'80s era S.O.D.: Charlie Benante, Billy Milano, Scott Ian and Dan Lilker
I missed most of the punk movement; 1970s era punk, with the Ramones, Clash and Sex Pistols, happened while I was busy watching “Seasame Street” and Saturday morning cartoons … and the ’80′s punks (Dead Kennedy’s, Suicidal Tendencies, Dead Milkmen, Descendents, Circle Jerks, etc.) were entertaining at points, but were decidedly hit-and-miss, musically. Most of the punk-metal crossover bands (like D.R.I.) never made a real impression on me.
There’s was only one “punk” band that meant anything to me back in the 1980s – S.O.D., the Stormtroopers of Death.
A “crossover” project featuring Scott Ian and Charlie Benante of Anthrax, Dan Lilker of Nuclear Assault and punk vocalist/lyricist Billy Milano, S.O.D.’s sole 80s era album, “Speak English Or Die,” was the funniest and evilest album I’d ever heard. Even today, “Speak English Or Die” spits menace and bile with such force it’s hard to believe Megaforce Records had the courage to release it. This is an face-stomping album, full of uncouth opinions and dirty music.
For the uninititated, “crossover” blended the distortion and riffage of metal with the blazing speed, frenetic energy and g0-to-hell attitude of punk. Thrash was influenced by punk … but crossover was punk, just with a meatier sound. Imagine if every song Metallica ever made were 2-minutes long and sounded like “Fight Fire With Fire,” minus the acoustic intro and guitar solos and you have a good general idea of the crossover sound.
It’s not surprising, in retrospect, that Ian and Benante wanted to bridge the gap between punk and metal. Just a couple years after “Speak English Or Die” hit the streets, Anthrax teamed up with hip-hop originals Public Enemy for a rap-metal crossover cover of P.E.’s “Bring The Noise” (the two bands also toured together on a “best of both worlds” tour that likely created convert fans on both sides).
I could spout the origins of “Speak English Or Die” to you, but do you care? Decibel Magazine did a big spread on the album when they inducted “Speak English Or Die” into the rag’s hall of fame. You want history, go there.
“Speak English Or Die” is raw, dirty and politically incorrect from beginning to end. The riffs are crude and savage while retaining the catchiness that make Anthrax albums so interesting (guitarist Ian wrote or co-wrote the majority of the songs). Meanwhile, Billy Milano is about as rude and nasty as you’d ever expect from a punk howler and Benante and Lilker bash out the rhythms at break-neck speeds.
“Speak English Or Die” preceeded Slayer’s “Reign In Blood,” so I can’t help but wonder if “Speak” had an influence on “Reign In Blood.” The albums are very similar; both albums are full of songs that compress multiple riffs into short, concise packages. Slayer’s performance is better than S.O.D.’s, to be sure, but the two albums are certainly cut from the same punk-metal cloth.
“March of the S.O.D./Sgt. D. and the S.O.D.” is a fun little stomper, with a lumbering riff for the “March,” followed by the faster, ragged “Sgt. D.” Lyrically, Milano sets the tone for rest of album with the violent, ragged, blistering tale of Sgt. D. It’s a take-no-prisoners opener.
“Kill Yourself” is the first serious dive into hardcore punk. The riff is faster than a runaway train, Benante’s drumming is frenetic and Milano spits out the lyrics with machine gun rapidity. Lyrically, the song is rude, crude, obnoxious and overwhelmingly funny.
I won’t go through a track by track analysis, but highlights include “Milano Mosh,” which opens with a slow beat before flying of the track with a Lilker/Benante chaotic blast; “Speak English Or Die” is a Milano rant against immigrant NYC street venders. As sentiments go, “speak English or die” isn’t very nice … but punk was never a “nice” genre; rather, punk’s purpose was to either speak ugly truths, or to just be ugly. “Speak English Or Die” is about as ugly as a song gets … but good god, did I ever laugh myself sick the first time I heard it. Sue me.
“United Forces” is cry for punk-metal brotherhood (the genres did not mix easily in the 1980s – read the Decibel piece on “Speak English” for more on that). Other awesome tracks include “Freddy Krueger,” “Milk,” “Pre-Menstrual Princess Blues,” “Pussy Whipped” and “F*ck The Middle East.” None of this music is “nice,” and the album couldn’t or wouldn’t be released today, which is too bad. The album is like a time capsule from the 1980s, before political correctness and sensitivity took away the ability to say anything controversial or antagonizing.
It’s all tasteless as it sounds … but relax, it’s just tongue-in-cheek toilet humor. Here’s a selection of S.O.D. “ballads,” for your listening “pleasure.”
S.O.D. did at least a bit of touring, but the band didn’t record anything new until 1999. That album, “Bigger Than The Devil,” certainly has some fun moments and big metal riffs … but it doesn’t quite match up to the power of “Speak English Or Die.”
It seems unlikely there will be a third S.O.D. album. I’m not sure Milano and Lilker are on speaking terms with Ian or Benante anymore … you can read an interview where Lilker trash Ian and Benante on Milano’s Web site, if you ‘re really excited about sh*t-talking. But even if there’s never a new S.O.D. album, we’ll always have the foul-tasting punk-metal head-smash that is “Speak English Or Die.” Highly recommended.
Let me start this review by telling you two things:
1) In 1993, Alice In Chains’ “Dirt” was the most important album in the world to me.
2) After 1993, about 12 years passed before I was able to listen to “Dirt” again.
I won’t bore you with a bunch of personal history (we’re here to talk about metal, not blather about our freakin’ feelings, for crying out loud), but it’s not an exaggeration to say that “Dirt” kept me alive and sane at a time when staying alive wasn’t a high priority and being sane didn’t seem worth the bother. It was a dark time and one of the things that pulled me through it was “Dirt.” I’m indebted.
Apparently, the guys in Alice In Chains felt much the same way. How else can anyone explain how the band created such a beautiful, painful, raging and thoroughly cathartic piece of art?
“Dirt” was the band’s sophomore full-length album. While their 1990 major label debut, “Facelift,” had some excellent songs (“We Die Young,” “I Can’t Remember,” “It Ain’t Like That,” “Real Thing” and, to a lesser extent, “Man in the Box”), the rest of the album was either forgettable or mediocre. It was the five-song, mostly acoustic and haunting EP “Sap” that showed AIC had more up their sleeve than shock value and possessed the potential to be more than just a nihilistic Soundgarden.
“Dirt” and “Sap” were released eight months apart in 1992 – “Sap” in February and “Dirt” in October. The albums have little in common sonically – “Sap” is mellow while “Dirt” shrieks almost from the first note to the last – but there’s a deep melancholy in both albums that is hard to miss. Both are steeped in depression, but “Dirt” is a quiet meditation while “Dirt” is scream therapy.
Vocalist Layne Staley and guitarist Jerry Cantrell, the band’s main songwriters, matured considerably as artists in the years between “Facelift” and “Dirt.” The juvenile horror stories that littered “Facelift,” such as “Love Hate Love” and “Confusion” are gone. Also, nothing on “Dirt” feels like filler; even the hallucinatory, whacked-out, one-minute blast of “Iron Gland” feels absolutely right and necessary. Not a note is wasted.
“Them Bones” sets the tone, with an unrelenting, off-kilter riff. “Off-kilter” is an apt musical description for “Dirt;” the songs are structured on minor chords and odd time-signatures and Staley and Cantrell’s vocal harmonies are often beautiful yet jagged. “Them Bones” ratchets up the tension with Cantrell’s climbing riff – a riff that marches up to the musical cliff without providing a satisfying climax. The song ends abruptly, leaving the listener hanging in midair. Can I be blunt? It’s f***ked up s**t.
