"No one knows, friends or foes, if Valhalla lies beyond the grave..."
Here's one from the crypt that you've probably never seen unless you were...um..."lucky" enough to score a copy of Destroying Angels #5. I didn't keep many scribblings from my youth (you aren't missing anything, trust me) but here's a favorite that somehow survived the freight trains and lost highways that were to be the graveyard of many drawings along the way. I whipped this out in 1988 at the ripe age of 16 and all I can say is that we all have to start somewhere, don't we? The likeness is decent but I accidentally gave Lemmy a six string "axe" instead of a Richenbacher bass. Doh! Oh well, what were YOU drawing in 1988? I might post more of these old drawings because I'm a glutton for punishment and it's pretty fun to see how things have progressed over the years. And how they have not. Of course this is dedicated to the one and only Lemmy Kilmister, who I finally had the opportunity to properly meet last week and thank for several decades of enjoyment. He told the lady, "If you had to wake up and shave this face everyday you wouldn't think I was so important, believe me..."
Eternal hails to Eric Helzer and Jason Charles for making this happen!
Mad Magazine cartoonist and all around sweetheart/funny man Al Jaffee is approaching his 90th birthday! Don't have a panic attack if you don't immediately recall who Mr. Jaffee is or why he is a genius of visual gags. All you need to know is that he began working for Mad in 1964 and remains one of the longest running and most consistently excellent cartoonists in the magazine's colorful history. He is also the inventor of the amazing back page fold-in gags that influenced generations of nerdy artist types (and probably your stoned older brother). I'm convinced Jaffee's obsessive eye for detail, meticulous rendering and occasionally barbed- but always fun- style was an unconscious influence on Joe Coleman. Just look at the symmetry, bruised hues and swirling strokes of both painters' best work (the similarities are particularly evident in their renderings of clouds). If you're too young to remember, Jaffee's fold-in paintings were optical illusions that often took satirical aim at current events and pop culture trends. Like his harsh statement about class and war in the July 1968 issue which shows a group of young high school drop-outs standing in line at an unemployment agency and the fold-in reveals their future career option: cannon fodder. Jaffee is a technical master and a hilarious storyteller who "wrote" most of his own weird invention gags and visual fold-in narratives for much of his nearly five decade career. There's a really great interview showing Jaffee at work in his studio and explaining the process for creating his work here. I certainly wouldn't mind growing old like ol' Al Jaffee: laughing gracefully at the drawing table and diving into the next project. Mad is currently collecting 90th birthday cards for him and I highly recommend all of you cretins send something (cards, letters, presents, drawings). His birthday is March 13th and the deadline for sending birthday wishes on his behalf is March 1st. Get busy:
Here's a special treat from the vaults for all you PUSHEAD fans out there! Way back in 1989 Pushead had his first "retrospective" solo art exhibition at New York City's legendary Psychedelic Solution Gallery. It was a fantastic display of drawings that included his already classic covers for Hirax and Corrosion of Conformity as well as his early Better Youth Organization skinhead graphics (which incidentally had a profound impact on a young man known as Vinnie Stigma almost ten years earlier and directly influenced the formation and development of Agnostic Front). I was 17 at the time of this exhibit and it was nothing less than totally validating to see Pushead's work up close. Somehow his recognition in a gallery environment legitimized my own crude skull scribblings and you can bet I made repeat visits over the course of that month to imbibe the essence of his meticulous line work and generally revel in what I perceived then as a triumph of the maligned underground metal/punk movement. For some strange reason, I've always kept the following statement that the gallery provided to contextualize his work. It's pretty fun reading. Enjoy!
Next I'll be posting my interview with Psychedelic Solution Gallery founder Jacaeber Kastor from the long gone second issue of Destroying Angels! Stay tuned, fiends...
LAST WEDNESDAY ON THE LEFT returns to Portland's East End on January 26th! I will once again be spilling beer all over my favorite records from 9pm until 2am. Joining me this month will be special guest Tim Parasitic of Parasitic Records and The Howling Wind. I will also be unleashing The Sound of Fear Volume III. The Sound of Fear is a very limited cassette-only horror soundtrack mix that is only available at Mississippi Records in Portland, Oregon. It's the best $3 you'll spend on music all year. I promise.
Happy New Year! Today's recap of the best shows of the year completes my wildly opinionated review of 2010. In fact, this will be my last post for quite some time. Best wishes to you all in 2011...
Pierced Arrows
May 8, 2010
(St. Johns Street Bizarre-Portland, Oregon)
Who knew a street fair could get it so right? Leave it to Portland's least "hip" neighborhood (conveniently nestled at the east end of the city's only haunted bridge) to get Pierced Arrows to play in the middle of the afternoon while the gay mayor rides by smiling and waving. I shouldn't have to explain why Fred and Toody Cole are to American rock 'n' roll what Motorhead is to...life itself. Suffice to say, not all music has this staying power. If you don't believe me, consider this: they were married in 1967.
Autopsy
May 29, 2010
(Club Sonar-Baltimore, Maryland)
Autopsy with Dan Lilker looming front and center on the four-string-muthafucka. Isn't it weird how he has looked exactly the same since 1984?
There was a moment just before their first live performance in 14 years when Autopsy plugged in and a wave of euphoric electricity rippled through the throng of longhairs like a reanimating death twitch. The hair stood up on my arms and even the band couldn't contain a quick grin of awestruck surprise as they soundchecked through a few gory chords. They lurched off stage as droning Tombs of the Blind Dead style funerary moans began oozing from the PA and a moment later the unassuming masters of primordial death metal clambered back behind their instruments to reclaim the throne...
