SleepingBabys - Idolize EP review

Year : 2013
Genre : Tarantino Surf Rock, Spaghetti Rock
Label : Independent
Origin : Australia
Official site : > - here - <

Armed with the seemingly perfect excuse to do so, today I was anti-inventive enough to deem a certain sub-set of '70s surf rock to be regarded as Tarantino Rock, or spaghetti rock, as renowned blood poet and rampant/evident foot fetishist Quentin Tarantino doubtless made an eloquent job letting you know the types of auditory stimuli he most enjoys sucking female toes on to. And what's not to like in the equation, correct? (Expect that it is not you doing the sucking, maybe? Corruption = something you left out of.)

SleepingBabys claim they have no idea what they sound like - no artist ever did, because every artist covertly hopes of being über-original - and it is my delightful obligation to inform relative consensus that they deliver the music the aforementioned film director would kill masses for, any minute of the day. This EP reflects solid command and ripe understanding of the pretty much timeless chemistry which necessarily and insatiably reveals itself once surf rock fascinations meet head on with spaghetti western sentiments, and, the lead singer lady of the duo really is doing a natural - which always is the hardest - job conveying the violent-love found in Tarantino's inner and outer vision. Rabid gunfire violence and black stockings are pairing up in the so smartly/timelessly noirish and comically sexist moments of the Pulp Fiction movie - and this set of emotional mood, as so willingly and unashamedly exhibited by this duo, continues to affect human psyches on the planet surface. Read on to know more about the "Quention Tarantion"!

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The Incredible Kicks - Ineffective Lullabies EP review

Year : 2012
Genre : Progressive Pop/Rock with a psychedelic tint
Label : Independent
Origin : Australia
Official site : > - here - <

The Incredible Kicks is a progressive pop/rock formation rumbling forth from Brisbane, Australia, and they play better music than you think. Consider a free spirited-, and very maturely assembled EP blending together the following ingredients : Queen, Muse, (they ARE similar in nature, only Queen has more ballZZ and less breakup-breakdowns, courtesy of that random guy, Mercury Whatwashisnameagain??) Pink Floyd, coated in an efficient/elegant psychedelic vibe that reeks the character of Mr. Bungle. Hell, I'm even picking up on a constant, hilarious sidekick-mockery of "Bon Jovish" glam metal traditions in this music, which also serves the builds very well, as it is never presented as THE content - it is presented as the invitation to have an honest, good laugh at the "mere" feel-references, and let me tell you that the lead singer of this band sports top tier lungs any pop singer would kill for secretly. (Some numerous times.) Read on to find more about this delivery, which certainly is worthy of your attention, and especially so if you are planning to catch these guys on tour, - see below - as they are about to set out on one, following the official release date of the EP, which is July, 13. 13 huh. That's the spirit!

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John Harrison - None Like You EP review

Year : 2012
Genre : Christian Soft Rock Worship Music
Label : Independent
Origin : Australia
Official site : > - here - <

Your free will and its premiere thought patterns do not necessarily need to be constructed and operated through a Christian belief system to recognize that Australian John Harrison's worship contribution "None Like You" represents a tame and exigent shape in consensus when inspected through the lenses of what it wants to do.

It, of course is entirely up to the individual to see if she/he needs a belief system at the core that has a comforting plug and play answer to each and every issue, yet, the album undoubtedly reigns complete and "relatable to", regardless if you admire the fact that it is openly out there to embrace an anthropomorphic image of God or do not. Your opinion, this time, does not matter, and it does not have to. See? The agenda of the contribution is to administer finely constructed Christian worship music, and it satisfies this criteria trustily and steadily. Read on to find out more about this disc.

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Sounds on Fire - Stereo Solar Systems review

Year : 2012
Genre : Experimental Synthpop
Label : Independent
Origin : Australia
Official site : > - here - <

According to the band's self-definition, Sounds of Fire is so underground that the fire from the Earth's core constructs the mere sounds they produce. This is as good of a perspective as you will ever have if you are looking for a squad ready and able to embed a sonic statement into the very center of your awareness.