“Dam The River” could almost be normal, except that Cantrell’s guitar keeps buzzing and launching grace notes that keep the whole song off-balance. “Rain When I Die” is the sound of a binge gone bad, or a habit that’s turning quickly into a life-destroying addiction. Yes, it’s no shocker or secret that most of what Staley penned for “Dirt” was about his soon-to-be-totally debilitating drug addiction and there’s a pain and roar of self-hate here that’s frightening and yet so candid and honest that it’s refreshing. Remember, this was 1992 – “emo” (which, to me, seems like nothing more than some haircut kid crying about his girlfriend) – hadn’t been invented, so hearing a man actually talk about having a real, freakin’ emotion was nothing less than a revelation. Back then, kids, men weren’t allowed to have emotions – or at least they weren’t allowed to talk about them.
“Down in a Hole” is a suicide note written years in advance and “Sickman” is a trip in an ambulance after the overdose. “Rooster” is the only song that strays from the theme. A song about Cantrell’s father’s time in Vietnam, it’s heartfelt without being congratulatory or full of heroism or honor. “Rooster” is a song about survival, which makes it unique in an album otherwise committed to death.
“Junkhead” may seem like a celebration of drug addiction, but “self-justification” is probably a better description. “If you’d let yourself go and open your mind, I bet you’d be doing like me and it ain’t so bad,” Staley sings – but it’s obvious even he doesn’t believe it. “Junkhead” is Staley whistling, unconvincingly, past the grave yard he knows is about to claim him. To call “Junkhead” sad is simply not adequate. It’s heartbreaking.
“Dirt” burns with an acid hallucination of a riff and Staley spits out the words like a man in a cold fury. Of course, Staley’s rage is all self-directed. The song bites into your stomach. Although it was never one of the band’s hits, “Dirt” is the band’s (and album’s) masterpiece. Even today, it’s a song that cuts like broken glass.
“Godsmack,” while hardly cheery, at least is a bit more up-tempo and “Iron Gland” is a mad carnival of rushing manic feeling. It doesn’t last, though. It can’t. The band flies into a twisted dirge, with spastic surges, on “Hate To Feel.” There’s a doom metal vibe on “Hate To Feel.” Simply put, this song scares the bejeezus out of me every freakin’ time.
“Angry Chair” somehow almost became a hit, or at least it got a decent amount of radio play. How that happened is quite beyond me; it’s hard to imagine a song with such real self-loathing ever being played on rock radio today (these days, you’re only allowed to be angry at your parents on the radio – thanks for that, Disturbed, you cheap hacks). I’ve tried and tried to think of an adjective to describe “Angry Chair,” but the best I can do is this: “Angry Chair” is the sound of hell coming down. It’s “brutal” in a way the angriest death metal band never achieves. “Angry Chair” is Staley turning himself inside out. It’s genius, kids. It’s gawddamm bloody horrific genius.
“Would?” is almost hopeful after “Angry Chair,” but only almost. The vocal duets are gorgeous and the chorus always blows me away. It’s just the right end.
You know the rest of the story. After “Dirt,” the band recorded another long EP (“Jar of Flies”) and one more full-length album (the self-titled “Alice in Chains”) in the studio with Staley on vocals. When Staley died of drug overdose, the news felt almost expected, a letter delayed but arriving at last.
Last year, the band returned with a new album (“Black Gives Way to Blue”) and co-vocalist/guitarist William DuVall, who shares mic duties with Cantrell. The album is solid and well-done and the band’s new incarnation is refreshing. But while I’m looking forward to hearing more albums from Alice In Chains, I can’t imagine any new album having quite the same impact at “Dirt.” It’s the album for which the band will be remembered.
Ever done something you knew was right, but felt guilty about it anyway?
Last year, I wrote a rather dismissive review of Queensrÿche’s ”American Soldier.” In short, I said the concept was strong and handled tastefully, but the music was dull and not terribly metal. I look back at that interview now and I still agree with every word. I bought a copy of “American Soldier” so I could do the review … and after I was done, I never had the urge to listen to the album again.
But writing negatively about Queensrÿche felt a lot like kicking a good friend when he is down. My QR fandom goes way back to the mid-1980s; I really do have a copy of “The Warning” on cassette that is probably 25 years old and I bought the band’s albums religiously up to and including “Empire.” I even saw the band do “Operation: Mindcrime” in its entirety on the “Empire” tour and remember the show to this day.
So today, I wanna go back, way back into those halcyon days of the 80s/early 90s and give you a Queensrÿche appreciation, if you will. Sorry I didn’t like “American Soldier,” guys, but I still think you’re great.
Let’s start at the beginning with the band’s debut ep in 1983. Really, only two of the four songs were truly mind-bending – but those songs were so good they catapulted the band to near the top of my teenaged “favorite bands” list. “Queen of the Ryche” is part Iron Maiden gallop with a hint of proto-thrash and a set of guitar solos (including a dual solo) that must have melted the amplifiers. Geoff Tate’s vocal range was stunning (the man could nail a high C note fairly effortlessly).
Compared to what the band did on its next three albums, “Queen of the Ryche” isn’t the band’s best work … but it’s still a great song and it was a million times more advanced than anything say, Motley Crue, Ratt or any of the “hair” bands were doing at the time.
The band was most likely forced by EMI to shoot a hilariously weird video, where the band battles a scantily clad, well endowed, helmet-wearing evil queen woman for control of a post-apocalyptic computer (or something along those lines). I don’t get it … but again, it’s a great song.
“Nightrider” and “Blinded” weren’t all that memorable, but, hey, this was the band’s debut – the time when Queensrÿche albums would be mandatory listening from beginning to end were still a few years away. But “The Lady Wore Black” is a thing of beauty, with an acoustic melody and verse leading into the metal chorus before switching again to heavy. Tate is great here. From “Queen of the Ryche” and “The Lady Wore Black,” the future promised great things from the band.
The band’s first full-length album, “The Warning,” more than delivered on that promise. “The Warning” was released one year after EMI released the ep, but that’s misleading; the band had already sold thousands of copies of the ep before EMI came calling, so its reasonable to assume Tate, guitarists Michael Wilton and Chris DeGarmo had long been working on material for their followup.
A truly bizarre album, “The Warning” is adventurous in ways even bands like Iron Maiden weren’t willing to be at the time. While not exactly a concept album, many of the songs – “Warning,” “En Force,” “NM 156,” “Child of Fire,” “Before The Storm,” “Deliverance” – are similar in their futuristic, doomsday-infused themes. Highlights? Hell, only “En Force” is less than great … and I’m reluctant to go even that far. If you have a house full of beautiful children, how do you decide which you like the least? No kidding, I loved this album. Dark and moody, “The Warning” was my musical companion on more than a few summer nights back in the ’80s.
“Rage for Order” was a bit of a lyrical change for Queensrÿche. Instead of an entire album of techno-apocalypse, much of “Rage” deals with … uh … love and relationships. Yeah, I was a bit wigged out, too, and not all of the lovey-doveyness works: “The Killing Words,” while not bad, was uncharacteristically weak compared to the tracks on “The Warning.” The other love songs, “I See in infrared,” “Walk in the Shadows” and particularly “London,” however, are very strong … and the quirky, twisted “Gonna Get Close to You” is both wacky-kooky fun and more than a little unnerving.
“Rage” shifts back to Ryche-style armageddon with “Surgical Strike,” and really pours out the madness on “Neue Regel,” “Chemical Youth (We Are Rebellion)” and the outlandishly chaotic “Screaming in Digital.” The remaining tracks, “The Whisper” and “I Will Remember” are very good, with ”I Will Remember” closing the album on a quiet note.
