FIZZY’S CLOSET, VOLUME 666!
Just when you thought the world was safe from the odious contents of Fizzy’s Closet, I return to fling the door wide once again! As promised sometime during the last Ice Age, in this edition of the Closet, we will be journeying over to the dark side, to explore some heavier fare than I have been spotlighting for the past few excursions. My tastes are in no way limited to hard rock and pop-metal. So put on those spiked dog-collars, cover yourself with the blood of some innocent farm animal, and travel with me into the sulphurous vapors ……… No, it’s not hell, I just ate a Reuben for lunch. Sorry.
SLAYER: South of Heaven -- 1988 (Def Jam)
Rating: 7.0
Is there a more idolized, worshipped and ultimately overrated band in all the annals of metal as Slayer? Somehow, four guys from L.A. managed to turn a propensity for lightning-fast but rudimentary musicianship and an at times outlandish evil schtick into one of the most enduring legacies in all heavy music. Everybody likes Slayer, from seasoned metalheads who’ve been fans since the ’80’s, to skateboarding little brats with orange hair and Mom-financed piercings. Why? Don’t get me wrong. I like Slayer too. I just don’t view them as the musical gods that some do.
It is widely agreed that Slayer released three classic albums in a row in the late ’80’s. The lucky streak began with 1986’s 28-minute blast-beat fusilade Reign In Blood, and ended with the more paced but nonetheless punishing 1990 masterpiece Seasons In the Abyss. But sandwiched between the two is the oft-overlooked South of Heaven. This is kind of the red-headed stepchild of Slayer albums. Fans of its predecessor couldn’t abide the slower pace, and lovers of the follow-up knew this wasn’t as good. And that’s why I chose South of Heaven instead of either of the more famous albums.
As I mentioned, the album is slower than Reign In Blood, or most anything else Slayer had done up to that point. Raised eyebrows were pretty much a given. Personally, I find Slayer most interesting when they aren’t hurtling along at top speed, and in fact much prefer Seasons In the Abyss, so I see this album as a prequel, a harbinger of things to come.
The change is immediately apparent in the disc-opening title track. Instead of a machine-gun barrage of drums, or one of those face-contorting riffs, we’re treated to a slow, winding intro riff that instantly sets a tone of immense doom that only increases as the song slowly builds into a towering monument of brooding metal bliss. Not only is this one of the best songs on the album, it’s one of Slayer’s best songs ever, and succeeds because of its slower pace, rather than in spite of it. It never feels bogged-down or sluggish, and even Tom Araya attempting to use “cunt” as a verb can’t dampen the effect. An interesting note: This album was released in July of 1988, smack in the middle of one of the worst droughts in American history. With that in mind, one can easily imagine driving, slowly and in a bad mood, through the oppressive heat of a summer’s evening with this song playing.
Unfortunately, the same quality of material isn’t kept up for the rest of the album, though there are a sizable handful of other standout tracks. “Mandatory Suicide” was the other single from the album, and features a relentless chug, and an evil spoken-word part near the end, surrounded by booming explosions (the song’s lyrics deal with the subject of land mines in the usual grisly Slayer fashion). “Live Undead” is a more mid-paced number, with a surprise pickup about halfway through, ending up more like a typical Slayer song than first hinted at. ‘Behind the Crooked Cross” picks the pace up, and delivers a severe beating. Of all the songs here, “Crooked Cross,” along with the groove-laden, similarly-themed “Read Between the Lies,” is the most successful at blending what the band was before, and what they would become.
Elsewhere, there are some faster songs that hearken back to the days of old. “Silent Screams,” “Cleanse the Soul” and “Ghosts of War” are all okay songs, but like much of Slayer’s most accelerated material, they tend to blur together and not offer much in the way of a memorable hook. “Ghosts of War” is redeemed by a crushing, Sabbath-like slowdown in the second half, which more than makes up for the first half’s being completely forgettable.
Also included is a slow-galloping cover of Judas Priest’s “Dissident Aggressor.” While the deep rumble is appreciated, it goes without saying that Priest’s version is superior. The album finally closes with “Spill the Blood,” which is much like the title track, and is probably the most Seasons-like track here. Together, the two make perfect bookends for the record.
