pushing the boundaries even further at warp speed. Aggression, fortitude and loudness delivered by a pack of mean-assed mamas who get their dues nowawadays, but not always for the right reasons.

82: Death - Leprosy

Very hard to choose between Human, Scream Bloody Gore, The Sound of Perseverance and Leprosy as the one You Can't Live Without since each album deserves its place in your collection. Chuck Schuldiner left behind a blueprint of creative modes to execute death metal which has been consulted hundreds of times by bands coming up in the modern age. Human may be more progressive, but Leprosy is simply searing at every turn.

81: Satyricon - Nemesis Divina

Emperor may be the finest black metal group of all-time and Mayhem its most notoriest, yet Satyricon's Nemesis Divina proved that black metal, thrash and death metal could co-exist with sophisticated orchestral maneuvers. This album scorches and bleeds on each track, strangely producing emotions of rage and breathless passion. Nemesis Divina is sheer mind rape and you'll beg for more afterwards.

80: Neurosis - Souls at Zero

This is the reason the contrived term "post metal" was generated, though Neurosis is hardly contrived. Recorded in 1991, Neurosis had forsaken their punk origins and tapped into a haunted and claustrophic mode of sound sculpture which has been borrowed and sometimes equaled by Isis, Pelican, Tool, Rosetta and Mouth of the Architect.

The Metal Minute's 100 Metal Albums You Can't Live Without: Numbers 100 to 90

2011-08-27T00:18:00.005-04:00

Lists and music journalists seem to go together like weight benches and football players. Lists too, in the latter's case. Hang out at NFL Network during the offseason and their all-time lists are how you pass the time until kickoff weekend in September.

Here at The Metal Minute, we're going to knock out 100 Metal Albums You Can't Live Without. Considering the mass body of material that has been recorded in the heavy metal genre over the span of 30-plus years, this will hardly seem comprehensive enough, even by my standards. You may even bellyache by the time we reach the end of this exercise that your mandatory metal slab didn't make the cut. Try not to take the numbering portion too seriously, since the main objective is to pinpoint 100 crucial albums of the genre, moreso than arranging them by opinionated "better than" sequencing. I'll withstand your darts come the time.

For now, kick back and hopefully you'll enjoy this list. Perhaps you'll find a few missing albums from your collections and feel yourself moved to get acquainted with them properly. This countdown will come in-between our regularly scheduled reviews and events at The Metal Minute, so allow me to whet your appetites with the first ten selections:

100: Saxon - Wheels of Steel

Your study of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal should begin here. One of Saxon's most relentless and fiercest albums in their catalog. If you're not hooked out the get-go by "Motorcycle Man," get bent, you poser.

99: Emperor - Anthems to the Welkin at Dusk

What Celtic Frost and Bathory unearthed in the eighties was brought to new heights by Ihsahn and company. Symphonic fusions amidst the most elaborate and emotional death tolls imaginable. Still the sovereign black metallers of their time and perhaps of all time...

98: Voivod - Dimension Hatross

Cyberpunk was birthed by Voivod's Killing Technology and refined by Nothingface. In-between was this gem, filled with mind-melding proficiency and cold steel abrasion. This might be Piggy's personal masterpiece, while the thrumming intro to "Tribal Convictions" is one of the most beastly metal vibes ever.

97: The Runaways - Queens of Noise

Initially more of a punk and garage band at-heart, I may prefer The Runaways' self-titled debut album, but this one is a historic moment where punk evolved into metal and the performers were all women, the first of their kind. Joan Jett and Lita Ford became household names after the band broke up, but this album is all about stamping swagger that each lady took to future commercial heights. Bow down to The Runaways before Lacuna Coil. They and Girlschool paid everyone else's dues.

96: Helloween - Keeper of the Seven Keys Pt. 1

Speed metal meets finesse and artistry. Helloween almost single-handedly sanitized thrash without selling out--at least before Bubbles Go Ape and Chameleon. This album is about power and extravagance. "Halloween" is perhaps the second greatest metal epic behind Iron Maiden's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner."

95: Isis - In the Absence of Truth

Not everyone appreciates Isis, while some lament they went on a more adventurous path following the trailblazing crunk of Oceanic. This album found Isis at the height of their expressionistic creativity and each long track is more of a journey than a drag-out. Emotive, detailed, patient and climactic. Controlled ugliness evolves into pure beauty.

94: Cannibal Corpse - The Wretched Spawn

One of the most extreme acts in the history of metal and also one the most riotous. If there was ever a band worthy of a George A. Romero Award in metal, this is your shoo-in victor. Yeah, Vile, Gore Obsessed and Eaten Back to Life are more hardcore than The Wretched Spawn, but it's the extra attention to layers and precision shredding plus a few random slivers of musicality that makes this one a Can't Live Without.

93: Black Sabbath - Vol. 4

Of those recorded in the Ozzy regime of Black Sabbath, the first few albums are faithfully mentioned on everyone's list (and they may appear on this one too, so stay tuned), yet Vol. 4 is an underrated classic cherished by deep metal aficianados. You're not going to hear many people cite "Snowblind," "Changes" and "St. Vitus' Dance" when asked to call up their favorite Sabbath tune, but you should hear them more often. "Supernaut" rules this sucker and was niftily covered by Al Jourgensen's 1000 Homo DJs.

92: Lizzy Borden - Menace to Society

Tough to pick between this one and Love You to Pieces as Lizzy's greatest album, but why fight it? This one is full of turbo and a slick energy that borderlined a pop metal flair later tapped in full on Visual Lies. Lizzy is a master performer and Menace to Society is one of his legacy albums.

91: Anthrax - Fistful of Metal

While the world has over-debated who best leads Anthrax between Joey Belladonna and John Bush, let's not forget the short run of Neil Turbin who shrieked his guts out as the band was just coming up. This album is faster than Kyle Busch taken at a speed trap. Worthy of your time for that alone.

90: King Diamond - Abigail

The Stephen King of metal at his finest. Them, Conspiracy, House of God, Voodoo and The Spider's Lullabye are no slouches themselves, yet there's no getting around the King isn't--vocally speaking--for all tastes. Nevertheless, King Diamond's pole vaulting pipes do tell his tales of terror with effectiveness and Abigail is his crowning glory. You're cheating yourself out of a frightfully great time if you skip this masterwork of metal.

Album Review: Rainbow - Live in Germany 1976

2011-08-26T06:21:00.008-04:00

Rainbow - Live in Germany 1976
2011 Eagle Records
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

As we've come to learn through the passing of a legend, Ronnie James Dio enraptured his public like seldom few performers have, pick your genre. Since Dio has left us, a score of final days collaborative recordings and live documents have poured into the market and to this point, they've all been welcome. We just can't get enough of Ronnie, and that's appropriate for a man who gave himself to his fans and a man who defines the front position. Were there no such thing as Rob Halford, Ronnie James Dio would forevermore be the king of metal. God help us when Halford and Bruce Dickinson pass on, because the realm will be sorely vacant without its proper lieges governing them.

Then again, Dio really is a sovereign lord of heavy metal and though he's not amongst us in a living sense, he continues to wail and whisper into the ears of those who love him. 'Nuff said.

In the case of Rainbow, however, there's more to the story than the enigmatic leadership of Dio on the mike. You're talking about Ritchie Blackmore's playground, an unchained smokehouse of creativity and freeform. Critics and fans alike have debated over the years which band Blackmore leaves his true legacy with, either Deep Purple or Rainbow. While his Purple years remain a blueprint for which all future heavy metal guitarists from Adrian Smith to Lita Ford to Yngwie Malmsteen and generations beyond aspire to, it's to be said Rainbow offered Blackmore's fans better insight into the person, not just the guitarist.

Another thing we've come to learn over the years is that Rainbow really kicked up a storm in Europe circa the mid seventies, well-focused upon Germany. We've already had numerous Rainbow live albums descend upon us over the years and a fair chunk of them originate from gigs belted out in Germany--most recently Live in Munich 1977 from a couple years ago.

Perhaps German rock fans of the day were more reverential of Ritchie's Blackmore's need to preen onstage than others, but it's evident Blackmore and his Rainbow horde summoned an uncanny energy from Germany that propelled some the band's greatest moments.

Live in Germany 1976 is, to this point, the most accurate representation of Rainbow at this halcyon time in its history. We say this because a lot of Rainbow live albums have been edited and pared down for economical reasons. Not so in this case. Here you have a double album featuring only eight songs, stretched to full elasticity by Blackmore, Dio, Cozy Powell, Jimmy Bain and Tony Carey, considered by most as the quintessential Rainbow lineup.

Consider that one of the songs tramped out through 16 minutes of agitated purging is Deep Purple's "Mistreated." You get the long-obvious impression Blackmore was out to prove something beyond his neoclassical and blues-hungry prowess. On the heels of Burn and Stormbringer, Blackmore's last Purple affiliations, there is a decided angst towards his former bandmates (which of course included then-newbies David Coverdale and Glenn Hughes) on Rainbow's rendition of "Mistreated." It comes off as venomous instead of slinky and seductive as the original track conveys and at 16 minutes. You can almost feel Blackmore deliver a thumb bite to his past by lingering on it and lingering on it in a somewhat reserved jam session before ripping "Mistreated" to pieces. What his audience must've beheld that night had to rival Blackmore's tirade at the California Jam in 1974.

And the same might be said of the Rainbow selections on Live in Germany 1976. Blackmore teases the crowd with a snaking thread of Deep Purple in the middle of his rockout section on "Man On the Silver Mountain" but otherwise, he distances himself far away from Deep Purple and even the reality of his gargantuan Rainbow stage, one would assume.

It might be said Ritchie Blackmore found his soul in Rainbow, while others might say he eventually lost his mind once lineups shifted and his Rainbow, Rising and Long Live Rock 'n Roll albums turned into closet classics for future metal freaks. When you're listening to Live in Germany 1976, you can well bet Blackmore tapped into his aura and set it free in the company of Dio, Bain, Carey and Powell. Somewhere, his invisible half was spiraling overtop, summoning otherworldly notes through prolonged solo sections that were probably forgotten by the next gig.

It's not just the fact "Kill the King" is the only song on this collection that clocks in at the tasteful five and a quarter minute mark--ironically a minute longer than the future 4:27 minute studio version appearing in 1978 on Long Live Rock 'n Roll. It might be better said that Live in Germany 1976 could carry the subtitle "Extended Versions" as Rainbow free-floats on elongated solo sections, improv and jam for much of the ride.

The fact three minute Rainbow songs such as "Still I'm Sad" and "Do You Close Your Eyes" check in at the improbable live intervals of 15:00 and 9:45 seems pretty damned wankerish. "Sixteenth Century Greensleeves" hits a 7:50 mark, while the already long "Catch the Rainbow" and the immortal "Stargazer" are likewise jerked out towards fifteen minutes and more each.

Veteran listeners of Rainbow aren't going to think anything wrong about these long-haul trips. In fact, they'll likely picture themselves in the arena wherever they caught Rainbow and remember the good times. While many might've been stoned at the shows, it's to their chagrin the songs really were as dragged-out as they faintly remember them.

While more hurry-up-oriented audiences don't necessarily savor the opportunity to hear Ritchie Blackmore grease his frets for minutes on end, there is a historical element to his performances beyond the obvious. Seldom few bands beyond The Black Crowes, Phish and the Dave Matthews Band can jam with any kind of meaning. While Deep Purple, Santana and Canned Heat made jamming an art form, there was something nearly religious about Blackmore's six string incantations in Rainbow that's worth submitting yourself to. It's also fun when the rest of the band gets their cracks at soloing, particularly Cozy Powell, whose piledriven drumming is still astonishing thirty-plus years later.

Endpoint, Live in Germany 1976 is for the Rainbow connoisseur, as well as a devout Dio fan. Any opportunity to hear Ronnie rip into his audile canvas is something to step up to. It's only whether or not you have the fortitude to bear minutes long each of another master working his brushstrokes that determines what kind of listener you are. The thing with Rainbow is that Ritchie Blackmore originally intended it to be disciplined with the loose parameter of changing sections up or fusing new solos at will. This is why we excuse the outrageousness of Live in Germany 1976 and instead look upon it as a textbook study in spontaneous craftsmanship.

Rating: ****

Realm - "Eleanor Rigby" Live, Milwaukeee, 1992

2011-08-25T06:28:00.004-04:00

The studio version of Realm's thrash-eriffic rage on The Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby" is one of the best covers of all-time. This bootleg live version is a pretty nifty taste of it...

Whattya Listenin' to Wednesday - 8/24/11

2011-08-24T07:19:00.003-04:00

What's happenin' readers?

Here on the east coast we had ourselves a few seconds of fun (sarcastically speaking, of course) yesterday with the ripples of a reported 5.9 magnitude earthquake originating in northern Virginia. Amazing how life stops on a dime in the midst of a serious rumble yet most people's immediate reaction is to dash to Facebook via the quickest digital route they can and post their clever ancedotes. Be thankful it wasn't anything largely un-funny like Japan's destructive wakes, ya goofballs. Shout outs to Colorado, who also got a shake-up yesterday. And on the heels of that is Hurricane Irene, so brace yourselves if you live in the lower to mid Atlantic. Mama Nature's on the rag, so hunker down.

A quick hello to my departed aunt on the other side. The burial was a beautiful ceremony and I was honored to read a passage from Revelations at her funeral mass. Take care, Aunt Maxine, I know you've been lurking over my shoulder a few times since crossing over. Hope the view isn't too alarming.

Here at The Metal Minute, we'll be taking a look at the upcoming Rainbow release, Live in Germany 1976, as well as new stuff from the Krum Bums and Wolves in the Throne Room, plus more of the usual insanity luring you back to this site on a regular basis. Bless your restless and wild souls...

The Runaways - The Mercury Albums Anthology
Totimoshi - Avenger
Neurosis - Sovereign EP reissue
Krum Bums - Cut the Noose
Feersum Ennjin - s/t
Thin Lizzy - Johnny the Fox
Kingdom of Sorrow - s/t
Rainbow - Live in Germany 1976
Slade - Slayed?
Quiet Riot - Metal Health
Quiet Riot - Condition Critical
Whiplash - Power and Pain
Piledriver - Metal Inquisition
Piledriver - Stay Ugly
The Boomtown Rats - The Best of The Boomtown Rats
Iggy and the Stooges - Raw Power
The Stooges - s/t
The Stooges - Fun House
The Stooges - The Weirdness

Album Review: Neurosis - Sovereign EP Reissue

2011-08-23T06:03:00.005-04:00

Neurosis - Sovereign EP Reissue
2011 Neurot Recordings
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

The thing with Neurosis is they can be exquisite in their brutal soundscapes or downright ravenous. Never has it been said that Neurosis is for everybody, but they are artists, whether or not you have the stomach for what they put on display from both a visual and audile standpoint.

If you've seen Neurosis perform live (much less A Storm of Light, which features their pictorial collaborator Josh Graham), you know the entire experience is to submit your senses to frequently horrific images and sculptures of tone-crushed banality. The multimedia presentation can be shattering in one aspect, frightfully cleansing in another. After all, Neurosis' expressionistic noise art is not so much about evil and darkness, but an outpouring of the human condition. Ironically, Neurosis has been chasing after spirituality, not sadism, through their angry canvasses.

Often that essence is a terrifying reflection captured in lapsed bars of distorted throbbing, tortured wailing and colder than cold coldwave. While Neurosis has often been devastating in a brilliant sense (i.e. Souls at Zero, Enemy of the Sun, The Eye of Every Storm and Through Silver in Blood), there's frequently been points in their career where a little extra work is required by the listener.

