Daysend come from Australia. Arrogantly renouncing any definable modern metal tradition, one might say that the band has decided to identify themselves with the other end of the world, attempting to apply updated US metalcore formulas. That is, besides the guitarists, who had decided to drop off the expedition somewhere around Sweden. So, one who is looking for the enigmatic Australian sound, is bound to end up with something averaging somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic. Does it sound original? A little bit. Refreshing? Somehow. Satisfying? It depends.

The music of Daysend usually strictly follows the conventions of mainstream conventional, commercial, aggressive-yet-emotional no-longer-so-hard core. Follows so strictly, that not much is left to say, really. The melodies are there, and the shouts, and the drama, and the familiar dissonance, and light rhythm shifts. All solid and usual, summing up to a standard product. Of the "for-fans-of-the-genre" kind.

But then comes the guitarist. Calling his riffs death-metallic would be a bit of an exaggeration, but he does definitely attempt to infuse them with a healthy dose of the Scandinavian extreme tradition. Calling his solos neo-classical would be a bit too flattering, but he does spin Yngwie records.

I have a confession to make: Caravan was never one of my favorite progressive rock bands. I never felt quite comfortable with their overly sticky humor and some of their music that was generally even more wishy-washy than Camel’s The Snow Goose.

Caravan emerged in the late 60’s, and is considered to be a highly successful representative of the Canterbury scene, aside Soft Machine. By the time this 1977 release was recorded, the band had undergone various lineup changes, with only Pye Hastings (guitars, vocals) and Richard Coughlan (drums) surviving the wandering. Given all of the above, I was quite surprised to find myself actually enjoying this release.

The jazz elements that were a major characteristic of the Canterbury scene are gone, so are Jimmy Hastings’ flutes and saxes, and David Sinclair’s kinky organs. The sexually oriented lyrics are still here, though, wrapping the horny teenager fantasies with gentlemanly gestures that make the nasty intentions seem appropriate, resulting in loveable songs that are less ridiculous than some of the band’s earlier, laughable songs such as "Golf Girl" and "Love to Love You." There are also some string arrangements and pleasing Moog playing (check out "Behind You") for the more "progressive" listeners to take comfort in.

The rather short but extracted instrumental "The Last Unicorn" is the highlight here, offering a rather gentle pastoral melody that receives a funky upbeat twist midway, and continues blaring and neighing.

While this release might disappoint dedicated Caravan followers, being less rich and less pastoral than the acclaimed In the Land of Grey and Pink, I find it a rather delightful effort in its own straightforward way, and that might actually be appreciated by those who were disappointed with Caravan’s earlier material and are willing to accept this more basic, yet endearing incarnation. (6.25/10)

Part doom sludge, part metalcore, part Isis’ cathartic cyclical, warm ebbs and flows of fuzz, all delivered with the kind of powerful, attention-grabbing production that you should expect from a band on the Relapse label, Buried Inside’s Chronoclast is one hell of a ride.

If this album had been a one-trick pony of doom sludge, I would have passed it on in hopes of finding a more clement reviewer. However, it’s Chronoclast’s dynamics that partly make it so good. Slow, churning movements rapidly erupt into squalls of furious drumming with equally intense, intricate and tightly played musicianship around it, only to flow back out like a massive tide.

Indeed, the album isn’t so much about individual songs, but more about being a whole of an encompassing cyclical being incorporating smaller cycles within it. If you dug Comity’s The Deus Ex-Machina as a Forgotten Genius, or are into Isis, we think you should definitely get this. (8.2/10)

Berserk, a Spanish black metal quintet, must have a tremendous, demanding fan base that relates to them as truly mythological figures and objects of admiration, collection, and documentation. Either that or the band seriously wanted to get back at their record company.

These are the only reasonable motives one can think of for an accomplished band to decide to release an awfully recent early demo such as this, with an addition of four current live tracks. Such as these.

So, if you have an incredibly strong affinity for Berserk, Spain, boredom or pity, this may be the thing for you. Otherwise, it may not. (3/10)

Cadacross screams Finnish metal. But it’s no ripoff also ran. Sure, it draws its influences from the whole gamut of Finnish pioneers (Children of Bodom, Sentenced, Stratovarius, Lost in Twilight... ok, they may not be pioneers as no one has heard of them, but they’re really good!) But has its own share of originality.

What makes So Pale is the Light so delightful is the wealth of classical inspiration in the riffs... and almost triumphant, glorious yet melancholy feel that flows abundantly from guitars that sound as close to electric violins as you can get them. The keyboardist has a great knack of filling in the music, as well as being able to lead the band in some instances.

The only drag about this album is the vocals. And while they aren’t terrible, they are about as good as most non-melodic vocals from Finnish bands: they’re just there. Cadacross’ in particular could not be more unremarkable: they’re bland and (fittingly) pushed way down in the mix. It’s a shame that music that’s so melodic and grand has to be matched with banal harsh vocals. Regardless, if you find this album cheap, get it. (And you very well may be able to, as this album is a re-issue. The band has since released a second album). (7.8/10)

This Swedish death/thrash group has a harshness in its sound that is uncommon among its peers. Johny Westerback's vocals are a big part of this effect: his raspy, gurgling growl is rich and unhesitating. This eager aggressiveness graces the rest of the band, as well: fast-picked guitar lines are executed with accuracy and confidence, and Tobhias Ljung's drums move with purpose. Melodic guitars have a big place in Darkened Silhouette, but they aren't dwelt-upon or drawn-out. More than anything, they are a speedy and creative mark of transition. Songs like "Vital Organ Theft" move quickly and change before you know it, each song is unique and monotony isn't even a consideration with The Bereaved.

The tempos and styles don't change drastically in Darkened Silhouette, making lack of variety the main downfall, but The Bereaved is still a solid, no-nonsense group that is almost sure to please. (7/10)

Belphegor is an experienced, long-standing band that has had a productive streak recently. Releasing two albums in less than a year, the group is once again gaining international attention and reaping well-deserved praise for its mature, varied sound.

Belphegor's style is pretty straightforward death, but on Goatreich-Fleshcult, the band runs the gamut from "Swarm of Rats'" blast beats and fast-picked melodious guitar lines to the sludgy, slogging stoner grooves of "Sepulture of Hypocrisy." And from the extremes to everything in between, Belphegor sounds great on this latest release. From the blazing guitar solos and dead-on drumming to Helmuth's assorted screams and growls, a satisfyingly dark energy persists throughout. The evil imagery surrounding the group and the almost exclusively anti-Christian lyrical content do their part, as well, but Belphegor's music stands sturdily on its own merit.

Although it doesn't exactly push the envelope, Goatreich-Fleshcult is solidly grounded in the essentials, and it's unlikely that you've heard anything quite like it done by another group. (8.3/10)

Nice to be now more formally reunited with Antigama, a couple of whose demos we reviewed with pleasure a couple years ago. Now they’re signed, and the Polish grind band has gotten heavier, sludgier and more chaotic. Furious, straight ahead pummeling suddenly changes like so much meat ripped raw from a living body. If you heard and liked Japanische Kampfhorspiele, and can imagine something dirtier and meaner, you’ve got Antigama. I kind of preferred the relative clarity of the demos, but the highspeed, technical sludge will definitely appeal to aficionados of fast and furious, dirty music that isn’t just the same rehashed formula. (7/10)

Drew, known on this album as Dog Traders, is more well-known for his daily drawings at toothpastefordinner.com. But here he demonstrates that he has more than just a quick wit and talent with the pen. He manages to create generally cohesive indie rock that occasionally verges on the very good. Drew’s voice calls to mind a great deal of 90s music, but lacks a substantial backing sound to truly play it up. The album as a whole is decidedly uneven, but songs taken individually are well worth the listen.

Take for example "Evil Seeds," which opens with a catchy hook, and goes on to discuss the "geography of people"— which in turn becomes a discourse on everything that people do to each other that is bad, what sort of people the world is made of. Throughout, guitars and drums thrum satisfyingly. Better still is "Sweetest Secrets," which makes excellent uses of vocal distortion (and thankfully it sounds nothing like the Strokes). The track starts off quietly, then breaks loose into a torrent of brilliance. There is a hint of bombast here, but of the best sort. "They Don’t Need" makes excellent use of fuzzed-out guitar interspersed with clearer lines.

