Mercyful Fate: Melissa 1983

Metal music is hard to take seriously. Metal musicians tend to take themselves too seriously. Metal fans are often chest-beating, homophobic, illiterate Neanderthals. Rock journalists, historians, and scribes treat the genre like rock music’s redheaded stepchild. Self-aware fans like myself are hesitant to openly express their fandom.

Unlike his naïve counterpart, the aforementioned chest-beating homophobe, the “Enlightened Metalhead” knows he must hide his forbidden love of all things denim, leather, and loud. To admit to being a metalhead is to invite scorn and ridicule from music fans with more “sophisticated” tastes. Rolling Stone, Spin, the powers that be at the Rock–n-Roll Hall of Fame are all tripping over themselves to sing the praises of the Stones, Stooges, and Sgt. Pepper. However, if you’re looking for some love for Sabbath, Slayer, and Sepultura — don’t hold your breath. Even when it comes, like it eventually did for arguably one of rock’s most influential bands — Black Sabbath — it will come long overdue and after much debate and unnecessary deliberation.

So what does any of this have to do with Mercyful Fate’s masterwork “Melissa”?

Mercyful Fate is a band that only a metalhead could love. They are the ultimate guilty pleasure of the self-aware metal connoisseur. The lyrics are over-the-top satanic prose sung in an often glass shattering falsetto by a man in black and white kabuki face paint into a microphone bedazzled with actual human bones. The songs are sprawling compositions, loaded with more riffs than the first ten Black Sabbath albums combined. They eschew any semblance of traditional song structure. The standard verse-chorus-verse-chorus-guitar solo-chorus repeat ‘till fade is nowhere to found here. This is a band and an album that will never receive recognition from the Rock Hall or Rolling Stone. Many will even regard them as nothing more than adolescent shock rock. Others will regard them as a joke.

That is a damn shame.

Mercyful Fate are one of the most important and influential bands in metal history. Their debut album, “Melissa” became the cheat sheet, crib notes, and how-to manual for the metal revolution that would dominate the eighties. “Melissa” spawned not one, but two metal subgenres — Black Metal and Thrash Metal. Any fan of the early work of Slayer, Metallica, and Megadeth will hear their signature stylistic tendencies all over “Melissa” — the wild changes in tempo, constantly changing and evolving guitar riffs, the dark lyrics, the use of quiet passages set against blistering bursts of metal riffage, the understanding and effective use of dynamics — those traits that set the early thrash movement apart from the ridiculously flamboyant and vapid eighties hair metal, are all packed into Melissa’s thirty-nine brilliant minutes.

The album is everything that metal gets mocked for. The vocals, the solos, the lyrics — it’s all here but delivered with such conviction and swagger that the band pulls it off. The album opens with King Diamond’s magnum opus to corpse fucking, the appropriately titled, “Evil.” “Evil” is the best track on the album and really showcases guitarist Hank Sherman’s knack for murderous metal riffage. How this guy is never mentioned in the same regard as other riff-masters like James Hetfield and Tony Iommi is beyond me. “Melissa” is loaded with classic riffs.

At just over a half-hour in length “Melissa” never suffers a dull moment. By today’s standard “Melissa” sounds a lot less like the devils personal soundtrack to hell and more like classic rock. That’s not a bad thing — this is classic stuff. “Curse of the Pharaohs” and “Into the Coven” follow, the later sporting an intro classical guitar passage that sounds plucked right out of medieval times. “At the Sound of the Demon Bell” and “Black Funeral” comprise the middle portion of the album and are also the most demonic lyrically. Of course if you could handle the corpse fucking in track one you’ll be fine when King Diamond is commanding you to “All Hail Satan!” by track five.

Melissa’s most ambitious piece is the second to last track, “Satan’s Fall.” Coming in at just under twelve minutes, “Satan’s Fall” is easily Melissa’s musical centerpiece. The riffs endlessly shift and evolve, moving onto the next before the listener has had the chance to digest what has just been heard. It will take a few listens to appreciate, but is well worth the time invested.