2000's Sovereign EP is a case of the latter. Chopped down, at times patient to the point of madness and unnerving from a vocal standpoint, Sovereign isn't so much a crossroads release as it is a bitter pill with moments of sonic extravagance. Given the Sovereign EP appeared in between Neurosis' breakout album Times of Grace from 1999 and 2001's A Sun That Never Sets, it might be argued Neurosis was attempting to sort out the lifer fans from the posers. Suffice it to say, Sovereign is both tough to digest and ultimately satisfying if you appreciate what this band is about.

Originally released as four song EP, this reissue of Sovereign comes with a bonus track, "Misgiven." Before you even reach that point, however, you must stand prepared to sift and disseminate acres of bass heavy vibratum, echoing tribal beats, electro hell and writhing yowls which can grate on the nerves. Still, for all of the numbed-out build-ups on Sovereign, Neurosis can be goddamned concussive in glorious fashion when they reach those booming climaxes.

Even though the title track winds on and on for 15 minutes, once you've crossed the threshold of "Sovereign's" bludgeoning crunch chords, Neurosis leaps past those cascades of depressing distortion and opens up their creative space with titanic thunder. You're occasionally zapped by laser-like electronics which make you feel like you've drifted into Space Ghost before Neurosis stamps back down on their pedals and blows your cranium apart. If you feel you've had enough, don't let your guard down once Neurosis settles "Sovereign" into a creepy sequence of piano-led death alms and hypnotic guitar tendrils before dragging your worn-out carcass to a thankful respite.

Ditto for the deliberately methodic pacing of "An Offering," which rewards greatly with a heaving finale that stands as one of Neurosis' most emotional explosions. Never forget when listening to Neurosis emotion is what guides their every stroke. Their palette is almost never conventional, but when threading the nerve-raking catatonia of "An Offering" and "Sovereign" with the snare and tom-driven instrumental "Flood," which worms in snaky guitar tugs, you begin to fathom the beginning-to-end process of a Neurosis release.

All that being said, if you thought dogs want to yelp bloody murder at high pitches, don't forsake this bit of advice: Take aspirin (and perhaps a pair of earplugs) in advance when sinking into "Misgiven," a lumbering and largely cruel exercise in sequencer shrieking that will put you on the floor in agony. Even John Carpenter and Alan Howarth knew when to turn the knobs back before killing their listeners along with their Halloween victims. While it was stated earlier in this review that Neurosis is more in search of spirituality not sadism in their craft, "Misgiven" is strictly for the art noise geeks. You know, the hipper-than-you scalawags who brag they have the balls to take this at jacked, ear-gouging decibels, much less kicking back to a full hour's track of whipping and female sobbing set to coldwave courtesy of Stallagh. While munching on Doritos for added crunk, of course.

Enter at your own risk.

Rating: ***1/2

Metal Louvre: Whiplash - Ticket to Mayhem

2011-08-22T20:50:00.002-04:00

If you're a Gen X headbanger, chances are you were like me and your bedroom was plastered wall-to-wall with cutouts and page tears from Hit Parader, Rip, Metal Hammer, Metal Forces, Circus and all the rock and metal rags of the day. My room was a mix of metal and horror posters, band photos, oozing monsters, gory still shots and of course, yanked-out album advertisements.

One of my favorite record ads was for Whiplash's sophomore album, Ticket to Mayhem. I know I must've stared at the album cover on that ad for minutes on end at a time. Sure, to the CGI-weaned eye, parts of this artwork looks primitive in comparison to today's glossy, mechanized animation.

Still, when you consider the actual accoutrements going into the Ticket to Mayhem cover, this is some damned effective silly-creepy conveyances using dolls, a miniature skeleton, a diorama and shifty lighting to bring out that eye-popping color and the snaky shadows behind ol' Bonesy the ticket taker of death.

Given what we see with the ramshackled rollercoaster and the flushing red, orange, yellow and pink hues, we're to assume these young lovers have unwittingly crossed the threshold into Hell. Or are they really that unwitting? Teenagers believe themselves invulnerable after all.

Blame it on the thrash, not pot, that jarred my mind into strange places back in my old bedroom from the eighties...

Album Review: Totimoshi - Avenger

2011-08-21T06:13:00.007-04:00

Totimoshi - Avenger
2011 At a Loss Recordings
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Chances are you've probably seen Totimoshi open a gig and you were blown away yet you forgot to follow up learning their name once the rest of the bill played. It happens. If you're that person, make sure you hit Totimoshi's merch table the next time they're playing your town. Better yet, get acquainted with them right here on their fifth album, Avenger and start making your way back through their impressive catalog.

Totimoshi houses one of the most inventive mini casas of sludge artisans you're going to find in today's underground. So much they've lured the likes of Mastodon's Brent Hinds, the Melvins' Dale Crover and Neurosis' Scott Kelly to their grinding, fuzz-bracketed playground that is Avenger.

What has once evolved from an expressionistic Melvins homage (i.e. Monoli and Mysterioso) to a crunky interpretation of Zeppelin (2008's Milagrosa) has now become an investigative plow through '60s psychedelia, '70s trash punk and desert moon hysteria. If you're listening carefully, you'll also grab some smartly-tapped funk out of the mix. As usual, Totimoshi hardly rings predictable on Avenger and the audile experience, while decidedly stepped back from 2006's forceful Ladron and far more abrasive than Milagrosa, leaves a buzzing, hankering hangover inside the listener's ear.

The title track is best described as the tone-heavy serve-up to Avenger which is spiked across the way by "The Fool" and slammed deep into the sand on "Mainline." The latter song is a gritty face-rub of jacked guitar squeals from Antonio Aguilar, chunky bass lines by Meg Castellanos and shifty beat hydraulics from Chris Fugitt, the latest in a slew of drummers for this trio.

The instrumental "Calling All Curs" is just as tasty as its title, beginning with Meg Castellanos' low end heavy panting on the intro and scraped out by Antonio Aguilar, who tugs, flails and slides his fret neck with agitation in many bars, tempered caresses in others. By the time "Calling All Curs" stops on a dime, it's just enough pause to allow one to catch the opening groove of "Rose," a number that summons up a melodic street jive and then changes moods altogether. Picture Frank Zappa meets Curtis Mayfield meets the Vibrators.

Keep that visual in mind on the sonic showdown that is "Opus," an urban-fused teeth rattler that could score the scene of a gang war as much as it could strangely entertain a crackerjack lowbrow western. Aguilar and Fugitt go positively nuts together on "Opus," busting up the customary rhythm section empowerment for a few measures where Meg Castellanos lets them get lost in a quick freefall. The stray is brief as Meg summons them back into the collective with a demanding bass plunge orchestrating the song's punishing though disciplined finish.

Totimoshi has always been a band playing for their own kicks, let those who wish to get on board do so accordingly. Cool that Brent Hinds and Scott Kelly get on board with the stylishly trippy closer "Waning Divide," a structured collaboration bent more towards the Neurosis side than Mastodon. Yet this is Totimoshi's puppy that each guest feels obligated to texture instead of showboat. Subdued for the opening segments, "Waning Divide" sculpts towards a near-opulent draft of slowly-realized power. As if concocted in front of a 'lude traced bonfire at the end of a dashed trail of happy pills (a sweltering vibe lofted over from the bleeding peyote trip of "Snag"), "Waning Divide" carries at times a wanton inebriation that still climbs into a demonstrative display of powermad crush. Hints of Saint Vitus dot "Waning Divide," and that's to everyone's credit for keeping things real instead of going for the knotty novelty.

Avenger is one further notch of excellence in the brilliant careers of Totimoshi, a band that more likely than not kicked their headlining hosts' asses, if not gave them a frightening run for the money. Next time you see them on the bill, make sure you're there early.

Rating: ****1/2

ATTENTION TOUR MANAGERS: HELP NEEDED FOR PROJECT

2011-08-19T06:18:00.007-04:00

Are you or have you been a tour manager with day-to-day road experience? Do you have a little bit of time to donate in explaining the ins-and-outs of your job?

I am already at work on my next novel and fleshing out my lead character who is no longer in the music business but was once a tour manager in his previous life. Said character is developing as I write, but I need more to draw upon than just the mere observations I've had of tour managers in my time on tour buses or backstage. In some cases, my interview guests have doubled as tour managers and they were generous enough to give me an idea of what road management constitutes, but I want to hear from you if you have the time to offer some color commentary about road life.

If interested, please contact me at the email address here at the site. Credit will of course be given in the novel. I thank you in advance for your interest and insight.

Album Review: All Shall Perish - This is Where it Ends by Devin Walsh

2011-08-18T06:23:00.004-04:00

All Shall Perish - This is Where it Ends
2011 Nuclear Blast Records
Devin Walsh

All Shall Perish waits roughly 0.03 seconds before they rip your face off with some intense brutality on their latest record, This is Where it Ends. I really like their approach on the album's opener titled “Divine Illusion” as they waste, as previously stated, only 0.03 seconds to pummel your ear with some killer drum fills and heavy aggressive guitar lines. The intense pace of the entire record is set right out of the get-go. The brief voiceover section in this song offers a nice breather to catch your breath before they go back to an audio assault. I am also a fan of the lead guitar work on this song as it seems to combine elements of real modern technical guitar wizardry as well as an actual melody, which in my book, is always a good thing.

“There is Nothing Left” is the second song from the album and right away I am intrigued by the guitar riffs in this song. The beginning has a real open chord type sounding riff that is a motif throughout the song and offers up a unique approach to this kind of technical metal. As the song continues between this open feel and real tight guitar and drum structures, I find myself waiting and wanting to hear the guitar line again. Technical death metal, or whatever label you want to throw at All Shall Perish, is generally not known for its “catchiness,” but I feel the guitar work on this album has many hooks and solid playing. As the song segues into the guitar solo section, I am once again a big fan of this lead work. In my opinion, many bands of this genre play “how fast can your fingers move” type of solos – which in the right part is good, but I really like how these guys incorporate melody and an almost classic approach to writing their solos.

The next song is “Procession of Ashes” which is lead once again by some great lead guitar work and melodies that keep the song fresh, interesting, and moving. The song moves seamlessly from melodic guitar riffs to real heavy chugging breakdowns. The versatility within each song is shown very well on this particular track with the melodic guitar licks in the background, the heavy breakdowns, and the big thick choruses.

“A Pure Evil” reminds me of a much more brutal death metal piece as the aggression is straightforward with the heavy rhythm guitars. At times, this track reminds me of work by The Black Dahlia Murder. One of my favorite features of this band, as showcased on each track on the album, is their ability to include guitar melodies right along with the intense heavy death brutality. For me, I can easily get bored of a band that has purely fast aggressive guitars and vocals with no real variation, and This is Where it Ends does not fall into that category.

“Embrace the Curse” is similar to “A Pure Evil” in its classic fast and thrashy death metal approach. Like all the other songs, this one too features great rhythm guitar work and aggressive technical drumming. The breakdown lead by a nice bass slide is a good change of pace to the fast guitars. My only complaint with this song, as compared to many of the others, is the lack of guitar melodies. That doesn’t mean it’s a bad song. Maybe that’s what the band was going for – a straight forward fast and aggressive song. Granted, there is a great guitar solo that matches the music very well; I would just personally like some more backing guitar melodies – which is easy for me to say sitting and hiding behind my computer screen.

The next song “Spineless” has a really cool intro with a great guitar lick that leads into another heavy ass song. I really like the guitar layering over the heavy rhythms. They also cut that out and keep it straightforward right when they need to and don’t overwhelm the listener. The song constantly moves in and out of killer rhythms and excellent lead work that adds just the right amount of variation to keep the song moving. This one also has some pretty cool breakdowns, which really remind me of Unearth at times, just with a bit more technicality.

The following song “The Past Will Haunt Us Both” comes across as a good intro track, although it’s in the middle of the album. I say this because the faded intro leads into a good heavy song which would make for a good intro track. However, I am happy they chose “Divine Illusion” as the intro for the obvious reason of it wasting no time getting to the meat of things, and it is also not your typical intro. With that being said, “The Past Will Haunt Us Both” is still a solid song – no matter where they put it on the album. Like some of the other songs on the album, it has some nice open, full-sounding guitar chords ringing out over heavy vocal passages. The light guitar melody over the heavy rhythms adds a cool element that once again keeps things from getting stale.

“Royalty into Exile” gets things going with some heavy staccato guitar riffing that has some elements of a Chimaira type vibe at times. As the song moves along, I really like the guitar rhythm work as well, as it is not simply about big power chords, but they add some unique single string pieces in with the heavy chord rhythms. The song again moves along into some pretty heavy breakdowns that remind me again of Unearth, but by no means is it a ripoff; it just has that vibe.

The album comes to a close with more of the varied guttural deep vocals mixed with mid-range screams that are done really well. The variety of screams is definitely a positive for this band that is showcased on this album. They seem to really know where to use each style. When the song calls for cookies, they summon the Cookie Monster, as in “My Retaliation.”

In a final twist for the listener, the final track, “In This Life of Pain,” starts off with a piano section. Honestly, my first thought was ehhhh. It sort of seemed like a somewhat typical way to end an album. However, I noted the song was over seven minutes long and I thought “....could they really do this for seven minutes?” Of course not! The brief piano introduction leads into another heavy and brutal musical piece that leaves the listener banging their head one last time.

Overall I was pleasantly surprised by All Shall Perish's latest record This is Where it Ends. Honestly, I have no idea what their “genre” title is, and I don’t really care. For me, this album comes across as a unique blend of melodic technical death metal. The vocals remain heavy and aggressive throughout which are matched by some really tight drumming and intense guitar work.

My favorite aspect as a whole on the album would certainly be the lead guitar work. I mean this in regards to the solos as well as the backing lead guitars that add unique layers overtop the intense rhythms that really add a nice flare. The lead guitar playing is also well performed and written as I noted earlier. This kind of guitar work is not always what one would expect from such a band. I really like the more melodic approach and focus on “phrasing” in the guitar playing, as opposed to just shredding the hell out of the guitar. In the end, I honestly think this record would appeal to people of many metal genres – from death metal to technical metal to melodic metal, even to hardcore. I guess the best way to put it is, if you are into heavy guitars, screaming vocals, and headbanging, this is worth checking out.

Rating: ****

Whattya Listenin' to Wednesday - 8/17/11

2011-08-17T06:54:00.003-04:00

Hey there, everybody, it's been a rough week thus I don't have much to blather about. Doesn't help having a little one up my crack first thing in the morn, so we'll cut the chatter and just say thanks as always for your faithful support. More reviews and insanity coming up this week, including some analysis of the new All Shall Perish album by Devin Walsh and some catching up of the backlog from yours truly.

Cheaz...

Exodus - Fabulous Disaster
Admiral Browning - Battle Stations
Iron Maiden - Somewhere In Time
Chelsea Grin - My Damnation
Candlebox - s/t
Candlebox - Lucy
The Runaways - The Mercury Albums Anthology
The Dictators - Bloodbrothers
The Clash - s/t
The Clash - Give 'em Enough Rope
The Clash - London Calling
The Clash - Super Black Market Clash
The Clash - Sandinista!
The Clash - Combat Rock
Art Blakey - A Night in Tunisia
Art Blakey - Indestructible
Paul Simon - Graceland
The Cure - Bloodflowers

A Commentary On The Runaways Movie

2011-08-16T07:07:00.014-04:00

This isn't designed to be an outright critical review of last year's biopic The Runaways other than to comment on the sterling performances by lead actresses Dakota Fanning and Kristen Stewart as Cherie Currie and Joan Jett respectively. A note of cheers to Michael Shannon as well for his gonzo portrayal of L.A. music mogul Kim Fowley. After catching Fanning in Dear John and now this overdue sit-down with The Runaways, I believe we have a serious talent of longevity on our hands. I'm not exactly a fan of the Twilight series, however, credit where it's due to Stewart. I was particularly blown away by her rowdy, sympathethic and seductive street urchin depiction of Joan Jett.

