Decibel #242 - December 2024

EXCLUSIVE BOOK EXCERPT

CROWBAR CROWBAR HALL OF FAME

REFUSE/RESIST

EARTHBURNER ORANSSI PAZUZU 1349 TRIBULATION SCHAMMASCH PELICAN ENVY DRUG CHURCH IMMORTAL BIRD FLEXI DISC

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DECEMBER 2024 // No. 242

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E XT RE M ELY EXTREME

December 2024 [R 242] decibelmagazine.com

upfront 10 obituary:

juan brujo ¡Viva Brujo!

12 metal muthas Dynasty of devils 14 low culture He’s the bad guy (duh) 15 kill screen:

vomit forth

Face your fears 16 in the studio:

pelican

About 500 words to say but one

18 immortal bird Getting the horns 20 molder He’s got that drive 22 drug church Law of averages 24 bobbie dazzle Give ’em the ol’...

26 envy Up in them guts 28 oryx The sky is the limit 30 haliphron Symphony of reconstruction

features

reviews

32 1349 They didn’t come here to make friends

73 lead review A new era for Swedish misan-mopes Tribulation is in full bloom on new LP Sub Rosa In Æternum

34 schammasch Sailin’ on 36 tribulation A rose by any other name 38 oranssi pazuzu Taking shape 40 q&a: earthburner When founder and guitarist Jeremy Wagner wants to start a fire, he goes to the experts

74 album reviews Records from bands that don’t know what a Moo Deng is, including Defeated Sanity, Mammoth Grinder and Nachtmystium 80 damage ink The age of quarrel

44 exclusive:

into everlasting fire: the official story of immolation excerpt The full Monte

48 the decibel

hall of fame Crowbar take a mulligan to craft an album worthy of their massive riffs on their self-titled sophomore LP

Crucial Testimony COVER STORY COVER AND CONTENTS PHOTOS BY ESTER SEGARRA

Decibel (ISSN 1557-2137) is published monthly by Red Flag Media, Inc., P.O. Box 36818, Philadelphia, PA 19107. Annual subscription price is $34.95. Periodical postage, paid at Philadelphia, PA, and other mailing offices. Submission of manuscripts, illustrations and/or photographs must be accompanied by a stamped, self-addressed envelope. The publisher assumes no responsibility for unsolicited materials. Postmaster send changes of address for Decibel to Red Flag Media, P.O. Box 36818, Philadelphia, PA 19107. © 2024 by Red Flag Media, Inc. All rights reserved.

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REFUSE/RESIST

December 2024 [T242] PUBLISHER

Alex Mulcahy

alex@redflagmedia.com

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Albert Mudrian

albert@decibelmagazine.com AD SALES

James Lewis

james@decibelmagazine.com DIRECTOR OF MARKETING AND SALES ART DIRECTOR

Aaron Salsbury

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Michael Wohlberg

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Patty Moran

COPY EDITOR

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BOOKCREEPER

Tim Mulcahy

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fifth appearance on Decibel’s cover.

I’m too tired to flip through our other 241 issues, but I’m nearly certain that number puts Opeth in the rarified air of other longtime Decibel cover staples like Cannibal Corpse and Converge.

While I’ve eagerly devoured pretty much everything the latter legendary pair have pummeled us with over the past 20 years, I can’t say that’s always been the case with our Swedish pals. In fact, after 2008, I’m staring right past Opeth in dismay. Don’t get me wrong—I’ve tried. I’ve listened to all the prog rock whimsy of the band’s post-Watershed albums multiple times (I’m pretty sure I even convinced myself that I actually liked the last one). I’ll never begrudge their sonic bravery (which obviously translated into even more commercial success), but for me, something has been missing for years.

It’s not unlike Michael Jordan retiring from basketball in 1993, after winning his third consecutive championship, to pursue a baseball career. While Jordan was still at the peak of his court prowess, Mikael Åkerfeldt was in the middle of his own epic run with Opeth when he decided to abandon something he did better than almost anyone on earth. Sure, records like Heritage and In Cauda Venenum aren’t exactly as disappointing as hitting .202 for the 1994 Birmingham Barons, but their opportunity cost is nearly as severe.

So, when word began circulating in the industry several months ago that Opeth had “gone death metal again,” I didn’t fully anticipate a return to their progressive death metal glory of 1995’s Hall of Fameinducted Orchid. Honestly, I would have settled for something more like Jordan’s 1995 season with the Chicago Bulls, where despite an uneven performance, I was just happy he was back in the NBA. Opeth’s The Last Will and Testament, however, is more than the sound of a band reintroducing themselves to their roots. As our excellent cover story from Chris Dick (author of our last four Opeth cover pieces) reveals, the band’s 14th studio album isn’t just about nasty riffs and the return of Åkerfeldt’s titanic roar, but a sleek fusion of nearly everything Opeth have embraced in their storied 34-year career. And if it leads to another threepeat the caliber of My Arms, Your Hearse/Still Life/Blackwater Park, maybe I’ll get to work on a 10-hour documentary about it. albert mudrian, Editor-in-Chief

CONTRIBUTING ARTISTS

Chuck BB, Ed Luce Mark Rudolph

Online DECIBEL WEB EDITOR

Albert Mudrian

DECIBEL WEB AD SALES

James Lewis

albert@decibelmagazine.com james@decibelmagazine.com

Anthony Bartkewicz Emily Bellino Adrien Begrand J. Bennett Dean Brown Liz Ciavarella-Brenner Chris Dick Sean Frasier Nick Green Raoul Hernandez John Hill Jonathan Horsley Neill Jameson Kim Kelly Greg Kennelty Sarah Kitteringham Daniel Lake Cosmo Lee Jamie Ludwig Shane Mehling Tim Mudd Justin M. Norton Dutch Pearce Forrest Pitts Brad Sanders José Carlos Santos Joseph Schafer Kevin Stewart-Panko Eugene S. Robinson Adem Tepedelen Jeff Treppel J Andrew Zalucky CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS

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To order by phone: 1.215.625.9850 (10 a.m. – 5 p.m. EST) To order by fax: 1.215.625.9967 To order online: www.decibelmagazine.com Decibel (ISSN 1557-2137) is published monthly by Red Flag Media, Inc., P.O. Box 36818, Philadelphia, PA 19107. Annual subscription price is $34.95.

Periodical postage, paid at Philadelphia, PA, and other mailing offices.

Submission of manuscripts, illustrations and/or photographs must be accompanied by a stamped, self-addressed envelope. The publisher assumes no responsibility for unsolicited materials.

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PHOTO BY ESTER SEGARRA

This month marks Mikael Åkerfeldt’s

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS

Will Cook

Alexandria, VA You’ve had an interesting career that has taken you from the military to craft brewing.

What are you doing now, and what’s been the most rewarding part of the path?

I’m back working for the U.S. Government trying to keep the world safe for democracy, capitalism, heavy metal and great beer. Life has been a vicious circle. I left USMC active duty to go to college. Graduated and worked 10 years for the dark side of the government and joined the USMC reserves. Left the government to brew beer shortly before my daughter was born so I would be home and alive.

Brewed in the D.C. area for six years so I could infect every brewery in the area with heavy metal. Left brewing after my son was born and rejoined the government so I could afford to feed my kids and retire from the USMC after 26 years.

8 : DECEMBER 2024 : DECIBEL

Serving my country for more than 30 years in just about every war zone has been really rewarding—especially with heavy metal as my copilot. Highlights were seeing Sick of It All in a warehouse in Bogota, Colombia, and listening to Slayer’s God Hates Us All while rolling with Special Forces in Afghanistan in 2001. While brewing, it was great getting to personally know and make special beers for some of my favorite metal bands while curating metal shows at Atlas Brew Works and Adroit Theory for seven years.

Beer and metal are a true match made in Hell! At this point, I’ve been to nearly 100 countries, and I drank beer and listened to metal in all of them.

I am not finished yet. Hold my beer.

You are part of the Metalheads Podcast crew, which recently celebrated 10 years—congrats!

Half of the hosts have already been Reader of the Month. What’s taken you so long to get the nod?

Thanks! One would think that personally knowing high-level Decibel staff would have facilitated this earlier. I mean, how much time hanging with these guys at baseball games and metal fests does it take to get some love? Besides, George and Markisan are way more interesting than me. Jay, John and Matt are up next.

You are a baseball dad with two travel-ball kids (who are also young metalheads). What advice would you give to other baseball dads?

And metal dads?

Whether youth baseball or young metalheads, my advice is nearly the same: Keep it fun. Encour-

age them, but don’t force it. Expose them to it, but let them chart their own course. And keep a really organized calendar! So many games and so many shows. My kids have heard heavy metal and watched baseball nearly every day since they were born. They love Khemmis, Crypt Sermon, Black Sabbath, Ozzy, Dio, Metallica (only the first

It was great getting to personally know and make special beers for some of my favorite metal bands while curating metal shows at Atlas Brew Works and Adroit Theory for seven years.

Beer and metal are a true match made in Hell! four albums), Iron Maiden, Twisted Sister, etc. I think I’m doing okay, though. My son’s baseball walk-up song is Black Sabbath’s “Iron Man,” and my daughter’s is Metallica’s “For Whom the Bell Tolls.” Their nearly year-round baseball, however, interferes with my metal pursuits, as they always have tournaments on Memorial Day weekend during Maryland Deathfest. It is a small price to pay as a baseball and metalhead dad. Go Phillies!

ChuckBB.com / Instagram: @chuckbb_art

J

ohn Lepe did such a convincing job portraying Juan Bruno, the menac-

ing frontman of Brujeria, that almost every obituary used his stage name when he passed away in September. It seemed like his birth name was an afterthought. ¶ Brujeria has long blurred the line between fantasy and reality, and Lepe was their chief provocateur, a socially minded and incendiary lyricist/vocalist. Someone unfamiliar with their work who picked up Brujeria’s Hall of Fame-inducted Matando Güeros might think it was the work of Satanic drug cartel members. Lepe was also the subject of one of Decibel’s most unforgettable cover photos in 2016. In the photo, Lepe is brandishing a machete and looking at the camera with a durag covering his face. He looks like a bona fide cartel member. ¶ Lepe died at 61 on September 18 while touring, just months after Brujeria vocalist/sampler Ciriaco “Pinche Peach” Quezada died from heart issues.

Lepe suffered a heart attack during a day off from the Mexorcista tour in Saint Clairsville, OH. He was taken to a hospital in Wheeling, WV, but did not survive.

“His family, friends and bandmates are devastated, and wish to carry their grief in private, thanking the love and support from fans,” Brujeria said in a statement.

While Brujeria rotated lineups and players often, Lepe was the band’s leader for three-plus decades. He was the only member who didn’t play in other bands; Brujeria was, in many ways, his voice. Brujeria’s music was bold and could be fun, but it also offered a scathing critique of racism and injustice. In one of their 10 : D E C E M B E R 2 0 2 4 : D E C I B E L

best-known songs, “Raza Odiada (Pito Wilson)” (a reference to Peter Wilson, California’s Republican governor for much of the ’90s), Brujeria talked of “brown skin poor” immigrants coming into Southern California who “do jobs white people are too cool to do themselves.”

As immigration and racism have become critical

issues in a presidential election, Lepe’s ability to channel the isolation and rage outsiders feel in the United States is eerily relevant.

Friends and fans remembered Lepe for supporting emerging artists and minority musicians. In a social media post, Jessica Pimentel, an actress and backup Brujeria vocalist Lepe named La Bruja Encabronada (the angry witch), recalled the first time she met Lepe.

“I jumped onstage and grabbed the mic, and you didn’t kick me off,” she said of meeting Lepe at Webster Hall in New York City in 2010.

“That was one of the happiest days of my life. I think it was fate that, years later, I would have some of the best moments in my life sharing a stage with you. You named me and encouraged me to be the voice of angry and strong brown women around the world, covering head-to-toe and screaming my face off for justice. For that, I’ll always be grateful.”

“A world without Brujo? I am struggling to imagine it, yet the reality is here,” Brujeria guitarist Shane “Hongo” Embury wrote on Instagram. “So many emotions and memories since last night. Saludos Brujo, I will miss you so much.”

Lepe is survived by his son, John Christopher Lepe. Rest well, Juan Bruno. —JUSTIN M. NORTON

PHOTO BY HANNAH VERBEUREN

OBITUARIES

 Hellraisers

From l to r: Hayes’ mother, grandmother and younger self mark three generations of metal maniacs

Because not all of us were spawned in the darkest recesses of hell

This Month’s Mutha: Anne George Grandmutha of John Hayes of Devil Master

Tell us a little about yourself.

I grew up being taught classical piano to possibly play professionally, but being a teenager, I bowed out (much to my parents’ disapproval). At 16, I met my first husband, who had a band when we lived in Olney during the Beatles’ heyday. They did well and got all the way to an audition at Capitol Records, but when asked to sign just for himself, he refused to leave his bandmates, and basically that was the end of that.

John tells us that both you and your daughter— his mother, who recently passed—were major influences on his love of metal.

I got into that a few years later listening to Ozzy, Megadeth, Slayer, Sepultura and others by putting my ear to my son Kurt’s door; he introduced John as well as other family members to metal.

It became a part of my life, and I went to many concerts with him and John through the years, the last one being a raucous one by the Cavalera brothers in Reading, PA. What’s the story behind your Ozzy tattoo?

I was married to a tattoo artist, David George.

One night he left a bottle of black ink and a single clean tattoo needle at home. So, thinking all of the time about Ozzy like I did, I took this equipment, sat down and tattooed my fingers with his name, like he has, to show my love of 12 : D E C E M B E R 2 0 2 4 : D E C I B E L

his music and his forever power in the metal world. I did it upside down and looking in a mirror, and I did it perfectly! All letters straight and in a row! Forever an Ozzy fan!

We don’t know a lot of families where love for heavy music has spanned three generations.

Why do you think that’s the case with yours?

Ours has and always will be a very unique family. We were constantly together, and still are, talking and sharing music, books, movies, art and other interests with each other. I believe it’s a glue that holds us all together, and has for all of this time.

Did you have the chance to see Devil Master on the Decibel Tour earlier this year? What do you think about John onstage?

Yes I did! What can I say? If I didn’t know them through John, they definitely would be on my playlist. Seeing John onstage in his Devil Master look (cape, makeup, showing how into the music he is) is beyond thrilling to me. It’s a dream come true, as I mentioned how his grandad had a band, but never went through with the contract with Capitol. Now I look on a stage and see my grandson living the dream and being great at it!

I know there are big things ahead for him and the band, and I will be there to see it for sure!

—ANDREW BONAZELLI

NOW SLAYING Wonder what Decibel world HQ has been rocking for the past month?

Well, here are the records that we spun most while wondering what new and exciting way our printer is gonna fuck up this issue.

Albert Mudrian : e d i t o r i n c h i e f  Yoth Iria, Blazing Inferno  Crypt Sermon, “Lachrymose” Decibel Flexi  Opeth, My Arms, Your Hearse  Exodus, Another Lesson in Violence  Amiee Mann, Lost in Space ---------------------------------Patty Moran : c u s t o m e r s e r v i c e  Gojira, Fortitude  Sepultura, Chaos A.D.  Cult of Luna / Julie Christmas, Mariner  Devil Master, Satan Spits on Children of Light  Zorn, Zorn ---------------------------------James Lewis : a d s a l e s  Opeth, The Last Will and Testament  Crowbar, Crowbar  Earthburner, Permanent Dawn  Enforced, A Leap into the Dark  Vomit Forth, Terrified of God ---------------------------------Mike Wohlberg : a r t d i r e c t o r  Vomit Forth, Terrified of God  Zeal & Ardor, GREIF  Unto Others, Never, Neverland  Full of Hell, Coagulated Bliss  Black Curse, Burning in Celestial Poison ---------------------------------Aaron Salsbury : m a r k e t i n g a n d s a l e s  Suffocating Madness, Unrelenting Forced Psychosis  Immortal Bird, Sin Querencia  Waxahatchee, Tigers Blood  Vaxine, Frontal Lobotomy  Death Side, Wasted Dream

GUEST SLAYER

---------------------------------Manuel Gagneux : ZEA L & A RDOR

 Palehound, A Place I’ll Always Go  Golem, Dreamweaver  Portishead, Dummy  Heriot, Devoured by the Mouth of Hell  And So I Watch You From Afar, And So I Watch You From Afar

Bloodborne [FROM SOFTWARE/SONY]

KANE GELAZNIK OF

VOMIT FORTH

Where Never Is Heard, an Encouraging Word there’s anything this year so far has taught me, it’s that I own a lot of records that Discogs won’t let me sell on their platform—not just for the obvious reasons, but because some of them are considered “bootlegs.” I’m looking at you, JL America pressing of The Oath of Black Blood and Wild Rags’ Wrath of the Tyrant. That’s okay, though, because eBay doesn’t give a shit what you sell on there if it makes them their seller’s fee. This isn’t the only thing I’ve learned, however, and probably not the most important. What I have learned is that I’m the villain in more than a few people’s stories.

As of this writing, we’re only a few weekends removed from Decibel’s 20th Anniversary Show, where Krieg had the lofty task of representing the entire black metal genre. While I’m still writing apology letters to the forefathers, I (hate to admit that I) had a good time. I managed to mask any social anxiety I had, somehow avoid the COVID that my entire band acquired and even sold a T-shirt or two. I also caught up with some people I haven’t seen in years, decades even. There were even a few I was (approaching) happy to see. But it was nearly universal that either old behavior was brought up or I encountered someone who thinks I decorate every room of my house with cuck chairs. I found there were people who harbored grudges and hurt feelings from the 1990s. I thought I carried a lot of useless bullshit with me from move to move.

Now, a few people had legitimate grievances, and I did whatever I could to atone—for whatever good that does—but mostly it was horseshit nonsense. Some of it was because I didn’t write about their bands, like that has any bearing on 14 : DECEMBER 2024 : DECIBEL

anything. I did find out that some NSBM band I used to spend at least an hour a week shitting on through various message boards wanted to send a genuine greeting to me. The world I exist in is a fucking circus.

This wasn’t just limited to this event; it seems that 2024 is the year where people air their grievances. From three-part documentaries with the substance and cinematic quality of your parents’ sex tape from 1991 to people drunkenly showing up to friends’ homes with plans to publicly shame me—like I haven’t beaten them to it—to threatening messages from burner accounts to my various social media spots.

There’s even some asshole who, two or three times a month, will listen to three to five seconds of each Krieg song on my Bandcamp page at least a few times each. It’s like John Cusack holding a boombox outside my window in the rain, if the rain was urine and the person was at the wrong address.

What’s the moral? Make a fucking impression.

Every single one of us is someone else’s bad guy.

Does that make it true overall since it’s their perception? Unless you fucked their mother(s) and wiped off on the curtains, no. Even then, their mom could have really enjoyed it, and the stains will come out in the wash. See? Perception. We all have it and who the fuck knows if they reflect reality. If thinking I sit in a chair and watch loved ones get fucked while I write fundraising emails for a third Obama term (or for a deluxe reissue of the Johnny Rebel catalog, depending on your idea of me) brings someone comfort, then who am I to take that away from them?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to list a batch of Mayhem bootlegs.

FEARS THE OLD BLOOD

hough often conflated, there is a

very distinct difference between “surprise” and “fear.” Jump scares, a popular trope among horror games, offer a cheap, fleeting thrill.

There are only so many times you come face-to-face with a shrieking Freddy Fazbear before shock quickly gives way to annoyance.

Fear, on the other hand, is pervasive, indescribable and truly rare in a gaming environment. Kane Gelaznik, vocalist for Vomit Forth and die-hard horror fanatic, seeks out the latter when it comes to sophomore album Terrified of God. Profiled in Decibel No. 241, Gelaznik shares his fears—spelled out pretty clearly by the album’s title—as a void to confront and refract onto the listener to provide a distressing experience. Ingesting all the horror media around him during the two-year writing process, one critically-acclaimed game series in particular was sought out as a malformed muse for the band’s crushing brand of death metal. Some fears, however, remain latent until they manifest in unexpected ways. While the remainder of our interview on our website dives deeper into the frontman’s digital proclivities, it’s this excerpt that explores Gelaznik’s expectations and realities in shaping his new nightmare.

What was scarier than hearing the radio static in Silent Hill 2 on the PS2?

THERE WAS NOTHING.

[In the previous issue of Decibel], you discussed the horror elements that contributed to the creation of your new album Terrified of God. You specifically mentioned the movies Midsommar, Hereditary and the works of Marian Dora. Did any games factor into the crafting of Terrified of God?

Bloodborne. I was playing Bloodborne almost every night when I would kind of wind down, and that was a huge, huge, huge vibe-maker on that record.

What were some of the elements of Bloodborne that you feel really spoke to you during the creation of the record?

In a lot of From [Software] games, there’s that kind of Christianity element to it, especially in Elden Ring. But with Bloodborne, you have the whole H.P. Lovecraft/Cthulhu vibes, which has this occult mysticism tinge to it, which was a huge thing with Terrified of God. There’s an interlude track on it. We didn’t really sample much, and we didn’t sample Bloodborne at all or any video games. We created this interlude track; we created all the sounds, and it sounds like Cathedral Ward, right when you go up to Vicar Amelia and she’s praying. That was a moment that, to me, I was like, this is Terrified of God. After you touch Laurence’s skull and it’s dark— which is the most unsettling part of the game, in my opinion. Huge inspiration from that.

Was that intentional, working on the record?

Or was it more that you worked on the record and it just sort of sank in?

The latter, for sure. I had been writing the riffs since [2022’s] Seething [Malevolence] had come out. The biggest inspiration for that was Silent Hill: Homecoming, which I know is a hot take, but I love that game. That was a huge inspiration for all the riffs. There’s a song called “Blood Lead Index.” There’s this riff and I was just trying to sonically express the boss fight with Asphyxia—but that’s not what I think came out. I think what really came out was more like Bloodborne vibes.

You also brought up samples, specifically the use of unsettling noise as part of the record to build that atmosphere.

Atmospheric noise is inexorable from good horror games. What would you say are some touchstone examples?

Silent Hill 3, the little pig-head guys that crawl [slurpers]. Dude, Silent Hill is a league above with the sonic textures for the whole franchise. Not even just the first four—all of them. Sound design for that game, especially on the early consoles, was just leagues ahead of its time.

What was scarier than hearing the radio static in Silent Hill 2 on the PS2? There was nothing.

How many times did you go, “Nope!”?

CONTINUE AT DECIBELMAGAZINE.COM PHOTO BY HILLARIE JASON

DECIBEL : DECEMBER 2024 : 15

PELICAN

 Flying high again Pelican lay down tracks with Sanford Parker in Narwhal Studios.

STUDIO REPORT

“This sort of gentle pushpost-metal mainstays Pelican, is a reunion of sorts. Recorded in late August, ing… to not only bring out the Flickering Resonance features the full-length return of guitarist Laurent best in each other, but not to ALBUM TITLE Schroeder-Lebec, who left the band in 2012 and rejoined a decade later. do what we’ve always done, Flickering Resonance With him, Schroeder-Lebec brought a multitude of new song ideas, as well as a happened in a way that was STUDIO unique challenge: Pelican had naturally evolved as musicians and songwriters, but more organic and pleasant Narwhal Studios, much of the returning guitarist’s work sounded like he was picking up where he than I think I’d really ever Chicago, IL left off that decade prior. been used to,” Schroeder-Lebec ENGINEER “It almost felt like, in some time-arrested way, I tried to do some other things says. “There was less selfSanford Parker musically, but the stuff I wanted to write was where I would have picked up if I doubt and more real open com(mix: Scott Evans, master: had stayed in the band,” he reflects. “It’s like reinserting yourself into a novel that munication that I think led us Matthew Barnhart) continued; I died off and I’m back in chapter seven. It’s the same personality, and in to a batch of songs that everyLABEL many ways it’s the same playing style, but it was really interesting to see the ways in one in the band could connect TBD which it still worked, but also the ways it was going to be totally different.” with and find relatable.”

