Glorior Belli - The Great Southern Darkness review

Year : 2011
Genre : Black Metal / Doom / Sludge hybrid
Label : Metal Blade Records
Origin : France
Rating : 8.0 / 10

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Glorior Belli's latest opens a voodoo portal on you that transfers your sorry ass to the immediate vicinity of an extremely irritated and 3 meters long crocodile in Naouleens, - pronunciation : New Orleans - so the plan of this spin is none less than to consort the exquisitely massive and monumentally lazy nature of sludge music with the restlessness of especially unforgiving black metal.

The Great Southern Darkness - try to find the very sloppily hidden tribute to The Great Southern Trendkill in the title - comes to you with a core that declares this delivery as a black metal album at heart, yet the LP's highly grim character packs the aspiration to claim the southern vibes via a good amount of elegantly researched methods that reek the fat promise of good old impending doom. Read on to find out more about these elements, or be voodooed proper, biatch.


The compositions on this record are both solid and flamboyant, and all primer components of them - black metal, dainty doom and bloated sludge - are presented in an eloquent, well varied fashion. None of the respective methods of the ingredients get abused at constant top-efficiency to harass the epitome of instant effect. In other words, it must be pointed out that this album, wisely enough, does not seek to serve out your anticipations by blast beating your misery on the altars of instant southern sludge, it instead is focused to give a kind of doom-tinted black metal, that which gets constantly assuaged by a much more calmer - but still mean - stroll along the southern sludge vibes.

The closest the album comes to-, and fulfills your initial anticipations you are likely to cultivate, is the third track, called They Call Me Black Devil. This song gives you a superb rendition of southern sludge having an explicit affair with specter-black metal, and the next track that follows this one up, sounds extremely strong with its unalloyed misery spilled all over the place in the style of a more sorrowful kind of doom, that which though still has the will to move on. Oh, and the fact that the track's first segment has nothing southern about it, is an embarrassment to complain about.

One beneficial key factor of Glorior Belli's latest declaration is its capacity to surprise you without end while the spin lasts. Once you find yourself more and more accustomed to any central moods the album is fond of revealing, the more closer you are to a dramatic change in the fabric of things. These changes never trade variation in for less efficiency, and an intact build that has sober capacity to flatter and consort traditional black metal / impending doom and massive sludge, indeed is established and decently delivered. The last 20 seconds of the album is especially rabid compared to the character of the release. Why did I just say that? Because I just have heard it.

All in all, The Great Southern Darkness delivers ruthlessly, despite any qualms a culturesnob position may give birth to. If you have enjoyed this release, you may also find luscious pleasure in a death / doom hybrid, scrutinized herein. As for The Great Southern Darkness, the naked intent to consort black with thick sludge and slim doom, results in stable, mean success with razor sharp crocodile teeth, and it seeks to rip out a piece of you. As a start.

Rating : 8.0 / 10

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Pain of Salvation - Road Salt Two review

Year : 2011
Genre : Progressive Rock
Label : InsideOut
Origin : Sweden
Rating : 9.3 / 10

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Swedish progressive rock brigade Pain of Salvation brings you the classic kind of the genre with fluent elegance and as chiseled of super-tasty production values as they come. If Opeth's latest sounds like it was recorded in 1969, one could make the argument that this record also comes to you as the music of 1969, "only" with absolutely top of the heat production qualities, and this is not something this music review site Noise Shaft easily says.

This record is rendered in a crystal clear, immensely well researched and superbly focused fashion, and is beyond all doubts capable to produce an intensely intimate, tight/wide - as you prefer - listening experience. Pain of Salvation's latest contribution sounds lush, tender, and also properly crisp and gritty where things demand, showing constant, relentless focus to address its favorite moods with convince power that reigns pretty much beyond criticism in character. How much of-, and how many times you give what you can, is something of a different matter.

The one possible - and absolutely optional - qualm regarding this release also comes through as one of its central charms : the album does everything in such a tight and richly sounding fashion, that its various methodologies are becoming relatively repetitious by character when nearing the middle section of the spin. This, though, is only a similarity of character in the songs and methodologies, and, if someone would say that it is a totally acceptable-, or, in fact, beneficial attribute of a record, then this position should be respected. Read on to find out more about this release, which probably makes Timothy Leary a happy observer and a happy dancer. No, looks like he did not object.


While having a peaceful, observant stance towards the surrounding things at heart, Road Salt Two shows equal readiness to compliment the shadowy aspects of things, and these sequences reveal an elegant kind of strictly constrained sludge. This sludge does not seek to crush you into spirit pulp, it instead seeks to entertain, which is a very rare behavior from this musical direction, and also a true privilege to greet. The album never seeks to depress, quite the contrary : this spin sounds to be one positive outlook on perspectives, and reigns as a precise counter-pointing to Opeth's latest, - fellow countrymen, too - that which depicts a much more negativistic stance revealed in the body of the exact same genre of classic progressive rock.

Road Salt Two is practically packed with super-muscular songs that glorify the '70s with contemporary tools within a contemporary environment, and, you do not even need to be a fan of the genre itself to find yourself staggered by the honest brilliance this record is presented along. If you think that some elements of this LP probably sounds obsolete, you are as far from the truth as Satan is from spontaneous enlightenment, because, this spin is fresh as dew. Once again : the tracks on this release are especially dainty, and well constructed. There is a whole lot to gratefully soak your ear into, as the record features a truly playful variant of whatever it chooses to feature. The guitars are well defined AND very properly gentle at once, the bass is "funnily fat", sort of chubby, and still has luscious curves, and the drum work sounds like the drummer is right beside you with his set, and his playing is full of pleasant surprises, never seeking to / having to demand full efficiency from his gear in order to give you a superb time.