Pentagram
May 30, 2010
(Club Sonar-Baltimore, Maryland)
When Mr. Liebling last belly crawled through the Northwest back in March he stumbled on stage like a marionette with missing strings and delivered a litany of stammering apologies, half-hearted cock thrusts and one of the most depressingly underwhelming "shows" of 2010. Apparently the guitar player jumped ship just before they were set to embark on that ill-fated odyssey and rather than cancel the dates, the band grabbed a replacement and made a go of it. Bad idea. Audiences were insulted with exactly four Pentagram originals and one flaccid twenty minute white dude blues jam that left me wanting to run to the bar and drink myself into a ram's head coma. Fast forward a few weeks and some 3,000 miles to Maryland Death Fest where Bobby rose from the ashes like the proverbial gold lamé phoenix that he is to gyrate, shimmy and faux-fellate through every hit a slavering sunburned horde could have hoped to hear (with the notable exception of Be Forewarned, which I had the pleasure of singing to Bobby myself when we crossed paths on a downtown street corner last year). Speaking of mythological beasts, a purple clad Victor Griffin was on hand to destroy the mob with his irresistible ten-ton riffs as Bobby graciously requested "time for one more" over and over again. Despite MDF thankfully running a generally tight ship, they had no choice but to allow the maestro to do his thing until the sun literally went down over Deathsville. It was like a gold-plated apology for the disaster he brought to Portland earlier in the year. Cheers to the massive (and massively disinterested) bouncer who telepathically understood my enthusiasm through the din and allowed me to headbang alongside the stage despite the fact that I was clearly just another dirtbag civilian without a "V.I.P." pass.
Bobbyferatu.
Photo courtesy Johan Wallin.
Saint Vitus
June 26, 2010
(Satyricon-Portland, Oregon)
The great thing about low expectations is that you're occasionally treated to completely unexpected surprises such as this unlikely reunion. I almost stayed home with my Creepy comics that night but at the last minute I decided I might never have the opportunity to bob my head like a wet scarecrow with these doom dealers again. Glad I reconsidered. Wino was a shamanic master of ceremonies- all hair, leather and fury- while Dave Chandler seemed to conjure an endless wave of distorted fuzz from somewhere beneath his headband. By the way, who was that drummer? That dude looked like he was sitting on his couch waiting for the kids to bring him another beer while he bitch-slapped the family cat. He hit the hi-hats like a prehistoric bear. They didn't play War Is Our Destiny but they did play just about everything else I wanted to hear and Wino talked about doing LSD before most of the audience was born. I guess you can't have 'em all.
Joanna Newsom
August 7, 2010
(Aladdin Theater-Portland, Oregon)
Joanna Newsom doesn't give a fuck. If she wants to put out an orchestrated double record concept album about obscure mythology with her own Renaissance style portrait on the cover, she damn well will. If she wants to follow that up with an even less accessible triple LP box set with eleven minute lullabies and high fashion photography of her eternal legs on all the dust sleeves, who's gonna stop her? Not you, chump. She plays a harp. Ulver can't fuck with that. This well-mannered young diva is bolder, more brash and ultimately more daring than any of the frowning urchins I see slouching around town in skinny jeans and bullet belts. Her quivering voice is also about as divisive and irritating to the uninitiated ear as porno grind but all I hear is unabashed perfection. My daughter loves Joanna Newsom as much as I do so she understands why a caveman like me would fall to his knees for her arcane vocabulary, shrill crooning, lithe little hands and unbelievably attractive posture (*note to Ms. Newsom = I'm actually not a caveman but a highly sensitive bookworm that cleans up well and enjoys snuggling). We sat in awe up in the balcony and this second night of her sold-out two date Portland appearance was one of the most dazzling performances of the year. When we saw her in Eugene a few years ago there was almost a riot when the passive aggressive hippy audience couldn't decide if they should sit or stand. Seriously, it was almost a riot. You can't take stoned Women's Studies majors anywhere!
I didn't take this one. Joanna Newsom's security doesn't let me get this close to her. Not even with a zoom lens.
Destroyer 666
August 19, 2010
(Studio Seven-Seattle, Washington)
Swiped this one off the Internet too but check out that hair!
Needless to say, the Aussie transplants delivered an absolutely crushing performance in Portland the night before but, oddly enough, the Seattle crowd had more energy and the band ascended to new heights. They also dedicated Australian American Antichrist to my crew and I'm not too old and jaded to be flattered. Thank you, gentlemen.
Christian Mistress
August 27, 2010
(The Northern-Olympia, Washington)
What more can I say? I probably saw this band six times in 2010 but this was their intimate little record release show at an awkward all-ages art gallery collective and we drove two hours up to Olympia, Washington to be with them for the occasion. The poor sound and lack of a stage was compensated by Christine swaggering into the crowd with ferocious abandon. I imagine I'll be writing about this band again next year...
