Metal Night at The Westside Palace

HOLY SHIT!!!!! BEST OF 2015!!!!!!!!

2016-03-10T17:11:00.000-05:00

Better late than fucking never, and that is the tradition here at Metal Night. 2015 was pretty much a year that shit all over the top of my head. But at least Heavy Metal never let me down. Mostly. This was neither the best nor worst of years for metal. And these are the albums I enjoyed the most. It was a pretty good year for death metal, I must say. Also, these are not in any particular order, except for the number one album, which was far and away my favorite of this year.

11.Napalm Death-Apex Predator/Easy Meat-Beastly grind from the masters. So good, so varied, so fucking heavy it will fuck your ears off, mate.

10.Iron Maiden-Book of Souls-Here is a big, bloated Maiden album that is way too long, but, otherwise, a great listen. I really hope Maiden puts out an album of concise tune oriented heavy metal, because that is what really works on this album. (Ok, I liked the 20 minute epic, though) And when the are on, they are fucking on. Better than their last two albums, by far.

9.Malevolent Creation-Dead Man's Path-This old warhorse has released their best best album since the old days.They've lightened up the guitar tone, slightly, for an album that is loose, lethal, and thrashy.

8. Krisiun-Forged In Fury-This is a band that doesn't ever really change, or innovate, beyond the brand that they themselves created. So some of their later albums have sounded uninspired. This is not one of those albums. Fucking kills from frist song to last song. Riffs, riffs, evil, and brutality.

7.Gouge-Beyond Death- Gangling, evil, primitive death metal from Hell's Headbangers. Nothing new, but is Repulsion/Possessed/Death worship of the highest order.

6.Extreme Noise Terror-Extreme Noise Terror-These grindcore stalwarts also put out a bastard of an album. Grindy, crusty, meaty, chewy. Good as their old stuff.

5.Endless-Duality of Personality-This ornery sumbitch has everything you want in a brutal technical death metal album. Nice balance between art and ARRRRRRRHHHGGGGGG!!!! Just enough melody and variety to keep things from turning into a riff salad.

4.Deathhammer-Evil Power-Hell's headbangers style old school death thrash. A rollicking affair. Kills your mom just the way you like, even if the bitch is dead.

3.Blind Guardian-Beyond The Red Mirror-This sequel to 'Imaginations from...' is their best album in years. It has all the great and typical BG elements; the bombast, the Teutonicness, with a symphony orchestra tagging along for the grand ride. It's neat.

2.Abyssal-Antikatastaseis-This made a lot of other top 10 lists. Dense, dark, doomy, complicated blackened death metal. Mysterious as fuck and Dark Lord approved. You'll kill yourself thrice it's so nice.

1.Paradise Lost-The Plague Within-Hand down this is my favorite album to come out in 2015; the one I obsessed over; the one whose songs and riff I could not get out of my head. This is a fine example of an old band putting out an album that is in many way superior to their classic albums. This is finely crafted death/doom, folks. Great song writing, memorable riffs, heavy as fuck, a perfect balance of melody and crushing doom, with vocals alternating between clean and demon-sung. Love this album.

Pain of Days - Make-Up Madness and Zlendar's spell

2015-08-05T20:00:00.001-04:00

For Impaled Nazarene's sake!! It's been too long. But Metal Night soldiers on, regardless of whether we get off our asses to write this fucking thing or not. Metal Night is eternal. It has always happened, and always will happen, even before our births, and even after we die and are rotting in our graves, still conscious, and feeling the agony worms burrow into our flesh. It was and always shall be. Cuz we just get together and listen to music and drink. And this is what we listened to, man.

Into the Necro Lands Part 19.1 - One With Fire

The moon was bright enough to light the wide path that led to Zlendar's house. Rygar the Seeker led us through the jungle wordlessly and with great caution. Bloodmace and I, deprived of our magical battle jackets since we left for Sekran, were on high alert. In the shadows around us we could hear at least three or four animals stalking us and my heart jumped when I saw a flash of eyes from the trees ahead. The trail began to curve and Rygar held up his hand. The spear he held began to glow and with a spark, produced a flame from the tip that revealed our hunters. All around us, large black cats had gathered. There were fifteen, perhaps twenty vicious looking felines, hissing and croaking out their warning. Bloodmace brandished his club, but Rygar stopped him “Easy, barbarian. We want to get there in one piece.” The seeker took a lanyard from around his neck and held it aloft, “Danyana Karcasta extasius ghabin” The cats cease their hissing and before us, the largest of their number approaches. Rygar begins speaking to their leader an an incomprehensible garble. The beast sits on its hind quarter for a moment and scratches its ear then emits a loud yowl, dispersing the hunting party back into the shadows. Rygar looks back at us, “The right persuasion.” He swings the charm up into the air, catching it with his other hand. Continuing into the darkness, I notice the number of cats around us has not decreased, they are everywhere. At long last we come to a fork in the path, “This is the way.” Says Rygar , “Hurry on brothers, the Molnaar chief has granted us passage, but if one of them gets hungry...” We step up the pace through the smaller fork with the fragrant brush encroaching ever more on the path until we are at last cutting through a bramble where there once was a path. Then, suddenly, we are in a clearing. A garden opens out before us, flowers glowing blue in the moonlight. Scattered around the grounds are statues of the great chiefs of the lizard tribes in northern Jenkabala. I gasped out loud at the rush of memories from home that flood over me. Straight ahead, an ivy covered cabin presides over the serene landscape, windows glowing cheerfully with yellow light. Rygar turns to us, “We have arrived.”

Yesterday, Demon Scourge and I, along with Lady Bird Blood and Rangar The Sectaurian, took Metal Night on location, and took in am underground black metal show at some hidey-hole on the inner city called The New Church. Barghest, from Baton Rouge, LA, headlined, with Grand Rapids Discarnate and Dakhma opening. All three bands put in stellar, intense sets. The three piece Dakhma is a brand of atmospheric blackened crust was hypnotic and face melting. These kids inserted lots of raw passion into their set, with the drummer and vocalist in a deadlock for our souls, while the guitar player laid down layers of hateful texture. Vocalist Clair screamed her fucking head off until I though her head would explode. It did not. Great local band. Next, Discarnate roasted our flesh and sucked our souls with a solid set of old school black metal, with a crusty edge. Grand Rapidians love their crust, that's for certain. They were tight and evil, the riffs were delectable, and the singer wore an evil hood, and the red lighting evoked an atmosphere pure fucking hellocaust. Their last song inspired the first mosh pit. Barghest roared into their set and into our black hearts with their roaring brand of slightly sludgy blackened death. Metal as fuck. Several thousand blast beats later, our small, unholy coven disbanded into the night, to spread discord and bloody mayhem. Barghest ate sandwiches at Two Beards in the morning, before invading Chicago.

Into the Necro Lands Part 19.2 - Fade to Insanity

Across the neatly manicured garden we strode to the entrance of the little cabin. Rygar raps on the heavy door with the demon headed knocker. After a moment, the portal creaks open. Standing before us is not the wizened crone I had expected, but a vigorous mystic, draped in a sparkling sharn after the fashion of Jenkabala's saurian tribe. A long smile crept across her exquisitely scaled face as she greeted our guide warmly, “Rygar, welcome. I see you have bought our young princes.” She nods to us, sizing my brother and I up with inky eyes. Rygar answers, “Yes, but time is short. Necro Baby and Bildorf the Mad are in pursuit. They were fighting one another when we helped these two to escape, but it won't be long before they track us here.” The mysterious Zlendar nods in response and silently beckons us to follow with a swish of her cape. Inside the small room, shelves are sagging under the weight of the dusty, leather bound tomes in a hundred languages that line the walls. Everywhere, magical objects are piled, pushed and stored in stacks. She motions to a gilt table on one side of this enchanted library, “Sit here,” She says, clearing jars, bottles and scrolls from the surface before us. “I have to get some things before we begin. Put on those cloaks.” She motions to a rack near the door where drab, blood spattered robes are hung. Our

host disappears through a door and we can hear her rummaging and cursing as we nervously don the musty garments. Returning to us, she unrolls a large map, holding down each corner with smooth, greenish stones. I can pick out Jenkabala within the shape of Centon, but that is only a small part of the map. The constellation of islands that spray out in the middle of the ocean are not familiar to me though. Even further beyond that there is a large island I have never heard of. My head reels with this new knowledge, but it's not the most curious feature of the cartograph. The other half, once unrolled, is a mirror of the first image, but the power lines of each different form of magic are represented. The lines are luminous, with strength of magic represented by brightness, so it is clear to see the green magic of the inland forest gets weaker, but does not disappear over the ocean, and so it was with the many forms of esoteric energies in the world. Each had waxing and waning power in the varying geographic areas, but there was one bright web that stretched all over the map. Behind us, candles flare and pungent incense curls fill the room with a bracing scent as Zlendar readies her magic. Stepping up to the table, she addresses us, “Please stand. We will need to join hands.” The candles brighten in response to our contact. “Pyrna ooleck chakakst,” She begins to chant, “Erka amanti gornah!” Over and over, she chants words turning over and over. A goblet is passed, the drink has a strange, metallic taste. The chant resumes and the drink begins to take effect, twisting the words inside out and backwards. The bright lines that cover one side of the map begin to glow with a firey intensity until they are filling my sight. I hear the voice of the witch, “Think of the battle vests, think back to the day you parted. Where are they?” The images rush into my head and I feel like my skull wil split open with the energetic force they create. I am screaming, Bloodmace is screaming, and above the din Zlendar's voice barks a command to Rygar, “The bag! Use it now!” Hot liquid is pouring everywhere and darkness envelops me.

* * * * * * * * *

I came back to consciousness with a start. Everything in the small room where our ordeal had taken place was as though nothing had happened. I am laying on a couch looking at the table across the room and Bloodmace laying under it. I rise to waken him and feel something strange around my torso. Looking down I see the greatest thing I have lain eyes upon since our ordeal began on centon. Our battle vests. Once again our mystical vestments protected us. Once again we had the means to defeat Necro Baby and Bildorf the mad. Light was streaming through the windows of the ivy covered cabin, I had a feeling today would be a good day.

The previous Metal Night was spent in the Jenkabala Dungeon, mortifying our flesh to brand new death/doom. Paradise Lost's new album, The Plague Within, is a fantastic return to form and was the winner of the night. This album most resembles Draconian Times and Icon, but with a return to death growls by vocalist Nick Holmes, along with the Gothic tunefulness. Nothing really new, but the song writing is topnotch, the atmosphere doleful, the riffs solid and satisfying. Next, Forgotten Tomb singed our ears with their blackened sludge fest 'Hurt Yourself And The Ones You Love'. This is easily their best since 'Songs To Leave'. Nice doomy sludge meets esoteric evil Italian style. This is a level of hate you need special training for. But rest assured, we survived with our souls intact, which is disappointing in and of itself. Great album, but did not capture our sullen hearts like Paradise Lost. Lastly, the appropriately monikered Crypt Sermon tried to get us right with God, Trouble style, with their 2015 debut, Out Of The Garden. Throw in some Candlemass for good measure. This album was pretty ok. If you are into The Skull era Trouble, and Candlemass, this album will be your cup of mead. Nothing very memorable, though.

And now, a journey into the distant past, as previous Metal Nights have been drunken debaucheries and I just can't remember all the bands we heard. But here, it is, all the shit that I can remember:

Enforcer-From Beyond: New School old school speed metal is hot right now and Enforcer leads the vested pack. Demon Scourge likes this band more than I do. When I want to hear old speed metal, I'll just put on some Exciter. Not saying they are a bad band at all, but I just don't find this album very memorable. Into The Night was better. I think this won the night. My memory is foggy.

German thrash masters Vendetta won our hearts when we heard their 1988 album Brain Damage. It is excellent technical thrash, and definitely an unjustly ignored album. Think Destruction at their most nimble, toss in a little Voivod, and Coroner, and heaps and heaps of fucking thrash. The level of playing is staggeringly good. Great album. I think it won the night. We drank like Germans.

Ok, that's it. We'll try to keep up. But we are such terrible alcoholics. It's over for us. It's all over.

Words of the Elders
Behold a world of doors and mirrors, a world of tense pauses that widen out into a limitless gulf of black. How can you understand the song of space? The voice of infinity cannot be measured in beats or bushels, drachmas or drams. We have no apparatus to comprehend, and yet our ears are still pressed to the ground, waiting for the sound of distant hooves. To travel is to move, and so we do, traveling with hearts and fangs. Meat sticks, marching to the unheard beat, a lilting call from space. Icy claws grasping greedily at the edges of perception.

Until next time, bestial sorcerers,

Horns

Unchain the Night - Hard rock, hellishly bad rock, and cleansing black metal

2015-03-31T11:38:00.000-04:00

We here at Metal Night, most of us, the older ones, the elder gods, are creatures of the 1980's. We were suckled on the hard tits of hard rock, rocked our cradles to Van Halen, lost out cherries to Warrant. Actually, more like ass raped to Warrant, because they sucked, but we had no choice in the matter. We are products of our environment. Therefore, we must explore the artifacts of our past, in order to chart the path to our future, which is full of pain and suffering and woe and fucking metal. Onward to glorious, sweet death!

The first hard rock night was bitchin. First up, Krokus's Headhunter was a delightful album, and not the AC/DC knock off that this band was said to be. This is pretty hard edged for the early 80's, but not too hard edged. And the ballad 'Screaming In The Night' is lighter worthy party metal for your 80's retro kegger.

Armored Saint's Raising Fear is the more blatantly metal, but there is a tuneful edge that just might lure your GF to backseat of your Chevy Nova, though she might have been there already. Odd that this band never made it big, because this is a collection of tunes that leaves most of the poddle metal from that era in the fucking dust. But alas, a lack of hairspray and power ballads was this band's commercial downfall. John Bush had to join Anthrax just to get some pussy.I'm not sure he did.
. But Dokken won the night, because Dokken rockens. Under Lock And Key is my favorite Dokken album. It was Demon Scourge to taught me how to appreciate this band, during a rather lengthy interrogation involving a flaming hot poker. It's a collection of slick tunes livened up by George Lynch's flaming licks and Don Dokken's flaming heterosexuality. Truly, this was the soundtrack to Saturday nights in the late 80's while cruising on the strip, right before that bout with chlamydia put a damper on things. Owww!

Into the Necro Lands Part 18.1 - Boyz are Gonna Rock

The moon had just risen over the grove where Bloodmace and I were listening to the tale of Rygar the seeker. The bearded warrior priest was telling us of how he came to be the new master of Castle Thrashstone. A soft, warm breeze was rustling through the trees above as he told of his mission to assassinate Hellmaster, who took possession of the castle after being exiled from their tribe in northern Jenkabala. After becoming lost and wandering for years in the Time Desert, gathering lost souls all the while, they at last fount their quarry, but fate had other plans for these nomads.

Well well. Since we were on a hard rock trip, reliving the our youths before the 1990's stripped all the joy from our lives, we thought we'd extend our hard rock trip by having a diel of the kiss guitarists....Ace Frehley vs. Vinnie Vincent. In this, we brought shame upon Chateau Jenkabala. Mostly, except Ace's KISS solo album is pretty righteous, and pretty much accepted as the sole redeeming album from that debacle. Indeed, it is an enjoyable collection of hard rockin' tunes, not too complicated, always a good times, especially after a few cheap American beers. 10 years later, Frehley's Comet is a little more of a guilty pleasure. It's pleasant enough. It rocks righteously, occasionally. But goddamn, lyrically Ace Frehley makes Gene Simmon's look like fucking Tom Waits and Paul Stanley like fucking Nick Cave. And half the song's feature the other guitar player, who has a bland 80's AOR type voice. Ace's can't sing/don't care approach is rather endearing.

Vinnie Vincent was a disappointment. The problem with 80's hair metal is that the bands always ended up sounding like fucking pussies by whoever was producing them. Dokken was one of the few to transcend this problem. The Vinnie Vincent Invasion did not. Despite lots of awesome guitar solos, the 80's bargain basement song writing is a turd shined up by a stellar major label production. It's party rock if your party is raided by cops after someone steals all your weed, and your sister is date raped.

Into the Necro Lands Part 18.2 - War

Rygar the seeker continues “I walked through the night with Lady Deathcrush, following the billowing cape trailing behind her through the city of tents and lean-tos. Past fires surrounded by drunken revelers and circles of solemn supplicants, praising the hundred gods. Through a vast field where ancient music echoed on the soft breeze and under a moss covered bridge illuminated by a weed-choked streetlight in the strange forest that had sprung up here almost overnight. Finally, we came to a low building, partially underground, in a clearing of the wood. Descending the rough steps, we entered the dimly lit chamber. The room is furnished simply, a table, chair and fireplace are the only furnishings in view. The chair, facing the fireplace is an opulent throne that looks out of place in this spartan shelter. A cloud of vapor rises into the air over its tall back and I am greeted by the king, 'Welcome traveler, I heard you might be looking for me.' I walk around the other side of the room and behold the end of my quest. I had found Hellmaster. His eyes size me up as he puffs on his vaporizer, 'You are Rygar of Samur, are you not?' I nod my head, 'Are you going to strike me down? I am unarmed and that is what you have come here to do.' Images swirl in my head, a mist of confused emotions and possible outcomes. I close my eyes

for a moment and gather the will to do what I must. 'No,' I can hardly believe the word even as it exits my mouth, 'I will not kill you. For too long we have been lost in this brutal wilderness. We have no nation, no tribe and thus no obligation to any but ourselves.' Hellmaster smiles and rises from his chair. Crossing the room, he stares out the window as he begins to address me. 'Not too long ago, the spot where we stand was a wasteland of prismatic sand, constantly being torn apart and rebuilt by the savage dimensional storms, but now look upon it. I see life springing up everywhere, though not necessarily new life. It's almost as if the time desert was a cloak that fell over the land and when Bloodmace healed the rift, the heavy fabric of these strange times was lifted, allowing us to see the world as it really is. Rygar, You say you have no tribe or nation but you forget the tribe you have known in your years here and the nation you have built out in the time desert. We are leaving this place, Lady Deathcrush and I, all that I can do here has been done. Tomorrow, at sunrise, we will depart for the Necrolands to the west. Rygar, I have summoned you here not as an enemy, but as a successor to my throne.' I have never felt such terrifying exhilaration as the moment when Hellmaster held out the secret talisman of Castle Thrashstone and when I took hold of the sigil, the sense of purpose I had sought in the Time Desert asserted itself.” Rangar looked again to the darkening sky and paused, squinting into the distance. “Now I have told you my story. Let us go to Zlendar and she will give us the knowledge we need to defeat Necro Baby.” Bloodmace and I glance at one another and silently agree. We fade into the dusky forest with Rygar, ready for whatever may come next.