That little stringed instrument in the track called Healing Now, for example : the sonic experience is occurring right in front of you, with crystal clear instruments, that intentionally refrain from emerging to be intimidating as a sonic mass. The whole thing sounds like a proper-, and absolutely great bard-performance, only without the power metal fantasy cheese factor you would normally be afraid of as something you will likely have to painfully endure along the way. Or, the restrained, secretive anger in the track called Eleven : this is a nice example of sludge having a playful time as opposed of moving for the kill right away. A fun fact : this track has nothing to do with this track with the same title Eleven.

As for the similarities of patterns in this exquisite fabric, the album sounds to have a tad more of the over-emotional quasi-acapella singing for my personal taste when cultivating the troll reality tunnel for a second or two, and the same can be told about the superficially elegant jam sessions of the output. While these sequences unleash totally fine and sharply defined funk elements, it is not at all hard to notice that the band usually shows only restrained intent to stroll away from a groove they place an elegantly curved introductory butt on. You will soon find out that the butt itself is the attraction, most of the time - notice the hidden words of wisdom - as it won't go anywhere. The tasty jam sessions are extremely quick to reveal their ultimate-, at heart simplistic character, and they weigh in as a fine material to connect surrounding elements, but they show relatively little autonomous will to exist, let alone progress on their own terms.

These qualms though are pointing to only majorly minor - aua - semi-blemishes in the fine fabric of this lush and elegant accomplishment, and chances are that you won't find a single moment you would dismiss with a face serious if you are a proper fan of this style. As hinted, this record is an immediate benchmark as far as production values, because, Road Salt Two sounds flawless both for what it wants to do, and as a testament of a supremely diligently developed sonic experience, all for the love of lush music. An optimistic, muscular baby with skin as tight as the surface of a balloon filled with fresh water, and you want to hear this.

Rating : 9.3 / 10

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Machine Head - Unto the Locust review

Year : 2011
Genre : Groove Metal with Metalcore allures
Label : Roadrunner Records
Origin : United States
Rating : 7.5 / 10

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Machine Head unleashes the ancient, stone-authentic groove lingo of Pantera, igniting its tremendous engines to bring you valiantly varied groove metal which though is in a relentless hurry to seek the catchy chorus in the vicinity as an extra service to the ears. Ah! What? You did not order that??

Unto the Locust shows no notable aspiration to reinvent the proper steel or the proper wheel, and the only derivation/addition you are likely to spot when you attempt to relate this album to its originator at heart Pantera, is the relentless and frequent addition of the aforementioned-, acceptable melodic choruses, supported by tasty, calm, guitar centered melodic intermessos to catch a breath or two on. The mid-tempo melodic choruses, while seemingly represent no particular interest in metalcorish suffering narrative, the look itself does not prevent the album from submitting to metalcore-panic on a healthy amount of dire occasions. Unto the Locust, though rarely if ever manages to command you on an immense melodic hook from which there is no escape, brings you the intact kind of groove-based full power variation that sells out the show no problem, and the choruses are not as long as they would be if they were twice as long as they actually are. Still here? Splendid. Read on to find out more on these briskly varied elements.


The name of the game herein, obviously enough, is the act of summoning the heft that may have the chance to stop an incoming bulldozer or two, and the thoughtful addition of re-occurring segments that radiate a more restrained musical stance, serve as efficient anchors to establish a soberly balanced field of operation amidst the sequences of intense sonic engagement.

The album has two primordial vibes it feels itself most confident with : the rumble itself it produces leaves no place to form a complaint on. It is summoned via a well researched, tight, at heart traditional sound, delivered by fat and mean guitars full of bad intent that dwell only a story above the direct depths of hell as far as their tuning. As hinted, melodic, misery-fixated mid-tempo is equally a key factor of this spin, and not the factor that me, myself and I have found themselves awesometacularly blown away by, but there is no doubt that the mid-tempo sequences are tightly realized, too. The only qualm one might give a voice to regarding this matter, is the impression that the mid-tempo-, chorus related approach of the album sounds to seek to put way too much of semi-metalcorish panic narrative into the builds, regardless how the first third of the release tells everything about the vibe that sounds worth to be told.

The Special Edition of this contribution comes with three bonus tracks on board. Let's address two of those. One of these is a nicely realized acoustic version of highlight delivery Darkness Within, while the bonus track called The Sentinel consorts groove metal with power metal on an adrenaline rush, and, if you think this will kick your ass to hell and back, you are pretty close to the truth.

Machine Head's latest is a safe bet to invest your listening time in, and, if you show propensity to find and omit the two, maybe three - and not more - tracks you think the record declares itself more muscular without, then it emerges as a groove metal affair worth revisiting.

Rating : 7.5 / 10

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Mastodon - The Hunter review

Year : 2011
Genre : Blues Rock / Sludge
Label : Reprise / Warner Bros
Origin : United States
Rating : 7.5 / 10

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Mastodon's freshest LP to date has its fair share of moments of rabid beauty, and also moments that reek the sweat of an obese, old circus wrestler who tries to entertain you with "special" moves that simply lack the kind of attraction/risk you would ever want to revisit upon successfully enduring watching those during one miserable sitting.

This band brings you an almost friendly, tender kind of quasi-sludge to encompass the record's omnipresent urge to reveal a natural slickness on bluesy registers, but the compositions show mixed results, as great moments are often interrupted by mildly efficient choruses that sound to fail to topple their preceding occurrences.

Some refrains, as you will see through examples to be given later, sound to come through as desperate attempts to release your attention momentarily from the torment that it gets the weeping slave of when the palette of elegant bluesy vibes have lost all their entertainment value for a second or two, but STILL they come to beat your awareness up in an attempt to force your last, remaining bit of appreciation for them from you. Oh, you would have been so happy and so willing to give it to them later. Sometimes you have to HATE when they want to take away from you what you want to give.