Deviated Instinct
September 15, 2010
(Satyricon-Portland, Oregon)
UK "stenchcore" progenitors Deviated Instinct always seemed to work better as a patch than a band. Their legacy (and reported reek of fermentation) loomed larger than the Tower of Barad-dûr in the piss-soaked minds of dreaded punks around the world but somehow the recordings never quite managed to live up to the stink and I've always secretly admired their visual aesthetic more than their music. After all, guitarist Rob "Mid" Middleton is an outstanding artist who was prone to incorporating runes into their dark apocalyptic imagery back before that became all the rage. Like Amebix and Hellbastard, Deviated Instinct were one of the elusive UK bands that I never imagined I would witness live. Unlike Hellbastard however, whose 2009 reunion performance was endearing but ultimately lackluster, these disciples of the storm returned to form with their classic line-up and threw the crusty gauntlet down at this very intimate gig. They looked surprisingly squeaky clean (they have had two decades to shower) and barrelled through a powerful set that featured songs from their entire catalog with an emphasis on the seminal 1988 LP Rock N Roll Conformity, including the crushing title-track finale and a completely unexpected Crucifix cover! My local favorites Deathcharge opened the show in a plume of transcendental death fog and if memory serves me correctly (you're right, it probably doesn't) they distroyed even with one guitarist missing that evening. "Play it again...slay it again...one more time...!"
Watain November 13, 2010 (Studio Seven-Seattle, Washington)
The pee-ew! crew performed at a recently renovated Portland venue the night before but the sound was compromised and the slack-jawed audience contributed nothing in the way of energy. The following night they descended on Seattle's cavernous shit hole known as Studio Seven where they completely decimated the hollow corpse of black metal. Selim Lemouchi of The Devil's Blood was on tour as second guitarist this time which not only allowed West Coast American audiences to experience Watain as a full band for the first time but also brought a powerful new dimension to the blood-soaked proceedings. Most impressive was the epic finale Waters of Ain, a psychedelic swirl of melody and aggression that came alive on this night and proved finally and definitively that this band is far more than a worthy heir to the Dissection throne but an unwavering force to be reckoned with in their own right.
Allerseelen
December 17, 2010
(Berbati's Pan-Portland, Oregon)
This show makes my list simply for taking place at all. You see, Allerseelen is the musical vessel of suddenly controversial Austrian artist Gerhard Petak (whom some of you will recall as cult writer "Kadmon" from the early 90's tract/zine Aorta), an avid traveller and outdoorsman who sets mystical poetry to decidedly bouncy militant beats that are perfectly suited to shaking your ass. He's an extremely prolific musician whose output over two decades has gone through many evolutions, from abrasive industrial noise to uncomfortably breathy disco, but it's fair to describe his leitmotif as "martial pop". Think Warsaw on mushrooms at a European pagan rave without the comedic relief. Problem is, the local thought police have decided that his grooves are too dangerous for your ears. Days before this West Coast tour commenced, an anonymous "antifascist" collective claiming to represent "our city" of Portland posted an article on the Internet attempting to link Allerseelen to extreme Far-Right politics (I appreciated their exhaustively footnoted research but I've spent some time with the band and I ain't convinced). According to reliable inside accounts, the activists or their affiliates also sent hostile messages directly to the artist and at least one of the local venues scheduled to host his Portland appearances, threatening violent retribution if he was allowed to perform. The first venue buckled under pressure and the show was swiftly moved to the basement of a private residence. This second show two days later went off without a hitch at downtown club Berbati's Pan and was one of the final events at this longtime Portland institution that unfortunately closed its doors forever this very week due to our floundering rock 'n' roll economy. I have no idea what Gerhard's political views are and I don't really care. His music is frequently beautiful and compelling and to be perfectly honest I hear more dangerous ideas expressed every morning on the public bus. In the 80's I listened to Judas Priest records for hours on end and never committed suicide. I also watched absurdly violent horror movies for days straight and never killed anyone with a machete. It was awful Christian of these "antifascists" to attempt to protect me from art, but the PMRC and my high school guidance counselor already tried. They failed too. This protest was a misguided sham at best, a dangerous witch hunt at worst. Artistic Freedom: 1. Fascism: 0. Some other band played too.
"The shit they call "horror" in the comic store, nobody's got that style anymore!" ~Impetigo
CREEPY ARCHIVES Volumes 1-8
(Dark Horse Books)
A lot of my pals got married or bought houses or renovated their homes in 2010. My smartest investment this year, on the other hand, was trading a dude at the Dark Horse Comics warehouse an original drawing for a complete collection of hard bound Creepy Archives. It was a win/win trade and someone should've photographed our faces as we exchanged the goods like giddy schoolgirls trading scratch & sniff sticker books. Unfortunately, this insanely beautiful collection has quickly destroyed any semblance of a life I once had. Now I sit awake at 3am like a speed freak, rationalizing how I can read just...one...more story and still get 3 hours of sleep before work. For those of you cretins that just crawled out from under a goddamn rock, Creepy was a hugely influential horror comic anthology that had a solid run from 1964-1983. Warren Publishing used the magazine format to evade the Comics Code Authority restrictions on violence and targeted a more mature (cough) readership than most other monster comics of the era. The writing was notably more sophisticated and the art was simply brilliant (Frank Frazetta himself provided most of the cover art for the first 20 issues of the series). Of course Creepy also featured a charismatic horror "host" that directly connected with readers in the tradition of earlier EC comics and was eventually immortalized by Impetigo on Ultimo Mondo Cannibale. Sure, there's some quaint filler to be found in the initial 145 issue run but for the most part this stuff is top notch. Marvel at the seemingly effortless work of masters such as Angelo Torres, Reed Crandall, John Severin, Gray Morrow, Alex Toth and the always uncanny Steve Ditko at the top of their drawing game. The Dark Horse Archives series aspires to reprint every issue in their entirety, including the awesome ads (can I still order a mail order baby squirrel monkey with "live delivery guaranteed"???), reader letters and fan club art. Don't miss a young Berni Wrightson's fan club drawing in issue #9! And for yet another stunning example of the historic cross-pollination of horror, art and heavy metal, check out issue #27 for a young Ken Kelly's demonic fan club drawing. Yes, the very same Ken Kelly who would go on to provide album cover art for Kiss, Rainbow and Manowar. Hail to Creepy! Now I wonder if my landlord will let me trade a drawing for the rent this month...