Sometimes I wonder whether I am listening to the same album that contains less well-structured songs, but as a whole this is a good piece of work. I look forward to seeing what direction Drew takes his music in next. (6.9/10)

San Francisco’s The Drift assemble their songs from jazz and incorporate dub beats. The A side, "Streets," takes a minute to warm up, but coalesces into the waves of sound that follow you around as you travel the streets of a city – the horns, the clatter of the streetcar, the imprecations of the various panhandlers you pass by, the song of the breeze (and that oh-so-memorable smell of street, represented here by the occasional note turning sour after a sweet melodic line).

Six and a half minutes in, the rhythm changes, from shimmering to abrupt, and you are either walking into a club, the envy of all eyes, or dealing with rush hour. I’m still not sure which. In both cases, you are accosted by the existence of everyone around you. In the end, it’s ok, you have found your drink, your friend, come in from the winter rain, which now plays gently on your windows, traffic floats by, away from you.

The B side, Nozomi, is a lazy afternoon, and even if you are with someone else, you do not feel compelled to speak, the beauty of the day speaks for you. As with any lovely day, it has its moments of overwhelming you, building to peaks of sunshine, occasionally occluded by clouds. But those clarion moments of sun are brighter than the cotton drifts, and you feel yourself smiling in spite of your usually morose temperament. Not quite jazz, but a gently brushed drum, clear and massaging horns, the thrum of plugged guitar, a great lullaby for the day. (8.5/10)

History repeats with this reviewer as far as Falconer is concerned. This Swedish traditional/power metal’s first albums, with uncommon singer Mathias Blad, took years to reveal their worth to us. Finally, when we had embraced Falconer’s brilliance, Blad was out.

For returning fans, the new Falconer still has the trademark songwriting of guitarist Stefan Weinerhall, who mixes a folky Celtic metal style with some classical influence and just enough blues scales. Some of the songs really stress the chorus, like opening track "Emotional Skies," resulting in Falconer’s tendency to be a sing along metal record.

The new album is more all over the map than previous ones. You’ve got jokey songs ("Jack the Knife"), anthems ("Emotional Skies"), and straight ahead power metal rumblers ("Purgatory Time"). In the middle of the record, the music turns into Judas Priest, with "The Assailant" and "Power."

And you thought Skyclad were fun.

For those who are yet unfamiliar, Flogging Molly blend finely crafted Celtic music within the framework of a punk-oriented environment. The most charming notion about this amalgamation is the lack of utter surprise or amazement: after listening to Within a Mile of Home, the merging of the dynamic, bursting energies of the Irish folk lads with the rampaging, harmonically meager punk phrases doesn't appear to be especially refreshing nor creative: it simply sounds inevitable. As if a fiddle, a banjo and all sorts of pipes could never be separated from distorted guitars and barking raw vocals. Indeed, Flogging Molly provide an utter proof of the Celts having always been sort of punks, simply without knowing it.

But enough! This music should be savagely jigged to, not analyzed. Go get it, and gracefully hope for Martin Walkyier and his fellas not to be left out of business. (9/10)

Steve Albini is said to have remarked that if people want toilet paper and you give them sand paper, they aren’t going to like it, no matter how good it is.

Giles’ renown is that it’s the side project of the frontman to metalcore band Between the Buried and Me, which is just about top dog for that genre here at Maelstrom HQ. So Giles brought with it some excitement.

They said it was an electronica project.

Problem is, Giles’ sand paper is just shit sand paper that you wouldn’t want even if you needed sand paper. This CD is so bad, it was nearly a pleasure to listen to it, knowing that it may be the absolute worst album we’ll hear this year. So it’s special.

Horrendous hip-hop vocals, painful rhymes and syntax, songs that start at stranded and proceed to nowhere, and obnoxious electronica farts and bleeps and general pointlessness that will make you wonder how little Between the Buried and Me actually have to do these days.

Giles’ logo is this album’s microcosm of confusion, thrown together-ness and identity crisis. You might want to check it out for fun, but you’ll probably end up with some pretty bad friction burn, especially if you love the band this abysmal project came from. Like, way dumber than even Agalloch’s Especially Likely Sloth side project. (0/10)

It’d be cool to see more bands that do the slow, so-called funeral style of doom have more, if not all, clean singing. I mean, there are giants of the deeply guttural vocal kind: Skepticism, Shape of Despair, Evoken, and Nortt, etc... but how many slow and low bands can you think of that weave majestic, haunting melodic vocals to go along with their catatonic cathedral music?

Grave Flowers’ Incarcerated Sorrows starts off as a ray of hope in this intrinsically morbid genre. Good, deep guitar tones, rich piano, and halfway decent vocals. The going’s good, until realization gradually sets in that Incarcerated Sorrows is in fact a tediously repetitive Gothy doom album with uninspired riffs and eminently forgettable songs.

The album is redundant to the core. Even lyrically, the songs seem to deal with the same topics again and again – something sadly brought to the fore precisely because they are delivered in a coherent vocal style. The singer seems to uniformly go on about how he used to be happier, more hopeful, younger, and, by the sixth or seventh track we assume, perhaps also thinner and with more hair. When that avenue is marched enough on, then he goes on about how someone else used to be younger, happier, etc...

Still, it’s hard to rate this one below "mediocre" as it doesn’t really hit you as being crap (Ok, I got tired of it near the second to last track as I had heard as much as I thought I would). The performances are acceptable and the production is well-suited, but unfortunately, Incarcereated Sorrows ranks at best as an album in the background to not pay total attention to. Silence and the imagination are probably more doomy. (4/10)

This third release from the band led by the legendary Geezer Butler proves beyond doubt that Butler is still dedicated to his original call: delivering mind blowing material that is dense, delicate and meaningful. More than everything, GZR sounds fresh, with all intents intact.

Clark Brown, on board for the second time, showcases impressive vocal skills, wider in scope than those he presented on Geezer’s Black Science, offering more of the Plastic Planet (which featured vocals by Fear Factory’s Burton C. Bell) era aggression with some rap inspired vocals that actually do not seem out of place as they are performed with the appropriate metal angst and assault (listen to "Prisoner 103"), as well as some more relaxed but equally frustrated vocals.

The aforementioned broad vocal approach is best demonstrated through "I Believe," on which is supported by terrific guitar work that ranges from the chilling, mellow yet tough picking that hosts the clean vocals, to the vibrating, slashing riff that accompanies the desperate screams that sound as if Brown’s life depends on them.

In fact, it does not take more than the developing meaty lead on the opening "Misfit" to understand why Geezer stuck to Pedro Howse for the third time around. He is one of a few players who can live up to the fat sound of Black Sabbath’s Tony Iommi.

A bombast rhythm section wraps the whole thing up, and it results in sounding like Faith No More going hardcore. As long as you approach this band effort open mindedly, you are bound to be shattered! (9/10)

German black metal has always been a favorite with Maelstrom, and part of what put it on our map was Lunar Aurora’s Ars Moriendi, an essential album for anyone purporting to be a black metal fan. This album is still Lunar Aurora’s best work to date (although we haven’t heard Zyklus yet.)

So this review is not taking into question Ars Moriendi’s worth. Rather, it is primarily examining whether those like me, who have the original issue, should pay to get the re-issue, which is not only remastered, but also has an extra guitar layer throughout the album.

Seems like a shoo-in, right? More is better. More layers, more dense goodness. But that’s why we write the reviews.

As clearly an unpopular opinion as this is, you should stick with the original album. On the re-issue, the guitar is more powerful, sure, but it’s to the detriment of being able to hear all the rest of what’s going on, like the deeply resonant piano notes on track three. Certainly all of the other players on the album can still be heard, but it definitely helps if you are familiar with the album to begin with to know what to listen for.

The original has a sort of more relaxed feel, like evil, astral mist (it lends itself very well to the last track, a soothing wind chime and keyboard outro). The production is kind of like something you’d expect from Nokturnal Mortum. The new album is more in your face and aggressive. Again, it seems better on paper, but in reality, it’s not.

Now, don’t get the wrong idea. This is not saying that the re-issue of Ars Moriendi sucks. It is still a superb album, and those who don’t have either version would do just fine by getting it. At the end of the day, it really doesn’t make that much of a difference. (And for what it’s worth, the new record has far better artwork). But if you find the original for a reduced price, that’s called a gift. (re-issue: 8.5/10, original 9/10)

The cover of Mennen’s Freakazoid may deter somber metal fans from approaching the album, but this serves its contents well, as it is not to be embraced too seriously.