We atoned for our sins the next week by listening to some righteous French black metal while drinking red wine. Satan forgives. First, we heard a band from an area that used to be part of France, but was conquered by Germany long ago. Maladie was, oddly, a bit of a disappointment. Tight, technical, and definitely more German than French, their 2012 album, Plague Within, suffers from the infamous 'not being evil enough disease'. Too many bright sounding post black metal chords to impress the hipsters to impress this metal nerd on this Metal Night.

Blut Aus Nord's latest album, Memoria Vestura III: Saturnian Poetry, however, was a ripping blast of old school hell frost that we desperately needed to redeem our desperate souls. This album, oddly, lacked the industrial hell scapes that marked their previous albums, and harkens back to Emperor and Dark Funeral, without the keyboards. Cvlt as fuck.

But not as cvlt as Baise Ma Hache, who won the fucking night. Le Grand Suicide made us peel off our faces with dull butter knives.This album was trippy, depressive, avante gard black metal, and was exactly what I needed to get right again with the devil. And I don't need the skin on my face. Just vasoline.

Words of the Elders

So the tale of Rygar the seeker has been told, but what of Necrobaby and Iron James? What of Bildorf the Mad and the small army that even now combs the ocean for our hunted heroes? The cosmic ear has opened and fate calls the tune where balmy winds carry weird songs to dimensions unknown. Hail to Sampowt, to Gorn and Ixtatha! The holy bread and Miztoratha!

Until next time, swashbuckling legions,

Horns

Infested With Worms - A Tale of Vecton, Goofy Death Metal and Rygar's Remembrance

2015-02-11T22:33:00.000-05:00

We here at Metal Night feast on danger, and dine on death. Especially death. With all the trimmings and drippings. We are gourmands of gore. We also like sandwiches. Just sandwiches, with bread and meat and sauce. Special sauce. Blood sauce. With Scotch bonnet peppers. And your fucking liver. Death to all herbivores! Here are some goofy ass death metal albums.

Tales of Vecton Part 1

A star cries in the night and a temple falls to its knees. The sun is lost to another world and every written world speaks madness. In this chair I sit and recount to myself the events of the past evening (or years?) with confoundment and incredulity apparent. The clock tells that I’ve been repaired to my stead only hours since which I was hastened off, yet I have experienced ages of escapade, hazard and derring-do. I am shaken, inside, yet I hold my bearing with more certainty than I have ever felt. I have undergone a harrowing advance though alien worlds and a time that folded in and out of itself itself. Mountains climbed, warlords silenced, dimensions confounded. Now still, in this room, my mind spins like the bloodthirsty twirlblades of Sha’rrik Naarh. Were my adventures truly at an end? Did the dark heroes find respite from the ever-lapping waves of turmoil churned by the malefactors of the Time Desert? Is my return a sign that Demon Scourge and Bloodmace have finally let down their sunswords? Have those challengers of Jenkabala relayed me back to my home in light of their final championing against the Close Darkness? Or was my return a product of that bitter dimensional fissure we had thought repaired? Are the sands of the Time Desert still troubled?

Now it is my world that burns. I can see now, as I regain my bearings after the dimensional transfer. I see the Leigionairs, Horccarain, Broamsmer.

The clearer my mind grows, the more penalty pays my fear. Outside, the world cries fear from the strangeness of monster armies who clamber out of tears in the very fabric of timespace. No-one, though, grasps the true threat, the true horror that could be wrought.

Except me.

And I am really tired.

Engorged's Where Monsters Dwell started things off the right way with a blast of horror movie obsessed death grind, though more death than grind, with somewhat lengthy songs for the genre. The vocals are nice and gurgly, the guitars grindy, the pace frantic, the playing tight and satisfying, the riffs catchy and interesting. The songs are punctuated with some bad-tasteful samples, which compliment the insane horror movie lyrics perfectly. This was my pic for winner of the night. Demon Scourge and Vecton digress.

Into the Necro Lands Part 17.1 - Insane for Gore
Though this island that Rygar the Seeker had led us to on our escape from Bildorf's island could never compare width the beauty of the Jenkabala forest, I felt a peace out here among the tall palms that I had not experienced since we left our home so many weeks ago. Sunlight filtered down through the canopy above as strange, rainbow-winged birds flitted beneath the green dome. We had been walking for a bit when our guide motioned for us to follow him off the trail and into a small clearing that held some sitting rocks and a fire pit. “Here is the halfway point. Let us rest a moment and have some water.” Rygar takes a bottle from his belt and offers us some. “You knew the great Hellmaster and Lady Deathcrush,” looking back and fourth

between us, “You adventured with them you slew foes together...and you killed them.” His eyes burn into mine, and I knew it was true, for I had killed them and the rest of our party when I was possessed by Headron of Dantor. I quickly retort, “I was also there when we took our revenge in Dantor. You forget that I was also dead.” Rygar's face softens a bit as he replies, “I have not forgotten this, nor have I forgotten the other deeds you have done here on Centon. I know you both must be wondering why I went through all the trouble of coming to your aid and further, why I have brought you here to this island.” Bloodmace, between hearty swigs of smuggled necrobrandy, chimes in, “It had crossed my mind, seeker. A young whip such as yourself needs to have respect for your elders.” With a dramatic flourish, the bearded leader of Centon's weirdest army hikes his battle worn cape over one shoulder and begins his story.

Because Blood Freak were pretty amazing, too. An even goofier death grind band, their debut, Sleaze Merchants, is a fast romp through the graveyard. The songs are short, the tempos are blazing, the samples funny, the playing fast and lose. The band loses points for slight lack musical proficiency, since the riffs are rather generic, and the songs rather blend together. But it's a fun album if you are a ghoul and a death dealer and that's what we are all the fuck about. After a several death duels, we agreed to disagree.

Into the Necro Lands Part 17.2 - Werewolf Militia
“I met Hellmaster in the days after the great battle with the Wyvern in Samur. Already the Time Desert had begun to heal itself and many of us who wandered those phantom sands had begun to congregate on his estate. Hellmaster ordered that the castle grounds be opened to all who came and soon a small town grew up in the shadow of Castle Thrashstone. The master of the lands did not know me or my brothers. We had been sent to kill him many years previously by his tribe in northern Jenkabala. We were lost in the Time Desert for what seemed like a hundred lifetimes, many of our number perished. Those of us that survived did so only because of a tauriat we took from a corpse as we made our way into the churning desert. Many of the warriors who ride with me to this day are travelers of the rainbow sands who joined with us as we

searched for a way out of this ever shifting landscape. After a time, we simply accepted this nomadic lifestyle for our own. We were like ghosts of the wasteland, or perhaps monks would be more apropos, gathering our flock from the blasted dunes and inky caverns. Our mission was far from our minds when we wandered on to the first piece of solid ground any of us had seen in years. Castle Thrashstone was still standing, though it was nothing like we had heard in the legends. The massive bulk of the structure, damaged from a cataclysmic battle and neglected for years was still impressive, plants grew here, we drank water from a spring. My party set up camp when we heard that Hellmaster had invited all to stay, but there was a nervousness among those of us who still held our mission at the back of our minds. That night there was a heated discussion between the remaining members of the original party with some insisting we assassinate Hellmaster and return to Jenkabala while others wished to stay and abandon the quest we set out upon so many years ago. In the middle of our debates, Lady Deathcrush announced herself and strode into the room. Amid protests from the

rest of the party, I went with her to meet Hellmaster.” Rygar stared up into the foliage above us, lost in thought for a moment. From his belt, he takes a skin of wine. “You have tasted wine from the grapes Thrashstone, no? I think you will agree that we are, in our own humble way, bringing back the glory of Hellmaster's kingdom.” He takes a long swig and hands the drink to us. He is right, the wine is dark and mysterious, like a combination of paka dates and vorsar, but with overtones of hai bean like the temple wines at lake Chawa. When he sits down, I ask, “So what of this meeting with Hellmaster? What has become of our friend?” Rygar takes another long draught from the pouch and fastens it to his belt, “This is where it gets interesting"

Gorelust finished the night with some pretty standard death metal. We Are The Undead is a fine album, does all the death metal things, and was the most typically brutal. But it lacked that special panache that we .

were looking for. And there were no horror movie samples. So boo on Gorelust. The album cover is pretty great though

Words of the Elders

The hundred gods wait in the darkness with bated breath, all watching the actions of the mortals below. Bloodmace and Demon Scourge, traveling on the black wings of fate soar into the endless void of futurepast, unraveling the secrets of this timepiece world while the eyes of the firmament stare helplessly. Elmor, lift your eyes from the book of names and speak the word! Haslett, open your mouth, let the tongue of fire wrap around the cosmos! We beseech the pantheon in vain, for Necro Baby has gagged them, but the heroes of Centon will not relent! You are our quarry, ancient child of evil and we shall lead you to your perdition at the end of our swords!

Until next time, molotov munchers,

Horns

Into The Thrashosphere - Slayer, Necrodeth and the Forbidden Island

2015-01-18T17:27:00.002-05:00

We here at Metal Night believe in giving you a good thrashing. Thrash was what Demon Scourge and I suckled on as babes, it was what was for fucking dinner as teens. Our father Bloodhammer thrashed us to sleep at night with his razor studded blackjack. In Waylor, it is the music of making sweet love to hideous wenches. As you can see, thrash is a way of life in the Centonian world. Now let me tell you about these sweet melodies.

First, in order to understand thrash, a primer course in Slayer is necessary. Demon Scourge has always been quite fond of early Slayer. Show No Mercy and it's companion piece, Live Undead, is primitive,

traditionally grounded hell thrash that fucking scared the fucking shit out of everyone with its sheer brutality and naked Satanic power. It is an evil brew of quality riffing meets insane speeds meets whammy bar heroics meets the devil himself that set the basic Slayer formula, to be expanded upon subsequent albums. Cunts in the night.

Into the Necro Lands Part 16.1 - Fight Til Death

The beasts of burden favored among the tribe of Rygar the seeker were impressive animals. Their bodies bore a resemblance to snakes, but from their hind quarters, two wiry legs terminating in fearsome claws helped them to stand and take flight with the large feathered wings in front. The reptilian heads came to a beak-like point at the front, and their mouths were filled with hundreds of small, sharp teeth. From the back of their skulls, and continuing in a ridge along their spines, were red, yellow or blue feathers, sometimes in combinations and sometimes monochrome. These amazing creatures could fly, climb, swim or slither with equal facility making them sought after by those who dwell in remote areas, but they bred infrequently and were famously temperamental. Bloodmace and I had been strapped on the saddles of two such rare specimens through the night. We rode along with the troops of Rygar who helped us escape from the clutches of Bildorf the Mad and Necro Baby. This mysterious warrior claimed to be the new master of Castle Thrashstone and wanted desperately to take us back to the mainland, but for what purpose and who had sent him? It was dawn when we suddenly began to descend to a small, green island below.

Thier next proper album, Hell Awaits, blew the fucking gates of hell open. This a riffacaust. A million riffs are thrown together, and your mangled corpse is left to pick up the pieces. This album is probably the single most influential of their oeuvre, as this approach has been copied, cloned, and refined by 1000's of thrash and death metal bands. Just write a shitload of riffs, throw them together, and maybe a song will happen. Songs happened here. So did your demise in the moshpit, you fucker.

Reign In Blood is Slayer's contribution to musical immortality, their one album that ranks as a world crushing classic in all of music, next to Miles Davis' Kind of Blue or The White Album by The Beatles. It is that monumental, that basic of an element in music. The album, produced by Rick Rubin, strips Slayer down to the essentials, ramps up the hardcore punk elements, introduces a new level of hardcore reality to the lyrics, and never, ever fucking relents and barely gives you breathing room before the last of the poison gas fills your lungs and your heart is ripped from your chest by the evil priest. It's only your blood that is raining down from the heavens, because you love to be tortured to death everyfuckingtime.You are going to hell.

And when you get, South of Heaven will be album of choice for the Dark Lords. It's is, in many ways, subtly superior to their previous output. Much controversy was to had back in the day, as Slayer did the

only thing they could do to remain artistically viable.....they slowed down. They also refined their songwriting byadding another dark, Sabbathy layer. This was truly the album that made me dread the fires of hell, back in my teenage warrior days. The melodies(yes, melodies) are quite seductive. Give your soul to the devil. This was the winner of Metal Night.

Into the Necro Lands Part 16.2 - The Flag of the Inverted Cross

On the beach everyone began to dismount, I unfastened the straps across my chest and legs and joined the rest of the group, who had begun to gather around their leader. Sixteen in number, Rygar's followers were a motley bunch consisting of human, reptilian and android beings dressed in shabby cloaks that looked to be the same garments as Vorthon the Whip of Fate and Hell Wraith had worn in their days at Thrashstone. Their weapons, however, were exquisite silver spears that matched the one Rygar himself carried. Each one was etched with a different runic enchantment in the Chevelargo language. In the center of the group stood the mysterious seeker, clad in his tattered purple cloak and close fitting cap. He addresses the group in a loud voice, “We will make camp here tonight. Arrak and Hilm, you gather some firewood here near the beach while I take our guests to Zlendar. The rest of you, teather and feed the acarews. We will be back soon.” He beckons to us and turns to walk into the woods when one of the saurians steps up and calls out, “Rygar, I am to go this time. It was to be me.” Bloodmace and I stop for a moment, even though his attitude is one of hurt and not aggression towards us. The bearded warrior smiles as he replies, “Yes Hilm, you too will go with me into these woods, but do you not remember what the hour of the ceremony is?” The others in the group begin to chuckle and speak to each other excitedly in a tongue I do not wholly understand, slapping the errant Hilm on the back. “Now come with me Bloodmace and Demon Scourge, we have some business deeper in the woods.” Rygar motions to us again and we follow him down the narrow path into the cool, dense canopy.

And because our souls crave thrash, the next week was also thashathon, if somewhat more random. Italians heshers Necrodeath started us out and thrashed our fucking faces off, winning the night. They are like a less complicated Possessed, especially with the mid-rangy guitar tones, but taking vocals cues from the Germans. Into The Macabre is a primitive affair, those not without technical flourishes, and something deeply and intangibly Italian emerges from the atmosphere. Could be the Giallo influences.

Next, Leeway thrashed us moderately with it's New Yawk flava crossover. Born To Expire pleasingly does all the thrash/hardcore moves, but goes on for too long ala ....And Justice For All, and contains a dated rap metal tune, complete with funk metal bass pops. It's ok, but it's just not DRI or Nuclear Assault or Anthrax. That's all.

Sentinel Beast closed out the night with Depths of Death. It's standard Bay era type thrash with the chick from Znowhite on vocals. It's not great but not bad, a thrasher to mildly wreck thy neck in the cold of night, but nothing very memorable.

Words of the Elders
Urak! Telecart Zepher! The villains are in the garden and the hydra spits her foamy goo into the night sky. In the south, the cats dream of sighs. Our wine is squeezed from midnight and the crepes we dip into it ae flavored with bone! Call to the night, run and tell the shadow king. Let the name of Huisketl ring from the highest peaks of the Necro lands!

Until next time, stormlords,

Horns

Exiled to the Abyss - Bildorf's Island Hell and Old Men Ranting in the Jenkabala Night

2014-12-25T20:51:00.000-05:00

We are old dudes. Demon Scourge and I live in the realm of the Glory Daze, raised on the mothers milk of 80's thrash, 90's black metal, hordes of Priest and Maiden imitators, Priest and Maiden, Motorhead, and most anything else righteously labeled 'old school'. But we do arise from the musty basement of yesteryear upon occasion, flames and smoke peeking out the cellar door, about once a year, at the end of the year, to check out some new shit, hoping we are not too disappointed. And we were not. 2014 was a stellar year for metal, and here is some of the shit that we liked.

Behemoth's The Satanist has made so many top ten lists this year that it's kind of ridiculous. But the accolades are well deserved. I've never been a fan of their blackened death metal phase; too much overblown and gimmicky histrionics, not enough dynamics. But this flaw has been corrected, and Behemoth have crafted a masterpiece. Big production meets compositional strength, the riffs and atmosphere taking you to in surprising direction, but always grounded a brutal fistfuck of sound. Refreshingly, the annoying overdriven vocals of yesteryear have been toned down a couple notches, and the tempos are not a ridiculous spastic blur. Say what you will about the quasi-mall metal image, this album is a wet blowjob to Satan, and is the winner of the night, of that night, when ever it was.

Into the Necro Lands Part 15.1 - Riders of the Doom

Rygar the Seeker stood stood before us on the precipice of rocky coral and sea junk, looking out on the shipyard concealed within this weird island. He turned toward Bloodmace and I with a flourish of his dusty cape and stroked his close cropped beard, “Below is the heart of Bildorf's might.” He pointed down to the

vast cavern, filled with vessels hijacked from every corner of the Dakti Ocean, “I came here with my troops, who are quartered below, to take you back to the mainland before Necro Baby can strike back at Bildorf. We must act now.” Bloodmace steps forward and replies, “Without our battle jackets, we don't have much in the way of magic, but I have this.” He brandishes his spirit mace with a bloodthirsty look. Rygar unsheathes his machete in solidarity and with a rougeish smile motions us to follow, “the plan is already in motion,” pausing to look at his watch, “Three, two, one...” An explosion rocks the cave, “Hurry! Down this passage!”

Oh, we also listened to Godflesh's triumphant return album, A World Lit Only By Fire. There a no real innovations or major changes to their sound, for this can be non other than a Godflesh album. The band revisits some old tropes, some old riffs, and remixes them in a hellishly hypnotic din of torment and anguish. The sound is rather dry and compressed, but that's a minor poo poo. They have thankfully gotten their old drummer back, who is a drum machine. Welcome to your unique hell.

So the next week we kept it up and listened to a ton of new shit. First, we heard Pallbearer's hip hipster friendly doom trip, Foundations of Burden. This is a vast improvement over their overhyped debut. Better
riffs and sweeter melodies go down like smooth vodka on a winters night, and then often 10 minute long songs never get boring or feel drawn out. Good shit right here, dude. They will fill up the Pyramid Scheme when they come to town, guaranteed.