I do have to note, however, that despite The Runaways coming off as a very solid falling from grace rock story, there was something remiss in just focusing upon the stories of Jett and Currie, even though many argue they were the main figureheads of The Runaways. Lita Ford hadn't yet grown into a rock superstar of her own, however, her role is rather delineated in the film to the point it was slightly criminal the film doesn't even acknowledge Lita's rise to success in the film's end notes.

I didn't recognize Scout Taylor-Compton (i.e. Rob Zombie's Laurie Strode) playing Lita, so major kudos to her when called upon to fill the frame with hot guitar wailing and a ferocious attitude in the recording studio. How accurate is it, though? The very little the real Lita mentioned of her time in The Runaways to me in an interview (and obviously with most of her press save for her participation in a recent Runaways biography), you get the feeling there was indeed tension between the band members and we only have this film and Cherie Currie's biography to determine fact from fiction.

Some critics, though generally favorable to the film, have mentioned how they would've preferred it focus strictly on Joan Jett's life. Well, suffice it to say, The Runaways gives equal measure to both Currie and Jett and it does so with such effectiveness you feel their entwined lives in and out of the band. It's a given a lot of the film is Hollywood embellishment, so the true relations between the real Jett and Currie are theirs and theirs alone. The film taps as close into their coupling as director Floria Sigismondi dares, which is plenty enough. The closing scene of Currie working a regular Jane job (long departed from the band) while Joan Jett has reached her superstar level with "I Love Rock 'n Roll" is cathartic, particularly after Currie awkwardly calls in to a radio show just to say hi to Jett and then smiles girlishly at the triumph of Jett's crossover fame.

Again, good Hollywood material and The Runaways is well carried by an energetic cast, a slamming soundtrack mixed by Runaways songs (such as "Cherry Bomb," "California Paradise," "Queens of Noise," "Hollywood" and "Dead End Justice") with The Stooges, David Bowie, honky tonk blues and other early seventies period cuts. The live sequence showing The Runaways ripping through "Cherry Bombs" at a Japanese performance is red-hot concert choreography.

The film does have a hurried feel for awhile until it has the band assembled and then it quickly becomes a morality tale as Dakota Fanning pours out more than her years at the time in depicting a 15-year-old Cherie Currie who sells herself out due to her tailspun immaturity that has been exploited by Kim Fowley. The opening sequence showing Currie getting pelted with trash by her peers at a talent show in which she replicates David Bowie's alter ego Aladdin Sane and lip synchs "Lady Grinning Soul" is monstrous. If the real-life Currie truly flipped off the student body en route to winning the talent show, then it's a rock moment worthy of the film's regaling treatment. Particularly effective is the scene where Fowley employs a group of young boys to throw trash at The Runaways as a training exercise for what they are to face as an all-female heavy rock act. The dog turd landing on Sandy West's snare is all-indicative.

While it might've been more prudent to have deeper insight into Lita Ford and drummer Sandy West (Jackie Fox refused to be acknowledged by name in the film and thus we have the fictitious bassist Robin, nevermind all of Jackie's true-life replacements), The Runaways does serve up a lessons learned story in which a host of young ladies had the fortitude to take on a man's world and paid the price for it. The Runaways were important for many reasons, yet looking beyond the obvious, Lord could they rip. The Runaways and Queens of Noise albums are essentials for any serious rock fan--might I suggest investing the extra bucks for The Mercury Albums Anthology which gives you both albums plus Waitin' for the Night and Live in Japan. Perhaps a little more roughshod than future disciples Girlschool, The Runaways are nonetheless history unto themselves. It's right they did this film and they did right by the band--to certain latitudes. Too bad they were left to smolder 'til death.

Lured by a man who snakes them as a man would, the implied nuance of The Runaways indicates the music business is alluring to many walks of life. Those who want it the most stand to be served up like cheesecake and ultimately devoured to nothing by sleazy powers engineering social change as a mere guise for their ruthless capitalism.

Album Review: Admiral Browning - Battle Stations

2011-08-15T06:17:00.004-04:00

Admiral Browning - Battle Stations
2011 Admiral Browning
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Hell outta Maryland, originating point of the mighty Clutch, comes another low-tuned dropkick upside your head with more than a bit of a prog twist, Admiral Browning. Not so much another Mastodon but fried in the same everyman's greasy skillet, Admiral Browning is the scruffy bear version of classic Rush and King Crimson meets Stinking Lizaveta and Totimoshi.

Sure, the chin rug of Ron McGinnis makes Admiral Browning scruffy on the facade and they certainly kick up the amplifiers and the audile hallucinogenics, but let's not take the cheating path and call these guys a stoner band. There's hardly any steady SoCal grooves like Fu Manchu nor does Admiral Browning wallow in cataclysmic distortion like Weedeater. You might feel like you've gobbled a magic mushroom in spots while consuming Admiral Browning's calculated aesthetics, but they are a band you want your sensors cleared out for.

How this band has only maintained a mostly Delmarva-based cult audience is left attributed to the fact we just have too many damn bands in the world, much less the United States alone. Yet Admiral Browning's Battle Stations is their fourth album in an eight year span. Over the course of concocting the winning ingredients to their sludgy brain stew, Admiral Browning has pared down from a quartet to a trio. Following their previous outing Magic Elixir, Admiral Browning found themselves engulfed in a morass of recorded compositions and it's to their credit they delivered only 37 minutes of focused and refined prog-bonk on Battle Stations.

Admiral Browning may find themselves in the company of doom bands, which is probably a comfortable pairing giving the sonic din and occasional chord drags this band employs. Yet Admiral Browning has a much busier vibe going on inside their instrumentals where journeys and soundscapes are more important to these guys than merely clouting would-be listeners with agro crunch and alms to blackness.

There's viable power ala Caress of Steel and A Farewell to Kings era Rush in the 7-minute opening number "Riff Crisis." Not that Tim Otis, Matt Legrow and Ron McGinnis can match the flailing wizardry of Neil Peart and company, but they don't need to in order to capture the gusty progressive essence of early Rush. Subsequently, there's an exhaustive exhiliration left in the wake of "The Binary Language of Moisture Vaporators" (as well as the crazy title of the song that has this writer strangely thinking of Luke Skywalker's desert farm owned by his Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru) even at its mostly lumbering pace and wah-screeching hydraulics.

Once "The Binary Language of Moisture Vaporators" latches onto a sequence of detailed time signature swerves, you don't necessarily know if Admiral Browning is dropping anchor or opening sail to unexpected knots ready to haul them elsewhere. You can hear these guys literally exploring every crevice of "Binary" and still they respect their audience enough to keep the wank out of the ride. Always a smart play when you're fair-handed even at 12 minutes.

If you don't feel like you've been throttled through the booming aeronautics of "Dreams of Hammurabi," then you might've left the room to take too long of a whiz during the track's momentum-skidding quietudes which are really designed to give everyone (including Admiral Browning) a brief respite from the bellowing abrasion and encapsulated note-hungriness. The way "Dreams of Hammurabi" comes raging out with a tempest of aggression and a pinpointed slam is enough to make you wipe sweat off your brow, much less the band.

Along the way, Admiral Browning molds "One Lucky Canary" and "Interlude" with acoustics, tabla, bongos, electronic supplements and ear-tingling clean notes, offering portal escape into wherever you imagine before they haul you straight back into their raging waters. Fellow Marylanders Wooly Mammoth can probably match Admiral Browning in the decibel department, but stand prepared to discern and dissect what Admiral Browning spills out, as there are plenty of minute technicalities amidst their abstract sonic overtures.

Admiral Browning may or may not catch on through the rest of the country (though they have been reaching live stage summits as far as Wisconsin and Arizona) and if they don't, it's only because the underground is stuffed abound with sludge-guzzling artisans. Still, what's enviable about Admiral Browning is how much fun they're having with their craft and moreover, how intelligent they are in showing restraint to serve up only their best. The outtakes and leftover music Admiral Browning cut from Battle Stations and their previous albums may be reworked at a later date, but it's their patience and strategic discipline that allows for their own creative development. That says all in a contemporary music industry that hardly permits artist development.

Rating: ****

One From the Vault: W.A.S.P. - "Wild Child"

2011-08-14T02:13:00.003-04:00

Album Review: Chelsea Grin - My Damnation

2011-08-12T05:55:00.008-04:00

Chelsea Grin - My Damnation
2011 Artery Recordings/Razor and Tie
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Utah's Chelsea Grin are a bunch of pissed-off mofos.

Okay, now that I've dumbed down this review with a deliberately lame-o cliche, let's try to sink into Chelsea Grin's brackish cesspool of slow-fast math grind that borders more on seeping. That is, let's sink in graduality without losing ourselves altogether, because Chelsea Grin's second album My Damnation is what it advertises in title. Hold tight as you consume their unholy bombast, or doom yourself to your own private hell.

Over the years, bands such as Between the Buried and Me, The Acacia Strain, Fear Before the March of Flames, Quell, The Chariot and The Red Chord have pioneered and articulated death grind. Fear Factory, Botch and Napalm Death should be surveying the gory static fields they helped decimate. The young guns studying their leftover carnage have dipped into more mathematic schisms to create a nasty and unpleasant vibe. It requires far more patience to sift through than, say, the blunt precision and velocity of Fear Factory's "Zero Signal." Still, you give these caterwauling, breakdown-addled mutineers audience because it's compelling when you hear them apply actual music school theory into a cadence blacker than the armpit of Anubis.

Well in the same league as their peers, Chelsea Grin are no slouches in the brutality department. They greet you with a clout upside the temples and a kick in the balls as their winding decibels reinforce the ensuing body aches. Chelsea Grin, however, is perhaps the ultimate release for today's generation of fiercer headbangers who settle for nothing less than ear-gouging hostility.

After taking a short break to allow vocalist Alex Koehler the necessary time to heal a broken jaw, Chelsea Grin swaps a couple members for new bassist David Flinn and guitarist Jaek Hammond. Departed guitarist Chris Kilbourn, you might know, recently started his own recording imprint, Matchless Records. For good measure, Chelsea Grin thus expands to a sextet with the fortification of a third guitarist, Dan Jones.

It's the subtexts and layering that Chelsea Grin patiently threads into their caustic abrasion that demands your attention, since honestly, there's a very limited appeal to their methodic, face-ripping crunk, assuming you've been deeply following metal all these years. This subgenre of zombie-crawling tech shriek really is on borrowed time and it'll take innovation by the likes of Between the Buried and Me and now Chelsea Grin to keep it relevant as metal continues to search for further extension.

The languishing guitar lead wallowing overtop the steady terror of "Everlasting Sleep" is one hell of a trip, miserable as it may be. Chelsea Grin's sound is naturally just as ugly as their name, but at times they're savvy enough to hijack some light into their belligerent crush. The light creeps in increments, such as the dreamy acoustic instrumental "Kharon," which really stirs the pot in between the ratchety cacophony of "Behind a Veil of Lies" and the title track or the breathy, neoclassical lines barely containing the booming distortion of "Calling in Silence."

Be assured, Chelsea Grin shirks all pleasantries aside on "Calling in Silence" with butt ugly antagonism, yet they wisely return to melodic spurts on the speedier sections. Even as the song goes midtempo again, it's the swirling guitar notes that make you hold your breath as the composition skids to a bare halt. Flogging pukes from Alex Koehler spill over your head like accusations before Chelsea Grin shifts signatures at least four more times in the same damn song. Adventurous songwriting, nearly as bold as Between the Buried and Me, "Calling in Silence" is one of My Damnation's most affluent tunes.

For starpower attraction, My Damnation was mixed by hardcore/deathcore/crunk producer legend Zeuss, while Phil Bozeman of Whitechapel lends some extra yowling on "All Hail the Fallen King."

The nearly effervescent high-note guitar fills on "Last Breath" would be a stunner to some bands playing in this abusive style of shock metal, but in this case, they help Chelsea Grin legitimize their form as pure expressionism. Sure, that expression is based upon an Edvard Munchian principle of writhing outrage, but the fact they bother to show some accountability as musicians is why My Damnation is a standout album for a particular thread of metal that needs this kind of effort to stay interesting.

Rating: ****

On A Side Note...

2011-08-11T06:12:00.004-04:00

I have to say I was pretty affected the other night at the Candlebox gig, particularly by the middle band on the bill, Cinder Road. They're Baltimore favorites, but may or may not ever achieve the breakout success they're pushing for. What resonated stronger than any song they performed in their well-polished set was the love of their lead guitarist for his son. As the guitarist looks well like a younger Dave Mustaine before Mustaine's Metallica-era strawberry blond locks fell past his shoulders, picture, if you will, a four-year-old pint sized version next to this guy.

These big and small hairballs tramping through Towson, Maryland's Recher Theatre was a sight that brought smiles from everyone. Even greater, however, that Dad brought his little man onstage during Cinder Road's set with his own guitar. The child strummed and strummed while his smiling daddy peeled off a solo and struck rock god poses next to his progeny. At one point, the boy gently pushed his father away, which made us all laugh, but at the end of the set, you just had to give a proper horns up to this lighting of the torch moment between man and boy.

I may not always have a smile for my son. Let's face it, parenting is hard and it often sucks. Children are too young to recognize sacrifice though sometimes they recognize effort and love. It's half the reason they act out as they do, to get more of that effort and love, even if the end result at the time may present redirection and brief flashes of anger.

My son is adopted and he's a very special kid. He knows it and he milks it, but he is a damned fine young man and I'm proud to be his father. I may get annoyed if he wakes up too early and hauls me out of bed, or worse, he's there when I get up early to beat my family's rise to the day when I need peace and quiet to get my work done. If he smarts off, oh boy...

Being head of household is strenuous enough. Putting together the pieces of a shambled life is plenty of responsibility itself. Trying to be a father and husband while pursuing my professional goals and aspirations, well, now, there's the rub, as they say. It's not a gimme way of being and I do laugh when people think all I have to do in my life is write reviews and interview bands. As if.

The random slack-off here at the site is indication of my juggling act that finds me in many places doing many things. A lot of it has to do with the welfare of my family. They come first, no matter how badly I want to tell my readers which albums they should be listening to and ones they might want to step aside from. Trying to come up with the winning formula for my novel and side projects to win an audience is what compels me to stay up late and get up early and it's all more imperative with a child in the house. Like the classic GBH song goes, it's a race against time for me.

Still, for my occasional crankiness at it all, I do love that kid and when I'm not about to fall on my face, I do enjoy showing him things, teaching, watching Superfriends before bed and letting him tackle me outside as I teach him football. I took my family out to Washington, DC this past weekend since the Smithsonian museums are free and let me tell you, nothing made me prouder than watching that kid go bananas, pointing here and there like a junior explorer thirsting for knowledge. The following day he was asked if he wanted to be a doctor, an astronaut, a superhero or whatever and he answered very emphatically, "No! I want to be Daddy!" That gets you, believe me.

I thought of that while watching the Cinder Road set. I thought how proud that father must be to have a little doppelganger of himself onstage and how well the kid took to the moment. Scared that child was, but he wanted to do his not-so-old man proud up there and it was incredible to behold. My son did likewise last Christmas in a holiday recital thrown by his former day care. He looked me right in the eyes with a heroic swell and did his job up there. Pretty amazing stuff. Since my kid wants to beat on my drums, you bet I'll encourage that.

The point is, no matter how busy life gets, no matter how badly you want your own needs and wants to be fulfilled, love your kids if you have them. I have to remind myself of it each day when all I want to do is write and edit all night and morning and the boy comes scurrying out to the sound of my pecking keys. It's not always easy, but you have to love 'em.

We now return you to our regular programming...

Whattya Listenin' to Wednesday - 8/10/11

2011-08-10T00:58:00.003-04:00

Evenin' into mornin' readers...

