Violent Sin - Serpent's Call Review

Belgian speed metallers Violent Sin slither out of their ritualistic grove to strike with debut Serpent’s Call. Dying Victims has a reputation for highly catchy throwback heavy and speed metal. As a fan of labelmates Heavy Sentence, Venator, and Megaton Sword, I was eager to snap up Serpent’s Call. Expectations were high, but do these snakes have any venom in their bite?

Like labelmates Lucifuge and fellow Flemings Bütcher, Violent Sin play relatively unadorned blackened speed metal tinged with thrash. That means raw riffs, drunken drumming, and especially raspy blackened vocals with falsetto flourishes. Altogether, Violent Sin are an amphetamine-addled amalgamation of Hellhammer and Mercyful Fate. Marquis F. Morbidus wields his falsetto heavily to punctuate verses and choruses alike, with clear King Diamond influences (“The Original Sin,” “Nuns Are No Fun”¹). His evil cackle (“Awaiting the Gallows”) lords over our unholy proceedings. Altogether Morbidus is perspicacious in his approach to the retro vocal parts, with a keen understanding of when to shriek, when to growl, and when to snap. Continuing the throwback stylings, Violent Sin lean into panning vocal parts between channels and gang backing vocals (“Malicious Stirring”, “Violent Sin”). Meanwhile, guitarists F. Sinister and R.D. Jawbreaker match their frontman stride for stride with screaming dive-bombs and pig squeals galore (“Awaiting the Gallows“, “Pyromaniac”). The similar attitudes in vocals and guitar work together to produce a sort of unbridled chaos that quickly becomes Violent Sin’s evident hallmark.

Violent Sin draw heavily on first-wave black metal influences not just for their vocals and guitar work, but their production values as well. Rhythm guitar tones are punchy and razor-sharp, while also being placed high in the mix. The subterranean levels of reverb on the drums beckon you down basement steps, tempting you with the promise of what the summoning circle holds. Leads are similarly—and occasionally frustratingly—echoey and somewhat buried in the mix. F. Sinister’s solos and occasional leads during verses add much to each song, so it would be nice to hear them even higher in the mix. A much larger problem is just how buried the bass is on the album. You can certainly pick it out—it’s not on the level of …And Justice for All—but it’s certainly a strain. The sole exception—“Ritual”—comes quite late in the proceedings. The thudding bass intro makes me wonder what could have been; highlighting the occasional bass line or using a bass run as a bridge into one of F. Sinister’s solos could easily elevate the album as a whole. While I have mixed feelings overall about the production on Serpent’s Call, I cannot deny that it adequately captures the rough early-80s feel that is Violent Sin’s trademark.

More damning, however, is Serpent’s Call surprisingly dragging despite the 37-minute runtime. The album might have you checking your watch—especially on subsequent listens—for reasons both compositional and sequential. Unlike their Belgian brothers in Bütcher, Violent Sin never stretch out with an epic like “666 Goats Carry My Chariot” or even the basilisk banger “Brazen Serpent.” Instead, Violent Sin keeps its songs in the three-minute range almost to a fault. Only closer “Strike from the Underground” stretches past the four-minute mark. Yet despite the tautness of individual songs and the relatively brief length of the album overall, Serpent’s Call manages to drag. Part of the fault is sequential; the mid-album run of “Deacon of Death,” “Nuns Are No Fun,” and “Pyromaniac” are already lesser cuts, and when sandwiched sequentially they blur together. Compositionally, every track having the same relative formula makes for a taxing listen that gives the listener no reprieve. While Violent Sin may not feel their identity can sustain a “666 Goats,” any experimentation would breathe life into the album’s back half.

Overall, Serpent’s Call is a decidedly mixed bag. Within individual tracks, I really appreciate what Violent Sin are bringing to the table. The furious riffs, smooth solos coupled with chaotic Slayer-inspired dive-bombs, and lurching drumming successfully capture that 1983 feel. As an overall package, however, I’m unsure just how often I’ll heed the Serpent’s Call in its entirety. There’s lots of room for growth for Violent Sin, and I could see a second album easily fixing many of the issues that plague Serpent’s Call. At the end of the day, Violent Sin have produced an uneven but intriguing debut that promises more to come.