Honorable Mention:
DESTROY ALL MOVIES!!! Edited by Zack Carlson & Bryan Connolly
(Fantagraphics Books)
The premise is very simple: a bunch of obsessive compulsive nerds set out to chronicle every film ever made that features a punk rocker. Genius in its simplicity and exhausting in its scope. It's the kind of asinine idea you have at 4:12am when the beer is gone but you can't sleep. Well, they pulled it off and my life is a happier place thanks to their herculean effort. What a fun read! My litmus test was Mother's Day. If their hot pink tome failed to favorably mention my favorite rape revenge flick of the 80's I was prepared to immediately cast it upon the poser pyre. I flipped straight to the 'm' section and there it was, properly represented and with a punky graphic to boot (though I'm surprised they didn't mention the film's wry commentary on class and consumerism). Well done, gentlemen. Well done. When it comes to book design I tend to prefer a conservative aesthetic so I would've played the layout straight with lots of movie poster art instead of this wacky neon D.I.Y. style but it has actually grown on me and is true to the spirit of the work. The writing is hilarious and I salute these dudes for watching some of this crap so I don't ever have to. More books like this in 2011!
Dennis Dread looking pleased to have wrapped up his 2010 list.
"...autumn's cold brings the pagan dead who seek the warmth of the Samhain fire!"
HOUR OF 13 The Rites of Samhain (Yersinia Pestis)
I have no idea why it took me so long to discover Phil Swanson's classy metal pipes but I'm admittedly a recent convert to his mournful satanic hymns and, to make up for lost time, I officially declare 2010 the "Year of 13". I was nearly buried this year in a small avalanche of tunes bearing his distinctive mark in the form of no less than three (count 'em!) Hour of 13 releases as well as the killer Vestal Claret and Night Bitch EP's (both on cult cassette-only label NoVisible Scars). I'm not sure why this dude has so many bands 'cause to my untrained ear most of this stuff sounds remarkably similar and his lyrics never stray too far from the themes of occult mind control and sexy human sacrifice that would've had the P.M.R.C. launching an inquisition back in the 80's. The Ritualist is a damn fine release and I've banged my head in slow motion to its mysterious laments many times in recent months but this two track 7" is something special to behold. The first release on artist Josh McAlear's new label and bearing his spectacular cover drawing, this beautiful little record is essentially an homage to the pagan roots of Halloween and Glenn Danzig's most spiritually focused period. When I saw Danzig on the first solo tour in 1988 he was still performing his Samhain masterpiece To Walk The Night- which, incidentally, is a line culled directly from Anne Rice's novel Interview With a Vampire- and it was a brooding respite in the midst of an otherwise frenzied rock 'n' roll communion. Swanson intuitively understands the tortured subtleties of Danzig's vocals and while his voice is not necessarily suited for this dark ballad, the band offers up a deadly serious homage that works well enough. The A-side title track however is a stone cold killer, writhing with characteristic menace and dour devotion. In all honesty the crushing Night BitchSex & Magic EP, which was recently pressed to vinyl following the limited edition cassette version, is musically superior but I keep stumbling on the name (almost as dumb and misleading as Anal Vomit) and rushed graphics so the more aesthetically pleasing relic wins. Stylish silver ink printed on black sleeves and limited to 300 numbered copies. All documented. All true.
Honorable Mention:
DARKTHRONE Circle The Wagons (Peaceville)
You didn't seriously think I'd neglect to mention this, did you? I assume there's a ton of shit being talked about Circle The Wagons on the Internet (my new favorite zine Chromium Dioxide gave it a smarmy kiss-off in issue #3) but this final piece in my Darkthrone art trinity is a damn fun record! I know, I know. Darkthrone isn't supposed to be "fun". WAAAA. I also know how shamelessly self-referential it is to mention this on my own year end round up. Boo hoo. The song I expected to like least when Fenriz first mentioned the title has turned out to be my anthem for 2010 ("...all day so I don't have to see your face!") and the title track with its soaring chorus has served as a hearty strip club drikkende-sang. This is a modern anti-modern classic that will remain in heavy rotation for years to come. I think I just heard the NWN! message board implode in a mushroom cloud of goat bones and Mountain Dew.