Whirling with a thunder from down under, the freshest declaration of this secretive Australian ensemble combines spaced-out - quite literally - visual information with rampant-unalloyed experimental synthpop audio data, coming to your way from highly illegal spatial dimensions in the unprecedented form of the Stereo Solar System Space / Musical experience, from which the only way out is : through. No. Sanity. Remains. Unaffected. Read on to find out more about this rabid synthpop delivery.

It goes without saying that the ideal method to subject yourself to this stimuli by, is to let yourself be affected by the cooperative workings of both the visual information and the audio data. The contribution is not at all reluctant to address its key elements in a hasty and efficient way, of which the myriad of heavily processed computer voices and an intentionally crystal clear palette of mostly evenly spaced synthpop-samples and related compositional strategies are mandatory ingredients. Among the biomechanical voices, one particular female computer is a central character. Her voice is pretty sexy, kind of S.H.O.D.A.N., and remains that even after it turns out that she (?) sports a dick. ¿WTF!!!!!!1one. The character of the music is playfully pseudo-schizophrenic and diffuse, - I'm sane, the voices told me, too - yet, thank God & Co., never to the point that which would harm the anatomy of the sonic flow.

The general shape of things and patterns are freely positioned, casual declarations of an artistic ethos that loves to get surprised and is not afraid to show the facial expression that is coming with it while at that. This monster-length is not particularly after the easily accessible pattern, - synonym : it is brave enough to not give the promise of a shit for it - nor for the environment of sound that seeks to comfort your OH!, so precious anticipations. No. For this release, your instant initial anticipations are not important. People seem to be quite reliable in the sense that they want whatever /whoever does not want THEM, so this behavior from the record's part creates a constant sense of intriguing alienation. It IS a space-mindfuck, after all.

It is pretty safe to say that the release exhibits no particular weaknesses in any of its zones, - there are a plentiful, remember, it is a ride weighing in with 17 minutes - yet its tendency to make the sacred core of 4/4 pummeling deviate from itself rhythmically, is a trait the album looks quite superb with, whenever it decides to submit to this pastime. The primordial character of the release though exhibits that of a decent-, muscular, modernly old-school synthpop statement with a constant, reliable pulse to it, and a key beneficiary trait of it is the fact that it delivers the sonic goods without ever seeking to intimidate the listener.

Shodan : out.

Sounds on Fire - Stereo Solar System Space / Music experience : in.

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Mournful Congregation - The Book of Kings review

Year : 2011
Genre : Funeral Doom
Label : Weird Truth Productions (JAP), Osmose Productions (FRA), 20 Buck Spin (US), Independent
Origin : Loxton, South Australia
Rating : 9.0 / 10

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Mournful Congregation's The Book of Kings ruthlessly emerges as the proper antidote for the most comfortably cultivated stock-hopes, giving your psyche 76 minutes to spend directly under the weight of a world that exhibits no hurries whatsoever to offer you direct comfort. The standard crawling protocol of the robust genre of funeral doom is in full effect, and now comes to you with especially crushing melodies of monstrous harmonic overpower via a fabric that can only be regarded as such a serious and relevant sonic contribution as that of the latest of genre-brethren Esoteric. Read a review of Esoteric's current to date, Paragon of Dissonance, here.

The temper of the game herein is eloquent, sober, and doubtless faithful to the consensus cause of the territory it wants to offer compliments to. As it usually - if not always - is with all funeral doom with the sacred common agenda, this LP insatiably seeks to devour the heart without any intent to mime otherwise, and this constant artistic behavior to fold a galore of efficient melancholy unto you, always comes with a dainty set of hands and a sober mind to command them, putting such crystal clear musical ideas into the nervous system that the inevitable emotional reaction you give to them is not necessarily of misery, - would be a terrible waste of that - as you are free to appreciate their musical cunning with a soul seeking no self-harm, too. Up to you. The record, - and me, too - we are both ready to see you suffer if suffering is your thing.