The production values are kind of interesting, keeping the drums and vocals remarkably clear and defined while the guitars have a muddier tone, helping to maintain the thick bottom-end sound. Dave Lombardo is, of course, a drumming lunatic, even if his snare sound sometimes makes it seem like he’s beating on a tabletop. Lead guitarist Kerry King will never be known as a shredder, but he surprises us here: it actually appears as though he may have taken a few moments to sketch a rough outline for his whooping, screaming solos. Consequently, South of Heaven ends up being some of his best work. Meanwhile, Jeff Hanneman shows you all the things that can be done with a simple low-E power chord and some chugging, since he rarely strays from that mode of playing, here or ever. Vocalist Tom Araya ……… well, it’s Tom Araya. He’s the voice of Slayer, after all, even if he is limited in terms of range and dynamics. The lyrics, naturally, keep well within the boundaries of war, religion and the dark side of mankind. But would you have it any other way?
All in all, South of Heaven is an in-between record for the band, and shows some definite growing pains. Even with that, it’s still a damn decent record, perfect for solitary brooding, or possibly some depraved behavior shrouded in the dark of night.
Best songs: “South of Heaven,” “Read Between the Lies”
Worst song: “Dissident Agressor”
STORMTROOPERS OF DEATH
Speak English or Die! -- 1985/1999
(Megaforce)
Rating: 6.0
This is a novelty record, plain and simple. That being said, it’s a pretty GOOD novelty record. S.O.D. was a joint venture between Scott Ian and Charlie Benante of Anthrax fame, plus Nuclear Assault’s Danny Lilker (also an Anthrax alum) and the inimitable Billy Milano. Hell, Speak English or Die! Was only recorded as a joke, yet somehow found its way to release, and what’s more, platinum status.
Musically, this collective of Big Apple heavyweights (literally, in Milano’s case) combines elements of the then-burgeoning thrash, speed-metal and hardcore punk sounds. This style went on to become hugely popular (although mutated) in years to come, and is all the more surprising given the traditional opposing relationship metal and punk had heretofore maintained. Without all the flowery language, that just meant that metalheads and punks hated each other’s fucking guts for much of recorded history. Well, as they say, sometimes it’s the innocent little jokes that start a revolution. It’s much the same way Thomas Jefferson penned the Declaration of Independence during a mushroom bender back in 1776, intending it for publication on The Onion.
Not counting the bonus material added to the 1999 Platinum Edition reissue (which I’ll get to in a moment), there isn’t a song on here longer than three minutes, and only a few over two minutes. Many of the songs follow a pattern of starting out with a killer riff or groove, and then throwing it all away after about half a minute to plunge headfirst into breakneck hardcore. For shining examples, see “Kill Yourself” and “Douche Crew.” “Pi Alpha Nu” and ‘Freddy Kreuger” also sport mean-ass riffs, but neither sticks around for very long. Others are little more than vehicles for the band’s decidedly politically-incorrect humor. Unfortunately, Milano’s shouted vocals are often unintelligible, being so rapid and buried under a wall of noise, you need a lyric sheet to figure out what the hell he’s saying. Luckily, I have one, so the jokes aren’t lost on me. “Kill Yourself” seems to be an answer to all the lawsuits against this or that metal act due to some messed-up kid bumping himself off. The song informs us that “you’re a loser at every thing you do,” and urges us to end it all in every way possible. “Take a dirt-nap, buy the farm, inject a bubble in your arm!” “Fist-Bangin’ Mania” is a condemnation of the hard-rock tradition, advising us to “save that shit for Motley Crue!” “Premenstrual Princess Blues,” features a shrill female railing against the world in general, and Irving, her oafish companion, in particular, with a gleefully disgusting punchline, which I won’t spoil for you.
Oh, all right. It’s “What? You’re hungry? Come here, Irving, darling. HOW ABOUT A BLOODY MARY!”