“Melissa” closes with the title track, a ballad of sorts lamenting the loss of a witch and promising bloody revenge for her demise. The track has a seventies classic rock vibe, reminiscent of Alice Cooper. Guitarists Michael Denner and Hank Shermann shine while trading surprisingly soulful leads.

“Melissa” and metal in general, will never receive the respect that they deserve. This metalhead is O.K. with that. Part of what makes “Melissa”, and being a metalhead special in the first place, is that it is yours. If you are one of the few to actually get the music, you are by default, in select company. When you meet someone else who “gets” it as well, you instantly become friends. It is a brotherhood. It is a lifestyle. All of this seems corny to the uninitiated, but metalheads know what I am talking about. Throw “Melissa” on your iPod and embrace your inner misfit. This is outsider music for the socially awkward, the alienated, the disenfranchised — those of us who never had a voice — that is until King Diamond lent us his unmistakable demonic wail. If you love metal and somehow missed this early eighties treasure, check it out. I guarantee you’ll “get it.” 9.8/10

Ghost: Opus Eponymous 2010

When I was in high School 1,000,00 years ago, I listened to a lot of Danzig. Which was great, because that was when he and his band were really fuckin’ good. I can also remember a preacher from a local church spending a great deal of time hanging around our High School, buddying up with students, talking to faculty, and basically worming his way into the culture of our school. He especially zeroed in on the “troubled” kids, of which I was one — by his estimation anyway. I don’t know if any of this was appropriate or even legal, but it happened. Our principal was perfectly OK with it. I suspect they both shared a mutual admiration for that Jesus fellow.

ANYWAY…I remember enthusiastically sharing my new CD, “Danzig II: Lucifuge” with our local High School-stalker-preacher-guy. We’ll call him “Bob” for the purposes of this story. I was totally stoked to have my grubby little paws on the Danzig album. I told Bob it kicked ass and even took the time to demonstrate how the CD sleeve folded out into an inverted cross. Bob was not amused. He explained to me that out of all the satanic metal bands, Danzig bothered him the most. To Bob, Danzig posed the greatest threat. Danzig’s music, with its tendency toward catchy hooks and sing-along choruses, had the greatest potential for commercial success. In Bob’s opinion, musically abrasive satanic bands like Slayer or Morbid Angel would never have the ability to reach a wider audience. Therefore, while he found their message troublesome, they posed little threat.

In the end Bob’s analysis was somewhat accurate. Danzig scored a huge radio hit with “Mother”, proving that the band could enjoy some widespread, mainstream success. However, Slayer did eventually win a couple Grammy’s. Which proved that they too, could enjoy commercial success. Either way the world didn’t come to an end.

So what the fuck does any of this have to do with Ghost’s “Opus Eponymous?”

“Opus Eponymous”, is an album packed full of un-metal melody, which at times borders on pop. The songs will borough their way into your skull and sit their like some kind of satanic tumor. Like early Danzig, Ghost’s songs are accessible enough to eventually yield some mainstream success. Also, like Danzig, their lyrics are always about Satan, Satan, and every once in while for a change of pace, Satan.

Bob should be worried.

“Opus Eponymous”, is best described as a cross between Blue Oyster Cult and Merciful Fate. The riffs are retro in a wonderfully 70’s kinda way. The production is bone dry. The music on “Opus Eponymous” will remind you of other bands at times, but it never sounds derivative.

I imagine most metal heads will take umbrage with the vocals. Lead vocalist, “Papa Emeritus”, sings on “Opus Eponymous.” He doesn’t shout, bark, growl, belch or fart into the microphone like most modern metal vocalists. He doesn’t appear to suffer from any bro-like tendencies of metal machismo. Instead he delivers a poppy vocal performance, peppered with just enough falsetto to remind you of King Diamond. The approach works and serves as the perfect compliment to the retro metal groove being laid down by the backing band.

The album clocks in at around 30 minutes, which I personally love, because you can listen to it again and again without growing a long white beard. Every track is outstanding. My favorites are “Ritual,” “Elizabeth,” and “Stand by Him.” There are two instrumentals.