The chorus of the track called Curl of the Burl, - which is one of the most solid songs on the entire album, along with Stargasm, the Depeche Mode sludge titular track The Hunter and a tremendous end sequence composed of the last three pieces - sounds like this : "oh, oooh, oh, oooh!" And the chorus of the follow-up track, called Blasteroid, sounds like this : "ooooh, oh!, oh, oh, oh!" Help me or let me help you, Jesus. Read more to find out how this record rumbles through and stumbles in its own footprints.


Mastodon's The Hunter has solid, traditional sludge/blues rock charms whenever it chooses to be brisk and/or narrative, whereas the "rumble" it tries to produce as yet another primer agenda, simply does not feel to be served sufficiently, courtesy of inconsistent efforts exhibited on the compositional fields of the release. The least efficient segments of this spin reek of sweat of trying to summon a vibe similar to that contained in a vile and filthy fashion on the elegant effort Uncle Acid & The Deadbeat's Blood Lust, but Mastodon's rendition of this particular target-vibe is prone to be bogged down here and there with sequences that seem to have come out of nowhere and seem to serve no particular function. This is not too frequent, fortunately, but when it occurs, it occurs rampantly. The track called Octopus Has No Friends, for instance.

Notice the soul-swallower chorus. "I'm on my way back home!", then repeat. Man, I really really wish you'd reach home. The vibe of the chorus clearly is an aspiration to toll Foo Fighter's There Goes My Hero, only this time, the vibe is squashed by the mighty penis of a mastodon. What can you say beside : aua.

Another strange thing : opening track "Black Tongue". The lyrics go like this :

"I burned out my eyes
I cut off my tongue"

...

This is like : badass! (And, by the way, you are singing pretty well without a tongue, too.)

Fortunately, a good amount of tracks come to you with strong melodic structures to successfully reveal the main ambition of embedding legit blues rock into the mastodonic sludge, and this aspiration emerges solid through both brisk and midtempo segments of the album. Then again, other tracks border on the characteristics of Simon and Garfunkelish lullabies, now supported by incapacitated coffee grinder guitars that sound to prefer to call it a wrap and go home instead ASAP. This is the track called "The Creature Lives". Later on, the song reveals the nature of a Scottish folk song, and, when you realize that the main attraction of the declaration is to soak you into the sear enigma of directionless open power chords being ringed around for two minutes or so into wild space, you truly are left without a clue.

This strange development, fortunately, is assuaged greatly by a particularly strong ending portion, as the final three tracks give you superbly sculpted, eventful and especially melodic content that packs both the rabid sludge-animal and the promise of it being tamed at any moment. A mildly inconsistent spin that sounds to have spent a tad less time in the stove than it has signed on for, but its strongest moments guarantee an intimate, eventful and serious listening experience.

Rating : 7.5 / 10

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Redemption - This Mortal Coil review

Year : 2011
Genre : Progressive Metal
Label : InsideOut Music
Origin : United States
Rating : 8.8 / 10

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Redemption's freshest ruthlessly and triumphantly reinvigorates the hypercheesy semi-concealed bitterness ethos of the '80s, and proves that the aforementioned vibe sports timeless of a charisma enough to make you a secretive fan of it for life. And, preferably : beyond. Or, to make you someone who at the VERY least, denies her/his secret affection towards this particular feeling, that no doubt reigns as one of the most pronounced mood sets music is fond of revealing if asked properly. There were only two types of persons in the '80s, after all : a fan of Modern Talking, and a person who denied he is a fan of it.

This record sounds to be the exact album that contains the tracks that are perfectly suitable to flip into the spinner of the fictional TechNoir disco club, depicted in the first Terminator movie in 1984. You have heard the chick screaming on the top of her lungs that her desire towards you is such, indeed, that you got her burning in the third degree, - that song and the singing chick owns in so many ways - and it seems safe to say that you could pick any track from this Redemption record to be the next song without the patrons ending you in violent fashion.

On its latest full length, Redemption practically indulges - in a very good way - in the favorite metallic moods of the '80s that have that sorrowful/determined vibe going in, and the band manages to pull this off without falling into the '80s sci-fi anime trap. This is Flashdance with nuclear guitars. In character, this is the music you expect to twang up when renowned ninja alumni of the '80s Sho Kosugi finally evolves to be the Legit Ninja as result of thorough and diligent training sessions, conducted in the presence and continuous approval of his Master, who has a long white beard to sink fingers in while noticing the evident promise taking shape in his favorite prospect.

This kind of musical language always demanded super-diligent sobriety and honest interest in its workings from its creator, because it is extremely easy to fall into the melodrama pitfall when flattering this queen. And this queen also will bitchslap you if you harass her while she has nothing to do with you. On the positive end of the musical mood-spectrum Redemption channels its highly traditional and high quality content from, reigns Journey's Separate Ways, and, on the neutral to pessimistic spectrum, you have Redemption's current declaration, made in the spirit of the '80s at heart, but fueled by heft that is as current as ever. Read on to find out more about the release, or don't.


It clearly is the solid grasp of balance and a good taste for strong melodies that fluently and cunningly sell the content herein without you noticing buying it, and this is a good thing, because this is one of music's primer agenda, and all other talk about the matter is an attempt to bend this convenient truth.

Be wary : Redemption is out to deceive you, and will succeed at that masterfully, because the record starts out as a chrome chimera having a nervous/circuit breakdown, but it will soon find a myriad ways to assuage its frustrations via addressing those according to the moods outlined above. A key element of this release is that it is confident enough to take detours from the well trodden moods of stone-traditional classic metal, and emerges as not being afraid to introduce quite elegant and JUST properly emotional melodic singing that actually has convince power behind it, and not something the listener may get afraid the extremely slimy matter of. The record shows dignity all over its body, and this is a true accomplishment in the shady light the spin itself is a valiant and honest storyteller of.