German thrash standard bearers Tankard released R.I.B.(Rest In Beer) this year, and all is right with the world. This album contained no surprises, but was a solid, well-crafted riff fest. Not much else to say about this album but that it inspired some serious headbanging and an air guitar attack by yours truly.

The wonderfully monikered Pestifer fucked our fucking faces with their tech death extravaganza, Reaching The Void. As wonderful as it is to find a good new technical death metal album that doesn't just sound like Cryptopsy, this album doesn't break much ground. It is a familiar mix of ground tread by Death, Necrophagist, and host of other nimble fingered face fuckers. Quite good.

Into the Necro Lands Part 15.2 - Tree of Thorns

In the terrifying moments we spent careening down the collapsing tunnel I lived a hundred lifetimes. All around us, chaos was taking hold. Ahead I could see the exit, so I bolted forward, but I could tell something was not right the moment I left the crumbling passage. Energy bolts exploded all around me as debris

continued to rain down on my head. Bildorf's henchmen, who jumped in surprise as we barreled out of the aperture behind them, were being fired upon by the minions of Necro Baby, who had arrived ahead of schedule. We wasted not a moment of their unpreparedness, I ran the first through with my trusty longsword while Bloodmace reduced the other two to a wretched pile of pulp with the feared weapon of his people. Rygar shouted from behind us, “Look out, Necrites!” Swooping down from above, two black winged deadbirds screamed their war cry, skeletal riders raining arrows down on the rocky beach. I leap for the cover of a nearby boulder but as I turn I can see, almost in slow motion, an arrow about to hit its mark. In an instant, the seeker of Thrashstone deflects the projectile with his cape as feathered serpents swarm over the rise and smash the undead warriors. Rygar shouts to Bloodmace and I, “Quickly, mount a serpent! To the mainland and Sekran!” We join their procession and after a precipitous ascent, I behold through my nausea and fear the attack on Bildorf's island by the Necromancer's forces. Just as we ride into the setting sun, I get a chilling glance of a tremendous baby rising out of the sea...

But the winner of the fucking night was Dawnbringer's heavy metal bad assness, Night of the Hammer. This was a great find. It is well composed, ballsy heavy metal with clean, Nordic inspired vocals and harmonies, and lyrics, and a dark, old school black metal ala Merciful Fate feel. We were blown away by the quality and sweetness. It is a dark chocolate bar filled with crack nuggets. Definitely checking out their back catalogue.

Words of the Elders

AkKachakRak! Aid us in the hour of peril, FarNnAl, Sepchoug! Come int the house of Tam! War has come to the realm of the titans and the terrible brothers are caught in the middle again. The swirling void of disaster has been activated and fear will rule the land. Paura nella cittia' dei morte viventi!

Until next time hellhordes,

Horns

To Glory We Steer - The Lazy Man's Guide to Being Lazy

2014-11-27T20:54:00.000-05:00

Gentle and steadfast reader, my apologies. I am a lazy fucking bastard and have neglecting my Metal Night duties. I spend so much time jacking off to furry porn that I sometimes forget to bathe or dress myself. Thus, the make-up post. I'm gonna tell you about some albums we listened to that were great, and maybe one that wasn't so great. Then I'm going to go back to jacking off. Onwards to gloryhole!!!

Well, last night was fucking crazy because we listened to a bunch of 1980's ers K-tell Metal compilation cassette's. This was the shit they would sell at Meijer's or K-mart for $5 and usually include at a bunch of bands that were only marginally metal. But the best one was the thrashy Metal Meltdown. Released in 1988, featuring a nice mix of thrash, like Anthrax and Exodus, with traditional bands like Judas Priest and Accept, and smattering of hair metal, like Vinnie Vincent Invasion. Whoever slapped this together seemed to have a good sense of what metal actually is, unlike the other douche bags who hurriedly slapped together all those other comps.

The week before we checked out a bunch of blackened doom and Barathrum caught my ear. Their 1997 album Infernal is slow and doomy black metal, a churning cauldron of slow brewing hatred, Bathory meets
Celtic Frost in Darkthrone's rehearsal space. Good shit, is all I've got to say. I strangled a kitten to death while listening to this. That's what black metal is for.

And then previously, we fucked around and listen to some horror themed Metal. Macabre's goofy thrashy death/grind antic won the night. Sinister Slaughter is an early 90's death metal classic. A serial killer
themed concept album, it is both entertaining and ripping, with some deft, non-flashy guitar work and a nimble rhythm section. This album jacks off with the entrails of your mom in a charnel house of pain and woe. Whoa!

The sky was bright and clear when Vecton and I boarded the hovercraft and set on our way to the outpost of Iron Dan. Gliding across the autumnal landscape of our beloved Jenkabala, with it's fiery reds and oranges, we silently contemplated the deeds of this mystic of the north. Son of Parthon the Elder, he was present at the great battle of Samur, when the Wyvern were defeated and the last surviving priest of the

T'Chah Karnac was freed from his prison. He was the warrior who bound Iron James to the battle jacket in order to contain the fearsome Necro Baby back in the days of pride. Gray factories whiz by the windows, dark and teeming with foul mutants who suck the meat from their victims bones with a chilling screech. When at last we passed from this cursed place into Abrin, land of aviation and commerce, the sun was sinking below the horizon and the shadows stretched out to envelop us like great dark arms. Our craft hummed through the maze of plain stone buildings until we reached the bunker of the legendary wizard. The oak doors swing open and there before us is the man himself. Wrapped in the iridescent cloth of his forefathers, he spoke to us, “Enter friends, there is much to be done.” Indeed, there was much to be done, for on this night we were to examine bands from the early days of Japanese metal. Little did we know it would very nearly cost us our sanity.

Brave Bomber – Warlike power metal, this band eventually changed their name to Gaisen March and continue to this day as a ferocious, militaristic speed metal band. We listened to their First Bomb and Second Bomb demos. They were the most recent band we listened to and you can hear the echos of the nascent German power metal scene in their sound.

Breaker – Though the “Heroes' Metal” and “I Wish You to Feel the Great Heavy Metal” demos we listened to came out, respectively, in '88 and '91, the sound is pure NWOBHM with, of course, a lot of Accept

influence. Japan has always been known as a bastion of heavy metal fandom and Breaker is most definitely a product of that community. The earlier demo showcases a much less fashionable denim and leather approach to the music, while the later adds a bit more dimension with longer song structures and more varied songwriting.

Outrage – Bay area thrash comes to Nagoya. Probably the most successful band we listened to (certainly one of the few who made it our of the demo stage.) This EP is Metallica worship through and through, enjoyable but derivative. I listened to some of their later material and they seemed to go mainstream hard rock at some point.

Precious – Power metal anthems with tasteful synth and a Dio/Dokken feel. I found this album to be a fun, inconsequential offering. A frothy confection spiced up with some exciting prog rock elements. According to Metallum, the band was formed by the Japanese heavy metal label Mandrake Root to promote their new guitar hero, Akria Kajiyama. This album makes perfect sense when you consider that one of Kajiyama's later projects, a tribute to Rainbow, would lead him to a gig as a main collaborator with Joe Lynn Turner for a good chunk of the early 2000's

Ageless – I get the feeling they are known more for the unhinged engrish rant on the back of this EP than the good, Neat Records influenced metal these derelicts banged out in some unknown studio. Nice, speedy riffage dominates most of the running time and vocalist Yoshiyuki Nogura pulls off a decent version of the 'ol heavy metal screech. It's too bad the only thing they put out after this was a demo from '87 that seems to have slipped through the cracks of time.

Battle Axe – All that remains of this slick, all-female ensemble from Osaka is two demos from 1985. Sounding something like Girlschool, they rip through some great metal anthems on the recording we heard, Battle Axe 3.

Cry-Max – My pick for band of the night. There was something about the sneering delivery and the hateful fuzz guitars of the last track, Abungald Coup d'Etat that made my ears perk up. When the vocals finally cede to an instrumental break, the searing synth lead that follows made me lo0se my shit. I'm not usually one for this type of shenanigans in my metal, but Cry-Max won my heart from the very first track. Half of the band moved on to the early visual kai band Gilles de Rais.

With each album, Iron Dan and Vecton the Bard spun further into madness. Spells were cast with flaming hands and screams of madness echoed through the night. Ancient guardians gathered from dimensions unknown to witness the explosive competition of these weird mortals, each striving to prove his magic the most powerful. When at last I feared these two would crack open the very ground upon witch we stood and the enchanted bunker felt as though it was about to burst from the spiritual energy within, a familiar voice boomed out, “Hai! What's all this then?” Through the thick clouds and floating ash, Bloodmace of Waylor strode, cape billowing out behind him. “Come, Demon Scourge, let us end this foolish game.” I followed my brother into the fray and at his signal, we both used the Stryper patches on our battle jackets to bind the wonton sinners long enough for me to enrapture them with the Dio emblem. While the dust settles and our friends recover from their sudden burst of madness, Bloodmace turns toward me, “Good thing I came back when I did. The last thing we need is another Thrashstone massacre on our hands. Now let's try some of this excellent Samurian milk pie before it gets cold”

Until next time, phantom hellriders

Horns

Sanctuary Denied - US Power Metal, A Pentagram Reflection and the Tunnel of Terror

2014-10-28T14:14:00.000-04:00

Welcome, dear readers, to another report from Jenkabala Temple! It's been quite a while since our last full update but at long last the new chapter of “Into the Necro Lands” is finished and we have a new video of highlights so you can catch up with Bloodmace, Vecton and I. Speaking of that glorious pervert, Bloodmace gives his opinions on some US power metal and I offer up some reflections on my experiences at the Pentagram show, so settle in, grab a beer and a hooter, or if you prefer, a Mountain Dew code red and a vegan brownie and let us tell you tales of distant worlds....

Sanctuary-Sanctuary Denied
This is one of those albums I always saw in the cassette section at Meijer's and always overlooked in favor of the thrashier pieces from the big 4. I bought it ion the 90's and was not into the oh so metal shrieking that was oh so out of fashion by that time. But returning to this album after many years, I find that it to be a pleasingly old school power metal affair. Crisp riffery dominates, informed by thrash, but rhythmically never leaving traditional metal territory. It's amusing to note how much Judas Priest this resembles Painkiller era Priest, roughly three years before that album came out.

Metal Church-The Human Factor
The Church dudes are clearly suffering from 90s-itus on their 4th album. The much too clearly enunciated socially conscientious lyrics reflect a conservative mind set, and the songs are more mainstream rock oriented. Meh. The songs are boring, the lyrics preachy, the riffs dull, and this is clearly not one of their better albums.

Pharaoh-After The Fire
Skip forward to 2003, and Pharah are a power metal band of the new school; fully heroic, highly melodic escapism in the mold of Helloween and Blind Guardian. After the Fire, their first full length, had the most polished presentation of all the albums considered. Laser-tuned twin guitar riffs adorn the precise gallop of the rhythm section, carrying the music of the elders into the new century. Now usually, we lean more towards the raw and chaotic as more representative of a bands real sound, but this scrubbed-clean production is genre appropriate for power metal, so on the strength of their songwriting and presentation, Pharaoh wins the night!

Into the Necro Lands Part 14.1 - Veil of Disguise

The sound of splashing water and creaking metal had replaced the chaos of this afternoon and the sun was setting. Bloodmace and I, after being captured by Bildorf the Mad and his band of pirates, had escaped to the comparative safety of a run down industrial area some distance from his hideout on the island of Sanctum. The ground in this area of the island, such as it is, consists of sea garbage, lashed together by a strange, stone like fungus. We huddle inside a little cave, drying our clothes in the last rays of light as we plot our next move. Bloodmace, staring out at the red horizon, pounds his fist against the rough wall, "We need to get back to the mainland. The Necromancers will attack this

island, or at least Bildorf's lair..." His voice trails off for a moment, then he says conspiratorially, "Look at these assholes." Loping along the beach before us, two of Bildorf's mutants are combing the shore for their escaped prisoners. The harried barbarian is about to dash from our hiding place, but I grab his arm, "Wait, there may be more," I say, "We can't see their launch from here." Indeed, as our exchange takes place, two more pair of uniformed henchmen enter our view. They cannot see us, but we both watch them motion towards our cave. The time to act was here, but then a shadow passed over the little hill, then two more. Three gliders shot across the blue sky, dropping bags of a substance that filled the air with smoke as they landed. From outside, the sound of confused shouting drifted in with the

smoke.We turned at once to search for a passage deeper into this cavern. With our eyes adjusted to the darkness already, we slipped down into a small crevasse as the sound of footsteps came from the entrance. Here below the coral-like fungus, pieces of ships, their cargo and drifting garbage had coalesced into a twisted mass of rubbish that was strong enough to support the rusting factories above. We peered into the hopelessly dim cavern ahead and our hearts raced as a light approached from the other end accompanied by a soft slithering. Around the corner came the mysterious, beam, blinding us as it approached. When the lamp had moved past us, we could see a rider just behind the waist-high snake head that pushed past us. Mounted in a stirrup atop a large snake, the bearded human figure, whose eyes and hair were hidden behind goggles and a short brimmed cap, carried a silver spear with the Chevelargo runes cast into the tip. "You are of the mainland?" He asks apprehensively,

brandishing his weapon. I step forward and reply, "We are. What do you know of us?" From above, we can hear the labored grunts of mutants working their way through the narrow entrance. He points with his lantern to a hatch in the floor nearby, "Open that door and go beneath, they are here" climbing into the hidden door, I notice that below us, the ocean laps quietly. I look up at the soldier, had he betrayed us? "Just stay around the side, this won't take long." He chuckles, the door clangs shut. Above, the light goes out, leaving us in complete darkness. Quiet footsteps enter, there is a gasp and a surprised cry and warm blood drips down on us. The light turns back on and our benefactor calls to us, "Come on up, Bloodmace and Demon Scourge!" Climbing back to the main level of this bizarre chamber, I see the stranger has taken off his headgear to reveal a more or less ordinary looking man, determined eyes gazing out below a close cropped haircut, a single tendril dipping rakishly over his face. "I am called Rygar the seeker, new master of Castle Thrashstone!" His robust laughter echoes through the labyrinth as Bloodmace and I stare at one another in disbelief.

Twenty-Five Buck Spin: Reflections on a night with Pentagram

The denim and leather crowd was out in force, along with a heavy contingent of aging rockers and the usual denizens of this downtown landmark. When I walked in back to the venue, there was a dad rock band tearing off blues licks and throwing shapes at the 8o'clock crowd, who were dutifully staking out their places for the main event. I wandered around the edges of the crowd, greeting familiar faces and soaking in the boozy ambiance. Wandering back out into the front of the bar to commiserate with the crowd just arriving from a downtown film festival, I reflected on the film about Pentagram's Bobby Liebling with it's story of an artist's September redemption through the rediscovery of his work. Having just finished a biography of misunderstood film auteur Andy Milligan, who's story has a much less crowd-pleasing ending, I soon lost myself in ruminations on what it means to truly believe in your vision. Staring at my reflection in a flashing

pinball backboard, I let my mind wander in a reverie of the dangerous cauldron of creation, boiling there within us all. How can some manage to communicate the secret story from within while others are overcome by the hypnotizing aroma of this heady brew? Is the purest art made by those who give themselves over completely to their inner world, performing for an audience of their own creation? I am stirred out of my daydream by a costumed throng, storming the bar from a bus parked outside. Just as the last of the revelers has crowded around the bar, the between set smokers from the back stampede out to the street, creating a surreal logjam that for whatever reason reminded me of the famous denouncement of The Beyond. Writhing bodies, trapped in hell forever. Across the river of humanity flowing through the main aisle of the bar, I spot an acquaintance. Dressed like Norman Bates, mom corpse in tow, Iron Dan is traveling with the party bus. We join some of his fellow filmmakers for a cocktail. All of them have been drinking since noon and it's hard to determine what anyone is even saying. I head to the back again, leaving the tower of babel to check out the third band, Radio Moscow.

Coming in about halfway through this Cream style power trio's set, I settled in to a dark corner and let the boogie blues wash over me like a warm bath. While not really my cup of tea, their bell bottoms and fur vest type sound fit snugly on the bill. Having positioned myself near the back, I slipped out before the mass of smokers stumbled through the bar and into the night. The filmmaker table has grown and I stop to ask people about their screenings while gawking at the parade of outfits on display. I spot a couple battle jackets, a bearded guy in an incredibly elaborate 70's rock getup, plenty of punx and crusties and one exquisite hand-painted leather with the cover of the self-titled Acid album. The ceaseless activity of Saturday bar night ebbs and flows. Shouted conversations, harried barbacks, Big Black blasting above the cacophony and I'm layin' in the cut, Travis Bickle with a battle jacket. Once again, my thoughts begin to drift, but then I realize it's Pentagram time. In the venue, mic check has just ended and the intro music starts. A couple years back, I heard Pentagram at Maryland Deathfest and they were good but there were problems with the sound and they had to cut their set for time. I almost stayed home, thinking about how I had seen

them already, but something made me go out and it was beyond worth it. I have never been a big Pentagram fan, my taste is more Sarcaofago than Sabbath, but when they took the stage, they owned the place. The band was tight and Liebling was in amazing voice, swooping over the churning grooves with just the right amount of grit. The crowd was transported, exultant in the moment. One thing I appreciated was Bobby's energetic performance., it was a real treat to see him in this more intimate venue. Being able to see clearly those great, expressive faces that are something of a Liebling trademark added a subtle but effective ingredient, unifying the musical flavors with a sprinkling of theatrics. It seemed only a warm, sweet moment that we were lifted into that heady realm of musical pleasure, where the crowd seems to melt into one, and then it was over. Parishioners from this Saturday night service at the church of heavy metal fill the air outside the bar with smoke and excited conversation, incense of the damned floating skyward in supplication to the ancient gods of night

Words of the Elders

Hold steady gentle friends,for our sworn quest continues on this checkerboard of nights and days. We are keepers of the magic scrolls and forever we quest on, mapping the scorched topography of our beloved Centon and the endless minutia of heavy metal's galaxy of subdivisions. Look to the heavens voyagers, look into the eyes of the gods for majesty is your birthright and glory your legacy.