RELEASE DATE The end result is an album that founding guitarist Trevor de Brauw describes as Pelican demoed Flickering May 2025 a new era for the long-running band, embracing both change and familiarity.

Resonance twice before recordSchroeder-Lebec originally rejoined Pelican in 2022 to help the band fulfill ing the album properly, taking a string of live dates. Following that, the original configuration of Pelican—de the time to hammer songs out Brauw, Schroeder-Lebec, drummer Larry Herweg and bassist Bryan Herweg—recorded a pair of cover while remaining willing to change things in the songs for Numero Group’s 25th anniversary, which they say led to the decision to write new, original studio. After completing recording, de Brauw music. It snowballed quickly from there, and Pelican released two new songs earlier this year before reflects: “It feels like the beginning of a new re-entering Narwhal Studio with Sanford Parker to record Flickering Resonance. band or something. Not that people wouldn’t Ideas flowed easily and collaboration happened very naturally, challenging everyone to write and recognize it’s Pelican, but it does feel very fresh perform at a high level. to me.” —EMILY BELLINO

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PELICAN

PHOTOS BY MIKE BOYD

F

lickering Resonance, the upcoming seventh album from instrumental/

IMMORTAL BIRD Black/crust trio takes flight, offers no bull

C

hicago’s immortal bird have always been a tough band to pin down. Across three shape-shifting LPs, they’ve traversed dissonant death metal, sludgy black metal, squelching noise rock, post-metal, crust, grind and hardcore punk. In a world of atomized subgenres, they don’t have a true home. Perhaps it’s fitting, then, that their latest album is called Sin Querencia. ¶ “Querencia is a Spanish metaphysical concept with many definitions,” frontperson Rae Amitay explains via email. “It’s essentially a combination of a place where one feels at home and at their strongest, and a safe place where one feels their most authentic self. ‘Sin’ means ‘without’—this album consistently explores, mourns and confronts the destruction of that ‘space,’ both literally and figuratively.

On bullfighting, Ernest Hemingway said of the bull, ‘In this place he feels that he has his back against the wall, and in his querencia he is inestimably more dangerous and almost impossible to kill.’ The final words on the album are, ‘No peace of mind.

Stare into the light. With your back pressed against the wall.’”

18 : DECEMBER 2024 : DECIBEL

Sin Querencia is certainly capable of the instinctive violence of a cornered bull. “Ocean Endless” lashes out at an unnamed personification of human mediocrity, surging ever forward in a miasma of Nate Madden’s churning riffs and Matt Korajczyk’s punishing drums. At the song’s climax, Amitay shouts, “Don’t you feel shame? Does it get awkward? To work for nothing, to be substandard?” It feels like being gored.

Elsewhere, Amitay and their bandmates stretch their legs into some of the most ambitious, unrestrained Immortal Bird compositions we’ve heard yet. “Musically, we have never been as collaborative, experimental, or focused as when we wrote and recorded this,” they gush. “We absolutely feel it’s our best music and performances to date, and we have always been very open to one another’s suggestions and influences.”

That openness led Amitay to include clean vocals on an Immortal

Bird song for the first time, with a gorgeous, doomy passage on opening track “Bioluminescent Toxins.”

Arriving so early in the record, that verse feels like a gauntlet being thrown, a shredding of the rulebook. “The melody and harmonies were stuck in my head and when it came time to record, I just went for it,” Amitay says. “I’ve been a voice teacher for the last eight years, and that’s strengthened my abilities and also inspired me to include more dynamic vocals in this band.”

Outside of their teaching work, the Berklee-trained Amitay has also been keeping busy with other bands, including solo black metal project Errant and crusty death metal duo Wretched Blessing. “I’ve spent a lot more time with my instruments, and I’ve tried to develop more depth as a songwriter,” they say. “I think everything I’ve been doing creatively over the last five years has definitely affected the outcome of this record, in a positive way.” —BRAD SANDERS

PHOTO BY VANESSA VALADEZ

IMMORTAL BIRD

MOLDER

Midwest death-thrashers take control by loosening the reins

M

older’s aaren pantke is a self-described control freak. While we don’t know how far this personality trait touches the non-metal parts of his life, when it comes to the Chicago-based death/thrash outfit he’s led since 2017, virtually everything goes through his high-pass filter before the public gets in on the experience. Thusly, once he fires up his end of our Zoom call, it’s inside-joke-funny that the vocalist/guitarist is responding to our queries from a car.

Y’see, this interview had to be rescheduled to accommodate the fact that when Molder tour, Pantke does every single mile and minute of driving. And to get some semblance of sleep, keep his voice in some semblance of shape and deliver onstage, doing interviews are low on the priority list. ¶ “I just suffer and get my ass through it,” he laughs about his behind-the-wheel exclusivity. “We’re lucky that our touring opportunities are usually no longer than two weeks. At the end of those runs is when I start to get very fatigued, but it’s my own fault. I definitely could [allocate] duties, but we usually rent vans in my name, 20 : DECEMBER 2024 : DECIBEL

so if anything goes wrong, I can’t get mad at anyone but myself.”

He might maintain 100 percent of the driver’s side ass groove, but he’s gradually relinquishing the stranglehold he’s had on Molder since the start. There was a time when he shared creative responsibilities with bassist Dominic Vaia. In the case of 2018’s An Act of Revenge demo, he handled everything. Despite writing most of forthcoming third album, Catastrophic Reconfiguration, he’s slowly incorporating the talents of new guitarist Carlos Santini (“a super-fucking phenomenal guitarist, so there are a lot more hot licks and juicy leads”), drummer Kyle Pooley (“we see eye-to-eye, so he pretty much does whatever he wants”) and Vaia (“he’s always doing something to grab your attention and keep things from getting stale”).

“Again, I like control,” Pantke sighs. “This has always been my baby, so I just wanted to make sure

the initial vision is where I want it to be, but everyone has their input, and I liked having those different flavors coming in.”

Catastrophic Reconfiguration was recorded in various makeshift studios, bedrooms and jam spots, which Pantke considers a step up from previous releases that were recorded in “Scott [Carroll] from Cianide’s basement.” Given how pleased he is with the result, avoiding concentrated blocks of time in expensive by-the-hour studios looks to be the Molder way for the foreseeable future.

“I’m stoked with how this record came out,” he enthuses. “I’m absolutely floored by the mix, and I love that we did it for under $2,000 and it’s easily the best thing we’ve put out. I think we’re going to stick with this route and avoid proper studios where time is money, the pressure is on and it feels unnatural.”

—KEVIN STEWART-PANKO

PHOTO BY STEPHANIE PEJSKAR

MOLDER

DRUG CHURCH

DRUG CHURCH

P

atrick kindlon doesn’t really want to talk about the new Drug Church record. There’s no issue if the frontman did, of course—Prude, their fifth studio album, is another addictive collection of post-hardcore hymns littered with melodic hooks and black-eyed sing-alongs. But Kindlon would prefer less conversation about the enrichment of creative endeavors and more talk about how he and the band are regular schlubs. ¶ “I am not at this juncture in my life interested in pretense or pretension,” he says into a gaming headset over Zoom. “I don’t see music as something people are called to. I’m not in a band with some type of spiritual searchers.

We’re upstate rednecks that can play a little bit of music. For lack of a better term, it’s working people. If you’ve ever seen or heard of a band, then that means that they have done better than 99 percent of bands, and hopefully for us that continues long enough [that] we can feed our families. There’s no sort of gurus out here. It’s all human beings and imperfect and messy.”

22 : DECEMBER 2024 : DECIBEL

Kindlon is incredibly friendly, but even album-adjacent topics were used to highlight how unmagical and rockstarless he sees everything.

“My bandmates would prefer something that is either good or not good,” Kindlon says of his vocals, detailing the criticism he gets for not “barking” his lyrics, but also not quite singing them; a blunt, harsh, tuneful delivery that’s clearly a sore spot during recording. “They have anxiety over things that we can’t recreate live. And I have no such anxiety because if I can pull it off one time in the studio, I would love everybody to celebrate that I did it once. Can you please just congratulate me on the fact that I got it at all? Then you can adjust your expectations for live, which I can assure you is going to sound fucking nothing like the record.”

Kindlon’s candid nature about anything and everything does increase the risk of a PR snafu, but for him it’s calculated.

“When you talk as much as I do, you account for some heavy losses,” he says. “You have to just build it into your life that somebody’s going to take you in the wrong spirit occasionally, but, you know, I guess they would call that the cost of doing business.

And my feeling is that if you are interesting enough and honest enough, you don’t have to do the spooky guy thing, or cocky guy thing, or project anything past who you really are.”

So, we didn’t learn a lot about Prude or Drug Church today, but Kindlon’s main point remains clear: “Everybody that picks up an instrument is just a fucking asshole.” —SHANE MEHLING

PHOTO BY MANUEL BARAJAS

New York State post-hardcore crew knows it doesn’t matter if you read this

BOBBIE DAZZLE

BOBBIE DAZZLE Extremely British frontwoman delivers extremely infectious ’70s-inspired anthems

T

his question made me laugh because I relate massively and have always been extremely British when it comes to people mispronouncing my name, [which is] by not correcting them, being extremely polite and answering to the many unusual ways people say it,” writes back Siân Greenway.

“It’s actually pronounced Sharn, absolutely nothing like it’s spelt. It’s a name of Welsh ancestry and not particularly common even in England.” ¶ Bobbie Dazzle brands the moniker under which Greenway, known primarily as frontwoman for Birmingham doom cryers Alunah, solos as a singer. Leading a Black Country recording session, she and her six-man crew tucked into core crushes Queen, Suzi Quatro and the Sweet.

After a few months and only three shows, Lee Dorrian signed on for an instant sell-out first single and now a full-length for Rise Above, Fandabidozi. ¶ Slam-bang-thank-you-ma’am retro glam, the album shoots laser beams of hormone-drenched choruses, raunchy guitars and pub-drunk tempos. New Wave keyboards, synthesizers and organ solos seal in Slade-loving guitar/bass/drums, 24 : DECEMBER 2024 : DECIBEL

which never drown out sonically rich and encrusted touches including triangles and Greenway’s sneaky flute solos.

“Fandabidozi is a very 1970s northern English way of describing something that’s really bloody fantastic,” explains Greenway.

Opening cherry bomb “Lightning Fantasy” originates via the father she lost at age 11 and from whose wayward record collection a cache of his lyrics fell out.

“Sadly, he did not take care of his records, as they’re scratched up terribly and a majority are impossible to listen to,” shares the Brummie.

“If I had to choose a favorite out of the bunch—and luckily I had a listenable copy in my own vinyl collection—it would be the selftitled New York Dolls 1973 album.

A lot of songs hold a special place in my heart because of my Paps.”

Indeed, prompting the hooligan chants of “Revolution,” Greenway’s

tough, cutting delivery recalls that decade’s Big Apple belters such as Ellen Foley and Karla Bonoff. Lita Ford should cover locomotive rocker “It’s Electric,” while “Antique Time Machine” rips like something off Bat Out of Hell, audio theater channeling Jim Steinman with a guitar solo as expert as any Steve Hunter touch.

“Lady on Fire” doubles down on its singer’s leather jumpsuit delivery, all high heels and lipstick snarl.

“I’m very lucky to be from an area with such a rich musical history,” Greenway affirms.

“Birmingham is Sabbath City and Led Zeppelin were from down the road. Even last month, I went to see the band Love in a small venue in Kings Heath, which is a small town in Birmingham, and Robert Plant walks in!

“So, I stood watching Love with Robert Plant’s head blocking my view, which I was more than happy with.” —RAOUL HERNANDEZ

ENVY

Japanese post-screamgaze innovators find harmony in chaos

J

apanese legends envy have been wearing their hearts on their sleeves for three decades now. Their sound has evolved dramatically in that time—they started as a more hardcore-oriented screamo act, but incorporated post-rock until they basically invented blackgaze. Their combination of screamed, emotionally raw vocals and atmospheric backing tracks led directly to Deafheaven and Touche Amore. ¶ When asked how their eighth full-length, Eunoia, differs from previous efforts, guitarist Nobukata Kawai answers dryly over e-mail, “I feel like nothing has changed, what do you all think?”

Still, he had certain goals for the record, even if he feels like he only half-achieved them. ¶ “I had two concepts for this album. One was to make an album with a worldview like a cloudy sky before rain, using a lot of minor keys, and the other was to make it compact. I achieved my goal of making it compact, but it didn’t turn out the way I had originally imagined it.

26 : DECEMBER 2024 : DECIBEL

I tried my best in the production process, but it naturally led me to a world like this one. I intend to try again with my next album, but I’ve realized that I can’t write songs like I used to, and I’ve realized that it would be better to play my old songs properly with the current arrangements than to end up with a work that lacks reality. In life, when you live a long life, you lose some things, but you also gain them as well.”

That duality runs through vocalist Tetsuya Fukagawa’s expressive lyrics (even if you don’t understand his screams in Japanese), which he describes as playing with “the idea of extremes, such as light and shadow.”

“The title Eunoia is very symbolic and has a deep meaning,” according to Fukagawa. “This word, which means ‘beautiful thoughts’ or ‘good will’ in Greek, has the power to unite contrasting elements. I think Eunoia symbolizes harmony in chaos and

beauty found in difficult emotions.

We decided on this title because we believe it represents a two-way dialogue through our music.”

The band’s dialogue with their audience is also key to their longevity; the reason Envy’s work feels so intimate is because their process comes from a very personal place.

“The members still listen to music, but I stopped being influenced by other people’s music a long time ago. Literally, I do not listen to it at all,” Kawai explains. “This is very unfortunate, but at the same time I feel that it is one of the reasons why Envy was able to acquire such originality. I get inspiration from everyday life. I often compose music by picking up the melodies that ring in my head after I get home, inspired by the fluctuations in my guts every day.”

May his guts fluctuate for three more decades. —JEFF TREPPEL

PHOTO BY OTA YOSHIHARU

ENVY

ORYX

ORYX

Denver doom dealers enter a new stratosphere

W

hen guitarist-slash-vocalist Thomas Davis and his bandmates in Oryx released their 2021 album, Lamenting a Dead World, the planet was still gripped in the worst of the COVID-19 pandemic. None of them knew if they’d ever get the chance to play those songs live—or if they’d make it through the year themselves. “The entire experience finalizing and recording [that album] felt in a way like leaving a will and testament,” Davis explains. Fortunately for them (and us), Oryx live on, and pushing through those years of uncertainty left them stronger. The trio’s new LP, Primordial Sky, feels like a rebirth for a band whose colossal riffs have always reached for the stars and resisted containment. ¶ Davis founded the band alongside drummer Abbey Davis in 2012, back when the married duo lived together in Las Cruces, NM (home to the spikyhorned oryx from which they drew their name). A relocation to Denver landed them amidst the mountain city’s vibrant extreme metal milieu, and bassist Josh Kauffman joined the fold in 2022. Primordial Sky marks Kauffman’s first recording with Oryx, 28 : DECEMBER 2024 : DECIBEL

and his rumbling contributions have already proved invaluable. “He has brought a collaborative element with him to write this album,” Davis says, “and we felt like this allowed us to dig deeper and develop these songs into the behemoths they are now.”

All three share a deep love for Grief, Corrupted and the general pursuit of heaviness, and that sonic synergy is apparent in the new album’s four compositions. It’s thematically dense, inspired by consciousness-expanding meditation practices and the slow collapse of the Anthropocene. Scenes of a dying planet, the impermanence of humanity and the terrible wonder of the cosmos pulse through sprawling paeans like “Ephemeral” and mournful epic “Look Upon the Earth,” and the futuristic album cover comes courtesy of renowned sci-fi artist John Harris, whose work for NASA inspired the band to reach out.

As Davis explained, “Primordial Sky digs at man’s struggle to find a sense of purpose to add to our legacy, clawing away at the curse of inevitable entropy.” It’s also tectonically heavy. Oryx have further honed their atmospheric blend of extreme doom, threading together strands of bottom-heavy death/ doom, anxiety-ridden sludge, fragile melodies and urgent, crusty black metal. It’s a tricky mix to get right, but the result is utterly crushing in every sense of the word.

Keep your earplugs handy, too, because Oryx are planning to bring the pain to your doorstep in 2025.

“Our music is meant to be an immersive experience, and volume is a crucial element in making it not just heard, but felt,” Davis stresses. “Over the next year, we aim to introduce the uninitiated to Primordial Sky, laying waste to audiences across the U.S., Europe and beyond.” —KIM KELLY

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HALIPHRON

Symphonic metal world-burners Haliphron explore addiction on new album

M

any endings are beginnings in disguise. That was the case for vocalist Marloes Voskuil and guitarist Jeroen Wechgelaer of Dutch death-thrashers Inzegrim.

While planning their band’s farewell tour, they simultaneously hatched a plan with Bleeding Gods founder Ramon Ploeg for a new collaboration. While burying their band of almost 25 years, a new project called Haliphron soared from the fresh grave. ¶ Haliphron’s debut album Prey evoked the dark majesty of ’90s symphonic black metal with an ear for heavy hooks. Barely a year later, Haliphron return with their sophomore record, Anatomy of Darkness (Listenable). Despite the swift and aggressive turnaround between LPs, the songs are even more nuanced, hitting harder while expanding their soundscape. ¶ “We paid attention to the reviews and feedback of the fans and press of the album Prey,” Ploeg confirms. “The songs on Anatomy of Darkness are shorter, more riff-based, and more in-your-face 30 : DECEMBER 2024 : DECIBEL

with more guitar solos. Besides that, the strings and choir parts are [reduced], so we created some more space for the guitar and vocal parts.”

“Also, [Voskuil] put even more variety and more extensive vocal parts on this album,” Ploeg adds about the vocalist’s dynamic performance.

“A lot more low growls, screams, talking, whispering and even some clean singing.”

While Haliphron recorded their debut at home due to safety necessities, this time they haunted a studio with veteran engineers Hans Pieters and Andy Claussen. Asked for some albums that inspired their desired production sound, Ploeg mentions seminal ’90s efforts from Cradle of Filth, Bewitched and Dimmu Borgir. The result is a powerful and polished record that honors the past while remaining a fresh and modern expression. As Ploeg succinctly explains, “We wanted to capture the

sound of the old days without losing the 2024 vibe of the music.”

Part of the album’s strength is a cohesive central theme exploring addiction. Voskuil’s grim lyrics describe different patterns of destructive compulsions and behavior. Some stories focus on the requisite horror staples of murder, crime sprees and cannibalism.

Haliphron’s music video for “Silent Escape” opts for more harrowing everyday terror, illustrating drug abuse and painkiller dependence.

By the time the formidable title track closes the album, Anatomy of Darkness emerges as a collection of dark vignettes asking difficult questions worthy of deeper reflection.

“What will the devil on your shoulder say to your inner darkness during your addiction?” Ploeg muses. “Or does the angel on your shoulder say dark things? What will you do or choose: Keep the addiction or fight against it?” —SEAN FRASIER

PHOTO BY CRISTEL BROUWER

HALIPHRON

NORWEGIAN BLACK METAL ROYALTY

RUN AS A PACK ON THE WOLF & THE KING story by

JOHN HILL

DU EN C E M2 B 2C 4 I:BDEEL C I B E L 32 : J 0 2E4R :2D0 E

photo by

VESA RANTA

IT’S

not easy work making evil music, let alone doing it for ers his bandmates friends, Archaon pauses. “I

nearly three decades. While many other bands have become self-parodies or burned out, Norway’s 1349 have helped keep their country’s hold on black metal alive and well. Since 1997, the band has become a staple in the fabric of extreme music, thanks to their relentless touring schedule (not always a given in the genre) and a steady onslaught of new music. ¶ Of course, no one can be evil all the time. Amid our conversation, longtime guitarist Idar “Archaon” Burheim excuses himself to check on a lasagna he’s baking in the oven. After my cat jumps on me in the middle of the interview, his eyes light up, as he excitedly shows me a tattoo of his own cat mashed up with the Master of Puppets artwork. “His name is Mocha, so he’s the Mocha Master,” he jokes. Garfield-related aspects aside, Archaon has been singularly focused on crafting insane riffs. Growing up on a steady diet of classic thrash and doom before black metal entered his life in the early ’90s, the genre’s inherent mysteriousness and philosophy planted itself in his mind, and he never looked back.

“I think if you separate music from a musician… I know I would spiritually die inside,” Archaon reflects on his time in the band. “I don’t know what I would do otherwise. It’s almost miraculous, growing together and growing older, too. I remember talking to Seidemann [Tor Risdal Stavenes, bass] a few years ago at Hellfest, just having this conversation—neither of us ever imagined this would still be going after over 20 years.”

Now, 1349 are gearing up to release The Wolf & the King, their eighth full-length. Heavily influenced by alchemy, the album is immersed in the idea of self-improvement by destroying anything that doesn’t serve a central goal. Sonically, this is defined by a recommitment to keeping black metal true to its roots. Tracks like “The Vessel and the Storm” sound like evil manifesting as blast beats and riffs, evoking the genre’s earliest incarnation as a thrash metal mutation with a flair for soloing.

Still, the band’s stated central thesis of keeping black metal pure while also evolving and becoming the best version of itself might seem at odds. Archaon explains that it’s not as black and white as that: “There’s definitely a foundation of black metal where your legs are firmly planted in the genre. But you hear new music, you get new impulses from meeting new people, visiting

other places—that becomes a part of evolving yourself, which I like to think is reflected in the art we perform.”

It wasn’t a pure diet of the most kvlt black metal that helped Archaon and the band write the record, but rather a wide palette of sounds.

“Me and Frost [Kjetil-Vidar Haraldstad, drums] had an epoch where we were both into a lot of ’70s rock,” he says. “Thin Lizzy was really big for us. Deep Purple, of course, too. It’s not that you stop listening to modern music, but the scene is just so saturated now.”

Despite their close chemistry with one another on a musical level, their personal relationships are purposefully focused on what’s best for the band, rather than being band buddies.

When asked if, after all these years, he consid-

remember back in 2004 or 2005 around Beyond the Apocalypse, Ravn [Olav Bergene, vocals] did this interview where he said, ‘We’re not even friends in the band; we don’t even talk to each other.’

That kind of bugged me, and I confronted him, asking what on earth that was all about. But it was the truth. We all have our own friends, and they’re not necessarily in the band. It doesn’t mean we don’t have a relationship of respect and high esteem. Friendships fluctuate, but we have a mutual task, shared values and a job to do. I then understood exactly what he meant, though it took some reflection.”

That central task of constant improvement in an individual and group context is extremely apparent on the record. Closer “Fatalist” sounds like a pressure cooker of riffs, anger, and hatred slowly building up and exploding, before the band finds a control over the chaos and ends the record. Few bands ever reach this level of perfect lockstep with one another, never attempting to show off or take the songs down a path of ego, instead supporting one another in their quest for perfect evil.

“Our music will never be radio channel music,” says Archaon. “This is very hard music. So, even though we’ve matured and have become better as musicians, dare I say we still have the ambitions and drive to always be better. Will there be another album? I don’t know, but time will show. I hope there will be, because it was a huge self-realization that I want to continue this path we’re on into even more unknown territories. It’s a hard path, and it’s always been a big task, but it’s very rewarding when you complete it.”