On their new release, Netherlands' Mennen offer melodic mainstream metal, hinting at 80’s hair metal (though their haircut is a bit more freakishly modern, ambivalently), with guitar jugglery that ranges from Eddie Van Halen to John Petrucci, and vocals that are inspired by David Coverdale and James LaBrie.

While the lyrics do not really work and the whole thing is not as lively as it should be, with most of the material being ballad oriented, the melodic playing is quite good and does not go over the top trying to prove it is something it is not. The production is also decent and so fans of middle-of-the-road ballad kitsch metal can consider Freakazoid as a listening option. Those who take their metal more seriously should consider James LaBrie’s Elements of Persuasion as a respectable alternative. (5/10)

Though the third track, "Timorme," slows down the vibe a bit, you can sense an undertone of ska below the many-layered horns. The fourth track brings in a touch of electro. This is less an improvement than a variation, and to this reviewer’s ears, less interesting than the texture of the songs themselves. With drums vaguely resembling the sharp delineations of a high-school marching band, the EP closes on a high note. This is a short but sweet set of songs, a tiny carnival of happiness. (7.6/10)

Project: Failing Flesh's debut album doesn't bode well for the band's future. A production-heavy three-piece from Virginia, Failing Flesh has some interesting guitar riff intros and atmospheric effects that eventually settle into unimpressive, middle-of-the-road verses. The synth and drum-machine arrangements by Kevin 131 often flirt with the cheesy, bringing forward fake-sounding strings and unimaginative rhythms, and the guitars by Eric Forrest and Tim Gutierrez leave a lot to be desired. Simplistic and repetitive, most of the grooves get tired quickly, and the electronically generated noise that often takes the forefront makes the mixture unbearable.

It's unfortunate that the computerized element that makes the album memorable and distinct is also the thing that most makes you want to listen to something else. Crappy electronic music blended in doesn't make a band progressive or experimental – it just adds distracting clutter unless it's well-done. Eric Forrest's vocals aren't horrible, but his throaty, metalcore-style yelling is limited and completely forgettable.

Essentially, no one element of Project: Failing Flesh is strong enough to carry A Beautiful Sickness, so the album gets bogged down with a bunch of stuff that's not worth listening to. Impressive guitar work is sparse on this one, and the overpowering, uneven, discordant synths push the whole lot over the edge. Just pretend like it never happened. (2.5/10)

This Dutch five-piece has an old-school death metal sound that makes it sound like the band should be twice as old as it is; Bloodletting is a 15-track "sampler" that goes back to some of Severe Torture's earliest demos, released in 1998. The group's sound is so grounded in the basics – groove- and growl-driven, frequent and severe tempo and style changes with none of the electronic frills so popular today – that to listen to it you'd think Severe Torture must have come of age in the late 80's.

But, as always, death metal done right doesn't necessarily have to bring anything new to the table to be worth listening to. Severe Torture has a full sound and good musicians behind it – they play fast and accurately, but loose enough to preserve a grit that is essential to the group's style.

So, if you're really into clean thrash or more experimental, innovative death you might want to avoid Severe Torture; it's nothing you haven't heard before. But if you're up for a solid "best-of" from a group that emphasizes the essential elements of death (and that I'm sure would kill live), you're sure to like Bloodletting. (7/10)

Congratulations to Sinai Beach for dropping the biggest turd in recent memory. The group is going for a hard-core, electronic-infused Fear Factory sound and doesn't pull it off in the least. The non-growled vocals fail miserably, and there is far too much attempted singing for anyone's good. The guitars and drums are remarkable only in their juvenility – it's just one brainless, 4/4 groove after another for the entire length of the album with few changes in style or tempo.

Oh, and speaking of brainless crap that's painful to sit through, the entire album sings Christ's praises in the lamest, most transparent ways possible. Now, if you're going to be a Christian band, I'm all for doing away with the ambiguity that infects almost every Christian band as soon as the popular eye turns on them. If you've got a message, you might as well make it clear. But take a look at this:

"His Chosen Fate"

"Hell is all around me, or at least it seems to be I look to the side of Me: emptiness I look to the other: suffering and loneliness I wonder, can it get any worse? And all of this reminds me of man's gift, turned curse Free will, given to man by God. For He longs to be loved by those who choose. For with free will comes real love, real hate, and the freedom to not be robotically used."

"The Serpent's Letter"

"I send this to hell. In the expression of the hate that is mine. No forgiveness for your lies. So take my two cents. As I give you a piece of my mind. And this is my letter to hell. As they open up Hell's gates to eternally damn you I will be there to spit on you. I long to see your face of pain. To see you flinch in the heat of the flame But one thing will cool you I'll piss on your tortured soul."

And believe me, it doesn't get any better. You'd think just reading the Bible a couple of times would give you a better sense of imagery and verse than is apparent in Immersed, let alone a sense of humility in place of the self-aggrandizement that is all-too-prevalent on the album, but it appears that that's not the case. And the obnoxious way in which the lyrics are applied to the musical formula (i.e. awful, tuneless singing) will only make you seethe with further contempt for Sinai Beach.

Stay as far away from this group as humanly possible, and hope they find grace in the next world, because they haven’t found it in this one. (1/10)

This Swedish six-piece's debut album is a great effort by a relatively new band. Slumber has an emotional, minor-key doom feel to it, and the tempos remain moderate. Synth-heavy and melodic, Slumber builds rich atmospheres in each song. The band strikes an even balance between growling mixed with distorted guitars and piano lines over harmonized female vocals. The transitions between styles are smooth, and as one voice is brought forward another recedes until the music has changed completely almost without your noticing.

Songwriting is heavily emphasized in Fallout, and the songs' basic themes and structures are complemented by clear, even production and accurate musicianship. The slower tempos don't allow for many solos or really impressive or extreme instrumentation, but keeping slow music interesting is a skill all its own. It would be a mistake for fans of Anathema and other downtempo, doom-inspired groups to ignore Slumber, but the appeal to other listeners may be minimal. (7/10)

Thy Endless Wrath's blend of symphonic black metal isn't particularly distinct from others in the genre: fast, near-constant drumming, repetitive guitar riffs, a synthesized orchestra in the background and wicked, throaty screams in the fore. The production is good, providing a rich, full sound and a well-balanced mix, but it also highlights the general mediocrity of the band's musicianship. The drums are varied but sloppy, as are the guitars, which may add a certain something to the coarse, evil atmosphere Thy Endless Wrath is shooting for, but it just doesn't sound good. The drums are also conspicuously slow for the "extreme black metal" HateWorks is advertising.

The tracks are structured well and change often enough to fend off boredom, and the synths and other flourishes are well-placed to build a dark atmosphere. But Next to the Throne of Chaos just doesn't compare with its darker, more extreme and better-staffed competition. (5/10)

For some peculiar reason, somewhere in the early 90's, someone in Norway somehow decided that winter sounded like majestic orchestrated synths, desolate shrieks and thin drum loops (at times accompanied by buzzing guitar). While the desolate shrieks do make sense in regarding to the stormy, chilling season, the remaining components of the construct appear, at times, arbitrary.

Nevertheless, due to this decision, a whole generation of music listeners now thinks of old PC drum loops each time it’s snowing outside, and starts to uncontrollably shiver whenever hearing the sounds of an old Korg keyboard. One may wonder what would have happened if this style of bleak atmospheric metal would have been invented, say, in Morocco. Would then Burzum be conceived today as "boiling black metal," and old Ulver as "sizzling menace"?

However, this is not the time and the place for such speculations. Fact is that today, old toyish keyboard atmosphere is "barren landscape of forgotten, bone-encrusting chilliness." Or something. And Vinterriket does deliver the icy goods in this field. Including some pieces of whining shrieks, some of simply composed soundscapes of electro-frost, a handful of eerie, magical passages and, yes, the Burzum cover. Nothing outstandingly unusual or creative, but still relatively honest sounding, authentic and convincing.

So, if you got tired of your old enchanting winter tunes, and would like to enjoy some variety, this may be a reasonably satisfying option. If you are more of a sunny person, better check the Middle Eastern and North African scenes instead. (6/10)

It seems that as the 1970’s faded, so did the amount of successful, timeless rock albums. Considering this, as well as the fact that I have never heard of Johnny Warman prior to receiving the details of this reissue of his 1978 release, I simply did not expect much. Furthermore, one would think a seventies rock concept album about space invaders would sound dated, especially with some electronically treated vocals and effects. I could not have been more wrong.