Just getting in from the Candlebox show and a big shout-out of thanks to my homegirl Jen for taking me on her plus one to one hell of a rad show. I think the other particulars were just as memorable as Candlebox's performance--which included a smashing rip on Iron Maiden's "The Trooper." I have to laugh at the 15-year-old kid who'd snuck out of his house (per him, anyway) to attend the show. This was his first live experience and it made me smile to hear him talk about his ears bleeding, all the while hitting on a lady closer to my age. She and her husband became our show buddies, though I do wish we'd had the chance to exchange formalities after the concert.

Then there was the obnoxious giggling pixie who ticked off the entire venue. She sounded like she'd escaped the original Evil Dead with her unnerving cackles that were even heard overtop the opening group. The middle band, Cinder Road, made an impression on me when the lead guitarist brought out his four-year-old son (a complete hairball like his old man), who strummed away on a guitar during the band's set. A delightful side attraction, that father-and-son moment is probably the most horns-up worthy moment I've seen this year.

Let's hope England gets a grip on this freaking rioting, huh? Protesting is one thing. Demanding rights is another. Trying to employ "Anarchy in the UK" is just irresponsible and in the end, serves nobody. I have many friends and some family over in Great Britain and my thoughts go out to them amidst this insanity.

Getting back to business here at The Metal Minute, we'll be working on previous agenda clearance along with a look at the new Admiral Browning and Landmine Marathon releases. Keep it hard, everyone...

Anthrax - Persistence of Time
Anthrax - Worship Music
Anthrax - Fistful of Metal
Anthrax - Sound of White Noise
Anthrax - We've Come For You All
Anthrax - Alive 2
Grifter - s/t
The Cult - Love
The Cult - Sonic Temple
Admiral Browning - Battle Stations
Yes - Tormato
Clutch - Elephant Riders
Clutch - Jam Room
Weezer - Make Believe
Depeche Mode - Violator
Depeche Mode - Songs of Faith and Devotion
Depeche Mode - Exciter
Depeche Mode - Sounds of the Universe
Candlebox - Happy Pills
Arctic Monkeys - Favourite Worst Nightmare
Raphael Saadiq - Stone Rollin'
The Cure - Seventeen Seconds
The Cure - Head On the Door
The Cure - Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me
The Cure - Disintegration
The Cure - Wild Mood Swings
The Cure - 4:13 Dream
Neil Young - Harvest Moon

Metal Louvre: Overkill - !!!Fuck You!!! EP

2011-08-07T06:33:00.012-04:00

What's so expressionistic about an album cover showing just a middle finger? A-duh...

It's not so much a work of pure art you witness on Overkill's !!!Fuck You!!! EP. It's what that extendible splashed across the panel represents, particularly from a heavy metal standpoint. Soak it up a second. A primitive, juvenile, uncouth hand gesture, sure. Grossly uncivilized, but it's perhaps the most recognized form of human disapproval notwithstanding a fearsome facial scowl. Half the time we think the middle finger is hilarious. Often it provokes fights to the death.

Still, metal in itself is all about the words "fuck you." Fuck you to the mainstream. Fuck you to the straights. Fuck you to the government. Fuck you to the parents--and this, coming from a guy who is now a parent himself, ouch.

All of it, exactly as cult punkers The Stiffs originally intended. Punk was even more about "fuck you" than metal, but in the hands of speed demons Overkill, there was no way this song would be overlooked any longer. The classic lineup of Bobby Gustafson, Rat Skates, Blitz and DD Verni were bred and fed on a combination of thrash, UK hardcore, New York punk and NWOBHM. You couldn't pick a better set of inheritors and ambassadors to execute such a ripping cover of this Stiffs gem.

While a fellow punk act such as Discharge or the Dead Kennedys might've been logical choices to cover "Fuck You," even more the greater a metal band took up the cause. !!!Fuck You!!! came during the crossover phase of the original metal and hardcore movements and in their own small way, Overkill helped ally the genres together as much as DRI, SOD, Motorhead and Suicidal Tendencies did--even if Motorhead was just a bombastic rock 'n roll band embraced by both sanctions. Is there no band on the planet better representative of the words "fuck you" than Motorhead?

Even better if you owned the original out-of-print copy of this EP on vinyl, so your folks could find a glowering middle finger antagonizing them from your record collection. It spoke of you as a teenager whether you chose to slip the !!!Fuck You!!! EP deep in the bowels of your album stack where it resided as a prized secret or whether you defiantly left it on top for your parents and their guests to trip across in your bedroom. Remember, !!!Fuck You!!! was marketed as "The Record THEY Tried to Ban!" and eventually Megaforce/Atlantic was forced into issuing copies with blackened covers, the middle finger reversed into the packaging.

We don't care what you say, right?

Album Review: Anthrax - Worship Music

2011-08-05T06:19:00.008-04:00

Anthrax - Worship Music
2011 Megaforce Records
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

The particulars behind Anthrax's latest album Worship Music are controversial, to say the least. Yet when all the smoke has dissipated and four-fifths of the core lineup are once again in arms, the end result resonates in spectacular fashion. Worship Music is a freakin' metal party and we're fortunate to attend it in unison as fans who've prayed for this moment.

Before moving forward, let's give John Bush a rousing applause. Sound of White Noise and We've Come For You All are two masterful records in Anthrax's recorded arsenal and a generous portions of those albums' successes is the confident, manly swagger of John Bush. Scores of Anthrax fans have spent more than a decade debating which of Anthrax's most-beloved vocalists, Joey Belladonna and John Bush, are the most worthy. Bush did a tremendous job for Anthrax, but it's all moot at this point.

Joey B. is back in the saddle, even when it looked like the retro 'thrax reunion a few years ago would pan out to merely that, a novel get-together for kicks. More than a few heads twirled quizzically when neither Bush or Belladonna were announced as Anthrax's lead singer when beginning the recording process for Worship Music. The quasi-legend of in-and-out vocalist Dan Nelson will probably continue to haunt Anthrax, but not for much longer once the metal public soaks up the final cut of Worship Music with Joey Belladonna doing what he was meant to do.

When I spin this album (and it's been in the double digits already), I drift in thought to 2003 and 2004, when I spent some private time interviewing Joey Belladonna. Joey was in the midst of keeping together some sort of career, which even found him smacking the drum kit while peeling off his trademark male-valkyrie pipes at a memorable solo gig. Joey had mentioned back then how much it would mean to him to lay down one more album with Anthrax. Neither of us saw much future in it back then, honestly.

I think of these candid conversations with Joey when I hear him rip out "Fight 'em Til You Can't," "In the End," "Crawl," "I'm Alive" and "The Devil You Know" on Worship Music. As a longtime fan of Anthrax, I spent an entire high school career jabbing back at "the normal kids" that this was a righteously badass band that had nothing to do with cattle disease. My teenage years were filled with Neil Turbin and Joey Belladonna wailing in my ears. I probably scribbled Anthrax's logo on my textbooks more than most others back in the day, Iron Maiden notwithstanding. It took me some time to get used to John Bush fronting this band and not Armored Saint, yet for all of his polish and command, it was always Belladonna for me. All that being said, Worship Music ends up being Joey's catharsis--and how.

Yet it's not just the exhilirating mike performance Belladonna puts in for Anthrax. His vocals are even more refined than his first tour of duty in the band and it's nearly mind-blowing how youthful and exuberant Joey sounds on this album. He's seized the moment and if you didn't believe in him before, believe it now, suckers. It helps a great deal the rest of Anthrax steps up to the plate with Joey and in the end, this becomes the most passionate album of their career since Persistence of Time.

Not to flush away the merits of Sound of White Noise and We've Come For You All, but there is a resurrection effect to Worship Music which finds the songwriting to be mindful of both Belladonna's and Bush's previous eras. It's sometimes fast, occasionally brutal, unbelievably mathematic, always melodic. This is an album for all Anthrax fans.

Rob Caggiano has been more than trusty in his duties since joining Anthrax, yet his solos on Worship Music are just stellar, as is the titanic riffing between him and Scott Ian. Charlie Benante is so in the pocket, yet you can tell he's feeling a little giddier this time than usual. His uptempo beatdown on "The Giant" is a telltale sign Benante is one happy camper. Frank Bello is a maniac onstage and Lord, does he bring that low-end energy to this album. You might have to go back and focus on just him since the rest of the band is so strikingly on.

"Earth On Hell" is the pure thrasher of this album, yet for all the variations of speed and mid-range velocity on Worship Music, it's how detailed Anthrax is that speaks above the speed selectors. "Judas Priest" carries a mighty crush set upon its deliberate NWOBHM stomping tempo, along with some delicate solo spots set throughout this tributary mini-epic. Anthrax threw out a cheeky little outtro featuring a nod to Priest's "Love Bites" on "Strap It On" from We've Come For You Fall. This time, they honor Halford and company in mega fashion as the latter band bids its farewell to the metal world.

Though "Fight 'em Til You Can't" is reported to be the first single from Worship Music, there's no sane reason "Crawl" shouldn't storm the airwaves. Reflective of AOR without being AOR, "Crawl" is a muscular though introspective power pump that could've been sung by either Bush or Belladonna. In fact, Joey's first few notes haunt of Bush until the amps kick on and then it's fully his tune to carry. His emotional repeats of "I'll follow, I'll follow..." overtop the backing vocals on the chorus will affect you. FM radio is afraid to play this tune, even though it would sit snugly next to Theory of a Deadman and Avenged Sevenfold. Not to diss those bands, but "Crawl" would kick their tails in succession. Go on, radio programmers, I triple dog dare you...

Even "The Constant" carries a similar grind on its verses until jacking up the rat-a-tats on the bridges and breakdowns so miniscule yet so striking they serve as a manual on how to do them tastefully. When Anthrax does a breakdown on this album, they annihilate you. Proof positive with "Earth On Hell." Proof positive on "The Constant," a headbanging jam with planted acoustic lines and a lead singer who proves how much he wants this. While we're talking about single candidates from this album (as well as ones with hefty breakdown sections), "The Devil You Know" is another gimme. Play it enough times, you might think it ought to regularly follow "Caught In a Mosh" in Anthrax's future live sets. "I'm Alive," another one for its massive strut and headstrong choruses. Listen to Joey spit into the mike while knocking this tune out of the park. That's some fang, people.

Thankfully, Joey Belladonna's bandmates want this as much as he does, and it's why Worship Music becomes an album to beat in 2011. We're still waiting for Mastodon and Opeth to check in with their new albums, but Worship Music is an undeniable triumph that reveals more and more with successive listen. You might hear quite a few heavier albums than this, but judge Worship Music upon its substance, its layering and its determination to win you over.

As one of the Big Four bands set to tear up their home turf in New York, Anthrax stands up to their peers with an album to rival Megadeth's Endgame, Slayer's World Painted Blood and Metallica's Death Magnetic. Goddamn, these are good times...

Rating: ****1/2

Album Review: Grifter - s/t

2011-08-04T06:29:00.005-04:00

Grifter - s/t
2011 Ripple Music
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

I'm automatically going to hand a band that pounds Guinness a gimme point. Guinness drinkers (at least in the United States) run a gauntlet of shriveled-up faces and irksome groans and moans from tamed-down lager lovers--you know who you are, fukkos. Guinness, not for everyone.

Grifter hails from Plymouth in the UK. Obviously not the punk outfit of the same name, nor Grifters, which had their run in the early nineties, this Grifter is more about skillet rawk in the vein of Clutch, Scissorfight and the drop-kicked Southern boogie metal vibe that's been more than fashionable in the American underground these days. Let's add Ripple Music's own Stone Axe, while we're being topical here. Better yet, this Grifter loves Guinness. In other words, these dudes are no pussies.

As Bad Company and Foghat learned ages ago, there's heaps of power to be cultivated by studying American delta blues and the manuals of Skynard and Allman. Two of the mightiest UK heavy rock acts who could (and do, if you gauge the average classic rock listener) pass off as American, Bad Company and Foghat are anamolies. In their own fashion, Grifter could likewise pass off as an American piss rock band. Their low-key, though booming cadence carries the subliminal wafts of diesel, garbage, used condoms and spilled booze--in this case, Guinness. All of that is being complimentary.

Consider songs such as "Asshole Parade," "Strip Club," "Piss and Gas," "Bucktooth Woman" and "Good Day For Bad News." It's not just the titles of these grimy cuts; it's the attitude backing them up. You really do flop into this album thinking another Neil Fallon side project (i.e. The Company Band) has cropped up. Guitarist/vocalist Ollie Stygall nails Fallon's sweltering pipes to a tee all over this album. If "Young Blood, Old Veins" isn't a quantified Clutch outtake, then there's seldom few songs deserving of the honor.

The longer Grifter grinds on, the more you feel there's a Jam Room 2 Clutch never bothered to release. However, instead of trying to match Tim Sult and Dan Maines by the decibel, Grifter opts for a driftier slide and keeps it all on the low end. Stripped down, absolutely, and it's why "Bucktooth Woman" shakes a rowdy tail feather as much as you're forced to laugh at Grifter's huckleberry muse.

"Preacher and the Devil" carries a well-familiar note spiral you've heard from Sabbath to Deep Purple to ZZ Top to Jane's Addiction, but Grifter ends up throwing in a bit of their own jam into the mix with a yowling though easyriding solo from Stygall and a bare bones bass line that carries into the last chugging verse and chorus. Also, have fun with the bottleneck swerves and "aroooo" choruses on the album's swampy closer, "Gone Blues."

"Alabama Hotpocket, "Bean," "Welcome Guest" and "Asshole Parade" are all crock pot ditties that are more than welcome in today's edition of the fuzz rawk cookbook. Cool to see some of the servers hail from parts outside of Baton Rouge, Savannah and Charleston. A point to Grifter for the Guinness. Three more for delivering a chunky through settled slab of amp restraint that nevertheless rocks hard.

Like Guinness, not for everyone. We don't want those people around, anyway.

Rating: ****

Whattya Listenin' to Wednesday - 8/3/11

2011-08-03T06:03:00.003-04:00

Sheesh, did that week blow by...

Wazzup, gang? Been extra busy sorting out messes and hanging on as always, so we'll try and pick up production in the upcoming week.

Let me just say I'm privileged to have an advance copy of the new Anthrax album Worship Music, and yes, we'll dig into it in an official capacity here at The Metal Minute in due time. Sorry to Dan Nelson for the things that transpired because if the songs on Worship Music were the same as when he recorded them, wow, you can't fault the man if he's a little upset. Now with Joey Belladonna on this thing? Good God, people, get ready, because the mojo is back and with a freakin' force. Top-to-bottom, this is the best Anthrax album since Persistence of Time, not to slight John Bush's efforts whatsoever. The man was great for this band, but the songwriting has tripled on Worship Music and every cat put forth an extra effort. I can only think of Mastodon and Opeth as pliable contenders to beat this sucker out at year's end. There could likely be many more albums vying for Album of the Year, but seriously? Believe in Worship Music. More to come on that in the near future.

And like Lightning McQueen, I'm out, ka-chow! Thanks as always for your support of this site.