I think if you separate music from a musician…

I KNOW I WOULD SPIRITUALLY DIE INSIDE. IDAR “ARC HAON” BUR HEIM

D E C I BDEEL C:I B DE L C E: M JU BN ER E 2024 : 33

AFTER A FIVE-YEAR ABSENCE, C.S.R RETURNS TO CAPTAIN

Schammasch’s POST-BLACK METAL ODYSSEY story by T I M M U D D • photo by E S T E R S E G A RR A

DU EN C E M2 B 2C 4 I:BDEEL C I B E L 34 : J 0 2E4R :2D0 E

ive years after Hearts of No Light plunged listeners into darkness and

introspection, Swiss avant-garde visionaries Schammasch return with their latest opus, The Maldoror Chants: Old Ocean. The band continues its exploration of one of the 19th century’s most enigmatic literary works, Les Chants de Maldoror, guiding listeners through a turbulent journey of the human condition. ¶ “The narrative behind Old Ocean is a direct part of the book,” explains band mastermind C.S.R. “It’s one of the parts that struck me most on first reading due to its strong longing for escaping the human folly and weariness for said folly.” This existential weariness, paired with a deep disdain for humanity’s hubris, is a recurring theme throughout the album. “Mankind is at constant war with itself and the very place that is its home, playing god with ultimate recklessness,” C.S.R reflects. “All the while making up these elaborate thought concepts that place it in the very center of existence, just so as not to have to deal with the obvious truth of being mere stardust in an unlimited ocean of the purest chaos.”

Originally conceived as a series of shorter releases, The Maldoror Chants have evolved into a grander vision. Old Ocean continues demonstrating Schammasch’s ability to expand their artistic horizons while maintaining a cohesive narrative. The album captures the essence of the ocean as both a literal and metaphorical force.

A vast, melancholic void reflects the longing to escape the profanities and trivialities of human society; it is not merely an empty space, but a bitter reflection of the soul’s darkest recesses, an unflinching look at the cost of human arrogance.

“For me, The Maldoror Chants releases are almost a bit of an alter ego of Schammasch,” C.S.R notes. “They allow me to step back from my emotional space and provide an external space I can explore in looser, more playful and experimental ways. It’s a very different approach in terms of thought processes and dramaturgy compared to the

other line of records.” This approach helps keep the band’s creative process dynamic, preventing stagnation and allowing for continuous evolution. “In terms of pure musicality, I think Old Ocean is a logical step forward, building our artistic character further by steering old characteristics into unexplored waters.”

Musically, Old Ocean continues the evolution of Schammasch’s sound, based on experimental black/post-metal refined with gothic and dark ambient undertones. “When I write music, I always follow my instincts rather than overcomplicating things in my mind too much at first,” says C.S.R. “I can always trust my instincts to guide my hands; no different was it with writing Old Ocean, and no different is it in terms of influences. These, if they happen to flare up, come instinctively.” The album draws on inspirations that span gothic, post-punk and psychedelic sounds, though C.S.R emphasizes that the primary source of inspiration was the atmosphere created by the book’s storytelling. “Thinking about genre-related questions isn’t something that has any drive for me when working on music. It’s never a question of, ‘In which category does this piece belong?’ but rather ‘What kind of emotional cosmos is this piece exploring?’ or ‘What kind of atmosphere does it aim to create?’”

Including unconventional instruments, such as the accordion, adds unique textures to the album. According to C.S.R, “It was our bass player, P., who came up with the idea while we were listening through the album’s preproduction, looking for additional elements to play with and juggling ideas. Years ago, he snatched an accordion at a flea market, I think, so he joked around about adding it to the album somehow, which I thought to be a great idea, considering the accordion has this kind of sailor-esque, dark, romantic seaside affiliation.”

The album also features gong recordings and digital sound elements created during the mix session. “These elements can make quite a difference to the final result,” notes C.S.R, “even though they are often just background layers or gimmicks not necessarily perceived actively by the listener during the first 5-10 spins. But that’s the point: they add layers of details that offer things to be discovered for those listening closely.”

As with previous records, C.S.R took on significant production duties for Old Ocean, a process he describes as both demanding and exhausting.

“The approach has been more or less the same since the production of [2016’s] Triangle, but of course, I’ve learned a lot each time. This last mix was probably the most relaxed because I’ve finally learned how to deal with certain moments and situations that are natural parts of every mix. But still, it always is and always will be a long, painful and exhausting process. And the older I get, the longer I have to step away from it before finding the energy to do it once again.”

Thinking about genre-related questions isn’t something that has any drive for me when working on music.

It’s never a question of, ‘In which category does this piece belong?’ but rather

‘WHAT KIND OF EMOTIONAL COSMOS IS THIS PIECE EXPLORING?’ — C . S . R —

Of the band’s discography, C.S.R reflects, “It certainly hasn’t been an easy journey, and sometimes, when I look back, I wish I could start all over again with the knowledge I have today.

There are many things I would do differently.

But in the end, that’s what life is, isn’t it? A journey of experiences, learning from mistakes, and growing wiser in the process. Each album reflects that journey’s progress at the time, with all the positives and negatives, energies and naivetés. They are a big part of who I am as a man today.” As Old Ocean sails Schammasch’s journey further, listeners are invited to dive deeper into surrealist themes, set adrift in the aural squall of the band’s latest abyssal nightmare.

D E C I BDEEL C:I B DE L C E: M JU BN ER E 2024 : 35

STRANGE GATEWAYS OPEN TRIBULATION’s

long flirtation with goth rock is consummated on the stunning SUB ROSA IN ÆTERNUM s t o r y b y SARAH KITTERINGHAM • p h o t o b y DAMÓN ZURAWSKI

T

ribulation’s shift from death metal to progressive goth metal is hardly

news. After forming in 2004 and unleashing their revered death metal debut The Horror in 2009, the critically acclaimed Swedish quartet took their time with 2013 follow-up The Formulas of Death. Even then, their unusual creative direction skewed vampirically sinister and psychosexual, hinting at an explorative path that eschewed stagnation. ¶ Twenty years later, Tribulation are primed to release their sixth studio album, Sub Rosa In Æternum. Resplendent with poppy backing choirs, synths, backing tracks and huge vocal melodies, the record is an elegant culmination of the band’s longtime shift towards Sisters of Mercy, Dead Can Dance and Nick Cave-inspired goth rock. Its absolute rejection of death metal will shock only those who abandoned the band a decade ago. Those actually following along will experience something else entirely. This is Tribulation at their commercially slickest.

EN C E M2 B 2C 4 I:BDEEL C I B E L 36 : D JU 0 2E4R :2D0 E

“It was definitely a bigger step this time. It feels like it’s the biggest step in all of our albums,” offers bassist and vocalist Johannes Andersson, who formed Tribulation alongside guitarist Adam Zaars (also of emerging trad metallers Tyrann).

The two are joined by drummer Oscar Leander (who joined in 2017) and guitarist Joseph Tholl.

The latter replaced iconic founding member Jonathan Hultén prior to the release of 2021’s celebrated Where the Gloom Becomes Sound.

“It feels like we’ve always been leaning towards doing an album like this,” continues Andersson, audibly shuddering at the idea of repeatedly making the same album as numerous other metal bands. “Fuck that,” he declares.

“We’re all about the evolution of our sound and ourselves within the music… We would hate to put out another one in the form of the latest or similar to the latest one. Because to us, it feels like [2018’s] Down Below and Where the Gloom, they were probably the most similar ones. So, maybe that’s why this one evolves so much.”

Another vital shift was Andersson officially joining the writing team with the departure of Hultén, whose distinctive and enigmatic songwriting came to define Tribulation. Hultén has since continued as a solo artist, perform-

The riffs and the beats and synths and choirs make [the album] way more poppier.

I WISH THERE WAS ANOTHER WORD, BECAUSE ‘POPPY’ SOUNDS KINDA LAME! JOHANNES ANDERSSON ing an utterly dissimilar style somewhat akin to Nick Drake and Sufjan Stevens. Sub Rosa In Æternum is the first Tribulation album without Hultén’s input.

“It made me actually start writing more and get involved,” says Andersson, who wrote the album alongside Zaars and Tholl. His contributions were opener “The Unrelenting Choir” and closer “Poison Pages.” It’s notable that both songs are anthemic singalongs, forlorn and bombastic.

“That’s a big change since Jonathan left,” Andersson notes. “When Jonathan was in the band, I didn’t feel that I needed to step in. But since he left, it felt like, why not?”

The melodic dominance of his primary instrument is audible all throughout the record, whose atmosphere and vibe is arguably… pop?

“It’s hard not to use that word. That’s the word we also have been using in the studio with producers and engineers,” says Andersson tentatively. “How else could you explain it? I mean, it’s a more mainstream overall feel to the whole album, mainly because there’s way more clean vocals as well. But also, the riffs and the beats and synths and choirs make it also way more poppier. I wish there was another word, because ‘poppy’ sounds kinda lame!”

He laughs, acknowledging that metal aficionados are frequently inflamed by specific terminology, among them “pop” and “progressive,” then adds to the list: “It’s like saying ‘make-up’ in black metal references.”

Make-up has been on Andersson’s mind, as this album also marks a make-up change for the band (you can see it for yourself in the video for “Hungry Waters”).

“They say, ‘No, it’s called PAINT,’” Andersson clarifies with a chortle, underscoring the absurdity of the replacement word. “It’s so, so hilarious.”

Although listeners may be taken aback by the relative smoothness of their newest offering, Tribulation’s thematic core remains.

There’s long been a strong sense of spiritual significance within the band, shifting between Victorian Christian monotheism to vampirism and occultism. Not to mention, there’s a discernible sexual energy in everything they do. True to theme, Sub Rosa In Æternum roughly translates to a perpetual worship of the feminine and the divine (a.k.a. the rose).

“Those themes you just mentioned have always been present,” concurs Andersson. “That’s because there’s so much to get inspired from. The broad theme of death is always constant.”

He elaborates: “It all comes from movies and art and architecture. The Gothic theme can be found everywhere. That’s what’s so beautiful about it. That’s where we’ve always been. In the shadows and in the mystical realms.”

Gothic romanticism is hardly a stranger to arena rock; after all, Tribulation’s cohorts in Ghost and King Diamond have elevated the same to international acclaim. Are Tribulation reaching for the same?

“Is it stadium-esque? Maybe it is,” muses Andersson. “I also, of course, see ourselves and dream about the big stadiums. We want to develop. We want to challenge ourselves. We want to take risks. I think the world is catching on to that. But still, there’s always still a fragment of, ‘Oh my God, how the fuck is this going to get received?’ You know, all the blackened death metal fans are definitely going to leave the ship.

“We use the word risk, but we don’t [see it that way]. This is the music we want to play at the moment.”

By way of conclusion, he asks, “Did it feel like a natural progression for Tribulation in your mind?”

We confirm in the affirmative.

“Good,” he concludes. “Fuck those backstriving bastards.”

D E C I BDEEL C:I B DE L C E: M JU BN ER E 2024 : 37

Finnish psychonauts continue to shift shapes on MUUNTAUT UJA story by JAMIE LUDWIG • photo by RAINER PAANANEN a July interview with MSNBC, Minnesota Governor Tim Walz—then

vying to be Vice President Kamala Harris’ running mate in the 2024 presidential race—described his ultraconservative opponents as “weird” for their obsessions with things like book bans and other peoples’ reproductive choices. The seemingly benign jab inadvertently sparked one of the funnier moments of the election cycle.

Suddenly, “weird” was everywhere, leaving self-purported alpha males like J.D. Vance shaking in their tasseled loafers at being tagged with such a slur. Weird, huh? Shouldn’t that be a nonstarter for anyone over age 10? ¶ In extreme music, of course, “weird” isn’t weaponized as much as it is a badge of honor. Weird means inventive. Weird means pushing boundaries. Charting your own path without restraint, caving to trend, or deference to your past work.

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By that definition, it’s no wonder Oranssi Pazuzu have been so celebrated among fans of preternatural heavy music since they emerged from Finland in 2007. Their adventurous tidal waves of far-reaching psychedelic rock, ecstatic black metal and relentless motorik rhythms intensified by layers of ambient noise, alien missives and any other sounds that catch their interest can certainly come across as outlandish, uncanny or a little bit mystical. Still, according to bassist and lyricist Toni “Ontto” Hietamäki, any semblance of weirdness has more to do with outside perception than artistic intention.

“We’re just trying to be introspective and gaze into the abyss,” he says. “It's more about

When lockdown happened, we got a bit separated for a while, and when we came together again we noticed that we couldn’t write music exactly the same way we were doing it on the previous albums.

It didn’t feel so natural anymore, and we were forced to make some changes and find new sounds…

T ON I this cosmic feeling and the inner space in your mind. We’re not trying to be weird at all, though of course it’s very extreme and very violent, and there are very difficult feelings that you can have inside your head.”

Oranssi Pazuzu’s new sixth full-length, Muuntautuja—whose title translates to “shapeshifter”—spins all those dials to their highest levels, expanding on the band’s heady sonic sculptures with copious industrial grime and electronic experimentation, and the occasional sultry groove. It’s their darkest, most eviscerating release yet—no small task for the musicians behind esoteric sidewinders like 2013’s Valonielu and 2016’s Värähtelijä. If these psychedelic cosmonauts have been weaving between galaxies all these years, they’ve finally broken into the void beyond the stars.

“It was not an easy album to make,” Hietamäki admits. “There were times where I wasn’t sure how it was going, but in the end I’m very happy.”

Despite the harrowing overtones, Muuntautuja is a symbol of rebirth; a blackened metallic phoenix rising from the ashes of its former self.

Oranssi Pazuzu had entered 2020 on the tails of a successful debut U.S. tour and plans for a big year ahead, including the April release of their fifth album, Mestarin kynsi. But, like the rest of us, they found themselves sidelined by the COVID-19 pandemic. By the time they began writing Muuntautuja, they couldn’t ignore that their dynamics had changed.

“ ON T T O ”

“When lockdown happened, we got a bit separated for a while, and when we came together again we noticed that we couldn’t write music exactly the same way we were doing it on the previous albums.” Hietamäki says. “It didn’t feel so natural anymore, and we were forced to make some changes and find new sounds… It was like starting all over again in a way.”

One way the bandmates found their footing again was by learning new instruments, including samplers and synthesizers, which they’d previously toyed with on Mestarin kynsi.

“We tried to go all in with that idea so that the sound world would be quite electronic, but also organic,” Hietamäki says, citing Portishead’s 2008 record Third as a massive influence, along with other records that merge electronic and electroacoustic elements.

They also used the recording studio as an instrument. According to Hietamäki, “We recorded beats and jams in the studio and took them home; Juho [Vanhanen] and Niko [Lehdontie], especially, spent quite a lot of time cutting parts from those studio jams, combining them and doing this kind of cut-and-paste tweaking.”

Their secret weapon in balancing warm, organic instrumentation with icy electronics turned out to be keyboardist Ville “Evil” Leppilahti, who refused to join his bandmates on synths and insisted on playing only the grand piano—going as far as placing garbage on the strings to create strange and eerie sounds. “At

H I E TA M Ä K I

first I didn’t get why he [only played that instrument], but now I get it completely,” Hietamäki says. “It complements the electronic sounds really nicely because it’s so different.”

The piano comes and goes throughout the record, adding haunting textures and acting as a glimmer of humanity throughout the carnage.

Against the visceral backdrop of “Voitelu,” for example, it conjures thoughts of what it must have been like to hear the Titanic’s orchestra playing their final notes as the ship went down—and indeed, the song’s lyrics, which deal with the machine-gun fire and imminent mortality of war, are steeped in a brutality of their own.

While Oranssi Pazuzu aren’t overtly political, Hietamäki says that their music is “absolutely” shaped by the precarious nature of modern times. “We are not the kind of political band in a way that maybe some punk rock band could be, but of course the happenings in the world influence our thinking,” he says. “When we were writing Mestarin kynsi, we felt that the world is going into this more totalistic direction. That also influenced the lyrical themes on the album… It’s pretty violent in a lyrical and musical way.”

Still, like all Oranssi Pazuzu records, Muuntautuja’s overwhelming dynamics, perpetual movement and challenging soundscapes offer escape as well as catharsis. “We want to make the music immersive, something you can kind of drown into,” Hietamäki says.

D E C I BDEEL C:I B DE L C E: M JU BN ER E 2024 : 39

interview by

QA JEREMY j. bennett

WIT H

WAGNER BROKEN HOPE’s founding guitarist on the long-awaited debut from EARTHBURNER, being in a legacy band and putting out Decibel illustrator Mark Rudolph’s Profane Creations

40 : DECEMBER 2024 : DECIBEL

I

love blast beats and super-heavy riffs that make you wanna smash your

face through a cinder block. That’s my formula for Earthburner.” Jeremy Wagner is brimming with enthusiasm as he talks about the debut album from his long-simmering grindcore band. Named after a song by Chicago death metal vets Broken Hope—a band Wagner started in 1988—Earthburner’s history is sporadic and convoluted. He first started writing the material in 2000, as Broken Hope began winding down the first phase of a career that began when the guitarist was in high school. Earthburner recorded an EP in 2012, but it wasn’t released until 2016. By then, Broken Hope were up and running again, with new members, after a decade-long absence. ¶ Fast forward to right about now, and Earthburner’s first full-length is upon us. Titled Permanent Dawn, the album features Wagner alongside Broken Hope/the Atlas Moth drummer Mike Miczek, Sanguisugabogg vocalist Devin Swank and Gloryhole Guillotine bassist Tyler Affinito, who also happens to be Wagner’s stepson. If that’s not enough name-dropping for you, Permanent Dawn also includes guest appearances from Immolation’s Ross Dolan, Vixen Maw’s Jake Cannavale and former Napalm Death guitarist Mitch Harris. ¶ In his downtime, Wagner writes horror novels and publishes everything from photo books and memoirs to graphic novels and short story collections through his publishing company, Dead Sky. Among the latest and greatest? Profane Creations, a collection of heavy metal illustrations by beloved Decibel contributor Mark Rudolph.

How did Earthburner start, and why did you name it after a Broken Hope song?

Broken Hope came off our last tour for Grotesque Blessings in 2001, and I just wasn’t feeling it. It wasn’t the same guys, and it didn’t feel like Broken Hope anymore, so I decided to put the brakes on the band until we could get a lineup that was solid. I had already started writing material for what had become Earthburner, but I didn’t wanna make a band that was Broken Hope Junior or anything like that. What I’m passionate about, and have been since 1989, is Terrorizer’s World Downfall and Napalm Death in general. So, I’d been writing these grind songs.

I took the name from “Earth Burner,” the Broken Hope song, because I’ve always liked that song. Technically, Earthburner started in 2000— that’s when I started writing the material. I did a Broken Hope interview with Metal Maniacs around that time, and the journalist asked me what else I was up to. I mentioned that I was starting a grindcore band called Earthburner, and after the magazine came out, people started asking me about it all the time.

What happened next?

In 2002, I stopped doing Broken Hope and started doing Earthburner. But it kept getting pushed to the side. I did a band called Lupara, and that record came out in 2006. We did one record and one video and that was it. After that, I started

to focus more on writing. I wrote my first novel, which never came out. I thought it was the greatest thing on the planet, but I still had a lot to learn about writing and editing. But I was getting short stories published and kept playing guitar on the side.

Between 2007 and 2009, more and more promoters and fans started begging for Broken Hope to come back. Around that time, I reconnected with all the original Broken Hope guys—Joe [Ptacek], Shaun [Glass] and Ryan [Stanek] and Brian [Griffin]—and we started talking about getting back together. Maryland Deathfest asked us to play, along with some promoters overseas, and we were trying to figure it out. But then Joe ended up dying in 2010, so I figured Broken Hope wasn’t meant to be. Joe’s death was so unexpected. I still can’t figure out why he killed himself. It really floored me.

So, again, I figured I’d focus on Earthburner.

That’s when Shaun introduced me to Mike Miczek. He said he knew this sick drummer one county over from us. This was 2011, and Mike was literally a teenager at the time. He loves to remind me how he was born three months after [Broken Hope’s 1991 debut] Swamped in Gore came out. So, I met Mike, and we were off to the races with Earthburner. I had a logo, a singer and a drummer. We didn’t have a bass player, but we recorded a three-song EP, so I played the bass and guitars on that.

PHOTO BY CORE Y SORIA • ADDITIONAL EDITING BY STEPHANIE CABR AL

But then Broken Hope came back into the picture again.

When it was just Mike and I jamming, we’d mess around with Broken Hope songs. He was such a good drummer, he could play like Pete Sandoval at his peak. But he could also play the really technical stuff that we had on Grotesque Blessings.

Mike could play all of that at age 19, no problem.

In 2012, we got an offer we couldn’t refuse. This management/booking agency came to us telling us there was a demand for Broken Hope. They said they could guarantee constant tours, a record deal, all this stuff.

I knew Mike could be the drummer, but I was thinking, who’s gonna fill Joe’s shoes? That’s pretty hard to do. And I didn’t want a bunch of hired hands. Luckily our old bass player Shaun returned to the band, and he had been working with a lead guitarist who we brought in. The agency got us in touch with Damian [Leski] from Gorgasm to be the vocalist, and he fit the bill perfectly. So, it all came together quickly. Next thing I know, we’re on tour with Obituary. Before the tour was over, we were offered a contract by Century Media. The next thing I know, I’m writing a new Broken Hope album. So, Earthburner got put on the, well, back burner. Again.

How did you switch the focus back to Earthburner for Permanent Dawn?

Well, Broken Hope has been around so long now that I guess we’re considered a legacy band. We’ve never been a band that tours and puts albums out as a career. We’re not Cannibal Corpse or Immolation. Broken Hope never sustained that level of constant touring. In more recent years, we’ve got guys in the band who have more responsibilities. Damian has a job as an animal control officer for the North Chicago Police Department. He’s got security and he loves his job. Mike just had a kid, and he manages the Dark Matter Coffee company in Chicago. Our other guitarist, Matt [Szlachta], has a kid as well.

So, we’ve gotta pick and choose what we can do.

Your stepson, Tyler, is now in Earthburner with you.

It’s super special for me. Tyler is kinda like Mike. They’re not too far apart in age, so they’re these young guys who have old-school death metal and grind souls, if you will. They worship Terrorizer, Carcass, Napalm Death, Entombed, Morbid Angel—all the bands that influenced me. Tyler’s favorite band is Iron Maiden. When he turned 18, he got a tattoo of Eddie from the Killers album. But he’s also got his finger on the pulse of the young extreme bands, and he’s always turning me onto stuff like Sanguisugabogg and 200 Stab Wounds.

D E C I B E L : D E C E M B E R 2 0 2 4 : 41

Slow burn  Wagner (L) and Earthburner took their time to ensure their debut LP is straight fire

Some people think grindcore has to be crusty and lo-fi, but to me that’s backwards thinking. Whether I’m putting out music or putting out books with my publishing company, it’s all about quality. be crusty and lo-fi, but to me that’s backwards thinking. Whether I’m putting out music or putting out books with my publishing company, it’s all about quality. And I was really happy with the way the album turned out.

Good segue.

Through Tyler, I became friends with Devin a few years back. I met him in Detroit at the memorial for Trevor Strnad from the Black Dahlia Murder. Devin was there and he introduced himself. About a year and a half ago, I was talking to Mike about bringing Earthburner back. By this time, Tyler had become quite a bass player. He’s got his own grindcore band called Gloryhole Guillotine. Broken Hope took them to Europe a while back and then did this metal fest down in Bogota, Colombia, and we got them on the bill. I’m the proud stepdad supporting his grindcore stepson, but I think his band is awesome. We still needed a singer, though.

