The thing I like about Death Metal is that it is not something that (to my ears at least) always needs to be evolved/done differently/combined with the chants of Goatherders. Don't get me wrong I like - what my old English teacher in High School would call - "a plethora" of DM styles/genres/sub genres/other neat pigeonholes and nicely labelled boxes, but motherfuckers a lot of the time I just want my DM rammed straight down my fucking throat by a large boot.
In this instance I am talking Death-Doom. That oppressive blend of two of metal's most imposing genres, brought together in a cavernous and atmospheric mixture so that bands like Spectral Voice can wash their Black Sabbath tees with their Incantation hoodies and not give two fucks if the colours run. Now the internet (or more specifically my fellow MOD and font of metal knowledge, BAN) informs me that Spectral Voice are basically Blood Incantation under a different name. I have never heard Blood Incantation so that kills this line of journalistic relevance in terms of comparing outputs, but based on Spectral Voice I am sure Blood Incantation are fucking good.
The "erosion" on this album has been undertaken by some of the thickest, most cavernous riffs you will ever have the pleasure of hearing this side of dISEMBOWELMENT. But the clever bit is that never once does that just become the sole deed of the record. Ebbing and flowing with these riffs are dank layers of creepy and harrowing melodies that are arranged alongside slow picked strings and some bowel scraping, guttural vocals that strip plaster and stone from these heavily punished walls. What Spectral Voice manage to achieve out of all these parts is an actual obvious structure, deftly built into some looming monolith within which exists a fathomless spiral into endless darkness. Opening track "Thresholds Beyond" begins with a slow picked build and continues to use those strings to weave an atmospheric tapestry of hellish proportions to wrap the listener in.
The melodic seepage that opens "Visions of Psychic Dismemberment" soon gives way to a rumbling chug yet maintains an almost arrogant poise throughout its near fourteen minute delivery as the band brilliantly pace and measure the track to hold the interest for the whole track for the listener. Beneath the cavernous riffs and intense doom atmospherics of instrumental piece "Lurking Gloom" there's an undulating flow of near insipid melody whilst at times the same track almost possesses a punk invoking sense of rhythm.
It takes multiple listens to even start to unpick everything that is going on along each and everyone of the "corridors" travelled here. Given the time the detailed textures of "Terminal Exhalation" and the sharp yet infectious needle picks of "Dissolution" all start to form an other-worldly core within the music itself that seems to take on form and life from these very dark and at times smothering nuances that you pick up on with repeated listens. As 2017 draws to a close - and as with most preceding years - the list of great releases just continues to grow right up to the very death of the year itself. "Eroded Corridors of Unbeing" is a neat discovery so late in the year (even though I am over a month behind with it) and goes to show the art of just sticking with a blueprint and building from there can still reap real rewards.
"Wizard Bloody Wizard" is like the lifting of a thick fog. From the off there's a feel of a dense weight being lifted from the band's signature occult/stoner blend of doom. By the time I get to track two "Necromania" things almost seem like a dark cock-rock affair which is odd. The over-arching feel though is of a band who have gone off the boil somewhat. Despite the aforementioned lifting of the heavy atmosphere "Wizard Bloody Wizard" seems more of ground out effort made under some duress resulting in the album being robbed in the main of any feel.
The stoner riff that opens "Hear The Sirens Scream" gets the attention but by the time Jus' vocals kick in it is already starting to grate like when your washer stays on spin for fucking ages. Instead of being a great hook for the track in becomes a centre-pin that loops unnecessarily throughout. The vocals almost sound too laid back here also, like they are almost too much trouble to have to do. When combined with the one dimensional structure of the song it all just starts to sound more than a bit forced. As a result the track completely outstays its welcome even managing to make near 9 minutes feel like 15. It's like your nagging aunt phoning for a "quick chat" only to spend an hour of your life hearing whose died recently and why.
The creepy organ keys of "The Reaper" don't actually fit the riff structure at all. The attempt at perhaps a drug infused chaos just sounds a clumsy and unnecessary 3 minutes of filler on a record that's only 6 tracks long anyway. "Wicked Caresses" offers the only hope for an actual bonafide EW track on the whole album, buzzing with hazy stoner riffs and solid plodding rhythm throughout but bubbling over with atmosphere to hold the interest better than anything before it. The vocals actually sound like they are being delivered with thought and meaning as opposed to a disinterested teenager delivering a presentation at school on "Geographical Inertia" done with minimal research and planning to ever hope of not getting to stand in the corner with a big pointy "D" hat on.