The Japanese version contains a cover of The Beatles “Here Comes the Sun” as a bonus track. Oddly enough, it makes for an outstanding album closer and sounds positively evil while not deviating too much from the original.

“Opus Eponymous” is an outstanding debut album for Ghost. The album has an undeniable classic rock vibe. The playing is progressive, yet tasteful. The songs are amazingly well crafted. Give it a few spins and I guarantee you’ll find yourself singing, “This chapel of ritual Smells of dead human sacrifices”, while in the shower. Not since the Misfits have poppy choruses and Satan sounded so good together. 9.5/10

Misfits: The Devil's Rain 2011

I was at a buddy’s house in the early nineties when I noticed he had a copy of American Psycho sitting beside his stereo. I asked him if it was any good and he sheepishly shrugged his shoulders and gave me the ole’, “It’s O.K.” The truth is I didn’t care what he said. I had already written it off. I suspect that the truth may also be that he didn’t want to admit that he liked it. We all subscribed to some unwritten and unspoken idea that the Misfits without Glenn Danzig were not the Misfits at all — that “The Misfits: Mach II” represented nothing more than a cash grab on behalf two former members of the original band, both of whom apparently lacked the creativity, ambition, or talent necessary to start their own, new band. The original incarnation of the Misfits was in many ways, pure magical brilliance, an elusive combination of timing and talent that happens to only a handful of bands. And when it happens, those bands become legendary.

So the question must be asked, why would Jerry Only, the sole original remaining member in the Misfits, want to continue operating under the Misfits moniker, knowing that anything they create, no matter how good it may or may not be, will never live up to the legendary status of the original bands output? The obvious answer is that the Misfits brand is a cash cow and that no matter how uninspired any new material may be, the name alone gives it a chance to sell. And if you can’t actually move the albums themselves, you can always sell Misfits posters, t-shirts, coffee mugs, air fresheners, lunch boxes, socks, buttons, belt-buckles, shot glasses, lighters, cell phone cases, beer mugs, incense, and whatever the fuck else you can fit a smiling, money-making Crimson Ghost logo on.

The fact is though, much to the chagrin of  Danzig die-hards, the “Newfits” (The Misfits: Mach II) records were pretty good. American Psycho and Famous Monsters were heavy, thrashing, and damn fun to listen to. It was good to have the Misfits around in any incarnation over a decade after the original line-ups demise. Many fans came on board after Metallica covered Last Caress and Green Hell in 1986 on their Garage Days: The $5.98 E.P., three years after the original Misfits broke up. The “Newfits” gave a new generation of fans a chance to see their heroes in action.

Today, “The Misfits: Mach III” is comprised of original fiend, Jerry Only on bass and vocals, Dez Cadena on guitar, and Eric “Chupacabra” Arceon on drums. This version of the Misfits has been around awhile, but has not released any new material until now. The Devil’s Rain took a few listens to grab me and ultimately it did. The album kicks off with the title track, and it is the best track on the album. The Devil’s Rain is a dark anthem of sorts, featuring a nice driving riff and ominous thunderclouds clapping throughout. It segues nicely into the second track, Vivid Red, which in true punk fashion, clocks in at less than two minutes. It’s a slammin’ tune that when coupled with The Devil’s Rain, makes for a nice opening one-two punch. Land of the Dead follows and is another strong track.

The Devil’s Rain has more of a punk vibe than American Psycho or Famous Monsters, which skewed toward more of a metal sound. However, a few of The Devil’s Rain’s tracks do sound metal. For example, Jack the Ripper actually reminds me of a Paul Di’Anno-era Iron Maiden song — think Phantom of the Opera. It is also one of two tracks, along with album closer, Death Ray, which Dez Cadena sings lead vocals on.  The Black Hole, Twilight of the Dead, and the Ghost of Frankenstein all sound like tracks that could have come from “The Misfits: Mach II” era.