Devin was talking to Tyler one day, and he asked what was up with Earthburner. Tyler told me this, and if anything lit a fire under my ass to finally do an album, that was it. I talked to Devin the next day and asked him if he wanted to sing for Earthburner. He said yes. Within a week, I booked studio time.

You recorded the album at Criteria Studios in Miami, which has some serious history.

My wife and I live down in Florida during the winter, so Criteria is in my backyard. The room we did it in, Studio C, is where Heaven and Hell

by Black Sabbath was recorded. But it’s also the same room that Saturday Night Fever was recorded in—and the Eagles’ Hotel California. The history is amazing, and it goes way beyond those albums.

I financed the record myself, and I wanted to make the highest-quality grindcore recording possible. Some people think grindcore has to 42 : DECEMBER 2024 : DECIBEL

Permanent Dawn closes with a cover of COC’s “Positive Outlook.” Why did you choose that song?

I’ve never been much of a covers person, but I always wanted to do that one with Broken Hope.

It’s funny, Broken Hope only did one cover— Twisted Sister’s “Captain Howdy,” because Joe Ptacek always wanted to do it. But I always wanted to do “Positive Outlook” because it has one of those riffs that’s not death metal, but still super heavy. I thought, “How would that sound in my tuning, through my rig?” The bridge/ ending part of the song made me feel like that.

So, we did it on the Earthburner album for fun, and it turned out great.

You’ve got some special guests on the album as well.

We’ve got Ross [Dolan] from Immolation on a song called “Necrodisiac.” My buddy Jake Cannavale from Brooklyn plays in a grind band called Vixen Maw, and he’s on the COC cover. Jake’s also a really great actor, and his father, Bobby Cannavale, is an amazing actor. I loved him in Boardwalk Empire especially. My longtime friend Mitch Harris, he’s been out of Napalm Death for some time because he had to take care of his parents, who passed away. But I’ve always been in touch, and I love that guy to death. I called him up and asked if he’d sing on a song on Permanent Dawn. But he asked me to send him the whole album so he could pick the song he wanted to sing on.

We did the vocals at Hypercube Studios in Chicago with Sanford Parker. Ross and Jake did their vocals at studios in New York, but Mitch

came in when Devin came in. So, Devin’s freaking out because he’s a huge Napalm Death fan.

We thought Mitch was gonna sing on one song, but he said he had ideas for every song. So, we’ve got Devin and Mitch on every song. In the liner notes, I put Mitch down as an honorary member of Earthburner because he contributed so much.

He added a whole new dimension to the album that I didn’t see coming. He actually played with us live at our first Earthburner show last year, and he’ll be onstage with us in Denver at the Decibel Metal & Beer Festival this December.

Your publishing company, Dead Sky, is putting out Decibel illustrator Mark Rudolph’s art book Profane Creations. Tell me about it.

I’m such a fan of Mark’s work, and I discovered him through Decibel magazine. I love his illustrations. I became friends with him when he was selling off some of his original artwork from Decibel magazine covers, like the [Top 100] Death Metal [Albums of All Time] special that came out a few years ago. When Broken Hope put out a live album and concert film from Brutal Assault in 2015, I hit up Mark to do illustrations of the band members for the artwork.

When I started talking to Mark about doing a book, I said we should do something that spans his whole career. I wanted every band he’s ever drawn and everything he’s done on the side, so that’s what the book is. As we were talking, he mentioned that he was working on a Repulsion book. He sent me some samples from it, and I was like, “How would you like a two-book deal instead of a one-book deal?” [Laughs] So, Profane Creations is a beautiful book, and the Repulsion book is gonna be awesome when it’s finished.

But all credit goes to Decibel magazine. I don’t know if I would’ve discovered Mark’s work if it wasn’t for them.

PHOTO BY CORE Y SORIA • ADDITIONAL EDITING BY STEPHANIE CABR AL

I heard those bands before they even had albums out because of Tyler. He drove out to Ohio to see Sanguisugabogg play a garage show, and he became friends with their singer, Devin Swank.

RE!!

MORE ANDD MO N, AN TION, ACTIO FI, AC SCII FI, LT, SC CULT, OR,, CU RROR HORR HO

ALISON’S BIRTHDAY IL DEMONIO When a séance warns Alison not to return home for her 19th birthday, it will unlock an occult conspiracy of fear, violence and demonic deliverance.

An emotionally disturbed young woman turns to witchcraft to curse her former lover. But is her alarming behavior due to obsession or possession?

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DAIEI GOTHIC: JAPANESE GHOST STORIES A collection of three of Japan’s most famous ghost stories that have haunted people for centuries.

DOGRA MAGRA A man wakes in an asylum with no memory. Dr Wakabayashi helps him to recall his past in which he killed his bride on their wedding day.

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KILLERS

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The James boys, two of America’s most mediaoriented killers, have escaped from Death Row. After taking a family hostage their nightmare begins!

A group of college students break into an abandoned convent and become possessed by demonic spirits.

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THE PRIMEVALS

After a towering creature believed to be the legendary Yeti is killed in the Himalayas, an expedition is made to search for more of the creatures.

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SPIRAL

SPECIAL EDITION

THE PROFANE EXHIBIT

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Ten renowned horror movie directors from all over the world have recreated their most gruesome dreams and frenzied nightmares.

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DON’T CHANGE HANDS

THE MAD BOMBER

THE RED LIGHT BANDIT

When a prominent politician receives a pornographic film starring her son, she hires a hard-boiled private detective to track down the blackmailer.

A psycho is planting deadly bombs across LA. A rapist is the only one who can identify him. A detective will break every rule to bust them both.

A charismatic crook robs the rich, taunts law enforcement and becomes a public hero in an anarchic odyssey unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

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IMMOLATION’S ROSS DOLAN and BOB VIGNA recount their first record deal in a book excerpt from INTO EVERLASTING FIRE: THE OFFICIAL HISTORY OF IMMOLATION

D

ecibel Books recently announced the publication of Into Everlasting Fire: The Official History of Immolation, and now Decibel is proud

to reveal the first excerpt from a massive 460-page history of one of the most beloved bands in death metal history, authored by longtime Decibel contributor Kevin Stewart-Panko. The following passage transports readers back to the early ’90s as the death metal scene was about to explode and Immolation were poised to sign to their first record deal with Roadrunner subsidiary R/C Records.

D

uring their post-European trip woodshedding and writing sessions, before taking the stage at A Day of Death and playing a handful of local and out-of-state shows, Immolation received a letter from Roadrunner A&R wunderkind Monte Conner. The letter was the second Conner addressed to the band, but it was the first that Immolation acknowledged. ¶ “I remember the first letter,” Immolation guitarist Bob Vigna maintains, “but we definitely thought two things: one, that we weren’t ready, and two, that this couldn’t be for real. So, we just kind of disregarded it. Maybe at the time and with the bands that were on Roadrunner—because that was before the whole death metal thing really hit—we were like, ‘They’d never sign us.’ It was the second letter that got our attention. Monte basically said that Roadrunner was interested in working with us, but not responding to them was no way to go about getting signed. At that point, we were like, ‘Maybe we should reach out to this guy.’”

44 : DECEMBER 2024 : DECIBEL

Despite how it appeared on the surface at the time, Immolation weren’t exuding large quantities of confidence. Instead of walking with their shoulders ramrod straight and chests puffed out—despite the improvements they had admittedly made—they were still swimming in self-doubt. They may have begun the process of chipping away at their insecurity, but the belief that their band was not ready to take the next step was still lurking in the background.

“That was the thing with Earache as well,” Vigna says. “We weren’t feeling like we were ready or set yet because we didn’t have enough songs, and we needed to get more stuff together.

By the time we got the second demo out, it didn’t hit Digby [Pearson] as hard, and he wasn’t really

Those left behind  Monte Conner’s letter to Immolation as it appears in the Stepping on Angels… Before Dawn CD layout

as interested anymore.”

In Monte Conner’s eyes, Immolation were ready to join the family alongside recent Roadrunner successes Obituary and Sepultura, and latest signees Deicide, all of whom he had worked with since making the quick move from radio promotion at Roadrunner to A&R and introducing hundreds of thousands of metalheads here and abroad to the sounds emanating from the death metal underground.

Conner himself recalls falling into A&R by accidental design. Roadrunner was his second industry gig, his first being a nine-month stint at New York-based Shatter Records doing college radio promotion.

“The biggest artist we had at Shatter was Paul Di’Anno’s Battlezone,” says Conner. “We had Rhett Forrester, Attila, a band called E-X-E and a few other things, but it was a tiny little label that was struggling financially the entire time I was there. I started doing college radio promotion. Back then, that was a very easy entry-level position. It was college radio, and anybody could do it; you were the same age as the kids you were calling to talk to about music and trying to get your band on their playlists. I was basically calling people like me in the position I was in when I was in college doing my own radio show.”

After departing Shatter, Conner was hired by Roadrunner for the same radio promotions gig, but in the back of his mind, he wanted to do more.

Within a few days of starting at Roadrunner, he was able to move into the A&R position as a result of fortuitous timing and a bit of luck.

“I’d always had aspirations as an A&R guy because I knew what I was doing,” he says. “In fact, the whole time I was working at Shatter, I would find bands and try to get the owner to sign them. Literally a week after I got to Roadrunner, the woman who had brought me into the company, Holly Lane, wound up quitting all of a sudden to go form Mechanic Records with Steve Sinclair. We were an office of four or five people back then, and I was the only one in the office who was living the music. I was young and a real-life metalhead; it was just a job to everyone else who worked there. The owner of the label, Cees Wessels, looked around at who was going to do A&R, and he let me try it because he knew I was plugged in and that I had aspirations to do that. I never wanted a radio promotion job.

I wanted to do A&R, but I didn’t have any experience in that area.”

Conner was hired at Roadrunner Records on December 21, 1987. After the Christmas holiday, he started signing death metal.

“Sepultura and Obituary were my first-ever signings,” he says, “and once Beneath the Remains

and Slowly We Rot came out [around] May of 1989, they pretty much blew up right out of the gate.

From the beginning, they did really well, and it opened the floodgates at Roadrunner to continue to bring in more death metal, and I had the support of Cees. I was on a complete spree at that point; by the end of 1989, I was looking to grab any death metal I could get my hands on— Malevolent Creation, Sorrow, Gorguts… it was the heyday of Roadrunner death metal.

“As far as when and how I found Immolation,” he continues, “I don’t remember if it was the first demo or not, but I was superplugged in and had my ears to the ground. The reason I would have gone after Immolation was because I wanted to sign more death metal.

They were a local band I was reading about in fanzines and there was a buzz on them. But I had never seen them live; I only heard them on a demo tape. Thinking back, I do remember Kim August’s name as a contact because she was managing or helping them back then.”

About the first letter Conner sent the band, he recalls, “I probably sent the initial letter to Kim,” and shares Immolation’s opinion that they either didn’t think his inquiry was genuine or they couldn’t believe anyone would be interested in them at that stage of their game.

“So, I wrote them a second letter that they loved and said something like, ‘Guys, this is not the way to go about getting a deal.’ Typically, when you’re doing A&R and write to a band and they get a letter, they fucking freak out and jump right on it. It’s a big moment. But those guys just ignored me,” he says with a chuckle.

“I don’t know if their playing hard to get made me want to get them more,” he says coyly,

“but I was reading all the fanzines back then and that was my information network to learn about new bands. Another factor was that Roadrunner was having real success with death metal at that point and I was looking to grab up a bunch more.

It naturally made sense to approach them.”

The success Conner was having following the release of Beneath the Remains and Slowly We Rot meant that he had his boss’s blessing to get out there and find more bands to add to that success.

But only to a limited extent. Roadrunner owner Wessels was a businessman who was more a fan of money than he was of music, and even though Conner had proven himself and was given greater autonomy to find whoever he could that would fill Roadrunner’s coffers, there were still reins and restrictions he had to skate around in order to have potential signees approved by the shadowy entity that was his boss.

“Cees Wessels is a legendary guy,” says Conner. “You’ve probably heard his name a million times, but he was also legendary for being behind the scenes. You’d have a hard time finding a picture of or an interview with him. He never wanted to be in the public spotlight. So, because I was the guy out on the front lines representing Roadrunner and signing the bands, doing interviews and so on, people thought I was the owner of Roadrunner. People didn’t understand I just worked there; I reported to Cees, and every band that I signed in my entire 25-year career at Roadrunner had to be okayed by him. Naturally, it makes sense that as a new A&R guy and a 24-year-old kid with no track record that, of course, I would have to have somebody like him approve it. But amazingly, even years later, when I had tremendous DECIBEL : DECEMBER 2024 : 45

EXCLUSI V E EXCER PT  Burning alive

Dolan live, April 7, 1990

success and was a star A&R guy, he still had to approve it. There were plenty of bands we missed out on because he said no.”

As it pertains to the process of courting and signing Immolation, Conner recalls taking advantage of the currency he had amassed via his early signing successes and Wessels’ ivory tower understanding of the albums his label was releasing. Distorted guitars? Check! Growly vocals?

Check! Countercultural imagery and message?

Check! Did all that combined just sell six figures?

Check! It all added up to Conner not having to dig too deep into his powers of persuasion and convincing Wessels to sign off on Immolation.

Very quickly after Immolation finally addressed their suitor, what bassist/vocalist Ross Dolan describes as “a long-ass contract” appeared in the mail. In what has become typical fashion, Immolation didn’t excitedly gloss or hurriedly skim over the details of the seven-album deal like most rookie bands would and sign their lives away without thinking about it. Sure, the deal was heavily weighted in Roadrunner’s favor— good luck finding a record deal that doesn’t have odds leaning towards the house—but Immolation at least took the time to hire someone with experience to pull apart the contract so that they were only getting somewhat screwed, not entirely screwed.

“There were three different parts,” Vigna explains. “I don’t know how they do it now, but back then, it was like a recording contract, a publishing contract and a merchandising deal.

It was all-inclusive, but any touring income was left alone.”

“We had a friend of ours look at it,” says Dolan. “This is a crazy story: We had cats growing up, and the guy who was our vet, this guy named Richard, was in the music industry when he was younger. He knew an entertainment lawyer he was friends with and had worked with 46 : DECEMBER 2024 : DECIBEL

in the past. We were at the vet one day, taking our cats in for their check-up. I was talking to him and he said, ‘Hey, your mom said you guys have had some interest from a record label. I have this good lawyer,’ and he put us in touch.

We gave the contract to this guy—his name was Jack—and the negotiations started.

“Since we were a young band with only two demos behind us, we didn’t have much wiggle room, but at the end of the day, we signed a seven-album contract with them. They wound up not owning all of our publishing; I think it was a 50/50 split that Jack was able to get us, which was better than a lot of bands got. The merch deal had a clause in it that allowed us to seek out a third party if they could beat their prices for touring merchandise. Blue Grape, which was Roadrunner’s merch arm, would print up stuff for retail and our shirts in Europe, but in the U.S., we were able to do our own thing if we could beat their prices for tour merch.”

A seven-album deal that involved the three recording, publishing and merchandising subsections was the standard contract Roadrunner offered their first-time bands. Conner, who brokered deals for countless bands during his tenure at the label, doesn’t deny that the Roadrunner offer was “notorious and really, really strict,” but claims it’s still better than the modern-day “360 deal” that many record companies table. Said deals—as in 360 all-encompassing degrees—are designed for labels to gain even more of a financial stake in all of a band’s revenue streams in light of the revenues that have been lost since the internet came into the picture and eviscerated retail sales.

“Our deals didn’t include any participation in touring and would have been more like a 270 deal,” Conner reasons. “They weren’t actually called ‘270 deals’; they weren’t called anything.

Any band that I signed, I signed them for records, merch and publishing. Keep in mind it’s misleading; it’s not like the band just signed this shit over to us. They were paid on their merch and paid on their publishing. It wasn’t like we were stealing from them; we were just saying, ‘We don’t want you to sign with another publishing or merchandise company.’ They were forced to do it through us because Cees figured it was because of the efforts of Roadrunner and his investment in the band that their merchandise and publishing had any value. So, why shouldn’t he make money off of it instead of a stranger?

“And another thing,” Conner adds, “is that these were not license deals. These days, labels do license deals. So, let’s say I sign Obituary and it’s a 12-year license deal. After 12 years, the band gets the record back and they can put it out themselves or sell it to another label. The Roadrunner deals were ownership deals where Roadrunner outright owned the record for life.

That’s why the band is never going to get Dawn of Possession back: because they signed lifelong rights to Roadrunner, which was eventually sold to Warner Music. So, now Warner has those rights. The bands are upset; I’m sure Immolation is furious they’ll never get Dawn of Possession back.

They were really tough deals in that regard. The thing is that these bands can complain about it, but they all had lawyers. If we sent a contract to a band and, say, Immolation was like, ‘Yeah, we’ll sign this,’ we’d always be like, ‘No, don’t sign it yet. You need to get a lawyer involved.’ And most of these bands freely signed the contracts and didn’t have lawyers involved.”

Even though Immolation did get a lawyer involved, they still caved to the pressure of what Conner calls “Roadrunner being the only game in town.” Immolation’s second demo wiped away any of the interest Earache had in the band and, looking back, Dolan doesn’t remember there being a lot of curiosity from elsewhere, as surprising as it seems. Even with a legal eagle in their corner, Immolation went into negotiations without much bargaining power, and Roadrunner’s position was essentially, “It’s either sign with us or remain unsigned.”

“We were in the position of power with these unknown bands because we were the only label offering,” explains Conner. “For example, if we’re offering a seven-album deal and it’s a competitive situation and Metal Blade is offering three, and Relapse is offering two, the band is going to be like, ‘Fuck off, we’re not signing a seven-album deal.’ But if we’re the only offer they have… And in 90 percent of the cases of the bands I ever signed to Roadrunner, I was the only label offering a deal. Roadrunner was notorious for those brutal deals, but those were Cees’ deals; they were not my deals. I was working for him and that was the contract. And because I’m the public face of Roadrunner, people would pin it on me. Don’t kill the messenger.”

Back in the day, before technology advanced and streamlined recording software made it accessible and affordable, home studios were hardly ubiquitous. Before anyone could record and distribute their music digitally; signing a record contract was a main goal and a vital step to a career in music. With the Roadrunner deal in their pockets, Immolation had made it, so to speak. And they celebrated as one would expect Immolation to celebrate.

“It was a big deal,” remembers Dolan. “We had a signing party that night with the four of us and pizza at Bob’s house. We were going to sign it in blood.”

“Needless to say,” Vigna deadpans, “it ended up being ink.”

Into Everlasting Fire: The Official History of Immolation is released through Decibel Books this November.

ENTER WEBSTORE www.svartrecords.com

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D E C I B E L : D E C E M B E R 2 0 2 4 : 47

the

definitive stories

behind extreme music’s

definitive albums

by

josé carlos santos opening spread photo by

myrna windstein

All They Had (They Gave) the making of Crowbar’s Crowbar

AH,

a “scene.” That vague concept when our pattern-searching brains

detect connectable musical activities happening within a short distance of each other. Sometimes it’s more of a perception bias than anything else, but there are undeniable movements over the course of our increasingly rich history of heavy metal and rock. From Bay Area thrash to Norwegian black metal, from Seattle grunge to Florida death metal—just to mention a few—without forgetting the less unanimous New Orleans sludge scene, only so because “sludge” has never been a much-loved description, especially by the bands themselves.

Regardless, it was an important clash of apparently incompatible genres that led to it, and at the forefront (at least artistically, since their enormously deserved recognition only came decades later) were Crowbar. Their selftitled second album, released on October 4, 1993 through Pavement Music—aside from containing some of their most beloved songs ever in “All I Had (I Gave),” “SelfInflicted” and “Existence Is Punishment”—is an absolute landmark in how you could take doom, hardcore, classic heavy metal and hard rock, and come out on the other side with something so heavy and so unique that it proved pretty much impossible to categorize. It was compelling enough that even Beavis and Butt-Head couldn’t help but be impressed at the time, even if they thought that frontman DBHOF240 Kirk Windstein looked like “an assistant football coach.”

The way it came together was much less glamorous than we might have imagined when we avidly first read the liner notes as kids. “Recorded at HT Recording Studios, Chalmette, LA” and “Produced by Philip Anselmo” Crowbar did conjure up images slightly different from playing in PAVEMENT MU SIC a guy’s garage while Phil shot you dirty looks if he wasn’t OCTOBER 4, 19 9 3 into something. But that’s how Windstein—the band’s constant leader—alongside the iconic lineup of Matt They have not failed Thomas, Todd Strange and Craig Nunenmacher, erected this towering monument to punishingly slow, unbearable emotional and sonic heaviness.

CROWBAR

DECIBEL : 49 : DECEMBER 2024

DBHOF240

CROWBAR crowbar

What are your first thoughts when you think back to the self-titled record?

KIRK WINDSTEIN: To me, it was our first real album. Obedience Through Suffering was such a low budget and it was such a rush job. It was really a glorified demo; it doesn’t even sound good. I mean, the attitude is there, and the idea is there, but that’s why, when we did the self-titled, I said let’s just call it Crowbar. Metallica had just put out the Black Album, with like, no name and all that stuff. It made sense. The guys still said, “But we already have an album,” but in our reality, this was our first real album. There was no more transitioning; we found our sound and the direction we wanted to go with that album.

TODD STRANGE: I agree that the first record was more kind of a demo tape for us. We did it with somebody who didn’t really have any vision with the band; the studio didn’t have any idea what Crowbar could be at the time. We were still finding ourselves at that point, too. As Kirk said, that’s one of the reasons why we actually named the album Crowbar—we felt like we were finally finding ourselves and our real sound.

MATT THOMAS: I can tell you, to this day, it’s still one of my favorite records. I loved it the minute it was created. I wish I could take more credit for the songwriting, but I had just come into the group right before it was recorded. But I assisted with that recording, the mixing, and, of course, played guitar. But the brilliance behind it was really Kirk’s. He was always the main songwriter; I think it’s some of his best work and I was very proud to be a part of all that. Of course, credit to Craig and Todd, too. I think it’s groundbreaking. It was unique, obviously. Very little if anything was borrowed from other artists ever, and I just love it.

CRAIG NUNENMACHER: Crowbar is Kirk—that’s his heart right there, the entire vision of what the band could be is his. He’s an amazing guy.

Everything at the time was thrash, speed and just seeing who could go faster! And Kirk and Jimmy Bower and these guys just had ideas to slow this shit down. They were into Melvins and influenced by these other bands that were shining a new light on the way to do things, and how heavy that is versus speed.

They already had that ball rolling, and when I joined them as a kid, I was like 20. I was playing around New Orleans, developing my chops, getting better and better. By the time I hooked up with Kirk and the guys, it was just like, we practiced every day, we played all the time, we really worked at it. On Obedience, those songs were pretty much the songs Kirk and Jimmy and those guys had already written and had demos for. It was still a great experience. We went to Chicago in a van, in the freaking snow, riding around this huge city trying to find out where we were

“To me, Carnivore’s Retaliation is a perfect mix of hardcore and doom. It’s angry as hardcore goes, but then there’s Black Sabbath riffs. That’s what we wanted to do, but preferably without getting sued— I wouldn’t want Pete Steele to come after me!”

