Review!!! Arckanum returns with FENRIS KINDIR

Twenty years of dirty, thrashing black metal. That’s devotion. And that’s what you get with Sweden’s Arckanum. Over the decades, there have been only a few short breaks here and there, mostly for sole band member Shamaatae to pen several works on Pan, Norse religion, runes and Anti-Cosmic Chaos-Gnosticism/Satanism under the name Vexior. His passion for the subject extends to his music, as he has consistently used Arckanum as a vessel through which he spreads the message of Chaos.

With lyrics composed in Old Swedish, Shamaatae continues to explore the connection between the Norse gods and Chaos-Gnosticism that he’s mined on past works such as ÞÞÞÞÞÞÞÞÞÞÞ, Antikosmos, Sviga Læ and Helvitismyrkr. This album, whose title translates to “Fenrir’s Kin,” is described by him as “a dedication to the flaming giant-wolf, son of Loki; created from the Chaos-fires of Múspellsheimr. It is a tribute to the wrathful giant-wolf, son of Angrboða, found in the Ironwood where he is breeding hordes of giant monstrous wolves with Angrboða. His victorious name is Fenrir, also called Tungls Tjúgari. The sounds and music on this album are my auditory vision of the march of Fenrir convoyed with his hordes of giant wolves from the depths of the underworld to face Ragna Rök with warlike glory—deformed giant-wolves swarming in thousands. This is my tribute to the wrathful, harsh and untamed anti-nature of Fenrir’s mighty essence! The anti-cosmic enemy of the worlds!”

All of which serves to inform the sounds conjured up on this album, since the lyrics will largely swim past the listener as merely part of the music itself due to there being relatively few people who speak Old Swedish. But if Shamaatae’s vocals are to be taken as part of the musical whole, then they’re an incredible contribution. Throughout the album, his vocals snarl and rip through the mix like the jaws of the mighty Fenrir himself. And musically, Arckanum simply continues to outshine most other black metal bands. Like Shamaatae’s fellow countrymen and comrades in the Anti-Cosmos, Watain, there’s a conscious effort to compose tightly-constructed and…dammit, catchy songs. Arckanum has roots in death metal and there’s a certain classic Swedish death metal feel that runs like a subterranean current though most of the band’s work. That’s even more present here than in the past as reflected in both the songs’ construction and in Shamaatae’s frequent use of death growls alongside his cutting rasp. There’s also a good deal of first-wave 1980s black metal on hand, with Tom G. Warrior-esque grunts and Sodom’s savage thrashing bleeding through the decades to manifest here. Meanwhile, there are effective violin accents and interludes scattered throughout, haunting (and possibly back-masked) female vocals on the track “Hatarnir” and ambient bridges between the songs that create the feeling that beneath each track is either a swirling pit of chaos from whence Fenrir’s kin will emerge, or the approaching storm of Ragna Rök.

While Arckanum’s previous two albums (while still great records, don’t get me wrong) somewhat lacked the vicious power of 2009’s ÞÞÞÞÞÞÞÞÞÞÞ, this album rectifies this in spades. It’s a violently thrashing, powerful beast of a record that further cements Arckanum as one of the best black metal acts out there. There’s not a song on here that’s less than memorable, and the entire album has a well-thought-out flow that encourages the listener to devour the whole thing in one sitting. It’s an album that keeps bringing me back for more, and I keep finding new rewards every time I return.

Out Friday, May 10; Tuesday, May 14 in the States via Season of Mist.

REVIEW! Rob Zombie’s THE LORDS OF SALEM

I really want to like Rob Zombie’s movies. He’s coming from the right place. It’s just…

I don’t know, man.

(NB: Thar be semi-spoilers ahead, matey.)

I saw House of 1000 Corpses three times, I think, when it showed theatrically. I was extremely enthusiastic about it. Having been a fan of his since I got my hands on an advance copy of White Zombie’s La Sexorcisto: Devil Music Volume 1, and having really been into his whole aesthetic (graphic design, cover art, video direction, etc.), I felt like HO1KC perfectly translated everything he’d been fixated on as long as I’d followed him to the film format. Hell, you could go back through everything he’d done prior to the movie and see bits and pieces of it gestating along the way (from Capt. Spaulding’s evil clown archetype showing up everywhere to “the Professor” showing up as a duo of marching snare drum players in the video for “Dragula”).