Until next week, haunted headbangers,

Horns

Tech Death Therapy 2014

2014-09-04T20:27:00.000-04:00

A few brief words on some lengthy tomes of hatred and pain, fresh out of the oven that is heated by hell. All of these were released this year, but you, oh, sinner, shall be damned to the flames for all time!!! Not that I thought you really minded. Now onto the tunes.

Cannabis Corpse-From Wisdom to Baked

This was clearly the winner of the night as it was the most entertaining. Cannabis Corpse are evolving into a band with an actual sound of their own, not just one that is apes old school bands like C.C. or Gorguts. They are also catching up in terms of technical proficiency and deft songwriting. These are some fucking cool, sick jams. But the thing that still distinguishes them from everyone else in death is the pure genius of the lyrics. Every song still replaces weed weirdness for the usual brutal death tropes and is always hilarious and always surreal. Best single song is Pull The Carb, about using a decapitated corpse as a bong. Most amazing lyrical endeavour is the the three song Lovecraftian mini-opera. It's a good album to lose your mind to as you spin further and further into the obscene hell of THC addiction.

Voodoo Gods-Anticipation For Blood Leveled In Darkness

Cannibal Corpse's George 'Corpsegrinder' Fischer is the best death metal vocalist in the world. No one can equal his brootal roar complimented by razor sharp ultra fast delivery, spitting out complicated lyrical phrasing with the deftness and flow of an Eminem and the spitfire delivery of the best ultra-fast hardcore. He is also know to join the occasional super group. Voodoo Gods are a melodic yet brutal technical death band made up of death metal veterans that craft highly dynamic songs with a double vocal attack. Lyrically, it's all about voodoo, yo. Musically, it's a fist up your ass, they way you like it, with a little bit of lube and lots of sand.

Pillory-Evolutionary Miscarriage

Pillory is an ultra technical death band in the Gorguts vein, with a little Cynic thrown in for good measure. 1000 riffs are thrown at you at once while the band attempts to impress the shit out of you with their thick stew of chunky bits and razor blade riffs. It's a commendable, if tedious listen, as these really smart dudes simply forget about songwriting. Sooo many riffs. A few of them are pretty good.

Until we kill you again. Hailz!!!

Blackened Fucking Thrash, You Tot Munching Lunatics!!!!!!!!!!!

2014-08-18T19:38:00.000-04:00

In the Gallery of Blood and Tots comes the Night. In the time of Leeches and Slime comes forth the Shadow Scroll. I'm rambling like a Time Desert platypus. I straddle the Glue Huffers Oracle. This is the Night of Blackened Thrash! Onto the reviews!

Midnight's new album, No Mercy For Mayhem, is fucking rad and pretty much what you'd expect from these perverts. Straightforward blackened thrash ala Motorhead, Venom, and early Metallica. The riffs are solid, the rhythm steady and fierce, the songs simple and to the point. EVIL!!!! EVIL!!!!! That's the chorus to the first song, Evil Like A Knife. I wish Atherer's vocals were a little more distinctive and melodic, but the shrieking growl keep hold down the black to an otherwise traditional sound.

Shitfucker's 2013 opus won our hearts as Winner of the Night! Sucks Cocks In Hell is extremely dirty, filthy thrash, sounding like it was concocted in a Brazilian sex dungeon. Nothing fancy here. Filth piled on punked up, thrashed out filth. At times it's so filthy it feels like grindcore, but the riffs and rhythms are firmly rooted in thrash. The best thing about the album are the insane lyrics. Songs like Rock n Roll Freaky Dude are not without a trace of irony (sounds like these guys listen to tons of Japanese thrash like Abigail), but are so unhinged and batshit insane the hipster element is quickly forgotten. Great stuff from the Dirty D.

Last, we heard the Indianapolis dirt merchants called Maax. Thier 2011 album, Unholy Rock N Roll, is a a gruffer beast, sounding like it was made by meth fiend bikers on a cornhole frenzy. It's tight, uncomplicated thrash metal with growly black metal vocals. The album drags on too long, though. These toughs are gonna kick you in the balls for several hours. Nuff said. Hailz the blackened thrash!!!!!!!!!

Waylordian Magic and the Invocation of the Dead

2014-08-17T16:46:00.000-04:00

Fiends, sycophants, gather round!!! Recently, I, Bloodmace, had the opportunity to invoke the ancient Waylorian Rite of the Dead at the Invocation Ceremony at the Dragon's Milk Gallery of Horrors and Church of True Metal. This a record of the word and the deeds of this fate event. I take full responsibility.

I am Bloodmace!!!!!!! Son of Bloodhammer, Brother of Demon Scourge, Warrior of Centon, Guardian of The Time Desert and the multidimensional lands, Hammer of the Wyverns and many such vile beasts, Scion of Waylor, Priest of Jenkabala Temple.

I am here to give you secret knowledge from this magic scroll called.....the Necro Laptop. I seek to give you pleasure and pain.....PAIN!!!!!! such pain with my words and....such pleasure! I learned, long ago, from the wizards of Waylor, who wear the foreskins of their enemies around their necks as magic totems of power, the vile secrets of Waylorian magic. You see, Waylorian magic is a form of necromancy. In order for Waylorian magic to work it's vile essence, a life must be taken, and it's soul transformed through the patches of power, and unleashed back into the body of the victim, turned forever into a soulless husk to be directed by the whims of the Waylorian wizard. Through such a vessel are the Spells fo Power enacted, to be used by the Wizard as a Zombie of Revenge!! I am such a Waylorian Wizard!!! And I shall now perform an act of Waylorian magic, for your entertainment. Who shall be my victim?? Who among you gives yourself willingly to the my evil gnosticism and dark art?

Yes, my friend, come to me!!! Stand here. Do not move. Don't be a dick!

I shall now begin the ritual. You have given yourself to me completely.

THROUGH THE VENOM PATCH, I RELEASE EVIL SPIRITS FROM THE REALM OF THE DEAD!!!!!

THROUGH THE SLAYER PATCH, I CALL UPON THE GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD TO UNLEASH HIS SWORD AGAINST THE WILLING VICTIM!!!! DIE BY THE SWORD OF THE DEAD, THOU VICTIM!!!!! DIE!!!! DIE!!!!!! DIE!!!!!!!!

THROUGH THE DEATH PATCH, I COMMAND YE DEAD SPIRITS TO ENTER THE LIFELESS CORPSE OF MY WILLING VICTIM!!!! IA!!! IA!!!! GO FORTH!!!! GO FORTH!!!!!!! RISE OH WILLING VICTIM!!!! RISE!!!!!! RISE!!!!!!

THROUGH THE ENSLAVED PATCH, I COMMAND THEE TO BE MY SERVANT FOR ALL TIME, UNTIL THE SKIN DROPS FROM YOUR BONES TO BE DEVOURED BY WORMS!!!!

TO COMPLETE THE SPELL, I SAY THE WORDS IN THE LANGUAGE OF THE ANCIENT UNDEAD KINGS OF WAYLOR!!!! HOSH CA MA THA CLUTTU MAKKA RYE!!!! WAYLOR SAN NECROTTA NISH GINTU HAKKA LIE!!!!! ARISE!!! ARISE!!!! GET OFF YOUR ASS AND RISE!!!!!!!!

As you can see, this willing victim is now my magic vessel of doom, ready to fuck your shit up at any time that I please. ahahahahahahahahaha!!!

BUT WAIT!!!! WHAT IS THIS???? This cannot be!!! Why are you going to Necrobaby??? She has no power here??? You are my servant!!! I command you to desist!!!! Desist!!!!! THE NECROBABY HAS TAKEN OVER MY WAYLORIAN ZOMBIE!!!! She is more power than I possibly could have imagined!!! WE ARE DOOMED!!! DOOMED!!!! FLEE FOR YOUR LIVES!!!!!!!!! FLEE!!!!!!!!

OH, DESPAIR CENTON!!!!!! DESPAIR!!!!!!

Crucible of the Sun - Metal from Los Angeles and Bildorf's Kingdom

2014-07-22T21:54:00.000-04:00

Los Angles has an ambivalent history when it comes to metal. The birthplace of Slayer, Metallica, and Metal Blade, it was also the nurturing womb of the 80's glam scene. The center of the film and music industry, it embodies what is putrid, superficial, and shallow about mainstream American culture. Fucking posers live there. Fuck those fuckin' posers!!!!!! None the less, LA is diverse enough to embody a rich diversity of metal. We here at Metal Night celebrate the obscure also-rans from the 80's; those forgotten heshers of yore, who, playing right along side the hairspray kings, went back to their day jobs when the 80's fog cleared.

We started with Witch's 1984 EP, The Hex Is On. Witch are your prototypical 1984 heavy metal band in the WASP and Twisted Sister mode. They were known for their bombastic live shows, but failed to make any of that translate into a decent record deal. This is a very likeable headbanger, but formulaic and cheaply recorded. The riffs have heft and the songs the tight, concise and catchy, but the performances seems constrained and constipated. This would have been a great band to see at the Whiskey or the Rainbow back in the day.

Into the Necro Lands Part 13.1 - Fire in the Hole

The sea was dark and tempestuous, it had been for days. The fierce black waves tossed this craft about like a leaf in the wind. At the helm was Captain Bildorf the Mad, a gray haired fireball of a man, whose eyes burned with the fire of unchecked passions and sordid vices. Barking orders from

the quarterdeck to his strange crew of nautical looking humanoids and amphibious saurons, he pilots the the ancient frigate through these rough waters as a demon through the lake of fire. Bloodmace and I, captives of this ranting fool, bore our burden as beat we could. "I shall rid the ocean of these sea turkeys" He shouted in an unhinged rasp, "Sharna, fetch me a net!" No sooner had he been granted the item called for, he shrieked, "Now behead this sheep! The sea turkey is not a quarry to be hunted for pleasure, the gods curse those who would presume to their game!" The poor devil with wet, bulging eyes and a protruding jaw whimpered for mercy but the sword fell upon his neck without mercy. Blood sprayed in a great arc from the fallen body, splattering us in the cage where we had been roughly forced into days ago at the port of Sekran. Our captor now turns to us, "You'll see, Jenkabalan fools, when you gaze upon the Sanctum, your hearts will turn to the water. Your friend Chanthoth is an old fool, we will attack Sekran, sack it of its wealth and waste the necro scum there." Bloodmace,

enraged by his captivity and the bold words of this pirate can take no more, "What do you know of Chanthoth?" He growls, "You may defeat the body, but the head will lie on. Your treasure won't help you against the undead." Bildorf hurls the tin cup he is holding at the bars before us, "Shut up shut up, shut up! I, Bildorf, king of the Takra sea shall claim Sekran for my own. No longer shall my people float endlessly on this black ocean, for I have come as the redeemer, the king...the god." His voice trails off as his eyes wander towards the horizon.

The rarity of the night was Beowulf and their 1980 anomaly Slice of Life. This is, essentially, a New Wave of British Heavy Metal band transplanted to LA. I can think of no other American bands who sounded like this in 1980. Metal bands in the US in this era sounded either like Van Halen, Ted Nugent, AC?DC, ect. Essentially, this is an American version of Holocaust or Witchfynde. The riffs are primitive, the songs are rather meandering, the vibe is mysterious. Very cool.

Into the Necro Lands Part 13.2 - Damnation

The dawn had just broken when I was jostled awake by Bloodmace, "Holy shit, you won't believe this." I open my eyes to the orange morning light falling dramatically upon what could only be our destination, Sanctum. Behind, before and around us, a fleet had materialized. Floating transports of every kind now sailed with us. Fast Iron gunships, captured bio craft from the days of the T'chah Karnac and many tremendous rusty barges. The maddest thing of all, however, was before us, and growing ever larger. A floating platform that stretched out as far as the eye could see in either direction, teeming with life. In one area, rolling hills, covered with plant life and dotted with

farmhouses gave the illusion of a pastoral countryside, as we sailed round the perimeter the hills gave way to a great city, its mirrored surfaces gleaming beneath the ever rising sun. We moved slowly closer to the vast structure, spiraling around this weird island to our destination. Towards afternoon, after sailing past what appeared to be a manufacturing center, we reached the opposite side of Bildorf's kingdom. This part of Sanctum was rusty and crumbling. We angled inward where there was a cavernous portal in the high wall, "Now you will see something!" Bildorf cackles as we pull through the darkness into the bright light at the end of the grotto. Indeed, as we entered this unusual port, I had to agree. The ship was slowed by uniformed crew around the sides and spun around so that we were now facing the passge from witch we entered. Ropes were attached to the back and the ship dragged into place. from the arches around the first floor of the circular chamber, men and maids, dressed in glowing white began to filter in, chanting, "At'cran Kib, vista E'kit." Bloodmace and I look at one another, shocked, for we both recognize this phrase at once, it is in the Huiskitel dialect and is a call to an obscure god of their pantheon, Kib. In more recent history, Kib became part of the composite goddess Thvnivt when the T'chah Karnac came to power. Bildorf, now wearing the

fearsome mask of his namesake god is ringing a large bell his servants have wheeled onto deck. With a motion of his hand the guards fling open the door to our cage and the solders behind us prod our backs with long spears. Though no look passes between us, or word of communication, we both sense the opportunity before it and immediately size upon it. Ducking down, I grab a spear and run forward as Bloodmace shoves the cage against the wall behind us, crushing our tormentors. Jumping from the bow beneath a hail of arrows from the upper levels of Bildorf's stronghold the cold water engulfs us...

Cheese masters Axehammer, though, stole the night! Lord of the Realm osa 1998 compilation of a never released album, demo, and live tracks. This is a fucking screaming ironfest, swords held high, axes ready to to cleave your skull into fucking pieces, wizards ready to curse your name to hell! Maiden and Priest are main points of reference. This is manly metal for leather clad men with hairy chests who have come to save the day from the Antichrist. To have seen these dudes sharing the same stage with Agent Steel back in 1985 would have caused Demon Scourge to jizz molten steel for days. And me, too. There are better bands, but these dudes stole our prickly hearts.

Finally, thrash oddballs Laaz Rocket thrashed us into the thrashing night with their thrash opus Annihilation Principle.This is a solid and sturdy state of the art thrash blast from 1989. The thrashing never stops. Even the clunk Dead Kennedy's cover doesn't slow it down. The production adequately chunky, harsh and clear. The only real criticism are the generic, unmemorable songs. Otherwise, this can be enjoyed as a thrashing riff fest of thrashing madness. Thrash thrash thrash!!!! Thrash!

Words of the Elders

Look well upon the deeds of the gods. Did they not also fight and die? The spirit world is never far away in Centon and it is not unknown that gods will manifest here to settle disagreements. Could this madman, claiming to be a god, hold the key to Necro Baby's aims? Darkness is falling below, leaving light to its mischievous ways above.

Until next week, metal marauders,

Horns

Night of Pain - Bloodmace and Demon Scourge Beneath Sekran, Crossover, Motorhead, and Your Fucking Head On A Spike!!!!!!

2014-06-24T12:59:00.001-04:00

Metal Night rolls along like a freight train, like an avalanche of knives, like your mother after the orgy. Nothing stops this beast. Not even the worst of hangovers. Let's get to the music.

A stop at Castle Thrashstone resulted in relatively few homicides. That night Hellmaster pulled out deathcore and metalcore albums to purview. First we heard The Red Shore's 2010 opus The Avarice Of Man. Deathcore is not really genre that I'm all that fond of, but I really couldn't pin down what made this deathcore as opposed to death metal. This is a technical riff attack with no interest in lulling you to sleep with heroic melodies or boring breakdowns. This is more in line with old school Cryptopsy than Whitechapel (or even new school Cryptopsy). Riffs, riffs and more riffs, lots of insane, technical drumming, and garrulous death metal vocals make this a good listen and the winner of the night.
some choice Australian

Next, we heard the unfortunately monikered Parkway Drive, whose 2010 album, Deep Blue, surprised me with a solid slab of metalcore. Hardcore style vocals over solidly structured metal riffs are what is served up here. The breakdowns are pleasing enough for the more traditional metal minded head, as they veer off into dissonant and sometime doomy directions. Metalcore is not exactly my cup of tea, but it did not annoy me at all. This takes elements of bands like Integrity and Earth Crisis, shreds it up, and spits it back in a way enjoyably catchy and always metal as fuck.

Thy Art Is Murder's 2012 album, Hate, is a deathcore dirge with an intriguing atmosphere, but unfortunately, the riffs do not hold, showing the kind of repetition that I find to be the annoying factor about deathcore. Not enough meat on those bones. And where is the sickness and rot? Death metal lite.

Into the Necro Lands Part 12.1 - Gates of Misery

The passage beneath Castle Sekran had been walled up for ages. Indeed, even the aged necromancers who sit on the council of elders, cannot point out their location. These damp and profane caverns predate the castle and city by untold millennia, stretching out under sand and rock for great distances and in modern times are used by Necro Baby and her elite force of beast warriors to carry out raids and assassinations in remote areas of Centon. Bloodmace and I found ourselves here by way of a map given to us by Sauntra, scrollkeeper of Narn. Sent here to Meet us by Chanthoth, last of the T'Chah Karnac, she instructed us to proceed this direction to place the sigil Chanthoth gave to us within the castle so as to affect the magical defeat of Necrobaby when the moment came. Entering by way of a hidden passage in a closed sewer, we made our way through the darkened stone tunnel with a dim lantern of halo bugs illuminating our surroundings. On through the slick passages we traveled, weaving our way

between a forest of stalagmites. Eventually, we came to the shore of an underground lake. The weak light from our lamp was inadequate, but I could tell we had entered a huge chamber. We walked along the shore in silence, listening to the splashes and weird croaks emitted by hidden dwellers in this world of endless night. After a time, we reach the castle wall. We search for an area where flaming red beetles creep about and after much scouring, the iridescent creatures lead us to a certain rock. When I overturn the unremarkable stone over to see if there is some sort of clue to where this door we were searching for was located, a startling creaking sound puts us on our guard. There is a loud crack and a concealed door opens nearby. Cold air rushes out from the small aperture before us. Turning to Bloodmace, I say, "Well, this is it. Us and all of Castle Sekran." My brother replies quickly, "Destiny calls." A smile spreads across his grim face as he brandishes his mace and sips quietly through the open door.