First of all, everywhere I looked all I could find regarding Warman was praise. Moreover, his later releases (also currently available from Angel Air) feature contributions from renowned musicians such as Peter Gabriel and Tony Levin, and he also went on as a songwriter for varied acts (Ringo Starr and Asia, to name a few), and these say a lot.

Second, and much more important, Hour Glass is truly a classic rock album, and I am stating this without any compromises made on my part! With the conventional rock tools team expanded by a creative keyboardist, trumpet and saxophone players, Warman delivers his futuristic text with a punk, hard rocking approach and drenches it in some progressive rock tendencies, as well as an eccentric, quirky orchestration and a theatrical approach that are reminiscent of David Bowie, Alice Cooper and The Sensational Alex Harvey Band. Prog-punk if you wish.

A special attention should be paid to the skillful and upfront bass playing of Paul Martinez (who would later join Robert Plant’s band). His stellar performance would not have shamed the late John Entwistle, and it definitely adds a significant dimension to the recording.

And so, bringing much of The Who’s qualities to mind, Hour Glass is all about moving songwriting and a conquering performance that make it sound as fresh as Quadrophenia sounds today; both sharing a time focused perspective while avoiding irrelevance.

It is a mystery how this album got away from its deserved fame the first time around (even compared to Warman’s later releases that managed to reach a wider audience), and with its first ever CD release (packed with fulfilling bonus studio and live tracks) just coming out, there are no excuses left for a rock enthusiast to avoid it. (9.1/10)

Iowa City band Wax Cannon have been playing together since 1998, and, were they based in a larger city such as Washington, DC, or New York or Seattle, they might by now have come close to the kind of mini-fame that is bequeathed upon darlings of the indie scene. However, they live in Iowa City.

At the same time, the sound Wax Cannon present to the world isn’t always a consistently excellent one, and this I think is what keeps them teetering on the brink of recognition. At times, they are reminiscent of the Dismemberment Plan tinged with Goo-era Sonic Youth and even a hint of surf music. Sometimes this makes for a great sound, as on "Too Many Orange Books," which cascades along nicely throughout. On the other hand, the dirge-like following track, "Starvation Plank," falls flat (too much Nick Cave for breakfast, it sounds like, particularly given the sound of the vocals).

Yet something about this disc makes me want to give it more time to percolate. The first time through, I had my doubts, but the next time around, I like more of it. Perhaps it is one of those things that will grow on you, too. (7/10... I’m optimistic that I’ll like it, but not completely sold yet)

Wolfmangler’s music is most characteristically droning, monotonous, repetitive and sluggish. This is quite a compliment, as it’s probably the exact goal that was aimed for.

That is what happens when you blend guitar, bass, voice, sort-of-Indian drums, bajo sexto, cello, and more and more, attempting to make them sound all identical. One is left in a carpet of bleak imagery, a space surprising in its flatness and dryness, aiming at creating an atmosphere in any possible way, besides the obvious compositional one. Try to imagine experimental King Crimson, omitting the music.

Does it work? Well, it depends on what your aim at. Yes, a relatively interesting effect is generated, not derived of originality and uniqueness. Also, it is undoubtable that the group had experienced great feelings of pioneering satisfaction and enjoyment while creating this (mostly live recorded ) piece. Should anyone actually like to listen to the album? Perhaps, in certain contexts, in an attempt to achieve a very specific effect.

So, My Guitar Wants to Kill Your Wolves is a definitely unusual, sort of interesting, maybe worth listening to album. For those who long for basements with no humidity. (6.5/10)

The three core members of the once avant-garde outfit East of Eden surrounded themselves with a few more musicians this time around, probably hoping to expand the musical palette of their jazz-rock oriented compositions.

The results, however, do not differ much from the other two albums they have released since reforming in the 90’s (1997’s Kalipse and 2000’s Armadillo), suffering from the same drawbacks.

The new material, in its generality, marks another step towards smooth jazz (I never thought I’d see the day when Maelstrom would feature anything resembling smooth jazz in its pages – distraught editor), incorporating the usual moderate amount of Latin, funk and ska influences, with Allan Holdsworth being a notable source of inspiration.

There are also some Mingus-flavoured pieces, but these fail to reach the grandiose dimensions of Mingus’ work, most likely due to the stiff production that brings the later work of Steely Dan to mind. Furthermore, the programmed drums do not help in creating a spiritual setting, and it’s a shame that East of Eden did not give them up completely.

"Almazan" is the definite highlight here, with an Eastern/Spanish theme that sends the listener back to the days of SNAFU (1970), albeit in a more restrained mood; with Caines’ soprano sax making you airborne.

All in all, Graffito is a solid release by excellent players that currently settle for the comfortable instead of going for the groundbreaking. I trust it is not due to a fear of how their audience might take it, as it is an audience that is definitely up for a wild ride. Hopefully, on their next release they will break loose! (6.25/10)

Grundik and Slava, the highly respected and fruitful duo that originated in Israel in 1994, currently share their time navigating their music between Israel and New York. On Frogs, they benefit from the undeciphered vocals of Victoria Hanna (at times whispering in a Gilli Smyth manner), and some bass work by Kruzenshtern & Parohod’s Igor Krutogolov; but most of all they rely on their own vision and their own means (such as computer, guitar, drum machine and field recordings, not to forget their skills) to execute it.

Frogs is to electronic music what Egberto Gismonti’s Danca Das Cabecas (1977) is to jazz and Peccatum’s Lost in Reverie (2004) is to metal: a journey that stretches beyond the boundaries of a genre, avoiding preconceived limitations and definitions, and bridging between the tangible and the metaphysical, while navigating between the structured and unstructured.

The music presented here is a carefully unfolding organic adventure with its background and foreground merging into a single entity, making each listening equivalent to a trip in wild nature, ranging from the tribal and eerie to the meditative and relaxing, and with so much finesse that it can only be partially absorbed on each trip; hence, remaining fresh with every listen.

Frogs is one of the most articulate electronica offerings I have ever heard, and a must have for anyone with even a mild interest in avant-garde electronica that is completely free of commercial considerations. (9.5/10)

Sadly, this collection is not a "greatest hits" type of thing, as I would have liked to listen to some of Stuart Gordon’s output during the late 70’s and early 80’s, prior to his work with Peter Hammill. In fact, most of the Korgis’ ace material, which is highlighted by the interesting, informative liner notes, is missing.

Instead, we get a significant portion of their latest release, 1992’s This World’s for Everyone (recorded after reforming as a trio), including a version of their hit "Everybody’s Got to Learn Sometime." There is also a bunch of new songs, recorded in the current millennium.

So, while it’s not so surprising that the material is quite monolithic (with most of it being taken from the same late period), it’s also very disappointing and can get quite boring, as this collection consists mainly of thin ballads, dominated by tenderly orchestrated guitars and keyboards.

Some songs, such as "One Life," offer the Korgis’ implementation of their Paul Simon influences, but I highly recommend sticking to Simon’s material and not wander around over here.

Rounding the set are some 1978 demos that besides being a definite incentive for fans to buy this, they also hint at the more varied, time embracing approach that should have been attempted here.

Avoid it unless you’re already a fan. (2.5/10)

LaBrie made a clever choice positioning "Crucify" on the opening spot for his new release, as it is symbolic of the entire work. Luring the listener with its initial mellow acoustic guitar playing, it then transforms into an attack of distortion, with a guitar solo leading into a Metallica inspired territory of thrashing rhythm, filled with dry drums (courtesy of Mike Mangini) that sound like a machinegun on "auto." Some light seconds later, gentle keyboards appear, suggesting of the electronica touch ahead with LaBrie’s declarative vocals gradually moving higher, reaching his high scream register on the chorus. The speedy mid-section of the song, which is also a bit classically oriented, is impressive and serves as evidence to the wonderful musicianship throughout.

Sounds Dream Theater-ish to you? Well, the songs may be shorter than the average Dream Theater compositions, and the electronica and sampling procedures give a slight distinctive color to the work (this is highly noticeable on "In Too Deep"), but the basic formula is definitely adapted from Labrie’s main band.

If that wasn’t enough to encourage you to give it a try, LaBrie’s strong vocal performance should give you another reason. In addition to his usual high pitched or aggressive singing (which can get tiring quite fast, as is the case with "In Too Deep"), he also offers a wider than ever range of his heartfelt, breezy and slightly breaking vocals, which is much more gratifying, as evident on the ballad "Smashed."