This Mortal Coil has its healthy share of both tastily delivered doubt and inventively served angst, yet this angst, fortunately enough, still keeps a peace of mind at its core, and shapes the creation of legit, serious music as the intent to keep the focus on. During these intensified runs, the band brings you intricacy bordering on the experimental field. Very complex sonic stimulus that still manages to emerge coherent and related to its surroundings, showing zero interest to show off technical aptitude with hopes of getting real estate later on good old wankfest territory. This especially is evident throughout the spin's top of the tier guitar solos : these instrumental statements truly grab your attention via their sheer inventiveness and rabid elegance, gracing your ears with content that are privileges to revisit.

Redemption's latest is a deeply traditional-, and, paradoxically enough, modernistic offering, one that is born out of collective intent that can do with music whatever it wants. As such, this continuous objective to re-invigorate the spirit of the '80s via super-competent tools and skills, fuels a declaration that projects fresh and relevant light on the timeless patterns in the collective experience that are the '80s. Redemption's This Mortal Coil has all the chance in the whole wide world to hit the bullseye on the heart of any fan of the progressive metal genre, and comes as an immediate gogetitmylove for the person sharing that tender fixation on the '80s.

Rating : 8.8 / 10

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Revocation - Chaos of Forms review

Year : 2011
Genre : Technical Death Thrash Metal
Label : Relapse
Origin : United States
Rating : 9.2 / 10

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Revocation is one super-eminent representative of a new breed of extreme music that sounds both relentlessly rabid AND eloquent at that. Everyone with imagination and ears accessible have the capacity to make up fine inner music that is out - oops - to destruct all things on sight, but the realization of such an avid flow of aural stimulus takes vast amount of diligent work. With its third full length silence massacre, Revocation unleashes monumental heft, and makes sure it does not lose steam during the 46 minutes it has the fuel for.

Chaos of Forms, in its mere nature, sounds to be a similar output than the latest of that of fellow thrasher group Deceased, in a sense that both installments consciously chose to utterly reject shortcuts and compositional methods a composer could live and sleep well without being voodooed by the masses. Instead, each and every second you will be graced with top of the heat sonic content that rains into you without any need on its part to rely on such standard presentational solutions as repetition or the introduction of "showsaver-hooks", so to speak. There is truly no need for them, if and when an entire album is one huge hook to pull you over its own body without inquiring about the state of your taste and safety. Read on to find out how this album kicks your ass a million ways in any given moment it rides on the volume by.


Revocation's Chaos of Forms is a bottomless treasure chest of superbly sculpted riffs and rhythms that know no no other King to bow down to than the mere flamboyancy they command to exist to triumph by. The intricacy of the content herein is so beautifully rabid and convoluted that the building blocks of one single track of the release could easily serve as a massive sequence in the body of a much less ambitious-, and STILL totally solid spin. The record simply can not be caught repeating itself, as delicious extremities are handing the door knob over to the other, always maintaining a continuous flow of sonic developments in which the common demeanor is the stone-sober faithfulness to seriously researched and manically presented intensity.

The album, needless to say, knows and brilliantly abuses every single mood of the extreme you have ever noticed to crave your attention, and it is the arrangements themselves that separate this record from the flock : you surely must have heard double bass before, but it is one thing to submit to its brutal charm having no gap to form an other choice on, and it is an entirely different matter to witness the double bass revealing its stupendous True Character, a much lifting result of avoiding the constant use of it. Revocation, quite wisely, keeps the double bass among the tools that guarantee the flawless operation of the 111% Thrashing Mode, and once it engages, it truly emerges as a row of mountain-sized bulldozers without drivers, rumbling into your awareness.

An important clarification needs to be made, and here it is : Chaos of Forms, in nature, is an extremely aggressive album, yet this is a rigorously and skillfully controlled, eloquent form of aggression that knows the limits and entertainment value of its respective charms well enough to not subject its absorber to any one those charms for too long. As such, there is a whole lot to be absorbed here, because every second of the release comes with the intent to present you stuff that is beyond doubt worth to be absorbed.

This is the shit.

The record has segments of monumental mid-tempos, exceptionally elegant guitar solos and some absolutely hilarious sequences that border on the vibe of easily accessible hard rock riding on an adrenalin rocket and waving two chainsaws, but bear in mind that these sequences are reigning way beyond the gesture of filling out the showtime with some cozily digestible stuff. Instead, whatever the band comes into contact with, it turns it into a golem of gold and commands it to thrash its surroundings ASAP.

With an immense aural contribution that pretty much cultivates a secret love for experimental extreme while remaining absolutely true to its primordial intent to flatten stuff out first, Revocation - Chaos of Forms is the extreme music you KNEW should have existed. Only know : it does.

Rating : 9.2 / 10

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Rainroom - And the Other, that was a Machine review

Year : 2011
Genre : Death / Doom hybrid
Label : Relapse
Origin : Finland
Rating : 7.5 / 10

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Finnish death / doom hybrid Rainroom represents a musical consortium in which both its key participants - death and doom - are having exquisite fun with each other. Alas, it also is an unbalanced record, as 12+ of its 43 minutes are likely to give you sequences by which you can quite safely and peacefully give the green light on saliva pouring from your corner of your mouth to the pillow. This record is "death" only in the sense that it features totally full blown, integrally presented death metal vocals : growls, hauls, guttural, you know the death deal. But, here is the catch, and the dramatic turn of events! Instead of backing the death metal vocals up with traditional death having a rampant run in the background, Rainroom hits you with the kind of doom metal that - thank God and Co.! - still did not give up the will to exist. In other words : and yet it moves, and yet it lives.