His follow-up, The Devil’s Rejects, oddly pulls off a strange experiment: taking the subject matter of HO1KC and de-cartoonifying it. It’s almost as if he approached it as “what would a more straightforward ‘70s exploitation flick take on this look like?” There’s less stylization, and everything (and everyone) is made to look as ugly and dirty as possible. It fits what my pal Jay would describe as the basic aesthetic of the 1970s: “it’s brown and depressing.” It’s also not a horror movie. It’s presented almost as a “true crime”-based exploitation flick. Like The Town That Dreaded Sundown but with everything smeared in filth.

But it’s almost as if he had exorcised everything from his brainpan when he made Corpses. He had pushed it all out, and what was left? Rejects came out practically concurrent with his album Educated Horses, which pulled back from the horror movie excesses of his previous two solo albums, Hellbilly Deluxe and The Sinister Urge. It emphasized a more straightforward hard rock approach that seemed to mirror the Rejects vibe.

With newfound genre bona fides, he was recruited to helm a remake of the John Carpenter classic Halloween. He attempted to mesh the Rejects approach with the source material, and the “everybody is equally unappealing white trash” sensibility seemed to completely destroy the almost supernatural vibe that made Carpenter’s original work so well. Michael Myers stopped being “the Shape,” a malevolent force that his own psychiatrist believed was the embodiment of evil, and instead became a damaged kid who grew up to be a generic serial killer. While the film fell flat with me, it was financially successful enough to warrant a sequel, and Halloween II emerged. Much like the concurrently-recorded album Hellbilly Deluxe 2, the sequel (and the animated film The Haunted World of El Superbeasto) seemed too self-consciously designed to recapture some of the outrageous stylistic choices that marked his earlier work. However, given the amount of studio interference and meddling, I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt when it came to the Halloweens sucking as badly as they did. El Superbeasto was stupid as hell, but it was a lark, and felt like a fun diversion. Maybe he was stepping in the right direction. His trailer for Werewolf Women of the SS featured in the Tarantino/Rodriguez Grindhouse project seemed a promising indication.

But then, this.

The Lords of Salem finds radio deejay Heidi Hawthorne (Sheri Moon Zombie), a recovering heroin addict, caught up in an occult conspiracy. When a 10” vinyl single credited to “The Lords” mysteriously arrives addressed to her at her Salem, Massachusetts radio station, playing it awakens a long-simmering curse handed down by witch Margaret Morgan (Meg Foster) as she and her coven were executed by Jonathan Hawthorne (Andrew Prine) in 1696: that the female descendents of the city’s women will die the “forever death” and that Hawthorne’s bloodline will see it bring forth the fruit of Satan’s seed. Heidi finds herself the victim of visions and supernatural occurrences that make her question her sanity, while boyfriend Herman “Whitey” Salvador (Jeff Daniel Phillips) and author Francis Matthias (Bruce Davison) work to save her from staring too hard into the abyss. Meanwhile, Satan’s plans are helped along by a triad of witches, Heidi’s landlord Lacy (Judy Geeson) and her sisters Sonny and Megan (Dee Wallace and Patricia Quinn, respectively).

The movie itself isn’t so much bad as it is frustrating. There’s so much potential here. One of the problems is that Zombie can’t make up his mind what kind of movie he wants to make, and he lacks the deft hand needed to meld stylistic approaches that initially seem at odds. See, he wants to pull off the languid style of Kubrick’s The Shining, the quirky character work of Polanski, the hyper-blasphemous pop imagery of Ken Russell and the foreboding surrealism of Lucio Fulci. But instead of seamlessly marrying these wildly varying styles, he opts for juxtaposition. This is tricky business, because if it’s not pulled off well, the juxtaposed styles don’t play against each other for maximum impact, and instead detract from each other. And sadly, the juxtapositions aren’t handled well. There are too many “this was just a dream! Or was it???” sequences; scenarios where the supernatural bleeds into the natural (sometimes literally) are meant to shock, but Heidi’s lack of noticing them turns into almost a running joke; and journeys from the everyday world into surreal occult terrain don’t seem to have any noticeable effect on Heidi. The set design is great and the character design is imaginative (though portraying Satan as a baby dressed up like a boiled chicken seems like an odd choice, as is the depiction of the Antichrist as a tiny inverted starfish with Chthonic tentacles; I’m supposed to be afraid of these losers?), and it’s certainly a well put-together film. The music choices (both outside-sourced songs and the score by John 5 and Griffin Boice) are fantastic. The movie just lacks a much-needed focus.