It is unclear why LaBrie could not incorporate his material into a Dream Theater album, injecting the band with some freshness. But this is not said in order to belittle this fine achievement, which should excite every Dream Theater fan, and perhaps some others who prefer their music less conceptual and a bit pointier. (8/10)

Hard to believe, but with album number two Hidden have upped the weirdness factor by a few notches. The debut, Spectral Magnitude, was a pleasantly unsavory piece of work, black metal mashed up with ragged bits of death, doom and thrash, low toned, guttural and ugly. But where they took off from that, and made it all the more interesting, was in the celestial imagery and tales of astral evolution – sci-fi black/death astronomy metal for the masses.

If Spectral Magnitude was a black metal album poking at the seams of sci-fi geekdom, Alexisstar Morphalite (Hero or villain? You decide.) dives in headlong. This is black metal played in the cavernous enormity of a cargo hold on an interstellar spacecraft. Or, in a better world than this, George Lucas would have engaged Hidden as the house band in a ramshackle bar on some dead end backwater planet where smugglers and thieves thrive. This time around for Hidden the music echoes the message.

Like its predecessor, the production on Alexisstar Morphalite is muted and oddly removed as varied instrumentation struggles to make itself heard, in the process creating a churning, sometimes monochromatic mass. You’re enveloped in icy blackness, respite coming only in the form of a percussive battering. Nothing is straightforward though and the key is… the keys! Not the grand symphonic overtures usually associated with the black metal canon but squiggly, burping, popping, chirpy analog emissions. These get interspersed with unsettling interludes that bring to mind the lone survivor of a mission gone to hell, caught in a narrow corridor waiting for an alien to unfold itself from the matrix of steam pipes, all the while half knowing that his abdominal cavity is the likely launching point.

Strangeness is in no short supply. "Interplay Space Physics and Climatology" plays as the aftermath of an implosion in a vacuum, simultaneously full and empty. The backwards masked guitar part of "Planets of Metal" is the centerpiece of a clattering foundry that forges mystery ores through slow processes, pummeling presses and particle acceleration before spitting out new and twisted shapes. "Ripples in Time" is a deliberate march towards oblivion where the coda of a gargled scream signals either triumph or death rattle.

By comparison, closer "Extraterrestrial Illusions" is relatively normal. Nordic blackness in the Satyricon vein infused with sharp melody and chilly belligerence, offset only by a sparse keyboard line that floats wraithlike in out of the proceedings. A fitting conclusion, it’s a trek across the frozen wastes of a planet rendered dead to all but those who conquered it. (7/10)

I'm actually really into prayer lately. Shit's been going down. My much beloved friend was in a van accident about a two months ago. He's been laid up in a hospital in fucking Christian-Bushland Texas since; Broken neck, paralyzed, recovery unknown. So I've turned to prayer... prayer, visualization, magic spells, ANYTHING, anything to focus and direct energy. Because I need to, because I feel powerless otherwise, because I'm desperate for my friend to heal.

Along comes this record from Moribund for me to review, Infernal Legion: Your Prayers Mean Nothing. Oh, THANKS, guys! Thanks a lot.

But, wait! The cover of the CD is a King James Bible burning in flames. I realize that the phrase "Your Prayers Mean Nothing" is directed at lowly Jesus-cock sucking Christians! It's saying, "hey, STUPID CHRISTIAN! YOU, yes YOU! YOUR prayers mean nothing! YOUR god is WEAK...BWAH HAHAHA! We, WE are METAL!, and your pussy non-existent god is nothing up against our Magikal invocations and sorcery!"

Well right the fuck on, then! Let's get this review started. Infernal Legion plays death metal. And as boring as that sounds (HA!) it

really is a cut above the usual death-clone crap one usually runs across. It's slightly doomy, with engaging, moody harmony and juxtaposed chord things. Most interesting for me is that this death metal band is keeping the tempos mid to slow and it still sounds pretty raging.

The first song, "Frenzy of Legion," has one of those great head-nod drum riffs with the kicks on "fast" and the snare on "slow." No one's trying to prove what a shred maniac they are here. It sounds like

all is done for the integrity of the song, and that's a great thing. Really this is the kind of death metal record that people who are bored shitless by common regurgitated DM pray for (double HA!). Really I've been listening to this a lot, even more than I listened to that Leviathan that I got from Moribund way back. Recommended, especially for fans of Immolation, Domination-era Morbid Angel, and those that like their DM somewhat Dissection damaged. (8/10)

Here is the first record by Montreal's Longing for Dawn. It ends up being really smart left of center doom. Not like Sabbath doom or boredom invoking "stoner" doom, but like weird, atonal, one-note-bent-hellishly out of tune "anti-riff" guitar riffing interspersed with trippy, long treble drones.

Despite the usual death vocals, this comes off as fairly original. Sparsely and carefully composed, maybe having some Bethlehem influence. I hear ambient Brian Eno, David Sylvian, Coil, and lonely, suicidal winds howling across the plains in the middle of the night. Evocative, interesting to listen to and zone. Perhaps this music could move more places melodically, but whatever. This is beautiful, really. Score one for Canada! (8/10)

I'm doing everything I can these days to not use the "B" word in reviews of black metal records that I write about. However, even though that commitment will henceforth be upheld, It needs to be said that the CD cover for this here Solitary Winter by Winter of Apokalypse is a near copy of the cover for Burzum’s Hvis Lyset Tar Oss; all "footprints in the snowy forest" and such.

Despite the clone record cover, Winter of Apokalypse doesn't merely worship at the alter of any particular metal music pioneer. However, what have here is well-produced, energetic, enjoyble, thrashy-black metal that has absolutely no distinguishable voice of its own. One couldn't tell this apart from countless other good metal bands down the block. This would satisfy your metal fix if you had nothing else to listen to. It's good for what it is, whatever. (a very even 6/10)

Pantheist is really great stuff in a lot of ways. It's moody, late night music, with guitars and keyboards carefully integrated. It's supple and not as dry and heady as Skepticism, which is apparently an important influence on this band.

I'd highly recommend this record, but I gotta say that there's some downright DORK-tastic stuff going on here simultaneously. For one, all the lyrics are based on a theme of some protagonist deciding to commit all of the Seven Cardinal Sins in an effort to get God to retaliate and therefore prove God's existence.

Each song covers a sin: gluttony, pride, lust, etc... "Oh mighty shapestress of my soul, save my restless spirit from eternal damnation." Says the protagonist in one of the few non-Cardinal Sin songs, "First Prayer." Continuing, he whispers "from eternal damnashhhhunnnn... eternal damnnaaashunnnn!..."

Then comes the church organ and the mock Gregorian chanting. This is just classic cringe-inducing Eurotrash.

The Eurotrash aesthetic is so identifiable and so pervasive on a lot of European metal, from the neo-classical fluff keyboard parts on Emperor records to Vangelis-cum-ambient, to euro-power metal in general, that I as an American have come to realize that I have no idea where this aesthetic, this viewpoint is coming from. How DOES one become Eurotrash? I have no idea. I as an American have no context for this whatsoever.

Eurotrash or not, this is a fine doom album that I keep listening to. (8/10)

Neaera’s course lies somewhere between churning, rough, practically metal metalcore ala Heaven Shall Burn and Gothenburg death, with a bunch of black metal harmonies thrown in for good measure. The couple interludes with organic strings is a sweet little frill.

Unlike most metalcore bands, Neaera uses a lot of blast beats to excellent effect, greatly propelling the music through various phases of the songs and always injecting tremendous energy. Lyrically, the songs seem to deal with social criticism, greatly centering on anti-violence. Aggressive and heavy but non-violent. The vocals are largely delivered with the kind of piercing scream that you can expect from German metalcore bands, mixed in with some death grunts here and there for added heaviness. Only once or twice are ill-advised faux singing bits attempted... we’d like to say it’s a new band trying out some stuff on their first record that they should have tested on their demos.

