Originally published in ‘zine issue #42, 2011
Ape Machine This House Has Been Condemned
(Transmedia Records)
The bio that accompanied this CD had me worried that I was about to be subjected to a Wolfmother-style diarrheafest brimming with atrocious faux-’70s fetishism and remedial-at-best musicianship, so, needless to say, I was absolutely goddamn thrilled to be proven wrong from the very moment I popped the CD in. Ape Machine clearly know their ‘70s blues rock, as evidenced by song after song crammed with thoughtfully constructed Randy Holden-era Blue Cheer-inspired riffs, Paul Kossoff-worthy solos, a genuinely bludgeoning rhythm section, and vocals that vacillate between libidinous Plant-esque wailing and Steve Marriott swagger. Unlike the hordes of shitty poseur “retro” bands content to rehash the same dumbed-down Iommi and Mark Farner riffs ad nauseam, Ape Machine has the rare distinction of knowing how to write an actual fucking song. Even rarer, this album remains solid from beginning to end. Hell, one of my favorite tracks is buried seven songs in—“Dodging Bright Lights,” which, to the band’s credit, could’ve been right at home on Trapeze’s Medusa album. To indulge my inner guitar dork for a moment, let me also say that it’s really fucking nice to hear a lead guitarist that understands the importance of a good, tasty vibrato—someone’s clearly been listening to his Robin Trower and Free records. I unabashedly love this fucking album, and can’t wait to hear more from this band. The only negative thing I’ll say is that “Monte Malady” lifts the riff from Grand Funk’s “Sin’s A Good Man’s Brother” pretty much verbatim, but I at least give ‘em credit for having good taste in riffs. Ape Machine fucking rules.
(by R. Mason) ■
Devil Magister Mundi Xum
(Unborn Productions)
I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, but for the sake of this review, I’ll say it anyway: The Ozzy-era Sabbath released a total of 8 studio albums, of which the first 4 are arguably flawless, with the first having been released 41 years ago. Think about that for a second—it’s really kind of mind blowing, if for no reason because there are countless new bands who are still using a handful of records released nearly half a century ago as blueprints for music made in 2011. The great irony being that Sabbath were incredibly original when they first appeared back in the late 1960s, scaring the bejesus out of a lot of people with their blown-out Satanic blues rock, but the same most definitely cannot be said for the legions of imitators they’ve since spawned, literally to the point where some of their imitators have imitators (Pentagram, Witchfinder General, St. Vitus). Norway’s Devil falls into this latter category, vacillating between slavish Sabbath worship and Witchfinder General-inspired flourishes. It’s an entirely pointless entry into the doom metal canon, odiously retro-minded with no ambitions beyond apeing the same Iommi-isms already hardwired into your average hesher’s skull. The guitarists can play, sure, but who gives a shit, really? For all of the (well-deserved) abuse that retro-thrashers take for being trendy, I’m sort of dumbfounded as to how so many bands get away with pulling the Sabbath worship nonsense without being called out for being without any merit whatsoever. Pointless.
(by R. Mason) ■
Indian Slights and Abuse/The Sycophant
(Seventh Rule)
I’m truly puzzled. I keep seeing the doom metal tag thrown around in relation to these guys, and I don’t really get that at all. Indian sound like a less-ambitious AmRep-era Today Is The Day spliced with the more bludgeoning elements of Souls At Zero-era Neurosis, and maybe toss in some Big Business noise-skronk with a bit of Asbestos Death-style rudimentary sludgy punk. It’s a great blend of ingredients, and they pull it off well, but the songs get samey pretty quickly as they trot out the formula repeatedly with little variation, although to Indian’s credit, they stay consistently heavy as fuck and the production sounds terrific. Hopefully they’ll step up their songwriting with their Relapse debut.
(by R. Mason) ■
“Ape Machine has the rare distinction of knowing how to write an actual fucking song.”