The Devil’s Rain loses some points for the obvious filler in the back half of the record. Monkey’s Paw, Where Do They Go?, and Sleepwalkin’ could have all been left off and the result would have been a tighter, more focused album. The Devil’s Rain features more guitar solos than Misfits fans may be accustomed to, as well as a few moments of 50’s style doo-wop vocals. Jerry Only does a decent job in taking over the lead vocal duties, He doesn’t have the dynamic range of either of the band’s previous singers, but this particular set of songs doesn’t require it either.

The Devil’s Rain is the weakest entry into the Misfits canon of legendary horror-punk. However, that doesn’t make it a bad album. At the very least it raises to the level of the bands “Mach II” nineties output and at times even surpasses it. The songs are not as dark as the bands classic Danzig-era output. At times the music is downright cheesy. However, if you are in the mood, it’ll hit you the right way.

Fair or not, The Devil’s Rain will be judged against the original Misfits material. If it were a Jerry Only solo project, I might think that Jerry has a pretty nifty lil’ solo record on his hands.

But it’s not.

So what we are left with as listeners and fans is a decent record bearing the Misfits name, but lacking the magic, wondering where our loyalties end, and if the name alone means that we owe it a chance. 6.5/10

Megadeth: TH1RT3EN 2011

Megadeth’s thirteenth album is surprisingly called TH1RT3EN, which while admittedly lacking the humor or creativity of past Megadeth titles, seems logical enough. In spite of its star-crossed moniker, Megadeth fans are in luck. TH1RT3EN is outstanding. However, before I start beating off all over my keyboard, let me issue the following disclaimer — this is not Rust in Peace II, Peace Sells II, or even Countdown to Extinction II. The thrash is minimal (like two songs minimal), it is not packed full of trademark Megadeth dual guitar solos, and it is not going to win the “Heaviest Face-Melting Thrash Metal Album of the Year” award from anyone, any time soon. It is however, packed full of well-crafted, catchy, modern-era Megadeth music.

It’s time for Megadeth fans clamoring for RIP II to accept defeat and move on. It’s clear that after twenty years of releasing non-RIP II albums, Dave Mustaine simply no longer has any interest in exploring the brand of thrash metal that put Megadeth on the map. The band spent the bulk of the nineties moving progressively further away from thrash, ultimately culminating in the complete genre departure that was Risk. The post-Risk era has seen Dave move the band back toward a more conventional Megadeth sound, but it is still far from the thrash glory of the bands first four albums. Instead, Dave & Co. find themselves nestled quite comfortably in the midst of a late career run of solid, mature, albeit somewhat predictable, heavy metal albums. Each one peppered with just enough old-school feel to keep their fanbase happy, while still allowing Dave to explore the hooky, hard-rock-radio ready heavy metal he is so damn good at writing.

For those of you looking for RIP II, I have taken it upon myself to compile the following list of post-Risk tunes. Feel free to throw them on your iPod and make-believe Dave did indeed deliver the album of your dreams.

Rust in Peace II Released November 1, 2011
1. Recipe for Hate… Warhorse
2. Return to Hanger
3. Blackmail the Universe
4. Kick the Chair
5. Sleepwalker
6. You’re Dead
7. Burnt Ice
8. This Day We Fight!
9. 1,320
10. Endgame
11. Headcrusher
12. Sudden Death
13. Never Dead
14. New World Order

O.K., that ought to do it.

Now we can go about the business of reviewing TH1RT3EN.

Megadeth have not released an album that sounds this good since 1994's Youthanasia. I always loved the thick sound of that record and thought that it suited Megadeth well. Countdown to Extinction, while a technical exercise in studio perfection, always sounded too robotic to me. TH1RT3EN sounds nice and fat, the band sounds live, the bass in audible, and Dave’s vocals are high in the mix, which is key because these songs are catchy and vocal dependent.

The songs themselves remind me of some of the deep cuts on Youthanasia, such as I Thought I Knew it All and Black Curtains. Deadly Nightshade has a funky palm-muted riff reminiscent of Train of Consequences. I absolutely love Wrecker. It sounds like a heavier version of Megadeth’s Risk-era track, Seven, mixed with Guns-n-Roses, Out Ta Get Me. The lyrics are great and will be appreciated by any married man such as myself. It’s really nice to hear some humor in a Megadeth song again. Megadeth employed humor in their music as far back as their debut album Killing is My Business with their cover of Nancy Sinatra’s These Boots. Unfortunately, they have gotten away from the funny stuff in recent years, as the lyrics have become increasingly political & preachy. TH1RT3EN is more fun & simpler lyrically.