On the downside, The Rising Tide of Oblivion is about three to four songs too long. The songs pretty much are of the same mold all the way through the album’s 13 tracks, and it might have made for a stronger overall effort had the band consolidated its best riffs into fewer songs. However, so many of these tracks got me pumped each time a new one kicked in, and the production fits in just bludgeoningly. A damn good ride. (7.3/10)

While beautifully rendered, the cover of Meister Mephisto isn’t going to inspire much confidence in all but the most, er simple, of the metal buying public. It’s a mock up of a Jagermeister bottle, replete with 66.6% alcohol volume warning/beckoning and lip smackingly enticing beads of condensation running down either side of the label; the severe gaze of a very Nordic looking warrior peers intently from under a Kaiser helmet as if determining whether your manhood can handle this grand elixir.

This imagery in mind, one delves into this endeavor with the same degree of optimism as one’s hope of not having a Texan in the Whitehouse. Trepidation sets in as the disc slides into the deck with expectations of a brain cell-impaired jokefest only moments away. The hope is for something competently played if lucky, completely forgettable at best.

Oh, me of little faith. Turns out Sturmgeist is a solo project of Cornelius from Solefald and anyone familiar with that duo’s skewed take on the whole black metal thing, the unfortunate Neonism aside, knows that we’re in very good hands, indeed. His questionable judgment regarding cover art notwithstanding, he equates himself quite well here.

The eccentricity that is Solefald’s hallmark pervades Meister Mephisto. The album is Viking in spirit, black metal in approach, and a heavily mechanized precision instrument incorporating both of those genres and more in its arsenal. Imagine Summoning excised of all the Tolkien imagery armed with varied tempos and a considerably larger breadth of vision. Or Rammstein jacking up the techno-industrial overtones and unleashing unfettered aggression on the world, carving a trail of destruction that leaves only denuded landscapes in its wake.

Stellar production is the key ingredient here: huge, enveloping and crystal clear. Anything less and it would have been an anemic mess. The guitars are sharp, giving both riffs and simple chords alike the consistency of razor wire and sledgehammer weight. Drum machines, usually a weak link for any band that deigns to use one, here sound like the artillery battery it’s often trying to emulate; it was the right decision as the programming is often times intricate beyond human capabilities.

Matter of fact, Sturmgeist has a knack for good decisions. Be it the melding of a plodding and militaristic slog with circusy keyboards, lacing industrial rhythms with muted break beats or seeding a couple of epics among the (relatively) straight forward tracks that have a jugular single mindedness, there’s nary a misstep in the bunch.

Meister Mephisto is one of those infrequent albums that will have you torn after the last song leaves the speakers. You’ll come away with an empty feeling knowing that you can never hear it again for the first time but the sensation fades almost immediately as you reach for the play button and fills that hollow space. (8/10)

Hallelujah, it’s raining brains.

Brainstorm might be one of the hardest working average metal band out there. They keep putting out unremarkable records; in fact, they seem to be getting less noteworthy as time goes on. Liquid Monster is slower and less intense than Metus Mortis (a couple albums ago). Surely this, like everything else this German band does, is intentional.

Some liken rougher, more deliberate metal with singing, verses and choruses as heavier power metal. It guess it depends on whom you ask. To me, Liquid Monster seems like the kind of material that outdoor metal festivals in Germany like to book: it’s not hard to grasp, translates well to a live setting (and being able to jack the kick drums up to absurd levels), and doesn’t require much previous familiarity with the music to enjoy it, as long as you embrace metal as being heavy and rockin’.

However, if you’re like me, you idealize power metal as having grandiose melody, classical harmonies, intense instrumental interplay and dextrous rhythm changes to go with all the bombast and wizard-like skills. Not that they couldn’t do it, but Brainstorm isn’t about that. I can still remember how the chorus to Liquid Monster’s first track goes, but I can’t shake the feeling of stagnation three songs into the album, max. I guess if you like Iced Earth... (5.3/10)

Let’s allow the uncertain art of translation to shoulder the burden for the band’s moniker, because the blame has to be placed somewhere. One hopes, maybe even prays, that it’s something infinitely more interesting in the band’s Greek mother tongue. Something along the lines of:

"He who has come to lay waste to existing paradigms and false idols but must wait as He attends to more pressing matters elsewhere."

or

"He who has brought the WORD, yet somehow managed to misplace it and is frantically searching between the couch cushions and will get right back to you godless heathens as soon as He can find the damn thing."

or

"The Messiah who trembled mightily at the chaos humans had rendered unto his father’s divine world and thus retired from his mission, spending the rest of eternity playing canasta with his wife."

It just has to be better in Greek, if only for peace of mind, and damn sure has to sound better rolling off the lips than it does in English. What comes to mind when picturing an inactive messiah? Something none too savory: a bitter, broken down guy gone to seed, wrapped in a filthy toga and sprawled out on a busted recliner with the remnants of three dozen buffalo wings, two bags of potato chips, a dead six pack of beer and a drained 128 ounce Ultra-Gulp resting on a distended belly that falls so far south it sways pendulously in front of genitalia he has no chance of ever viewing again without the aid of a mirror placed at his feet. Sad, really.

Maybe the band isn’t worthy of messianic intervention or a sacrifice is necessary because they sure could use some help. To be fair, it’s all in earnest and played with a bit of gusto. Ultimately, it’s just not that interesting and terribly dated, a cut and paste appropriation of power metal in the manner of Maiden, rhythmic groove, semi-death metal vocals and an overwhelming infusion of 80’s song structure complete with the sort of "wheedley up and down the fretboard" guitar nonsense that was old by the time Dokken released its second album..

For every good thing Inactive Messiah proffer – an infectious and repetitive guitar line, a steady, no frills kickdrum/snare tattoo or a mysteriously persuasive Casio – there’s a host of cringe inducing songwriting, weak grooves, embarrassing vocals and that damn guitar wanking. The album actually owes more of debt to hard rock stylings, attempting to place them in a more extreme context but it’s a dodgy proposition and the mix fails. (3/10)

We’ve always flown the flag of The Lord Weird Slough Feg and its bold commitment to remain as true to itself as it is to heavy metal. A lifelong study of Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, Black Sabbath and Thin Lizzy has yielded unique melodic vocals, classic metal dual guitar harmonies, excellent soloing and a charging, invigorating Celtic aesthetic. Those elements merely qualify this band’s style, but it’s Slough Feg’s unabashedly bizarre album ideas and refusal to do anything other than what’s true to its own heart that makes it inimitable, instantly recognizable, and eminently worthwhile.

With the latest album, Atavism, the name is just Slough Feg (although we’re leaving in the Lord Weird part so you can easily read all that we’ve written about this gem), but the flair and style remains the same. However, Slough Feg has been coming off two incredibly accomplished records, 2000's Down Among the Deadmen and the perhaps even superior, concept album Traveller (2003). And considering this, let’s just say that Atavism is no Traveller, not even by a long shot.

The sound quality is on par, the first few songs are once again a stirring reminder of how great (albeit a bit formulaic now) this band is, but a good deal of the tracks sound rushed or unfinished. There are far too many instrumental interludes or suites on Atavism, and you can’t shake the feeling that a bunch of those could have been made into proper, superior songs had more time been put into them.

Another problem is more subjective. Slough Feg’s second album, Twilight of the Idols, as critically acclaimed as it was by those who had even heard it, struck me as having too wide, or perhaps unfocused, an array of song styles. Some of it was goofy, some triumphant, some perplexing... none of it was bad, but it came across as a mish-mash of songs rather than a carefully put together album. Atavism comes across largely in the same way. You’ve got Sabbath-y songs, Maiden-y songs, Celtic-y hyms to make up the now familiar themes of highland warriors in the red corner and space marauders in the blue, again sometimes put together in a way that seems complete, and others in a way that seems half-baked.

Atavism still has Slough Feg’s flair and stamp of quality on it, but in light of the body of this group’s work, and coming off such triumphs as the last two records, it’s a relatively forgettable work for established fans. However, relative is the key word here, and you should listen to Atavism, but ONLY after checking out the two essential albums mentioned at the beginning of this review. Still recommended, but a bit bland, considering what this band has done before. (7/10)

This is what happens when you have parents who did way too much acid back in the 60’s. But in the case of Gorch Fock (is any more evidence needed than that?) there’s something to be said for the transference of psychoactive chemicals through umbilical osmosis. This seven man crew from Austin, Texas spews a massive, foamy wash of sound from its cache of three guitars, twin drums, electronics abuse and a "wandered off the prairie" trombone. The results are a damaged and chaotic post-psychedelic vision quest fit only for those with the hardiest of psyches; or those who’ve already dipped over into the warm inviting waters of madness.