The first track of this LP, called "...yeah, many machines", is a profound and efficient example of what the plan is. These growling/hauling death metal vocals are arranged over lively doom metal music which is in its autonomous and epically gloomy hurry to reach its favorite place to suffer on, - on this track, that is - and the ensuing aural experience will likely have a truly significant, lifting and positive effect on you. Or not. It does exhibit this effect on me every time I hear it. It is just hilarious and so logical, the relentless misery of death metal anger being supported by doom metal that seems to despise this level of misery-extroversion, and now it still is ready to hear it out, like a psychoanalyst female giving a session for the rampant reaper while it has one of its favorite nervous breakdowns. Read on to find out how the session went.



Rainroom's And the Other, that was a Machine, has a tamely, but elegantly presented steampunk theme to it, and you only have two choices regarding steampunk : you have to love it, or you have to love it in a manic fashion. Which, granted, may be self-explanatory.

Truth is, that the first track of the LP sounds to be more ripe of a creation than its follow-up, called Abort Engine, which is a much more undisciplined build initially, and it is having this fixated pastime of smashing your awareness against any single wall it comes across. The effective riffing, the structure of things to be found herein though, are not strong enough to claim validation of the act of smashing you around for this long. Probably the least successful track on the LP, and its more peaceful demeanor in the climax does not sound to do all that much noticeable justice to it, either. The tender part sounds more like an alibi, a cover story, and not content you can wholeheartedly regard as relevant, not when measured to the ripeness and the integrity of the stupendous first track "...yeah, many machines".

The similar initial percepts arise with the third track, called Loew Machine, and these impressions decide to stick around for no less than five minutes. What threatens to be another mid-tempo convolution, gets assuaged by legit instrumental saving graces found to be embedded in the track's midsection to its end. That body though is about three times as big as it would still look acceptably hot with/in. Track number four, called Steam Conjecture once again draws a clear and truly vibrant picture : following a flamboyant intro section that also incorporates the goal of preparing you for the Thing that Comes, super-heavyweight doom metal indeed relentlessly arises and demands a stop from time, then addresses its supreme misery of gargantuan proportions with top notch death metal singing to flatter it. And, following a short and elegant interlude to draw your attention away, the exact focal theme comes back to claim your soul with brisker, but still heavy as the tenderness of two bisexual gorillas-type mid-tempo rhythmization. This is a clearly sorrowful song at heart, and the magic arises as result that now there are monster-instruments that unconditionally submit to the charm of the beautiful/sorrowful harmonic pattern, which reigns as the core meaning of the track. This one is the same caliber as the opening contribution, and it is just a pity that two wasteland-fillers are separating them.

Rainroom is a band you want to keep an eye on, (just make sure you have something to wipe the slime off with) and this debut shows sufficient amount of brilliance to regard the relative tedium it spends in the dark via its midsection clearly redeemable.

Rating : 7.5 / 10

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Arch / Matheos - Sympathetic Resonance review

Year : 2011
Genre : Progressive Metal
Label : Metal Blade Records
Origin : United States
Rating : 8.5 / 10

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The moniker Arch / Matheos marks the reunion of original Fates Warning members John Arch - mythic vocalist - and renowned guitar abuser Jim Matheos, now supported by Bobby Jarzombek on drums and Joey Vera on bass.

Sympathetic Resonance sounds like a cybernetic Iron Maiden factory set to top-production capacity. This thing is spiky, angry and chuggy as a jogging rhino with its ass on fire, and, at the same time, also manages to define itself as utterly and fluently - on occasion, even pointlessly - melodic, courtesy of John Arch's powerful high frequency vocal presence.

There is so much going on right from the very start that it quickly becomes evident that the record is the result of insanely tall stacks of dozens, dozens and even some more dozens of meticulous working hours, fueling a monolithic testament that keeps relentless enough of a focus on its own nature to triumphantly reach the point on which virtual self-repetition gets enthusiastically greeted as progression. Nah, it was just a percept, and I'm not so sure about it on the third spin.

One thing though, is for sure : Sympathetic Resonance dismisses you immediately once you are not serious about wanting to know it for what it is, and it has 54 minutes of valid, but very elusive audible stimuli in store to get accustomed to first. Read on to find out how this monstrous release declares itself mightily as a space beacon black hole, one that sounds to be more than happy to suck itself into itself, and still feeling jolly good about that.


Sympathetic Resonance feels like a release that the members of this re-union have created for themselves, and there is not much if anything wrong with such a stance, because, if the creators can't enjoy what they are doing, than chances are that the listener won't enjoy it, either. The release is extremely quick and even more persistent to reveal AND repeat its focal mechanic and favorite flow of work, which is to unleash efficient, but - strangely enough - elusive swarms of sonic carpet bombing through a set of well researched mood patterns, and Arch's vocals are riding on those bombs with superb clarity and top of the heat siren-charm, no complaints can be given with a face to be found after. The release still sounds to

triumph valiantly,

or, if you want,

suffer legendarily

as result of being almost constantly ahead of itself in a relentless pursuit of its own super-complexity, bombarding the listener with a new theme on top of the prior new theme that just got abruptly and brutally executed at the spot you wish the band would have investigated further, instead. It is not that you have nothing to hold on to, quite the contrary : you have a MILLION and then some more things to hold on to all the time, but the record expects you to not to trust nor cultivate all too tender sentiments towards any one attraction of it, because what you have been holding on to, will vanish in the next moment. Guaranteed.

This flowing aspect of music, is of course, an absolutely valid one of it, but (one of) my favorite fixation(s) of trying to deliver organic connection between two autonomous musical sequences/entities, sounds to be pretty absent, but, one must admit, inventively absent from this album. Arch / Matheos simply fails to give a damn with two lost holes in it for your sentiments, and this creative behavior demands respect. You will never know what is it to hit you next, you only know that it is about to happen for sure.