Unfortunately closing track "Mourning of Magicians" is delivered with about as much enthusiasm as the current Brexit deal and I just don't understand why? "Time to Die" wasn't flawless but at least it was alive - it had meaning and purpose, direction even - whereas the cold dead eyes of "Wizard Bloody Wizard" offer no icy spark of creativity or artistic merit. It is one of the most tired sounding things I have ever heard. I spoke to my Gran this morning, she's 91 and can barely walk anymore and currently has a cold and she still sounded more exuberant than all six of these tracks put together. My noodles at lunch had more kick to them, etc, etc... I could go on for hours about how much I dislike this.
Whether you love or hate Cannibal Corpse, their penchant for churning out accessible, fun and consistent DM can't be denied. Yes when they suck they really do suck (Gallery of Suicide), but even if technically never more complicated than most Kinder egg toys there's always a familiarity to CC albums that appeals. I get those that hate that familiarity. If you prefer to become lost in a Portalesque vortex when enjoying your extreme metal then the obvious churn of CC won't be for you. However, for every complex and archaic DM record in my collection I like to have a fair amount of surety too (someone will be along in a minute to replace "surety" with "safety" no doubt) and "Red Before Black" is as familiar to me after a few listens as most of the band's previous outpyt.
"Red Before Black" reinvents no wheels, either in terms of DM in general or the CC specific brand. It is naive to say it has no variety as this simply isn't true, the pace of "Remaimed" for example goes from a slight itch to a raging STD style of a rash. Opening track "Only One Will Die" comes for you like a deranged serial killer, devoid of any bizarre macabre master plan to use your body in some horrific piece of death art, just driven instead by the need to rip your head off and shit down your neck.
"Firestorm Vengeance" starts like a thrash track, chopping away at the bars like a lumberjack on LSD defacing a tree. The mastery of "Scavenger Consuming Death" is undeniable as it chugs away sitting imperiously glaring at you like some cocksure domestic pet who just shat in your sock drawer! Sonically, the album seems a little more developed than usual without ever dissolving into the territory of "guitar wankery". My only instrumentation grumble is the slightly soft edge to the drum sound which taps along instead pummelling in unison with the rest of the activity on display here.
Whilst still being relevant (and it has achieved this without becoming "core" orientated either) and it staying in my head a lot better than the last two Suffocation records (for example) it sets nothing alight. As solid a DM record as this is my face isn't torn off at any point, my ears aren't battered and my neck doesn't get sore due to some over-exuberant headbanging session. Most tracks do dip away unfortunately.
Let's take nothing away from the effort though. To not be producing shit metal at this stage in your career is an achievement in itself, I just start to question if motions are starting to just be gone through?
Like some journey whilst blindfolded and hogtied in the trunk of a kidnapper's car, you never quite know where you'll end up with Blut Aus Nord. The blend of near poetic melody contrasted with their harsh industrial leanings and complimentary darkest of ambience across their discography can leave the average metalhead spinning on their metallic shoulders. Counter-intuitively you end up waiting for the next change, chop, turn or trick whenever you listen to anything new by BAN and this almost starts to detract from the experience as you wait like some cowering wreck for the sucker-punch to arrive.
Merciless though they are in the delivery of "Deus Salutis Meæ" (God of my Salvation) the twists and turns - although far from predictable - are as one would expect having heard anything by the band since "The Work Which Transforms God". Where "Deus..." differs slightly to me ears is the more obvious structure to proceedings, which obvious use of ambient tracks to pace the album over the full experience.
What occurs between these passages of dark reflection is just as chaotic and scary as you would expect it to be. There's little obvious "Memoria Vetusta" styling here but some of it is still present amidst the clashing percussion, churning bass and dense atmosphere of what sounds like a natural extension of the previously mentioned "The Work..." album. It is impossible to deny the power behind BAN's music and typically "Deus..." is a bashing of an affair. The thunderous opening of "Abisme" for example causes you to stop whatever you are doing and listen - like some industrial riffing dictator at some vast and menacing stage, addressing their crowd of loyal subjects.
Never content with just pummelling the listener with percussion there's a fair amount of mesmerising repetition also, like some endless coiling snake or fathomless vortex encircling the listener, crushing the very soul from their shell. "Revalatio" fades away but the same intensity of the track just churns on and on as though still playing now in some parallel universe, long after the reels have stopped turning here in this one! The void that "Ex Tenebrae Lucis" drops you into has no friendly alien lifeforms present as it taunts you like some inter dimensional bully after your cyber lunch money.