Not everyone loved ”Rage For Order.” Some said the love songs were too commercial while others were likely just confused by the weirdness of songs like “Screaming in Digital.” But in my opinion, ”Rage” holds up, with good songs and solid performances from a band that was more than willing to experiment.
The consensus is Queensrÿche reached its musical pinnacle with 1998′s “Operation:Mindcrime.” It’s hard to argue otherwise; with “Mindcrime,” the band was at its most political and lyrically complex … and if they weren’t quite as mind-bendingly experimental as on “The Warning” or “Rage,” Tate, Wilton and DeGarmo had certainly developed their songwriting skills to the point where could effortlessly write epics like “Revolution Calling,” “Eyes of a Stranger,” Speak” and “The Mission.”
When I placed “Mindcrime” in the CD play a few days ago, I was surprised at how fresh it still sounds. The riffs are impressive, the solos are incredible and Tate’s lyrics seem ripped from today’s headlines instead of being more than 20 years old. Beautiful, dark and ultimately, terribly depressing, “Operation:Mindcrime” is a classic album. It’s the QR album to which every subsequent QR album would be compared.
“Empire” was released in 1990 and was the band’s biggest commercial success. The album had a few mainstream rock radio hits, particularly ”Jet City Woman,” “Another Rainy Night (Without You)” and, of course, “Silent Lucidity,” which was inescapable on radio for freakin’ years.
After “Operation:Mindcrime,” the band had likely gone as far as it could with political/social lyrics (although “Resistance” and “Della Brown” take on political and social themes song and the song “Empire” is a strong, surprisingly conservative look at crime and what Tate saw as a lack of resources for police departments).
With “Empire,” Queensrÿche had matured completely as songwriters, and if the songs aren’t necessarily as complex as those on “Operation:Mindcrime,” they are certainly more polished. The best song, “Della Brown,” isn’t “metal” at all, but it’s one of the best songs on the band’s career.
But overall, I felt “Empire” was a bit lacking. With a major emphasis on love and relationships, “Empire” wasn’t as compelling for me as the albums that came before. Also,the album was safe, with the band taking none of the chances that had gotten them notices on “Warning,” and ”Rage” … but beyond that criticism, there isn’t really a “weak” track to be found on the album. I got to the point where I couldn’t stand “Silent Lucidity,” but perhaps I was in the minority.
I didn’t follow Queensrÿche any further into the 1990s after “Empire.” As people say in breakups, it wasn’t them, it was me: My tastes in metal had moved on, and Queensrÿche didn’t interest me in those years. By the time the band released their followup to “Empire,” my favorite albums were Soundgarden’s ”Louder Than Love” and Alice In Chain’s Dirt (both of those bands, like Queensrÿche, were also from Seattle). When I started doing a metal radio show in college a few years later, I was spinning bands like Carcass, Entombed, Candlemass and Pantera (along with hardcore punk like Dead Kennedys) and had left Queensrÿche behind.
I started this remembrance by noting my disappointment in “American Soldier,” but I don’t want to end on such a sour note. So, instead, let me tell you how pleased I was to find Queensrÿche alive and vital in 2006, when the band released “Operation:Mindcrime II.”
I know, I know – much of the consensus was “O:MII” was a fallback for the band, an attempt to recapture much of their lost metal audience. To that, I say, “oh bull.” In my opinion “Mindcrime II” was the sound of a band returning to do what they do best – experiment and push their musical limits. I don’t care about the general opinion; I liked that album, and the more challenging parts have grown on me over time.
“Operation:Mindcrime II” picks up the story 18 years later, with Nikki being released from prison. Society, he finds, is as diseased as it was when he was incarcerated, but that’s not his focus. Nikki spent his entire time behind bars dreaming of killing “Dr. X,” the mastermind behind the assassination plot to which Nikki provided the trigger finger. And, of course, X was responsible for killing Nikki’s love, the ex-prostitute and conspiracy member “Sister Mary.” In this one, politics take a back seat to Nikki’s personal need for revenge.
But to the music: “I’m American” is a raging gate-crasher, stronger than anything on “Empire,” and it ranks along “Revolution Calling” as one of the band’s most compelling songs. The album has other riveting moments – “One Foot in Hell” is great, “The Hands” is an eerie number with strong harmonies from Tate,” “Re-Arrange You” is powerful and “Hostage” is simply stunning, with a chorus that gives me chills every time. “Murderer?” harkens back to the massive experimentation of “Rage For Order”: It’s the weirdest song on the album and reminds me of the no-holds-barred band that once recorded “Screaming in Digital.” The album closer, “All The Promises” is, frankly, just a damn pretty song.
Not everything quite works. The female vocals are great in “One Foot in Hell,” but are often overused. And, frankly, not every experiment works – the second half of “Speed of Light” meanders and “The Chase,” with guest co-vocalist Ronnie James Dio, starts well but ends up sounding like a metal Broadway musical.
But what I admire about “O:MII” is the band’s willingness to take chances. They could’ve played it safe and simply written 17 copies of “Operation:Mindcrime” songs. Instead, they threw in tons of new ideas and didn’t let the fear of comparisons to the original scare them into musical timidity. It takes repeated listens, but “Operation:Mindcrime II” is well worth the effort you’ll devote to listening.
Some people gave up on Queensrÿche when Chris DeGarmo left the band, but that’s not fair. DeGarmo’s replacement, Mike Stone, is an excellent guitarist (check out the dual guitar solo on “I’m American”) and “Operation:Mindcrime II” shows the band can still write great songs. In retrospect, the biggest problem with last year’s “American Soldier” was the band played it too safe.
What’s to come? I hear the band is recording again. I hope the end result wows me … but if not, they’ve already given me more than I could want. Even if I don’t go along for the ride next time, I’ll still respect them for all they’ve done. They deserve to be revered as one of the greatest bands in metal.
Nirvana may not have been a strictly “metal” band, but they had a metal sensibility that is impossible to deny.
Take “Senseless Apprentice” from the band’s final studio album, “In Utero.” The riffs, drumming and vocal delivery are straight metal. Even the band’s biggest hits, “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and “Heart Shaped Box” were driven by large metal riffs in the choruses. In an interview published some years ago, former band drummer Dave Grohl said fellow band mates Kurt Cobain and Chris Novoselic were big fans of metal bands like Celtic Frost.
Nirvana differed from the metal aesthetic in that metal music (generally) is considered powerful and empowering by listeners, while Nirvana’s discography was more about powerlessness, hopelessness and indifference (Yeah, I know the previous assertion about “powerlessness, hopelessness and indifference” being the key themes of Nirvana’s music is extremely subjective. But that’s my opinion, so there. Feel free to tell me to get stuffed if you disagree. Thanks.)
But in terms or riffs and song structure, it’s hard to doubt Nirvana had a connection to metal. So it was no surprise to me at all when Grohl proved his love for obscure metal with the fabulous 2004 Probot project.
By the time Grohl realized his ambitious goal with Probot, he was already close to a household name in rock music. After Nirvana, Grohl recorded a bunch of his own songs himself and released them under the name Foo Fighters. A short time later, Grohl’s Foo Fighters were a full-time band, with a string of rock radio hits and high-selling albums.
While Foo Fighters have less of a metal influence than Nirvana, Grohl had grown up listening to underground metal and had a devotee’s love for the genre. Perhaps expecting a hard sell from the metal vocalists he wanted to record with on Probot, Grohl sent demos of the songs to each.