All these notions may give you the false impression that they seek to reflect on the album's shortcomings, yet this is not the case at all. The above addressed things are not negative nor positive things of the spin, they are "just" the full musculature focal characteristics of it, traits that guarantee a long term relationship with the record, but have zero doubts whatsoever that you will

INVEST

a massive amount of time into this LP until you can claim a valid understanding of it. With solely chug-related, aggressive super-complexity and some elegant, tender caresses here and there laid out throughout track lengths well above the 10 minute benchmark, Sympathetic Resonance is a monster of a release that comes to you waving a kinetic sledgehammer and expects nothing less than the unconditional worship of the aforementioned chug-centered complexity taken to the extreme - toppled, of course, by top of the heat vocals of the siren kind. If you want to have proper sex with a monster, you need to learn its habits, and there are no shortcuts. Once again : this is recommended for the pairs of serious ears seeking to invest serious time into relentless chug-complexity toppled by soaring, clean vocals, but, for them, this is an immediate premiere choice.

Rating : 8.5 / 10

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Argus - Boldly Stride the Doomed review

Year : 2011
Genre : Epic Doom
Label : Cruz Del Sur Music
Origin : United States
Rating : 9.2 / 10

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At this very moment, Argus' Boldly Stride the Doomed is not featured on Wikipedia, nor the encyclopedia has any notable awareness of the very existence of this top tier metal squad. This is an unacceptable situation. This is not only an embarrassment on the collective psyche, but a pretty well defined one at that, so now is the time to attempt to draw more attention to the musical ripeness and elegant power this release defines for 56 minutes.

Simply put, and, according to (Yours, Truly's) theory, Argus makes the music that 999 - and not 666 - of 1000 doom metal bands originally/secretively are going for, but, their end products fall more and more distant from the then-formless instinctual aspirations, as result of being bombarded by compromises of various kinds during the creative process. Only a functional approximation of the original intent is left then, because that exactly is as much as it remained of it, after being eaten alive while being born. Aua.

Argus though never, not for one second, exhibits any suspicious intent to serve evident deceit or leftovers on your plate. Instead, everything is top tier, unalloyed, clearly and gratefully decipherable metal music content, and, what seems to be even more important than that, Boldly Stride the Doomed reigns totally free of all urges to scare / pressure you, regardless how it chooses to incorporate the most relevant and most weighty human questions into its primer interests. The release does not judge, it does not suggest - it reports.

On Argus' latest LP, metal gets resonated through a noticeably peaceful BUT fervently curios spiritual stance, one that soberly reveals a musical field that draws elegant, dainty patterns by sledgehammers, always being ready to deliver one of the flamboyant charms or luscious dangers it has in store for you as its primer components. Read more to lighten the immensity of the embarrassment on the collective psyche, that which is formed by the unacceptably low awareness level of this fine record's mere availability.


Boldly Stride the Doomed is as serious as music can get while threading along in the company of drums, bass, twin guitars and a singer - only this time, the singer tore an illegal space-time rift into the fabric of cosmos, and topples the fine instrumental cake with vocal presence emanating from the mighty throats of a Sonic Wargod!!!4

(note : the "4" at the end of the latter sentence is deliberate, and it serves the well tamed function to reveal my level of enthusiasm.)

While Argus' music emerges as spotless metal even when Kermit is rapping on the tracks, lead singer Butch Balich gives you the vocals that do a whole lot of kinds of "just" justice to the favorite attributes of this musical language. While it is totally common to attempt to reveal epic determination in an intentionally rhythmic and dramatic fashion in order to come through as epically determined, Butch Balich plays an entirely different ball game, simply because of the size of the balls he plays that game with.

This ex-Penance member gives you the raw animal vocal traits while he is worshiping the current melody as God, and his midrange packs more than sufficient power to - as suggested elsewhere on this here site - shatter neighboring icebergs at will, let alone how he keeps his stupendously ballsy vocal timber intact even when he is going into the higher registers. In a zone your good enough metal singer delivers among signs of not being entirely comfortable, Butch Balich shatters the icebergs. But, the higher registers on this spin are mainly used to sing a one note song of rage - copyright by Dave Mustaine - and are not serving as a basis to conduct the entirety of the vocal themes on. Higher pitched, real deal MELODIC screams are often used on the release to emphasize key elements of the lyrical context, while the major portions of the narrative itself tend to take place on the above addressed, exceptionally powerful midrange. And there is a whole lot of delicious narrative going on, from legit existentialist/spiritual pondering, rhyming nicely with the developments of both ancient and recent science - track called The Ladder - to desperate, nevertheless dignified and bitterness-free prayer - track called Wolves of Dusk - or a blaming finger in the collective face, - track called Curse on the World - and others that remain to surprise you. All in all, the funny thing simply is that Butch Balich does not sound to have a vocal zone he is not naturally gifted to deliver mightily on, and the raw charisma presence his contribution imbues these tracks with, are pretty "beyond precedent, at least until The Butch Balich did that, that is" - level.

From an instrumental point of view, Argus gives you 10 crystal clear renditions of the ripe, exceptionally intact, and, as noted, also deliciously dangerous musical field so keenly frequented by the members. "Dangerous" in a sense that these elements are out to affect you without notice, but they never try to harm you, because Argus' music "simply is" beyond the intent by a galaxy or two of causing harm in its listener. Causing harm requires no true effort. While the most persistent and most pronounced mood of the release doubtlessly and wholeheartedly belongs to good ol' fashioned impending doom, it majestically reigns beyond the levels of taking itself all that lethally serious, and so it emerges free to reveal a kind of legit beauty that expresses itself 100% free of all saliva, slime and the usual average smarmy stuff you can so easily and so cheaply come across on other albums to have your spiritual contact comfort fix shoveled down on your astral throat nice and proper. It always is interesting when you hear a monster talking about the fact that it (she/he) secretly is having a heart along the claws and jaws, and this vibe, this tender monster reigns ubiquitous on the spin, without any aspiration present on its part to toll or crave your sympathy for the state of existence it is in. Dignity, beauty, and the persistent possibility of getting your ass handed to you at any moment, are all key factors of this exceptionally intact album. Argus' Boldly Stride the Doomed has everything AND beyond you ever hoped to come across during a metal spin. It is a musical report delivered from a field of reference that deems nothing as having no right to exist, and it always chooses to enter and inspect, as opposed to chickening out, and reject. Boldly Stride the Doomed has what your ears want, and also

it has the BALLS.