There are also any number of plot directions that crop up that would have made for compelling viewing, but all seem to be dropped without the film settling on any one. There’s a good movie that could be made about drug addiction-induced paranoia and hallucination being confused with actual occult conspiracy: is what’s happening with Heidi real or in her mind? But Heidi’s addiction is thrown in there as a substitute for actual character building, and only really addressed in any concrete way at the very end. There’s a good movie that could be made about the playing of this record resulting in the supernatural leaking its way into the mundane, resulting in bizarre and surreal setpieces where Hell begins to become manifest on Earth. But there’s no sense of anything affecting anyone other than Heidi, and that’s of limited impact. There’s a good movie that could be made taking the “paranoid 1970s conspiracy” approach, but the matter-of-fact stylistic choices involved in that are dropped by Zombie at will and undercut by his shifting tone.

The other thing that irks me with the film is that it seems an almost desperate attempt to recapture past glories. Now, Zombie is to be congratulated for attempting a movie that is so far removed from his past work in so many ways. The film is evidence of him maturing as a filmmaker, stretching out and trying different things. But what it’s also doing is reaching back to the mid-90s, when Rob was a major force, much in the same way that his last two albums (Hellbilly Deluxe 2 and this year’s Venomous Rat Regeneration Vendor) have been overtly backwards-looking works. There’s the thrift store retro-‘70s fashion styles that were emblematic of the time. There’s the fact that Herman “Whitey” Salvador is a Zombie lookalike and sports a nickname that recalls Rob’s former band. There are Heidi’s fake dreadlocks. There’s her heroin addiction. There’s the throwaway parody of Norwegian black metal, which is a whole other thing that annoyed me. Heidi and her radio compadres interview lead singer of Leviathan the Fleeing Serpent, Count Gorgann. Right there, you’ve got references to USBM act Leviathan, Varg “Count Grishnackh” Vikernes of Burzum and a sideways homage to Gorgoroth (plus, his responses to questions recalls Gorgoroth lead singer Gaahl’s presence in Metal: A Headbanger’s Journey). He also sports an inverted cross branded in his forehead much like Glen Benton of death metal act Deicide. The song played is an emulation of black metal’s most superficial aspects, and its accompanying video is completely wrongheaded for the genre. In short, it’s a parody of a genre by someone who seems to have only the most basic working knowledge of said genre.

Then there’s Zombie’s reliance on stunt casting. He seems to cast people primarily for their connection to other, better genre movies in hopes that those films’ good qualities will rub off on his. That Bruce “Willard” Davison, Patricia “Rocky Horror Picture Show” Quinn, Judy “Fear in the Night” Geeson and Dee “Howling” Wallace do completely stellar work seems to be beside the point when you take their casting in the context of other actors who appear in smaller (and in some cases, completely cut out of the finished film) roles: Barbara “Re-Animator” Crampton, Christopher “The Brady Bunch” Knight, Brandon “The Courtship of Eddie’s Father” Cruz, Andrew “Simon, King of the Witches” Prine, Maria “Vampire’s Kiss” Conchita Alonso, Meg “They Live” Foster, and genre stalwarts Michael Berryman, Sid Haig, Ken Foree, Udo Kier and Clint Howard.

And finally, the main problem with this movie is its lead, Sheri Moon Zombie. If there were almost anyone else in the role, the film would have been improved to an unimaginable extent. She’s a decent physical presence at times (and not because of her attractiveness, since Zombie seems intent on making her look as unappealing as possible here), but when your lead’s best work is her playing with a dog in a clip that seems like an outtake, then there’s a problem. She lacks the ability to deliver a single line of dialogue authentically. Even small talk comes off like she’s suddenly lost the ability to know which words need to be emphasized in a sentence for it to make sense. She’s completely unbelievable, and it destroys any attempt by the viewer to identify with Heidi. There are small character moments that work, and that evidence the growth as an actress she displayed as Michael Myers’ mother in Zombie’s Halloween remake. But these are few and far between. In Halloween, she’s not asked to carry an entire film. Not even The Devil’s Rejects requires her to be the sole focus: Sid Haig and Bill Moseley share the load (and her exaggerated performance doesn’t require the naturalistic approach this film needs). But she’s simply not strong enough an actress to shoulder a lead role, particularly a role as demanding as this one.