Apparently, none thought Grohl was attempting to be ironic – joining Grohl for Probot are a string of metal legends, including godfather of metal Lemmy (Motorhead), Cronos (of the first black metal band, Venom) Dennis “Snake” Belanger (of sci-fi art-metal geniuses Voivod) and King Diamond (the Merciful Fate/King Diamond vocalist who once famously scared the hell out of a young Metallica, who were sharing rehearsal space with the King). Also joining Grohl on the outing are the current/former lead singers for Sepultura, D.R.I., Corrosion of Conformity, Celtic Frost, The Obsessed, Cathedral and Trouble.
Grohl’s accomplishment with “Probot” takes some consideration to appreciate. Do this: Stop for a minute and imagine trying to write a song for Lemmy. That’s not as easy as it sounds - Lemmy built his career on Motorhead’s signature sound. That style is easy to imitate … but your average copy cat Motorhead is, usually, rather boring.
But what Grohl does again and again on “Probot” is get the style right of the band he is honoring, without crafting songs that sound like throwaway B-sides. “Shake Your Blood,” which features Lemmy on bass as well as vocals, feels like authentic Motorhead. You could see Lemmy adopting this song into a Motorhead set and having it fit alongside “Ace of Spades” or “Rock ‘n Roll.”
“Sweet Dreams” is another good example. The song is not a King Diamond rip-off – it freakin’ sounds like King Diamond. The same is true with “Dictatorsaurus;” Grohl has absorbed so much of Voivod’s sound that he practically becomes a one-man Voivod, capturing the band’s chaotic, discordant atmosphere. This is damn impressive stuff.
Lemmy, Chronos, Wino and former Soundgarden guitarist Kim Thayil all contribute bass lines and guitar solos on certain songs, but for the most part, Grohl handles most of the music. Not every song is perfect; “Ice Cold Man,” with vocalist Lee Dorrian is only s0-so — but the rest of the disc is a grand slam, particularly “Silent Spring” with DRI vocalist Kurt Brecht, “Big Sky” with Tom G. Fischer and “My Tortured Soul” with Eric Wagner of Trouble.
The closest “Probot” comes to irony is “I Am The Warlock,” a bonus track featuring a roaring Jack Black in full-metal mode. Yes, it’s funny to hear Black bellow “I’m going to f*** your mind up,” but is it irony? Look at it like this; 1) The music is straight metal; 2) Black has a metal frontman’s voice, and 3) Dio was in Black’s movie, “Tenacious D and the Pick of Destiny.” Was Dio in your movie? No? Then quit talking about Black being ironic with metal – if Black was cool enough for RJD, he’s cool enough for you.
I wish Grohl would roll out a “Probot II,” but I doubt it’ll happen. At least we have this labor of love. Highly recommended.
Today is the first of several “essential album” reviews that might be controversial. Some of my picks might not seem to fit the normal metal mode, might not be considered “metal” enough by some – and one or two might not appear to fit the “metal” category at all. But I’ll argue that each is indeed metal, even if they tend to break the rules and throw conventions aside.
To kick this off, I couldn’t think of a better first choice than the most metal-non-metal I’ve heard in the last four years – Nine Inch Nail’s mesmerizing 2007 release, “Year Zero.”
NIN auteur Trent Reznor has always skirted the line between metal, industrial, alternative and pop. Often, Reznor mixes elements of all (with beats that seem occasionally inspired by hip-hop) into a genre-defying roar that can be violent and frightening at times and danceable a few minutes later.
Lyrically, Reznor’s music was often intensely personal, although he did begin venturing into politics on “Year Zero’s” immediate predecessor, “With Teeth.” But “Year Zero” went beyond the debates of its time and plunged fully into a dystopian nightmare of religious fanaticism, unending war, environmental collapse, mass disillusion (and, perhaps, mass hallucination) and world-ending apocalypse.
The very nature of the work probably turned off a lot of people. “Year Zero” is a political broadside against then President George W. Bush, whose policies post Sept 11, 2001 led the United States into two wars. The tax cuts of the Bush years and the administration’s rejection of the Kyoto climate treaty (which Bush had indicated he would sign when he was a candidate first running for president) are also addressed – although not as current events. Instead, Reznor sets “Year Zero” in 2020, postulating what the world would be like if the Bush policies were continued and the “Religious Right,” which was certainly a large part of Bush’s political base, became the dominant political force in American life.
“HYPERPOWER!” the brief intro, sets the tone for what’s to come. A military drum starts the march and a heavily fuzzed guitar layers on a wall of electronic-distortion noise. Voices (chants, screams) are interlaced with half-hidden gunshots, falling bombs, terrified shrieks and explosions. It’s a nasty, jarring 50 seconds.
“The Beginning of the End” opens with an almost undistorted guitar over a simple beat. “Down on your knees/you’ll be Left Behind,” Reznor’s speaker intones, later turning the supposedly Christian tenant of charity on its head with “You wait your turn, you’ll be last in line/Get out the way, cuz I’m getting mine … God helps the ones that can help themselves.” The song is one of compromised beliefs and ideals rejected for political expediency and comfort, but the speaker is not unaware that what has really been given away is both the planet and his soul: “We think we’ve come so far, on all our lies we depend/We see our consequence, this is the beginning of the end.” A “solo” of raw noise blasts through before the roar cuts out and the drums march to a close.
“Survivalism” is the sound of society coming apart in the face of environmental collapse. The earth is exhausted, the speaker knows it, but it’s too late for anything more than passing regret. “You see your world on fire/don’t try to act surprised,” the speaker says. Musically, the songs a head stomp of dark noise rumbles juxtaposed against a chanted chorus and a wall-of-sonic-hell riff that leads the song to the disintegration point.
“The Good Soldier” is a change in tone. While the first three tracks were unabashedly heavy, “The Good Soldier” is slower and less musically jarring. While not exactly a pop song, the track is content to groove, with a hip-hop beat, mildly distorted guitar and a vibraphone at the chorus. Lyrically, the song is about losing faith in all the things that once were thought important. “Blood hardens in the sand, cold metal in my hand,” the solider says, “… There’s nowhere left to hide, cuz God is on our side/I keep telling myself.”
“Vessel” is another lumbering march, with a “riff” of pure electro-noise and a chanted chorus. The layers of noise overwhelm the ears pretty quickly, fitting well with the predictions of collapse. “Me, I’m Not” is a creeping, insidious track, with the lyrics half-whispered at moments and a slow bump for a beat. Everything is lost and all that’s really left is false denial and regret; “I define myself by how well I hide,” the speaker says. “I feel it coming apart but at least I tried … If I could take it all back, some way, somehow/If I’d known back then what I know right now.”
“Capital G,” however, arrives with a very different point of view. The speaker is a supporter of both the endless American wars, the decisions that led the planet to ruin and the president who started the descent. “I pushed a button and elected him to office/He pushed a button and he dropped a bomb/You pushed a button and could watch it on the television/Those mother f*ckers didn’t last too long …” The compromise has been made (“traded in my god for this one, he signs his name with a capital G … I used to stand for something, forgot what that could be.”) and the only option available is to grab everything that’s left. Musically, “Capital G” is practically a dance track – it’s not hard to visualize oblivious frat boys and their dates – completely unaware of the lyrics – grinding on the club dance floor.
“My Violent Heart” is again another change in perspective – this time to the “have nots” dismissed by the speaker in “Capital G.” They’re threatening to explode and the music mimics the growing dissent, with an opening rumble swelling into a bellow for the chorus.
“The Warning” takes the story to another level, with a heavy bass line and a tale of either a mass hallucination or a revelation of things to come if people can’t (or won’t) change. “‘It said it was up to us, up to us to decide … ‘you will change your ways and you will make amends, or we’ll wipe this place clean/Your time is tick, tick, ticking away.”