I'm not entirely sure what happened at Armageddon Fest but reliable accounts agree that the Von lineup was confusing and their underwhelming performance a stain upon the band's otherwise untouchable legacy. Of course that's the risk inherent in all reunions, reformations, remakes, re-imaginings and re-recordings. Such endeavors almost always cater to the lowest common denominator and tend to leave the distinctly bad taste of nostalgia in one's mouth (this year's triumphant Autopsy reunion being one notable exception to the rule). I was so ashamed when I heard Let There Be Blood that I immediately sold my original pressing of Bonded By Blood and don't need to hear Exodus again for a long time. Historical revisionism is tricky business. So after the disaster in London I was cautious to approach S. Von Goat's new project, a further exploration along the strange Von continuum, for fear that it would somehow diminish my adoration or sully my memory. Eventually I got over myself after blasting Sixx for most of the year and decided I had to give this a try. Occasionally bold curiosity is rewarded with perverse arcane knowledge, pilgrims. What the fuck is this that stands before me? Cryptic poetry swirls through waves of thick distortion like a bloated pig corpse drifting through the pestilent sewage of some dark ancient river. Subliminal commands, wet skulls, oxidized chains and bacterial spiders ooze from the speakers like terrible and incurable blood-borne pathogens. Impenetrable lyrics elude to the hallucinatory madness of addiction, but the symbolism is left ambiguous enough to allow the listener to draw their own conclusions into the soiled syringe. For some reason the combined disorienting atmosphere of Wrest's drums with the sickly vocals and inverted melodies recalls early Godflesh and Scatology-era Coil, but I wouldn't want to mislead readers who might therefore expect some sort of industrial experimentalism. This is metal even as it skirts the edges of the unknown and unknowable. Worth repeated listens at high volume. Stare long into the septic abyss!
Honorable Mention:
BASTARD PRIEST Under The Hammer Of Destruction
(Blood Harvest)
VICTIMS OF A RAPED GRAVE! Caveman death crust from...where else?...SWEDEN! I'm a sucker for this shit. On the Richter scale this falls somewhere between Sodom and Anti Cimex or maybe Onslaught at 45 rpm's and amplified through the bowels of a dead priest. The vocals are all bloody echoes, the drums are thermonuclear warhead explosions and the guitar sounds like wonky Misfits solos played on a broken sitar at the Battle of Meggido. If Discharge scored a horror flick it might sound like this. I guess this LP is mostly re-recordings of their previous demos but since I'm apparently the last to hear about everything I have no idea what those demos sounded like so it's all new to me. Blood Harvest Records has become a reliable beacon of quality and these dudes will stomp you into the fucking dirt along with the rest of their impressive roster. TOTAL ZOMBIE WAR!!!!!
This billboard from my neighborhood has nothing to do with Bastard Priest. Or does it???
If I bummed you out earlier in the week with my endorsement of an Afro-Soul record, prepare for more crippling disappointment. After unveiling the very promising Cold WarEP in 2007 and Visions of a New World in 2008, the somber Canucks known as Spectres have returned in 2010 with an outstanding debut LP that has all the dark wavers wearing their sunglasses at night and frowning in approval. Despite a new lineup, Last Days continues in the depressive vein of the band's previous work, drawing heavily on the martial cadence of Crisis and the smoldering introspective anguish of The Mob and Joy Division. They call this "flat affect" in the mental health profession. Vocalist Brian Gustavason thrives on deadpan emotional dissonance but new songs like Our Time and Nazca show him broadening his range and stepping out of his comfort zone just enough to keep the funeral procession moving along at a brisk jaunty pace. This is one of those albums that takes homage to the threshold of plagiarism but somehow remains relevant and vital. In fact, these dudes have helped spearhead a recent emergence of melodic North West post-punk bands like Bellicose Minds, Vivid Sekt and Arctic Flowers, with whom they share a recent split 7". I sorta hope they'll continue to carve out an identity of their own and perhaps push their sound into more aggressive or experimental directions. The purity of this style is fairly limiting and the ice age atmosphere might grow stagnant over time, but this record has a moody urgency that really works. Snort your girlfriend's Prozac and join the death party, punk!
Honorable Mention:
NERVESKADE
Self Titled
(Black Water Records)
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!" These bastard sons of Wez ripped the noisepunk blueprint from local faves Atrocious Madness (R.I.P.) and Lebenden Toten (who borrowed liberally from the likes of Confuse, Disorder and the harshest parts of Antisect) and somehow came up with this absolutely essential blast of kaotic fuck-offery. These 12 "songs" buzz and vomit like a terrible aberration and before you can locate your industrial strength earplugs amidst all the empty beer cans on the floor...the nightmare is over as quickly as it began. Nerve Damage is the ace and I love how it transitions into Forced To Live and then into Brain Damage (variations on a theme). Parasites is an inspirational anthem about genital crabs and/or gutter punks and then there's that part in Nothing But Shit where it sounds like the guitar got unplugged. To top it all off, the lyric sheet looks like a juvenile detention coloring book centerfold. You mongoloids are probably too young to remember the punk rock episode of CHiPS but let grandpa over here tell you that the California Highway Patrol woulda shit their gestapo browns if they had to deal with these glue sniffing degenerates. Take a shower and go home to mommy, Richie Dagger. The real punks have arrived to DISTORT...uh...EVERYTHING!