“What’s That Noise” is a minute-long tirade from Milano, sparked by faulty playback equipment. As the tape grinds and wheezes, Milano shouts curses at everyone in earshot, growing progressively more frantic as the track wears on. Is it completely dumb? Yes. Have I outgrown cuss-humor? I thought I had.
Some of the jokes are slightly more subtle, such as “The Ballad of Jimi Hendrix,” where the band plays the opening notes of “Purple Haze,” before Milano announces, “He’s dead!” This is the most notable of several tracks which are only a few seconds in length.
Occasionally, the band takes on social issues, with gloriously uncouth results. The title track gets more timely and appropriate with each passing year, as does the half-minute “Fuck the Middle East.”
Some of the songs even incorporate actual musical hooks. Getting the festivities off to a completely literal bang is the stomping double-whammy of “March of the S.O.D.” and “Sergeant D and the S.O.D.” Meanwhile, “United Forces” rides high amid the chaos with its inspirational call to put aside our petty differences. Of course, the boys know that will probably never happen, but it’s a nice thought, and an even better song. “Chromatic Death” and “Milk” were both covered by Anthrax some years later, but are here in their definitive form, with “Milkk” being the hilariously bad-tempered better of the two.
In 1999, Megaforce released a Platinum Edition, to commemorate the album’s sales of over a million copies with virtually no promotion. The package comes with new liner notes and photos and, most importantly, three studio bonus tracks (including the long-lost and thoroughly kick-ass “Ram It Up”), and an entire live set, recorded in Tokyo in 1999. The best part of this is Milano’s priceless stage raps, including the band trying to set a record by performing six of their shortest songs in under nine seconds. (It takes them two tries, but they pull it off.) “Milano Mosh,” “Milk,” “Sergeant D,” and the set-closing, extended version of “United Forces” are just as pummeling as the studio versions you just heard, and the drums and vocals are both more easily heard as well. The real prize, though, is “Speak English or Die,” which, in addition to getting a manic Japanese crowd to scream the title 9even though they probably don’t understand a word of what he’s saying), includes a surprise delight: the band injects a rendition of the intro of Slayer’s “Rainin’ Blood” into the song, to the crowd’s, and your, extreme joy.
So why the mediocre rating? I didn’t take off points because it’s a joke record. I took off points because, if they weren’t saved by the inherent humor, many of these songs would be complete junk. I don’t like the way the band gets a really cool groove going and then totally kills it, and the ensuing top-speed sections are largely indistinguishable from one another. As noted earlier, if you don’t already know what the words are, you’ll miss out on a lot of the laughs, because the vocals are generally buried under super-distorted guitars and an extremely loud bass. The great live material adds on a good two points to the rating, and the more memorable music to be found, along with the yuks, provide most of the rest. One thing'’ for sure though, this disc will definitely get the head banging.
Best songs: “March of the S.O.D./Sergeant D. and the S.O.D.,” “Speak English or Die!” “United Forces” (both versions of each)
Worst songs: Almost anything under a minute long
EXODUS: Fabulous Disaster --1989
(Combat)
Rating: 7.5
Exodus were arguably the very first Bay Area thrash band. When they formed in 1981, they counted none other than Kirk Hammett among their ranks. Hammett, of course, decamped for Metallica after a couple years, replacing Dave Mustaine, who is still smarting over the whole thing. But while Metallica and Megadeth were awakening a generation to thrash metal, Exodus somehow got left behind. The release of their debut album was delayed for almost two years, and by the time Bonded By Blood was finally released in 1985, Exodus were already considered an also-ran. Then original vocalist Paul Baloff split, which actually turned out to be a good move, because his replacement was one Steve “Zetro” Souza. Let it be known, here and now, that Souza is probably my favorite thrash vocalist, and his venomous rasp, along with the dueling guitars of Gary Holt and Rick Hunolt, is a large part of what gave Exodus their signature sound (although the late Baloff still has his disciples).
Fabulous Disaster is probably the band’s best-known album, largely on the strength of a pair of “hits,” if you can call them that. “Toxic Waltz” is a thrashing classic with some of Souza’s most caustic work, with trademark silly lyrics extolling the joys of moshing. “Good friendly violent fun in store for all!” Souza crows. Meanwhile, “Low Rider” is a revved-up and fiendish take on War’s ’70’s beaner-rock anthem. Cowbells! Hell yeah!