The following week, at Jenkabala, Crossover Thrash was the drug of choice. Wehrmatch's 1988 beer drenched punk drunk skater opus, Biermacht, bowled us over with it's frenetic energy, satisfyingly thrashy riffs, and over all aura of fun and games. This album thrashes, keeps thrashing, speeds up, thrashes some more, then thrashes. Throw in some novelty songs, hardcore punk style staccato vocals(which always gets me, when done properly), and of course, more thrashing. No time for subtlety. This was the clear winner of the night.

Agnostic Front's Debut album, Victims In Pain, was the last album we heard. I enjoyed this album, but let's face it....it's not a metal album. It's pure New York City tough guy hardcore. It's fast as fuck, aggressive, defiant, and raw, but, to make this a metal album, the riff must be the first concern. This simply uses the same 3-4 chords over and over. Their later work in the 80's and 90's would go in a more of a metal direction, but Agnostic Front will always belong to the NYHC movement they led like tribal potentates.

Into the Necro Lands Part 12.2 - Shake the World!

When we finally reach the end of the long corridor, I kneel down and open a trap door in the floor. At the bottom of a steel staircase, lit by a dim incandescent bulb, an iron door is set into the wall. We both try to open it, but it's stuck. Finally, by using all our might, we force the heavy portal inward. A great clattering disturbs the quiet and looking around, we appear to be in some sort of supply closet. We freeze and listen for footsteps, moving only after many moments of unbroken silence. Bloodmace peers out into the corridor and motions for me to move ahead. I sprint quietly down the drab cement hallway, ducking into a doorway and motioning Bloodmace past me. I am starting to worry about how easy this all is when my brother begins gesturing wildly. "This is the place,' He whispers excitedly, "right through this doo..." His words are cut off as we both detect someone on the other side of the door. We dive into a darkened room just in time. The door bursts open and two high ranking necromancers in their dress uniforms stride out, speaking boisterously in their language. I can't make out everything, but they seem to be discussing an attack on some sort of sea fort. My adrenaline is running high as we sneak through the empty dressing room and into the inner sanctum of Necro Baby. Plush carpets

muffled our steps as we moved cautiously down the thin wallpapered hall behind the throne where, even now, Necro Baby slumbers. At the center point in the hallway, directly behind the titanic child of evil, I cut a discreet slit in the thick carpet and slide the coin under as far as I could. We hastened towards the dressing room again, but surprised two nobles changing their shoes. Blood spattered the walls as Bloodmace silenced them. I sought to hide the bodies to at least give us some time but a strangled cry from behind us sent us running into the hall. I could already hear footfalls in the hallway as we turned into the closet and made for the safety of the underground passages. The door sealed shut and we started on our way along the shore of the underground lake. Just then lights came on from everywhere

and from the water, Necro Baby rose, hissing and screeching. Running at full bore, we head for the exit, undead in hot pursuit. "Get those Jenkabala bassssstards!" The terrifying infant shrieks. Bloodmace tosses a shock ball behind us, witch splatters a couple of our foes, but fails to collapse the tunnel. "Hope they didn't have any plans to keep this way secret!" Bloodmace shouts as we smash down the delicate wood that blocks the entrance to the passage inside an unused sewer. We rush up to street level and make a mad dash for the docks where we are to meet our contacts. Getting closer, we can tell clearly that something is wrong. Several boats are on fire, flames licking up masts and sailors in dinghies heading for shore, but in the flickering light of the blaze, I could see a massive warship, cannons blazing. Necromancers streamed out of the castle on their fearsome black steeds and fought the strange, amphibious men who were attacking their town. My brother and I ducked out of the

chaos but were immediately accosted by a human with gray hair and a close cropped beard. His flamboyant sequined jacket sparkled with the flames of battle, eyes glowing with madness. Through his laughter, the dashing pirate barks out orders to his amphibious mates, "Those are the ones, seize them! I'll fortify the sanctum on the price of their heads!" The bug eyed henchmen quickly throw a large slimy membrane over us. Through the strange bag that sweeps us down the hill I can see the outline of Necro Baby approaching. just as the jumbering shape is upon us however, there is a dull crash and a high pitched scream. "That should hold her off for a bit boys, now to the boat with these scurvy dogs! These undead scum will look back with shame on the day they decided to fuck with us!" Looking down at us with eyes like hot coals, he chortles, "Bildorf the mad owns all of the ocean, including this shitty town. You'll see, fools, you'll see."

In the lair of Iron Dan..............Motorhead! Mid period Motorhead, to be precise, what we wanted to geek out to. 1986's Orgasmatron is in many ways a forgotten classic. It doesn't get the attention the early classics do, but in many ways surpasses those albums with a slightly more sophisticated approach. But it's still down and dirty Motorhead. The title track is a two chord dirge that is hypnotic and heavy. Deaf Forever opens it in classic form; dirty meaty riff, some gang vocals, and Lemmy extolling the brigands to arms. This album is full of sharp riffs, loose rhythms and good times. A classic and the winner of the night.

1991's 1916 has Lemmy and the boys shining the beast up real nice, making it MTV ready. Gone is a The One To Sings The Blues, sports a powerful, if deceptively simple riff. I'm So Bad, Baby I Don't Care is classic Motorhead hyper boogie. A few songs, like Going to Brazil, are almost Dad rock in their bluesy affectations, but Lemmy's gargulous snarl keeps it metal. Some experiments here and there round out Motorhead's best album of the 90's.
bit of the grunge and there is more of a sheen to the production, courtesy of their new major fucking label. But the sharp riffs and the variety make this an enjoyable listen. First song,

1996's Overnight Sensation is the second best Motorhead album of the 90's. Having ossified into formula by now, the songs all do tend to sound the same, but if the songs are good, then you have a good Motorhead album. If the songs are not so good, well, then you've got roughly half of what Motorhead has been putting out since this album. This is one of the better ones, though not a world beater. Most significantly, this album has "Don't Believe A Word" which just may be my favorite Motorhead song. It's a melancholy little number, not quite a ballad, but Lemmy sings cleanly hear, adding a poignance to the unusually serious lyrics. The rest of the album is a series of head thumping rockers, though the last song, Listen To Your Heart, with it's acoustic overtones, would not sound out of place on an Urge Overkill album.

Words of the Elders

Takra Sea, home to Varan and Ixtar! Tarka Sea, bleak and icy waves concealing a forest of sorrow in its bosom! The Jenkabala boys have been swept into yet another conflict, tossed about on the tides of fortune. Kings, yet vagrants, unwilling sorcerers. Varan! May the sky go black in your forbidden kingdom, you are a rascal! The sky gods will not abide your treachery!

Until next time, ghoulish grimlocks,

Horns

War All The Time And Some Of The Time: New Directions in Chaos!!

2014-06-10T16:22:00.000-04:00

Bloodmace here. In order to keep this blog more active, I am going to start posting more reviews of random shit, whether it happens at Metal Night or not. I will try and cover all the albums that play at Metal Night, that's if I have anything interesting to write about them. The big posts, with the story, the video, and the pictures, are going to come out about once a month. We will not be covering every Metal Night with every post. That is simply too much fucking work. But we want to keep posting regularly because we have built quite a following over the last few years and we don't want to lose that because...well....just because. We don't intend on turning this blog into anything other than what it is....the chronicle of a couple doods and some friends who get together once a week and listen to some fucking metal.

So, Demon Scourge and I got to together and listened to the new Mayhem album. Yes, that Mayhem. Not the 70 other bands on Metallum that go by that name. Esoteric Warfare is very much a "stadium black metal" album, not a murky lo-fi necro fest. The guitar tones are massive and clear, the bass is audible and the drums are crisp and powerful. The riffs and rhythms are twisty and twisted, the songs are exploratory and tinged with prog, but always return to fuck you in the face with Satan's dark power. The influence of Watain is written all over this and one could criticize them for straying to far from their evil roots, but you might risk pissing off Hellhammer, who has killed before. Better shut your fucking mouth.

We also took in the latest slice of violence from New Zeeland war metal purveyors Diocletian. Gesundrian is what Blasphemy might sound like if recorded by Bob Rock. It is surprisingly well recorded and rendered in a digital clearness, but unrelenting wall of aural fucking death, punctuated by great riffs and inhuman drumming. No surrender, no mercy, nothing subtle, and few dynamics, other than the slow grinding crawl of the first track and a few sparse moments scattered throughout the album. But these are not exactly gentle interludes. These Kiwis give you the punishment you crave, the ass kicking you deserve.

To round out the filth, I am adding this deathly panzerfuck from Swedish band Omnizide. Their new album, Death Metal Holocaust, is a splendid jerkfest of blackened indecency and old school death metal sickness. A dash of Immolation and Incantation, a hint of the classic Swedish Death sound, some gargle, screechy necro vocals, and even some D-beat here and there make this an entertaining grab sac of maggoty delights. The song Crystals of Death, with its catchy old school Swedish riffery, is the best track. I could stab many a face to it.

And that's all from now. Now off to frolick in the Necrolands. Horns!!!!!

Captor of Sin - Big Four Thrash and an unexpected ally

2014-05-27T22:54:00.000-04:00

I grew up in a conservative home and the first metal band I was allowed to listen to was Stryper, who are a Christian metal band. But since they were the only Christian metal band in the cassette aisle at Meijer, and Petra are as boring as shit, I bought Yngwie's Trilogy, KISS' Asylum, and Maiden's Somewhere In Time. I liked those albums, but something was missing. They weren't hard enough, crazy enough, bombastic enough. Pretty soon, I discovered the Big Four of Thrash, and was soon squirting my teenage jism to staccatto riffs with difficult time changes. This was my soul music. This spoke to what I was feeling and I was feeling pretty pissed off about life and really didn't have much of a sense of humor about it. The Big Four; Metallica, Megadeth, Anthrax, and Slayer, explained my youthful rage. Recently, I turned 43. For my birthday, I requested a Big 4 night, because I am apparently going through a mid-life crisis. I am not getting any younger. And I'm still pretty pissed off about life. My anger has deepened. My rage is a fine, barrel aged whiskey. I savor it.

First, we heard a certified classic that is nearly immune to criticism. What can you say that hasn't been said about Metallica's Ride The Lightening? Just the facts, I suppose. It was released in 1985 and it was the breakthrough masterpiece that catapulted them to eventual domination. This is their best album. It eschews the cliches of the debut, and it lacks the ponderousness of later thrashsterpieces. It is a sleek metal machine, a mighty meeting of riff and song, of dark atmosphere and foreboding that they never really expressed again. There is an evil vibe here. There is death. Hetfield is in his lyrical prime, expressing directly, without metaphor, the many exciting ways to die, whether by your own hand, the hand of God, by nature, by the state. And after all that, we are sucked into the primordial ooze with Cthulhu. If you can't appreciate this album, then you will never fully appreciate life itself. This would have been winner of the night, if I wasn't such an asshole.

Into the Necro Lands Part 11.1 - Creeping Death

I produce a marker from my pocket and begin to draw, tracing out the Mournful Congregation patch from memory. Again, the bell rings, "Arvid?" Intones the tired-looking Sargent. We rise and follow him down a shabby hallway lined with tiny offices. "Have a seat, please." The gray bureaucrat motions to a couple of cheap plastic chairs on he other side of his desk as he shuffles through papers in the file cabinet. Bloodmace and I look at one another, knowing we will have to hide the sigil somewhere in this district of Sekran, as per Chanthoth's instructions. We begin the paperwork for the assassination request. Endless droning questions to witch we give false answers fill the air. "May I be excused?" I get up and walk down the hall towards the bathroom, but I walk past the wooden door and straight to the Sectaurian at the front desk. I discreetly slip the note to her as I pass and put the clay button with the magic sign on the desk. Looking at the note, she quickly grabs the forbidden object and drops it into the pen holder. I walk back to the office to answer another hundred queries before I am presented with a license for a murder that will never happen. The desk Sargent dismisses us and we amble down the hall to the receptionist’s office. Passing her desk, I spy her side a piece pf paper out in our direction. Without looking at her i snatch it up, burying it in my front pocket.

Marred by a crappy cover song, Megadeth's Peace Sells...But Who's Buying is still one of the best thrash metal albums ever made. Dave Mustaine sustains much of his tarnished reputation on the achievements of this album, where he perfected his jazzy, difficult, crack cocaine, guitar solo driven thrash metal. It's a collection of inchoate rage songs, a few devil songs here and there, a vague political mumbling. You don't listen to Megadeth for lyrics. You just jam it the fuck out and appreciate the tricky riffs and manual dexterity. It was a rare moment, since it is one of the few good albums in the whole goddamn ouvre. Take away this album and Rust In Piece, and Megadeth are a crap band. Indeed!

Into the Necro Lands Part 11.2 - Evil Has No Boundaries

The chaos of the daily market has subsided when we leave the assassination office. Only a lonely janitor, languidly sweeping up the remnants of the day's work remains in the cavernous chamber. Bloodmace and I wander down the corridor toward the exit but as we pass the great doors that give entrance to the hall of commerce, the Sectaurian who aided us walked swiftly in front of us. Her hands, clasped behind her back, relax for a moment and make a discreet motion to follow her. Walking swiftly, but well behind our guide we move through the imperious checkpoint at the exit and into the gusting stormwind outside. Weaving through the onyx and alabaster gates that separate the business district from the city's dwellings, we behold the city's strange architecture. Metal and crystal structures bubbled up from the multicolored sand that covered the ground, all domes and spikes that towered above us like great thorny plants. We step up our pace, feeling the gaze of the patrol officers wandering about. "Bloodmace," I say, "Do you think we can trust this one? She did recognize the

Mournful Congregation symbol, but..." Bloodmace, looking straight ahead, replies, "Too late brother, we gotta follow on now, I think we got a tail though." I pretend to drop something, when I bend down and sneak a look, there are indeed a couple of nautical looking necromancers loitering on the corner. "C'mon, hurry." Bloodmace motions to me as the strange insect woman disappears around a corner. We stride briskly after her as a heavy rain begins to pour down. The street she leads us down is lined with many more modest and uniform dwellings. We break into a run as she ducks into a doorway on the right. We hear a splashing behind us and even as we approach the doorway we are flanked by our swift pursuers and pushed into the apartment. The Sectaurian we were following has a worried look

on her face, "They followed us," She says to the corpsepainted men who had jostled us on the way in, "Follow me you two." We run after her with our unknown hosts in tow, up flights of stairs and on to the roof, where we climb down a rope ladder into a second apartment, with lush white carpets and leather walls. From a closet in the luxury suite, we descend stone stairs for what seems like an eternity. Deeper and deeper into the ground we travel until we finally reach a door at the bottom level. Our guide motions for us to stop and be silent. We all listen intently for any motion or sound, minutes pass and our six armed benefactor quietly opens the steel door and slips through. We find ourselves in a richly appointed office. dim lamps illuminate the black walls and carpet enough to see the monochrome chairs and desk. Bleached white skulls of many different beasts contrast the inky backdrop on the walls and tables. "I am Sauntra, Scrollkeeper of Narn. Chanthoth has told me of your quest." The graceful sectarian before us speaks in a quiet tone, "We will help you place the sigils in the five positions, but we must hurry. Someone or something was following us on the way in. We may have lost them for now, but they make it harder for us." She pulls a map from the desk, "I will show you the way to your goal within the castle and the way out. We meet at midnight on the north dock."

Winner of the Night (for me anyway) was Anthrax's Persistence of Time, their last with Joey Belladonna and their last good album, period. This is the 'serious' album; the one that seeks to combat their image as a cartoon metal band that writes about comic books and invented rap metal. They succeed. It is easily their darkest album, and their most ambitious. The riffs stick to your craw, and for once, Joey sounds like he would not rather be in Journey. Even the Joe Jackson cover song is good. The songs are lengthy, but not ponderous. There are a few nods to Pantera and the newly emerging nu-metal genre, but this is still a thrashster piece. I voted this for winner because I was impressed by how well it stacks up against the certified classics, this nearly forgotten album by a band that would try to sound as much like Helmet as they possibly could for the rest of the 90's.

Weirdly, we decided to have Slayer's live EP, Live Undead, as the bonus album. I don't remember why. I was drunk. This is a good document of thier early period, when the Priestness of their songs was most obvious to the point of near plagiarism. Evil, youthful energy abounds. Not nearly as vital as their late 80's albums. I was drunk. It was my birthday.

Words of the Elders
Let us contemplate the strangeways, the cruel and beautiful pendulum that is time and tide of this uncanny world. None can know the exotic fancies of those gods and goddesses that play stones on the fates of mortals, none can reckon the end of one game or the start of another. Yet in the darkness, we call. Like a beacon for whatever entity may answer, we call. Lift up the sorrowblade and strike the sky young kings! Smite the brow of fate and crush the gods that defy you! Remember Narn, remember the T'Chah Karnac and the indecent at Mount Raven! Graafenweisen Kalik'ch! Otqara Machak!

Until next week, whips of fate,

Horns

Necrobaby - Live at Last!

2014-05-13T13:45:00.000-04:00

Necrobaby, ancient child of evil, leader of the Necro tribes and sorceress of dead! Necrobaby, destroyer of sanity and virtue! Bloodmace and Demon Scourge's greatest foe comes to life in this amazing masterpiece of gloom by the mad illustrator, Ryan Brady (A.K.A.Rangar the Sectaurian, shaman of Narn.) For a limited time, you can have a piece of Jenkabla history and protect yourself from any spell a necromancer could cast upon you. Certainly, the utility of a garment such as this is apparent, especially for those who travel near the Necro Lands, but you have never seen craftsmanship like this at such a price. Forged in the catacombs of Dorgo by Necron the Scrollmaster, these sturdy vestments will last for many battles to come.

Walk Through fire - Bird Bands and Sekran's Gate

2014-04-30T21:10:00.000-04:00

Birds. They are an efficient evolutionary machine, the true heirs to the dinosaurs. They feast on flesh. They crap on your head. They fucking fly through the air and laugh at you because you can't do that shit by yourself because you are just a worthless human. They know that the sky belongs to them! Lady Birdblood claims them as her spirit guides of evil. Iiiiiia!!!!!!! Iiiiiia!!!!! Squaaaak!!!!!! So why not have a Metal Night devoted to bands named after fucking birds, man???

Unfortunately, the first bird band we heard (heh) was Pelican and their very boring first album, Australasia. This is pretentious sludge metal with the evil intentions scooped out, making it acceptable to dudes who really couldn't give a fuck about metal anyway. It's entirely instrumental, featuring much delicate sounding arpeggiated strumming; a dense, if somewhat polite, guitar tone; and riffs that really try hard to be heavy, but seem too airy to hold much weight . The song structures are semi-complicated, Rush-like affairs. Demon Scourge said it reminded him of Slint. Fucking hipsters!