Anthrax - Worship Music
Bitch - Be My Slave/Damnation Alley reissue
Zombie Shaker Box - Encrypted
Iron Maiden - A Matter of Life and Death
L.A. Guns - s/t
Tesla - Time's Makin' Changes: The Best of Tesla
Opeth - Blackwater Park
Opeth - Ghost Reveries
Testament - Souls of Black
Scum - Gospels for the Sick
Judas Priest - Painkiller
PJ Harvey - Rid of Me
PJ Harvey - Is This Desire?
PJ Harvey - To Bring You My Love
PJ Harvey - Uh Huh Her
PJ Harvey - Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea
Generation X - s/t
Generation X - Valley of the Dolls
Six Feet Under soundtrack
Ivy - Apartment Life
Ivy - In the Clear
Material Issue - International Pop Overthrow
The Temptations - Anthology
Curtis Mayfield - The Very Best of Curtis Mayfield
The Jackson 5 - The Ultimate Collection
Tony Toni Tone - House of Music
Raphael Saadiq - Stone Rollin'
Tommy Boy Essentials: Hip Hop Vol. 1

Album Review: Zombie Shaker Box - Encrypted

2011-08-02T06:11:00.004-04:00

Zombie Shaker Box - Encrypted
2010 Zombie Shaker Box
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

As this album was released more than a year ago, this is more or less a public awareness exercise. Vegas-based Zombie Shaker Box is the brainchild of Kirk Hulshoff, co-founder along with Lizzy Borden bassist Marten Andersson of Legacy. Winners of various west-coast rock awards in 2009 and 2010, Zombie Shaker Box could be, in titular theory, the more straightforward version of Wednesday 13. Not quite, though.

Honestly, the only real schlock behind Zombie Shaker Box is its name. The ten songs comprising Encrypted are more in tune with a rump thumping jam feel and a more-than-occasional Alice in Chains-meets-L.A. Guns brooding session versus a festive horror-metal roast.

Encrypted was conceived and fronted by Hulshoff with a cotillion of guest performers, amongst them three artists who would go on to comprise Zombie Shaker Box's performing roster: bassist Cory Kay, guitarist Chris Blakely (though credited to Jami Lin in the album's liner notes) and drummer Tomonori Sugiyama. For the album's purposes, this is more or less Hulshoff's show as principal writer--with numerous musical contributions from outside sources such as Chris Poindexter, Ron Broad and Rod Heiden, amongst others.

Most folks coming to Zombie Shaker Box have cited a parallel between Kirk Hulshoff and the late Layne Staley. True dat. There's also shades of Axl Rose and Sully Erna, though Hulshoff avoids gratuitously veering towards either side. Hulshoff's vocal concoction has a decided throwback cadence not quite in the gunslinging higher octaves such as Jeff Keith of Tesla. Yet you're going to weirdly think of Tesla and the better downhome rockin' bands of the late eighties along with Alice in Chains, which seems to be where Hulshoff feels most comfortable in this project.

While "Welcome to My Rave" and "Blow n Smoke" come crashing out with a picked-up pogo verve to them, much of Encrypted then slips into cross-section of moody ambivalence merged with a deliberate beer-over-the-knee kickback slump. "In Loving Memory," "Cry," "Tigerlilly" and "Hideaway" are hardly happy pills, but they all have a subtle slide, much as the listener might want Hulshoff to pick the pace back up, given the energetic start of the album.

Don't expect it, because Encrypted only amps up again on "Industry Witch" and "Gates of Hell," (both as blatant a nod to Alice in Chains as any on this album) and only at a mid-tempo jack, at that. The final track "Ashen" is flung somewhere between Alice in Chains and Jane's Addiction, a dusty, calypso drift lofted by the forlorn guitars of Chris Poindexter and the haunted bongo swirls of Rod Heiden. In its own way, "Ashen" sends Encrypted off on a breezy note of class.

While a band name such as Zombie Shaker Box invites something far different and more chum-oriented than what Encrypted delivers, there's a certain appreciability for what Kirk Hulshoff is trying to accomplish here. Staley acolyte he may be in this venture, there is a comfy-sounding shuffle and drag to most of these tunes. In that respect, perhaps Zombie Shaker Box isn't such a misleading moniker after all.

Rating: ***1/2

Album Review: Bitch - Be My Slave/Damnation Alley Reissue

2011-07-29T00:17:00.004-04:00

Bitch - Be My Slave/Damnation Alley Reissue
2011 Metal Blade Records
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Somewhere between Girlschool, Wendy O. Williams, Lee Aaron and The Great Kat, there was Betsy Bitch. While her whips and dom facade as frontwoman of the punk-metal hybrid Bitch was sheer farce in the beginning, Betsy Bitch became (and remains) a cult figurehead of the L.A. metal explosion. Truth be told, her name has only cropped up intermittently when most folks discuss the ladies of punk and metal, and that's a shame.

Grabbing bits of The Runaways, Girlschool, The Dictators and Hanoi Rocks as well as west coast proto power metal, Bitch the band was, initially, an underground force to be reckoned with, even if the whole thing was shtick. Already paving the way for a femme roast of cock rock with songs such as "Be My Slave," "In Heat," "Leather Bound" and "Live For the Whip," Betsy Bitch shared a rep of outrageousness with Wendy O. Williams, even if the Plasmatics are more revered than Bitch.

While The Great Kat has made her name as a virtuoso shredder, her jokey and riotous self-glorification took inspiration on the snarky stilletos of Betsy Bitch. Even though they're electro rock, Lords of Acid and the Genitorturers likewise owe a debt to Betsy Bitch for paying their dirty dues for them.

Not everybody was a fan of Bitch's odes to sodomy and sex slavery, which soon led Betsy Bitch to drop the "Bitch" from her name to simply Betsy. Her 1988 Betsy album watered the grime away and the bondage accoutrements hit the closet in a ply for a commercial acceptance that never came. When that strategy didn't work, Betsy re-emerged as Bitch the following year. The band raged through A Rose By Another Name and the self-titled Bitch album from 1991.

Most fans, however, remember Bitch's debut EP Damnation Alley and its eruptive succeeding LP, Be My Slave. Perhaps 1987's The Bitch is Back brought the band its most attention, yet there's no denying Be My Slave and Damnation Alley are this group's legacy.

At the very least, both albums hold up remarkably well considering their analog clunk and happy day, happy day, Metal Blade is bringing 'em back as a single package, much as they've appeared together on one unit since CDs were born. Like the Boomerang channel states, it's all coming back to you, and the return of Be My Slave/Damnation Alley is absolutely worth the pick-up if you don't yet own these trash classics.

Betsy Bitch is at her most ravenous on these two slabs, wailing, howling, growling, swooning and screeching like she'd studied the book of Johnny Rotten before ever laying down a vocal track. In her own way, Betsy Bitch possessed her own verve that differed her from Kim McCauliffe, Doro Pesch, Lita Ford and Wendy O. Williams. Betsy's scat-croons vary from monkeying around to reasonably serious. She belts out "Right From the Start," "Riding in Thunder," "Saturdays, Saturdays" and "In Heat" like she wants major props, even if she goes for broke at times and ends up breaking glass with some killer shrieks. Yet she's downright hot on the sultry (and eventually bombastic) "Save You From the World."

Sometimes she snogs throat rolls like Bjork later trademarked, but overall, Betsy Bitch presents herself as a punkette-headbanger who wants to give you an anal probe (likewise inviting you to return her stage persona the favor) on Be My Slave/Damnation Alley. "Leather Bound" is so coarse and ridiculous you have to laugh, much like Grace Jones' "Warm Leatherette," yet both songs get right into the brain on the merits of their hooks.

Guitarist David Carruth, bassist Ron Cordy and drummer Robby Settles provide the comic relief to Bitch's full-on gobbler raunch. Much as the musical components of Gwar have become a formidable band behind their gory antics, so too do Carruth, Cordy and Settles for Bitch. Their focused speed and aggression turns "Live For the Whip" into something as memorable for its near-thrash as Betsy Bitch's pretend whip-tip moaning. Likewise, "Heavy Metal Breakdown" chugs and thrums with an appreciable rev from the band, while "World War III" is a booming, beat-splashed nod to the New Wave of British Heavy Metal with a railing gal on the mike instead of Biff Byford.

The tracks on Damnation Alley are (for the most part) less abrasive and nutty. In fact, most are downright streamlined. If not for the fast and loose "Live For the Whip," you start to wonder how Bitch transformed from near-straight rock to the sleazy beligerence of Be My Slave. "Never Come Home" is one of the more focused and melodic tracks Bitch recorded in their career and it offers insight to the short-lived Betsy era. The title track should've made it into some splatterpunk Troma film, even though it's a readily accessible tune compared to the Be My Slave tracks. Then you have the greasy blues licks of "He's Gone" that comes off like a well-intended rip on Aerosmith and Foghat. Again antithesis to the mayhem that would later follow this EP.

To say the story of Betsy Bitch is a strange one is better left unsaid. Instead, we should slip on the ass-kicking rowdiness of Be My Slave/Damnation Alley and relish the boundaries that were knocked to smithereens--assuming you were paying attention when it happened. "Right From the Start" stands up in hefty punk 'o rama fashion to anything the Minutemen or Black Market Baby did and yet Betsy Bitch's over-the-top vocal hydraulics and David Carruth's spastic guitars puts Bitch right in league with the Plasmatics.

Mentioned over the years only as an afternote, it's good and proper that Bitch gets its due in a metal and punk revival system that is recycling overlooked records in the interests of older and newer audiences. Those who missed these cuff 'n muff nuggets the first time, step up and savor the sicko nostalgia. Those who are just learning about Betsy Bitch, enjoy the lesson and take notes. There will be a quiz.

Rating: ****1/2

Poll Question: What's the Best Metal Show You've Ever Seen?

2011-07-28T07:06:00.004-04:00

I'm lucky to say I've been to my fair share of concerts, the bulk of them being heavy metal shows. There's just something about live music that draws us as a culture. Sure, it's optimum to consume music at your leisure, be it in private or amongst friends in a relaxation setting. Still, being there when a band takes the stage...there's a pact between artist and audience. So long as the artist shows the proper respect for those gathered to pay allegiance and bear witness to the best said artist has to give, all's well. In fact, sometimes it's spectacular.

As many shows I've been to, I know there are people who've been to far more than I. For some, the live listener's perspective is their gospel, much less the road dogs who actually perform the gigs. That being said, it can sometimes be a chore trying to select the best of the best concert experiences in one's life.

I can rattle off a lot of high moments from my concert memory banks. There's probably nothing I'll ever see quite like the frantic, spastic, electrifying performance of the Red Hot Chili Peppers on their Mother's Milk tour, before they stripped all of that agitated funk-punk down to what they are now. Not to diss the Chilis, but damn, the Mother's Milk jaunt...perhaps those who saw their early L.A. years can tell a better story of how much energy that band propelled upon their crowd back in the day.

Both times I've seen Prince are extremely memorable, particularly when he was ripping out a loud solo in the middle of a Zeppelin cover, then he planted his guitar on the stage, mimicked Hendrix's guitar torching genuflections, then Prince got his belly and slithered away, then back, striking six perfect notes on the fret from that position.

Tori Amos, Beastie Boys, Ben Harper, the Ramones, Sonic Youth, Beck, KRS-One, The Cure, Rush...all moments of wow for me. Metal-speaking, both times I saw Boris were cosmic experiences, ditto for the many times I caught Isis, the best of them with Pelican as openers a few years ago. Dylan Carlson and Earth, I was transfixed sitting in on their sound check, much less their mesmerizing gig. A very-young Trivium as openers for Iced Earth really showed me how badly that band wanted it. Celtic Frost on their Monotheist tour was an unholy religious experience; I pity anyone who missed it. Venom? I once feared that band, but live? Damnation, what fun, pun intended. Sharing fake blood right out of Lizzy Borden's palm on Halloween night a few years back is a personal highlight and what a monstrous performance that show was, again, pun intended. Speaking of monstrous, anytime Gwar puts on a show, you're gonna remember it.

I remember Government Issue around 1987, the first time I got into a slam pit and found myself on my ass within seconds. Somebody picked me up though I was metalhead at a punk show and it was simply awesome. Later in life, I retired from the mosh pit after some creep started headbutting people during a lethal set by Static-X and I came around with my fist up in defense mode. I realized then I was too old and too impatient for the bastardization that was moshing at the time. I can laugh now, but there was a time I lost my glasses in a mosh during Suicidal Tendencies after Pantera had just opened the show and Exodus headlined. Yeah, you read that right; Pantera opened. What a show.

Professionally, being front and center against the stage for Iron Maiden on their tour for A Matter of Life and Death is probably the most personally satisfying photo shoot I've ever done, even if the venue fucked all the photogs over by "losing" our tickets for the remainder of the show. My In Flames photos from Sounds of the Underground 2006 are amongst my favorite and the show was pretty amazing. It helped my candor that Anders Friden had given me a sweet interview on their bus and their TM was hospitable by offering me some much-needed water that day.

Chthonic is a live spectacle I won't forget, from behind the lens and from merely a fan's view. I remember both Behemoth and Cannibal Corpse literally shaking the place to pieces while my camera vibrated. Darkest Hour made waiting through 10 mediocre local bands worth the entire ride. Being there for the first Belladonna Anthrax reunion in Sayreville, New Jersey was quite special, particularly since they were filming Alive 2 that night and I'm somewhere in the crowd. That show was the only time in my life I'd been bumped and crashed into where every single person excused him or herself. Props to you, Jersey...

Better yet, being there at the Nokia in Times Square for Anthrax again on the same leg, right under Scott Ian, amidst pros I knew by name and had just kinda-sorta met in transition through the photo pit. Belladonna's solo gig in Baltimore a couple years prior to that remains a favorite because only 50 people showed, if that, and Joey played drums and sang, delivering a passionate show as if the joint had sold out. It was also fun interviewing him at the pool table earlier and just hanging out. Out of nowhere, I have to recall Motley Crue on the Dr. Feelgood tour, a pretty good show with a lousy and long guitar solo but made all the more astonishing by Tommy Lee's drum solo from the ceiling in the arena. Crikey, what a visual that brings up...

The memories are plentiful (particularly Monsters of Rock 1988 with Van Hagar, Scorpions, Metallica, Dokken and Kingdom Come), but if I have to narrow it down to cream of the crop metal shows I've been to, the 1990 Judas Priest/Megadeth/Testament show is a huge contender. You had Priest supporting Painkiller, Megadeth Rust in Peace and Testament Souls of Black. We missed some of Testament, but damn, what a show. I vividly recall Megadeth tearing the arena a new one, while I stood there with my mouth open during Priest's set, a ton of the old classics dusted off for the first time in many years at that show. It was a personal honor to tell Rob Halford, Glenn Tipton and KK Downing each in separate interviews what a privilege that was to see such a commanding performance.

Photo by Zach Petersen

That being said, there is just one show better than that and I occasionally run into other people who caught the same tour. When you read the lineup, it's just staggering, but get your head around this: Voivod, Soundgarden and Faith No More. Voivod headlined, while Soundgarden and Faith No More were the supporting acts. Both of the latter bands were on the cusp of breaking out and soon did after I saw this show, yet Voivod legitimately owned their headlining position. Picture if you will a miniature Pink Floyd set from the old years, bubble-like projections on a screen with hyperspeed thrash coming at you. Jesus wept...

Faith No More were incredible. Mike Patton climbed in the rafters of the venue and spread himself out on the beams and sang the old Nestle's jingle. The band was literally shaking the stage with their animation. That would've been enough for anybody. Then Soundgarden came on and blew everyone away. I had the funny distinction of having Chris Cornell's amp cord wrap around my throat while everybody was pushing him back onstage. Also, I had been jumping up and down in front of Cornell and got a high five and again lost my glasses. Thank God my friend Bob was there to shove people off the barrier so I could find the damned things. Again, more than enough for anybody to say they'd been to one hell of a show. Then the vintage era Voivod on their Nothingface leg, holy shit...

So kick back the memories, readers, and tell me what you think is the best metal show you've attended...

Whattya Listenin' to Wednesday - 7/27/11

2011-07-27T06:59:00.007-04:00

Waddup, beloved readers? What a whirlwind kind of week news-wise, eh?

First and foremost, condolences and respect out to our brothers and sisters in Norway. I usually get to read happier reports on Norwegian bands and athletes. Truly sad to see such an appalling act of cowardice as what transpired. May you all find peace. Fred, my friends...