Elsewhere on the album’s excellent first half, we’re treated to the thoroughly ripping title track, where every possible rhyme for “disaster” is used in the chorus (yes, including “bastard”). First track “Last Act of Defiance” opens with an orotund spoken-word passage that’s delightfully ominous, until you actually listen to what’s being said. It’s some rap about how the prison system is “the ultimate expression of inhumanity and injustice in the society at large.” Yeah, whatever. The song itself is a relentless headbang from start to finish, dealing with the 1980 riots at the New Mexico state pen. (A&E sometimes airs a documentary on it; try and catch it, it’s a pretty interesting story). The real gem of the first half, however, is “Cajun Hell.” Opening with the sounds of crickets and frogs and some twanging blues-guitar, the track soon plunges headlong into a city-dweller’s nightmare vision of being lost in the South, complete with alligators, moonshine, and those crazy Cajuns. Chief lyricist Holt must’ve been watching Deliverance, while writing this one. Even as hackneyed and outdated as this whole theme is, Exodus somehow make it work, with their talent for violent farce, and the track ends up being one of the highlights of the disc. Plus, the music is a total trip, from the hokey intro to the classic thrash mainframe.
The only other Exodus CD I own is last year’s fantastic Tempo of the Damned, and the only reason I bring that up is because I notice a peculiar similarity between that album and Fabulous Disaster. In both cases, the first half of the disc is completely face-ripping, and then things start to get a little uneven for the remainder. Here, “Like Father, Like Son” is another of those songs where the band tries to tackle a serious issue (child abuse). They wrestle with the topic for nearly nine minutes before giving up, and the song is ultimately unconvincing and boring. Conversely, the goofy serial-killer yarn “Open Season” comes off sounding rushed and incomplete.
The band saves face with the righteous “Corruption,” and especially the fierce “Verbal Razors.” Souza rips some unlucky bastard a new one while the band provides the soundtrack to a steel-toed, brass-knuckled ass-whuppin’.
The record wraps up with a cover of AC/DC’s “Overdose,” an oft-overlooked gem from Let There Be Rock. While I’m not sure I hear the Souza/Bon Scott resemblance invoked by many, I can’t imagine any other thrash band pulling of an AC/DC cover so convincingly.
Perhaps Exodus’s biggest weakness is their lyrics. Gary Holt has a tendency to go off into decidedly left-wing tirades (reaching a nadir of anti-American bile on Tempo’s otherwise stellar “Scar-Spangled Banner”). Such themes are all fine and dandy, except that they’re long on spleen, but often don’t make much actual sense. Holt even contradicts himself from one song to the next. On “Last Act of Defiance,” he bemoans the barbarism of the penal system, but a few songs later, on “Corruption,” he has Souza demanding why all the various scumbags that populate our planet aren’t locked up. The lyrics are equally flimsy when they try to take on a serious issue, and wind up sounding as though they were written by an angry but none-too-bright teenager. Exodus is best when they’re dishing out their special brand of hokey brutality and character assassinations. However, the music is usually energetic and infectious enough so you don’t mind the lyrics too awful much. Now if I only knew what “Zetro” meant. [Nickname given to him as a kid - rip]
Best songs: “Toxic Waltz,” “Cajun Hell,” “Verbal Razors”
Worst song: “Like Father, Like Son”
AMON AMARTH: Versus The World
2003 (Metal Blade)
Rating: 8.0
Most everybody knows I normally hate death metal. Can’t stand it, don’t find much value in it, and generally won’t bother with it. But there are exceptions to every rule, and Amon Amarth is one of the few. For some reason, when a good friend turned me on to this CD, I immediately found myself liking it. We’ve tried a few other death metal experiments, but none have been so instantly successful as this. I like it, what can I tell ya?