“God Given” is Fox News Christianity taken to its logical extreme, where salvation is only for the “right” people. While “The Warning” contained heavy distorted guitar,” God Given” is again nearly a dance track. There’s a certainly black humor here, as Reznor blasts the self-important religiosity of the radical right: “How hard is it to see/Put your faith in me/I sure wouldn’t want to be/Praying to the wrong piece of wood.”
“Meet Your Master” takes the holier-than-though attitude of “God Given” and transfers it to the military and CIA torture chambers, where “terrorists” are all who don’t conform to the beliefs of the ruling class. The song is bass heavy during the verses with a chaotic chorus and a noise wave that threatens to wash away all in its wake. “Meet Your Master” bleeds immediately into “The Greater Good” a frighteningly minimalist chant about control – both physical control and mind control. It’s Orwellian and technodystopian – a nightmare set to computer noise.
“The Great Destroyer” is half-song, half wail of industrial rage. After the first two choruses, the song devolves into a blast of piercing noise, so shrill it’s hard to listen to all the way through. Fortunately, the “song” quickly gives way to “Another Version of the Truth,” a piano line played over an increasing groan of static until the fuzz subsides and a piano melody, filled with loss and nostalgia for all that’s gone, takes over. It’s a rare moment of beauty in the world of despair Reznor has created.
“In This Twilight” is the approach of the end. The world, with either a whimper of bang, is nearing its stopping place. There’s sadness to be sure, but also a moment of hope (perhaps irrational) that something better will follow when humanity physically ceases to exist.
The final track “Zero Sum” is the best of the disc. A slow, meandering song about the end, as the speaker holds tight to those around him, watching the darkness descend. “I guess I just wanted to tell you/As the light starts to fade/That you are the reason/I am not afraid/And I guess I wanted to mention/As the heavens will fall/We’ll be together soon if we be anything at all.” But the song is also one of loss – lost opportunities, misguided or greedy decisions and numerless failures to act, all of which led to this moment. “Shame on us … God have mercy on our dirty little hearts.”
“Year Zero” is, musically at least, not “metal” through and through. The “metal” is often interlaced with songs that otherwise have a very unmetal feel (the guitar in “Capital G,” for example, or the obliterating noise of “The Great Destroyer” are very “metal,” I’d say). While not following any metal formula, “Year Zero” is heavy enough stylistically to qualify as metal, and lyrically and musically dense and challenging enough to be required listening.
Today, I’m going to perform a dubious favor to you: I’m going to recommend an album you’ll have to work to find.
I don’t listen to much doom metal, but I have great love for Ahab. Those sea-obsessed German doomsters create music that is both achingly beautiful and so heavy that listening to it feels like being crushed fathoms deep against the sea floor by a behemoth great whale. The band’s 2009 release, “The Divinity of Oceans,” is one of my favorite releases of the year.
But “Divinity” is not Ahab’s best work. Three years ago, the band released a monumental doom epic with the 2006 concept album “The Call of the Wretched Sea.” The album is painfully slow and precise, with enough space for the band to insert unusual melodies and moments of unexpected loveliness . Meanwhile, the band mixes the crushing heaviness with acoustic moments and clean singing that make the songs complete compositions rather than boring, droning, endless riff-fests.
“Call” is indeed a concept album, based on on Herman Melville’s masterpiece “Moby-Dick.” Perhaps you’re thinking creating a concept album around Melville’s novel is not exactly original – after all Mastodon’s “Leviathan” (which was released in 2004) was also based on “Moby-Dick.”
Although both bands used the same source material for their inspiration, all resemblance ends at that moment … and anyone crying “copy cat” might first want to hear the albums back to back and compare. “Leviathan” is certainly heavy … but the riffing and melodies are more Iron Maiden than doom metal. Ahab creates a very different vibe: Mastodon’s album feels like chasing the whale. Ahab’s disc feels like being swallowed by the monster.
Some of the lyrics are taken directly from “Moby-Dick,” which is all very interesting if you want to go back and re-read passages from the novel and compare. But the aura created by the music is more important than the lyrics – and the band captures the premonition of certain doom that Melville weaves throughout the novel.
“Below The Sun” is a showcase of everything Ahab does right. After a creepy keyboard intro, the song launches with a crushing riff and gutteral vocals from Daniel Droste that seem like they could not have been produced by a human throat. Then, the song shifts up in tempo and switches to clean vocals … only to change again, unleashing a stomping riff and double-bass attack that is powerful and obliterating. The song loops back to the mid section for the finale.
“The Pacific” is doom, doom and monster doom – heavy and unrelenting throughout. But there’s beauty in the guitar lines – and the acoustic middle section is completely unexpected. The end is a nightmare of chanted grunts over a suprising Middle Eastern guitar line. “The Pacific” is a song that takes on more shades and textures with repeat listens, but it’s worth the effort.
“Old Thunder” begins with an undistorted melody and a quiet solo. After less than two minutes, however, the song is overwhelmed by a roar of distortion and tempo becomes a slave march. An intertwining guitar line swirls just below the pounding and the clean vocals sound like Gregorian chanting than actual singing. The mid-section reaches for the epic, before the doom stomp resumes and the song circles back round to the original march for the finish.
“Of the Monstrous Pictures of Whales” is an interlude of cold, deep-sea menace and fear. It’s meant to be bleak and horrifying – and it accomplishes its goal quite nicely. It’s also short and turns into the opening of “The Sermon,” arguably the most impressive track on the album. The opening riffs are mountain heavy and the opening growls defy human vocal chords. The main riff, however, is uptempo (or at least as uptempo as any piece in the largo time signature can possibly be) and the guitar lines again ring with hints of Middle Eastern music. The double bass kicks in briefly, turning the song into a charge … before the whole things fades into an intermission that reminds me of the middle section of Iron Maiden’s “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” After several minutes of ambient music and movie dialogue (from Gregory Peck’s film adaption of “Moby-Dick,” I’m guessing), the stomp resumes, as brutal and relentless as ever – but then shifts back to clean vocals and a seemingly hopeful note.
“The Hunt” is the album’s bloody, emotional catharsis. The opening riff is creepy, the clean vocals sound like funeral dirges sung by drowned souls and the onslaught of the distortion is devastating. The keyboards give the song a larger-than-life feel – and the end is the sound of blood in the water and unstoppable death. It’s beautiful and full of horror, the sound of a whaling vessel splitting in half after being rammed by a whale.
“Ahab’s Oath” has a rather psychedelic feel, with keyboards driving the melody and providing texture throughout. Droste’s vocals are bone-chilling, as he (as Ahab) binds his sailors to his fatal quest to kill the white whale. After “The Hunt,” “The Oath” feels more like an epilogue than a climax and ends on the album on a suitably despairing note.
This is a great album … but as I said at the opening, there’s a catch. Ahab is on Napalm Records – which I’d never heard of before I heard these guys – and their music seems to be somewhat hard to find. I had to special order my copy of “Call of the Wretched Sea” from a local music store. CM Distro carries copies of Ahab’s albums, but they seem to sell out quickly after they’re restocked. In short, good luck.
Update, 4/15/10: Peter Steele died Wednesday of heart failure. For a Noise Pollution remembrance of Steele, go here.
Well, one of my favorite bands, Type O Negative, is performing tonight in Cincinnati. But, instead of driving to the show, I’m sitting here at work. How is that fair?
But, I’m determined to make the best of my misfortune. Thinking about tonight’s show made me dig into my Type O collection - which led me to spin the band’s best album, 2007′s “Dead Again.”
Not only is “Dead Again” on par with the band’s best work, it signaled that Type O’s droll, gothic corpse had quite a bit of life (or at least undeath) left, and showed the band was still capable of making amazing music.