The passing of Amy Winehouse is a tragedy most folks are shrugging off. It's apparent she wrote her own checkout ticket due to her extreme and excessive conduct offstage, and her death serves as yet another reminder why substance abuse and fame make deadly bedpartners. I had the opportunity to see Amy in concert a few summers ago and we were only joking at the time at how much she slurred, swayed and flubbed a few lines while her backup band valiantly saved the set. This was before the music press keyed in on her addiction and blew it through the roof. No wonder some people have a hard time kicking the habit. I wish that inebriated performance wasn't the lasting impression I had of Amy Winehouse since it's obvious she had much more to give.

Football season is back, but be careful which of your jerseys you choose to dust off for the new season, since the cuts are coming, the salary cap is collecting contracts and quite likely some of your favorite players are headed elsewhere. Let's hope all of the dumb arrests and foot-in-mouth incidents get curbed. Not bloody likely, though. I'll admit to being a Steelers fan since 1984 and I've never been more embarassed of the team as a whole for acting like a bunch of punks over the past few years with miscreant behavior and pointless trash-talking unfitting of 6-time champions. Shame on you, Steelheads. Keep your crap out of the public and out of the press. Mad love to Polamalu, Heath Miller and Coach Tomlin (and props to Big Ben for taking his on-field punishment like a man last year), though Tomlin needs to step down on the team with a zero tolerance for these meathead shenanigans. We're all human, but this is a plague of lame behavior that's costing the image of a team with probably the second biggest fan base behind Dallas. Where I live, they're Public Enemy #1 and you risk your life being a Steelers fan. There was a time when you risked your life being a Metallica fan in the mid-eighties. At this point, I'm going to be content there's a season and forget investing my allegiance to anybody--as I do hockey.

Coming up at The Metal Minute, we'll continue previously-stated agenda and add the latest crunch-o-matic fun from Totimoshi, new joints from Chelsea Grin and Grifter, the reissue of Bitch's Be My Slave/Damnation Alley and more.

Be well, people...

In Flames - Sounds of a Playground Fading
Iron Claw - A Different Game
Arch Enemy - Khaos Legions
Dragonlord - Black Wings of Destiny
Flotsam and Jetsam - No Place for Disgrace
Flotsam and Jetsam - Cuatro
Bitch - Be My Slave/Damnation Alley
Totimoshi - The Avenger
Zombie Shaker Box - Encrypted
Girlschool - The Collection
Pro-Pain - Act of God
Mindflow - With Bare Hands
Twisted Sister - Stay Hungry 25th Anniversary edition
Twisted Sister - Love is For Suckers
Twisted Sister - Club Daze Vol. 1: The Studio Sessions
Matadors - The Muse of Senor Ray
Matadors - Flame the Whisper
Grifter - s/t
Ride - Nowhere
Ride - Going Blank Again
Depeche Mode - Sounds of the Universe
Flogging Molly - Speed of Darkness
Raphael Saadiq - Stone Rollin'

DVD Review: Twisted Sister - Double Live

2011-07-25T06:46:00.004-04:00

Twisted Sister - Double Live
2011 Eagle Vision
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Good evening... Welcome to their show, times two.

If there's one legacy metal band out there making the most of its past, one would automatically think of Motley Crue. Still occasionally recording and hosts of a summer slam festival that's grown in popularity, the Crue are somehow still masters of their domain despite their trials, lunacy and raucous headlines that would sink any other band. They've always been ruffians and the world doesn't want them any other way.

On the other hand, you have to hand it to Twisted Sister. No other band of their stature has ridden a full decade in an official capacity without sending out a brand new album and still maintains a hefty following. Minus a new song on the Stay Hungry 25th anniversary edition from two years ago and a slew of previously-unreleased material on the same package, Twisted Sister has re-emerged on the heels of reissues and live DVDs that have become even more crucial now than when a lot of it was originally released.

Perhaps it's the class clown emcee aura Dee Snider has projected for more than two decades since Twisted originally broke up. Perhaps it's Jay Jay French's restless comandeering of Twisted Sister's reinvention through retrospection. Perhaps we're all just fascinated that this band still has all five core members in their compound and they grew up to be a bunch of downhome bear-men beneath the cake and mascara sneeze.

Perhaps it's just the fact Twisted Sister kicks ass.

It's been well-documented the reason why Twisted Sister imploded after busting their nads for what must've seemed like an interminable waiting period in the sweatboxes of east coast rock clubs. 1987's Love is for Suckers ended up turning most metalheads away despite a handful of strong cuts. Of course, a handful doesn't equate into continued success and if you're familiar with the particulars that went into Love is for Suckers, the disassembly of the band was not surprising.

The band members retreated to their neutral corners for 13 years before a higher calling summoned them back to the rock table. These knighted glam crushers have since restored their personal honor and ditched the majority of their differences. While we're still waiting for Twisted Sister to give us what we feel in our bones should be a good-time slab of new material, now comes Double Live, another couple pieces of the pie, historically-speaking.

Double Live whisks audiences back to 1982 as well as 2001, two periods marking a farewell and a howdy-do point in Twisted Sister's legacy. The '82 concert, filmed at the North Stage Theater in Long Island, is one of the best representations of Twisted at their most unchained, their most punk, their most metal. Here is a Twisted Sister unit on the cusp of ascension towards rock royalty. The 2001 show at New York Steel in Manhattan represents Twisted Sister in its mending phase as the United States was licking its wounds weeks after 9/11. Both shows present their own drama. One is reckless and free, the other, more contained and focused upon pushing forward in a statement of unity--for themselves and their country.

If you're looking for power and aggression, the North Stage show is simply going to blow you out of your socks. Twisted Sister throws out one hell of a goodbye to the tri-state club scene they came up in just days before they ventured off to England to record Under the Blade. What resonates about the North Stage gig is the breathtaking energy in the band. A.J. Pero had only been in Twisted Sister a couple months at this point, but there's an undeniable click to this show. We learn in the interview segments Pero was playing that gig busted up and sore, which is partially why he protrudes a fanged exterior. Regardless, he's as much an animal behind the kit as Mark Mendoza is beneath his one-time shrub. All the boys are at their glammiest here, adding a freakshow dimension that carries forth better in 1982 than when the "We're Not Gonna Take It" video vaulted them into the stratosphere. While Eddie "Fingers" Ojeda flubs his solo on the traditional opening number "What You Don't Know (Sure Can Hurt You)," he gets in the pocket thereafter, even if Jay Jay French is freaking lightning when he carries the solos.

There's an unspoken choreography to Dee Snider's pole positioning as he jukes stage right at a particular lurch then swerves to the other side. You see it in 1982 and you see it on some of the same songs in 2011. When Dee had his gargantuan mane during Twisted Sister's short reign over the hard rock world, it was more about pogoing and leaping about to get those locks trailing. In these shows, it's almost as if Dee sees invisible tape X's marking where to go during "Shoot 'em Down," "You Can't Stop Rock 'n Roll," "Tear it Loose," "Bad Boys of Rock 'n Roll" and "What You Don't Know (Sure Can Hurt You)." This is not a criticism whatsoever, because Snider is a fireball in both shows, yet during the '82 gig, all of his limbs flail like he's being electrocuted while he wails and growls. It's infectious to watch.

The North Stage show is stocked with a lot of Twisted Sister's first batch of soon-to-be staples such as the aforementioned tunes plus "Destroyer," "Sin After Sin" and of course their immortal "Under the Blade." Even better, though, is the opportunity to see songs the band considers their retired "bar" tunes such as "Lady's Boy," "Rock 'n Roll Saviours," "I'll Never Grow Up Now" and an incredible rendition of "You Know I Cry." The latter is spectacular for its raw edge, but even more so when Dee Snider re-emerges from behind the amps during some insane tag-team soloing by French and Ojeda with his own guitar. It's a rare glimpse at how proficient a musician Dee Snider really is.

Also of note in the '82 show is the different stage garb Dee wears which you almost never see again later, plus a then-fashionable haunt with a motorcycle onstage during their cover of "Leader of the Pack." It's not quite as revered an image as Rob Halford in a big arena, but you can't deny the moxy and creative spirit Twisted Sister unleashes at the North Stage. Back then, they weren't greeted and cheered by devil's horns. At this point, the A-OK hand symbol sufficed as a fist in the air and it's a trip watching Dee coax the Long Island faithful into throwing out those A-OK thrusts as compared to damn near every metal band today begging for horns by their audience. At least Twisted Sister earned their endearments in this adrenalized performance.

By comparison, the New York Steel show is more about the moment than the performance. As Twisted Sister were shedding their rust after such a long layoff, they do sound remarkably well, all considering. Perhaps not as dense a projection during "The Kids Are Back," "Under the Blade," "I Wanna Rock" and "Shoot 'em Down," you find yourself cheering the guys on anyway. They still pound out "What You Don't Know," "S.M.F.," "The Price" and "Burn in Hell" with gusto. "Burn in Hell" is dedicated to the now-late Osama bin Laden as Dee Snider is wearing a vest with the blazing message "Fuck Osama" on his back. The gory images of the fallen Twin Towers were well upon the band's minds in this show.

The makeup-less Twisted Sister in 2001 presents the old rugged tough guy image you saw in their ages-ago video for "You Can't Stop Rock 'n Roll" only with elder lions' muscle. There's an uncertainty within the band just how they're going to come off, much less if there will be a future beyond the moment. A decade later, we now know there is a future to Twisted Sister and bless the guys for nodding back to their club daze with "You Know I Cry" and "Come Back" in the New York Steel show.

Played in company with fellow New York metal legends Anthrax, Ace Frehley, Sebastian Bach and Overkill, the headlining Twisted Sister brings a towering voice to the New York Steel show organized by Eddie Trunk. Kudos to Twisted for putting it all on the line in the interest of their fellow New Yorkers and it's a happy story they managed to continue on, if even only as a revival form of their past at this point.

Each concert has 35-40 minutes of interviews with all five members and as usual, each are worth tuning in for. Piece by piece, Jay Jay French is releasing the frequently bizarre story of Twisted Sister. If you thought the bonus DVD to the Under the Blade reissue was something, get ready for Double Live, especially that cocks-out 1982 performance serving as a bigger symbol of what Twisted Sister is even more than their revered "TS" logo.

Rating: ****1/2

Album Review: In Flames - Sounds of a Playground Fading

2011-07-24T00:13:00.002-04:00

In Flames - Sounds of a Playground Fading
2011 Century Media
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

At this point in time, long-tenured metal acts such as In Flames now comprise the genre's collegiate elite, if you will. One of the classier bands from this generation, In Flames represents a stylized ascension from proto death metal to a bombastic expression of pop-influenced heaviness.

Those who've followed In Flames since the nineties on their Lunar Strain and Subterranean albums have been unapologetic in their condemnation of the band's borderline mainstream transformation as of 2004's Soundtrack to Your Escape. Unfathomable that "The Quiet Place" actually struck the FM charts, yet commercial radio has since backed off from In Flames for whatever reason. Come Clarity was a hot seller for the band even without AOR assistance, yet the group more or less suffered the same brief shrug-off by many fans as did Shadows Fall during their album cycle for 2007's Threads of Life. Obviously, Shad rebounded in spectacular fashion with Retribution and won their fans back.

While 2000's Clayman is usually the album most of In Flames' core audience cites as their favorite, credit should go where it's due. In Flames may have struck a certain formula in transition, but as of their latest offering, Sounds of a Playground Fading, there is an unwavering attention to detail and harmony amidst the planted aggression. Even with departed guitarist Jesper Stromblad leaving a questionable void in the band, the shaken-up components of In Flames have answered remarkably well with Sounds of a Playground Fading.

The agreeable title of the record rings of the nuclear fallout scene in Terminator 2 and In Flames have become so adept at creating ear-tingling aquaducts you can feel a T-1000 squishing up behind you. Judgment Day? Inherently implied by the lyrics of Sounds of a Playground Fading, yet judgment day is well upon In Flames themselves. Whether they feel it or not, this album is critical to their future, partly due to the loss of Stromblad from their ranks, but also for their continued mass acceptance.

As it turns out, Sounds of a Playground Fading is the sound of youth for the youth. It is a mandatory summer vacation album for the world's teenagers, which is not to say In Flames have written an alienating album for everybody else, demographically-speaking. There's a pitch, a cadence, a verve to Sounds of a Playground Fading that carries the soaring vocals of Anders Friden and the brushy note picking of Bjorn Gelotte into pastures that could've been maudlin given the group's internal shake-ups.

When you hear the aspirant choruses of "Where the Dead Ships Dwell," they present a diverse hopefulness beyond the trudging verses. It speaks to the young looking for an identity, and it speaks to those more traveled. The groovy twin solos from Gelotte and new addition Niclas Engelin voice all the song hopes to accomplish, while Friden places a majestic croon overtop the grinding riffs and submerged electronics by Orjan Ornkloo.

The fascinating element to Sounds of a Playground Fading is the frequency in which In Flames varies the duality of depression and self-composure. "The Attic" comes off subdued in nature with a programmed beat and hollow synths beneath a primary guitar melody and a restrained near-whisper from Friden. Still, it resonates with a hint of strange satisfaction amidst the conveyed barrenness.

All over this album, In Flames turns anger into near-righteousness. A song like "Darker Times" flogs yet it strides while Anders Friden sings about fabricated self-pity. The longer the song goes (and it's not a long cut at 3:25), you hear In Flames rise above what's implied to offer their listeners the chance to buck up and smile. Perhaps it's well to assume their own recent trials are reflected and purged on Sounds of a Playground Fading. By the time the textured exhalations of "A New Dawn" arrives towards the close of the album, congratulations are well-earned between the dramatic keyboard flushes and the chamber fugue accompaniment that splices the nodding grind of the song. Beautiful stuff.

Best of all, Daniel Svensson keeps the album on a perpetual throb. He's particularly effective on the head-crashing fluxes of "Deliver Us," "Sounds of a Playground Fading," "Where the Dead Ships Dwell," "A New Dawn" and the speedier rushes of "The Puzzle" and "Enter Tragedy."

Stretching out of their scheme on the last number, "Liberation," In Flames steps up to a funk rhythm nobody could ever have expected from them. "Liberation" is a snappy pimp roll to deliver its live in the moment message, a fitting uptempo closing argument to a smartly-balanced postulation between tragedy and victory.

Victory belongs to In Flames with Sounds of a Playground Fading. Stripped down in some respects, embossed with grandiosity in others, this is a poised example of a band professing a higher road on record and choosing to follow their own advice straight to a happy conclusion.

Rating: ****

Album Review: Iron Claw - A Different Game

2011-07-23T00:15:00.007-04:00

Iron Claw - A Different Game
2011 Ripple Music
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

It takes a lot of balls to pick up where you left off nearly four decades ago. While a lot of rock and metal bands have hung tough through the same period of time, or they came and went and came back, there's something about the story of Scotland's Iron Claw that makes you smile. Particularly when you throw on their first ever polished studio recording and it sounds this damned heavy, this damned cool, this damned right.

You've never heard of Iron Claw, no doubt. Rock snobs who are aware of these power rock ruffians from yesteryear never hesitate to use the word "obscure" in the same sentence when introducing Iron Claw. Okay, so Iron Claw never achieved the same notoriety as Canned Heat, Free or Blue Cheer. Somehow, even though Iron Claw was largely contained to their native highlands and neighboring Euro territories, one gets the impression they should've had a shot at an Isle of Wight appearance in the opening tiers.