This Swedish outfit is what they call, rather oxymoronically, “melodic death.” I’ve come to understand that “melodic” is a relative term. You won’t be singing any of these songs in the shower, as the vocal hooks rely more on the rhythm of the words rather than an actual tune. But the guitars, particularly the solos, do contain melodic passages. By this, I just mean it’s not the usual indiscriminate bludgeoning you get from straight death metal. For that reason, and also some special magic of the band’s own making, this isn’t one of those death metal albums you have to sit there and concentrate on to get all the subtle nuances that keep it from being a blur of boring noise.
Amon Amarth takes traditional metal riffs and arrangements, heats them on a forge, takes a big heavy hammer and pounds the living shit out of them so that then the whole mess cools off, it’s something new and interesting, but you can still hear the old elements buried deep in the core. The thing that stands out for me is that, more so than I would’ve believed any death metal outfit could do consistently ……… well, how else to put it? These guys rock! I mean it literally. Nearly every song here gets you wanting to bob your head, stomp your feet, or maybe drum a little on the table. They make it sound as though, beneath all the ferocity and macabre lyrics, they’re enjoying themselves.
The drummer might be having the best time of them all, as he never fails to amaze. At times, it’s almost like he’s doing his own thing, off in a corner, and the band is just playing along with him, letting him lead. He does it all, steady and methodical grooves, all-out fiendish pounding, a splash of tribal beats here and there, and all punctuated with fills galore to keep it interesting. Unfortunately, you have to strain a bit to hear him, because his drums, like much of the death metal I’ve heard (particularly that produced by Peter Tatgren, as this is) has the drums far down in the mix, only a rung above the more-felt-than-heard bass, and nearly drowned out by layers of superdistorted guitars that sometimes sound more like industrial machinery working overtime than simple wires being plucked. Also like most death metal (almost by definition), the vocals suck, from the standpoint of being melodic, or even semi-decipherable. Yet somehow, Johan Hegg manages to make it work, although I’m at a loss to explain just how he does it. Perhaps it’s the overall contagious quality of the music that makes you not mind the harsh rasping, growling and the occasional scream.
Coming near album’s end, “Bloodshed” offers the closest thing to a “hook” to be found, with its repetitive chanting of the title to a pounding backbeat. The “set me freeeeee” refrain on the incredibly gay-titled (but nonetheless very cool) “Across the Rainbow Bridge” is about the only other vocal hook on the album. Otherwise, Hegg tends to use similar phrasing through many of the similarly-paced tunes, which can lead to a bit of monotony on the first few listens. For the rest of album, you’re left to concentrate on the sheer power of the music to get most of your enjoyment.
Luckily, there’s plenty to tickle your ears. From the mesmerizing primitive drumming and almost Maiden-like solos in “Death in Fire,” to the slow march of the title track, to the sonic blizzardof “For the Stabwounds In Our Backs.” Hidden in the latter is a great, romping passage that harkens back to the best of classic thrash, with even a little strut to it. Meanwhile, “Thousand Years of Oppression” makes you want to grab a spiked club and go discover Greenland. This song features one of several creepy half-spoken-half-chanted interludes scattered through the disc. Meanwhile, “Beyond the Slopes of Death” is a song about Sonny Bono’s untimely demise. Okay, it isn’t, but I couldn’t write this review without using that line.
Lyrically, the usual topics of death and destruction are well-represented, with a healthy dose of Norse mythology to keep it from getting too trite. None of that pompous Morbid Angel applesauce, and these Swedes don’t use their lyrics to show off how mmuch English profanity they know. The themes are intelligent without being overbearing, and the music is fun (at least as far as death metal goes) without being cheesy.
Best songs: “Across the Rainbow Bridge,” “Bloodshed"
Worst song: “……… And Soon the World Will Cease to Be”
ICED EARTH: The Dark Saga
1996 (Century Media)
Rating: 9.0
1996 was such a miserable year, both for metal in general and for me personally. The bands who had sustained the genre for the past decade or more were either disbanded or in near-total disarray. Metal presence on FM radio was at an all-time low, and the airwaves were littered with alt-rock barrel-scrapings like the Verve Pipe, Tonic and Spacehog. Even grunge was on the way out, with its most tolerable practitioners, Alice in Chains and Soundgarden, releasing their respective swan songs. And Slayer were doing punk covers, and the less said about that, the better. What decent metal was released (with the exception of a minor radio hit for Corrosion of Conformity) was completely under the radar. The Internet was still in its infancy, as far as being a dependable source for new music.