Like a virgin. Touched for the very first time. Cauchemar arrives from Montreal, Canada as a lightning shaft of illumination rending the musty ossuary of modern mediocrity! This power trio offers up anthemic French invocations shrouded in the purple metal majesty of doom, made all the more mysterious by the fact that I don't understand a word of it. Well, that's not entirely true. I nailed the first word of Le Volle D'Isis without Google Translate but that's only because I already had to look up the word "sepultura" two decades ago. Cauchemar's sepulchral rocka rolla crawls forth from the same crypt as Italian horror hordes Death SS and Black Hole with creepy dynamics giving way to galloping rhythm and haunting melody. Annick Giroux's vocals emanate a refreshing humility and an understated sensual power that tempers the muscular advance of Francois Patry's iron riffs and Patrick Pageau's confident plodding. Midnight Shady refuses to dumb us down with growls, grunts, shrieks or false operatic femininity. In fact, she sorts the men out from the boys with dignified restraint and all while laying it down on the four string altar. Hard to pick a favorite as this entire 12" is flawless, if only too short. Austere aesthetics reflects the band's modest no-frills approach. As a matter of logistical criticism, clear vinyl makes it virtually impossible to tell what side is what or where the fucking grooves are in a candlelit room. Purple vinyl would've been perfect. Still, I feel shiny and new. Like a virgin.
Honorable Mention:
WEAPON
From The Devil's Tomb
(Ajna Offensive)
Weapon released one of the classics of 2009 with Drakonian Paradigm and this year they returned with their sophomore strike. This record is a mixed affair for me because the compositions and musicianship (and artwork) are superior to anything the band has ever manifested in almost every way but these new hymns are ultimately undermined by surgical ProTools production values. It goes without say that these earnest disciples have very lofty ambitions and they clearly set out to create a timeless leviathan of a record. It falls short only in the obnoxious sound, especially the clickety-clackety drums which stutter in the foreground and occasionally distract from the amazing solos and absolutely infectious riffing. Where's the ETERNAL FIRE? When I'm invoking the glorious majesty of KALI I don't wanna hear my daughter hammering away on an old typewriter in the next room. Actually, my daughter is in the next room hammering away on an old typewriter. But you get the idea. I also miss the weird demonic chorus/gang vocals of Serpent Ayat and hope they'll resurface on the next one. Despite these shortcomings, Weapon has once again succeeded in unleashing one of the year's best.
"A certain tendency to insanity has always attended the opening of the religious sense in men, as if they had been blasted with excess of light." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
WATAIN Lawless Darkness (Seasons in Mist)
One of the phenomenons that I struggle with when thinking about the most compelling music of the year is the sheer volume of releases that flood the world these days. I occasionally long for the days when music was a lusty wench worthy of a relationship and I found myself wed to certain records for months and months, imbibing every nuance on a cellular level. When Master of Puppets came out in 1986 it was an event and I spent the rest of the year banging my head in thoughtful introspection, studying the lyrics and contemplating the air brushed cover. Sounds naive now but at the time this was the ambitious crest of a rising force and the tremendous anticipation was part of the thrill. Say what you will about Metallica's colossal wimpery but to this day when I hear a single note from their third LP something deep inside me immediately stirs to attention. That's because I put time in with that record, time I felt it deserved. A decade or so later I did the same with Storm of The Light's Bane. Nowadays it's difficult to get to know music and develop that deeper and ultimately more meaningful connection. A timely example is the new Ghost LP which, after months of excitement, was prematurely ejaculated into existence and unceremoniously sent to me in the body of an e-mail message. I realize I'm an irrelevant dinosaur, but I felt cheated. Lawless Darkness is one of those uncommon records one must devote significant time and energy to properly reckon and romance- perhaps more time and energy than most can afford in their eagerness to make snappy commentary. Despite the band's meticulous attention to detail, this is not tidy or palatable music suitable for the cyber equivalent of fast forwarding. Certainly songs like Wolves' Curse and Reaping Death deliver a swaggering immediacy but Total Funeral and The Waters of Ain demand stamina and focus. Sure, the recording suffers from uncharacteristic overproduction but even as I bang out these words I feel as though I've only just begun to plumb the depths of this collection and suspect it will continue to open itself up to me and inflame my imagination for many years to come. As potent art should. Speaking of which, the staggering presentation of this record is largely the work of previously unknown Polish master Zbigniew M. Bielak, whom Erik Danielsson told me quite literally appeared out of thin air with his classical style perfectly suited to the band's monolithic vision. Artists of this calibre only surface every decade or so and abominations of this far reaching grandeur only manifest under the most spectacular of circumstances. Face the thing that should not be...
God don't like it.
Honorable Mention:
STENCH
In Putrescence (Agonia Records)
While we're on the subject of awful smells from Sweden, behold the ferocious gore adorned debut full-length from Stench! Is the Swedish government offering huge grants to see who can come up with the sickest death metal? There seems to be no other explanation for the disproportionate proliferation of ridiculously talented and dedicated musicians spawned in this otherwise orderly and well-to-do little nation. Stench is two of the dudes from Tribulation stepping up their rabid assault with insane hieroglyphic riffs that cast a disorienting spell not entirely unlike Grotesque or early Morbid Angel. But what sets these young necrophiles apart from the trendy "old school death metal"™ pack is their singular vision and ability to sound unlike all the others. They're definitely doing their own thing and they've got the total aesthetic to transport listeners beyond the grave. JonathanHultén is one of the underground's best kept secrets and his visual art is among the very best being produced today. His artwork on the Tribulation LP is what separated that record from the landfill of new wave death metal that emerged in the wake of Repugnant and Hultén's style has developed enormously on this excellent debut. Inhale...THE DARKNESS!!!!!