The lore of Iron Claw has it the original foundation consisting of Ian McDougall, Alex Wilson and Jimmy Ronnie banded together in 1969 after witnessing the earth-shattering might of Led Zeppelin. Iron Claw are said to have derived their name from a King Crimson song, "21st Century Schizoid Man." Whatever is truth and whatever is fiction about Iron Claw, they sought to fuse the meanest blues rock riffs they could muster with the groovy grunge of Black Sabbath and perhaps Iron Butterfly. In the beginning covering Ten Years After, Free and Johnny Winter cuts, Iron Claw developed their repertoire and lasted officially until 1974.

Add to the legend the fact Iron Claw had never released an actual album during their original run, which eventually expanded to a foursome, while drummer Ian McDougall soon bolted at one point. Shift to 2009 and Iron Claw's improbable "comeback" of sorts with the release of Rockadrome, a collection of the band's early demo recordings, which then served as the only known capsule of their work.

Until now.

A Different Game. A simple title, that, but you have to appreciate it for the way Iron Claw intends it. Things have naturally changed in the music business since McDougall, Wilson and Ronnie first set out to conquer the rock world and didn't. Forget the formats of music consumption and forget the demographics that have changed since the early seventies. Iron Claw returns with a live-recorded studio album with very few dubs and final touches and indeed, life is a different game for these headstrong Scots.

Much of the pace of A Different Game barely gets past the doom and blues variety. However, Iron Claw is not a doom band, much as they sport a bitchin' righteous doom metal band name if there ever was one outside of Black Sabbath and Saint Vitus. A Different Game is more upbeat, if even-handed. You're not going to get a lot double time and signature swaps. No use worrying about ripping arpeggios. This is pure muscle at work and Iron Claw still has plenty of the natural juice in them to make this reunion endeavor soar. Fellow countrymen Nazareth continue to march with amps kicking and Iron Claw brings a booming kindred spirit in the tradition of Nazareth along with a respectful blend of Lynard Skynard, Black Sabbath, AC/DC and Deep Purple.

The stepped-up opener, "What Love Left" gets right into the crunch and though Iron Claw has a few variations to mingle into their snarling stride on A Different Game, expect to settle in with a plod from the next cut, "Saga," on. It's a mid-tempo pace that you'll embrace, actually, because this is a pack of elder statesmen intent on showing themselves off. Raunchy guitar chugs and dirty solos from Jimmy Ronnie are part of Iron Claw's rebooted assets, while Alex Wilson and Ian McDougall seem content to pound out a primary rhythm that allows the listener to take a hit of their heft. A band with this much of a layoff and no album history (prior to 2009) shouldn't sound so controlled and so focused.

Vocalist Gordon Brown, recruited into the fold for this venture, sings a quickly-contained memento about Iron Claw on "Saga," quickly pecking out their story that's "often been told but never heard." That's basically all the candle-lighting Iron Claw obliges with this album. Knowing perfectly well they have to re-introduce themselves to a largely-unknowing public, they employ some of Deep Purple's more rugged methods on "Angel Woman" and the title track, while "Southern Sky" and "Falling Down" are so Skynard and Bad Company-esque in a less-flashy manner you buy into it all. Retro, but not quite. Grittier, we should say.

McDougall's deft strikes gives A Different Game a heady punch while Jimmy Ronnie shifts between laggard chord drags, wailing bar slides and some ear-bending solo scorching--a prime example of the latter on "It's Easy," where Ronnie gets two extensive rockout sessions. Greasy, nasty, indulgent, rude and ultimately satisfying, given the delicate acoustic intro to the subsequent track "My Way Down," a song which quickly develops into one of the heaviest and meanest tunes on the album. Forget Born Again; let's pretend Purple and Sabbath merged altogether and you get the flavor Iron Claw is seeking out of "My Way Down." They pretty much nail it as a mere foursome, so much even Gordon Brown pulls a tricky octave or two from Ian Gillan's repertoire. Then listen to Jimmy Ronnie wreck havoc in the final stanza of "Love is Blind," oi...

Sticking to a general groove with A Different Game is not the inherent foil one would expect. Iron Claw ends up not being a one trick pony, despite their critics from another day who are probably lucky to still hold their pints in their guts for more than a half hour. Iron Claw possesses a specialty that was lost to the world, simply because they weren't discovered. Iron Claw missed their shot at arena glory and it's a bit painful to hear well-polished songs like "Targets," "What Love Left," "See Them Fall," "The Traveler" and "Falling Down" as evidence they could've at least opened for Purple, Rainbow and Thin Lizzy. Thankfully Iron Claw has given themselves the opportunity to say a thundering hello to the rock world, if not hijack it.

Now is the time to discover Iron Claw. It's naive to think of this band in terms of the next Anvil, meaning the feelgood comeuppance story of the year. Yet you do have to think Iron Claw has engineered their own comeuppance. A faithful bunch of fans demanded their return and Iron Claw responded. Smartly they flocked to Ripple Records, home of the mighty Poobah and Stone Axe, and home of the rawk resurrection. They went into the care of fans and with any luck, Iron Claw will finally be given some due...for their balls, if nothing else.

Rating: ****

Album Review: Arch Enemy - Khaos Legions

2011-07-22T00:16:00.001-04:00

Arch Enemy - Khaos Legions
2011 Century Media
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Though it's been a lifetime ago it seems, Arch Enemy's Black Earth is a metal album that has held the band to a vicious standard it hasn't really been too interested in living up to. Though you almost never hear anybody slag mainstay vocalist Angela Gossow since she can ralph and tear chunks from her esophagus with equal (if not better) proficiency as her male counterparts, you do now and then hear a metal fan pining for Johan Liiva. Or better yet, the days of Arch Enemy minus all of the excessive balladry and power pop.

Many scoffed at Arch Enemy's previous outing The Root of All Evil, an album hijacking a large chunk of the Liiva era for Gossow to bellow out her own blistering rip through red times she wasn't originally there for--even though she's fielded plenty of Arch Enemy's old material in live sets. In the grand scheme, The Root of All Evil was pretty pointless, at least until you measure it against Arch Enemy's latest album, Khaos Legions.

Given 2001's Wages of Sin introduced Gossow to a hyperactive metal crowd eager to receive her out of curiosity sake, it's been more the story of how far Arch Enemy has drifted from its blackened foundry, i.e. Black Earth, Stigmata and Burning Bridges. Not to say albums like Doomsday Machine and Rise of the Tyrant aren't heavy duty albums, but it is sufficient to say Arch Enemy has been less interested in becoming the Mercyful Fate of their time, which they could have been, if not for their stretches into tuneful progression and fist banging mania.

If you're one of those Arch Enemy fans longing for the old days, then you'll do well to give Khaos Legions a whirl. While some songs can't resist the tumble from thrash to skidding chamber fugue as interpreted by metalheads (a method refined by Yngwie Malmsteen and incorporated way too much by this band), a hefty portion of Khaos Legions digs back into the Black Earth and Stigmata goodie bags.

Thus you get why Arch Enemy took the time to re-record their vintage catalog with Gossow on The Root of All Evil. They primed her for this moment. Indeed, the roots are here on Khaos Legions with frequent blares of immeasurable speed, grimy riff structures and a regal solo clinic from the Amott brothers, Chris and Michael.

Perhaps only Megadeth's Endgame has more celebratory shredding and guitar trade-offs, because the Amotts throw themselves and their fans quite a party on Khaos Legions. It's hard to pinpoint all of the standout solos on this album, because they're hurled at will, some when you're expecting them...often not. For sake of the argument, we'll cite "Thorns in My Flesh," "Cruelty Without Beauty," "Cult of Chaos," "Bloodstained Cross," "Vengeance is Mine" and "Yesterday is Dead and Gone" as focal points for the Amotts' spectacular torquing and fret shagging. Plug in and let your brains get fried by these guys. The Amotts are always reliable, but on Khaos Legions, they rampage.

While the opening third or so of the album strives to bridge the old Arch Enemy to the newer era with infernal blasts worming back into midtempo huzzahs, there's a methodic appeasement going on with Khaos Legions. "Yesterday is Dead and Gone" is heavier than fuck, yet it keeps slipping into Bach-esque maneuvers with deliberate amiability. "Bloodstained Cross" roars out the gate like a dragon, then settles into a stabilized hum on the verses before Arch Enemy pulls levers that send their listeners out like a blast coaster. In the same song, "Bloodstained Cross" suddenly drags to a crawl before cranking out the other tempo sequences all over again.

In some ways, these internalized cross-examinations of moods during the opening numbers is a bit of chore. One gets the impression this album is going to be more a maudlin yet melodic do-up of Anthems of Rebellion. "No Gods, No Masters" is Arch Enemy's obligatory crowd pump-up for this record, but before you can say "sell the script," they tease their fans with the highly busy "Through the Eyes of a Raven." It's no so much the shift in pentameter on "Through the Eyes of a Raven" that makes it a standout; it's the complicated sequences Arch Enemy rattles through this song that makes it a total guess from start-to-finish. Is it a death march, is it a headbanger's fiesta? Is it a soaring escapade or is black metal for those not too ingrained in the genre? The answer is all of the above and wow, what a mindrape, particularly with the acoustic outro, which is an isolated murmur into the next track, "Cruelty Without Beauty."

Here is where Khaos Legions really finds its raw nerve, as "Cruelty Without Beauty" soars on Daniel Erlandsson's double hammers, triplets and grind, all dipping into a ghostly ether until Arch Enemy picks up the pace again and the Amotts cut loose. This is expert metal songwriting, along with the brief instrumental "We Are a Godless Entity," one of Arch Enemy's most inspired compositions ever. Like classic Testament, the reserved nature of that instrumental serves up the maniacal "Cult of Chaos," one of the fastest tunes Arch Enemy has done in ages, even if they do bring the velocity down in increments.

The same schism applies between the quick interlude "Turn to Dust," which leaves you unprepared for the even faster "Vengeance is Mine," a song of sheer moxy in living up to its title. The brief slowdowns on "Vengeance is Mine" are genuinely there to let you catch your breath, on top of showing off Arch Enemy's knack for power metal plants. Even though the second half of "Vengeance is Mine" is mostly set at mid-tempo, the rocketing finale is exuberant.

Arch Enemy exits Khaos Legions with a banging statement, "Secrets." Crushing and eloquent with tons of speed and more of their baroquian textures that the listener does have enough of by album's end, Arch Enemy couldn't have asked for more out of themselves with "Secrets" as a closer and as a metalhead's idea of nirvana.

If the first third or so of Khaos Legions matched the unrelenting intensity of the remainder of the album and if Arch Enemy hadn't overcooked their pot of Bach boullion, then this might've been an album of the year contender. As it is, Khaos Legions is a damned good album from a veteran metal outfit with all cogs operating to perfection. This is the album their original fans have long wanted, while more recent additions to their listening family are going to feel like their minds have evaporated. Can't complain about either case if you're Arch Enemy, right?

Rating: ****

Metal Louvre: Flotsam and Jetsam - No Place For Disgrace

2011-07-21T06:43:00.003-04:00

Thrash legends Flotsam and Jetsam were put on the map mostly due to Jason Newsted's ascension to Metallica following his time in this group. They also gained a minor bit of notoriety in 1990 with their speedy and amusing rip on Elton John's "Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting." In a way, lending a thrash kick to one of John's rare aggressive and mashing tunes was a slight bit of genius. Only Realm's blazing cover of The Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby" can top that.

While every serious metal fan has Flotsam's Doomsday for the Deceiver in his or her collection for its cult prestige, No Place For Disgrace might be the most consistent album in their catalog. This, even while dabbling in touches of progression that would later become their stamp from Cuatro on through.

No Place for Disgrace's album artwork, however, was monster bait if you were merely trolling through the metal section back in the day. Boris Vallejo's haunting interpretation of the Japanese suicide pact seppuku is one of the most eerie images to flood a metal record ever. And there's no Satan, corpses or pagan goats to be found. This is for real.

Most people are aware the ancient Japanese code of bushido mandated that any samurai royally screwing up or bringing dishonor upon himself or his feudal lord was obligated to take his life. As Vallejo vividly depicts, the offending samurai guts himself with a wakizashi while a standby lops off his head. In some cases, the lore of who the standby was presented its own code of honor, particularly if that samurai had the stones to do the beheading or not.

On No Place For Disgrace, Vallejo reveals no conflict between these samurai. The act is in full swing, the dishonored samurai is offering his final prayers before impaling himself, while his standby is more than committed to his part. There's a sense of twisted beauty to Vallejo's painting but moreover, a disturbing sense of resolve. Still, you have to wonder, is the standby struggling inside to do his duty or was he delegated to the task and eager to get it over with?

Whattya Listenin' to Wednesday - 7/20/11

2011-07-20T06:29:00.004-04:00

Wednesday, already, are you freaking serious?

What's happenin' readers? Just opening mail as I type and I can't thank enough my label and publicist reps out there who still send hard copy material for editorial consideration. Yes, I'm a damn fossil, so what? It's downright nice to find a deluxe edition copy of In Flames' new album Sounds of a Playground Fading and another new Twisted Sister DVD, Double Live amongst other hard copy albums in the mailbox. Bless ya, gang, the packages do make my day in these brutal economic times for everybody.

On the flipside, I hate to keep acting like a fossil, but let's talk about movie remakes a second. I know Hollywood recently green lit up to 60 remakes, but what kind of confidence does that show? It's a cash-in and unfortunately not too much of it is to be desired. Is it really necessary to do a third version of The Thing, when the first two are proud standouts of their time and place? I can tell you I'm not very inspired by the trailer for the new Thing, as well as the Fright Night and Conan the Barbarian remakes. My mind is open to a point, and I even gave the new Nightmare On Elm Street and The Stepfather flicks a chance. Both were better than I expected, but both totally pointless. Perhaps the best remake I've seen in awhile is the new Karate Kid, even if Mr. Smith is doing kung-fu, not karate. Semantics, right? The Crazies, not bad at all since Romero was involved, but honestly, enough's enough, huh?

And The Smurfs in Manhattan? Jesus wept, talk about uninspiring...

At least the final Harry Potter movie was up to the moment. It has been almost a year since I've had a date with my wife due to the kiddo and the budget, but we did slip out to catch Deathly Hallows Part 2 and it was a very satisfying conclusion to what has been the literature and fantasy film epic of this time, The Lord of the Rings notwithstanding. And Dark Knight Rises is around the corner, whoo-ha!

For the upcoming agenda here at The Metal Minute, we'll be checking out the latest from Arch Enemy, Twisted Sister, In Flames, Mindflow, Iron Claw, Zombie Shaker Box and more. Ya'll come back now, etc. etc.

Pro-Pain - Round 6
Brent Hinds - Fiend Without a Face/West End Motel
Mastodon - Remission
Mastodon - Leviathan
Mastodon - Blood Mountain
Mastodon - Crack the Skye
Probot - s/t
Arch Enemy - Khaos Legions
Rusty Eye - Possessor
Crossfade - We All Bleed
Unearth - Darkness in the Light
Amen - s/t
Amen - We've Come For Your Parents
Amen - Death Before Musick
Deftones - White Pony
Deftones - Diamond Eyes
Samael - Above
400 Blows - Black Rainbow
400 Blows - Angel's Trumpets and Devil's Trombones
Prince - Crystal Ball
Depeche Mode - Ultra
Simply Red - Picture Book
Bob Dylan - The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan
Peter Frampton - Frampton
Wendy Carlos - Tron soundtrack
Ennio Morricone - The Thing (1982) soundtrack
Bach - various concertos

Poll Question: What Does Borders Books and Music Closing Mean For the Industry?

2011-07-19T07:36:00.004-04:00

Photo credit: Mandel Ngan - AFP/Getty Images

If you've been reading this blog awhile, you know where I stand on the gradual demise of media retailers. I won't spend a bunch of paragraphs rehashing what I've stated before. If you want to really get in the nuts and bolts of my feelings, kick up my review of I Need That Record! The Death (Or Possible Survival) of the Independent Record Store in the DVD reviews section.