The release, of course, is slow like a half-eaten sloth that crawls to the ledge to end its torment, and the sound equally is super-similar to the metaface drawn by the relentless analog traditions of this sub-genre. The guitars are deep deep down and monumentally anti-reign like battle cruiser derelicts imprisoned by infinite wild space, - indeed, metaphors are sucking Magilla Gorilla's ass off - and the lead vocalist has all kinds of trouble in the throat and is not afraid to address them utterly and completely, and generally a healthy amount of this release comes to you as a truly robust testament of relentless harmonic soulcrushing. The Animal is in the harmony, bitches. The top of the heat this piece offers always comes through the most relevant harmonic constructs it is able to deliver, and, fortunately, they are working superbly. For the most part. This sentence demands explanation, and that should be given. Read on to find out more about the elaborate methods this piece seeks to silhouette your now-shapeless set of favorite pains with.


Melodically, this release has quite a strong marathon run demonstrated, and I personally feel it always has a superb grasp of its mere suction power, and administers the stimuli for optimum soulswallow effect thorough. Though the compositions are long on "paper" - the titular track clocks in at 33 minutes - the mere stance and agendas they communicate themselves with, are truly capable to bend time to their capricious will, so you are transported to a universe that has an entirely different concept of the flow of time than the one you are likely arrive there with. In other words : this release is not ridiculously long-, nor overwrought.

The melodies herein are oftentimes quite clever, - sometimes alibi, yes, like some folkish sequence I feel no reason to revisit - partnering up with gut-wrenching relentlessness to demand a reaction via the mesmerizing combination of deliciously dangerous harmonic passages and the tormented sonic timber of the monster-guitar that would rather lose its existence than its dignity, and if you manage to remain unaffected, chances are that you lack a heart or a set of ears, or all of those. As noted, the keen sense for simplistic-, but robust harmonic structures is the primer key element amidst the best tendencies of this delivery, and the absence of it - whenever it is absent - signifies the relatively weaker parts of this spin, in my opinion.

Mournful Congregation's latest is an eventful funeral with capacities to adjust your mood calibration through the set of top-form melodic patterns the album brings to the table, and, though I personally feel that the record has its fair share of less dangerous moments than I would prefer it to immerse me in all the way through, it still registers as a thorough-, pleasantly exhausting ride with a set of memorable peak moments. Do not forget, your mood is what you can end up with, and life does not give a shit. The proper album to silhouette your depression with, - if you have any - so you have a better grasp on the stuff. Kill or comfort your depression.

Rating : 9.0 / 10

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Electric Mary - III review

Year : 2011
Genre : Stoner Rock
Label : Independent
Origin : Australia
Rating : 8.6 / 10

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Electric Mary's III is stoked out stoner rock with buff-, snarly, efficient production values that constantly glorify the psychedelic inner cataclysm of the '70s through a haughty blues rock direction armed with a good amount of groovy and sludgy tendencies to address. The album is not hesitant at all to reveal its ultimate-, straightforward meaning right away, as the stimuli tends to register as a comfortably decipherable alloy of the following elements : Jimmy Hendrix without the heroin, AC/DC, and add a trusty does of not too radical southern sludge to the fray yet. With 38 minutes of showtime, this record has a sober understanding of its own agendas and related capacities, and it is not too risky to say that it remains stable and free of inconsistencies throughout the 10 tracks it takes its ride along. The operational field of this disc seeks and delivers no shocks or surprises, steadily defining itself as a premiere choice for any diligent fan of well tamed "Born to be wild!" stoner rock that which now comes to you with a lot of proper love surrounding it by its current practitioners. Read more about this likable stoner dog.


