“Musically, Holy Tide sounds a lot like Pyramaze, specifically Immortal and Disciples of the Sun. Vocalist Fabio Caldeira reminds much more of Disciples’s Terje Haroy than the inimitable Matt Barlow, largely due to the lack of Barlow’s gruff edge. The main reason for the Pyramaze comparison, though, is the keyboards. Both Pyramaze and Holy Tide make heavy use of that once-maligned instrument, smartly toning down the guitars when the keyboard takes the lead and vice-versa.” Big stuff is big.
“We rarely get lyric sheets with promos. Usually, this doesn’t matter much, as metal lyrics are rarely pinnacles of literary prowess. There’s only so many ways to say that humanity sucks or to discuss the finer points of fighting dragons with flaming swords. As a result, it’s often easy to miss the fact that an album has a concept unless you read it on the promo sheet. Not so with Anthrocene, who went several miles beyond a lyric sheet; with their debut Nucleation they included an entire comic, the speech bubbles and narration forming the lyrics of the hour-long album, revolving around an apocalyptic story of a misanthropic lumberjack turned into a planet-immolating creature by an agent of chaos from beyond the void.” Comic sans!!
“I guess I brought this on myself. All that trash I’ve been talking at the office about power metal has finally come full circle, and here I am laying out the carpet for a power metal band. The debate rages on: does power metal belong among the ranks of true metal or is it too melodic? I suppose, since the beginning, one of metal music’s core tenets has always been a focus on excess. Whether it be slamming death metal’s absurdly violent lyrics or black metal’s corpsepaint, power metal’s dramatic focus on the operatic and epic certainly fits.” Abuse of power.
“If you missed the tongue-bathing AMG gave their last album, Gloryhammer are one of the best active Rhapsody-style epic power metal bands, and also a loving, self-aware parody of same. They’re founded first on quality and second on overly-amped up tropes—D-tier speculative fiction plot, non-native English speaker lyrics, etc.—to the precise point where they become obviously funny. It’s not so overdone that it becomes tiresome, and it works because of the attention to detail and cohesiveness of the whole: take a couple of elements away and you might wonder whether they were actually serious all along.” Get hammered.
“There’re seven things in this world I cherish, seven people I don’t hate, and seven albums I’ll love to the grave. OK, the seven ‘things’ are only one, the seven ‘people’ are only two, and the seven albums I plan to die with are none of your fucking business. ‘Seven’ is a lucky number for dumbasses in Hollywood movies. But, for me, seven is a convenient middle-ground to questions from my boss, family, and ‘friends.’ ‘How much longer is this gonna take?!’ Seven minutes. ‘Christmas is starting! How far away are you?’ Seven days. ‘How old is Abigail?’ Seven. Wait! Nine?! Fuck. You get what I mean. Regardless of how idiotic a lucky number can be, ‘seven’ might be, indeed, a lucky number for Germany’s Stormhammer.” Lucky number Stormhammer.
“Power metal is one of those genres that promises a lot but has a tendency to under deliver. Progressive power — prower? — metal promises more and delivers less often still. While the key constituents, including soaring guitars, prominent keyboards, bombastic drums, and faux-operatic vocals, are all welcome, the manner in which they are stitched together is often where it comes apart. Add to this the risks inherent in making a concept album and you have quite the heady mix.” Watership down.
“Emerald is a time capsule. The two years since our last meeting grayed the shit out of me, but their Swiss cheese popped out just as chipper and evergreen as I remember. I suppose I should appreciate knowing what to expect. 24 years on and 8 albums in, Emerald found their niche and niched the hell out of it. They’re the anti-power power band, the least dense of the heavy metals, sitting too squarely in the center of the palate to love or loathe. Vim without vigor, vinegar without piss, a good script but a poor adaptation. You know the drill—or do you?” Broken gems.
“In my early days of metal fandom, there was a period of roughly two years – spanning from the time I stumbled upon DragonForce,’s Inhuman Rampage to when I began exploring Darkthrone’s discography – where I listened to nothing except for power metal and thrash. During this period, as I worked on my sloppy renditions of “Eagle Fly Free” and “Battery” on a cheap Yamaha electric guitar my parents picked up at a department store, I had an epiphany: why the fuck hasn’t anyone mashed up the two best genres in the world?” One mash, coming up!
“Somewhere in my timeline of metal fandom, the term “symphonic metal” ceased to act as a flame for my moth-like tendencies. It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly when this occurred, but the source is not. Over time, artists began to implement symphonic elements as less of an enhancer and more of a blatant crutch. Bands utilizing full orchestrations have proven so successful under the Nuclear Blast banner that the ensuing deluge of Nightwish and Dimmu Borgir knock-offs still taints the AMG promo sump to this day. And that’s part of what makes Qantice so dadgum charming: they play highly ambitious symphonic power metal on their own terms.” Symphony for the Devil.
“”Bloat.” It’s a nasty word, and it’s hard to come up with situations in which bloating occurs in an enjoyable way. I’ve experienced severe abdominal bloating, the kind where you’d gladly trade your kingdom for a pressure-relieving fart. My mighty tire and hammer have been in storage since we moved several weeks back, so I’ve been dealing with the gradual bloating of my waistline and the subsequent struggles to squeeze my fat ass into pants that used to fit. I can even attest to the unpleasantness of having to move a bloated human corpse after it has baked in a sealed apartment for over a week in the summer heat. Yep, bloating seems to universally suck, but I’ll try to keep an open mind as my ears travel a couple of hours down Interstate 5 to review the bloated hour-plus sophomore album Meridiem from Portland, Oregon’s Tanagra.” If the pants fit….