Into the Necro Lands Part 10.1 - Human Foot

To the casual traveler, the smell of Sekran's suburbs is only just bearable. The sickening odor of the crematoriums, where the city's necromancers come to dispose of their rotting servants, fills the air with a foul haze. Everywhere there is death, from the sickly bone gates to the moaning corpses in their stables, waiting for their master's orders. In this place of suffering there is but one thoroughfare, Ra'l-Torth. From the stone wall of the castle it winds down the hill, past the houses of gatemonks and merchants, whose stark dwellings betray little of the bustling chaos below. At the port, where the clean sea air sometimes manages to banish the city's stench, the road turns west and descends to the shore. Along this stretch is the market, where supplies are traded and deals are made for

assassinations in far off lands. Merchants, whose faces are stained with the traditional corpsepaint of the Necro Tribe, stand patiently under their drab canvas tents. Salted meats and potable water are stacked alongside casks of loose bones, exotic feathers and the region's famous orcite beads. Sailors have long shunned the strange town and are known to stay aboard ship save to unload their cargo. If supplies are needed, they always travel in groups, for many among their number have disappeared into the labyrinth of dirt paths and foreboding huts throughout the years. Just past the bustle of the city's markets, but before the land meets the ocean, the outer suburbs skulk across the hillside. Here are found the worst of the worst, a monastery of perversion that few who enter ever leave. The economic fuel of this wasteland is a drug known as teffiv, manufactured from a kind of coral found only in the shallow waters nearby. When refined and combined with the dried scales of the lapin, a powerful psychotropic drug is formed that causes the users brain to function at many times its normal ability, but the onset of addiction is inevitably followed by death, usually within a year. Most of the denizens of this cursed place are those unfortunates who are living out their last year, working at one of the many refineries that dot Sekran's lower hill and performing unspeakable acts upon any that might come under their hands during the night.

We finally got the night off the right way when we put on NWOBHM progenitors Raven's sterling 2010 thrashterpiece, Walk Through Fire. What really amazing about this album is how it is just the same as their early 80' classics, and just as exciting as those early classics, and in some cases exceeds those albums, especially on the production, which is modern, updated, and in your fucking face like a big hairy arm pit. Raven piss all over Anvil, who they resemble the most in spirit and relative IQ. There is not a bad song or embarrassing moment on this album. This was my personal winner of the night, though the others digress.

Into the Necro Lands Part 10.2 - Theme of Loudness Part II

Bloodmace and I, moving under cover of the day, when the necromancer's powers were not as keen, had made it this far without detection. By not using the main road, we hoped to avoid any

confrontation with soldiers, who were undoubtedly looking for us by now. All around us, the high pitched rattle of coral being ground into dust could be heard. Low, black buildings were scattered in with clusters of makeshift tents. There were few pedestrians this time of day, but those who did show themselves were quickly repelled by a flash of our weapons. The desolation soon gave way to the markets, where we purchased some bones and beads to look more like Necrites. It was almost dusk when we made our way through the quiet district of severe little gray and black houses that stood before the city gates. Silently, we approached the towering edifice that stood before us and the castle. A small sign be the roadside pointed in the direction of a small entrance to the right of the massive aperture where two humanoid wolves stood guard. The larger one holds up his hand to stop us, "What is your business here?" I reply, "We have an assassination contract to be witnessed in the great hall."

Wordlessly he waves us through. Inside the vestibule, more guards search through our belongings before handing us each a piece of paper, "You must present this to any member of the security forces upon request." We both nod at the desk officer and pass through the carven door into the great courtyard of Sekran where necromancers, dignitaries of every land and the great throng of city folk who lived within the safety of this fortified complex mingled in the gathering darkness. The business day was about to begin and we walked through a row of vendors with steamed buns and fresh fruit, past an area where old men drank their dusk cocktails and argued over the daily papers, right to the door of the great hall. Beyond this worn wooden gate was the economic heart of the city, where teffiv and other agricultural futures were traded. This was also the place assassins and their clients came to have their agreement ratified and made legal. This was the first place we were to conceal one of the sigils. We pushed our way through the crowd into the long hall. To our right was the marketplace. Screens ticked off figures as the early traders began their cacophonous dealings. We hurried down the large

corridor until we spotted the sign for the clerk. Stepping out of the din, we enter an almost empty waiting room where several rows of benches stand between us and a tall counter and a breathtaking sectaurian is typing on several keyboards with her six arms. Aside from the extra appendages and translucent wings, her figure was very human-looking and covered with a shiny armor of exoskeleton. I noticed that Bloodmace was also surprised to see one from such a far-off place. We approached and with a little smile, the clerk said, "What precinct please?" I froze for a moment, forgetting that they would ask me where the killing was supposed to take place, "Ar...Arvid," I stutter."I haven't seen you around here before," the smile on her face turning suddenly mischievous, "Where is your office?" Bloodmace pipes up, pounding his chest, "I am me, alone. My office is here," pointing to his heart.

The sectaur before us chuckles as she indicates the waiting room with one of her delicate hands, "The sergeant will see you in a moment." We turn and walk back to one of the long benches. Several cloaked figures are loitering around the room, some standing, some seated. At the end of one of one row, seated far from any of the cloaked figures, were two Samurian businessmen, one saurian and one human. They looked nervously about, as if they were afraid of being seen. It was, after all, not unheard of for those who came to order a death to be targeted themselves after being seen here. An electronic bell softly tolled and a chilak emerged from the inner offices. His many stubby legs propeled his stout, transparent body across the carpet as tiny eyes peered out from the rigid flaps of bumpy skin that covered his head. "Kratath?" He says loudly in his strange, pinched voice. The nervous Samurians hurry after the creeping civil servant, followed by two of the cloaked necromancers. I am inadvertently staring at the Sectaurian behind the desk, half daydreaming, when an idea hits me. I turn to Bloodmace, "Give me a sheet of that paper."

Then we heard the Swedish power metal godz Falconer and their 2002 album, Chapters of a Vale Forlorn. This is powerful metal in full He-Man mode, with Nordic Viking vocals work that steals your woman and pillages your land with a clean yodel. The riffs are mighty and strong. The production is nice and shiny. The drums and bass and keyboards are well...they are there to paddle the longboat to Valhalla in a workmanlike manner. These Vikings smell clean and fresh. Amon Amarth.....they are not.

Lastly was the novelty album. Hatebeak is not a serious band, or a good band, but they are a band that releases product. But they do have the advantage of having an actual avian, a goddamn African grey parrot called Waldo, as lead vocalist. Thier 2005 split EP with Canius, a band who just so happens to have a pitbull as lead vocalist, is good for....ahem.... a hoot. It's a good for one listen at a party with your inebriated friends......and nothing more.

Words of the Elders
The secrets of the Necro Lands are prodigious and not learnt without forfeit of this mortal coil. Here in the realm of death, the currency is souls and the law is strength. Necro Baby and Iron James sit upon the throne of skulls here, their icy hands moving the pieces on this checkerboard of nights and days as the hundred gods watch with bated breath. Zagrieb, carry us in your pouch of might!, Lorko, fill the air with song! Let this incense carry our prayers beyond the realm of gods and find purchase with inscrutable fate!

Until next time, loathsome lurkers,

Horns

The Road to Hell - Solo Metal and a Trip to the Forbidden Kingdom

2014-04-01T22:42:00.000-04:00

Everyone knows that lead singers are the biggest attention seeking ego maniacs in every band and especially in every metal band and for some reason it seems that the really good ones have to go off and prove their bad selves in the silly solo artist domain of rock music. I'm not really sure why they don't just go and join some other fucking band put they just have to put their own fucking name on the goddamn album because they are obviously such a big deal now because they guitar player and the drummer can't tell him what to do anymore because he pays the fucking hack he hired out of his own pocket now and he gets the all the fucking royalties because he writes all the fucking songs so everyone shut the fuck up cuz we all know the big fuck deal is now don't we??? Ok, onto the reviews. We listened to solo albums from members of established metal bands, ok?

Well, it worked out pretty well for King Diamond, though I like his first band, Merciful Fate, a lot better. Both bands seem like collaborations, though, and King's 1990 opus, The Eye, is my favorite of his oeuvre. I prefer MF for the cool, concise, evil tunes, as King's tunes tend to be these disjointed monstrosities that sound like retarded monster musicals. But this one is much less so. The amped up keyboard sound is nice touch giving the album an exotic, gothic cheesey magnificence. The album is about witch hunts in France, but who cares. It's about as scary as Vincent Price yelling boo in an empty theater. I really wish that King Diamond would just go back to singing about Satan in high falsetto. That never gets old. But all in all, this album is fucking awesome. Winner of the night!

Into the Necro Lands Part 9.1 - March of Kings

Bloodmace and I were perched atop the olive colored lorry that Lady Birdblood had given us after we routed Necro Baby's forces and returned to her the fabled Nest of Evil. For the last two days we had traveled west, driving in the early morning and finding a hiding spot before dusk to avoid the patrols that were now quite frequent as we neared the border with the Necro Lands. Munching thoughtfully on the frond of a candle fern, Bloodmace points to a thick tangle of river bramble that covers the banks of a nearby creek, "We can cut a passage in there and hide the truck underneath as well.

Tomorrow we travel by foot into Necro Baby's stronghold." I nod in time with the Venom tape blasting from the stereo beneath us. Squinting my eyes in the bright sunlight and surveying the woods around us, I reply, "Are we going to follow Chanthoth's instructions? going undetected into the stronghold means no magic." I look down at the laser blasters charging on the hood, "If these rickety old pistols fail, we could be fucked. I realize that most of their warriors are on their way to the Nest of Evil, but there will still be plenty of guards to contend with. He wants us to plant the three bronze sigils inside the fortress, a task made all the more dangerous by our inability to utilize our greatest asset, the battle jackets." Bloodmace furrows his brow and strokes his stubbled chin with rough fingers, "We must find a way to hold the power of Necro Baby and Iron James in check while Chanthoth repairs the Garm, the battle jackets are powerful, but this is no ordinary enemy. Necro Baby has lived in many forms for thousands of years and we are only partially trained in the ways of the Huisketl and Chevelargo. To use sorcery without the Garm to help would be folly. We have battled without the jackets before and tomorrow, we shall again face what fate the hundred gods have intended for us." Just at that moment, as if in answer to our conversation, a tremendous butterfly, known in the Necro Lands as a solaadgraf winged down and landed on the hood of the truck. Its long wings of iridescent black and whit e moved slightly as the majestic insect regarded us with faceted eyes. The trunk like proboscis extended and pointed in our direction and just for a moment, the sound of Celtic Frost emerged from rustling tree branches and chirping birds, then vanished as the creature took wing and disappeared into the blue afternoon sky.

Second album was one Fenriz of Darkthrone's many endeavours, Isengard, a weird viking/folk/black metal basement project, this being being the 1995 album Hostmorke. It's an acquired taste, especially if you have heard viking folk metal recorded and performed better, but, hell, on second and third listen, you'll be won over by its clunky, lofi charm. Surprises abound; there are weird synth textures here and there, some English language lyrics, and the last two songs are Darkthrone. The most significant thing about this album is how, despite the lofi qualities, it achieves a significant quality of epicness, like it's Amon fucking Amarth without the high and mighty production values. Demon and Vecton prefered this album over King Diamond, but they are not they Judgement of Metal Night, ARE THEY????

Into the Necro Lands Part 9.2 - Eye of the Witch

All through the night we heard the patrols shambling down the road, ghastly voices crying out to mark the hours of the watch. Even though we could not use our magic, talismans and signs would not attract the attention of the watchful necromancers as mere symbols used no magic of their own, so the truck was plastered with Bloodgood and Stryper stickers to hide its presence from the undead guards. After what seemed an eternity, dawn came blazing over the horizon and we emerged from the brambles and set about our task. The palace where Necro Baby ruled her lands and the town that stood within its sooty black walls was known as Sekran and it would take a days walk from this place to reach its suburbs. Already we began to smell the ocean, but the forest we traveled was dense and almost none of the sun's intense rays could penetrate down through the tangle of thorny branches and pointed leaves that emanated from the squat, evil looking trees that took their nourishment from the rocky landscape, bursting out of stones where no plant could grow. Our journey was frequently interrupted by the Sekran guard making their rounds, causing us to climb into the foliage and wait for them to pass. Just as the sun began to set however, we reached a precipice that looked out on the Dakti Ocean. Carefully, we made our way along the cliff's edge until, as the ridge retreated sharply inland, we

caught a glimpse of Sekran itself. The land of the other side of the bay sloped gently down to meet the beach and along this rise were clusters of huts and hovels that housed the rank and file of the Necro Tribe. Though we were too far away to glimpse any of the inhabitants, the smell carried by the faint breeze told us all we needed to know of those who dwell outside the city walls. Atop this first rise, another cliff rose to roughly the same height as our position where the jagged black walls of the keep were silhouetted against the luminous purple of the dusky sky. Bloodmace and I made camp in a small clearing and meticulously applied the corpsepaint that would hopefully disguise us as we made our way into the very heart of the kingdom of death.

The last album was from a certified solo Metal God himself, Bruce Dickinson. His much then lauded 1997 return to form, Accident of Birth, in hindsight, still suffers from 90's syndrome. It fucking slogs from riff to riff like a Soundgarden album. Ok, that's harsh. There is a lot of good stuff on this album. Bruce's voice soars, the riffs (ala Adrian Smith) are metal as fuck and there are some great tunes here. but pity the fucking slow tempo and pace.

Words of the Elders

Kasar-thuta, what do you see in the cosmic mists that swirl in the limitless void? Raspin, Taroxit and Mathin, we beseech you in this dark hour! Caught in a game they do not understand, Bloodmace and Demon Scourge plunge into the most evil place on Centon. Black ducks quack and foreboding stars wheel in the night, omens to all who would tread there in the Necro Lands!

Until next week, brash invaders,

Horns

No Heroes - Stonefist and Jenkabala together!

2014-03-13T23:13:00.000-04:00

Ok fuckle faces!!!!!! The Judgement of Metal Night is back from his wandering in the hellish subtropics!!! I return to you with evil tidings and praise of death. I look forward to bloviating my highly informed opinions on the dark metal arts to anyone who cares to read at the expense of anyone elses opinion, FOR THIS IS MY POWER, MY BIRTHRIGHT, MY DOMAIN!!!!!! Now onto the catch-up post, since I have been fucking lazy.

Last week, Lady Bloodbird and crew stormed Jenkabala Temple and were totally underwhelmed by the over-rated force that are Warlock. What a stinking pile of crap!!! Here are my brief judgements on each album

Into the Necro Lands Part 8.1 - Signs of Satan

A fire burned brightly in the hearth inside the Nest of Evil, shadows flitted around the room as the others in my party recovered from the black spell of depression I cast using the Mournful Congregation patch given to me by Rangar before the battle in Narn. I stared out the great circular window in front of me, gazing at the blanket of stars that covered the sky and contemplating my dilemma. The enchantment worked to wipe out the ghoulish regiments who had besieged us while we attempted to liberate Lady Birdblood's beloved outpost, but there were unintended consequences. Before me sat my companions, who were each capable warriors, reduced to a state of listless anxiety that paralyzed them from within their own minds. I knew it would only be a matter of time before retaliation came in the form of Necro Baby and Iron James. We had succeeded in the first battle with help from Chanthoth and his mystical spell accelerator, the Garm, but now I no longer felt the rhythm of the legendary machine. As powerful as my own magic was, the Necro Tribe were not an enemy to be toyed with. Unless I had an idea soon, they would come and we would die.

Burning The Witches-It was ok. Some good riffs and some songs but the relentless vibrato of vocalist Doro Pesch is grating.

Hellbound-It was crap. Weak riffs, weak songs, bullshit dated production effects. Just crap.

True As Steel- It was crap. Same as above. Just crap.

Into the Necro Lands Part 8.2 - Homicide Rocker

I was lost in contemplation, weighing our options, when the sound of motorized vehicles drew my attention back to the window. 'This is it,' I thought to myself, suddenly filled with panic. I peered out, waiting for the invaders to come into view. Suddenly, a rusty jalopy launched past the window followed by another. The cars landed with a great crash, pieces of the bodies flying everywhere. I grabbed a laser rifle from the rack nearby and prepared myself for the assault, but when the occupants emptied out from the battered sedans, my heart raced with joy. It was Skyrock Cursebringer and the Castle Stonefist cavalry. From the second car, WarRoc Pain Vessel and Dentra the high priestess emerged. I rushed out to the door, motioning our friends in from the armored portal. Greeting the hardcore three, I explain the predicament we find ourselves in as they warm themselves by the fire. warroc stares silently into the fire for a few moments, then speaks, "Our time is short, for even now the people of Stonefist are preparing the harvested grain for market, but we will help you. Necro Baby must be stopped, her necromancers have been blocking the trade routes and attacking our grain convoys all year and with the harvest passed we must be able to pass through the Necro Lands to deliver our goods to Samur and points north." Skyrock walks around the room, examining the fallen warriors. He looks over to me and asks, "This was the Mournful Congregation patch that did this, is it not?" I nod my head in the affirmative and add, "Yes with the help of the Garm." The thin, light-haired chieftain, clad in tight black denim and animal pelts, begins to draw animal bones from the pockets of his

garments. With leather straps, he ties one to each of my ailing compatriots. WarRoc has begun pacing around the room, clearing a path to mosh in. Turning to Dentra, in her flowing robes and conical hat, the powerhouse of Stonefist calls out to the priestess, "The spell, let it be written on the air!" From her spot in the middle of the room, the diminutive sorceress draws sigils in the air under the inky fabric that billows out over her hands. From its hiding spot, a white cat with fiery eyes appears on Dentra's shoulder and produces a fearsome yowl that startlingly morphs into what I can only assume is one of the legendary thirteen anthems of Stonefist, a careening hardcore tune that blisters my ears as WarRoc begins to mosh. The music and dancing builds to a crescendo then suddenly stop. The cat returns to its hiding place and Skyrock, beating on a small drum with one hand, sings a haunting ballad while placing his hand upon each of the stricken. The song makes the fire leap and dance with white and purple flames and one by one Bloodmace, Tesa, Birdblood and the Samurian rebels awake from the depressive curse.