The album explodes into silence with top grade classic production values to reveal the nature of its musical lingo, which is no doubt a sight and experience worth to behold and collect. Order variable. The primer behavioral patterns this LP wants to entertain you with are nothing that is likely to catch you off-guard, but have all the chance to fix each and every aspect of your stoner cravings : the riffs are JUST sufficiently sculpted in their obese but muscular character, and the spin, fortunately enough, shows ever-present awareness of the frequency locations it is mapping out, so expect an adventurous ride in a high-octane hippie van that has an extra gear to authentically surprise you.

The record's mere sound is worth addressing further: it is a very carefully researched alloy that exhibits the capacity to reveal both lush and irony qualities, and it is the exact kind of sound you could imagine in your best dream relating to this music. So no caveats-, not even an empty space for them herein at all.

Electric Mary III's lead singer is an interesting presence in the mix, and now I'm going to write about this man. His timber sounds to me like a mixture between the AC/DC fronter and Phil Collins, and the vocal channel he declares his manly lamentations on, always is sitting in a superbly researched place in which it does not interfere with the anatomical integrity of its surroundings at all.

As mentioned, the album has an AC/DC musical narrative incorporated into its other primordial elements of psychedelic stoner rock and sludge, and it must be mentioned that at the climax of the record, this particular narrative - the AC/DC one - is bloated into the occult wild space territory of merciless Van Halen metal-love ballads that I personally find horrifying, but they just might be what you are looking for. The chorus of the track "Bone on Bone" is a perfect example of the music you can chase me out of all worlds with : pinkish glam-blend of the collective emotional mid-tempo ethos of Aerosmith and Bon Jovi. Granted, the lyrics might be about something else, but who has the time to worry about those when the music wants to kill you. Pretty shocking and paralyzing, in my opinion, but I must admit that it is absolutely properly done. Electric Mary has a key on her back, and she is running towards you. Prepare for your desperation move.

Rating : 8.6 / 10

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Taberah - The Light of Which I Dream review

Year : 2011
Genre : Power Metal
Label : Evilution Records
Origin : Australia
Rating : 8.8 / 10

Australian Taberah's delicious debut - show forgiveness for the covert art and logo - invades air particles near Yours, Truly in exceptionally angry-, YET exacting power metal fashion. Imagine a musical language that is akin in remote character to that of Iron Maiden, but, the theatrical (melo)drama-spice on top that seems to be a keenly cultivated tool of the Brit Great Old Ones, is traded herein for a more vile, mean, Black Sabbatish behavioral stance. Most of the time, that is. Taberah certainly is no stranger to the propensity to go kinna-epic during the builds, - yet melodrama and the communist marching song vibe is not invited - and the best aspect you will have the option to gradually grow aware of regarding the release, is an impression that the debut manages to remain integral and unalloyed to its furious roots even when addressing pathos on its own peculiar terms. The only blatant blemishes I personally have found on the record are the utilization of the rhyme pair : "fire" and "desire". The minor-, but more persistent blemish is the singing on this album itself, which sounds to be the epitome of nothing special. It turns out though that, from a musical point of view, this album is pretty much sex appeal and efficiency from top to bottom,  and, if interested, you need to read out more to find out how and why.


Taberah is not in this business to worship meticulous over-production-, nor the false prophets of effect-scharlatanism: every single thing on the record sounds - in a positive manner - "just" natural, as would the naked drums and amplifiers if you were there in the studio. This, first and foremost, guarantees a lush and intimate listening experience to the mere rawness and power of the soberly controlled raging of the cultivated elements.

The compositions are playful, valiant and straightforward at their respective cores, seeking, finding, then offering great pleasure both with the ever-timeless wonder of the bare-open ringed power chord AND Rambo-grade "listen 'er, n00b" machine gun riffing. The riffcraft on the delivery is exceptionally rich and well sculpted, and serves a galore of fine stimuli to soak your ears into, so the band leaves nothing to be desired - fired!! - in this crucial department, never failing to satisfy your related cravings very thoroughly and gracefully.