Bone Sickness take their name from an inexcusably boring and incompetent straight-to-video horror flick that even frontal nudity and copious amounts of Jamesons couldn't salvage. But I suppose Autopsy and Master were already taken and Don't Go In The Woods is too wordy, so who can blame 'em? This is rabid metal from the grave steeped in the noxious sewer crust of Nausea and the glacial judgment of Winter. Six songs and not a dud among them! Organ-Wrenching Sick is the standout with its sludgy pummeling and infectious thrash riffing but The Collector and Scraping The Bones make me wanna get wasted on formaldehyde and play operation with a chainsaw. I was fortunate enough to catch these talented young derelicts performing in the outdoor parking lot of a pizza joint earlier this year and was grinning like an undertaker by the time they lurched off stage. It was broad daylight but they painted the sky black with plague while the usual gang of downtown Olympia, Washington riff raff assaulted each other in the pit and confused the hippies and homeless who couldn't boogie along fast enough. Keep truckin'. At the time Bone Sickness featured former Funerot (R.I.P.) shredder Ben Moore-Maley on guitar and he rips it up on this demo but has since relocated for school and been replaced. Don't worry, the new guy rules. For some reason I seem to recall the live set having something of a spastic Accused or Animosity-era C.O.C. vibe (maybe it was just the drummer's tattoos) but by the time this demo emerged a few months later the punk influence was mostly buried in a shroud of viscera. If these dudes can keep their shit together they'll be something to watch and I'm really looking forward to their full-length in 2011. Limited to 250 copies and featuring stylish cover art by Jorge Flores of Lit Fuse Tattoo. Choke on it!
Bone Sickness at East End on December 18, 2010.
Honorable Mention:
OBLITERATION
Nekropsalms
(Duplicated Records)
You know that feeling you get when you find yourself locked in an old fruit cellar and suddenly realize something is down there with you? That is precisely the same atmosphere of nauseating horror to be discovered on this second full-length from Norway's Obliteration. I somehow missed these dudes when they played MDF this year and while I'd like to say it was because I was off at the Edgar Allan Poe Museum soaking up some literary history, the truth is, I was probably engaged in a heated game of Chinese Face Punch. My loss. This is a band so deeply and intuitively connected to their dark graveyard vision that they can clamber down strange paths and still deliver us into the terrible gaping jaws of DEATH! The Worm That Gnaws In The Night is a nearly 10 minute disasterpiece of pig-squealing guitars, swirling leads and agonized death rattles that will make your Hellhammer records ride off into the sunset on a pale horse. Technically this was released in late 2009 but the vinyl version did not emerge until 2010 and only recently arrived at the Dread Compound where it has been in steady rotation. The LP also comes with a 7" featuring one crushing original and a fuckin' Dr. Shrinker cover from the 1989 Wedding the Grotesque demo. I don't particularly care for the cover art but at least it's not goatmen pulling a train on Jesus and besides, if the band photos are any indication, vocalist/guitarist SindreSolem appears to be about 9 feet tall and ain't the kinda dude I wanna piss off. A real gem!
At first utterance the title agony and opium has a similar ring to tyranny and mutation, does it not? At first glance the more astute nerd may even perceive a familiar color scheme reference in the red and the black of its packaging. The cover actually looks like a cross between the first Saint Vitus record and a D.I.Y. Confederate flag. But make no mistake, this isn't "retro-rock", "old school" or whatever term jaded blogspot critics (ahem) are using to spay and neuter creativity these days. Christian Mistress offers up timeless American Heavy Metal with roots planted firmly in the fertile soil of yore and branches ascending towards a glorious home in the sun! To be perfectly honest, my vengeful inner-adolescent was already expecting to be disappointed by this debut LP the moment I banged out an adoring review of their demo last year. Would they betray me with an ironic cover of Turbo Lover? Would they do a buncha coke and compose a four record "concept album" about dream catchers? In the past year my favorite Olympian headbangers have had ample opportunity to make every terrible decision imaginable and in every instance they have steadfastly remained on the path of honor (well, they did make one minor misstep but it was a nano-error of ultimately little significance). These six songs are a heady testament to their honesty and fortitude. Desert Rose, with its insistent riffing and devastating chorus, is the highlight for me but the refined version of Poison Path reins the ferocious energy of the 2009 demo for a potent flipside opener and Omega Stone is a bold step into previously uncharted ballad territory that erupts in an emotive climax perfectly suited to Christine Davis' throaty enunciation. In a perfect world, kids would burn down the stairway to heaven and make out to this song at the end of every prom. But this ain't a perfect world. Now about that demo...
"Whiskey woman don't you know that you are driving me insaaaaane..."
Honorable Mention:
AMEBIX
Monolith
(Back On Black)
"Out in the marshland and deep in the woods something stirs from the past to live once again..." I realize how ridiculous and pandering it is to mention this crusty 1987 release on a "best of 2010" list but Monolith was, is, and will always remain an immensely important record for me and this gorgeous gatefold 180 gram vinyl re-issue is a thing of beauty. The band's last word & testament until the reformation a few years ago, this was an undefinable and absolutely crushing bridge between punk, metal and dark psychedelia that has languished in out-of-print obscurity for two decades. If you have never experienced this record in its proper format, now is your chance. If you've worshipped this record as I have, now is your chance to dust off an old idol and invoke its magic once again (with lyrics and original art). Limited to 1000 and fully sanctioned by the band. THE POWER REMAINS!