After the band was dumped from Roadrunner Records, it seemed Type O Negative was at the end of its road. In some ways, that was expected: After releasing three brilliant studio albums in a row in the 1990s (“Bloody Kisses,” “October Rust” and the emotionally jarring yet incredible “World Coming Down”), the band seemed to lose much of its edge and desire. “Life Is Killing Me,” the followup to “World Coming Down,” had a few bright moments, but was also packed with several completely unmemorable songs. During an interview to promote the album, drummer Johnny Kelley sounded as if “Life” would be the band’s swan song.
In retrospect, I wonder if the band was just burned out by their experience with Roadrunner and needed some time to regroup. Of course, that wasn’t the only thing happening: Vocalist Peter Steele was hospitalized after years of substance abuse and later embraced Catholicism. When Steele returned to music, he had both passion in his voice and something new to say.
Almost four years after “Life Is Killing Me” was released, it was announced that Type O had signed with SPV Records and had a new album in the works. “Dead Again,” ironically, was the sound of the band being reborn.
The title song opens with a dive bomb screech of noise, a doom riff and funeral keyboards, before suddenly shifting to punk rock. A song about drug addiction, Steele confronts his demons with his trademark wit: “Had no pulse last time I checked/I’d trade my life for self-respect/so I say with my last breath/there are some things worse than death.” The song ends on a big bombastic wall of power chords.
“Tripping A Blind Man” also opens with a wall of psychedelic doom before zooming off again into punk rock. But the song has so many ideas in the mix it’s hard to keep up. The midsection is Sabbath-y metal on magic mushrooms with a Beatles vocal line turning up at the chorus. The song then shifts again to uptempo hard rock, with a heavy beat from Kelly and lovely duo melodies from Steele and guitarist Kenny Hickey … and then the band swings back to punk! It’s exhausting and exhilarating, the song of a band with a ton of great ideas and a new lease on life.
“The Profits of Doom” is a mash-up of ideas and time changes that roars in on fretboard spanning Hickey riff and a wall of bass sludge from Steele. The first two verses are more ranted than sang, as Steele screams conspiracy theories right out of the book of Revelations. When the first time change arrives, Steele and Hickey share the vocal lines while keyboardist Josh Silver layers the proceedings with cosmic noise. Then the second major time change throws the song into Beatles territory, with a psychedelic aura and a soaring Steele chorus (soaring for Steele anyway) before the song devolves and fades out.
“September Sun” is reminiscent of the ballads of “October Rust,” with a quiet acoustic piano by Silver and mumbled-grumbled lyrics by Steele. The sudden explosion of not-quite chorus is a surprise, as Hickey takes over the vocals while laying on the fuzz distortion. The song quiets just as quickly for the second verse, flares up again for the chorus … and slides into a odd jam that feature Beatles style vocals, stoned-out guitar, a virtuoso keyboard solo by Silver - and Russian chanting. Russian chanting? After the solo, the song swings into Beatleseque singalong sweetness again before dissolving into noise and petering out.
“Halloween in Heaven” seems straight-forward at first, with Kelly bashing out a fast beat and Hickey throwing out a two-note riff to drive the song through the first 89 seconds. But nothing in Type O land is never simple. At the minute and a half mark, the band throws in a time change and switches from punk to driving hard rock – and then goes spacey with a droning wall of guitar sludge and female vocals. Then the song switches back to slam-dance mode for the big finish.
“Halloween in Heaven” is light-hearted. “These Three Things,” however, is the roar of doom. Type O Negative have two overwhelming influences – the Beatles and Black Sabbath – and its Sabbath that dominates the song. The opening riff is a sludgy reinterpretation of the riff from the song “Black Sabbath” and the guitar lines sound right out of the Tony Iommi catalogue.
The lyrics irritated a number of Type O fans, I know. “These Three Things” deals largely with the topic of abortion, from a very pro-life, conservative Christian point of view. I remember reading comments on Blabbermouth and other news sites about how Steele should keep his opinions to himself … to which I say, “huh?” Steele is the band’s main lyricist and he has been expressing his opinions on T.O.N. albums for about two decades now. What are albums, anyway, if not a forum for artists to express their opinions? People can disagree with Steele’s views – and not purchase future T.O.N. discs if they vehemently are opposed to his point of view – but to say the man can’t express his beliefs on his own albums is beyond ridiculous.
The mid-section, were Steele switches back to conspiracy theory lyrics – something about Christianity and Area 51, but that’s about as enlightened as I got – before morphing into the surprisingly uplifting coda. I don’t know half of what Steele’s singing about here, but the performance is stellar. The man sounds on fire throughout – and when Hickey takes over near the end, the hair stands up on the back of my neck. “These Three Things” is the album’s showcase: I’d post it here, but it’s simply too long for one YouTube vid and too awesome to be edited down to size.
“She Burned Me Down” is straight-ahead hippy metal at first, with Steele croaking like a zombie in the opening verses. From there, the song flies off into the ether of psychedelic keyboard noise, droning guitars and the repeated refrain, “every time I see her start a fire, I get higher.” But then the damn song turns into a (Russian) military march. Even by Type O standards, it’s weird … but weird is part of the reason they’re so interesting, isn’t it? Hickey again kills with the solo as well.
“Some Stupid Tomorrow” and “An Ode To Locksmiths” are essentially one long song, with another heavy Beatles vide on “Ode” until the two minute mark, when Hickey throws in a Sabbath line for the midsection. The end is singalong bouncy. It’s another standout.
“Hail And Farewell to Britain” closes the album on a heavier, more serious note. A song of betrayal (not a new theme for these guys), Steele seethes his way through “Hail” … and when the man screams, “I can’t believe how cruel life is,” you’ll believe he means it. The song ends with a descent into aero madness that is hysterical.
Instead of being dead, Type O resurrected themselves on “Dead Again.” The fact that the band is out doing a brief Halloween tour right now gives me hope that the old corpse will be walking, smirking and biting for quite some time to come. I can’t wait to hear what they come up with next.
Today, I say “hail” to an album that blew me away when I heard it for the first time more than 20 years ago – Manowar’s rough 1983 epic, “Into Glory Ride.”
Now wait. Stop rolling your eyes. I know Manowar has done some goofy things before – like posing in loin cloth and leather and getting themselves in the Guinness Book of World Records for “world’s loudest band” and such – but none of that matters. A lot of bands have gimmicks: What’s important is how a band sounds, and whether their music is worth repeat listens.
By those criteria, “Into Glory Ride” is more than worthy. Guitarist Ross “The Boss” Friedman and bassist Joey DeMaio shred until their fingers bleed and vocalist Eric Adams hits glass-shattering notes. Scott Columbus beats thunder out of his drums and the lo-fi production makes the whole album sound rude and savage.
The album opens with a ridiculous intro of a young man and woman having sex. Her parents intrude (“She’s only 16!” “Come here, you!”), the dumb kid is thrown through the window and goes running off into the night, laughing hysterically.
What does that have to do with the rest of the album? Beats me. But I remember my young teenage self blown away by how subversive it was … but then again, I was a teenage doofus for whom sex was a mystery I was sure I was never going to get close enough to a woman to discover. Just the sound of people screwing in that intro knocked me out.
The “intro” immediately leads into “Warlord,” a bike ’til you die song that roars out the gate with a speedy riff and Adams’ operatic screams. The chorus is singalong fun and everything is moving along nicely – and then Ross The Boss really throws the song into overdrive with an off the scales chart solo that obeys none of the established rules of guitar playing. Before forming Manowar, Ross was a member of The Dictators, a NYC punk band, and Ross brought a punk edge to “Warlord” and much of “Into Glory Ride.”