KIRK WIND ST E IN going… Then everything was recorded in a very hurried way; we did the best we could. It was what it was, and after that we were like, “Let’s do a real record now.” We practiced at Kirk’s house a lot for months after that. His mom and dad were around often and they were so funny and so sweet. It was very cool. They gave him that freedom and they let us make all that noise.

Even if it turned out to be a sort of careerdefining album, everything about it—from the writing to the recording—seems to have been pretty chill… though very low-budget too, right?

WINDSTEIN: It was pretty simple. I mostly wrote the songs, especially since, at the time the album was written, Matt wasn’t in the band yet. I’ve always been the primary writer, especially back then. Now as time goes by, I’m more and more like, “Give me a hand, guys!” Back then we really didn’t do a whole lot, to be honest. We practiced Monday to Friday, we worked as little as possible: any kind of bullshit just to get gas and beer money and go out. Our “going out” was to get two beers, smoke some weed and go to the rehearsal DECEMBER 2024 : 50 : DECIBEL

room, five nights a week, basically. We would just work on it, on the songs. I kind of miss that.

Right now, we’re writing new Down material and some new Crowbar material, too, and I wish we could jam it five nights a week like we used to do. Knowing what we know now, with all the experience we have, it would be written in two weeks! [Laughs] It was great times. We were young, completely broke—not that we’re rich now, but hey—and it was all about just the music. That was our whole life. No one had any girlfriends that were anything serious, no kids, no families or anything like that for sure, so it was just innocent: Our whole life was discovering new bands, going to shows and learning from bands that we admired.

Matt joined right before the recording, but you guys have often said he was still very important to how the album turned out. What did he bring to the table?

WINDSTEIN: He’s a great guitar player, a lot better technically than I was. He had studied guitar at the university. I’m all self-taught, especially

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DECIBEL : DECEMBER 2024 : 51

DBHOF240

CROWBAR crowbar

when working with people who knew theory well. He’d be like “No, it’s not a minor, it’s a such and such suspended,” and I’m like, “Just tell me where to put my fingers!” [Laughs] That’s me, but Matt was much more technical. Not that we really used that to its full extent, because we always tried to play one note “wrong,” like one note down to make it sound more dissonant, like a sour note intentionally, but he was just a great player. I used to go watch his cover song band, which was much bigger than my own cover song bands. We were kind of broke, so we used to just hang out and get like a 12-pack of beer or something and four-track at his apartment. I used to end up sleeping over there all the time; we were good friends. He was actually retired from playing when I called him—he was just doing live sound and a bit of studio work—but I asked him about joining, and he said yeah.

THOMAS: Kirk and I have been very close friends since the mid-’80s. We played the same venues together several times with our previous bands, we partied and drank together a lot. I had known all these guys for years; it wasn’t a new group of people. I was a recording engineer, a live audio engineer, and I owned a sound and light company for concerts. That’s what I was doing. Then I got the call from Kirk, and he said they were about to record an album, they had a tour planned, and what was I doing? I was semiretired from playing onstage, although I had a band going that was purely for joy, and I was just happy to get the invitation. Kirk was always a great friend. We always had fun hanging out together, we recorded little fun side project bands in my apartment while we drank beer all night long hundreds of times, and I was happy to join. I think I did make a contribution to that record more from the recording engineering and mixing side, because those were the skills I had and brought to that project, probably more than songwriting or anything else.

STRANGE: Matt brought a lot. A lot, a lot, a lot.

He was a soundman, an engineer, and he brought a little bit more of all the things we needed. We started doing a lot more harmonies and all that after he joined the band, for instance.

NUNENMACHER: The record is actually a really great-sounding record despite how it was recorded, and Matt really helped put that together.

Yeah, the recording was unusual to say the least, right?

NUNENMACHER: It was an interesting experience.

Instead of spending all our money on a studio, and doing a lot of things that were maybe unnecessary for us at the time, we just recorded it at this guy’s house, which is something that is actually very common these days with all the technology that’s available. We were actually very ahead

of our time! [Laughs] It was actually great fun; I only have good memories of that recording.

STRANGE: I remember going there during the day to record the songs—there was another New Orleans band at the time called Tungsten, and we did it at the drummer’s house while his mom was away at work. We’d run the snake wire out of the bedroom into the garage outside, all of this during the day so we wouldn’t get the police called on us for making all that noise. It was hot and we were doing the recording and the mixing and all that stuff in the garage and in his bedroom at the house. Hey, it worked! Look where the album’s made it!

WINDSTEIN: Absolutely much less glamorous than anyone might think! It was basically a home studio, yeah. We would track the drums, and I did my vocals in a little wooden shed that wasn’t climate-controlled. I can’t remember, but I know it was either super hot or super cold, or maybe a combination of both, given New Orleans weather. It wasn’t comfortable, and we were pretty new to all this. I was really nervous.

THOMAS: With the very unique low tuning, I could tell as soon as I entered the project that there was a lack of knowledge about how to get that on a record, where it could be played in the stereos and the headphones that people actually owned. That equipment has limitations, and in order to take what they were trying to do—the very low-tuned, very little of anything else—and get that music on a record was a challenge, and I’m proud that we were able to make it work together. The whole world isn’t going to redesign their speakers just for your record. We had to make it work for what people were going to use to hear it, and I think that was the biggest challenge. This was recorded, I’m pretty sure, on an eight-track DAT machine. My memory is not perfect, but I do remember that machine.

We may have piggybacked two units and had 16 tracks, but it was primitive, man. I mean, it was barebones, no budget, in a garage. Then Kirk and I flew out to Hollywood to mix the record at a place that was owned by Rikki Rockett, the drummer of Poison.

What sort of a producer was Phil Anselmo?

THOMAS: Phil is not a sound engineer or some-

thing like that. What he brought was vocal techniques, arrangement ideas. Some of the songs have some vocal layering that he’s always been kind of famous for, that’s always been a trademark of his, and he encouraged Kirk to try different things, repeat different sections of songs and stuff like that… It was mostly that sort of work, guidance and advice, which by the way I do consider 100 percent production. A lot of the time you never touch a knob on the mixing board to produce something—you’re the director, and you just big-picture it and try to bring it all together, whether it’s through engineering, songwriting, performance. Phil knew what he DECEMBER 2024 : 5 2 : DECIBEL

was doing; he was very involved daily and always made sure to bring value.

WINDSTEIN: He had a shitload to do with this record coming out the way it did, to the point of coming to the rehearsals and being like, “You want me to be honest?” And we were like, “Yeah, of course.” He said, “As a song, it sucks, but that one riff…” And that turned out to be the riff to “Existence Is Punishment”; he loved that one riff. We had three or four other riffs tied to it that weren’t doing anything. He really taught me how to arrange songs; he is a great arranger.

He told us to keep in mind things like, when you don’t know where to go, a drum beat or fill can take you anywhere else you want to, and that’s how “Existence Is Punishment” was done.

Nowadays I call that kind of riff the “money riff”; I realized that if you have a really great riff, you can actually build a song around it.

He was also very important to me because of my lyrics. I remember Todd driving in his old Oldsmobile Cutlass. He’d pick me up and we’d go get Phil, and I’d sit in the back seat with him while he helped me write. I was nervous. I was like, “Dude, I don’t have lyrics!” And he told me he used to write them on the spot all the time.

He really came up with a few song titles and a few lines in certain songs. He would change a word in my lyric and that made everything click.

It was like going to school, I learned a lot with that whole experience, and hopefully came out with an A. STRANGE: Yeah, he was very important. Kirk’s a guitar player first, as he’ll tell you, though over the years his singing has gotten really good, too; his voice is amazing. But back then there were certain things he wouldn’t do because he didn’t feel comfortable, and Phil really helped with that. Don’t get me wrong: If we did something he didn’t like, he’d shoot us that look, but he didn’t come in and try to run the whole session. He added to it.

Where did this blend of genres that ended up being the Crowbar sound come from? Can you pinpoint any decisive influences?

WINDSTEIN: Our whole idea of blending hardcore with doom came from Carnivore and the first Type O Negative record. Phil had gotten me a demo of the Type O record before they were even called Type O, and that was all I listened to in my cassette player at home. I was obsessed for like a year or something. Maybe it wasn’t a year, but it felt like it.

Time was different then, wasn’t it?

WINDSTEIN: Oh yeah! I had so much time on my hands to listen to music. I didn’t have money to go out Friday and Saturday night. If I didn’t have any extra money that particular week, I’d just stay home and listen to music and play the guitar, nothing more. But yeah, the first Crowbar song, which was “Waiting in Silence,” the

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CROWBAR crowbar

opening track on Obedience Through Suffering, was written in 1989. Me and Jimmy Bower were listening to so much stuff on the way to rehearsal, like Melvins, Carnivore, Trouble or Black Sabbath, and this one time, Jimmy just started doing this beat, dum-dum-bah-bum-brrrrom-bah— you know, the beat for “Waiting in Silence”— and I came up with a riff almost immediately.

I told him, “All right, now we’re getting somewhere, we have a direction, let’s start doing it.”

By the time we got to the self-titled, I was listening to a ton of East Coast hardcore, Agnostic Front, Biohazard, Sick of It All, Cro-Mags, even Judge, and I listened to a lot of doom as always, too. And to me, Carnivore’s Retaliation is a perfect mix of hardcore and doom. It’s angry as hardcore goes, but then there’s Black Sabbath riffs. That’s what we wanted to do, but preferably without getting sued—I wouldn’t want Pete Steele to come after me! [Laughs] I might have been able to outrun him back then, but I don’t know!

So, it was really like, we love Sabbath, we love Trouble, we love Witchfinder General, we love Melvins big time; we just soaked all of it up.

When I quit playing in cover song bands, I never sat down picking out things anymore. I didn’t have to, which was a blessing. I could write my own music instead. That’s not by any means a negative thing towards people who play cover songs, but it’s just how I felt.

STRANGE: Yeah, we were all really loving the NYHC stuff. We were into the Melvins and a lot of the gloomier stuff, and I was also heavily into the Carnivore Retaliation album—that was a mind-blowing one. That was the Crowbar sound.

I think we had a little more hardcore and doom-

ier stuff, while everybody around us was playing fast; the thrash thing was getting really important and involved, and we were like… man, we’re not going to do this! [Laughs] I mean, even today, if you’re listening to music and you try to base your band only on what’s popular, you’ve already missed the boat. The big band around us at the time was Exhorder, so I mean… how would you compete with Exhorder? They had their own thing, they were great at doing it, and so we took a different approach to everything.

THOMAS: I think I have different influences than Kirk did as far as bands that might have inspired the sound of this newer kind of doom metal, but one important thing is that I found that a lot of bands that used two guitars just did it for redundancy. I mean, two guitars just playing the same thing, who needs it? Go home, buddy. I found that you could take harmony, even in a doom setting, mean-sounding guitars, low pitch—you could make use of alternate notes on each guitar and harmonies and create moods that weren’t there, and the music just worked. The diminished fifth and minor thirds and various overlays over what Kirk was playing helped create a mood that worked so well with the music and Kirk’s voice. I had the most fun finding those alternate notes to lay over what Kirk was doing and creating those tones and moods. That was one of my favorite parts of that period.

That’s a very Maiden-y/Priest-y way of thinking about it, isn’t it?

THOMAS: Keep in mind that when Kirk and I

were in prior bands playing those bars and small venues, we cut our teeth on Judas Priest and Iron Maiden, yeah.

“It was very funny.

‘They need to get a big fat drummer,’ Butt-Head said—I’ll never forget that.

And the worst part is, Craig [Nunenmacher] could eat more than all of us in the band!

I smell a cheeseburger, I gain five pounds.”

TO DD STR A N G E

DECEMBER 2024 : 5 4 : DECIBEL

You’re absolutely right on target. The way those guitars worked together in those bands probably carried over. Probably not consciously, but it just followed us there.

How important was it to have Beavis and ButtHead poke their usual brand of fun at you over the two videos you made for this album?

WINDSTEIN: It was awesome! I remember calling a friend of mine from a pay phone who had seen it, and he was telling me that they had played us, and made fun of us being fat and shit, but all I asked him was, but did they jam to it? And he was like, yeah! That’s all I wanted! When I got home, I think my mom actually recorded it on VHS, and I’m watching it and I’m like, as long as they have the horns up and headbanging, then they can make all the fun they want! I mean, it’s supposed to be funny, so they got to rag on you in some way—if we were super skinny, they would have made fun of us for that—but as long as they’re rocking out, I was happy. It really helped us big time. It’s rare, even today all these years later, that someone doesn’t come up to me at a show and tell me, “Man, the first time I saw you was on Beavis and Butt-Head!” Even now. So, thank you, Mike Judge and Beavis and Butt-Head!

NUNENMACHER: I still get a kick out of that.

Because of people I work with, other friends, over the last few years, I always hear something about that. It also makes the rounds on YouTube very frequently, and everyone still gets a chuckle out of it. That should be in the Beavis and ButtHead Hall of Fame, too, if they had it! Any exposure you can get really matters, especially in

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DECIBEL : DECEMBER 2024 : 55

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CROWBAR crowbar very down low, but I mean, even Saint Vitus and shit were doing it in D. It was doom, but before the seven-string guitar and all of that even came about. In a way, we were pioneers of that whole kind of thing.

With over three decades of hindsight, it seems pretty obvious that Crowbar is a cornerstone of the entire New Orleans heavy scene.

THOMAS: I agree. Looking backwards, I can see

“I actually remember being in Phil [Anselmo]’s apartment in Texas one time; they were going to record Vulgar Display of Power, and we got to hear the raw tracks before the recording, and we were like, holy shit! We knew they were going to be huge.”

C R A IG N U N EN M AC H E R the heavy metal world where it’s tough to break through boundaries and get people to pay attention. The heavier you are, the more difficult it is!

THOMAS: I still show friends and colleagues those videos today. I think that’s great because that’s exactly what Crowbar was. Here we are—if you don’t like it, turn away. Nobody cared what anybody looked like, or really what anybody saw. We were going to make the music we chose to make, and that’s exactly what we did. We didn’t consider how many fans might like it—if we changed something, we might have more fans—never a word of that. Never a thought. Take it or leave it. And to be made fun of, because of that mindset, that was perfect! I loved it, Kirk loved it, we all loved it.

STRANGE: I think it did more than anything else for us. We were an easy band to make fun of, too. We can all laugh at ourselves, and besides, whenever Mike Judge was doing it, he wasn’t

doing it to be mean; he was doing it as a fan of the band, actually. It was very funny. “They need to get a big fat drummer,” Butt-Head said; I’ll never forget that. And the worst part is, Craig could eat more than all of us in the band!

I smell a cheeseburger, I gain five pounds.

[Laughs] But, yeah, it was all great. Between that and making some appearances on Headbangers Ball, that was really important to get the band name out there.

WINDSTEIN: On that one, I remember when we did a shitty little video for “Subversion,” from Obedience, [U.K. Headbangers Ball host] Vanessa Warwick introducing the song and saying, “Vocalist Kirk Windstein says that their music will be the future of heavy metal,” or something like that. And you know, in a way it was. Yeah, we stole the tuning from Carnivore and Type O, Cathedral were doing it, Winter were doing it DECEMBER 2024 : 5 6 : DECIBEL

it. We can all see history. But even when it was happening, you could feel it. You knew it. It was true. I don’t know if my theory is correct, I’ve never researched anything, but the Seattle thing obviously happened first, and I think the industry, the people that want to make money off bands like us, saw what happened in Seattle and knew of course Phil was from New Orleans, and Pantera was right there in Dallas, and I think they smelled money and came looking at what was happening there. I think that really helped put the connections together for Crowbar at that time and for other bands from New Orleans at that time. I think the record industry came looking in that town, in that area. And they found it!

It was the perfect timing, and it worked.

NUNENMACHER: I think we definitely gained respect real quick. That scene was a very interesting place back then. There were a lot of other bands coming up, and everything they wanted to do had a little bit of a “So, what’s Crowbar doing?” ring to it. It was a kind of interwoven respect that was commanded by the work and the sheer dominance of the band and how nobody else could mimic it. Crowbar left its mark on that scene for every band since, and that record is a big part of that statement.

STRANGE: We were also one of the bands in the region actually out playing and touring. You had a bunch of bands from there that wouldn’t even tour. Exhorder, for example, they did very little touring back then. I thought we were representing New Orleans pretty well, at least our version of New Orleans. We did it with very little strings attached, and at a time when very few others were doing anything like it, if you think about it. It was kind of intentional, because we knew that with what was going on in the scene, if you weren’t extraordinary and blew everyone away, you’d just fall down to the category of being “just another band” and be compared with others and forgotten about. We took it in a serious way, even back then with the Slugs when we were creating our very identity.

WINDSTEIN: It is, in my opinion, as important as any other record by any other band in New Orleans at the time. People are always talking about the New Orleans sound, but the funny thing about that scene is, no band really sounded like one another. They all have some common element, but no one can really put a finger on it. Even Goatwhore goes into a slow riff kind of thing sometimes, because Sammy [Duet] is a

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CROWBAR crowbar them. But I like “Fixation” a lot. That might be my favorite.

huge fan of Tom G. [Warrior], and that’s where we got it, too. I think that it’s just that, because we all listened to the same shit.

And we all put our own interpretation into those influences; we did it in a completely different way. I don’t think we sound anything like Eyehategod—they’re a blues punk band to me.

We’re much more metal, but there are similarities. We can still do a show together and everybody gets along great. Nobody sounds the same, but we could do a super-package if we wanted to and it would be awesome. Nobody would care who played after who; we have no egos or shit like that. We all grew up together and we were all a bunch of fucking broke punk-ass kids listening to music that we loved. That’s where all of this came from.

What are some of the songs that mean just a little bit more than the others to you guys?

WINDSTEIN: Obviously I have to love “All I Had (I Gave),” but I also love “High Rate Extinction.” I wrote that in about five minutes on my couch.

I remember we had some scratch vocals, a demo or something, and Phil came up with the idea of the vocal phrasing and the pattern, panning it left and right. We do an entire verse and chorus before the vocal comes in, and I’m like, “Are you sure I shouldn’t come in early?” And he’s like, “Trust me.” So, we open the fucking record like that, and it’s very effective that way. I love the “No Quarter” cover, too, and we recently picked up “Negative Pollution” again and started playing it, and everybody loves it, so that’s cool.

THOMAS: It’s really, really hard. I love “Existence Is Punishment,” “High Rate Extinction,” “All I Had (I Gave),” but I can tell you for me, most shows begin with “Self-Inflicted,” and I think I had the most fun performing that song straight out of the gate onstage every night. I loved it.

Then “Existence Is Punishment,” I really like that one live. It’s impossible to pick just one.

NUNENMACHER: There’s so much on there and it’s so hard to pick favorites. “High Rate Extinction,” man, that’s a kickass opener. It’s such a statement of a song and it really sets the tone. It’s like, all right, here’s a foot to your face real quick. “Fixation,” “Self-Inflicted,” that we used to play a lot… Crowbar was known for that slow groove and the doom influence and stuff, super spaced-out, slow music, but as we said earlier, there’s a lot of hardcore there, too. We juiced up the energy a lot; we did a lot of up-tempo stuff, too. “Will That Never Dies” is also a freaking great song. It’s impossible to pick; they’re all amazing!

STRANGE: I don’t even know. I’ve played so many of ’em and for so long. Even when I went back to the band for a while, we still played a bunch of

Speaking of the “No Quarter” cover, how did that come about?

WINDSTEIN: I had a VHS tape of Carnivore at L’Amour in Brooklyn, from about 1987/’88-ish, really bad quality, it had been copied about a million times. At one point in between songs, Peter started fucking around with the chorus to “No Quarter,” just playing a bit of it. Then they just went on to another song, but I was like, “Wow! We could do a great cover of that! They didn’t do it; he just fucked around between songs!” That’s where the idea came from.

Now, the funny thing is, all these years later I became friends with Louie [Beato], the drummer from Carnivore, on Facebook, and he and his wife came out to a Crowbar show somewhere in Florida. We played “No Quarter,” and he comes up to us at the end of the show, practically in tears, and he goes, “I can’t believe you played that song, I always begged Peter for us to do that song!” And I told him the story, that that’s where I got the idea from. Apparently, Peter was never much into Zeppelin, so he never wanted to do it.

How ironic is that?

THOMAS: I think that song worked really well for that record and Crowbar. I especially loved it because when I started holding a guitar for the first time, Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath were the two for me. In my very first bands, when I was cheating my way into bars to play at 16 years old, those were the songs I was playing.

From the minute I started playing music. That song fell right in there, in my roots. I’ve been playing bars in the U.S., in New Orleans, the legal age to enter was 18 at the time; now it’s 21 to even walk into these places, and my mother helped fake my ID when I was 16, 17 so I could go play in bars at night.

NUNENMACHER: Oh, man. Any kid that grew up in New Orleans, we all grew up with the big radio stations all playing Led Zeppelin, Beatles, Stones.

But if you were a rock ‘n’ roll kid, Zep were the kings. It’s part of who you are. As a drummer and as a little kid, you would play along and eventually learn all the songs. [John] Bonham had the best drum sound, one of the best ever. As a kid, you always wanted to play like him. I’ve carried a lot of his fills and approach to playing drums; there’s a physicality to it that I think it’s very important. So, it would be an honor to do any song by them, but that particular song is just so freaking heavy. When we played it, it almost felt like a Crowbar song.

STRANGE: Throughout the years we’d pick up a few songs just to do ’em. We used to do “Aqualung” when we were still the Slugs, and I think Kirk redid it on his solo album. It was just cool to do. I think we did it our way, stripped down and kind of in-your-face, whether you like it or not. It was fun to record it.

DECEMBER 2024 : 58 : DECIBEL

All in all, the jump in status, recognition, tour opportunities and all of those things that the band had because of this record was really the launching pad for everything that came after, right?

THOMAS: It was a really great time. We went from

local, regional bands playing bars, to having tour managers, tour buses; hurry up, you’re flying to Europe, you’re playing with Paradise Lost, get your passport, pack! It was all at once. It was very exciting and we just loved every moment.

STRANGE: We got to do a bunch of touring with this lineup, both in Europe and in the United States. Back then, we’d load the truck up and we’d be gone for eight, nine weeks at a time.

Jumping from doing two weeks with Pantera, six weeks on our own, stuff like that. That was amazing. But it never played with our heads, these more high-profile tours. It just made us strive to do more, to try to get to that point of these bands that already had a bigger audience, which we eventually did on the back of this beginning. The European crowds have always been amazing for Crowbar, ever since day one really. Crowbar’s probably bigger now than they’ve ever been, and that’s fully deserved. Hats off to Kirk and the rest of the band—they’ve worked their asses off and always stayed on the road. It’s like a slow-moving locomotive. Slow, but it’s always moving forward!

NUNENMACHER: We quickly realized we were going to be able to go out and play and do what we wanted to do and be very well-supported even on the other side of the pond, in Europe. That was a great tour for us, a proper pro tour. We really felt like we had taken a step up. But also, the shows we did with Pantera in the States, those runs were always amazing. I actually remember being in Phil’s apartment in Texas one time. They were going to record Vulgar Display of Power, and we got to hear the raw tracks before the recording, and we were like, holy shit! We knew they were going to be huge, and we got a lot of that exposure on the several runs we did with them. We became even more of a live band during that time and the tours after the album.

That’s when Crowbar properly became Crowbar, with that record and the tours that came from it.