Disco, Bloody Disco! Every time I play this record I feel like an unshaven vice cop cruising the neon jungle in an undercover Cutlass with questionable intentions and three cigarettes dangling from my clenched teeth. AIDS does not exist, porn stars don't shave their muffs and Brooklyn isn't cool. Every Budos Band recording is a shimmering jewel but Budos Band III slithers and undulates with infectious perfection. They even manage to inject a Beatles cover with the nasty soul of a blaxploitation soundtrack circa 1972, sans filler and unnecessary vocals to maximize the guerrilla percussion attack (they call it "Afro-Soul"). Hypnotic bass lines lock you down in the shadow of the horns while flutes flutter and ominous organ flourishes promise that trouble is brewing in the apartment upstairs. When I was a kid, my step dad used to roll toothpick joints of seedy weed on the cover of his favorite Chuck Mangione record. Chuck Mangione wrote what I can only assume was the first international flugelhorn hit and Feels So Good was in regular rotation when it became the official score for New York State tourism commercials. Ace Frehley later provided the soundtrack for similar New York television spots when he scored an unexpected winner off his first solo record with a sleazy Russ Ballard cover. Maybe that's why playing air horns to Budos Band feels perfectly natural. As natural as a volcano, scorpion, cobra or some other earthbound entity that can fuck you up while looking good. Huey Lewis and the Bad News Bears over here are tougher than nails and heavier than whatever bestial bullshit you read about on facebook this week. I'm back in the New York Groove, pal.
Honorable Mention:
ABNER JAY
Last Ol' Ministrel Man
(Mississippi Records)
Today's honorable mention goes to the new Abner Jay 10" on Mississippi Records which makes available for the first time several unknown recordings from this primitive American folk genius. Abner made it to my best of 2009 list last December and this new one is right up there alongside that LP for pure unabashed soul-wrenching honesty in the blacker than blues tradition. These previously unheard tracks were recorded by a young fan in 1993 when Abner was on death's doorstep and his robust baritone voice had become a frail sliver of quivering emotion. Three months after this session he was gone forever. More songs about cocaine abuse, the extreme outposts of poverty and being cut by a woman with a knife that are almost certainly not metaphorical. "Baby, don't cut me so deep!"
While not officially on the "Best of 2010" list, here are two of my very favorite things:
my lovely daughter, seen here showing the ol' man some affection, and Executioner's 1986 LP In The Name Of Metal.
Welcome back on this cold solstice eve and the night of the bloody red lunar eclipse, brothers and sisters. It's that time of year once again. Time for me to spew my wildly narcissistic and totally unqualified opinions about the cultural flotsam that I enjoyed most in 2010. I'll be posting one favorite release every day for the next 10 days (and of course I'll cheat by adding "honorable mentions"). It's just like The Twelve Days of Christmas except there's only 10 and God is dead. Don't blame me, the hacks over at Left Hand Path told me to. Enjoy while you still can...
ABSCESS
Dawn of Inhumanity (Tyrant Syndicate/Peaceville)
Conflict of interest? Sure. Bias? You bet! Since when is metal (or music reviews for that matter) anything but subjective opinionated bullshit anyway? Now that we've cleared that up, Dawn of Inhumanity is the final piece in the scatological puzzle that is the Abscess legacy and what a masterful symphony of apocalyptic deviancy we have here! I'm afraid this one was swiftly buried in the understandable avalanche of enthusiasm surrounding Autopsy's reunion, which is a shame 'cause this is a fantastic swansong and undoubtedly one of the lost jewels of 2010. This is the kind of recording that screams for headphones, black candles, a ouija board and a baseball bat. Murky horrorscapes are your only relief from the bludgeoning deathpunk assault of new classics like Divine Architect of Disaster, Goddess of Filth And Plague, Torn From Tomorrow and the weird dirge of Dead Haze. Never Sane Again comes charging off the leash like a stinking gangrenous dog (don't take my word for it, I'm paraphrasing Chris Reifert) before collapsing into a Danny Coralles lead that will have Autopsy fans drooling like invalids until Joe "Kill" Allen's eerie bass line erupts into a headbanging stampede and the whole fucking cavalry spirals down into a psychedelic toilet of doom. Speaking of "Kill", the title track is practically a Von homage with its cryptic haiku and reverb incantations. In case your trip wasn't going bad enough already, Fenriz and Nocturnal Culto have decided to swing by the party with some unsettling news: you're fucked. It's probably completely coincidental but I love the way Dark Side Of A Broken Knife opens up like the old Cro Mags song Face The Facts. Coincidental or not, it makes me want to jump up and smash things. These are some of Reifert's most inspired lyrics to date and he delivers them with the insane ferocity of Oscar the Grouch herniating to shit on your grave. To top it all off, this final Tyrant Syndicate/Peaceville shiv comes sheathed in a beautiful digi-book featuring lyrics, photos and Reifert'spsychederelict drawings. The cover art ain't bad either. If I may be so bold, this is a labor of love from the TRUE metal underground. Someone please release this on gatefold vinyl! Peaceville, are you listening?
Honorable Mention:
MACHETAZO
Necrocovered
(Parasitic Records)
Putting a covers collection on a list like this felt like cheating but the new MachetazoEP on Parasitic Records is a total ripper and features great Daniel "War Master" Shaw cover art! Chris Reifert perfectly channels the pissed off ghost of Carnivore with his guest vocals on Sex & Violence."If you can't eat it or fuck it...KILL IT!!!!" R.I.P.Lord Petrus Steele. Take it easy...
Reifert at MDF just before the triumphant rebirth of Autopsy!