Rating : 9.2 / 10

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Anthrax - Worship Music review

Year : 2011
Genre : Groove Metal Hard Rock
Label : Megaforce (US) Nuclear Blast (EU)
Origin : United States
Rating : 6.5 / 10

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Anthrax's latest affair is in great haste to reveal its primer aspiration, that which is to bring you an almost tender level of hard-rockish accessibility, resonated through a mildly rabid set of instruments. These guitar-dogs are kind enough to pretend that they have the skills and the eager propensity to shred you to pieces, but don't be afraid, there are no true risks involved on Anthrax's latest : when music is supposed to engage the real deal slaughter mode of avid inventiveness, - like Deceased does without end on their latest LP to date - this band instead throws in your everyday average catchy chorus, casually informing you that there is no proper meal served right now, please be so kind and eat the bloody - semi-spoiled - dessert, thank you, come again. As for the dogs themselves : they sit on command, and this is what they mostly do herein. But look : they grin!!

In other words, despite the band's known notoriety to administer profound audible punishment, this latest release clearly shows a sharply defined shift towards instant accessibility, and not necessarily for the truly strong kind of that. It might be a staggering development to reckon, but here is the thing : a good amount of this LP communicates along the metal core vibe, - without the fake-screaming, luckily - combined with the aforementioned hard rock overtone, which always hurries up to you with its crystal clear, and frankly, terribly cumbersome agenda to pour a sense of engineered instant epicness into the builds ASAP. These supposed-to-be-epic choruses tend to register as a blend of acceptable power metal and acceptable hard rock, but note that none of these ingredients will rip your mind out nice and clean via their raw charm of musical appeal and convince power. As noted, they are engineered choruses, without all that much unalloyed emotional motivations noticeable in them. Read on to find out more about Anthrax's latest spin to date, but know that what you will get is a largely risk free ride in a convertible that does not have more than 4 gears installed. What? The side thrusters? Oh, those are mainly for decoration. They will engage a couple of times, but that is that.


It would be unfair to state that the album lacks especially strong sequences in CHARACTER, but even those portions are burdened by the record's unbalanced presentation traits. The strong tracks on the release, like In the End, or Giant, - and there are others, too, see later - are practically begging for some ornaments to be embedded into them to flatter the single rhythm guitar/bass/drum structure, but these tracks remain no doubt solid as they are. The more massive regions of this album though are consisting of declarations that sound more to be shameless fillers than the truly legit stuff you signed on for. The track called Judas Priest, for example. What the hell is this? This sounds like Motley Crue's Dr. Feelgood to me, from 19fucking89. Oh God! Zoo Metal! Glam Metal ineptitude being taken to the next level that you so hoped it did not even exist. But it does, and you will be subjected to it. On multiple occasions. Mercilessly. But it also must be told that Anthrax assuages the fright with another strong track, called Crawl, to kill the pain administered by its instant predecessor mentioned above.

The release, surprisingly enough, shows notable shi(f)ts - MIND the f!! - in presentation values. The guitars sometime sound like they have been castrated out and been beaten half to death as extra courtesy, while, at other times the album packs a truly proper bite, despite the relatively conservative, simplistic arrangements it largely relies on. Of course, there is nothing wrong at all with the simplistic - nevertheless great - structure of drum/bass/rhythm guitar, but hell, you need to deliver a real deal theme to remember to flatter the legitimacy of this classic formation.

If the albums' primer focus would be centered around to unleash the muscular musical grinding it emerges most impressively at, this would be a doubtlessly fine, slick release. But that propensity to engage in serious and legit fashion, also is the one you will have the least of, and, saved for some - and not more - delicious mid-tempo themes here and there, Anthrax's Worship Music ultimately registers as an inconsistent spin filled with portions prone to trade their charms in for much less efficient variation. The track called Constant is a good example of this, in my opinion. This song has some absolutely great elements, and also it is afflicted, unfortunately, by the Glam Metal/Zoo Metal nonsense. Boosh!

Fortunately, the vocal contribution of the album is totally solid, the singer dude has a proper set of lungs, and he exhibits his melodic Philip Anselmo influence in intact fashion. He does a good job, without doing anything out of his comfort zone. Note : doing anything out of the comfort zone, of course, is not a necessity to deliver a good performance. The point simply is that the vocalist manages to render a solid and likable vocal presence, even when he needs to ride a horse made of materials of questionable origins.

This is not a bad album at all, it just has this persistent tendency of taking you for an accomplished idiot on strong sedatives. Well, you can fool some of the people some of the time, and that should be sufficient. Anthrax does way too much fooling around this time though, and that is a 6.5 - only because I'm kind as a fairy on an Ecstasy pill.

Rating : 6.5 / 10

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Opeth - Heritage review

Year : 2011
Genre : Progressive Rock
Label : Roadrunner Records
Origin : Sweden
Rating : 7.0 / 10

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Opeth's latest material was recorded in the early portion of 2011, which does not at all stop it from sounding like it was recorded during 1969. This isn't necessarily a frightening development, it is more like a result of the group's palpably conscious and rigorous decision to offer a contribution that has a deeply traditional character, one that supremely conservatively refrains from any utilization of recent day wizardry, rejecting the act to crave bitter validation from the suspected grace of being called modernistic, and, as such, somewhat relevant. Opeth's latest is the music of a deeply, even deeeeeeeply depressed Black Sabbath, that momentarily chose to be crushed by its own misery as opposed to be enraged enough about it to summon the energy to do something against it instead. In other words : this record is gloomy like a series of funerals, but also rather honest at that. If you want to see your soul being covered in thick layers of black spirit tart, read on. If you already have that on, then congratulations, please read on anyway.