WINDSTEIN: Big time, yeah. When you pioneer something, a genre that doesn’t really exist, it takes a while for people to come around. I didn’t really know what direction I wanted to go in back then. With Phil helping out with every aspect: arrangements, throwing away riffs, helping me with the lyrics, how to open my mouth properly and pronounce a word—he used to say I had a “lazy New Orleans accent,” so he told me to pronounce the word properly. To this day I still do it. But yeah, we definitely got confidence from doing that record, everything we learned, the tours we did. We had an immense amount of growth, which led to all we did on the next records.

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choosing

DEATH The Last Will and Testament marks the end of Mikael Åkerfeldt’s growl-less delivery, but

OPETH’s

progressive streak remains undaunted STORY BY

PHOTOS BY

CHRIS DICK

ESTER SEGARRA

hen Opeth dropped the album title The Last Will and Testament,

there was a fair bit of agita. Interpretively, it could be anything from full-on old-school Stockholm death metal to Opeth’s stellar lineup of Mikael Åkerfeldt, Martin Mendez, Fredrik Åkesson, Joakim Svalberg and Waltteri Väyrynen interpreting Swedish jazzbos Hansson & Karlsson. Both scenarios are, of course, pure fantasy. Numerologically, The Last Will and Testament is the group’s 14th album, and those in the know might see it as an expression of freedom or higher consciousness. Now we’re getting somewhere. Taken literally, however, it signals the end—the final album. Fin. At times, Åkerfeldt’s exasperated answers to inane questions have stoked fears that Opeth could, at any time, close shop for good. Might there be something to this, though? ¶ “The title is too direct and one-dimensional for us to go out like that,” says Åkerfeldt with a bit of a laugh. “It’s just a title—a good title. Though I have, in a way, orchestrated [the end of Opeth] for a few years. I’ve said stuff that might’ve given people the wrong idea, and that’s on purpose. Honestly, you never know, but the reality is I love music. I don’t want to ever be part of anything mundane when it comes to our [or my] music. So, I treat every record like it’s the last one. It’s healthy for me—simple psychology.”

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In a way, the success of Clark—a Netflix TV series about Sweden’s most notorious gangster, Clark Olofsson, directed by ex-Bathory drummer (and videographer to the stars) Jonas Åkerlund, with music composed by Åkerfeldt—might’ve also telegraphed a transition from touring musician to out-of-the-spotlight composer. At 50, our man moving his main hustle to the vagaries of the television (or film) industry posed a significant financial and, most importantly, creative risk, but the prospects are attractive.

“I would love to,” Åkerfeldt confesses. “But it ain’t that easy. That scene is about who you know. Jonas [Åkerlund] is a friend of mine. I met him in a bar in Stockholm—I was very drunk.

He had just gotten the gig for Madonna’s ‘Ray of Light’ video. He looks at me, and I look at him, and he’s expecting me to say, ‘Oh, you’re the Madonna video director.’ Of course, I said, ‘You’re the first drummer in Bathory.’ Shocked, he buys me a beer.

“Many years later, I get invited to a party at his house—Fredrik must’ve handled that

DECIBEL : SEPTEMBER 2023 : 61

since all of Jonas’ friends are rock stars or filmmakers—where we drink absinthe and become friends over metal, and I get the question, ‘Would you be interested in writing the score for Clark?’ I would’ve never gotten the Clark gig if I hadn’t been at that dinner party.”

RE-BAYING of the HOUND The internet is rife with useless information.

It’s hard to pinpoint precisely when the moderately hilarious, slightly dubious slogan Make Opeth Growl Again (or MOGA) became a thing.

After Opeth dropped their proggly-odd, sansdeath metal Heritage album in 2011 and issued another non-deathy shot across the bow with Pale Communion in 2014, the band’s ardent if nearsighted audience had spectacular tantrums.

Taking the high road isn’t always the first response to high treason in our little bubble of death, doom and destruction. Some of us lived through, vomited a little and still have nervous tics from Entombed’s indie rock shoe-drop Same Difference, Six Feet Under’s post-Haunted outhouse run and Slayer’s inexplicable Diabolus in Musica, an album even Kerry King won’t mention by name. So, we get it. Change is hard. Life isn’t lollipops, Left Hand Path or Blackwater Park. Åkerfeldt said acerbically in Decibel No. 83: “If [Heritage is] a reaction, it’s a reaction against the fact that people don’t have the same interest in an album as a format. It’s also a reaction against the state of heavy metal music, which we’ve been a very big part of for many years now. It’s a reaction to the production of heavy metal records. And with that, it’s a reaction to the internet, the fucking waves of information that everybody seems to need.”

The fuck you! album from 13 years ago has, however, aged well against not only what came out in 2011, but also the Opeth albums that followed, all of which indulged Åkerfeldt’s strangest, ring-weared obsessions—the peak being the group’s 2019 Swedish/English-language venture In Cauda Venenum. The thing is, none of Opeth’s music is planned for provocation. Not Orchid, which blew brains in 1995. Or Damnation, a rightplace/right-time album of the early aughts. Or Sorceress, with its megaton “stupid riff” title track. Remember, Åkerfeldt said “if,” not “is” to Heritage being reactionary. So, Make Opeth Growl Again—now available as an unofficial T-shirt—has indeed happened, but not because our man (who’s famously stubborn) listened to the faceless minions of the digital abyss or felt bean-counter pressure from corporate.

“It doesn’t matter what I do—my actions will always get questioned,” says Åkerfeldt, whose fans hang onto his every word and musical deci-

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sion. “As much as I didn’t think Heritage was that big of a departure from Watershed, Last Will isn’t much different from In Cauda. Obviously, the growls and distortion changed on Heritage, but it wasn’t because I didn’t like that stuff. They simply didn’t fit the music I was writing at the time. The opposite is true for Last Will. This time, I had a concept and a character to which I could give that voice, and it worked, I think.” Åkerfeldt also says the 30th anniversary “By Request” tours rekindled his affection for roaring. Letting old-timers pick setlists accomplished one thing: Their choices were a Surströmming mile away from deeper album cuts—namely, “Häxprocess,” “Voice of Treason” and “The Ward”—in favor of old-school faves “Ghost of Perdition,” “Harvest” and “Under the Weeping Moon.” So, in a way, the persistence of the MOGA movement spurred something in Opeth as they slithered into decade three.

“The people voted for the old shit,” Åkerfeldt grins. “I knew that would happen. So, we played a lot of old stuff and I screamed a lot.

It sounded good—strong. I thought it was fun.

I’m not going to do it if I’m not having fun.

That’s important to me. I’ll say that vocal style was never my enemy, so to speak. It was always there, and I’ve obviously been doing a lot of the songs with that vocal style on tours before ‘By Request,’ but I’m going for it now.”

“There was a point where he just wasn’t enthusiastic about growling,” admits longtime bassist and confidant Martin Mendez, who’s also in Spain-based death metal outfit White Stones.

“It was obvious, I think. He needed something else at the time. Music is about feelings. If it doesn’t feel right, why do it? I don’t think it felt right back then. It was good for him to move on [from growling] when he did. He grew a lot as a singer, but I’ll say Mike’s one of the best [at growling]. He’s one of my favorites.”

Last Will is 75 percent Åkerfeldt screaming his meatballs off. Every song but two—tracks “§3” (or “Paragraph 3”) and album capper/plot twist “A Story Never Told”—has his sinister emanations. He’s commanding the songs, giving harrowing gravity to his creation, the antagonist in the album’s concept. Yet, it wasn’t just begging “Oldpeth” fanboys, naughty fictional magnates or feeling 20-year-old songs again that convinced Åkerfeldt to re-invoke his inhuman voice. It’s Mendez. Opeth’s man of very few words—a so-called “horse whisperer”—had discouraged continuing the Ghost Reveries/Watershed direction years ago. Now, he’s the chief suggestive architect of Last Will’s heavy.

“Over the last year or two, I could tell he was enjoying [the growls] again,” Mendez says. “He sounded really good. That might be one of the reasons why I asked him to take this direction.”

“I trust Mendez,” says Åkerfeldt. “We call him Yoda. He doesn’t saturate any conversation. He doesn’t talk shit, either. He’s the type of person who says something and is quiet for the next

two hours. He’s not going to force anything.

He makes you think. But he’s into revenge. He doesn’t like it when people talk shit about us.

Part of him really wanted Last Will to shut people up, I think. Crush ’em all!”

Of course, new drummer Waltteri “Walt” Väyrynen is also coming into the fray. The talented 30-year-old was undoubtedly up for the job—a “dream gig,” the Finn calls it—after Åkerfeldt called him. No stranger to Väyrynen’s capabilities in Paradise Lost and as a live standin for former Opeth drummer Martin Axenrot in Bloodbath, Åkerfeldt poached his new drummist without hesitation. Undoubtedly, the action ruffled feathers in West Yorkshire at the time (now smoothed over), but if Opeth weren’t going to option Väyrynen’s talents in their time of need, another band inevitably would have.

Interestingly, the catalyst for the Finn’s emigration was former Opeth drum tech and live drummer Sami Karppinen, who had been offered to back the Swedes, but turned it down.

“Sami sent me a video of Walt playing ‘The Devil’s Orchard,’” Åkerfeldt says. “He said, ‘You should hire this guy.’ I was a little confused. Why is my session drummer telling me to get someone else? He had the position, but didn’t take it, so I called Walt from a beach in Spain after Beyond the Gates [in 2022]. I knew he was a member of Paradise Lost, and I had met Nick and Greg—the whole band, actually—the previous week. We were on good, friendly terms. They’re still good friends after all of this. I remember management was like, ‘Uh, this isn’t good.’ When I called Walt, he said to me, ‘I had been expecting this call.’”

“When Mike got in touch asking for Walt’s number, I didn’t have it in my phone,” says Andy Farrow, who founded and is managing director of Northern Music Company, a U.K.-based firm that manages Opeth, Paradise Lost and Devin Townsend, among others. “I thought, ‘Oh, what do you need that for?’ I quickly found out. Walt’s a young guy. He’s ambitious, talented and doing all the right things. It’s a good progression for him.”

“It was clear to me early on that Walt would have a long and varied career,” remembers Paradise Lost guitarist/songmaker Greg Mackintosh, who’s since turned the page on the whole ordeal. “I used to joke he’d be drumming for Metallica in 10 years. So, when he joined Opeth, it was a logical next step.”

As expected, the origins of Åkerfeldt returning to the death metal fold are nuanced and manifold.

ALTERING the FUTURE Fun fact: Waltteri Väyrynen was born in 1994, four months after Opeth had recorded Orchid with in-demand studio ace Dan Swanö. Opeth’s new adept sticksman isn’t dismayed by the age gap, though. He spent the better part of his 20s backing the guv’nors of British metal, imprinting on Vallenfyre’s Fear Those Who Fear Him and, to a greater degree, Paradise Lost’s Medusa and Obsidian.

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IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT I DO—

MY ACTIONS WILL ALWAYS GET QUESTIONED. —Mikael Akerfeldt

“You notice [the age gap] sometimes,” Väyrynen admits. “People are obviously more experienced than I am, but other than that, I’ve never really given it much thought. I guess I’ve always played with people much older than I am. Age isn’t the issue, I think. It’s achieving the same goal musically with a similar sense of humor. Also, getting along personally [with band members] is very important.”

Väyrynen grew up in Puolanka, Finland, a small town about 400 miles north of Helsinki.

Besides Louis “Big Louie” Moilanen, a 7-foot-9 émigré to the United States, and former Prime Minister of Finland Juha Sipilä, Puolanka’s primary export is pessimism. According to the BBC, it’s the “most pessimistic town in the world,” a designation its desolate denizens hold dear. The townsfolk even have an official organization, the Puolanka Pessimism Association. However, you’d never know it talking to Väyrynen, who either never had or shed his lugubrious roots long ago.

“He’s a super nice guy with a very easygoing personality,” says Dirk Verbeuren, who’s spent eight years behind the kit for Megadeth.

“That’ll get you a long way, especially when you join a band already around and with a certain dynamic. It’s really important that your personality fits in and that you can find your place and not let things like ego or whatever get in the way. That’s also something I noticed with him right away. He’s very soft-spoken, always smiling. I saw a younger version of myself in him.”

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Verbeuren became aware of Väyrynen through one of his YouTube playthrough videos. Only 17 at the time and the youngest Finnish Pearl Artist ever, the Finn wowed with his album-perfect cover of Soilwork’s “Sworn to a Great Divide.” It was no surprise then that he’d eventually move from Puolanka to Helsinki, where he lives today, to pursue his music career. Apart from his fill-in live roles for Wolfheart, Moonsorrow and hardcore punk legends Rytmihäiriö, word spread, leading to high-visibility and permanent positions in good old Blighty, in Alexi Laiho’s Bodom After Midnight and resurrected death metal O.G.s Abhorrence.

“Waltteri is definitely one of the greatest drummers in the metal scene,” says Tomi Koivusaari of Amorphis, Abhorrence and Bjørkø fame. “It’s easy and fun to work with him. He is very creative and takes his work seriously. He also played a couple of shows with Amorphis a few years ago. Jan [Rechberger] got sick before two big European festivals. We asked Waltteri to replace him with a one-day warning. He was in northern Finland at the time. He took the night train, and on that trip he listened to 15 songs in the Amorphis setlist, and without playing or practicing those songs together or by himself, he played them perfectly.”

Väyrynen recalls an early interest in music.

“Maybe I was three or four,” he says. Smacking pots, pans and pillows, the preschooler hit just about anything until he discovered—or was

given access to—his stepfather’s drum kit.

Musical traditions are a significant part of the Finnish psyche. They go long back. Most families have a serious “hobbyist” musician or two.

Likely, the foundation for famous artists like old-school Finnish phenoms Jean Sibelius, Pekka Pohjola and Tasavallan Presidentti—as well as new-schoolers Waltari, Amorphis and H.I.M.— comes from that tradition. Inevitably, Väyrynen got his first drum set at 12. While his mother may have regretted the decision at the time, she’s unquestionably proud now.

“Once my mother understood my passion, she was very supportive,” he says. “It’s in my blood.

I can’t do anything else [but drum]—I’m fucking useless. Luckily, my stepdad had a real drum kit. He had a band with his mates. They had a rehearsal space, too. One of my earliest memories of being around and able to play drums was at that rehearsal space. That’s kind of where it all started. I got excited about music and started to take inspiration from different drummers.”

If bands per capita is a reliable metric, Finland is the “most metal” country on the planet. Surely, arguments for/against are, in real life, worthless, but I’ve personally experienced “Hellsinki”’s acclimation to and propensity for the loud and fast. Hearing Metallica’s “Fight Fire With Fire” blasting out of a snack shop at Helsinki-Vantaa Airport or Children of Bodom’s “Was It Worth It?” piercing the dining room of a Chili’s analog was slightly shocking to Americans accustomed to Air Supply or, worse, Muzak in “professional” environments. It’s business as usual in Finland, though. They’re metal and they know it. It stands to reason that Väyrynen’s early on-thestool influences weren’t Meg White (the White Stripes) or Will Champion (Coldplay), but metallic masters Nick Barker, Jan Axel Blomberg (a.k.a.

Hellhammer), the Erlandsson brothers and KjetilVidar Haraldstad (a.k.a. Frost).

“I’ve always liked different kinds of music,” says Väyrynen. “Though I think it was natural for me to pick up metal drumming. It was all about speed and who could play the fastest when I started. That’s all that mattered. Now, it’s more about versatility and groove. There are a lot of great technical drummers out there, but I’ve learned to play for rather than around the song—what the songs need. Of course, I love Gavin Harrison, Tomas Haake, Kai Hahto, Baard Kolstad, Gene Hoglan and Dirk Verbeuren, who’s an absolute sweetheart, but if asked about the best drummer to play what the music needs, I’ll always say it’s Bill Andrews.”

LAST WILL and PRECEDENTS In a 2005 New York Magazine interview, Joni Mitchell, one of Åkerfeldt’s favorites, said, “My songwriting style is influenced by cinema. I’m a frustrated filmmaker. A fan once said to me, ‘Girl, you make me see pictures in my head!’ and I took that as a great compliment. That’s

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exactly my intention.” We’re not comparing the musicians, and if we did, we’re pretty sure I’d make Åkerfeldt blush if not go into full-blown “Jantelagen mode.” He knows songwriting well, though, having written at least 112 songs (or 378 hours) while in Opeth. Those songs have unquestionably stirred the imaginations of many.

“There are certain types of music that can create an image in your mind,” Anciients guitarist/vocalist Kenneth Paul Cook says. “Whether it’s a beautiful or eerie landscape, an emotional moment, heartache or the horrors of this world.

Not all music can bring out such inspiration, but one band that quickly comes to mind that can induce these cerebral instances would be Opeth.

This type of music has often inspired me when writing for Anciients.”

“The genre-crossing Opeth did back in the day weaved a picture of forests and dreams,” adds Dobber Beverly from Oceans of Slumber and Necrofier. “It was inspiring—fresh. The first time I heard ‘Benighted.’ I was like, ‘What the fuck is this?!’ [Laughs] The album cover for Blackwater Park was monochrome. It gave a bigtime film noir visual. The newer visuals felt a bit like Valley of the Dolls.”

The “songwriter’s dilemma,” akin to “writer’s block,” takes many forms. The years of Åkerfeldt agonizing over riffs, transitions and themes are over. He’s repeatedly admitted he couldn’t write another “Black Rose Immortal” or “Demon of the Fall.” That (burning) ship sailed an eternity ago. Though his instincts remain intact, the thought process—now, “fast or forget it”— has changed. From start to finish, Last Will was written in six months, beginning with “§7,” a tone- and color-setting track.

“I don’t sit around and analyze why I like this or wrote that section,” says Åkerfeldt. “I don’t think back on the music that I’ve written.

I don’t ask why. I don’t remember writing or recording a lot of the music. It’s spontaneous, fast—really fast—by my standards. I remember listening to Last Will for the 100th time, thinking, ‘I don’t remember writing that.’ It sounds pretentious when I say this, but it’s almost like I’m on a path. So, I don’t over-analyze things. I work quickly, decide quickly and discard things quickly. It also keeps the music interesting. I like to go down [to my studio] the day after I’ve worked on a song the night before. It can be a 90-degree turn. I can dislike something yesterday only to think it’s awesome today.”

The shotgun/amnesia/discovery songwriting approach has allowed for some wild moments on Last Will. While Åkerfeldt has a personal adoration for simplicity outside of Opeth—as covers of Robin Trower’s “Bridge of Sighs,” Deep Purple’s

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“Soldier of Fortune” and Celtic Frost’s “Circle of the Tyrants” attest—he can’t stop “feature creep” in. It’s part of his DNA. “§1,” for example, is wildly detailed, with call-and-response vocals, a newish trait. “§4” has all kinds of camouflaged coolage like the Nicke Andersson-inspired agony vocals from Clandestine. And “§7” has a very dark chord/note combo running through it, and one of Opeth’s most filmic codas ever—à la Tangerine Dream’s The Keep. All of this originated in Åkerfeldt’s record collection-addled brain.

“It’s an explosion of ideas compressed into shorter time,” says Åkerfeldt. “That’s what it is.

Instead of having a 14-minute song with shitloads of stuff, it’s a five, six-minute song with loads of stuff. The perception is the songs are busier or like a whirlwind, which might be the case for casual listeners, but it’s the timing. For this band, I felt that was like an attractive way to take this record and the band instead of milking every good idea.”

“The music is crazy,” furthers Mendez. “The flute, bass, keyboards, drums—it’s a circus. It sounds fresh, I think. It has elements from the past and the new. And that’s the good thing.

Sounds like Opeth to me.”

PATTERNS in the IVY At its core, Last Will is about family—a wealthy, if fucked-up family. Obviously, Åkerfeldt has a history with concept albums, some more opaque than others. My Arms, Your Hearse is a ghost story.

Still Life goes into banishment, love and death.

Ghost Reveries pivots on central themes of evil and death, but purposefully never fully delivers. As a fan of elongated and sometimes complex concept albums like King Diamond’s “Them,” Jethro Tull’s Thick as a Brick and Manowar’s The Triumph of Steel, Åkerfeldt can’t escape bridging lyrics and music.

This time, it’s less about spooky shit in the woods and more about the malice of wealth.

“I was struggling to find something interesting,” he says. “I find the topic of how a family can fall apart after a wad of cash—let’s call it inheritance—is thrown at them fairly interesting. I’m 100 percent sure it’s going to cause some fucking shit to happen between people who loved each other for their whole lives, known each other, etc. Cash tends to change people. So, that was my main inspiration.”

Down the rabbit hole Åkerfeldt went. He envisioned a vast estate owned by a patriarch of ill repute. Said patriarch has perished, leaving his children and others to inherit the largesse. As the Opeth mainman dug into the subject more, he read about an old Swedish law that allocates all inheritance to the eldest son, but if the oldest is a daughter, she gets nothing; again, patriarchy at its finest and most devious. Once he got into the TV series Succession, Last Will’s topic noir truly hurtled into view. It was then that partner Klara Rönnqvist Fors (also of the Heard and Crucified Barbara fame) suggested Åkerfeldt put brain to matter and pen to paper.

“I gave Klara the outlines of the story,” he says. “The way I saw it and how it could be interesting. We ended up talking at length [about the story]. She filled in things, the wouldn’t-this-becool-type stuff, the twists and turns, especially with the ending. I’m sure you noticed this, but the cover art by Travis [Smith] is 100 percent ‘inspired’ by the Overlook Hotel photograph in The Shining. That’s one of the greatest scenes— just this still of that photograph. And maybe because of The Shining, I decided to set the story in the 1920s, post-World War I.” Fatherly figures, graybeards, men of uncharitable intent and impact. Is there something Åkerfeldt is trying to communicate? As a father of two daughters, Melinda and Mirjam, both of whom have appeared on their father’s recordings (the latter of which is the disembodied voice in Last Will’s “§1”), the head of Opeth, Inc., might be projecting the future of his domain with album number 14. Once he’s gone, they stand to inherit his life’s work—a vinyl collection, sick guitars and ownership in the various companies he’s created. The question of inheritance is usually a nominal issue for the working class, but Åkerfeldt’s little empire is on the line.

“My family, or rather my life, does factor into Last Will,” concedes Åkerfeldt. “During COVID, I was approached by a guy who owns a record shop called Mickes Skivor—Mike’s Records, basically. I had shopped there, actually, so the owner knew me. My three goals in life were being a rocker, working in a guitar shop and owning a record store. I had Opeth—I’m a rocker. Check!

I worked in a guitar shop. Check! Okay, I got fired from the shop because I was working when someone stole a limited-edition—only 461 made, like $10,000 in today’s money—Eric Clapton guitar. I was probably 22. Anyway, here’s a chance to own a record store. I wouldn’t even need to change the name. [Laughs] Check! I was interested, so I started working there to learn the ropes—to see if I understood the business and, more importantly, liked it.

“We’d drive around to pick up record collections,” he continues. “Most of the time, it’s a house in the suburbs, and when you walk up, a daughter or son opens the door and says, ‘My dad passed away. Here’s his record collection.

He would never let me touch it—it’s yours now.’

A good percentage of the record collections we bought had a tragic story behind them. That made me think of my own life, my collection.

Who’s gonna take care of this shit after I’m gone? My whole life is in there. It’s valuable—to me! My life will become somebody’s burden. It was very sad, but it got me thinking.” Åkerfeldt is known for nicking lyrics, song titles and album titles from mostly obscure artists as homage in Opeth. This info is publicly known, but My Arms, Your Hearse is from a grim line in a Comus song; Blackwater Park is the name of a German prog rock band from the ’70s; “Master’s Apprentices” is borrowed from

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I DON’T THINK BACK ON THE MUSIC THAT I’VE WRITTEN. I DON’T ASK WHY.