It all begins innocuously enough with album opener "Prologue: Mexia Creek Crossover," a dreamy number incorporating rich bass lines, tribal drumming, buried squalls of guitar feedback and droney trombone strains traveling from channel to channel; it’s an awkwardly comforting wall of sound that pulls you to its chest in and attempts to lull you towards an optimistic sense of security. But you know better. It lasts only as long as the next track comes crashing through a rip in the sky’s fabric and you’re embroiled in a riot of cluttered, abrasive noise that takes on the structure of actual songs through an unknowable rendering of sonic alchemy.

Rolling waves of percussion give way to hypnotic waves of bass and layered guitar interplay. Tapes loops and sample manipulation play call and response with shouted vocals that abruptly shift to counterbalanced glides of melodic bliss. A parched journey though rocky doom infested territory flattens out against the horizon in a dissolve of Gregorian chant that eventually falters in the face of walls-tumbling-down percussion and fractured screaming. Trombone swells alternately add foreboding intrusions to already treacherous landscapes or serve as a balm to those same environs; confusing, always treacherous. Voices are manipulated, whole songs aborted just as they begin to swell with promise, samples torn apart and restructured into discomfited new shapes.

Gorch Fock taps into the lineage of lineups from the Amphetamine Reptile and Touch and Go labels who were laying waste to the foundations of underground music well over a decade ago. What they bring to the table is their own sense of dementia that can’t be copied or ripped off but, by necessity, comes from a dark place inhabited only by denizens cursed with a touch of the divine. (7.5/10)

Thurisaz is a Belgian black metal band that mixes the schools well established by Dimmu Borgir and Opeth, but does so in an original, interesting manner. So you’ll get music replete with excellently layered, classically inspired melodies and harmonies, bombast, pretty intense drumming, and long, intricate songs.

Particularly good about Scent of a Dream are the creative melodies that are immediately engaging. Another unusual asset this recording has are keyboards that sound just right: they don’t try to mimic acoustic instruments (making you long for the real thing), but don’t sound like the sonic equivalent of plastic, either. Similarly effective is the full, rich production. But perhaps the most valuable gem are the clean vocals, which generally provide a beacon of texture whenever they arise. With that said, the last track, a soft number, is largely ill-advised with low, cheesy, near whiny singing and treacly lyrics. Sure, you can skip it, but its being on the album does bring the six song album down as a whole. Still, a damn fine disk. (7.5/10)

Well, who could have predicted this one? Doomtree don’t adhere to their titular label and instead bring forth an unlikely mix of 80’s era pop-punk attitude, hair metal posturing (contained within a meaner, hairspray free edge), Alice in Chains harmonizing minus the dirt, depression and drugs and nods to Nirvana and The Offspring placed at the altar of the Misfits. Not only do they pull off this balancing act but it’s pretty damn invigorating, too.

Its ten tracks clocking in at a brisk twenty-eight minutes, Down Below is a perfect summer album; it’s not going to require too much of your attention, only that you show up on time, roll down the window, drape your wrist over the steering wheel with insouciant cool and jam that gas pedal to the floor.

The production is crisp, inhabiting the mostly mid-tempo numbers with a no nonsense immediacy. The playing is workmanlike, and that’s not a knock, sometimes that’s all you need. Bass/drums/guitar all stand out in shiny relief and mesh at the same time in an infectious mix of tight, fairly bopping songs that really can’t be resisted; even if you want to they’re gone before you know it. Steve Zing’s vocals blanket it all, coming across like Danzig infused with a sense of playfulness instead of being overly concerned with the great father down below or demonically possessed women obsessed with his vital essence.

There’s such a dearth of music in the heavy music arena that’s just flat out fun and in this arena Doomtree are fill the gap. If you’ve got the temerity to set aside your "I only listen to black / death / grind / metalcore / etc." ethos for about a half an hour, then go ahead, languish in the breezy fun that Down Below has to offer. And if you can tell your grimmer than thou friends about the experience with head held high? Well then, you’re a giant among men indeed. (6/10)

Maelstrom had heard of the Hardebaran group / label in passing over our years of covering music, but little did we know how good some of the albums they put out were! We got a huge stack of bands we’d never heard of, and a bunch are just great. (See Thurisaz, below).

Grimness is a heavy, extreme/black metal band from Italy that clearly owes its entire metal existence to Norway. Grimness’ music has a bit of Red Harvest, a bit more of Keep of Kalessin (but more square shouldered), and a whole lot of Satyricon. Ok, on a few occasions the Satyricon emulation gets a bit our of control, like the Grimness boys had forgotten where Volcano ended and their own record began.

But it’s all good, for Increase Humanity Disgust is chock full of slamming speed, ideal, meaty production that propels the very rhythmic, infectious riffing through every fiber of your body, and fabulous musicianship. This is a quality record all the way through. We’d give it far higher marks if it had been totally original, but as long as this Italian band keeps at it and with an open mind, the sky’s the limit. (7.9/10)

Even before you hear note one, you get the feeling, or blindly hope, that there’s something special about this Quebecois outfit. The packaging is beautiful, heavy black stock with the art work and text’s flat coppery ink blending into the matte paper; the baleful visage of a goat’s head rests in stark relief on the front cover. The inner booklet is a faux hymnal, complete with icons, music staff and lyrics that exhibit a slyly wiseass and informed world view when not indulging in hearty bouts of blasphemy; Christianity is up for grabs and the victor gets to wipe the slate clean. If only black metal bands had the same subversive sense of humor.

All this and more brought forth by the brothers Amore: Alexis, Gil, Kevin, Mat and Olivier. Funny, they don’t look alike. Must’ve had different fathers. Packaging, wit, and subversion, check. But what of the music? Mi Amore doesn’t disappoint.

The first track starts off pleasantly enough. An ungainly little hardcore blaze that’ll have you scrambling for that tattered leather jacket festooned with spikes and GBH and Discharge patches. But Mi Amore is no mere one trick hardcore pony, no siree Bob. From then on it’s a cleverly woven tapestry of hardcore aggression interspersed with monolithic rhythms ala the death and roll aesthetics of Entombed; welcome snatches of melodic intrusion and dirty riffing that wades and then splashes into stoner rock territory provide added levels of complexity.

And then, just for the sheer perversity of it all, they throw in some up front bass lines ripped off from Joy Division or, lately, Interpol to temper the battering with catchy pop inflected bits of sunshine. The anchor, what keeps them firmly in the hardcore realm is the gymnastic roar of microphone wielder Gil. He’s the Looney Tunes Tazmanian Devil brought to life, all larynx damaging growls, snarls and foamy mouth.

Like Cursed, Mi Amore is not so much redefining hardcore as presenting it with an altered face. Keeping the basic tenets intact – social awareness, questioning authority and accepted mores – while incorporating a big rock element that would have been unthinkable in times past. You can shout, stomp and writhe with abandon all you want. No reason you can’t add some dynamics to the proceedings and rock the fucking house down at the same time. (7/10)

Sabinas Rex is an international group out of NYC. They are remarkable and unique in morphing modern metal with an ancient epic soundscape. The music is seamless, timeless and absolutely transcendent.

I am so in the perfect mood for this six-tune demo. I am open, dark and simultaneously in touch with history and hope. Perhaps there is something subliminal in here, but I am fully swayed.

There is no need for this band to be pretentious. They are a treatise to themselves. You can sense their authenticity and their total "balls-out" individuality. Yes, they are dark – a wandering twilight of eastern European legend. Somewhere in my collective unconsciousness I recognize the castle and have been there with my ancestors – probably giving blood. Now, with my new friends, Sabinas Rex, that castle is warm and rich with tradition and exciting musical experimentation. The atmospheric metal flavor takes on a whole other dimension when matched with studied medieval instrumentation and arrangement.

The Baraon Misuraca is the saucy, long-haired raven baritone with arched eyebrows, relaxed manner and the vampires true sense of elegance and drama. Then there is Vlado, the genius with an ear for mysterious little sound bytes. His writing, programming, multi-instrumental skill and understanding of ancient music make this project shine. He is the tinker, the Merlin – the clear cradle of curiosity and patience. Jana Steiger is a powerful presence, radiating style and strength. She is more than The Mother, she is the erudite full-on Goddess singer with a German accent. Vlado credits her as the "witch." I have no doubt.