This record's strongest point is its deeply respectable honesty to simultaneously reveal, address and embrace the seemingly unalloyed disillusionment it chooses as its main theme, and this honesty is strong enough on its own to make the delivery stand proud and solid as your trusty resonator of the pretty much ever-present sadness and relative bitterness that is served to you, all in the spirit of 1969.

The tracks themselves are extremely straightforward arrangements with friendly and accessible character to them, but the stories they have to share will always want to draw a black pattern in you, and their intent to do so is not hidden at all, since all of them are carrying five fucking buckets of black paint and have a paintbrush as a head, so the deal is made very clear right from the beginning. And you know what, there is a whole lot of space to fill in a psyche, so, if your thing is to cultivate a black room in your soul and are looking for furniture, Opeth's latest just served you a rather thick Ikea catalog.

As noted, the album's sound is that of a semi-psychedelic, semi-doomy - thank you, thank you - blend with supremely traditional Woodstock instrumentalization present. The album sounds with a very elegant bite nevertheless, but these teeth leave a print you have some marks on your ass of already. A notable portion of the delivery is devoted to present simplistic, but, in their own regards, no doubt acceptable statements involving solitary acoustic guitar pairing up with a solitary - and stationary - piano. The record has a very limited intent to go intense, but let me tell you this : the Opeth guys can make top of the heat intense music, the "now" is simply does not seem to be the time for them to do that. The glances on the intense side of Opeth you are allowed to catch during the record, are much luscious, in my opinion, than the deep gloom which is the prime character of the release. But, if now Opeth's need was to deliver gloom, then so it shall be, and they should not be criticized for submitting to the intent that had to be expressed, and, as such : satisfied.

Opeth's Heritage has nothing risky, nor nothing weak at all to offer, and there is nothing wrong with that, either. It's just that that you already have heard this music when Ozzy Osbourne declared his paranoid tendencies, only THAT time THIS music was roaring like a T-Rex nearing a nervous breakdown, and now it : weeps. There is nothing wrong with weeping. But the after is always better than the during.

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Dream Theater - A Dramatic Turn of Events review

Year : 2011
Genre : Progressive Rock Metal
Label : Roadrunner Records
Origin : United States
Rating : 8.0 / 10

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Fanbase enigma Dream Theater comes forward with a release of fervently stacked ambitions, and the resultant stimuli is no doubt eventful enough of a contribution to assuage a secretive - but not exactly "silentive" - suspicion in the finely calibrated ear that a healthy amount of this delivery is soaked into-, and made out of compositional wizardry, exercised for the mere, grandiose sake of it.

Dream Theater's A Dramatic Turn of Events, not surprisingly, has a highly monstrous level of complexity to it, primarily consisting of its valiant will and granite determination to filter all its moods and favorite fixations through an adventurous approach to music creation. Read on to find more about this flamboyant release, or don't.


Many, but not at all of surprising character are the numbers of paths and emotional postures Dream Theater chooses to thread along on this row of statements. The band exhibits a particular interest in addressing their readiness to deliver on the respective fields of a sanely-, but harshly constrained genre palette. The basic vibes of gloom-trodden power metal, neoclassical sonic spellcasting, synthetic noteburst-parade, hell, even metalcorish undertones and odd time signatures are all part of the game, and everything the group delivers to the table, IS decently delivered and elegantly served.

DUDE?? What do you mean "decently"?? Dream Theater is like : my life!

I mean exactly that. From the point of view of ultimate value though, - check the very sloppily concealed irony herein - Dream Theater's A Dramatic Turn of Events fails to bring any dramatic turns of events to the fray. If you need to convince me that your album is a dramatic turn of events : you are failing. Dream Theater's latest is an accessible, and, as noted, doubtless extremely eventful output, yet also is one that never quite leaves you without the suspicion that some elaborate passages of complexity are simply there so you have something to chew diligently on, and serve no particular function in the actual DNA of the track you are listening to.

The band has a noticeable tendency to summon a pleasant, fluid feel via the simultaneous utilization of various devices suitable to cause aural vibrations, - a surprise! - yet, in actuality, these delicate sonic entities have a very limited field of operation if the mission they have been assigned to, is simply is to connect - in heart - traditional exhibitions of power metal/metalcore/I got the gloom again compositional techniques without end. When the group releases the kind-of experimental Animal for the worship of the oh!, so beautiful fractal-complexity, the result is OK enough, but far far far - and not close to - from great, particularly because these segments tend to lack vocal delivery. They are lacking vocal delivery because the agenda herein <> resonating music that has a story to it, the agenda simply is to

overcreate

layered sonic constructs into existence

because we can.

These are instrumental - uhm - "instrumentalizations", and once these sequences sound elaborately chaotic and chaotically elaborate enough, then the band gives the nod, yet, having a musical message you can spiritually decipher, is of no notable interest for the squad. It is not that this approach has limited potentiality, in fact, it has JUST that. But it already has been done much better recently, with vocals reigning in bloom in the chaos, by bands like Unexpect, see here.

The following matter is one that is prone to radical levels of subjectivity, but me, myself and I, along with the dudette who is writing this, find the lead singer's voice relatively uneventful, and when he is over-emoting in the slower declarations of lyrical aspirations of the record, threads of hairs I did not know I have stand still on my shell. These lyrical statements are reminiscent of the Pink Floydish suffering skills, and frankly, they are pretty efficient at annoying the living death out of me.

Dream Theater's A Dramatic Turn of Events still is a full musculature build with a whole lot of luscious sonic portions to bath your existence in, and its ubiquitous proneness of getting caught rabidly masturbating is as much of a likable defining factor of it as it is its relative hindrance.

Rating : 8.0 / 10

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