I DON’T REMEMBER WRITING OR RECORDING A LOT OF THE MUSIC. —Mikael Akerfeldt—

Aussie hard rock outfit the Masters Apprentices; and no doubt there are others woven into (but not readily apparent) Opeth metadata. As it turns out, Last Will is also a borrowed title. As Chicago’s Peter Cetera and Bill Champlin once opined to the delight of bored housewives in 1984, “I’m addicted to you, babe / You’re a hard habit to break.”

“I love the title The Last Will and Testament,” beams Åkerfeldt. “It’s so incredibly common, but there’s something to it. I believe it was Steven Wilson’s project, I.E.M. (Incredible Expanding Mindfuck) [that] had a song called ‘The Last Will and Testament of Emma Peel’ on the first album. This was 100 years ago, but I remember liking the title. It was intriguing.

So, the song title stuck in my head. I must’ve heard the words somewhere after that, though.

Because of my concept, which would deal with reading the last will and testament of the main character, I thought, Why not be direct?”

PARAGRAPH LOST: A track-by-track with MIKAEL ÅKERFELDT

The most apparent aspect of “§1” is the sound effects.

talking in reverse—whatever I happen to come up with. I learned about those things from Pink Floyd, a Small Faces’ record called Ogdens’ Nut Gone Flake, which has a lot of gentlemanly chatting, and Porcupine Tree, who have this song called ‘Access Denied,’ a completely obscure B-side, with lots of effects. Most of the effects on the record are Mellotron sounds—the record starts with two separate effects, a footstep and a door opening, an idea from a Belgian band called Univers Zero.”

Something sounds off here, but how “§1” bleeds into “§2” is a nice touch. ÅKERFELDT: “I’ve yet to decide whether that kind

of semi-classical piece that follows it is part of ‘Paragraph 1,’ or if it’s part of ‘Paragraph 2,’ or somewhere in between, like a no-man’s land.

When I write music, I rely on luck. For weird things to happen, technical mistakes, the wrong key and so on. I’m very thorough and very particular about how I want things to sound. So, for me to stumble on something that I like is difficult. I always treat mistakes with respect.

There’s a lot of Fender Rhodes stuff, which reminds me of Solar Plexus, a jazz-rock band from Stockholm.”

ÅKERFELDT: “I’m really into sound effects

for some reason. It adds depth to the music, especially in our later years. I’ll get an idea, and I often don’t want music in that spot, but something else. I’ll dabble with screaming or

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Heavy metal with hand claps in “§3.” That’s new. ÅKERFELDT: “This song has bits of music I heard

while working at Mickes Skivor. This TurkishSwedish artist made music that sounded like it

was from traveling people. The rest of the song, to me, is heavy metal. The claps, not gonorrhea [laughs], are there. That’s different. We don’t play to a click track—Walt usually keeps time on the ride. So, I thought, ‘Is there a different way to keep the beat?’”

Let’s call parts of “§4” night-funky, but it contrasts with the atonal elements. ÅKERFELDT: “We have a beat—an Opeth groove.

I play around with this beat a lot. When Gene Hoglan was in the band, he called it the ‘Peanut Baby.’ I was like, ‘What’s that, an actual beat?’

He was like, ‘Yeah, yeah—it’s drum lingo.’ Since then, we’ve called the groove the ‘Peanut Baby.’

Fast forward a few years; I met up with Gene, and we talk drums, and I mentioned it to him.

‘Peanut Baby—what’s that?!’ he says. I told him, ‘You came up with that term.’ He said, ‘No I didn’t.’ [Laughs] Now, when I say ‘Peanut Baby,’ everyone in Opeth knows what I’m talking about, apart from Gene, who came up with it.”

Call-and-response vocals. “§5” has a caravan (maybe even the band Caravan) quality. ÅKERFELDT: “That’s a pretty intricate song. It

might’ve been the last or second-to-last song I wrote for Last Will. By that point, I was confident I had a good record on my hands and I could branch out and do weird shit. I’ve always been fascinated with Middle Eastern scales.

They sound mystical and sometimes evil.

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I didn’t get that from Middle Eastern music, but Jimmy Page and Ritchie Blackmore. Since then, I’ve started listening to more traditional Middle Eastern music, and they have call-andresponse vocals.”

Joakim and Fredrik really shine in “§6,” probably Last Will’s most intricate track. ÅKERFELDT: “It starts simple and ends in ter-

ribly high difficulty without being unlistenable.

That’s the most difficult song on the record. It’s the song everybody’s a bit afraid of. So, when we recorded it, we called it ‘the Dreaded Paragraph 6.’ The song starts with the three major chords, and the tempo never changes. I’m not a druggie, and I’ve never tried cocaine, but the song feels like a rush, a rush running away from you.”

Ominous but staccato everything on “§7,” but the ending—that’s cool! ÅKERFELDT: “I started with the song ‘Paragraph

1,’ then put it aside and started writing another song that became ‘Paragraph 7.’ Even though it’s the seventh song, you can hear how I started to embrace the idea of this album. I did want it to be the last song, though—the last testament. It’s a dark, groovy song with a slow riff-based ‘cool,’ almost blues-like. I wanted Tom G. Warrior to do his ‘Hey!’ thing on this song, but I couldn’t get the confidence to ask him.”

“A Story Never Told” is the prettiest hopeful melancholy track in Opeth’s catalog. Years, figuratively speaking, separate this track from the other seven. ÅKERFELDT: “Yes, it’s many years after reading

the will. The twist, as I call it. It’s Camel-like.

It’s supposed to be a laid-back ‘breather’ song.

I’m a Kate Bush fan. Her famous song ‘Wuthering Heights’ has this odd time signature—5/4. I never noticed it until Klara pointed it out. ‘A Story Never Told’ has an odd time signature, too.

You don’t think about it, but it’s there. I love that type of stuff. Most prog stuff is in your face.

I wanted to hide it—disguise it. I’m a sucker for simplicity. It would make my life much easier if I wrote like that, but that ain’t going to happen.

Everything is not what it seems.”

THE END is the BEGINNING Last Will’s continued experiments and reintroductions appear to be paying off. Originally, Last Will was a single track—an old Åkerfeldt conceptual desire—but was segmented into the seven “Paragraph” tracks and the final track, “A Story Never Told.” Streams of the first two singles, “§1” and “§3,” are off to the races, with Farrow saying, “the first track was the fastest-streamed

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song we’ve had ever.” That’s with Åkerfeldt’s decision to title the songs with an un-typable character (§), making search and recommendations challenging. Åkerfeldt is enjoying the freedoms he’s built into Opeth since day one. He obviously has more leverage.

“I have so many obligations, but music is the one place where I have the freedom to do what I want,” says Devin Townsend, seeing parallels in career and creativity. “When it comes to music (or art), it’s the last bastion of freedom. People might see what I do as provocative or crazy, yet they’re not. The confusion bandied about is really about my intention to be free.”

“It’s about fun and only fun,” Åkerfeldt concludes. “If it’s not fun for me or the band, then we’re not doing it. The story about the song titles is quite hilarious. I got an immediate negative response from management when I presented the song titles. When somebody tells me I can’t do something with what I’ve created, I can’t take it. So, I did the whole diva thing. Then, I found out I couldn’t even search for the songs on my phone. [Laughs] I gave in—okay, so let’s title them ‘Paragraph 1” and so on. Down the line, somebody messed up and used the original song titles, so, in the end, I got what I wanted, even if it was by mistake. Kinda perfect.”

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INSIDE ≥

75 DEFEATED SANITY Insane in the tech-brain 75 DUNGEON CRAWL Ten critical hits 76 MAMMOTH GRINDER Pulling the wool over your corpse 77 NACHTMYSTIUM Ever get the feeling you've been cheated?

78 NEON NIGHTMARE Re-Pete performance

ALL THE NOISE THAT FITS

Between a Goth Rock and Hard Place

DECEMBER

Evolution is in æternum for Swedish gloom masters TRIBULATION

3

Artists who obscure their indentities

1

Artist who performs practically naked

1

Artist who wears a cloak of invisibility

1

Artist whose mugshot has appeared on a T-shirt

W

hen we last met tribulation, they were celebrating a win and mourning a loss on the cover of Decibel.

TRIBULATION The win: successfully releasing their home-brewed Sub Rosa In Æternum pandemic record, Where the Gloom Becomes Sound. The loss: saying CENTURY MEDIA goodbye to founding guitarist Jonathan Hultén. The agony of his exit informed the ecstasy of his final album with the band; the Tribulation of 2021 was in a state of flux; accordingly, their scope was broad, but their songs were sometimes unfocused. ¶ But in 2024, that transition is over. Sub Rosa In Æternum is their most cohesive, listenable and focused batch of songs in a decade. Like a boxer at weighin, Tribulation have burned and sweated off every gram of excess weight from their music. They sound hungry and ferocious. ¶ That doesn’t necessarily mean they’re thirsty, though: Sub Rosa In Æternum doesn’t aim to please any listeners aching to return to the band’s blackened death metal roots. It serves clean singing without apology.

ILLUSTRATION BY MARK RUDOLPH [MARKRUDOLPH.COM]

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But Tribulation aren’t content to stand with one foot in and out of metallic extremity. On “Hungry Waters,” they triumphantly plunge into black mascara pop. Its ethereal vocal interplay, swaggering bass groove and subtle synthesizer accompaniment evoke New Wave perfection until dogfighting guitar solos pierce its tranquility. Imagine Glenn Tipton and K.K. Downing bursting through the wall of Echo and the Bunnymen’s practice space like a pair of dueling Kool-Aid Men. It’s a magic trick the band gleefully repeats on the album’s highlight, “Murder in Red,” which sacrifices the band’s every metallic signifier to summon the Psychedelic Furs.

Growls and distortion return elsewhere, but the album’s grimness is just as ravishing without them. Moreover, one could play bingo in the Venn Diagram between the Damned and Damned

BUÑUEL, Mansuetude

8

in Black all day without accurately depicting just how tightly these disparate ideas fit together. Sub Rosa In Æternum is the most flawless synthesis of Tribulation’s myriad strengths; a little aggression is the cost of that apotheosis, but it’s more than a fair trade. —JOSEPH SCHAFER

BLOODLETTER/ NINTH REALM/ ACID MASS/ GROOVE Faster Than the Devil 3 W I S E B LO O D

Leather jacket required

Wise Blood Records’ third Faster Than the Devil split comes in hot with four of America’s finest offering brisk, groovy and occasionally blackened chunks of thrash metal. From the split’s Slayer-ified version of Mercyful Fate’s Melissa skull on the cover to its 12 tracks spanning a scorching 45 minutes, Faster Than the Devil 3 leaves only ash and bone in its wake.

Side A finds Bloodletter ripping through Warbringer-styled blackened thrash, while Ninth Realm leans more toward Power Trip and High Command. Once you’ve cleaned the viscera off your Aviators, Side B showcases Acid Mass belting out tracks with more grime than an unshowered Midnight. Grozov close it all out with a thrash metal attack that sprinkles in some powerful classic heavy metal.

Faster Than the Devil 3 succeeds in bringing together four similar bands with unique takes on the furiously fast genre, which also means micro-variations in style between artists. If thrash metal and its kin is your thing, you’re bound to pull a muscle to this one. If not, the door to hell is always open for quitters. Don’t be a quitter. —GREG KENNELTY

Oxbow died so Buñuel could live | S K I N G R A F T / O V E R D R I V E

Shortly after the surprising disbanding of Oxbow, vocalist Eugene S. Robinson is back with his side (?) project Buñuel. The Italybased four-piece has put out an album every two years since 2016 and are sticking to their schedule with Mansuetude, going above and beyond in all the good ways… except one.

If you’ve never heard them before, the opening of the record may sound like another angular, experimental band for Robinson to monologue and shriek over, and through the course of nearly an hour you do get songs like “Movement No. 201” and “Leather Bar” that fill that eerie, threatening, need-a-coupleshowers vibe Oxbow delivered as good as anyone. But much of this takes the oddball noise rock core of the previous records and

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wildly expands it with diverse instrumentation, big dollops of melody and by far their catchiest riffs. If you’ve ever wanted to hear what Robinson can do over straight rock or a trip-hop beat, the answer is he does great. These kinds of genre dips show Robinson’s true dexterity and his total command of the mic. And there is a lot of evidence here—maybe too much.

As mentioned, this is a long motherfucking record. It’s 13 songs and none are bad—but not all seem totally necessary. Penultimate track “Pimp” is arguably the best track, but it’s hard to reach it without being drained of your electrolytes. Hopefully, in two years, Buñuel will release something else as fascinating and creative as Mansuetude. It just might need a trim.

—SHANE MEHLING

8

CLUSTERFUX

7

Defy

BEER CITY

Sharpen up those elbows

Denver quartet Clusterfux have been riling up moshers for nearly three decades, but their old-school crossover sound feels even 10 years older than that. If you get misty thinking about throwing elbows to “Mad Man” in a D.R.I. pit in some sweaty basement in the ’80s, then you’re definitely the target audience of the band’s fifth full-length, Defy.

For the most part, the 14 tracks here offer the kind of metal-informed hardcore—beefy guitars, zippy tempos, shouty vocals, crunchy breakdowns—that S.O.D., the Accüsed, C.O.C.

PHOTO BY ANNAPAOLA MARTIN

It swan-dives deeper into the gothic rock end of Tribulation’s gene pool. And it’s all the better for it.

Good-cop-bad-cop interplay is hardly new, but they bring out the best in vocalist and bassist Johannes Andersson. He expertly switches between deathly howling and Bauhaus-ish crooning on two of Tribulation’s best songs, “Tainted Skies” and “Saturn Coming Down.” Together, those two songs dispel the notion that the band’s lost any of its bite.

Some credit is owed to new guitarist Joseph Tholl, who admirably fills Hultén’s role without attempting to replicate his style. Sub Rosa In Æternum’s hard rocking four-on-the-floor grooves and tasteful backing vocal harmonies resemble nothing so much as Tholl’s 2019 solo record, Devil’s Drum.

and others laid the blueprint for, and bands like Municipal Waste, Toxic Holocaust, Gama Bomb et al. updated more recently. It has all the hallmarks and energy of the genre, even if it’s a tad rote. It’s really only on the more mid-tempo “With Intent”—a seeming nod to UK82 punk— that Clusterfux diverge from the crossover script.

That is to say, Defy adequately delivers what it promises: no more, no less. You get 31 minutes of tightly recorded, mosh-worthy punk metal best accompanied by a cheap beer buzz.

—ADEM TEPEDELEN

DEFEATED SANITY 7 Chronicles of Lunacy SEASON OF MIST

Eyes on the prize

The jury is still out on how many people beyond fret-watchers and gear nerds give a hoot about playthrough videos. When done right, only those lacking the brain and soul department can watch Erik Rutan playing through “All Hope Destroyed” upon the release of Hate Eternal’s Upon Desolate Sands and not be moved to tears of steel. In the

case of Chronicles of Lunacy, the seventh from German Americans Defeated Sanity, the various promo and iso-cam playthrough videos that exist in advance of its release have gone a long way in bolstering appreciation of this album.

Without visual accompaniment, Chronicles of Lunacy is a whirlwind maelstrom of brutal technical death metal that checks all the necessary boxes: blasting drums, staccato stops/starts, harmonic squealing, hurricane velocity calamity and grizzly throat-shredding. It’s all mindmelting, with the bonus of the unique drum ping and prominent bass pushing their sound beyond the pale. Jazz fusion is exploited in “Temporal Disintegration” and “The Odour of Sanctity,” while “Accelerating the Rot” breaks into industrial and even, dare I say, some funkiness. But for us visual learning Y-chromosomed residents of Planet Metal’s autism spectrum, actually witnessing drummer Lille Gruber, guitarist Vaughn Stoffey and bassist Jacob Schmidt adding flourishes, texture and nuance that ears might otherwise miss bolsters the experience.

This, however, also shines a discouraging light on one of the band’s (and genre’s) failings: the struggle in bridging musical marksmanship

and technicality with songwriting flow. This shifts Chronicles of Lunacy towards being more of a holistic experience than the band might desire in the quest to move units, but if it draws more people out to witness their whirlwind maelstrom of brutal technical death live, then, you’re welcome. —KEVIN STEWART-PANKO

DUNGEON CRAWL 8 Maze Controller CARBONIZED

There’s no easy way out

Dungeon Crawl stand out from their Carbonized labelmates like Mortuous and Steel Bearing Hand, and not just because they use more than one color in their album covers. For one thing, they’re a theme band: they cover dungeons, dragons and everything in between (technically an “&”). For another, they’re not the kind of role-playing group that takes things seriously.

These San Jose natives want to have fun. They’ve designed a gnarly campaign module for their second full-length, Maze Controller, and it’s as big an advancement as fifth edition was from four.

LEGEND IMMORTALIZED IN NEW 47-TRACK RETROSPECTIVE AND BIOGRAPHY

FAST EDDIE CLARKE

8

Make My Day: The Rock ‘n’ Roll Story of Fast Eddie Clarke BMG

By the time guitarist Eddie Clarke (RIP) met Motörhead drummer Phil Taylor (RIP) in the mid-’70s—the two of them doing a manual labor job together—he’d already seen enough of the music biz to turn him off from pursuing playing in a band any further as a career.

He’d done stints in Curtis Knight Zeus and Continuous Performance, to little avail. Taylor, however, mentioned that the trio he’d recently joined needed a second guitarist, and asked Clarke to try out. Clarke, against his better instincts, gave it a shot and started rehearsing with Motörhead, much to the chagrin of the band’s current guitarist, Larry Wallis, who promptly quit. The rest is history.

Well, part of Clarke’s history. Make My Day: The Rock ‘n’ Roll Story of Fast Eddie Clarke,

a 47-track retrospective (and accompanying 315-page biography), offers a more complete picture going back to his early-’70s stint with Curtis Knight Zeus and wrapping up with his 21st century blues-based solo work. In between you get plenty of the two bands where Clarke made his mark: Motörhead and Fastway.

Admittedly, some of these tracks have been previously released on the ‘Fast’ Eddie Clarke Anthology on Castle in 2007 and elsewhere, but there are enough rare demos and other live obscurities gathered here to warrant shelling out for this latest retrospective. Plus, the inclusion of his detailed biography (co-written by his widow, Mariko Fujiwara, with journalist Kris Needs), make the entire package a well-rounded summary of the guitarist’s influential musical

career. The diverse array of songs shows his skill and range as a musician, while the bio paints a fuller picture of the man, with lots of fantastic insider info told by some of his closest friends and former bandmates. The Motörhead years are particularly covered in depth due to much of the material being drawn from the ’Head bio Needs had planned to write in the early ’80s, but never completed.

Though his nickname was “Fast” Eddie, Clarke didn’t make his name as a shredder.

His reputation was that of a riff writer of the highest order. His style was informed by the blues (with Hendrix being an obvious influence), but he had a gritty, raunchy approach that made everything he touched just a little nasty. And his solos always toed a fine line between chaos and bluesy bluster.

Though infrequently mentioned specifically as an influence by subsequent generations of guitarists, his work with Motörhead and (to a lesser degree) Fastway clearly influenced some of the biggest bands in metal. This collection is a fitting tribute to his impressive and decades-long legacy. —ADEM TEPEDELEN

DECIBEL : DECEMBER 2024 : 75

Undying Spectral Resonance The elephant riders | R E L A P S E

Out there on the dinosaur-obliterating Chicxulub crater, in the actual town of Chicxulub about a century ago, my grandparents dug up a graveyard in the backyard of their beach house. Late in life, my aunts discovered they shared a hammock-peeping childhood apparition. Chris Ulsh taps his own Undying Spectral Resonance on this all-too-apparitional Mammoth Grinder comeback.

Clocking a precious 14 minutes, the fivetrack EP (actually, four OGDM maulings and an “interlude”) possesses reanimation gusto. Nearly 20 going back to before debut stomper Rage and Ruin in 2008, Mammoth Grinder inhabited its moniker behind a herd of singles, splits and four full-lengths until pre-pandemic upheaval Cosmic Crypt. Not just any not-so-extended death visitation, Undying Spectral Resonance summons an all-Ulsh effort aided only by Arthur Rizk in his studio outside of Philadelphia. Live and corporeal, second

While debut Roll for your Life squarely fit in the thrash metal section of their favorite local gaming store, here they multi-class into a killer symphonic melodeath combo. The “symphonics” are provided by a shitty Casio keyboard. The dungeon synth interlude tracks (“Roll for Initiative,” “Lost in the Shifting Labyrinth” and “The Forbidden Scrolls”) aren’t my thing, but the cheesy synth sounds work shockingly well as a complement to their guitars of +1 shredding. These neoclassical knights explore Lake Bodom on “Saving Throw,” visit some Finntrolls to pick up a “+1 Mace,” and face the Rising Force in “Red Shadows.”

It’s silliness, sure, but there are no rules lawyers here. Dungeon Crawl take you on a fast and loose hack-and-slash adventure. Still, even if they handle the subject matter tongues firmly in cheek, they keep the musicianship tight and the songs catchy. Their second quest proves them adept masters of the dungeon. —JEFF TREPPEL 76 : DECEMBER 2024 : DECIBEL

axe-grinder Sebastian Phillips (Exhumed/Noisem), bassist Andy Horn (Loud Night), pounding anchor Ryan Parrish (City of Caterpillar) and Power Trip kitman Ulsh manning guitar and throat will exorcize these rampaging demons.

Firestorm guitars set to a hardcore gallop, freshly dead leads and Ulsh’s graveyard curses, opener “Corpse of Divinant” delivers morbidity so pure and sure you won’t wait until the end to crank it again. Those table-saw dynamics match the EP’s thematic thrust—supernatural energy retention. The title track stages its own psychic breach behind an undead delivery, axes to burn and serious manifest decimation.

Seventh pit of hell “Obsessed With Death” stampedes a deafening extinction event.

Genre slaves will keep increasing the volume until the closer taps out at 2:25, wherein they’ll punch up the whole cycle again and go about [our] normal, everyday, undead business.

—RAOUL HERNANDEZ

FÓRN

8

Repercussions of the Self PERSISTENT VISION

Cavewave

The next time you think time moves slower than funeral doom, remember that Boston-born sludge sect Fórn released their debut LP a decade ago now. That includes almost six years of silence following their hour-plus Rites of Despair. The ascendant band’s absence left low ‘n’ slow enthusiasts on a grueling cliffhanger. Now Fórn rise from the tar pits once again with Repercussions of the Self, a shadowcasting monolith of pitch-black doom rife with unexpected influences.

Once firmly entrenched in Massachusetts, Fórn’s members dispersed across state lines and morphed into an altered collective. Vocalist Chris Pinto and his tortured rasps remain, now

GIGAN

8

Anomalous Abstractigate Infinitessimus W I L LOW T I P

The bird is the word

Despite naming themselves after Godzilla’s most motor-skill-challenged foe (and their album art typically being drenched in neon), Gigan’s music leaves nothing to be joyful or happy about.

Their latest record, Anomalous Abstractigate Infinitessimus, is a frontrunner for both excessively dorky album title and some of the most guttural, extreme death we’ve heard this year.