“Secret of Steel” is the first sword and sorcery epic of the disc. While Adams again sings his lungs out, the real standout here is DeMaio, who solos on his bass throughout. DeMaio, who was also the band’s main songwriter, wasn’t content to help shore up the beat with his bass: The man throws out bass lines that are pure shock and awe. The song is slower and more majestic than “Warlord,”with a big Adams chorus and a few high notes that cause dogs to howl. At the solo, Ross plays every single note on his guitar – in a good way.
“Gloves of Metal” was no doubt intended as a concert singalong. A song of praise to all things metal, Adams brings in a chorus of biker dudes for the huge chorus. It’s not the best song on the album – it’s probably the only really disposable song here – but it’s certainly full of fire.
“Gates of Valhalla” starts with a intense 12-string intro and a vocal performance by Adams that sends chills down my spine. A keyboard kicks in, adding a nice layer of solemnity to the song … then, predictably, all hell breaks lose. Adams is really impassioned throughout and Ross The Boss conquers and obliterates all with his guitar solo. At the end, the song flies off the rails with some major guitar hammering by Ross. This song was Epic before the rest of the metal community knew what “epic” meant. Manowar may not have written many classics, but “Gates” was certainly one of those few.
“Hatred,” for lack of a more succinct term, is absolutely frikkin’ weird. The slow tempo is almost doomy (although doom metal hadn’t been invented at that point) and Adams growls through the verses like he’s ready to really cut out an enemy’s heart and eat the thing while gore runs down his chin. The tempo change for the chorus is disconcerting, Adams’ screams are vicious and deadly – and then! Good god! The midsection is just wrong. I can’t describe it, other than to say I’ve never heard “singing” like that on any album, before or since. Ross doesn’t solo as much as torture his guitar and then, holy crap, it’s the midsection again – but this time it sounds like someone lit Adams on fire and recorded him while he bellowed in pain. At the climax, DeMaio surely destroyed his bass with the frenetic hammering. It’s exhausting and when Adams lets out a happy, relieved “whoo!” at the end, you’ll understand how he feels.
“Revelation (Death’s Angel)” is a big Biblical tale of fire and destruction. It’s a good song … but perhaps it’s a bit anticlimactic after the ear-blowing bombast of “Hatred.” Listen to it yourself.
“March For Revenge (By the Soldiers of Death)” ends the album with an eight and an half minute blast of murderous, epic sword play. Ross and DeMaio lay down a heavy riff, Columbus fleshes out the beat with fills and rolls and the choruses are huge and heavy. After the second chorus, the beat stops entirely and the song goes into an acoustic interlude, with Adams singing over a single guitar and a keyboard line. Is it corny to say the interlude is moving? It is? Well, then so be it … and when the drums kick back in and Ross lays down the power chord, the hair on your neck will stand up, buddy.
I know Manowar isn’t hip – I’m sure there’s a hipster out there somewhere walking around in a Manowar T-shirt, thinking he’s being ironic. To that all I can say is: Hipsters are lame, irony is for smirking pencil-necks and anyone who thinks they’re too cool for ”Into Glory Ride” can come bite me. I’m not arguing it’s the best album ever – but Manowar obviously set out to make the heaviest album they could. In terms of passion and delivery, they succeeded.
Today, I’ll likely throw pretty much all my metal cred out the window by confessing my undying love to the greatest KISS album of all time, 1976′s “Destroyer.”
Although “Destroyer” is not technically “metal,” the album does contain arguably the heaviest song in KISS’ career, the blazing “God of Thunder.” Meanwhile, hard-rocking tracks like “Detroit Rock City,” “King of the Night Time World” and “Shout It Out Loud” rock enough to keep metal fans happy.
You can read Kiss biographies anywhere, so I won’t bore with too much back story. Suffice it to say, by January of 1976, KISS was poised to indeed become “the hottest band in the world.”
The band’s first live album, “Alive” had been a astronomical success. “Alive” had sold 1 million copies by the time the band went into the studio to record “Destroyer”: The band’s combination of solid rock songs, tight musicianship – particularly guitarist Ace Frehley, although drummer Peter Criss and bassist Gene Simmon were hardly slouches on their instruments – and the strong vocal combination of Simmons and guitarist Paul Stanley had managed to impress rock fans. Meanwhile, the Kabuki-style makeup, crazy costumes and blood-and-fire lives shows were blowing audiences away.
KISS hadn’t yet crossed the line into comic book caricature that would cause the band members so many credibility problems during the remainder of their makeup years. With the entire rock world watching, the followup to “Alive” had the potential to elevate the band to megastardom alongside Led Zeppelin (who would release their second to last studio album, “Presence,” the same year).
Destroyer didn’t disappoint. In fact, the album proved to be the band’s career pinnacle, where they achieved a level of greatness they were never quite able to recapture.
The album opens with the sound of a television newscast in a diner, with the news anchor (voiced by Simmons), recounts a fatal automobile accident in Detroit. The action then shifts to the soon-to-be-dead teenager getting into his car, gunning the engine and, humorously, humming along to “Rock And Roll All Night.” Then Ace and Paul fade in with the speedy opening riff of “Detroit Rock City,” the first of the album’s six standout tracks. Stanley sounds impassioned as he sings in the voice of the teen. Criss’ drumming is loaded with fills and Gene’s intricate bass lines stand out. There’s no solo, but Frehley and Stanley combine on a surprising twin guitar Spanish melody before shifting back for the final verse and chorus.
“Detroit” ends with a blazing car crash, until the sound of crushing metal is overtaken by a feedback whine and the rolling opening riff of “King of the Night Time World.” Paul Stanley sounds like he’s on fire with energy and the harmony on the chorus is singalong great. Again, there’s not much of a solo to speak of here, but Ace lays down some sweet guitar lines while Peter Criss gallops the track home. “King” is a song that deserves to be remembered by rock radio more often.
“God of Thunder” is Simmons’ first lead vocal of the album and the song is a monster. Simmons doesn’t sing so much as bellow his way through “God of Thunder,” which fits the lumbering, ominous tone perfectly. The main riff sounds like the march of demons, Ace Frehley tortures unearthly sounds out of his guitar throughout and Criss beats the hell out of his drums. An organ kicks in on the last chorus, giving the song an “Addams Family” tinge and the dubs of shouting children add a creepy undertone. It’s the heaviest song on “Destroyer” and is heavier than anything the band had done on past albums.
“Great Expectations” is the oddest track of the album. A complete shift from “God of Thunder,” “Great Expectations” is a song about groupies who would love to love KISS … and God knows there were enough of those (just ask Simmons). The near-ballad features a choir - yes, a choir, singing about groupie dreams of bliss. It’s not the best song here by a long shot … but it is interesting to hear the band expand beyond the traditional rock formula.
“Flaming Youth” is an anthem for the band’s misunderstood young fans. The harmonies on the chorus are impressive and Simmons’ bass work is outstanding: I didn’t realize until recently how bass-driven KISS were in their early days. Stanley again nails it on the vocals and Ace contributes a small solo. It’s a fun track, and much better than the “anthems” the band would pen for future albums, such as “Crazy Crazy Nights.”
“Sweet Pain” impresses with Frehley’s guitar work and strong Simmons vocal. A song about S&M, “Sweet Pain” throws a curve ball with the female backup group on the chorus. Frehley shines on the solo.
“Shout It Out Loud” sounds written for arenas and producer Bob Ezrin captures the live feel perfectly. From the twin guitar opening, Stanley and Simmons trade vocal lines while the band shouts out the refrain. A piano fleshes out the choruses and Ace Frehley, briefly, gets to display his licks. It’s not heavy or “brutal” at all: It’s damn near a pop song … but it’s such a well-executed, likable pop-rock song that it’s irresistible.