But here’s the thing: for all that’s wrong with it, it’s still compelling viewing. I’ve sat through it twice now, just to get my thoughts together on it. And it’s held me every time. I can’t say that for either of his Halloween movies, and I’m in the second one. (At least my forearm plays a pivotal split-second role in it.) The movie is never boring, and that’s the worst sin a film can commit. The ending is so gob-smackingly out there that I’m impressed by it even as I’m disappointed in how it plays out dramatically. And most of the actors are seemingly in a much better movie than the one that stars Sheri Moon Zombie. There’s just so much here that grabs me in just the right way, and just so much here that tries to push me away. But I can’t let it go. And that’s gotta count for something, right?

Right?

Review!!! Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats: Mind Control

I thought that I had finally shaken free from the grip in which the mysterious Uncle Acid and his Deadbeats had held me. After being initiated into his satanic cult of Blood Lust and the rituals of frenzy that it had inspired, I’d spent the past few months under observation and recovery. The winds no longer spoke his name, and I no longer felt his psychic pull on my will.

But then, his silence was broken. First, a taste of things to come appeared in the form of a “Poison Apple.” Then, a full communiqué. It was with some trepidation that I approached the missive from Uncle. After I cracked it open, the old feelings were back again. Uncle Acid was calling out for lost family to return to the fold and take a trip with him out into the desert. Seems something…bloody went down earlier, and he needs to rebuild his army of followers for these Final Days.

This is what it sounds like when the psychedelia turns ugly, children. Sure, Blood Lust was a mind-melting freakout of throbbing, pulsing LSD visions translated into music via the influence of mid-‘60s garage punk, the Jesus & Mary Chain, Hammer flicks, Neil Young and Black Sabbath. But this is what happens when STP creeps into the scene and everyone decides to move out to Spahn Ranch with this guy who claims he’s Jesus and the Devil. Likes the White Album a lot.

Opener “Mt. Abraxas” is a hint of the swirling colors of darkness you’ll find at the bottom as you descend into the album’s sonic swamp. At just over seven minutes, it creepy-crawls its way into your mind much like Blood Lust’s “Curse in the Trees” with a few added hints of Dinosaur, Jr.-esque melancholy, before taking some strategic time changes that shift into overdrive and back into slow-motion menace. “Mind Crawler” picks things up with a churning garage riff (and what sounds like an “I Wanna Be Your Dog” single piano key solo through the song’s length). After the hooks of “Poison Apple” pull you through its much-too-short length, the doomy psych of the opening track is revisited in “Desert Ceremony,” another reference to our unwashed pals at the Ranch. Its superficial diabolicism masks a gentle beauty which comes to the forefront as it winds down to a lovely end. We’re taken back into a realm of insanely catchy riffs with “Evil Love,” which shouts its rawk’n’roll power from the rooftops through an incessant drive and speed-fueled purpose.

The second half of the album—which (like the second half of Black Flag’s My War) is composed of longer tracks that stretch out to deliver their strengths—starts with “Death Valley Blues,” which ebbs and flows along like listening to Revolver through a haze of hash and waiting for the acid to kick in, while the paranoia keeps manifesting in the chorus. The hallucinatory power really starts to take effect on “Follow the Leader” with its droning electric guitar-and-bass churn over gently played Eastern-influenced acoustic guitar. “Valley of the Dolls” continues to amp up the evil as a minor-key mellotron is added to the mix while the track lurches along like Vol. 4 Sabbath on a mission to kill. Meanwhile a George Harrison-esque lead break ties us back once again to our “Helter Skelter” fans out at the Ranch. “Devil’s Work” crashes things down in spectacular fashion, marching into apocalypse with a singularly simple yet powerful riff as Our Dear Uncle intones “I’m the devil, and I’m here to do the devil’s work.” The album concludes with the sound of the end of time echoing in the distance.

As with Blood Lust, the sound of this album is live and visceral while also retaining a hazy, ethereal quality as if the master tapes were giving off a contact high. The band (now a foursome? Were female Deadbeats Red and Kat a ruse, decoys to throw authorities off the trail? Or were they among those lost in the slaughter atop Mt. Abraxas?) plays like a singular organism, while the keening vocals of Uncle Acid unite with backing vox from his Deadbeats to again etch their mark in your mind.

If you listen closely, you can hear your Uncle calling. Calling from the desert. He’s got the answer. He is the answer. That knife you took in your hands last time around? Bring it with you. You’ll need it for what he has planned.