Khlyst Chaos Is My Name
(Seventh Rule)
Ever wondered what it’d sound like if Sonny Sharrock jammed with Deutsch Nepal? No? Yeah, me neither, but this is one of those albums that, much like Sunn O))), I can absolutely see people going apeshit over—it has all of the key elements a certain type of metal fan will eagerly jizz all over, from its members’ flawless pedigrees (namely James Plotkin and the hot chick from Thorr’s Hammer), dodgy black metal aesthetics, Neubaten-in-a-haunted-house ambient soundscapes, and Hydra Head seal of approval. Nice credentials aside, it’s a frequently interesting listening experience, and Khlyst have an authentic ability to convey a real sense of tension and dread. That said, it truly does sound like cleaned-up Abruptum. Ultimately, pretty much anything James Plotkin does seems to be worth checking out, and Khlyst is ultimately no exception, even if it isn’t quite capable of bearing the weight of the hyperbole your favorite metal hipster scribes will undoubtedly heap upon it.
(by R. Mason) ■
Krallice Dimensional Bleedthrough
(Profound Lore)
I have to admit that I’ve never been able to sustain interest in any of guitarist Mick Barr’s other projects (Orthrelm, Octis, Crom-Tech, etc.) as I’ve found that listening to his output elicits the exact same reaction every time: I spend the first four or five minutes sitting slack-jawed in awe at the man’s formidable skills, gradually replaced by a strange compulsion to sell all of my guitar gear on Craigslist, which quickly leads to scanning through “Casual Encounters” ads while ignoring the angry wasp noises coming out of my CD player long enough to pleasure myself with shitty pics of BBWs. When I read the bio sheet accompanying the Krallice CD, I was not at all encouraged. The only thing I like less than 25 minute guitar solos disguised as albums is American black metal, which more and more commonly seems to be played by dudes who, up until last month, were listening to Sebadoh and pretending to understand David Foster Wallace novels. Well, I’m happy to say that my cynicism was completely unfounded this time. While the word “epic” is thrown around a lot when discussing metal, more often than not, it’s retard-code for bands (often German) who abuse the “Estonian male choir” setting on their synths while bashing away at timpanis and reciting poetry about dragons or some other fruity shit. Krallice, on the other hand, can genuinely be described as epic. Whereas Barr’s picking-hand-of-steel can grate on the nerves when he’s doing his Albert Ayler shtick in Crom-Tech, his skills fit perfectly into a black metal context. In addition to his inhuman playing capability, he has a keen sense of melody that makes Krallice as enjoyable as they are. Colin Marston is the other guitarist here, and strikingly, he is just as furiously capable as Barr. Given the velocity, intricacy, and length of the tracks here, it is truly phenomenal that these guys play as tightly as they do. Rounded out by an insanely adept rhythm section (uh, audible bass? on a black metal record??), Krallice lay down the gauntlet for American black metal with this one. Truly awe-inspiring shit.
(by R. Mason) ■
Misery Index Pulling Out the Nails
(Anarchos)
Like many folks, this reviewer first heard recorded Misery Index with the first full-length, Retaliate. That makes this collection of non-album material interesting, because I can hear how death metal-influenced the band used to be on the old stuff—Morbid Angel, Suffocation, maybe some Fear, Emptiness, Despair-era Napalm. As I often point out, I classes Misery Index as a grindcore band. Look at the covers appearing here as evidence: Disrupt, Minor Threat, Napalm Death, Terrorizer. And there’s more to look at with this release: all of the lyrics from the EPs and splits, a gig list through 2009 (when they put this baby out), and live tracks. Essential for any Misery Index fan, and it’s damn good for anybody into intelligent death grind, if you want to call it that.