Criticisms? It seems over and done with too quickly, which whilst never coming across as disjointed or fractured does leave you stumbling a bit as the record just ends really suddenly. You end up feeling like a sprint runner, expecting the finish line but then suddenly seeing a wall just after it and having to slam on the heel brakes. The longest track on here is five and a half minutes and it almost feels like the album needs a couple of seven minute numbers to vary the experience a little. That having been said, "Deus..." is a still a triumph for a band who despite switching genres more often than some people change their duds still manage to produce challenging and though-provoking music.
Shut up, just shut up any naysayers out there already reading this going "Urgh, that's not a metal album and you can't review a non-metal album on a metal forum because it isn't HEAVY FUCKING METAL DUDE!" I have a Masters degree in pissing on other people's chips and so no amount of brandishing your "metul blud" at me will make me not do this. You frankly have more chance of setting up a successful business in North Korea selling BBQ's and Rimmel products (DISCLAIMER -other expensive face paint is also available).
Chelsea Wolfe does sound like the name of a lawyer who fights cases for poor people against big multi-national corporations and donates her fee to Greenpeace upon successful prosecution of organisations more complex and shady than any John Grisham novel could dream of. Thankfully, Ms Wolfe does not have any career in law and has instead dedicated her life to the ethereal, industrial, alt-grunge/death/dark rock stream of odd music to play at parties to make everyone leave early.
Madder than a box of frogs and more cooky than Cooky McCooky Cooky from the village of Cookyville, Wolfe once again spreads her virulent strain of poignant, emotive and melancholic vocals to a soundtrack with more clatter, rattle and intensity than a most soup kitchens see in a month. There's real pain here and thankfully it is measured superbly as it shifts form with each track, ranging from floaty, pop infused melodies through to harsh, industrial drone and onto reverb drenched grungey rock to boot.
When you have a voice more haunting than the average mother-in-law's face you could quite easily rest on it as your main "thang!" and let the rest of the instrumentation, structure and form go to shit. Not Chelsea Wolfe! She is to music what Steven Seagal is to Martial Arts - fat, orange and dangerous! No, I mean dangerous, edgy and unpredictable and this spreads throughout "Hiss Spun" as some tracks are accessible within a couple of bars and others are real slow burners that build into dark and solid forms of undulating, uncompromising and at times disturbing structure.
Check out, "Static Hum" for its use of the guitar to maul and taunt the vocals as the track builds and builds. Better still the well paced structure and subtle shifts of percussion that represent "The Culling" or the meandering, fractured and disjointed guitar style present on "16 Psyche". All are examples of the true talent of the lady herself and the musicians she surrounds herself with.
It isn't flawless though. Although I like them, the industrial/noise/dark ambient interludes that occur seem misplaced almost and some tracks ("Particle Flurry") are frankly directionless. I don't see "Hiss Spun" making many appearances on the turntable but it is most definitely a record that requires exploration as opposed to just a listen as background music, whenever it does get a play.
There’s not enough circus metal. It is fundamentally a bit goofy, but performed correctly it’s one of the most irresistible concoctions the metal world produces, perfectly mating the technical with the catchy. Genre junkies like me rely on a clutch of specialized bands for consistent output, and with the 2015 demise of Unexpect, arguably the field’s greatest artist, we were left with one fewer reliable supplier.
Mercifully, this relative drought will be alleviated on December 8, 2017 by none other than the genre’s foremost representative. Sweden’s swing metal maestros Diablo Swing Orchestra or DSO, will release their new album “Pacifisticuffs” on that date, under Candlelight and Spinefarm Records.
Originally, DSO had sustained fans with the tantalizing “Jigsaw hustle”, which they described as “ABBA-klezmer-funk with a twist of lemon” in a surprisingly accurate bit of copy. The integration of disco with metal is an amusing juxtaposition given the extraordinary public hatred evinced toward disco in the late 70’s, particularly by rock fans. As usual, metal works well in genre fusion owing to its flexibility, and this track was no exception. Snappy production posed no hindrance for a band imitating a genre inherently associated with panache.