Even without these bleak surroundings, Iced Earth’s fourth studio effort would still roll a spare. The rating of 9.0 is all the more impressive when you consider the release date. Unfortunately, I didn’t discover Iced Earth until well after the new millennium.
Up to this point, IE had been a power/speed-metal mix, with emphasis on speed. Ringleader Jon Schaffer went through a couple subpar vocalists (and shredded several million lightning-fast triplets) over the groups first two albums, before landing the soulful Matt Barlow for the Burnt Offerings CD. It is here, on Dark Saga, where all the ingredients finally come together. The music isn’t as fast as on previous releases, which only helps make it memorable. For the lyrics, Schaffer indulges his inner geek by basing these ten songs on the first ten installments of the Spawn comic book series. Don’t give a damn about comic books? Me neither, and it doesn’t matter. The songs are just as powerful and compelling even fi you only have a vague idea of what’s going on thematically.
After a moody intro, the title track gets things going with a heavy chug, with Barlow angrily spitting out his words. “God damn his LIES!” The song rolls along like Black Album-era Metallica, only ten times better. Next up is the brooding “I Died For You,” easily the band’s best ballad. Barlow moans his despair and disillusionment atop alternating soft and heavy sections, and the only thing that could possibly be better is the band’s live version from their crowning achievement, 1999’s towering Alive In Athens, which brings out the post-solo wails. “The Hunter” sports a blistering riff and more great vocal work.
Dark Saga does have its thrashing moments, notably in “Vengeance Is Mine,” and especially the brutal “Violate.” Barlow is at his most enraged and vindictive here, as well as on the similar ‘The Last Laugh.” Through it all, he never foregoes melody for the sake of aggression, which is impressive in itself.
Ending the feast is the obligatory “epic” trilogy, a phenomenon Schaffer would go on to beat mercilessly with future ponderous bombast like “Gettysburg, 1863).” “The Dark Trilogy,’ is more contained and enjoyable. “Scarred” is the slowest track on the disc, with a mournful, wailing chorus, and a solo you can actually hear! “Slave to the Dark” is built around a standard metal riff, and does little with it, alas. The trilogy, and album, closes with “A Question of Heaven.” “The time is close now,” Barlow croons, as he heralds the main character’s imminent demise as though it were his own. For this song, Schaffer and Barlow enlist the help of a female singer, sister to one, wife to the other, to provide some angelic vocals. They aren’t backing vocals, as they go off on their own tangent, serving as a counterweight to Barlow’s final agonies.
For the first time, Schaffer finds it in himself to step aside and let someone else have the spotlight, as Barlow is the true star of this album, with his smooth, emotive pipes. He’s like a mix of James Hetfield and Paul Stanley, but better than either. He does seem to be reaching for some of the lower notes (“Depths of Hell”), but is otherwise perfectly suited to the material. Meanwhile, Schaffer has cooled off the triplet mania that has helped garner him a reputation for riff-recycling over the years. Granted, he sticks even closer to the low-E power-chord than do the guys in Slayer, and perhaps does even less with that chord, but it fits here, just like everything else. The only thing missing are some good guitar lolos. Oh, they’re here all right, and they’re probably pretty decent, but Schaffer doesn’t think solos are very important (probably because he can’t play them), and so lead guitarist Randy Shawver is shoved way down in the mix, so as not to threaten or upstage His Royal Highness.
As you might guess, this is my favorite Iced Earth album. When I can’t decide what to listen to, stuck between wanting something heavy or melodic, as like as not, I find myself reaching for Dark Saga.It’s toned-down enough to let the melodies have center stage, yet is seldom bombastic. The only thing in the band’s category that comes near to topping it is Alive In Athens. Which, incidentally, contains almost all of these songs.
Best songs: “I Died for You,” “The Last Laugh”
Worst song: “Slave to the Dark”
7/10/2005