Part of growing older means watching your way of life and the foundations of what resonates with you drift away. Some call it culture shock. Some call it simple old fogyism. It happens, period. The ironic thing for me is that I come from a generation that witnessed the dawn of the tech explosion we're currently watching unfold before our eyes. We frontiered, as consumers, the acceptability and better, enjoyment of video games, CDs, home video, computers, color t.v.s and portable phones. My generation is the last one who can remember cassette tapes and black and white television screens. We also played outside more than we hung inside. That was, until the cable t.v. revolution pinned us indoors, at least for awhile.

No, we didn't have to tramp five miles to school as our elders proclaimed, but we were a relatively simplistic society that was nurtured on physical products, i.e. paperback novels, hard cover texts, albums, comic books and such. The Jetsons represented a possibility of the future that was more fun to daydream about than to actually be confronted by.

That's where we're at now as a society. The advancement of technology is fundamentally based on a need to meet the imaginations of Star Trek, Star Wars, 2001: A Space Odyssey and The Jetsons. Plain and simple. We want that damned com link we can slap on our chests and reach someone nebulae away. We want gadgets that entertain us and take us out of our day-to-day grind, even so much as walking down the street without having to look up and face the world.

Again, I'll stop there, because my point's been made and it is made to point out why the closing of a retail king like Borders Books and Music stings like hell. Okay, people may argue Borders was corporate, sometimes overpriced. That's the industry dictating what Borders could charge, honestly. One can thus argue that technological advancements with iPods, iPads and digital book readers is keeping the industry honest.

True, however, we are losing more and more of ourselves the more we surrender to all of this glorious tech. As with independent record stores, the closing of Borders eliminates a social aspect that's dying off with the advent of online social networking and digital downloads. We love the convenience of getting things within seconds instead of driving miles for the unsure thing. However, there's a part of life to that disappointment when Borders or whatever emporium of the wares one seeks doesn't have something desired in stock. It sucks, it's annoying, but what satisfaction when you finally get the damned thing, yes?

I may have been infuriated with Borders for shooing myself and a bunch of other purchasers away the day Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows was released when we arrived early in the morning to buy an advance ticket for the book at midnight. I ended up going to their primary competitor who was eager to sell me a ticket for the book that night. I stood in a very long line to get my copy, but I won't ever forget the event itself and the people who were there, those whom I met and never saw again but their faces are fresh in my mind. People dressed up in Hogwarts chic to get that final chapter of the Harry Potter saga in print, much as they did on opening day for Part 2 of the film rendition this past weekend. It was a cultural phenomenon you can't get from a stinking computer. It was nerdy, it was ultimately silly, but it was something memorable and Borders was a part of it. Think of all the people they did sell copies to. Economically-speaking, that's a big loss.

Perhaps it's just me and a lot of it has to do with the fact I'm a writer and I have a new novel I want the world to read once the right channels produce it. The loss of Borders has just cut off a large sanction of potential readers and that hurts. If you're a creative person, every possible outlet that gets your words to the masses is precious. They may overcharge, they may inadvertently lower your future earnings growth by dumping the excess stock into the discount bins, but as long as the connection is there, you're being read or at least advertised to the world. It's a sad day for me personally, that Borders, after hanging tough with bankruptcy looming overhead, is closing up altogether. Tech has a lot to do with its demise. The crummy economy is the other factor. It's up to Barnes and Noble, a superior chain that has its finger on the pulse of both live and electronic-based audiences, to keep the spirit alive. Them, and Books-a-Million and all the indie book shops scattered throughout the country.

Bless all of them, because they're the final line of defense. I won't ever forget the day I cracked open Stephen King's The Shining for the first time at age 12, bought for me by my grandfather at a bookstore in 1982. 'Nuff said...

Does Borders closing up affect any of you folks? Let me hear from you.

Album Review: Unearth - Darkness in the Light

2011-07-16T15:22:00.006-04:00

Unearth - Darkness in the Light
2011 Metal Blade Records
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

After heaving a steady blast of albums at the metal world, it's been about three years since we've last heard from Unearth. Their last record from 2008 The March showed this band in the stages of evolution beyond their roles as metalcore kings. Unearth also found themselves in transition on the drum kit with the changeover from Mike Justian to former Seemless skin smasher Derek Kerswill.

The March had a refurbished, monkeys-off-the-back freshness about it but push comes to shove, what Unearth has made a name for itself by employing stack 'n smash transitions between velocity and breakdown chugs will, unfortunately for them, begin to lose gradual favor in metal. At the moment, they still have the chance to strike while their name counts for something.

With their newest album Darkness in the Light, Unearth does what they do better than most, still in league with Devildriver, All That Remains and Lamb of God as the ambassadors of American metalcore. In order for Unearth to stay relevant, however, they would have to--by attrition--turn a few new tricks. The March showed a number of spots where Unearth was willing to experiment and broaden themselves. On Darkness in the Light, one almost thinks Unearth decided to skip the formality of extension and just go for broke with their bread and butter sound. As it turns, one would be correct. For their dedicated fans, this near back-up to 2004's The Oncoming Storm will be a joy, assuredly.

Nevertheless, it's sad to say that Unearth is in peril of sounding dated as metal as a whole sniffs around for the next great tactic to exploit. Even sadder, that tactic is starting to lean towards the routes of safe 'n easy commercial AOR. There's no reason Darkness in the Light shouldn't be thought of as an album to hand the asses of most of its competition over to them. Still, a momentum-slashing breakdown sequence on the opening number "Watch it Burn" wears an old hat and for the most part, Darkness in the Light itself does likewise.

Admirably contained to 38 minutes, Darkness in the Light is as polished and professional as Unearth has ever been, perhaps even more so now that they're quantified veterans. Trevor Phipps still brings a righteous pentameter to his barking and per usual, Ken Susi and Buz McGrath peel everything off the walls within their luminous reach. Their solos are still gorgeous and their notes and chords are like brushstrokes amidst the savage tempos on songs such as "Ruination of the Lost," "Last Wish," "Disillusion," "Overcome" and "Eyes of Black."

The shredding and soloing on the intro "Arise the War Cry" is truly exuberant, while the blazing few bars thereafter surrender to mid tempo pulverizing for much of the track. While the song spins in a few series of killer melody and a mind-melding solo section, the fact it simply had to have a mammoth breakdown in the middle shows both a confidence in Trevor Phipps and Unearth's songwriting as well as an unwillingness to break tradition.

That is, until the downright progressive "Equinox" arrives and finally, this album relishes in its moment of redemption. Not to slag on Unearth whatsoever because Darkness in the Light is as heavy as anything they've ever done, but "Equinox" speaks louder than everything else with its haunted piano laces (think Nine Inch Nails) and an abbreviated explosion which serves the well-deserved climax.

Unearth picks back up where it left off on the thrashy "Coming of the Dark," which is a natural headbanging jam with a few stretches of swooning cadence amidst the hammering beat keeping this song on an even stride. Phipps' elongated and punctuated roaring on "Coming of the Dark" keeps it interesting even during a jivey breakdown. Stay tuned as well for a pair volcanic guitar solos here.

Darkness in the Light is by means a slouching album. If you still believe in metalcore, then you have every right to believe in this album. "The Fallen" will probably be your anthem track for its predictable shift between speed and chugging. That's really the only bitter pill about this album. It's heavier than most, well-lavished, occasionally thinking outside the box, from the heart, but in the end, grossly predictable.

Having spent many times in the company of both Mike Justian and Trevor Phipps and once joke-threatened by the rest of the group to have my Beatles shirt hauled right off my back, I personally have nothing but love for Unearth. These guys are downhome goofballs offstage and pure powerhouses on. Darkness in the Light is a damned good album for 2006 and even 2008, but for Unearth to keep their crusade pounding into the future, there will need to be more chances taken like "Equinox" before their core fan base grows up and out of them.

Rating: ***1/2

Album Review: Brent Hinds - Fiend Without a Face/West End Motel

2011-07-15T06:38:00.006-04:00

Brent Hinds - Fiend Without a Face/West End Motel
2011 Rocket Science
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Mastodon have, of course, created their own legend in the metal world. Revered is hardly the word to apply to what may be, along with Opeth, the greatest metal unit birthed of this generation.

The legend of Brent Hinds, however, will undeniably stake itself. It's not just because he's the scruffy hombre spotted front and center in Mastodon, but now because of this revelatory exposition to a very unserious side of the man. As complicated and intricate as Mastodon's music is, it will come as a shocker to anyone approaching Hinds' side work as to just what they'll be treated to.

Fiend Without a Face and West End Motel are two of Brent Hinds' offshoot bands. Fiend Without a Face finds Brent fronting a surf 'n twang mockabilly band from a few years back. While psychobilly is best defined as Setzer-meets-slam, Fiend Without a Face is even more inherently nutty than Rob Zombie's looney find, Captain Clegg and The Night Creatures. On the flipside, how to best describe West End Motel? Good question.

It's pretty easy to say Fiend Without a Face is chemically inbred on the vibes of The Cramps, The Flying Burrito Brothers, Brian Sezter, Dick Dale, Duane Eddy, Reverend Horton Heat, The Bomboras and The Koffin Cats. Hinds and his hicks from hell make no pretentions in slapping down strictly for kicks on "Calypso," "Black Grass," "Green Slime," "Hot Rod" and "Tsunami." Later in the album, Fiend Without a Face turns the dime on itself with a few hard rock and bluesy numbers, but overall, its primary purpose is to just shitkick, not much else. At times, Hinds ralphs and wahoos like a country werewolf, but it's all part of the shtick and all part of the fun. All that's missing here is the beans and the subsequent squeezy farts, because Fiend Without a Face is a total gas.

West End Motel is perhaps even more bonkers, as if Hinds had some sort of brain crash in-between recording Mastodon's Blood Mountain and Crack the Skye, then submitted himself to marathon viewings of Paint Your Wagon and Southern Comfort, then slipped into The White Album and an audile pool of zydeco. "The Devil Called Me Tommy" alone is like some weird crash between The Beatles' "Let's Do It On the Road" and the cajun stylings of The Pine Leaf Boys. Then "I Like It a Lot" is one goofy ride filled with accordion, piano and slide guitar amidst the haunted punk groove. "I Like It a Lot" gets this writer's vote for inclusion on the inevitable Return of the Living Dead remake's soundtrack.

Don't get too settled with West End Motel, because Hinds has a couple other tricks to pelt you with, such as "She's On Fire," (another contender for that hypothetical ROTLD soundtrack) which comes off like a downhome take on The Cure or Joy Division. Even Hinds' voice dips into Ian Curtis territory as "She's On Fire," wallowing like he's got a bug up his ass but hardly has a real axe to grind. Then for even more diversity, "Under My Skin" comes off like a Neil Young swoon about absolutely nothing.

That's the spirit of both of Brent Hinds' projects. If you think you're getting anywhere close to Mastodon's "Blood and Thunder" or "Divinations," check yourself before spinning these mini-albums. If West End Motel's "Silly Song" and Fiend Without a Face's "Stupido" aren't indicators of what you're getting here, it's your own damn fault. Do remember Hinds is partially responsible for songs such as "March of the Fire Ants" and "Mother Puncher," so naturally the inner kid needed released outside of the mondo mathematic construct of Mastodon.

Only Hee Haw has more southern-fried lunacy than this. At least Hinds didn't get wallopped in the ass by a fence board, though he might've took it that way upon learning his Fiend Without a Face tracks were leaked online for free by an uber-fan. There's a reason Reprise/Warner Brothers isn't touching this stuff since there's a limited huckleberry appeal to Fiend Without a Face and West End Motel. Still, if you're a geek for Mastodon or you enjoy your funny bone plucked musically, step up to these nerdy ponies and ride.

Rating: ****

Album Review: Crossfade - We All Bleed

2011-07-14T06:13:00.004-04:00

Crossfade - We All Bleed
Eleven Seven Music
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

For whatever reason, stripping down from an ensemble to a trio rewarded Crossfade with a hit in 2006 on Falling Away. Now, the South Carolina radio rockers beef up to a quartet (not counting a gaggle of session players) and better yet, beef up their artistry for this year's We All Bleed, an album that should come as a surprise, not to Crossfade's fans, but everyone else.

This isn't the cheeriest band you'll ever come across. While most of Crossfade's FM peers cash in on images as party animals or mope-a-dopes, there's an honesty to this band you can't deny. They know they can sell albums yet instead of selling the sure thing, Crossfade opts to do something with We All Bleed and, goddamn, it's a success!

"Dead Memories" is a jumpy opening number with plenty of push and shove. The exciting tempo it establishes with a double hammmer groove and sweeping riffs gives this album a ton of promise. The next song, however, immediately changes the mood. No surprise, though, if you're familiar with Crossfade's writing modes. If "Killing Me Inside" didn't have a lot of texture and a space vacuum quality behind its slow drag, one might consider it ill-advised that Crossfade skid the undeniable momentum thundered out by "Dead Memories." Even by their own intentionally morose means. To its credit, though, "Killing Me Inside" grows in intensity on the furnace blast of Ed Sloan and Les Hall's titanic guitar sculpts and patience leads to satisfaction.

"Prove You Wrong" is where Crossfade seeks its next chart-climbing "Cold" and "Invicible," a heat-seeking radio strike filled with the usual chunk-hum, chunk-hum agro-meets-pop structure. Difference here, however, is how efficiently "Prove You Wrong" handles its business. It's the rare AOR jam which you feel like you've missed something because of how quick and tidy Crossfade executes it.

"Lay Me Down" might've suffered greatly had Crossfade not exploded all over the solo section and those rippling solos carry forward into the final stanza of the otherwise lumbering tune. For once, a hard rock band playing in this style delivers a freaking payoff! Les Hall's dandy piano work here and on "Prove You Wrong" signal the typical would-be-slickness of Crossfade's power pack contemporaries. Yet because this band are such strong songwriters, let it all come in the decorative measures Hall and Crossfade intend them.

"Dear Cocaine" likewise keeps a low-key swirl driven largely on an acoustic lace and reserved beat pattern until Crossfade pours the lava with wah pedals, meaty chords and Mitch James' empathetic vocals. James, along with Ed Sloan, really knock out homeruns on the mike together, and Les Hall keeps their parallel octaves in check. In a way, "Dead Cocaine" plays its hand similar to Black Label Society, even if lacking a superstar name like Zakk Wylde in their fold. The subsequent anti-ballad "Suffocate" is full of rare emotion encased within an obvious commercial vibe. Once again, its the extracurriculars Crossfade puts into "Suffocate" (i.e. strings, keys, gut-punching singing and a magnificent shred solo) that really defines who and what this group is about.

Crossfade are to be commended because you can feel the inner turmoil on just how much to stray to one side or the other in their song structuring. Part of We All Bleed seems tailored as an audition why Crossfade should be hitting the circuit on a bill with Red, Drowning Pool, Apocalyptica and Skillet. After all, Crossfade are platinum sellers in their own right.

Still, they tailor these songs with class, dignity and best of all, personality. We All Bleed may stay stuck in a shambling mode for most of the ride, yet Crossfade is so graceful about it, particularly when they have enough respect for themselves to pile on the layers and give their compositions actual character. It makes all the difference as to whether an obvious tear-jerker like "I Think You Should Know" is fluff or heavy in the proper sense.

Every time you think Crossfade is about to sell out their tunes on We All Bleed, they come right back and, forgive the awful pun, prove you wrong. This is an album that should've failed because of its bleak crawl and inherent mainstream tendencies, yet it adversely comes off as a huge standout of its ilk. This is easily the most listenable and well-functioned AOR-bred album that's come along in ages. At this point, Crossfade's fans are probably considering DJ Tony Byroads an afterthought.

Every so often, the radio giants actually make a statement.

Rating: ****