Though the lyrics sometimes exhibit some pretty weightless and seriously uninspired alibi-profanity - "do not fuck with us!" - wish granted, Sir - and even relative idiocy - a song about Rambo with the line : "do not fuck with me, I'm Rambo!", WTF, I thought we were through with this?! - but, other than that, the singing style of the singer dude is passable. He does not sound too playful and/or confident, he instead sounds like a man with an agenda he is not sure he could pull off. He sometimes is paaaaaaainfully, painfully under-toned like an MMA fighter after being pepper sprayed, and his performance, while acceptable, does NOT elevate the sonic surroundings at ALL.

WHERE! is the Butch Balich!! I WANT the Butch Balich!!

Taberah's singer tends to refrain from "Gimmedaworld, Fukaz!" - type belts and bends, - and refraining from those is a nono! - and, instead, renders comfy-cozy "uhuh"-grade performance at best and shows no propensity whatsoever to move out of his comfort zone. Attention! Sometimes he sounds quite decent, I like his performance on "Freedom or Death", for example but, also notice : this song is a copy of Metallica's Blackened. The singer sounds like a Hetfield copy herein, too. On the other hand, related good news galore : none of James LaBrie's horrifying emotional slime - aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!! the HORROR!! the HIDEUM!! - will be found on your white tie afterwards.

The guitar solo work demands mentioning, too : Taberah has quite decent of a set of solo-capable guest-axewielders amidst its debut front-liners, and their powerful, well articulated playing reeks the Yngwie Malmsteen all the way from start to home, which is not the biggest of strikes you have to endure during a reincarnation.

A tight, focused, muscular declaration that has fine enough musicianship to give the LP an autonomous and rabid character, which is a trait you not frequently see-, let alone hear in the power metal "vaaaaloooor all-whitstaaaaaaand!! weeee fight toooo theee eeeeend!!" direction. 90% of this release is sexily ANGRY, yet truly exigent power metal, and the remaining portion is dedicated either to passable bonfire metal ballads I greatly enjoy skipping, or, a little homage for the originators. Explanation : the titular track "The Light of Which I Dream" has a more pronounced Iron Maiden influence with that peculiar galloping-ass riffage and the similarly Iron Maiden-like 3-4 notes guitar-patterns that are delighted about the fact how the different harmonic structures they are colliding with are serving different harmonic flavors to them. The build later on arrives to a tight-, raging mid-tempo jam session that reminiscent in character to Hendrix's hefty rhythm guitar style, and then the armored Iron Maiden gallops diligently out of your sight to save yet another day before the sun comes up again. All in all, Taberah's debut is superbly crafted, hefty power metal, and the only thing that is scary about it is the artwork, for which the punishment should be inventive sex with the creature on the cover.

Rating : 8.8 / 10

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Voyager - The Meaning of I review

Year : 2011
Genre : Pop Metal
Label : Sensory Records
Origin : Australia
Rating : 6.5 / 10

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Voyager's The Meaning of I is so diligently and devotedly polished that it will reflect all your cautious expectations back by its sheer pop glitter and chromium rasta-tentacles, leaving you sufficiently blinded - tautology!! - for a moment or two so it can channel its own rendition of risk-, and sugar-free, plastic-pink sci-fi metal into you. More precisely : sci-fi reggae pop metal. This record definitely sounds to have a pop / reggae feel going on, and, while one does not at all need to seek out any caveats to whine comfortably along regarding this notion, Voyager's The Meaning of I does not come through as a particularly strong pop metal release. The "official" meta-consensus is, that this is - hahahaha! - progressive metal. Wow, really! GTFO, I'm begging you. Symhony X's cybernEPIC Iconoclast HAS progression. Dream Theater's latest declaration HAS progression. Voyager and progression? No, you have been deceived. Voyager has Dr. Alban robot singing on top of synth-pop heavy metal music you have heard in the arcades in 1997, more on that later.