Furthermore, it helped differentiate DSO’s upcoming work from the previous material. The first two albums, “The Butcher’s Ballroom” and “Sing-Along Songs For the Damned and Delirious”, largely took from a swing and opera canon with violin flourishes. The following “Pandora’s Pinata” broadened this focus while keeping its basic foundations – giving their swing a cabaret focus while moving more into funk and groove.
One visual theme of the album, evident both in the cover art and the band’s Facebook post, on Dec. 12, 2016, is “gnarly geometry”. Both the shirt and album cover feature figures deriving from an angular and three-sided basis.
This, in combination with the color palette – bloom-heavy shades of purple and magenta – may suggest slicker production. It could also feasibly suggest djent influences. The recording process has seen the use of brass, strings, choir and piano. The band have also abandoned their flamboyant opera-styled female vocalist Annlouice Lögdlund with Kristin Evegård, who employs a looser style more in keeping with the swoopy vernacular of cabaret rather than opera’s arch soprano.
The band will issue two singles, before the album release: “Knucklehugs” on November 3 and “The Age of Vulture Culture” on December 1.
"Pacifisticuffs" track listing:
01. Knucklehugs (Arm Yourself With Love)
02. The Age Of Vulture Culture
03. Superhero Jagganath
04. Vision Of The Purblind
05. Lady Clandestine Chainbreaker
06. Jigsaw Hustle
07. Pulse Of The Incipient
08. Ode To The Innocent
10. Cul-De-Sac Semantics
11. Karma Bonfire
12. Climbing The Eyeball
13. Porch Of Perception
Contrarian is a sometimes international progressive death metal collaboration featuring George Kollias of Nile on drums, and on "To Perceive Is To Suffer", their second full-length, he steps up to perform vocals as well. If you like mid-90s Death, there's a good chance you'll like this album. Comparisons to the early Floridian prog-death scene are obvious from the outset, but this recording is no mere hero worship; it offers a fresh and sincere take on the style, brimming with intricate yet memorable riffs, intelligent harmonies, a strong sense of melodic interplay between the bass and guitars, and a sterling drum performance. The mix is clear without feeling sterile, and the reverb and delay effects on the vocals lend them an atmospheric quality that's uncommon in modern DM. Technical chops are here in abundance, but the focus remains on concise and enjoyable songwriting. The vocals are mostly delivered in a harsh rasp; tonally, it recalls some black metal, but the vocal patterns and pronunciation show a strong influence from vintage Chuck Schuldiner.
This album isn't flawless. The vocals are a bit lackluster; they fit the music well, both in tone and in placement, and they're certainly competent, but they lack a sense of emotive conviction that could make them truly shine. Kollias' high rasp on this album represents a change in direction from the guttural DM vocals of their debut, "Polemic"; I prefer the new sound, but fans of their earlier work may find it difficult to adapt.
Also, as an album, it suffers a bit from being too much of a good thing. Nearly every song on here is well-paced and well-structured, but each of them hovers around the same length and tempo; they all kick ass in the same way, with the same mix of elements, and the result is that, despite the catchy and memorable nature of the riffs, no song truly stands out. The exception to this is a somewhat incongruous cover of the first half of "At Fate's Hands", by Fates Warning - a slow, clean tune delivered in a stilted but pleasant sing-song, that breaks up the riff-fest nicely but doesn't really add anything of its own.
Regardless, this album is very good; I would highly recommend it to fans of old-school prog death, or any DM fan on the lookout for some exceptional melodic guitar work. Much like each individual song, it's short and to the point, clocking in at just under 35 minutes, and it's remained thoroughly engaging for me through many plays over the past several weeks. Get your ears on it:
Akercocke has always been an eclectic band. Eighteen years after the release of their debut, they're more eclectic than ever. "Renaissance In Extremis" finds their trademark pastiche of extreme metal, progressive rock, electronic textures, and moody atmospheres at its most varied and dynamic. Yet, for all of its expansiveness, there's still an evident connection with the brutish black/death metal of their early years.
Longtime fans of the band (especially their previous two albums, 2005's "Words That Go Unspoken, Deeds That Go Undone" and 2007's "Antichrist") should feel right at home. For some newcomers, this album will be an acquired taste. The opening track, "Disappear", provides a fitting introduction to the variety of sounds on display: a thrashy DM gallop gives way to a short arpeggiated section that wouldn't be out of place on a late 70s Rush album, before dropping away into a lull of clean, atmospheric guitars and delicate vocals, and then building back up into melodic lead guitar excursions that swoop and dive through tasty chord changes. Later moments on the album offer dissonant black metal, restrained background keyboards, and even a lonely beach soundscape of birds and surf. In some hands, this kind of mashup could be a recipe for confusion; not so here. The songs are held together by excellent musicianship, a strong sense of pacing, and above all by the conviction with which they're delivered.