The week before, we journeyed to Castle Stonefist, an austere straightedge fortress of renown, to check out some metallic bites of straightedge hardcore .

Have Heart- Songs To Scream At the Sun- It was good but not really metal. Very straightforward, very street, very hardcore, very straightedge, very brief.

Converge-No Heroes. This album was fucking awesome and I do not understand why the sexless shut in metal nerds at Metal Archives exclude them from that site when Dillinger Escape Plan and hordes of other sound alike bands already are. It's a ferocious beast that has several million riffs and jumps around like a crack addicted toddler with Tourette's.

Elysia- Lion Of Judas-It was pretty great. Not all that metal, either.

Words of the Elders

Thus the heroes were saved again by the mysterious harvesters of Centon's grain. O hundred gods, find favor with the deeds of these heroes! O Hasyra and Shperon, light the dark with your golden blades! The winter hornets can still sting in summer and yet the takka bear sleeps in the day. What is the mystery of the mournful land of the half dead and almost living and what plans do they have for the league of heroes?

Until next week, homicide rockers,

Horns

Le dernier des travaux d'Hercules - Sortilège night and the attack on the Nest of Evil

2014-02-26T20:16:00.000-05:00

It was the first week of Kale-monath when Bloodmace was called for battles in the south, leaving Vecton and I to tend to the priestly duties at Jenkabala Temple. It was Moonday and the restless barbarian rode before the sabbath. I knew something was amiss when I arived at the dim and dangerous bar where Vecton weaves his tales of the hundred gods to drunken revelers. The bard whirled around in his barstool, a maniacal grin on his face, "Sortilège," He shouted, "We must pay tribute to the old masters, the dragon kings, the Gaelic gods!" Several large soldiers had now begun watching us, but Vecton was undeterred. Hands waiving wildly in the air, the weird mystic works his magic and with a clap of his hands, a bright bolt of lightning transports us inside Jenkabala Temple.

The first album of the night was the Sortilège EP, a five song affair from 1983. Even at this stage in their career, this band was pretty legit. As with most young bands from the early eighties, the influences are worn on the sleeve. Maiden, Priest, Sabbath, you know the score, but the sum here is far greater than its individual components. Great introduction to this band and an energetic kickoff to the action that follows.

Into the Necro Lands Part 7.1 - chasse le dragon

Ophelia, Fester and Losi followed us, riding on the spiders that had been our mode of transport in the root caverns below. Tesa's fiery sword cut through dead flesh, scattering the anatomy of any opponent foolish enough to challenge her, while laser bolts from the attack spiders peppered the battlefield. The sheer number of attackers was overwhelming though. They swarmed around us like flies until we

were smothered in their stinking bodies. Just as Tesa's sword could cut no more she gave the signal, "Schmoon! Schmoon!" Bloodmace reached down to the Stryper patch and the Garm began to do its work. His body convulses violently as the undead begin do drop where they are. The necromancers spell is broken. Corpses lie everywhere in various states of dismemberment, but the eleven living sentry still rush towards us, their faces contorted with rage as they approach. "Stop where you are, vermin!" Yells the black armored leader, pointing a laser pistol at my brother and I. Unfortunately for him, he sees not Maddaughter Tesa's blade as it glides silently through the chill air. He cries out and the others open fire, but their pistols are hampered by the spell of the Stryper patch. The battle spiders return fire and beat back our opponents, but Bloodmace cannot keep the spell going forever and I can see that he is about to come out of his Garm trance and the enemy will have a chance to use their magic again. I call out to the others, "Get ready, he's about to wake up!"

The next album, Métamorphose comes out of the gate a more polished, heavier beast. Cristian Augistin tears the hell out of the opening ripper, D'ailleurs and its mid tempo follow up, Majesté. Hymn à la Mort slows things down and offers a longer, multi part structure for the band to stretch out. Three more riff tunes, another longer more progressive sounding piece and one hell of a guitar break in Cyclope de L'étang round out this great album, leaving the last word for the melodic title track. Clocking in at a listenable thirty four minutes, this album could easily taken the night, but the boys from Île-de-France had one more album in them before going their separate ways, a hidden bloom on the spiky vine of heavy metal...

Into the Necro Lands Part 7.2 - Cyclope de L'étang

The spell ends with bloodmace diving for cover, just as Necro Baby's minions move in on him. One by one the dead begin to reanimate and fierce explosions from their master's weapons surround us. Tesa, fearless as usual, rushes towards the guns with a harrowing battle cry. Blood flies everywhere and the two cloaked Necromancers lie on the ground in pieces. Whirling to see our friends Fester and Ophelia beset by twenty or so rotting corpses, I swiftly grab hold of my Anthrax patch and

concentrate on the rhythm of the Garm and when I feel myself sync with the mechanical enchantment amplifier, I send the spell. The lifeless foes begin to mosh uncontrollably until their bodies fall into a quivering pile, but the odds are grim, for no matter how many we kill, there are more that rush in to take their place until, finally, we are defending ourselves from an enemy that has us surrounded on all sides. Gore covers the snow, melting it down to the bare ground in some spots and the air is filled with inhuman moans and cries. I am about to make a final death charge into the waiting crowd when I feel myself lifted off the ground. Stealing a glance upward at my captor I am overjoyed to see that I have been rescued by a tremendous crow. Mistress Crowbastard has returned. She carries me over the crowd and I can see the Nest of Evil not far away. We circle down and the shape shifting guardian drops me on the other side of the battle. Tumbling down, I already regret that Bloodmace and his Stryper patch are not with me. I rack my brain for a solution. I could destroy some of them with any of these spells but the damage an evil spell can do to a necromancer's creations is limited. It's then that I remember the special patch given to me my Rangar in Dantor. Reaching behind me, I grab the Mournful Congregation patch, latch on to the Garm's oscillations and let loose the magic. A wave of silence hits the combatants as despair grips their souls. The undead warriors fall again to the ground and the remaining necromancers hang their heads, wandering aimlessly in the gloom. Aided my Mistress Crowbastard, I quickly rush my brothers and sisters inside the comparative safety of the Nest of Evil, where we can protect them from hurting themselves.

Larmes de Héros, this was the one that pushed to the front of the pack, even though it was the last album and ear fatiuge had set in. I would liken this album to their "Keeper of the Seven Keys" or "Master of Disguise," a great classic metal masterpiece with plenty of dynamics and interesting songwriting spread over the epic masterstroke. Flawless victory.

Words of the Elders

Go now children, run to the red moon! Run to the crying mountaintops and look over the land. There is a great black fog over the Centonian plains that brings death to the once peaceful kingdoms adjacent to the necro lands. Palms in the moonlight, palms in the sea. palms are the eyes of the world when the good have been blinded. Fen, the great black duck, we call out to you! Heed us, thy supplicants!

Until next week,winter wizards,

Horns

Shroud of Doom - Rigor Mortis Night and Chanthoth's Secret Passages

2014-02-04T23:25:00.000-05:00

There two types of Metal Night. The one that is most famous are the social events that we are renowned for; the drunken debaucheries, the shenanigans, the bastard wildings of metal barbarians enthralled with the spirit of Dionysus. In other words, it's a listening party. And then there are the ones when I am alone with Demon Scourge. And we just kinda stare at each other. Then we decide on what we are to hear. And we have drinks. And then we expound at length on the grand philosophy of metal. And then we try to kill each other with knives and clubs when we inevitably disagree on something before choosing a winner. And so it goes.

And this week we choose the highly underrated American thrash band Rigor Mortis. Their 1988 self titled debut is a classic thrash metal album and our winner of the night. It is a trebly blast of fast tremolo picking, spastic rhythms and a mildly goofy lyrical bent involving demons and gore. For 1988, this was on the for front of musical extremism, preparing the way for Cannibal Corpse and a whole generation of death metal fiends like a bunch of hesher John The Baptists. You will not find much in the way of epic songwriting or dynamics here. This is a straight forward thrash-a-thon.

Into the Necro Lands Part 6.1 - Welcome to Your Funeral

Deep below the soil in eastern Centon, the living tunnels of the T'Chah Karnac spread out in every direction. Seemingly endless corridors of spongy wood, bio-engineered by the ancient human wizards of Samur, connect the forgotten kingdoms and other places of power like unseen tendrils. We are mounted atop the prickly haired backs of large spiders, scurrying with great haste toward Lady

Birdblood's Nest of Evil. At the front of our horde is Chanthoth, last of the Tchah Karnac. Riding just behind are Opheilia Skullbourne and Fester Blackheart, guerrilla fighters from northern Samur. Losi, Birdblood, Bloodmace and Maddaughter Tesa follow behind. I am the last in our party and my mind wanders as we race through the damp passages lit by glowing fungus. We left our home in Jenkabala only four days ago but it feels like an eternity, for even to return there would not be returning to home as Jenkabala Castle was destroyed by Necro Baby and her armies. Just as we defeated Headron, our greatest foe, another rose to take his place. Appointed mistress of Jenkabala and the Necro Lands by the ruthless dimensional villain, Necro Baby attacked us as we arrived from Narn. Faced with retreat, the powerful witch destroyed our stronghold and returned to the west where the forces of the undead could gather strength. Immediately, construction began on our new fortress, Jenkabala Temple. The
task was nearing completion when Lady Birdblood came to us with the disturbing report of butchery on the border so off we went, not with an army, but just the five of us. Our objective was to take back the Nest of Evil and free its people from the hateful toddler's spell before word got back to the Necro Lands, but we were spotted on the way and went on the run. Just as we were about to confront our enemy, Chanthoth appeared and escorted us to his secret lair. From the front of the party, I can hear Chanthoth call out, "We'll camp here for the night." We follow our guide through an archway and behold a breathtaking vista.

Next we heard their caustic little EP Freaks. It's essentially a continuation of their basic grisly thrash formula, but a little faster and a thicker production. There is more out and out shredding and heroic musicianship here, without sacrificing the brutality, namely because the vocals are so damn rough and the drumming is pretty straightforward still. This might have gotten my vote for winner of the night had there been more of it.

Into the Necro Lands Part 6.2 - SOG

I can scarcely believe the strange panorama that greets me as I follow the others into the immense chamber. The wood gives way to a stone cavern where light filters down from an opening high above us. I turn to Bloodmace and exclaim, "This is an exact replica..." Chanthoth steps toward us, "Of the Memphorian's dwelling on the island of Va in Narn?" Bloodmace and I look at the weird wizard in disbelief, a flood of memories rushing over us. "This base was abandoned long ago" Chanthoth

continues, "But the Garm should still be operative. We will set up camp there on the little island." He points out to the middle of the vast underground cave where, just as on Va, there was a lake with a tree covered piece of land sitting in the middle. Already, Ophelia and Fester are hiking down to the shore with Losi, Tesa and Birdblood. Bloodmace and I are following the stubble-faced magic user down the rugged path, My brother calls ahead, "Chanthoth, I have only heard of one such device, are there more?" Chuckling at the barbarian's boldness, the fallen master replies, "You are so eager to know, young prince. All will be revealed to you by and by. For now however, we will be working on the Garm. We must disrupt Necro Baby's spell if we plan to triumph over the tiny one." The others are waiting by a small dock where a battered dingy sits tethered to the weathered posts. Two by two, Fester paddles us across the smooth waters to the sandy beach on the other side. Hiking to the center of the palm and fern covered mound, we behold the mechanical enchantment amplifier where a small moss covered cabin sits nearby. Chanthoth motions to us, "Let us rest, there is much to be done before our raid on the Nest of Evil."

Lastly, Rigor Mortis Vs. The Earth provided the last lobotomy of the evening. This is their last entry and perhaps their accidental avant-gard album. Thrash was dead by this point and there are more punk and industrial reference points here, though thrash riffery still rules the day. Guitarist Mike Scaccia was enjoying success with Ministry, and the influence shows. The production is less harsh than previous albums. The lyrical goofiness is quite pronounced; all B-movie hype, tongue firmly in hollow cheek. It's pretty cool, yet not quite as essential as their previous work. The band called it a day after this one. The drummer went on to be in punk band REO Speedealer. Mike Scaccia died in 2010 .

Words of the Elders

Out in the madness, the winds of mayhem blow cold and unforgiving and in the eye of the storm stand the heroes of Centon. Pledging allegiance to none but the hundred gods they stalk the wasteland to bring justice to this untamed land. Lilies of violence bloom in the fertile black earth, waiting to entrap the seven warriors in their fearful snare, but these warriors of metal have the flaming chariots of Narn riding with them. Godspeed, brave challengers, tonight the candles burn bright for your safe return!

Until next week, unkempt hordes,

Horns

A Titan's Chain - Ketchup in Western Centon and a Peek at the Necro Castle

2014-01-21T20:22:00.000-05:00

Alas, the Metal Night barbarians returneth from the meth binge vacation lands of Trailor. Oh such debauchery! The famed metal goat of Trailor hath been fucked to deth by black metal fiends. We watched as sweated babies consumed PBR by the gallons! We watched as the scarecrow women were set on fire by their troll boyfriends, who hath meth for blood. The wankerous wallow wimps of Emoshire doth cut themselves, but to no avail. FOR WE HATH RETURNED!!!!!!! We require metal for sustenance. Ok, onto the tunes.

First we heard a succession of recent traditional metal bands. From the desolate wastelands of Detroit come Borrowed Time and their 2013 self titled debut. This album is really fucking cool. Instead of simply riffing on Maiden, Priest, Fate, or any of the other typical reference bands that neo trad bands use, Manilla Road provides the primary inspiration. Tasteful keyboards, epic structures, organic textures and an air of mystery prevail. This was my favorite for the night

.

Into the Necro Lands Part 5.1 - Dawn for the Glory Rider

Dim light filtered down from the luminous fungi on the ceiling of the root chamber. Before us were Ophelia Skullbourne and Fester Blackheart, possessed by the spirit of their gods. From their instruments poured the wisdom of this ancient tribe who had arrived on Centon even before the days of the Hiuksetl and Chevelargo. The majestic din filled our ears and even Losi, Birdblood and Tesa, who were not acquainted with the Samurian rebels who had assisted us in the battle with the Wyvern elders, were enraptured by the strange hymns of old. The music builds to a terrifying crescendo and Ophilia Skullbourne, screaming, knocks her drums in every direction as Fester hurls his guitar

towards us, barely missing Chanthoth's head. The weird wizard, smiling, applauds as he approaches the duo, "Some of you already know Fester and Ophelia, some of you do not. They have their own score to settle with the Necro twins and are well versed in the art of guerrilla warfare. Together with your knowledge of the terrain, lady Birdblood, you should be able to expel the usurpers from your kingdom." Greetings were exchanged all around and Opheilia, in her ripped black jeans and fur vest, strides over to a hutch carved into the far wall and produces a long necked carafe and eight small glasses, "We shall drink of the oolurt to welcome you into our home. Each of us takes a delicate stemmed glass and raise it in the air as Fester toasts, "To Chanthoth, Samur and Escar we drink, may the kingdoms of Centon into mire sink. The corruption of all stems from within, turns man against man and kin against kin." The viscous green liquid has a sweet, sharp burn when I drain the glass, followed by the overpowering scent of sourwood blossoms rising through my mouth and nose. Smiles break out and Fester shows us to some secondary rooms where our party can rest until we set

off. Opheilia brings us blankets while the leather jacketed Fester prepares bokbala stew. "We shall travel by spider. " Interjects the punk priestess, "It's the fastest way." Chanthoth pipes in, "I shall accompany you to the area where you will need to surface and grow a passage there." Without looking up from the task of sharpening her swords, Maddaughter Tesa adds, "They know we're coming, that's for sure. They tracked us this far, I doubt Necro Baby will call her army home now. We step right into their trap by trying to confront the undead hordes head on. By now every corpse for hundreds of miles is gathered above us." Again, a mischievous smile creeps across Chanthoth's face, "My lady, have you ever heard of the Garm?"

Secondly, Natur's 2012 debut Head Of Death succored us with it's no frills neo-NWOBHM attack. This band is strictly ok, and adheres to the pleasant mediocrity that most of the original geezers aspired to. Janky vocals, pleasingly organic guitar tones, and a slight stoner vibe are to be found here. Not a screaming iron fest, but still an iron fest.

More brash and two fisted metal were West Coast crazies Skelator and their 2010 meat platter Death To All Nations. This is trad metal firmly rooted in the early 80's Metal Blade sound, but with modern production values, so this will make you shit out off all orifices if this is your particular aural enema. Deon Scourge loved this. I thought there was much to be admired, but Borrowed Time stole my heart.

Into the Necro Lands Part 5.2 - Symphony of the Night

The sky is gray and foreboding above Keep Hellbane, capitol of the Necro lands. Fine snow fills the air in a frozen mist that shrouds the castle, turning it into a great black smudge in an ocean of gloom. Inky ducks crowd lazily near the shore of the moat, scattering at the heavy footfalls of Iron James. Corpsepainted and morose, the Necro prince strides through dim corridors. The opulent and forlorn

elegance of this ancient domicile cradles him as he opens the door to the throne room. There to greet him is his sister, the hissing child leader of all the Necro kingdoms, "Your troops have drawn the rebels into our snare. Where are they?" Her lip curls up as she regards Iron James. Having already been informed of his folly, the evil toddler grills him relentlessly, "Why do I not see the bloody heads of the foolish interlopers before me? Have you lost them in our own backyard?" The weary warrior finally has had enough, "Quiet with this babble, we know where they are headed. The area is teeming with our soldiers, they have no chance if they show themselves." Flames leap high out of the brazier before them as Necro Baby's temper flares, "Be off with you, your carelessness will cost us this kingdom if I were not to take care of your problems" The heavily painted eyes of the necromancer queen close and the fire dies down to coals. The door glides noiselessly to a close as Iron James' steps echo into the cold, grim air.

Afterwords, We went on a German happy power metal kick with three epic panzer strength albums from Gamma Ray, who are considered one of the founding fathers of power metal. They formed after Kai Hanson left Helloween to form this band with Primal Fear vocalist Ralf Scheepers. Their first album, Heading For Tomorrow, is firmly in the Helloween style, with big happy choruses and galloping rhythms, but showcase a bombastic and weird Queen influence, which made this the album of the 2nd night (we feasted on metal for days) for me.