But, being pop metal is not necessarily bad, I'm still waiting to be touched by the genre, and I'm not at all opposing it for the sheer act of opposing it. Voyager's The Meaning of I comes through as "uhuh, OK" grade pop metal content, but a number of traits that become more and more irritating, are doing an efficient job at giving you twitches at both corners of mouth while this spin is declaring itself. Do the collective psyche a favor and scrutinize the z-grade Photoshop cover with diligence, then read on to find out more about this pop metal output, or don't.


The one and only problem with this release, - a problem though which is persistent to stick around - is that the songs on this LP - I truly am not happy for having to say this - ain't that great at all. They are mechanic exercises at creating pop accessibility with instruments of metal that are reflecting the same robotic feeling as the release's vocal contribution. I'm sorry to shatter your world, but. If you are humbly, dutifully, enthusiastically blown-, even bloooooooown awaaaaaay by the record, then know that this is the result of the release having no other agenda than to serve your nervous system out with microwave-consumption pop metal stimuli that has only super-mild creative efforts in it, and sure, this is a blatant claim. This is not a claim with a right to exhibit any hope of its validation without justification, and here is the attempt of that : some compare this release to Anubis Gate's super-slick self titled album, and I personally find this comparison highly staggering, even sorrowful. I dare say that Voyager sounds very shallow when compared to Anubis Gate. It is no doubt that AG is packed with high quality-, diligently researched and superbly realized MELODY, and when I consider Voyager after hearing Anubis Gate, uuuuuhh. Here is the thing : Voyager's latest registers as a metal pop festival nominee when compared to the entertainment factor of the music of the Danish dudettes.

People blown away by this record, please. Please? Don't believe your ears or fix the fucking things?? Get Anubis Gate's self titled and THEN it is OK if you are blown away. Blown away by THIS Voyager album is not being blown away for "real", it is your nervous system receiving very cheaply created signals to make you believe that your lazy fucking ears are graced already. Final tip regarding the introductory section of this review : Anubis Gate's self titled album kicks asses galaxies bigger than Voyager's latest ever fathomed having hopes to approach.

Guys, let's talk about the music.

The first track, Momentarily Relapse of Pain, is quick to invite grim suspicion almost right away. The track - and the album, logically enough - starts out with a superb polyrhythm that does not make sense at all and still sounds absolutely great, but the magic is to wear out soon, because the singing starts. OMFG! The singer dude sings like a robot that is not ALLOWED to commit mistakes. He is not allowed to include human emotion, either, if it conflicts with the first Asimovian Directive to deliver mathematically precise pronunciation and articulation. Listen to this articulation. This is so 111% precise, that it sounds unnatural. It sounds mannered. The lyrics are pretty boring, too. The singer must feel utterly empty indeed, because he needs to state "I feel so empty" four times in a row during the midsection. Hm. Maybe you should try to come up with a song when you are not feeling so empty, too.

Next track called Stare Into the Night starts out as an atrociously non-inventive zoo metal piece, while sporting a sense of warped carnival music, but, thank God & Co., a solid chorus comes in to save a minute of the day. One must point out that once the chorus revealed itself, the zoo metalish verse gains somewhat of a spine, as well. The chorus has a relative reggae-vibe going on, but, without the restrained rhythmization so common to that genre.

Seize the Day is your everyday average attempt to deliver a metal hymn that is supposed to give you an immediate spiritual level upwards, but, for me, it gives just a laugh I prefer to conceal into a cough, - failing now that I admit - and must say this sounds like the music I'd expect from a romantic metal-candidate at a pop festival in 1986 or so. The sound is relatively current and full, sure, - but mind us that many elements, including synthetic guitars, are being utilized in the background to make us believe that we are genuinely graced by evidently relevant content - but the composition is relatively weightless, even when considered as pure cheese, and the lyrical content is sentimental, risk free soul-flatter formed to assuage the one who is so easily can be assuaged once fat hope is served, the one who is still waiting for her/his very best hour to finally start something by. Well, Ladies and Gents, if you did not yet seize the day, then I can imagine THIS song will make the necessary mindhack on you! < - ill willed irony. This sounds to be a filler song with not too much-, if any ripe intent behind it, saved for an attempt to summon the determined epicness factor - and the hidden cheese - of anime power metal.