The production is tight and clear; guitar tones breathe, with more vintage grit than crushing gain. The band is deft and energetic throughout. Engaging riffs are underpinned by thoughtful bass lines and propulsive drumming, sometimes serving as a backdrop for graceful guitar solos that never outstay their welcome. The solos themselves are a highlight of the album, tasteful and technically accomplished to a higher degree than on their previous outings.
Technicality isn't the focus here, though; the main point of this album is the passion and human drama conveyed by the vocals. Frontman Jason Mendonça's voice is one of Akercocke's most defining features, and his vocals are at their most expressive on this album - snarling growls, blackened shrieks, stentorian bellows, and strained rasps, side by side with haunting cleans, frequently bordering on frailty. The overwrought theatricality of earlier albums has given way to a genuine, sometimes intimate quality that (to my ears, at least) is more mature, and no less powerful, than anything they've done to date. This is partly due to the lyrics; the overt, religious Satanism for which Akercocke is known has been put to the side in favor of songs about loss, personal struggle, and even some kind of redemption. The subject of the lyrics isn't always obvious, but the tension between despair, anger, and perseverance is clearly drawn. It's tempting to wonder what could have inspired this internal strife, and maybe that mystery is part of the appeal.
"Renaissance In Extremis" won't connect with everyone. The frequency of apparent genre shifts may throw some listeners off, and the vocals can be polarizing. I was introduced to the band through their third album, "Choronzon", and it took me several months of on-and-off listening to finally warm up to the vocal approach. I can also see how fans of some of Akercocke's earlier material might be put off by the comparative fragility of some passages on this album. If you find yourself in any of those camps, all I can suggest is that you give this album a chance to grow.
If, on the other hand, you're like me, this album may be the unexpected comeback you didn't know you'd been wanting for the past decade. In terms of texture, tonality, and vocal approach, it picks up where "Antichrist" left off; but it's far more focused, without the miscues and dead weight that made that album feel drab after the masterful "Words...". Akercocke may have been broken up for the past ten years, but they've returned with a vital addition to their catalog, retaining the essence of their sound while pushing their own boundaries. In terms of songwriting and production, this is their "lightest" recording to date; in my opinion, it's also one of their best, and my favorite release so far this year. They lost themselves in the wilderness, and now they're back to tell us all about it. Sit down and listen.
An hour and twenty three minutes is a significant period of time. I could clean my whole house or prepare and cook a three course meal in that time. Thankfully Bell Witch obviously have a cleaner and/or a chef as they decided to write one track during the time it would take most of us to commute to work. Fans of Bell Witch will already know their sound to be unusual in the sense that there's no guitar and they produced one of 2015's best releases when they dropped "Four Phantoms" to the doom masses.
Far from being an inhibitor, the lack of any guitar simply gives the Bell Witch duo opportunity to make the very best out of the bass and percussion, feeding them with atmospherics from varying sources and types to great effect. I won't lie, this album is an acquired taste. The layers going on here are oppressive both in terms of weight and the amount of patience (and time) required to simply sit down and truly appreciate them.
This is not your standard Funeral Doom/drone album. In fact it is so much more than an album, something audible yet tangible at the same time to fingertips of anyone willing to lose nearly 90 mins of their day listening to an album consisting of just one track. The bass guitar for Bell Witch acts as so much more than a stringed instrument. Sure, the harrowing bottom end that dominates the majority of the track is an ocean of a million regrets churning its tide, smashing roll waves against roll waves, eroding cliff faces and laying ships to wreck. But at the same time the bass sings to you, a song of sorrow and fathomless anguish like a Siren-esque accompaniment to the actual vocals themselves. The delivery of the vocals is brilliant in keeping with the atmosphere of the record as they breathe in and out, formulating whispers, growls and clean, ritualistic verses whilst all the while the drums build their own crescendos of crashing cymbals and subtle rolls that fade and grow back like the embers of some undying fire.
There's textures here too, not always obvious but certainly the variety on display takes the listener on a journey through every passage of crushing doom on and into post (post-doom's a thing right?) and ambient structures of peace and tranquilty yet still the hazy and murky dirge retains the atmosphere all through out.