Ship ahead to 2005, and Gamma Ray are still pumping out the power metal with Majestic. A juggernaut of shining positivity, this album still pretty much sounds like every other power metal band in existence, existing to force the melodic fist of glory up many a willing anus. Music for sword fighting and gallivanting in space, which is a reoccurring theme with this band.

Jump back to 1997, when exactly 15 people were still into this style of metal in the United States, and Gamma Ray are happily and stubbornly churning out albums like Somewhere Out In Space, a much beloved gem of this band's oeuvre. Less quirky than the debut, and less generic than the later album, this is simply a great power metal album, absolutely everything that you would expect, but done with vigor, enthusiasm, and balls. BALLS TO THE WALL, MAN!!!!!!!!!!

Words of the Elders

O hundred gods, find favor with the deeds of these heroes! O Hasyra and Shperon, light the dark with your golden blades! The winter hornets can still sting in summer and yet the takka bear sleeps in the day. What is the mystery of the mournful land of the half dead and almost living and what plans do they have for the league of heroes?

Until next week, ruthless raiders,

Horns

At the Heart of Winter - Frostbitten Black Metal and an Underground Excursion

2014-01-12T22:26:00.000-05:00

Welcome to the Polar Vortex, the freeznado of weather anomalies. Heaped upon the deep chilled earth lay the cryogenic dead, waiting to suck out the warmth of the living. Lots of weak poseurs are crying about the weather lately, but not here at the Jenkabala Winter Palace . When the sub-arctic comes to our doorstep, we break out the blizzard blitz of ultra cold black metal and eat ice cream sandwiches made of babies and kittens. We don't cry about nothin', unless there are tears of blood to be shed.

First up, Immortal's frozen classic At The Heart of Winter got the evening off in the right way. This is one of Immortal's finest hours, a mighty frost blast of hyper riffs made of jagged ice crystals. Ok, I'm running out of cheap winter imagery, so I'll stop. With this album, Immortal upped the production values and added a more death metal like riff attack. No longer content with mere blasting noise, there is a degree of dynamics not previously seen on previous albums. The songs are more complex, and there is an element of clean guitars added at various intervals. The songs gallop, blast, occasionally crawl, but always destroy with maximum fuck force. This album is a certified black metal classic and is the unanimous winner of the fuckin' night.

Into the Necro Lands Part 4.1 - Solarfall

Computer screens were glowing, providing the only illumination in the underground room. Long consoles, full of blinking lights and monitor displays tinted the air red and green while cloaked figures whose faces were covered by smooth reflective masks typed and calculated, oblivious to our presence. Tesa, Birdblood, Losi, Bloodmace and I were lying where we had fallen into this room from the frozen lake above. "My people, as you may know, relied heavily on biotechnology during our reign as kings of Centon." Chanthoth had donned his long green robe and spoke to us as, one by one, we began to stand. "As you can see, I have reactivated this command post and grown some

humanoids to labor for me. Slowly, I will reopen the transport roots that run the length of Centon." Bloodmace, studying one of the consoles, turned to Canthoth, "Yes, that would certinaly be helpful for shghtseeing. Perhaps you long to glimpse the world before your cycle ends, or maybe you have visions of marching a humanoid army upon this realm while all on the surface are fighting one another?" A sly smile crosses the face of the weird wizard as he criosses the room and punches some buttons on one of the control surfaces, "As you can see," He says, pointing to the largest monitor on the wall, "The forces of Necro Baby and Iron James are closing in on you above. I would hate to be forced to eject you from this sanctuary and into their hands. Do we understand one another?" On the screen, we can see a mass of undead troops scouring the area, along with the horrid deadcats and their boar-faced keepers. "You have been a friend to us in the past Chanthoth, and we wish only to hear your words." The calmness and confidence in my voice startled me. I had never been well spoken in times of crisis and even now my heart raced at the thought of a battle with the forces of black magic that sought us above, "You already know the place we seek passage to, so tell us, can you aid our quest?" The robed mystic turns with a chuckle and calls out to us as he strides through a secret passage that opens behind him with a hiss of air, "But of course, my friends. Follow me, there is someone here who can help you better than I."

If you name your band Grim Funeral, then perhaps you may be setting yourself up for caricature and self parody. But the band's 2008 debut Grim Funeral To The Soul Of This World, is a satisfying nugget of necrotic black metal. The Catalonian one man band is dank, depressive, caustic, and bleak; sounding like every other dank, depressive, caustic, bleak one man black metal band, except that the songwriting is competent, and the performance compelling. It manages to capture a singular atmosphere, an anomaly in the event horizon of evil. I recommend this fist fuck for discriminating tastes.

Into the Necro Lands Part 4.2 - Incantation of He Who Sleeps

Bloodmace and I had seen some of the wonders of the T'Chah Karnac's mastery at the art of blending together biotechnology and black magic when we met Chanthoth after our resurrection on Mount Tarvo, so the transport root did not surprise us, though it was impressive. The root system was

something of a living highway, growing deep underground. From inside this tremendous organism, the T'chah Karnac could traverse the length and breadth of Centon without fear of detection. Created in their secret labs, the plant responded to a combination of electronic signals from the microprocessors that develop in the brain of each T'Chah at adulthood and incantations passed down from time immemorial. In this way, they were able to manipulate the form of this being they had engineered, creating passages to the surface world at will. Losi, Birdblood and Tesa were marveling at the bizarre passage as we followed Chanthoth. Our unusual benefactor turned to them and explained, "The root is covered with luminous fungi and insects, all the sections I have repaired are now lit. Birdblood, are you familiar with the Haaskupf Wood?" The flame-haired avian noble nods her head and repies, "Yes, this is the place where the necro forces launched their raid on the

Nest of Evil." We arrive at a fork in the root and our robed guide follows the smaller passage that veers to the right. He looks back at Birdblood and replies, "That is the furthest I have been able to complete my work in this direction. You will have to battle your way in from there." As we walk further, there is a noise in the distance that becomes louder and more intelligible. There is a bright light ahead, emanating from a doorway on the right side. Chanthoth addresses us again, "You will need help, I have called upon the Samurian Punx." we approach the door and peering in, I behold our old friends Opheilia Skullbourne and Fester Blackheart. Behind a drum kit, Opheilia bashes away maniacally while fester, abusing a mossy demon guitar, is screaming into a fungus blossom that rises from the floor.

Oddly disappointing was Blood of Kingu's 2nd album, Sun In The House Of The Scorpion. While bleak ionosphere of pain and suffering. The sound is more epic, the riffs broader, but they lack fierceness and sheer occult wierdness of the previous offering. If I were you, I'd check out De Occulta Philosophia, and skip this one.
their first album is a classic of hypnotic evil and unholy repetition, this album offers nothing new.

Blackout - The return of Chanthoth and a Visit With the Scorpions

2013-12-18T22:56:00.000-05:00

I never would have listened to the Scorpions back in 1991. This dedicated thrasher was just getting into grunge and death metal and Faith No More and a whole bunch of bands like Mind Funk and Fishbone that I don't care about anymore. The Scorpions were just cheesy coked up washed up Spinal Tapped rock whores whose biggest hit, Winds of Change, was the worst song in the world. I mean, The Zoo and Rock You Like A Hurricane weren't bad songs, they were fun at karaoke, but otherwise, fuck the Scorpions. But alas, I grew older and then came the internet and I got the opportunity to check out some back catalogs. And let me tell you something....old school Scorps is the fuckin' shit, dude! Check it out! Owwww!

So we started with their 1976 classic Virgin Killer, whose original album cover would probably get them all thrown in jail if released today. This album is the founding document of their metal sound, having spent the early 70's as a Hendrixy hard hippy noodle band. The riffs, leads(via Uli Jon Roth, whose sound prefigures Yngwie) and sharp soaring harmonies set the fucking standard. Just check out the chorus of Catch Your Train and try to get that fucker out of your head for the next three weeks. There are a couple semi-funky misfires, sung by Uli Roth, but's its always fun listening to German guys get funky. And, of course, the sucky ballad that became a staple for every album they would ever release. But whatever. The title track is as intense as anything you are ever going to hear from 1976.

Into the Necro Lands Part 3.1 - Polar Nights
The winter had come early in the necro lands and the transport we had stolen from the supply depot chugged slowly across the monochrome plains east of Lady Birdblood's Nest of Evil. Snow whipped down from the brooding sky, obscuring everything but the immediate area around the rusty lorry. Since daybreak, Maddaughter Tesa had been driving us through this wasteland, slogging down the

rough two track path made almost impassable by the sudden storm. Bloodmace and I were in the back with Losi of the Wolfskeep while Birdblood used her navigator to keep us on the path to her stolen kingdom. "Ok, the turn is right up..." Birdblood squinted her eyes below blood red bangs as her gaze darted between the screen and the road ahead. "...Here." Tesa jerked the wheel left, the truck banked and seemed like it was going to roll as the back end spun out and around. In slow motion, I saw the massive spray of snow thrown out by the spinning vehicle and then we came to a stop.

The next album, was the winner of the night. Taken By Force is a harder, more metal beast. The hilariously anthemic Steamrock Fever starts the album out the right way, a commercial metal juggernaut that is catchy and rockin'. Also, if you are looking to the Scorps for lyrical depth, look elsewhere, unless you want a chuckle, since they are a model of English as a second language buffoonery. The album center piece, Sails of Charon, is the best pure metal song they ever wrote, melding classical riffery with rock n roll elegance, uncharacteristly upping the IQ quotient of this album . This is a sweet album. This was the last album with Uli Jon Roth.

Into the Necro Lands Part 3.2 - Sails of Charon

"Fuck this" Tesa hollered, slamming her fist on the steering wheel. Everyone was unhurt after our wipe out, but we now were stuck with the rear passenger side of our transport wedged on to a mound of packed snow. "Alright," I suggested, "Bloodmace and I can get us on the road" My brother nodded

and we all piled out into the blizzard. Day was starting to fade, turning the already bleak landscape even more murky. We were about to use our Immortal patches to call some snow demons to aid us when a figure emerged from the gloom. My heart began to race when I caught sight of the gauzy figure, for as its aspect became clearer to me I realized we had been tracked all the way by Necro Baby's minions. With the body and face of a great cat, but covered all over with tough rhino hide, there was no mistaking the undead hissing and vacant stare. The beast charged at me, but was cut short with a swipe from Tesa's heavy battle ax, its blood crystallizing in the frozen air as it exploded from the twitching body. For a moment there was silence as we all stood in a circle, weapons at the ready, then the battle exploded. Two more deadcats bounded into view, along with their keepers, horrible boar-like humanoids, naked and screaming, swords and pistols in the air. Losi, who had gone into the wolfskin and transformed herself into a hulking gray wolf, immediately took out one of them out, tearing away its whole throat as she whizzed by. The other took a shot at our friend with his handgun, but Bloodmace scorched him with a blast from the Venom patch. Suddenly one of the deadcats was upon him. I rushed over to help, tossing a dagger into the foul beasts forehead. Looking behind me, I could see Tesa running through the snow toward the remaining foe. I took a deep breath and turned to see what I could do for the truck when I heard the booming voice of Bloodmace, "Holy fuck, it's a convoy people, get on your feet!" Indeed, coming down the rough road were a dozen pair of headlights. They couldn't yet see us, but there would be no hiding from them now. Tesa approached, as did Losi and Birdblood. We gathered at the transport. Tesa spoke first, "Let us battle, we'll crush them into dust" She gripped the ax in one hand and a longsword in another. "Battle it is,"

Bloodmace shouted and raised his fist into the air with unabashed glee. Losi, still in wolf form, growled approvingly. "Wait." A familiar voice burst out, "I have a better idea." Seemingly out of nowhere, Chanthoth, last of the T'Chah Karnac, wandered in before us. "Follow me, I have a secret retreat up here, and I might be able to help you with your problem in the tree fort" We followed the lightly clad relic into a stand of pine trees nearby as we heard the shouts and hisses of the posse who had been sent to find us discovering our abandoned vehicle and the slaughter nearby. "Do like I do!" Chanthoth yelled back at us. We followed as he ran up to a small hill before a frozen pond. Black ducks scattered as he jumped from the small ridge and broke through the ice, dark water glugging behind him. "This better work!" I yell to my brother in midair. There is a crack of ice, a rush of cold, then darkness.

Skip ahead few years to 1982 and the Scorpions release one of their biggest albums, the party rock classic Blackout. This is pure arena metal; hooks galore, slick as hairspray, loud, proud, and kinda dumb. Quite enjoyable, especially after a few beers. You have heard the first three songs on this album played a zillion times on classic rock radio, especially 'No One Like You'. You might have gotten laid to these songs.

Words of the Elders
Sister moon, hear our cry! Brother wolf, come now to the aid of your pack! In the blackest of nights, the tribe will come together, so it goes on centon. Hail to the black firre that burns down within the souls of humankind on the timepiece world! Hail to the deep river and the mantle of sorrow! Winter has come early in the necro lands and fear blows with the snow.

Until next week, bloody butchers,

Horns

Excruciating Commands - Random Extreme Metal and Maddaughter's Necro Raid

2013-12-11T21:01:00.000-05:00

Hey. It's Metal Night. Time to get to the metal. One death, one black, and one grind. And the bloody random violence of Mistress Crowbastard.

First we heard French death fornicators Massacra and their workmanlike 1992 slab of steel, Signs of the Decline. You can't really fault this album except that it is absolutely unexceptional death-thrash. Expertly played, fast and slow at appropriate moments, sick and brutal most of the time, as death metal should. Scattered here and there are hints of groove metal, which is what they reemerged as on their next album. I enjoyed it, but I'm not so sure I would return to it time and time again like Gallery of Suicide or Covenant. Oh, yeah, the lyrics are a bit ponderous and a little too socially conscientious. You are not exactly Anthrax, you guys. A few songs about rotted vaginas would have been nice.

Into the Necro Lands Part 2.1 - Ghost Dance

To travel by darkness on the northern shore of Centon was a breathtaking sight, for all along the coastline, schools of darvon illuminated the water with their luminescent beaks, jumping into the air as they hunted nightbirds and scray that would perch on the jutting rocks that dotted the shallow waters of the Larksheel Sea. The splashing and cawing of predator and prey as they did their nightly dance hid the sound of our light tread as Maddaughter Tesa, Losi and Birdblood, along with

Bloodmace and I moved silently into our positions. Just out of sight on the beach ahead was a supply bunker for Necro Baby's security forces. In order to move more effectively around the countryside, Maddaughter Tesa decided that we would steal one of their trucks. My brother and I climbed on to a boulder near the water, where we could see the small shed next to a fenced yard with vehicles and pallets of food. Birdblood and Losi mounted the dune to our left, while Maddaughter walked slowly towards the lighted hovel. We couldn’t hear what the first soldier yelled as he came out the door, but as soon as he dropped to the ground three more came rushing out. Bloodmace makes a motion to rush to her aid, I put my arm out to block him. "Remember what she said...wait." The hulking barbarian halts with a sigh, but his mace remains tightly clutched in his hand while the other rests on the battle jacket. The three soldiers rush our guide with a cry we can hear from our perch, only to fall to the sand at their approach, wet pools gathering around their deathless bodies. With three rapid motions, Maddaughter Tesa beheads them, scooping up her treasures in a stained canvas bag. I can see a hand thrust out of the ground, then another and another. Soon, mummified creatures of every shape and size are converging on the warrior below. Bloodmace and I leap down from our hiding place and rush headlong into the fray.

The winner of night for me were Australian black metal brutarians Destroyer666. Also infused with thrash, but of the sick, primitive, necro variety, ala Onslaught, Venom, and Hellhammer. To The Devil His Due is a collection of remastered 7 inch eps, showcasing a few lurches in style, adding a bit of variety to the hellish din. The songs range from very raw blackened thrash to very raw black metal at varying tempos and at varying levels of necro, all delivered with primal hatred for all mankind and your weak Christian God. This is good music for drinking lots of beer and whiskey, preferably at the same time while smoking crystal meth while pissing on your mother's grave and then masturbating with sand paper while detonating a bomb at your local Presbyterian youth center. Or just chillin'.

Into the Necro Lands Part 2.2 - Dark Highway

A so-called "Necromancer's Alarm" is a powerful spell that allows a wizard to plant corpses anywhere within a certain radius and they can be animated against a foe with the flip of a switch, even by someone with no magical ability. Whoever set this trap was no amateur. There were

hundreds of leathery bodies throwing themselves at us. None were hard to kill, but they would pile over you, biting and clawing until you were dragged down. "Look out Tesa!" I cried as a blast of flame from the bathory patch exploded from my left hand, cutting a swath through the ragged throng. Losi and Birdblood were fighting their way toward the center of the maelstrom as well when we all heard the booming voice of Bloodmace, "Stand back, and let the power of christ handle these fuckers!" I whirl around just in time to see Bloodmace grabbing his Stryper belt buckle and dive to the side just as a beam of warm white light pours fourth from the waist of the mighty warrior, causing the desiccated corpses to crumble before our eyes. A horrible stench fills the air as the bodies lose form and Tesa motions to us, "Get the cruiser, we have to make tracks before Necro Baby sends help. On to the Nest of Evil!" Losi sprints to the fence and leaps over, catlike. Smashing the window of the transport with her elbow, she jumps in and has it started in moments. The timid fence puts up no resistance as the slight wolfspawn pilots the truck through the barricade and round to where we are standing. As the transport pulls away into the dunes, a black duck takes flight, winging into the sky. It vaults above the rippled sand, sailing southwest into the necro lands.

Mistress Crowbastard showed up right in the middle of grind gods Rotted Sound's second album, Drain, which was kicking our asses anyway, but Crowbastard decided to finish the job. She did this just because she felt like it. While she was pummeling us with her titanium plated num-chucks, Drain proved to be the perfect soundtrack. This is grindcore with the deftness of a jazz combo and the ferocity of a weasel on crack. Occasionally, they lapse into such jazz foolishness as such as employing the rim shot. Might as well have a flute solo to slap on top. But these moments are relatively brief. Then it is back to making your synapses into mush in exactly the way we like, which is more than I can say for the agonizing punishment doled out by Mistress Crowbastard. Ouchh!!!!!!

Words of the Elders

The necro lands are singing their deadly song. It is a poem of sorrow and hatred that speaks to the dark places, deep within the soul. Like the spear of Chemlok, our champions plunge into the heart of this mysterious land with the power of the very gods, for the time has been long since the dwellers of Centon have tasted the sweet water of freedom.

Until next week, hellish hooligans,

Horns