The track called Broken is more successful, and it also sounds to have this Dr. Alban vibe, which is a somewhat ubiquitous feel on the spin, supported by the persistent pop feel that coats the compositions into a sense of risk free accessibility. Broken also brings to mind Billy Idol's Heroin from 1992. This does not sound any more current or any more rich than that though, to be honest.

I can't tell anything about the track called The Pensive Disarray, because we - the track and me - have failed to do anything to each other during the three attempts we had at each other. OK, I see a dude in 1983, contemplating in his solitary bed with his sorrowful face on, lamenting about his Dream Woman, and suddenly I realize that he probably is a miserable grandmaster-turd, and then I lose interest in the picture.

The track called He Will Remain sounds like a prayer, and it could have been a splendid filler song you love to skip immediately, but the singing is not OK in it, in my opinion. Mind you, I'm not trying to be a troll all over the place, the singing is just COLD, in my opinion.

The consecutive, titular track starts out with top notch rumble - finally, for a tender fuck's sake - and the delivery is quick to elegantly summon a vibe similar to that of the Killer Instinct theme song, only more complex and with more extreme grit. Nevertheless, this is the same pop-metal made for immediate microwave consumption, now paired with Dr. Alban-like singing being taken to a new level of misplaced confidence. I like the thick, robust instrumental intro section of the song, and any part of it that does not have that cold, over-articulated singing. This titular track has a ripe structure and a nice flow, but also has metal core screaming in it. No worries, it only lasts for 2 bars, so it reaches its end before you could produce a nervous breakdown in peace.

The track Iron Dream is a tribute to Peter Steele Metal God / Human Demigod, and also is one of the most solid tracks on the release, one which Mr. Steele himself probably gives the nod on.

No, he did not object.

The pop vibe herein works, because the composition itself is : solid.

Fire of the Times once again gives you the metal pop festival in 1986 feeling, but the super-polished sound makes it tolerable. (For a minute or two.) The chorus of the song is not so bad, - not so stellar, either - but a lackluster, lazy verse puts a whole lot of unpleasant cosmoses on its shoulders. And, once a guitar solo kicks in and you think there will be something more relevant happening for a change, it turns out that the solo is 2 bars long, WTF!? And the average pop chorus comes back. Whattt. Evvver.

She Takes Me features kind of dignity-lacking singing of the "look, Girl, this is how I feel deep inside, look!!"-type with the so well known powerless sighs at the very end of the sung words that I think a woman is secretly disgusted of, the powerless sighs that truly commands hairs on a male's body to arrange themselves into Godlike Awareness Mode. Not a good thing, not in this aspect. This is a below average pop song - below average lullaby if you are a troll and proud of that - performed with metal instruments.

It's Time To Know tries to summon the Metal Elton John and succeeds masterfully, making use for the 32623786238623862386th time from the fact, that, it summons an instant sense of the cheapest epicness when you leave a triad of notes intact at the top, and change the root note/bass note around.

Congratulations, you have just lost a point!

I admit I utilized this trick once, too, after watching a totally unrelated, great instructional video from Guitar God Frank Gambale. He is Australian, too, like this band, and if you don't know Frank Gambale's work yet, you need to check him out ASAP, he is gigantic, and knows parts of music even music is ashamed of when they are revealed.