Out May 14 2013 from Rise Above/Metal Blade Records.

REVIEW!!! Ghost – Infestissumam

“He shall overthrow the mighty and lay waste their temples! He shall redeem the despised and wreak vengeance in the name of the burned and the tortured! His power is stronger than stronger! His might shall last longer than longer! God is dead! Satan lives! The year is One, the year is One! God is dead!” – Steven Marcato, Rosemary’s Baby

“He shall tremble the heavens, kingdoms to fall one by one. A victim to fall for temptations, a daughter to fall for a son. The ancient serpent deceiver, masses standing in awe. He will rise to the heavens above the stars of god. Hail Satan, Archangelo! Hail Satan! Welcome, Year Zero!” – Papa Emeritus II, “Year Zero”

Sweden’s Ghost unleashed their Opus Eponymous in 2010, though we US denizens largely didn’t catch on until the following year when it was released stateside. In the just-over-2-years since, the band has taken their evangelism seriously: bringing their rituals to venues on both sides of the ocean that separates us, showing up on magazine covers, appearing on the P3 Guld music awards show on Swedish TV and landing the coveted spot of the debut act signed to major-label imprint Loma Vista Recordings. From thence they shall come to judge the quick and the dead.

They’ve stated since Day One (of whatever year that was) that their intent was to reach out to as broad a base as possible to deliver the Gospel of the Fallen One. Hence, a marketable “gimmick”: taking KISS to the next logical step, the band’s identities are kept a closely-guarded secret, with only vocalist Papa Emeritus (succeeded this year by Papa Emeritus II) presenting a public “face,” even though that face is shrouded by latex appliances and painted with a skull-like visage. All other band members wear hooded robes and masks, and each member is credited only as “A Nameless Ghoul.” (Likewise, all music and lyrics are credited to “A Ghoul Writer.”) But, as with KISS, a visual gimmick isn’t enough for the band to sink their hooks into the souls of the general populace. To that effect, the band coupled their late-‘70s heavy metal style with irresistible pop melodies and harmonies, with the emphasis placed more on songcraft than shredding. In short, it’s Fire of Unknown Origin, Spectres or Cultosaurus Erectus-era Blue Öyster Cult brought back to life under the thrall of The Guy Downstairs.

This has caused some tearing of hair and garment in the heavy metal community, with a bunch of folks all pissed off that “this ain’t METAL!” (To which I say, “Oh, go to hell. I was around in the ‘70s when Blue Öyster Cult were considered Metal. As. Fuck.” Seriously, if Black Sabbath put their first album—or hell, even Paranoid—out today, NONE of these jerks would consider it a metal album. There’s nothing less metal than a bunch of goons arguing over what the hell isn’t metal. That and goddamned subgenres of subgenres. Don’t get me started on metal fandom’s insistence on building subgenres. Graaaaargh.)

(your humble narrator shakes the rant out of his system and continues…)

So, all this leads up to the release of their new album, Infestissumam. While the last album concluded with “Genesis,” an instrumental celebration of the birth of the Antichrist. This album rejoices in His presence among us. And, interestingly, it’s not nearly as pop-laden an effort as Opus. The first time I heard it, I was puzzled. Though, like being in the baffling presence of the Unholy One, you eventually come around to His way of thinking.

The title track leads, and with its choral pronouncement of the reign of Il Filio de Sathanas over guitar leads that would make Buck Dharma wet his pants, I was expectant. Then the more somber tones of “Per Aspera Ad Inferni” shifted me further into the “huh?” column. Sure, it was catchy, and it was heavy, but where were the insistent hooks of “Con Clavi Con Dio” (which took the same spot on Opus)? It was the first signal that this wasn’t going to be Opus II: Mission to Moscow. 

Then we move to the carnival-esque waltz time of “Secular Haze.” A great song, but again…waltz time? Who does a metal song in waltz time? Over time, it worked its way into my brain, but it’s still an outre approach to a first single. An album highlight comes next, as a glam-rock swagger enters the picture with “Jigolo Har Megiddo,” which depicts the Antichrist as a lascivious Beast, using sex as a means to allow his lovers to “see through Me what lies beyond.”