I am a sucker for any record that matches the artwork that adorns it's cover. The artwork on "Mirror Reaper" is more than matched by the music behind it, I could stare at the artwork for the whole duration of the record and live out it's ethereal and menacing story to the full whilst doing so. I am behind on my releases for 2017 but this is a firm contender for album of the year.
Essex, England is famous on Brit TV for reality TV shows portraying residents of the county as being sufficiently lacking in educational merit to be able to answer pressing questions like, "Which way is up?" without a significant pause for thought. Whilst the British TV watching public clearly enjoy watching the blissful ignorance of the beautiful but frankly thick as pigshit youth of Essex, the same masses are no doubt equally blissfully unaware of the mighty monolith of metal that is The King Is Blind who hark from that very same part of the world.
Steve Tovey (vocals) is an internet acquaintance of mine (as in we have never met in real life but we like each other's Facebook and Instagram posts regularly and exchanged post for a couple of years on another forum). As such I have been aware of the band from their inception, enjoying thoroughly their first two demos and EP as they churned out releases consistently over 18 months. By the time they dropped their debut full length "Our Father" in 2016 they had already become a well established outfit with their line up of former members of Extreme Noise Terror, Cradle of Filth and Entwined.
I was all over "Our Father" like an STD on anyone of Motley Crue's genitalia during the eighties. It was a proper journey too taking the listener from the familiarity of death metal initially before diving off into blackened passages and "core" edged crevices whilst being utterly monolithic throughout.
For the follow up TKIB have managed to punch any doubts of a sophomore dip firmly out of the ring and onto the bar at the back of the arena seating. Not only is "We Are the Parasite, We Are The Cancer" an obvious step up from its predecessor, it also one of the most consistent records I have heard in a long time. Whereas "Our Father" took you in all directions and lost you on more than one occasion in its majesty the result was not as memorable as you might have initially thought and as a consequence you did get feel for it being more of a collection of songs as opposed to an album from end to end.
"We Are the Parasite..." is a much more consistent and solidly written record with a real direction that remains obvious throughout. It has been constructed from the ground up on foundations of riffs that could have your teeth down the back of your throat quicker than Mike Tyson on a night out in Newcastle. The riff to "The Sky Is A Mirror (Plague : Luxuria" will knock you the fuck out quicker than Iron Mike ever could hope to with the power of it alone, never mind the relentless fury with which it is delivered.
The scathing blackened picks of "Embers From A Dying Son (Plague : Gula)" will exfoliate you faster than any beautician wired on crack could with a seaweed mask and a bar of coal infused soap. The build of "The Burden of Their Scars" becomes ever more oppressive as it crawls up your spine and grips your neck before Tovey's insane ramblings seep into your ear. Even former Bolt Thrower (and current Memoriam) growler Karl Willets makes an appearance midway through the album.
For a band in only the fourth year of existence to produce a piece of solid and thoroughly entertaining metal on just their second full length is testimony no doubt to the quality present within their ranks as "we Are The Parasite..." is clearly the sound of a band loving life together having gelled perfectly already so early into their career.
I’ve been watching a bunch of nature documentaries recently. Dangerous animals only, for the most part, because I refuse to devote an hour of my life watching turtles mosey around the deep blue. Additionally, I’ve sought out very in-depth material so I can appreciate the animal being analyzed. As a result I’ve been able to watch a decent amount of material closely scrutinizing the habits of predators, and that’s given me a particularly good context for understanding Sadist’s 2015 album “Hyena”.
This album is intended to track the habits of a hyena. Seems a bit on the nose, but bear with me; the album’s style is important. The album takes the listener on a markedly violent safari in an open-top jeep. Feel the wind in your hair, enjoy the natural splendor of the savannah, watch some animals murder and/or eat each other. Bring along some Mango Jive but for goodness sake leave your droewors back at the hut. Musically, as far as the metal goes – it’s a technical death/thrash album with the ferocity of the latter and the substance of the former. The vocals are higher-pitched snarls, characteristic of Sadist and perfect for the concept; in fact the entire production isolates the smooth bass to allow for moodier lines from said instrument. For the majority of the review, though, I’ll analyze track-by-track, since that best allows me to show what the album is evoking.