The last track, Are You Shaded? has this Evil VS Good thing going on, with glimpses - and JUST glimpses - of every possible sub-genres of extreme metal being thrown into this mix that seeks your appreciation like a dehydrated camel seeks rain in the desert. In a matter of ten seconds, you have death metal growls on top of thrash metal drums, riposted by the robot folk singing. Uuuuh. Not today, thanks. As hinted, the main attraction of the song is a chorus bordering on mystical folk/pop, with solid moments of mechanical, cybernetic fury that the album would sound way more convincing with, if to feature more - like : MUCH more - of that. This is a superbly produced, average plastic-pink pop metal record. At best. It reeks accessibility, but it reeks that so much that the "it" itself is nowhere to be found. It is KIA, baby.

Rating : 6.5 / 10

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Ilium - Genetic Memory review

Year : 2011
Genre : Power Metal
Label : Escape
Origin : Australia
Rating : 7.5 / 10

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Australian Ilium is the power metal band that has the uppermost level of unconditional love - if there ARE levels at all for such a thing - cultivated for All Things Power Chord, but the band also brings awareness regarding the period of time a sequence of comfy harmonic chugging is worth abusing for. Ilium's Genetic Memory is the kind of nicely varied-, at heart deeply and elegantly traditional power metal with the dare and desire to wander around among epic determination and dramatic gloom, pretty much like a pinball collapses into different elements of notable character during a pinball session.

The most pronounced vibe this delivery communicates along, is a direction that keeps its eyes on the mistress of fantasy related power metal, but also caresses the knee of an almost-out-of-battery fembot under the table. The story of the eyes are more relevant this time around though. As usual. Read on to - well - read more on this decent spin, and, to know if the mistress of fantasy related power metal is aware of the fembot's knee being caressed under the table.



Ilium delivers the '80s visceral approach of doom and pathos presented in high definition, increasing its sheer enjoyability by disassembling it by just the right moments. The ensuing pattern is most often characterized by a pleasant modulation shift and a riff to ride on it, and this inventiveness is JUST enough - and also IS required - so the re-occurrence of classic dooming and pathosing truly has the potential to show their duo around with proper efficiency upon comeback. Interestingly enough, at the first spin of this delivery you might arrive at the thought that the band sounds to be perfectly content with throwing simplistic power chord arrangements around, but right when you are about to put your very best snob face on, elaborate stimuli is about to dock into the fabric, ripping the promise of your very best snob face off.

Genetic Memory is an interesting construct in this particular regard. As hinted, Ilium does not feel embarrassed about declaring super-orthodox, stone-traditional power metal chord passages, because they are aware how they - the band - will emerge with a more relevant auditory construct right when you are about to think that you have heard all in the track that is there to be heard. There is a consorting truth to be told, and this truth is that there are minor - and only minor - inconsistencies in the modulation shifts. In other words : some are cheap and shit. But the majority is truly nicely done. A similar thing can be told about the tracks themselves, as compositional constructs. They, for the most part, after assuring you that they are in love with the power chord, are able to bring you the supremely shaped Iron Maiden in a human sized gift package, and a keen intent to go for the easily accessible, yet cutely overcheesy '80s sci-fi anime vibe always reigns readied in their fabric.

The vocalist dude refrains from imitating Bruce Dickinson's mighty siren pipes, and goes instead for the Melodic Raw Animal register of Argus' Butch Balich - in theory. In reality, not many are in the position to sport throat pipes priceless enough to approximate that of Butch Balich's, and, as such, Ilium's singer sounds to be close to desperation mode amidst the waves Butch Balich is ruthlessly riding on as a Sonic God that just popped into existence, declaring the Lungs of Aural Overpower that can shatter neighboring icebergs at will. Ilium's vocalist gives a performance that is decent and whatnot, it is just that it fails to add anything - sorry about using this overused word - "special" on top of the music, though it can be done, because Butch Balich can do it.

Ilium's Genetic War is a delivery born out of pure love for the genre, also a love that sounds to be felt properly and honestly. The album, fortunately enough, does not show itself to be prone to exhibit all that much filler sections, and two and a half hand is more than enough to count elements that would have looked better on the cutting floor of the studio. A nicely done album, expressing its HD love for the cheesy pathos of the '80s.

Rating : 7.5 / 10

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