Then came the song that convinced me that this genre shifting, this thwarting of expectations, was something genius: a seven-and-a-half minute suite bearing the ungainly title “Ghuleh / Zombie Queen.” Subject-wise, it’s not far from the canonization of Erzsébet Báthory in Opus’ “Elizabeth,” as the song pays tribute to the shapeshifting female demon of Arabian lore. But music-wise it couldn’t be farther from that. It begins as a plaintive, sparsely-arranged ballad, like something from the quieter moments of Bowie’s Aladdin Sane or Diamond Dogs. Then, as the “Zombie Queen” section of the song takes over, it turns into a reverb-drenched, Hammond organ-laden, surf-rock-influenced epic. It’s so gob-smackingly out there that it could explode in their hands if they’re not careful, but it’s just so crazy that it just might work! And, surprisingly, they pull it off.

“Year Zero” is the next song out of the gate, which I first heard via the band’s brilliant music video. The first thing that popped in my mind was “my sweet Satan, they’ve gone disco.” But then, I remembered that the four-on-the-floor beat of the song—though more present in the mix—isn’t that far off from that featured in the previous album’s songs “Stand By Him” and “Satan Prayer.” Beyond that, it’s probably the most immediately gratifying song on the album, taking cues from Jerry Goldsmith’s “Ave Satani” from The Omen and making Devil worship finally sound like fun again.

The following two songs are each vaguely similar in tone and style: “Idolatrine” (ridiculing the church) and “Body and Blood” (a blasphemous take on the Holy Communion), both breezy little pop numbers. Not the most memorable songs on the album (but they could worm their way into my skull upon repeated listening). But then, there’s “The Depth of Satan’s Eyes,” which is one of the closest songs to Opus’ style, but more malevolent in approach. It’s all angular chord changes, weird almost new-wave-style electronically manipulated female backing vocals, NWOBHM riffing, and gorgeous vocals depicting the promise that beckons from pursuing the Left Hand Path.

Then, holy shit. “Monstrance Clock” opens for one brief moment sounding vaguely like Welcome to My Nightmare-era Alice Cooper, and then just soars into a glorious evocation of the power and glory of the Son of Our Infernal Majesty. The choir featured on the title track and “Year Zero” returns in full force, offering up a gorgeous hymn to Il Figlio di Diavolo: “Come together, together as one. Come together for Lucifer’s son.” It’s a song you don’t want to end.

Unlike the first album, where the power of pop compelled me to return to it again and again (and again ad infinitum), Infestissumam has brought me back for repeated listens more out of curiosity. The songs that did immediately hook me have brought me back to examine those songs that have had to grow on me. Not because I felt an obligation to, mind you, but because their tentacles wrapped themselves around my cortex and drove me to keep examining them from different angles. Then it hit me: where Opus played oftentimes like a future collection of Ghost’s greatest hits beamed back in time to 2010, Infestissumam is an album. It’s meant to be heard in full, with a thread (not so much a story, but a thematic continuity) laced through it. The songs are all part of the whole.

Coming together.

Together as one.

Coming together

For Lucifer’s son.

Ave.

 

Surrender to the dark path at http://www.infestissumam.com/

Review: Darkthrone’s UNDERGROUND RESISTANCE Slays Everything in Its Path

Darkthrone. Despite being one of the most-mentioned bands when it comes to what became known as the “second wave of black metal” that came out of Norway in the early-to-mid ’90s, they have become one of the most polarizing when it comes to their subsequent output. Their path has led them down some strange avenues, but it has landed them in the position of having released what might be the album of the year. And it’s only February.

Darkthrone have always been the weird ones out. Their first album, 1991’s Soulside Journey, is actually a technical death metal LP in an early Entombed vein, and a damned fine one at that. But it seems that immediately afterward, they decided to strip down everything about their music to the bare minimum in an effort to find out what metal sounds like after you remove what makes people comfortable. Drain the color; make it black and white. Take the warmth and depth out of the sound and make it cold and brittle. In the process, they became an inextricable part of Norway’s nascent black metal scene. It started with the following year’s A Blaze in the Northern Sky and reached its apotheosis with 1994’s Transilvanian Hunger, which honed everything down to a blade-sharp sameness: the same time signature, the same drum pattern, the same tempo. All of the songs were uniform, stripped bare and blurred by in a frenzy, like a whirling mass of razor blades. The only things that changed between songs were the riffs and the lyrics. As an end result, it was a singular expression of the band’s purposeful regression. In its wake, Transilvanian Hunger established a template that, much to the band’s chagrin, many have embraced and followed to the letter.

But where do you go from there?