Edwin Shirey, I would assume is the Englishman who recognized his inner tribesmen and brings yet another magical layer of sonance to the group. If this a band of highly functioning vampires than Edwin seriously needs a drink. I’m thinking I might like to visit. (8/10)

In Norwegian, Midnattsol is the midnight sun – a time of day when, long before men in wooly mammoth suits were running around , the trolls, fairies and elves came out of their caves to wander outside in the strange half-light. Norwegian legend is steeped in myth and magic and this Norwegian-German Folk Metal band, Midnattsol, brings life back to Nordic tradition.

The music is ethereal with enough girth and rolling power to win over the metal crowd. The musicians are extremely flexible and move easily between the folk arrangements and the fiercer double bass drum, searing guitar metal arrangements. The instruments are generally mixed farther back to leave room for Carmen’s voice. She has a unique voice, lovely, if not thin. She stretches for volume and stability unlike the classic female rock singer. Still she sounds other worldly – just like she looks. Evidently she made an important career decision to finish this debut Midnattsol instead of touring with Cradle of Filth.

Looks like they got the market right because a year after they got together they were already discussing recording contracts. Again, it’s very enchanting to hear some of the tunes sung in the original language. It adds just that much more character to an already exotic Nordic soundscape. (8/10)

Marketing an album based on its being "loud’ is practically ridiculous. Live is one thing, but any CD, from the album of frogs croaking to Merzbow, can be equally loud or quiet with a simple twist of a knob. The Peppermints are one such band that area all about being loud, and especially if by loud you mean obnoxious, shoddy and bereft of talent, then, yes, they are loud.

God bless the person who invented volume control and the "power off" button.

You’ll feel compelled to record your material. All you’ve got is a microphone or two. No problem, just hang it over the entire band and record everyone at once and in one take to save time. Or, if you don’t want to do all this, you can go the even easier route and visit any rehearsal complex, where at least three dozen bands of this caliber are practicing at any time of the day. Hang outside their door if you feel too shy to ask to come in. It’s about the same experience as listening to The Peppermints.

This album is so bad, it’s insulting. Whatever they’re charging for this is highway robbery for that specific amount. (0/10)

Although I'm sure that the pursuit of pleasure does not only limit to sexual pleasure, I like to think it does because, let's not kid ourselves, we're nothing but glorified animals. Animals just eat, sleep, shit and fuck. Eating brings great pleasure but is hardly considered special this day of age. Sleeping brings great pleasure but only afterwards. Taking a shit, well... to me it's the greatest horror in the world but others can enjoy it like it's the only thing they enjoy in the world. And then, fucking, despite it's procreative qualities it brings the single greatest pleasure in the world: orgasm. Some people say eating can be like a great orgasm but that always makes me question the quality of their sexual adventures.

To get to the point, this peculiar duo, consisting of K Meizter and Drakhon, has been making albums together for some time now... albums that pushed the boundaries of music just a little further; with scientific precision they put the ambient genre underneath their microscope, to find and alternate its inner works. Here on this record, they attempt to do the same and titled it Pursuit of Pleasure.

Keeping it tranquil and more organic than anything else, listening to this Beyond Sensory Experience record is like meeting a great, though slightly weird anaesthetist. Before you close your eyes and drift off into medicated sleep you see the strangest of things; half naked women with red, vibrating flesh; great phallic statues ejaculating like massive volcanos; close ups of fingers and hands penetrating orifices: their back and forth motion akin to the motion of your head. While falling asleep, dreaming of naked bodies entwined, you will not so much be in pursuit of pleasure but rather, riding up and down on the big knee of pleasure, grinding yourself to a feverish orgasm.

After dark, lights out and hands under the cover; the perfect setting for this record. Ten slow, heaving pieces of music with samples that sometimes work and sometimes get in the way; but if you are willing to take the good with the bad than the end result will be memorable. An album filled with gloomy moods, burlesque murmurs in the background and pounding electric vibrations that lends itself perfectly for an evening of sexual exploration. (8.9/10) (I feel dirty – editor)

Von Thronstahl is often described as martial industrial. When we look up martial in the dictionary it says: "Characteristic of or befitting a warrior." Now, I am not a warrior myself, so I have no idea if that statement holds any value or not, but it's a wicked thought none the less. Going to war with a little village, burning all the farms and raping all the townsfolk sure sounds wicked enough but I doubt they'd be able to appreciate or even play this record when the warriors would be knocking on the gate. Let's just say it's the thought that counts.

So, they might be a little out of date but if Von Thronstahl would pack instruments and all, jump in a time machine and actually follow some warriors around, playing for them whenever they would slice and dice another town into pieces, then I'm pretty sure the effect would be awesome.

Sitting in your livingroom on the couch with a drink, the effect of the militaristic marching band music is pretty much lost. But then again if you have a few more drinks, meet up with some friends and play live action D&D in the forest, then I'm pretty sure the effect would once again be awesome.

I have neither a time machine or friends who play D&D, so the whole martial industrial edge is totally lost on me. What is left is an hour of unquestionably good music that manages to create an old atmosphere with a slight edge. Songs like "The Majestic Return (Die Konigliche Ruckkehr)" and "Under the Mask of Humanity" are amazing in their delivery and perhaps if you try hard enough you still can hear the clashing of swords in the wake of morning.

Traditional folk elements rise and fall like the winds of war, making this album both a monotonous, but highly rewarding affair. There has been a huge demand of fans to repress Imperium Internum and they are now free to benefit from this lush digipack with beautiful atwork and a booklet filled with pictures lyrics and information. Those who enjoy their industrial with a militaristic edge can also pick up this album, but make sure you try before you buy. (7/10)

The end of the age of blood is about to be set in stone. Man is no longer flesh; instead he is the eternal machine, with metal parts scraping the solid metal floors as he rumbles on from point 1 to point 0. Leaving a great oily trail, like a mechanized snail, these "men"' are like big, oscilating drones. And drone they do: big pompous drones that echo through the great metal halls. Look at them, in rows they travel, mindless pieces of scrap. With one exception, up there, sky high on the pedestal: the mastermind himself, booming voice and all. The machine that sets all machines in motion with his drums. Big, hollow drums with real animal skins being pounded by his heavy hands. He is still flesh and blood. And he rules.

Watch him fall down, as in a trance, a grand master that rains from the sky. Drums clutched in both grand hands; his fingers pounding to keep the mass droning. His downfall has been set in stone, back when flesh ruled the earth. He lands, scrapes the great floors with his presence. He weeps, silently, like a mentally deranged person while his big metal claws scrape and squeal. The drone is becoming more and more contagious as it's spreads from node to node. The masses laugh, content with his arrival. They are out for his drums, his skins. Time to eradicate the last of humankind.

He soils himself, blows the big fuse of life and falls to his knees. His severed fingers like little piglets in front of him. Hear them buzz, like an electric and eclectic mantra. "Depravity, depravity, depravity," on and on until it becomes unrecognizable.

Sophia attempts to deconstruct the world through depravity. Back to the primal age. They succeed in a strange way. Making technophobes of us all, unsure whether to listen to this album ever again. The metal scrapes are defeaning and strike fear in our hearts. Lush in vision, it comes with a videoclip that is just that; depravity. Buy now and be cured! (8.5/10)

Swedish Goth. HUGE, lumbering and gloomy…

Anders Jacobson voice sounds like he is throwing up chunks of metal. He is balanced by the backlit Alto Soprano of Lisa Johnansson. The music is atmospheric and melodic. The drummer, Jerry Torstensson, is a monster. This guy knows how to play slooooow, and keep that high hat ooooopen for that slurpy, sexy, concrete sound.

Draconian has been playing together in several incarnations since May 1994. You can tell these guys are perfectionists. By their own Draconian standards the production here is spectacular. Every sound is lovingly perfected and placed around the head. Some very nice environmental passages, too.

Anders voice sounds like it’s a cement mixer running through a hundred phase shifters. He is a raspy, fallen angel, somewhat one dimensional in his singing style. His few spoken passages, however, are absolutely riveting. Then SHE emerges. The sweetness of the female vocal is what makes me keep going down into this man’s dark psyche. Just when I don’t think I can do it anymore, she comes forward, catches the mood and transforms the dirge into hope. When singing together they really achieve a tense and unique balance between two extremes. It makes me anxious.

Meanwhile, the band drives a mean train – the slowest, darkest train – deep on track. Dark fog and monsters are out the window tonight. Then comes that ray of light again that dazzles death with new life. Very beautiful cover and CD art. (7.5/10)