“Beth” was an out-of-the-blue hit and is nothing like any of the other tracks on the disc. Peter Criss’ voice is unpolished, which gives the song (which was written for his wife) an honest, lamenting quality. Stanley, the band’s most accomplished vocalist, would not have done the song the same justice.
The orchestration and piano on “Beth” are lovely and subdued: This song was undoubtedly the “couples skate” song at roller rinks all over the country during the summer of ’76. The song has held up quite well over the decades and is still quite moving today.
“Do You Love Me?” turns the tempo back up, with a rolling Criss beat and another great vocal performance from Stanley. The Simmons/Stanley harmonies on the BIG chorus are again pitch perfect. the twin guitars are again used to good effect and the song rides to the fade out on a wave of church bells. It’s more pop than rock (again), but still a home run.
After “Destroyer,” KISS released two excellent albums – “Rock and Roll Over” and “Love Gun” … but after that time, the band suffered from some incredibly bad decisions (who in the world told them to jump on the disco trend?) and began to be eclipsed – first by punk, then by the NWOBHM and finally by thrash. By the mid-1980s, KISS had lost all of its relevance, even though the band – with only Stanley and Simmons left from the original lineup – continued to churn out albums on an annual basis.
But we shouldn’t let what was then the band’s future color the accomplishments of the past. “Destroyer” was a powerhouse rock album that flirted with metal on “Detroit Rock City” and especially “God of Thunder,” while delivering blade-sharp pop-rock songs on every other track. No other KISS album combined those elements so successfully. While other early KISS albums are worth owning, “Destroyer” is the one disc ever rock fan should have in their collection.
"WCFYA" era Anthrax: Charlie Benante, Rob Caggiano, Scott Ian, Frank Bello and John Bush
As any Blabbermouth.net reader knows by now, Anthrax has parted ways with vocalist Dan Nelson and the band is in search of a new singer.
Nelson either quit or was fired, depending on who you believe (Nelson and guitarist Scott Ian, not surprisingly, give differing accounts of the breakup). Maybe that’s too bad – unless “Worship Music” leaks, we’ll never know if Nelson could really hold is own with the band …
But what we do know is Anthrax will do a one-off show in Europe with John Bush, who left the band after Ian and the boys decided to do a “reunion” tour with former vocalist Joey Belladonna. Ian has said having Bush back in the band would be his first choice.
Well, that would be my first choice, too – although I do hope Bush continues making music with his old friends in Armored Saint. With all this talk of a Bushthrax reunion, I can’t think of a better time to roll out my next essential album, 2003′s “We’ve Come For You All.”
By the time the band parted ways with Belladonna and enlisted Bush, Anthrax was in need of a transfusion of new energy. While the Belladonna years had produced one near-perfect album – 1987′s “Among The Living” – the band’s other output had been decidedly mixed. “State of Euphoria” included exactly one memorable song (“Antisocial”) , “Persistence of Time” was better but also loaded with filler and the band was best known for its entertaining but jokey rap parody “I’m The Man.”
Bush was already respected for his work with Armored Saint – and in “Sound of the Beast: The Complete Headbanging History of Heavy Metal,” author Ian Christe wrote Bush was once considered as a possible vocal replacement for James Hetfield in Metallica. Bush brought a darker vocal dimension to Anthrax – Bush’s voice was harsher, grittier and more aggressive than Belladonna’s, which gave the band the gravitas it lacked.
By the time the band recorded “We’ve Come For You All,” Bush had been with Anthrax for 10 years and had long been out of Belladonna’s shadow. While other bands had turned away from their metal roots during the 1990s (I am talking to you, “Load/Reload” era Metallica), Anthrax had become, if anything, heavier over the course of the decade. While “We’ve Come …” is not the heaviest album of the Bush years, it’s blistering when it needs to be, while indulging in a surprising amount to melody.
The brief intro, “Contact,” starts with an acoustic strum, before Benante launches into a march and the melody is overrun by electronic noise, distortion and fuzzbox vocals like messages broadcast from outer space. The intro lasts barely a minute before the band explodes into “What Doesn’t Die” with a precision wall of guitar and drums. Ian, Caggiano, Bello and Benante are, incredibly, perfectly in sync on the bursts of riffing for the opening minute and a half … before the band slows into a grinding time change before Caggiano’s solo. Bush goes from a whisper to a yell and finally to a full-throated scream, and he spits out the lyrics with a venom that practically spews from the speakers.
“Superhero” is equally as violent, with Bush growling through the first verse before launching to a ceiling-cracking chorus. While it’s true Belladonna had a broader vocal range, what Bush brought to Anthrax was an intensity Belladonna couldn’t match. On “Superhero,” Bush sounds like a man on fire with desperation: It’s all the rest of the band can do just to keep up.
“Refuse To Be Denied” opens with an acoustic melody again, before being overwhelmed by the distorted main riff and a vocal roar. There aren’t many guitar theatrics: The melody is pummeling and relentless, allowing for only the briefest of bridges before launching back into overdrive.
“Safe Home” is a major departure from all that came before. Instead of a rolling assault, “Safe Home” is almost a ballad. The song is slower, with the band mixing acoustic and electric guitars before the tempo steps up slightly and Caggiano’s launches into his solo.
“Anyplace But Here” goes back to the acoustic opening … and while that should seem redundant, the acoustic intro actually builds suspense until the distortion catharsis. Bush barks out the chorus while the band lays down a solid rhythm. “Nobody Knows Anything” is a vicious kick to the head – with a sputtering riff, spat vocals and some of Benante’s most frenetic drumming of the album. Caggiano lashes out with another blazing solo before the whole thing screeches to a sudden, satisfying halt.
“Strap It On” is a homage to metal of the late mid to late 1970s – and mid to late ’80s. Bush sells the song, but the treat comes from late guitarist “Dimebag” Darrell Abbott, who adds his trademark guitar sound to the solo. Dimebag also provided a couple solos on Anthrax’s “Vol. 8: The Threat Is Real,” but he outdoes himself on “Strap It On.” Listen closely: As the song fades, the band pays musical homage to Judas Priest, Metallica and AC/DC.
“Black Dahlia” feels like a beatdown. The fret work is insanely fast and precise, Benante beats the hell out of his drums and Bush screams like bloody murder. It’s brutal, painful and freakin’ perfect.
“Cadillac Rock Box” is an abrupt mood shift – a good time, mid-tempo rock song about the joys of metal and wheels. It’s unpretentious and surprisingly upbeat, compared to most of the other material. It’s also great fun … and is a ideal companion to “Taking The Music Back” where Roger Daltrey (the vocalist from The Who, not that wanker from “American Idol”) adds backing vocals and joins Bush for the big chorus.
“Crash” is a tiny, odd intro to “Think About An End,” the album’s masterpiece. Benante is the star in the opening minutes and the band sails through the first two verses and the chorus. The song seems straight-forward … until Ian and Caggiano throw in the unexpected Sabbathesque riff during the time change. Bush recalls Ozzy during the time change, and Ian and Caggiano are impressive with their dual guitar work. It’s the most surprising song on what has already been an extremely varied album.
“W.C.F.Y.A.” is the closer and the band throws out all nuance and goes for the throat. Bush sounds enraged, Benante hits his snares like he’s trying to smash them and melody burns like a fuse on dynamite.
Bush decided he’d had enough after the rest of the band enlisted Belladonna for a reunion tour. Personally, I’d like to see Bush return on a permanent basis: If “We’ve Come For You All” is any indication, the band is still capable of greatness.