(by Editor) ■
Requiem Aeternam Destiny-Man
(ICorp/Century Media)
Sitting through this entire CD was a genuinely painful experience. I was literally angry when I finished listening to it; it left me wondering what would compel someone to record this shit. I can appreciate good musicianship as well as anyone, and I genuinely enjoy the occasional self-indulgent display of instrumental prowess, but Requiem Aeternam quickly squander any goodwill as it becomes evident from the first song that they have zero interest in songwriting and simply intend to dick around on their instruments for the entire duration of Destiny-Man. I was actually intrigued for the first five minutes or so, until I realized that they weren’t planning on reining in the guitar noodling bullshit and getting to business. I’m not exaggerating when I say that this entire CD contained not one memorable riff, and if there’s any reliable bit of criteria that you can always use to dismiss a metal band as being objectively shitty, I’m pretty sure that going 40-plus fucking minutes without coming up with a single memorable riff is it. I don’t care how talented these guys are, or however many classical composers they can namecheck in their embarrassingly pretentious press sheet; they’ve managed to create an absurdly boring display of technical wizardry lacking any substance whatsoever, and I can honestly say without a trace of exaggeration that my favorite part about this CD was snapping it in half and throwing it out the car window after it was over.
(by R. Mason) ■
Subhumans Reissue Roundup
From the Cradle to the Grave, The Day the Country Died, Worlds Apart, EP-LP, 29:29 Split Vision, Time Flies + Rats
(Southern Lord)
If you’re a young American, you’ll likely have seen the name of Subhumans bandied about on the backs of a motley lot of trendy street punk cunts. But what do you really know about this band? Maybe you think this stuff is so old school it’s nursery school. Or maybe, like me, you’d spy some little Subhumans fans on the lane and think, “What a bunch of mall rat wankers, with their black and white striped long johns and stupid coloured hair.” I never knew much about the Subhumans, always assuming them pure shite based on my scorn for the fashion slags who always seemed to be championing their apparel. Funny, then, considering how much I like Discharge, Crass, and other U.K. punks, to have missed out on one of the most esteemed (in some circles) of the lot. Well, come 2011, and I finally get the entire fookin disco all to meself for a pisstake. Thanks due to that Right Honourable sod of a chap, old man Johnson. This is fun stuff. Not a total dross at all. I like the prominence of the bass guitar. The lyrics are stereotypical, angsty punk musings as expected. But dig into this stuff a bit and you’ll find some gems. Well, if for some reason you actually like listening to old punk albums instead of sweet Dragonforce mp3s, you should give these fine Wiltshire lads a whirl.
Per the labels: All are re-mastered from the original analog tapes and include poster inserts and improved versions of the original cover artwork.
(by Lenny Likas) ■
Suicidal Tendencies No Mercy Fool!/The Suicidal Family
(Suicidal)
A listen to the latest ST disc has me worried that Mike Muir’s bandana might be wrapped a little too tightly. There’s really no other rational explanation as to why he would further tarnish his band’s legacy by taking songs from two certifiable crossover classics (Join the Army and No Mercy) and re-recording new versions ruined by an unrelenting wave of funk bass lines and uber-shitty guitar solos. Putting aside the fact that these tracks didn’t need to be remade, let alone “produced” and “enhanced,” it’s mind-boggling to think that Muir ostensibly considers this to be an improvement upon the source material. All of the excitement, fury and adolescent spleen-venting of the originals are nowhere to be found here; instead, you get a slickly produced funk-metal abomination that sounds like a bunch of Mordred B-sides somebody found in a dumpster. And seriously, I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that the bass player on this record is totally out of control—the non-stop popping and slapping on this record sounds like Ike Turner at a feminist rally. If Bootsy Collins grew four extra arms and snorted a dump truck full of cocaine, he’d still have nothing on this dude. If that weren’t bad enough, apparently Rocky George quit ST to join Fishbone. Good rule of thumb: if anyone in your band quits to join Fishbone, it’s probably time that you and your remaining bandmates kill yourselves immediately. It quickly becomes apparent that the new guitarist is unfit to don the Pirates cap, as he constantly noodles throughout the songs and abuses a DigiTech Whammy pedal so violently that he actually makes Steve
Vai sound sorta tasteful. I’ll spare you a song-by-song breakdown: suffice to say, it all blends together to make a steaming, heaping shit potpourri. Bottom line: a total disgrace!
(by R. Mason) ■