“The Lonely Mountain” weights a little heavily on its central riff, a baffling decision given the strength of the rest of them. That being said, the mellow swells and forays here are essential to the concept. Generally, predators don’t hunt at full blast 24/7. There’s a lot of downtime in the veld. The sharp contrast between tranquility and violence is vital to setting the scene. That said, “Pachycrocuta” would have made a better opener. As a proof of concept for the album it’s a much tighter song that better maps out its piano and forte.
The more prominent keyboard work in “Bouki” seemed a little out of place until I learned that the name indicates a malevolent trickster spirit in Senegambian and later Louisianan folklore. This somewhat melodramatic take suits the mythic nature of the character. That said, it doesn’t feel as dry as the first two tracks, which I would consider a point against it.
“The Devil Riding the Evil Steed” begins even farther from what looks like the album’s central “theme” by having a much colder beginning straight out of a Forest Stream album. It’s this song that has a foreign language spoken in it. It’s not Xhosa or Zulu, neither does it appear to be Hausa or Yoruba, but whatever tongue it is, it works. That being said, this passage and the latter half of the song evoke a campfire tale told at the end of a long hunt, which ties back into the theme of the album nicely.
The opening of “Scavenger and Thief” heaves in a certain sense, aping the haggard breathing of some heavy creature. Deriving from the ending of the previous track, and the lyrics here, we might interpret this as a nighttime hunt, especially given the eldritch keyboard. The song nicely evokes the idea of the hyena feeding heavily from some dying behemoth and fighting off competitors while doing so.
The term “Gadawan Kura” refers to a type of traveling traditional show in northern Nigeria, in which domesticated hyenas often feature. That said, Gadawan Kura frequently travel into the cities to make their money, and it’s here that the The Tangent influence on this instrumental makes sense. As hyenas are usually heavily restrained and carted about in this alien, urban environment, the tranquil feel helps illustrate a chained beast meekly confused and out of its element taking in the sights and sounds of the metropolis. It’s kinda like Babe: Pig In the City as envisioned by Yes.
“Eternal Enemies” begins with some plucking on what sounds like a musical bow, a popular traditional instrument across Africa, and particularly among the Xhosa and Zulu of South Africa. It’s definitely the most intense track, with plenty of lurching and screeching. Judging from the lyrics, perhaps a pack of hyenas trying to fight a lion.
“African Devourers” has some of the most confusing lyrics, but they are nonetheless helpful. A morning hunt, driven by the enervating energy of a good night’s sleep. The Spiral Architect-style bass riffs particularly help give a focused air to the whole track, while the rest of the song evokes a group heading out on a mission.
“Scratching Rocks” takes us to the nighttime and a territorial dispute between hyenas. The eldritch keyboards return. The relentless nature of the track makes more sense here, bringing to mind the need for constant vigilance and the fatigue brought on by a prolonged fight. Thankfully it manages this without being monotonous. Suddenly the ferocity stops, as is the case in the wild – and presumably the animals take stock of their gains and losses – before a few seconds more at the end, which from the lyrics sounds like a last attack where the one who fought to maintain its territory dies and dwells on the sum of its life.
“Genital Mask” is, from a lyrical standpoint, one of the funniest songs I’ve ever seen. It makes almost no sense thanks to Sadist’s ESL writing, but it addresses the concept of hermaphrodism among hyenas owing to the female hyena’s bizarre anatomy, which consists of an elongated clitoris that splits for mating. Musically, this is probably the closest to sensual that the album ever gets, albeit through the lens of an amusingly Procrustean femdom sensibility and nowhere near the blatancy of the corny porno guitar and bass Gorod cheekily threw in to spice up "Varangian Paradise". That the album should end with a song about mating makes some sense, as this is frequently seen as the whole point of existence in the first place. Even the repetitive nature of the riffing makes sense for relatively obvious reasons. The flow of the song suggests not only mating, but also pregnancy, birth and the ensuing infant cannibalism that takes place among hyena babies.
I’ve always noticed that in the grand sweep of folk metal African music usually gets left out. Makes some sense – I’ve heard quite a lot of traditional African music and it’s way too happy and tropical. Then again, Dan Swano, Skindred and even Equilibrium have managed to make Caribbean music work in metal, so it’s not impossible. The next best thing is something thematically evocative, which is what “Hyena” represents. It’s not perfect; Sadist could have paced out the textures better and deepened the nature sounds, perhaps taking influence from the largely untouchable Russo-Finnish metal masters Second To Sun. That being said, it’s a one-of-a-kind work and Sadist deserves credit for taking their vicious brand of tech-death on a sun-bleached adventure into the wild.