“Pagan black metal stalwarts, Kawir, typically wait four years between releasing albums that are decent, yet overlong and poorly produced. That all changes with their seventh LP, Exilasmos. Dropping a mere nineteen months after Father Sun Mother Moon, this record hits the road with tires spinning!” Blackened Greek salad to go.
“Hey, do you folks remember Indian grindcore noise terrorists, Tetragrammacide? When we last heard from the then-duo, they dropped an EP back in 2015, Typhonian Wormholes: Indecipherable Anti-Structural Formulæ, which broke ground by having a matching set of ratings and dynamic range scores due to such a bad production and songwriting that could best be described as “free-flowing”. So needless to say, when word got out that the now-trio are back with their debut full-length, Primal Incinerators of Moral Matrix, well… let’s just say excitement wasn’t the first emotion that flooded my poor, jaded heart.” Ear assassins creed.
“Sacrocurse’s 2014 debut Unholier Master holds a special place in my heart, but not for obvious reasons. If you’ll allow me to indulge in some selfish personal reflection. Unholier Master represented my first published piece here at Angry Metal Guy, so naturally, it has conjured up pleasant feelings of nostalgia as I prepare to sink my teeth into the band’s sophomore LP, Gnostic Holocaust.” And the AMG bathrooms have sparkled ever since.
“Iron Bonehead doesn’t do nice. With more goats in their stable than a petting zoo, their outfits strive for all things nasty, brutish, and Satanic. What’s a poser to do when confronted with such trveness? Worm couldn’t care less. In their mind, it’s still 1994: if your metal doesn’t sound like it was recorded on tape strung through Satan’s butt crack, no dinner and 666 lashes for you, buster brown.” Butt crack blackness rides again.
“From Beethoven to Brian Eno, mankind has toiled for centuries to compose the greatest music human minds can fathom. Alas it was not until the mid-90s that music finally attained its supreme form, when two metal genres miraculously fused in the unholy union known as ‘blackened thrash.’” It was the best of times, it was the the blast of times.
“War. Whether for profit, liberation, or for sheer annihilation of your enemies, many bands have scoured the various battles and wars throughout the ages for musical and lyrical inspiration. World War I in particular remains a fertile ground for a variety of metal bands, with depictions of trenches and chemical warfare highlighted in gruesome, vivid detail. New Zealand’s Vesicant, their name derived from the blistering after-effects of mustard gas, attempt to weave their own horrific tales of one of the ugliest wars in history with their debut album, Shadows of Cleansing Blood.” War inside your head.
“What do you get when you cross a werewolf with a goat? If you guessed “39 minutes of barbaric blackened death metal,” congratulations and welcome to a world where the only thing more bestial than the music is the sexual activity it describes.” Animal husbandry.
“I love progressive metal fusions. To name just a few: Opeth, Cormorant, and Ne Obliviscaris are among my favorite bands. So the prospect of getting on board with a young and allegedly progressive black metal band early was certainly enticing. I say allegedly as our promo-meisters have been known to be deceptively liberal with genre labeling in the past, but I cut them some slack and acquired Chained to a Wolf by Katakomb with interest.” Wolves, chains and intrigue.
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I really don’t need originality in my music. Take last month’s Necroblood album. Though it hardly did anything groundbreaking, that record gave me all the Satan, blastbeats, and atom-bomb riffing I could ask for.” Can Possession provide maximum Satan?
“No matter the genre, it’s always the same story: the vocals are good, the drums are good, but there’s only one thing we’re really listening for. “The riffs! The riffs!” we squeal, like starving kittens begging for milk, scrambling over each other for a chance to suckle from the Iommi teat. I admit that I, too, often find myself craving the Almighty Riff, desperately scouring the blogosphere in search of the satisfying crunch of a particularly well-crafted set of power chords. But there’s the occasional black day when I want something more. Something abusive. Bludgeoning. Something that will yank me into a dark room and beat me up, Hellraiser-style, until all I want is a Shamrock Shake and some Blood Command to ease me back into reality.” That’s gonna leave a mark.