Instead of using their instrumental talents to show off, each member helps conjure up a cloud of madness, where guitars and drums cease sounding like their respective instruments as songs go on. Opener “Trans-Dimensional Crossing of the Alta-Tenuis” (brevity isn’t really their thing) sets things off in a huge way, introducing an almost immediate frenetic backand-forth between madman drummer Nathan Cotton and instrumentalist Eric Hersemann, who handles everything else. Cotton manages to punish the hell out of his kit while Hersemann finds ways to weave technically impressive, yet complementary riffs and basslines. After some nice interplay, vocalist Jerry Kavouriaris helps

PHOTO BY BEN PRICE

7

MAMMOTH GRINDER

joined by the otherworldly talents of Lane Shi Otayonii. But the album is textured most notably by guitarist Joey Gonzalez, whose affinity for electronic textures seeps into the cold circuitry.

From the glitchy intro of “Pact of Forgetting,” the fingerprints of ’90s industrial are all over Repercussions of the Self. There’s a downtempo danceability to “Anamnesis” that usurps the heavy guitar’s dominance. “Hela’s Choir” has such a distinct sound in the wilderness between ambient doom and glitch-hop that it deserves a new genre tag. Funeral trance? Since the band actually played in a fucking sea cavern once upon a time, let’s go with cavewave.

But Repercussions of the Self is far more ambitious than basically imagining a Godflesh remix on the 1997 Spawn movie soundtrack. For nearly 12 minutes, “Soul Shadow” eschews monochrome doom by working in layers of shivering vocals, shimmering guitar and ethereal melodies.

With its crestfallen Peaceville leads, “Regrets Abyss” almost feels like a deconstructed monster ballad—extra emphasis on the monster. Because when it’s time for brutality, Fórn still bludgeon with the best of ’em. Intentionally, Repercussions of the Self isn’t a return to form. It’s a return in a stunning new form. —SEAN FRASIER

reinforce the total chaos by screaming like he just escaped an institution.

“Ultra-Violet Shimmer and Permeating Infrasound” actually embodies its title, introducing a screeching noise that increases in volume throughout the song, creating a truly disconcerting, messed-up feeling. Things don’t get much brighter from there. “Emerging Sects of Dagonic Acolytes” introduces genuinely nauseainducing feedback in the middle of the song, and Cotton’s drum fills find their own narrative under the noise.

The final track, “Ominous Silhouettes Cast Across Gulfs of Time,” does the right thing by getting heavier than any of its predecessors. That gives way to more cosmic guitar work, and as the track winds to the end, it feels as though you’re about to be sucked into some sort of Doom-esque portal to a hell planet. The craziest part is, you’ll want to go on that odyssey of chaos once again when it’s over. —JOHN HILL

MAUL

8

In the Jaws of Bereavement 20 BUCK SPIN

Ain’t no Sbarro in this Maul

It’s no simple task for a death metal act to compose and execute stylistically orthodox music while also maintaining an unmistakable air of identity and personality, yet Maul do exactly that with mind-boggling nonchalance.

As I write this, I’m mildly concerned about my capacity to articulate this band’s peculiar charm, but hey, I’m willing to give it the ol’ college-dropout try.

My elevator pitch for In the Jaws of Bereavement entails a variant-universe, Midwestern Bolt Thrower with a belly full of tater tots and an old Madball cassette stuck in its car stereo deck. These riffs are defiantly elementary, bluntforce, diesel-engined wrecking crews that cinch together snappy, blue-collar death metal ditties with a stubborn thread of hardcore exigency.

Pair that with a remarkably dynamic vocalist who has a knack for memorable phrasing (and can adjust from persuasive Jeff Walker-esque snarls to grody, gag-reflex jeremiads lickety-fucking-split), and you have yourself a rubric that should appeal just as much to a stone-washeddenim-wearing Mantas fan as to a mustachioed Gatecreeper dandy; it really is that simple.

Maul’s compositional frugality and meat ‘n’ three familiarity spiked with that oh-so elusive oomph of charisma is, in and of itself, an extremely attractive formula. Now, if you demand tech-metal horseplay and polyrhythmic

sleights of hand from your DM—or for it to be unflaggingly miserable and solemn—then run, don’t walk (away from this album). Jaws of Bereavement is a fun, engaging record that flies by like a three-day weekend. It’s road-trip death metal. It’s hang-sesh death metal. Providing that definitive albums by the aforementioned Bolt Thrower (as well as the Accüsed and Benediction) still bring a sick, cold sore-splitting rictus to your face, you’re going to feel right at home. —FORREST PITTS

MITOCHONDRION 5 Vitriseptome

P R O FO U N D LO R E

How much art can you take?

Have you ever listened to three Portal albums in a row? Any three, doesn’t matter. Maybe switch one out for something by Impetuous Ritual for what would technically be “variety.” Back-to-back, no breaks in between to listen to something else, no funny videos on mute—just actively listening to oppressive, nearly formless blackened death metal for roughly the length of a feature film. Could you do it? Would you? That’s what reviewing Mitochondrion’s Vitriseptome is like, and with no disrespect to the Vancouver band’s obvious talent and ambition, it’s hard to recommend the 93-minute experience to anyone but the most devoted fans of this particular sound.

This is, indeed, a specific sound and aesthetic. The aforementioned Aussies are a decent reference point, but much of Vitriseptome sounds like Deathspell Omega or Gorguts falling up an endless flight of M.C. Escher stairs for 10 minutes at a time. There’s cool stuff on here for sure, like a supremely evil part about halfway through “Increatum Vox,” but if there’s a compositional logic to why it’s there, or to the abrupt shifts from chaotic blasting to chaotic trudging that lead up to it, it’s not apparent to me. Likewise for the lead guitar blazing low in the mix, recalling Nachtmystium’s Instinct: Decay, toward the end of “Oblithemesis,” and for the surprise bass noodling a couple of minutes into “Argentum Mortifixion.” (Oh yeah, all the titles are in a made-up pseudo-Latin language, very on-brand for this style.)

Maybe Vitriseptome works as an example of extreme metal as ambient music, but so does that YouTube channel that streams AI-generated tech-death 24/7. As an active listen, it’s like going up to the soda fountain and getting a cup of pure syrup. —ANTHONY BARTKEWICZ

NACHTMYSTIUM

6

Blight Privilege PROPHECY

Instinct: Replay

Memo to Lupus Lounge: When releasing an album by Blake Judd, perhaps the most divisive figure in extreme metal, a social media campaign reminding potential customers that he might still owe them a T-shirt and album is a bad idea.

Ah, Nachtmystium—a band that went from metal’s great hope to its biggest disappointment in roughly a decade. Despite wrapping up Nachtmystium (for real this time!) during the pandemic, Judd couldn’t walk away from metal and has returned yet again. Is this the third time? The fourth? Nachtmystium, at one point, reinvented USBM and, despite their problematic history, were enshrined in our Hall of Fame three years ago for Instinct: Decay. Judd’s issue has never been talent, but his poor choices.

Judd’s ability and melodicism are intact on Blight Privilege. The issue with Nachtmystium's comeback is that black metal has evolved in the decades since the band shifted space and time with Instinct and the Black Meddle albums. Judd is no longer the wunderkind who could misbehave because he had the metal world by the balls. Blight Privilege sometimes sounds like Judd’s greatest hits reel; there are elements of everything people love about his music, and some of the transitions from ferocity to melodicism are stunning. What Blight Privilege lacks is surprise.

Judd’s reputation was built on risk and novel choices (say, adding classic rock to black metal).

This album’s abiding spirit is conservatism. Blight Privilege shows us what Judd has always done well, but only hints at musical growth.

There is a double standard at work here: Judd is an exile for an out-of-control addiction and attendant narcissism when murderers and arsonists perform at big European metal festivals. From that prism, Judd should get another shot. It will be interesting to see if he can earn that shot through music and action. Until then, order a shirt from the label. —JUSTIN M. NORTON

NASTY SAVAGE

5

Jeopardy Room FHM

What is “just play the hits”?

They’ve done this before, reuniting after a lengthy absence followed by a sort of comeback album (2004’s Psycho Psycho).

And even then, it was clear that Nasty Savage weren’t really the band they once were. Yet, here we are again, this time with no members left DECIBEL : DECEMBER 2024 : 77

NEON NIGHTMARE 6 Faded Dream 20 BUCK SPIN

I don’t wanna be me

The funniest joke that Neon Nightmare makes on Faded Dream, an album with an admittedly refreshing deadpan streak, isn’t even on the record. It’s the fact that Type O Negative aren’t mentioned anywhere in the press materials. Metal hasn’t seen a more deliberate tribute act since Gruesome first set out to rewrite Scream Bloody Gore.

From the text-in-the-corners album art to the overly dramatic goth-rock schlock to the resurrection of the Bensonhoist Lesbian Choir, Neon Nightmare is fully dedicated to picking up where Peter Steele left off when he shuffled off his mortal goils. Yet Faded Dream is described only as “the crossroads where Doom, Psych, Shoegaze and Alternative Metal all intersect.”

Sure, dude. Totally.

As homage, Faded Dream is effective. No one has ever picked up the Type O torch with such relish, and only a deep, studied fandom could produce the slow-burning “Promethean Gift” or the gallows humor of “LATW2TG.” (Neon Nightmare’s sole member appears anonymously, but anyone who’s a fan of his primary band should figure it out in about 10 seconds.) Late-period Type O

ORANSSI PAZUZU

8

Muuntautuja

Orange band good | N U C L E A R B L A S T

The theory of relativity states that space, time and motion interrelate. In music, this means each new album by any act changes the nature of all those preceding it in the catalog.

Every time you shake out the bedspread and straighten it, all contents shift. Muuntautuja, the sixth event horizon from Finnish time bandits Oranssi Pazuzu, proves a moment of ultimate self-actualization.

78 : DECEMBER 2024 : DECIBEL

On the Tampere quintet’s 2009 debut Muukalainen puhuu, their blackened psych bounced its cover-art cosmonaut between cosmic extremity and ambient unease. Kosmonument two years later drifted into sophomore stasis, but Valonielu in 2013 reignited with a post-industrial uprising, machines revolting as interpreted by guitar/bass/ drums and keyboards equally. The portal there

gems like Life Is Killing Me and Dead Again seem to have had at least as big an influence here as their canonical classics, which is a pleasant surprise. There really isn’t much to complain about: Faded Dream is pitch-perfect, with not a Black No. 1-dyed hair out of place.

But that approach has a hard ceiling. Neon Nightmare is never better at being Type O Negative than Type O Negative were, and the moments where the template is stretched to its breaking point are too few and far between. I can imagine a future Neon Nightmare release that synthesizes the Type O influence with more of what makes the musician behind it unique— his playful reinterpretation of Southern rock tropes, for example, or his time playing oldschool death metal. Until then, Faded Dream is a fun and occasionally uncanny act of musical mimicry. —BRAD SANDERS

PAYSAGE D’HIVER 8 Die Berge KUNSTHALL PRODUKTIONEN

In his kingdom kalt

It seems odd to characterize Paysage d’Hiver as having a recognizable and established sound. After all, sole proprietor

predicts Muuntautuja clearly in retrospect.

Where Värähtelijä (2016) then opened its peak black hole of psychoactivity and Mestarin Kynsi (2020) tapped pure malevolence, the new disc feeds that preceding pair’s white heat into Valonielu’s industrial-age machinations.

Electronically oriented, Muuntautuja ticktick-ticks alive with “Bioalkemisti,” which sweeps in like a chemical fire down at the nuclear reactor. Exploding out of traditional Finnish folk-picking, its conflagration of digital chaos creates a seething, swirling, air-sucking maelstrom. That’s our heroes in a byte, but never previously this post-rock.

Everything that follows writes a definitive Kid A moment for the Finns.

Whispered, haunting “Hautatuuli” excretes what throat-flayer Juho Vanhanen calls in the album press “black electric ooze,” then bleeds into “Valotus” cycling through deep space atmospherics, terrestrial deforestation, a chainsaw massacre or two, and finally an end-times, dead-line bleat. Nearly 10 minutes, penultimate annihilator “Ikikäärme” (xeno) morphs a lone piano into a black metal waltz.

Alien Quadrilogy-like, then, Muuntautuja— English translation: “Shapeshifter”—re-codifies a much bigger, deeper, nastier oeuvre.

—RAOUL HERNANDEZ

PHOTO BY RAINER PAANANEN

from the admittedly influential golden era of the band other than frontman Nasty Ronnie, and the joke is worn even thinner. Sure, their shows are still fun; they play the old songs; Ronnie might still smash a TV set now and then; and if you squint hard enough, you can almost pretend that you’re back in the mid-’80s when they do “Metal Knights.” But that’s really Nasty Savage 2024’s best-case scenario.

No one faults them for being a nostalgia act; we are not demanding essential new tunes. Especially when Jeopardy Room turns out to be bland, basic, autopilot thrash. The buzz you might get from what once really was a fun and important band dropping their “first album in 20 years!” quickly dissipates as these lifeless songs trudge along, not even rescued by the oddly indifferent Morrisound production—to be fair, that no longer means what it once did.

First single “Brain Washer” offers a kinda cool stop-start riff, and the slowed-down chorus of “Schizoid Platform” is groovy enough, but that’s pretty much it. Also, while they were never exactly a classy band, with lyrics like “Satan in high heels / devil doll, delirium” being belted out with a straight face proves that not even their tongue-in-cheek crassness has managed to age well. Love Nasty Savage? Go see a show and ignore that this happened. —JOSÉ CARLOS SANTOS

Wintherr has gone to great artistic lengths to make his world as mysterious and distant as possible. However, the project has been on a clear sonic trajectory since 2020’s sprawling masterpiece, Im Wald, and its punchier, more immediate follow-up, Geister. Both works stand as the culmination of decades of world-building we heard on classic demos like Steineiche, Kerker and the legendary self-titled release. Whereas the earlier work has an unhinged and unpredictable quality, the recent albums project pure, ice-cold black metal force.

On his latest full length, Die Berge, Wintherr displays a clear return to the haunting, all-enveloping compositions of Im Wald. With one exception, the songs all breach the 10-minute mark, allowing the listener to explore every riff, blast and scream to the absolute extent of their power.

That said, there are moments like “Transzendenz I” that retain some of the penchant for grooves and hooks that was more present on Geister. Likewise, the production also descends like a melding of the two previous albums, as the overall atmosphere is closer to Im Wald, but the vocals, lead guitars and snare drums are further up in the mix. In a sense, it retains the wanderlust of Im Wald while still giving the ear a clear thread to follow like on Geister.

Although Die Berge doesn’t quite reach the same heights as Im Wald in terms of profound emotional passages, songs like “Ausstieg” and “Verinnerlichung” are simply awe-inspiring in their sheer entrancing power. And others like “Gipfel” are the perfect soundtrack for the coming of winter’s snowy embrace.

—J. ANDREW ZALUCKY

SENTIENT HORROR 7 In Service of the Dead REDEFINING DARKNESS

Every day is Halloween

The infamous Silver Shamrock factory manufactures seemingly harmless children’s Halloween masks in the cult classic Halloween III: Season of the Witch.

These masks, however, hide a secret; they are part of a genocidal conspiracy. I like to imagine a hidden Silver Shamrock-style factory in the United States churning countless OSDM albums as part of a nameless global plot. We listeners are powerless against the music’s many charms.

Sentient Horror’s album In Service of the Dead is part of the seemingly endless cattle call of OSDM now expected by metal fans. Here’s the thing, though: It’s damn good. If you are going to borrow, borrow from the absolute best. The band has perfected an early-’90s sound to the point that Dan Swanö, who knows a few things about good Swedish death metal, is on record as a fan.

Yet it’s impossible to pigeonhole this album as simply death metal. Take the standout track “Cadaverous Hordes,” which switches between crunchy Aspyhx hammering and jaw-dropping leads. Chief songwriter Matt Moliti says the songs on this record were influenced by his love of classic bands like Iron Maiden and Judas Priest, and it shows. The songwriting is cleverer than your traditional slab of OSDM, and Moliti’s leads are brilliant. There is plenty of blunt force here for OSDM purists, but peel the onion back and there is more for attentive listeners.

I like to think of OSDM as pizza. If pizza is around, I will probably eat it. I will usually like it. Even mediocre pizza is better than no pizza at all. However, this is some damn good pizza. Have a slice. —JUSTIN M. NORTON

THE SPIRIT

7

Songs Against Humanity AOP

Anthems to the misanthrope at dusk

The Spirit is a two-man blackened death metal machine from Germany that presents its epic sound on this, studio album number four, in pristine hi-fi audio. Goddamn, this thing rips out of the speakers, lossless no matter the format, and it does so for good and ill. The blast of Manuel Steitz’ snare rattles the teeth. Matthias Trautes’ guitar administers Nodtveidt-ian melodies with a crisp squeak, his black metal snarl suggesting a prophylactic rabies shot wouldn’t have gone amiss.

Remember the days when extreme metal was handled by audio engineers unfamiliar with the art form, released on cassette tape that got mechanically chewed into low-end bubblegum in the maw of a shitty stereo system? How we wished for a production like this then; if this were a prestige drama, the critics might call it “handsomely mounted.” If you turn it up loud enough, you might hear someone eating a box of Cheez-Its in the control room. But now that we have all this audio purity, well, it leaves little to the imagination and fatigues the ear after a while.

Okay, some melodies occasionally sound road-worn, too familiar, but nonetheless, when the Spirit spread their wings musically, as on “Cosmic Rain and Human Dust” and the blockbuster fatalism of “Death Is My Salvation”— mid-tempo moments FTW—they get the circulation going. Steitz and Trautes go all in with arrangements that are so grand that we could call this a rare case of symphonic black metal sans keyboards, and not a frilly shirt or dogeared copy of Edgar Allan Poe in sight. Guitar,

drum, bass, vocals—the classic beat combo— fill the mix with a typhoon of anti-human sentiment. —JONATHAN HORSLEY

VARIOUS ARTISTS 8 Surrender to Death: A History of the Atlanta Metal Underground Vol. 1 BORIS/DEANWELL

Home of the Braves

The first Atlanta-based band I remember truly going goo-goo-ga-ga for was Hallows Eve. Specifically, I recall hearing “Plunging to Megadeath” from their Tales of Terror debut back when I was an ankle-biter with terrible acne and worse hair. The second Atlanta-based band that really slapped me upside the head was Ghost Story, specifically their to-this-day-awesome Seeds of Destruction demo from 1989. I went cuckoo-for-Cocoa Puffs over that band to the tune of featuring them as much as humanly possibly in the fanzine I edited back in the day. The third Atlanta… OK, you get the point.

Atlanta has a long extreme music history that remains robust (Withered, Whores, Mastodon), and this compilation chronicles a small segment of the diversity and depth of that scene.

Zeroing in on the years 1982-1999, Surrender to Death Vol. 1 does what it says, exposing Atlantans and non-Atlantans alike to the killer thrash of Hallows Eve and Ghost Story; hard rockers Fortnox and Messendger (who demonstrated Hotlanta proto-metal bands could rock far better than they could spell); the power metal majesty of Legion; the potential Kinetic Dissent had to experience peerage alongside Watchtower, Anacrusis and Realm; and the Revelation Records-ready ’90s metalcore thump of Dawn of Orion. The roots of the city’s early death/black metal scene are thoroughly explored on sides C and D of this two-vinyl collection with bands Lestregus Nosferatus, ROT, Darkened Skies, Tragic Demise and Demoncy.

As this comp’s quality spans from rerecordings to original demo and rehearsal tracks, there’s a certain charm in going into this blind and letting what’s on offer bowl you over. Also neat is learning little tidbits like how Necroflesh used to feature Withered’s Mike Thompson; about Haborym, who may have a one-demo discography, but had members go on to play with Profanatica and Arsis; as well as the number of members of Atlanta’s scene who have at one point or another played in a band called Dick Delicious and the Tasty Testicles.

—KEVIN STEWART-PANKO DECIBEL : DECEMBER 2024 : 79

by

EUGENE S. ROBINSON

OF CRO-MAGS +

NICKELBACKS! C

harlie Manson once said to me during a correspondence that later saw him contributing some music to the Fear Power God spoken word compilation I put together that there were two ways to get to the cross. You were either dragged, or you could come of your own accord.

Hardcore music always seemed to me to be the embodiment of the former, where hard luck cases—by hook, crook or providence—found their way to a musical style that was heavy with heaviness. And rage.

And insoluble emotional difficulties.

So, it was with great amusement that those of us who were still around back then greeted crossover bills. Because, if truth be told, the first time a lot of us saw Motörhead was on their tour with Discharge.

And the first report I got from one of the bands that went from hardcore to metal was when Harley Flanagan, founder of the Cro-Mags, regaled me with tales of how it was hanging there for hardcore bands who headed the metal way.

Fuzzy on the details now, but it seems like opening for a big metal band overseas, the Lower East Side’s Cro-Mags—short hair, tattoos and enough NY attitude to choke a bull, 80 : DECEMBER 2024 : DECIBEL

or just about anyone else who had a problem with it—started playing.

Boos, beer bottle projectiles and raised middle fingers—earmarks of a tough crowd would have withered most bands. Cro-Mags weren’t most bands, though, and, according to Flanagan (who had been touring since he was eight years old), the response to this hate that made the most amount of sense, to him, was to slide across the stage into the waiting arms of the haters… boots first.

Boot met jaw, and down went an offending audience member. All captured on a jumbo screen, and in just as much time as it took to happen, the audience shifted because of this show of spectacular violence and became instant Cro-Mags fans.

So it went with them, and outside of fighting, the audience there was in-fighting among band members, stabbings, knife attacks and a generalized sense of deep danger, not at all mitigated by the fact that Flanagan was also a Renzo Gracie Brazilian Jiu Jitsu black belt.

Being also a Brazilian Jiu Jitsu black belt—and a friend and known associate of Flanagan’s since the early ’80s—I’m honor-bound every time he comes through town to see

them play. This last time, with Helmet, was great, and revelatory.

Because their music, a crushing amalgam of hardcore and metal, was great? Well, yeah, that too, but mostly because—and this has happened any number of times when cutting it up with Flanagan—I find myself, unexpectedly, in deep water.

Unsure of how we got here, but here we were: “Oh, man… it’s like Nickelback…” and before I could finish the sentence, Flanagan braced me.

“Yo… don’t say SHIT about Nickelback!”

“Hahaha… fuck Nickelback.”

“Bro… I’ll fight you…”

“Wait… you’re not joking…?”

“No, man! I love those guys. I LOVE them. They’re great guys, their music is great and, seriously, fuck anyone who thinks they suck!”

The only time I was more surprised was when Godspeed You! Black Emperor told Neurosis’ Scott Kelly that “Weird Al” Yankovic was their favorite artist. The Cro-Mags, Flanagan specifically, have lived through all kinds of actual hell, and here he was repping a band that, for many, had just been a punchline.

But the Brazilian Jiu Jitsu black belt thing had me curious, and so, all credit/blame because Flanagan I decided to give them a… reappraisal. I mean, I’d done a podcast series on metal a few years ago and had heard them before—and actually enjoyed what little I heard—but I also enjoyed their punchline status too much to let it go.

Flanagan, however, had me a little more than curious. Their song “How You Remind Me,” though?

Came not even a little bit close to convincing me. But right as I was closing in on thinking we were going to have to fight—either that or just agree to disagree—I listened to something more recent. In this instance, “Skinny Little Missy.”

And it… did not suck. Nor did the next half a dozen songs I managed to listen to.

Am I a fan now? Not exactly. But when the shock I’m still ankle-deep in wears off, there’s a possibility.

Until then, though? Harley and I can talk about walking right up to… the Mahavishnu Orchestra!

Because that shit? Heavy enough for just about every heavy head. In a jazzy kind of acid-y way. And there we both agree: We will fight you for disagreeing on that.

ILLUSTRATION BY ED LUCE

MUSIC PRESENTED BY

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