Panzerfaust came next, an explicit homage to Celtic Frost, which is where many people hopped off the train. It was followed by several albums that even drummer Fenriz admits is where they lost their way, got bored and wound up going through the motions. They started regaining their mojo when they started incorporating more and more influences of the music they grew up loving: punk, speed metal, NWOBHM and more traditional heavy metal sounds. This evolution took place starting with 2006’s The Cult Is Alive (though hints appear on the previous LP, Sardonic Wrath), and—much like Transilvanian Hunger did before—has reached its ne plus ultra with their new album The Underground Resistance.

Fenriz & Nocturno Culto in their Natural Habitat
(c) 2013, Ashley Maile

Holy whore of Babylon (if I may steal a phrase), this is the album those of us who’ve been following Darkthrone’s later career have been waiting on for nearly a decade. It’s not just evidence of a revitalized band firing on all cylinders, it’s the most serious album they’ve done since The Cult Is Alive. There are no paeans to “Canadian Metal” or “Hiking Metal Punks,” no sly boasts along the lines of “I Am the Graves of the ‘80s,” “Raised on Rock” or “I Am the Working Class.” Instead, this is the hard-hitting shit, planting a flag and calling it like it is. This, as the cover art makes plain, is battle music. It’s the resistance. The titles tell you the story: “Dead Early,” “Valkyrie,” “Lesser Men,” “The Ones You Left Behind,” “Come Warfare, the Entire Doom,” “Leave No Cross Unturned.” This is music to kick ass to.

Musically, this album is both all over the place and cohesive: pulling together Maiden-esque galloping beats and time changes, black metallic tremolo picking, Morricone/spaghetti western-inspired acoustic guitar openings, doom-laden Sabbathian plodding and speed metal fury. Six songs. Half by Nocturo Culto, half by Fenriz. Vocals shared along both. Culto’s Tom G. Warrior-esque rasp perfectly matches the power and anger of his tracks, while Fenriz has fully embraced the operatic and dramatic vocals of bands like Agent Steel and Fates Warning, balancing them with gruff barking orders. And more than any other album since Soulside Journey, it demonstrates just how fucking great these guys are at technical matters like composition and playing. If the previous four albums were the sounds of the duo having fun while riffing off the music they came of age to, this is the sound of the band leaning into the machine and taking control of it. Glorious riffs abound, from the chugging doom of…well, “Come Warfare, the Entire Doom” to the twisting, burning riff that hits you 3 minutes into “Dead Early.” On those rare occasions when Nocturno Culto’s leads are sloppy, it’s evident that the passion behind the playing has taken center stage (and is the most important thing to display, anyway).

The (sorry, overused term, but what else can I call it?) epic sweep of “Valkyrie” automatically pushes it into the category of instant classic, but the pinnacle of the whole album is the climactic 13:49-minute long “Leave No Cross Unturned.” Shifting from the aforementioned Agent Steel to Celtic Frost and back again, the song is both the summation of the entire goddamned record and a call to arms. When I first heard the 7-minute edit, I was bouncing off the walls with glee. It’s practically everything I love in metal wrapped up in one big, glorious box. And its mid-song shoutout from Fenriz, “Nocturno Culto, HAIL!” both ties the song back to Blaze’s “In the Shadow of the Horns” and emphasizes what makes Darkthrone so fucking special: these are brothers. They may be separated for most of the year, each working in their own city on their own music, projects and day jobs, but these two complement each other like few other artists. On their own, sure, they’re great. I love Sarke. I love Isengard. But together, it’s like alchemy. And on this album they’ve achieved something they haven’t in nearly 20 years: a masterpiece.

The cult is alive. Long live the cult. Hails!

Back to the Blog (a short absence is over)

Yeah, I know. I’ve been devoting a lot of time writing for ATL Retro, and otherwise things’ve been hectic as hell. I’ll have a new post up here in the next day or so. Right now, the new Darkthrone LP The Underground Resistance is KICKING MY ASS. Holy shitballs, it is KILLING ME how good this thing is. I’m biased, though. I’ll even listen to those post-Panzerfaust through The Cult is Alive albums voluntarily. (I draw the line at Goatlord, though. A man’s gotta know his limitations, and Fenriz faking female vocals over old demo tracks is it.) And I love their crust/NWOBHM/speed metal-inspired stuff as of late. But more on that later. Just wait.

New music from Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats! “Poison Apple”

I’m assuming that they’re still Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats, anyway. You’ll note that the single cover only mentions Ye Olde Uncle. Either way, this does the trick.