There are a handful of reworked b-sides on the album that fans may recognize, but they fit perfectly and each is better than the original. A few tracks like, We the People and Guns, Drugs, & Money, didn’t click for me immediately, but now I find myself really digging them. So give the record a few spins.

TH1RT3EN is strong and consistent from top to bottom. The playing is a bit more restrained and the song structures are more to the point. The focus is clearly on simpler songs with infectious hooks. The production is stellar and gives Megadeth a more modern sound that really compliments the band and the material. Some fans may be disappointed at the lack of overt thrash and TH1RT3EN’s pop tendencies, especially after the old-school promise of Megadeth’s previous effort, Endgame. TH1RT3EN is certainly not the ever-elusive RIP II. However, disgruntled fans should remember that Mr. Mustaine is in charge, and after all, Who’s Life is it Anyways. 8.5/10

Lou Reed & Metallica: LuLu 2011

This album is getting killed on the inter-webs. The folks over at Blabbermouth are having a field day, the comment board on MetalSucks is blowing up with Metalli-hate, and the Gossip Board at Metal Sludge is doing more of the same.

I get it.

This pairing is inherently odd and not for everyone. I would venture a guess that most metalheads don’t listen to Lou Reed and vice versa. The avant garde, poetic musings of Lou Reed are in many ways the polar opposite of the testosterone-filled tough-guy machismo of Metallica’s brand of heavy metal music.

They made the album anyway.

LuLu is challenging, noisy, beautiful, atmospheric, ethereal, and at times a total train wreck. It is also fascinating and frequently emotionally powerful. There are moments when LuLu sounds like Metallica, forty years into the future, being fronted by an elderly James Hetfield, who has a drinking problem and just suffered a stroke. For example, Mistress Dread sounds like Metallica, bashing out Hit the Lights, with some insane old man on lead vocals, randomly babbling about bleeding and fucking. This is when LuLu does not work — when the song is simply Metallica being Metallica, and Lou Reed being Lou Reed, both playing two different songs on the same song. Does that make sense?

However, when Metallica abandon their stock riffage in favor of more open arrangements and really stretch out musically into uncharted territory, LuLu becomes captivating — even breathtaking. This is when LuLu sounds less like a collaborative juxtaposition of diametrically opposed musical forces, and more like one cohesive band. The best example is Little Dog, a sprawling, open composition that is surprisingly poignant and vulnerable.

It seems to take LuLu a while to find its legs. The last half of the album is much stronger than the first. Frustration, the aforementioned Little Dog, Dragon, and Junior Dad are easily the albums highlights. Iced Honey sounds like the most obvious attempt to recreate a classic Velvet Underground track and is the closest LuLu comes to commercial music. 

Lou Reed’s lyrics and delivery will be off-putting to many. However, if you enjoy the likes of Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, Tom Waits, and even the poetic ramblings of Jim Morrison, you’ll probably be O.K. with it. Metalheads are not. There are already fan made versions of LuLu without Lou Reed’s vocals popping up online.

LuLu is not for everyone. It is pretentious and self-indulgent. It is also worth a listen. I write a metal blog, but I am not exclusively a metalhead. I listen to almost everything, sans polka and most pop music. I may be the only person alive who actually enjoys LuLu. I even like it better than Metallica’s most recent studio effort, Death Magnetic, which I thought bordered on self-parody and sounded stock. I am certain that participating in this project will in some way influence Metallica’s next record. Metallica really needs to put their energy into making a good Metallica record, so I don’t know if that is necessarily a good thing. I can’t really recommend LuLu because I know most people will hate it. However, if you enjoy coffee house poetry, cinematic soundscapes, and Enter Sandman, you might find LuLu worth your while. 7.5/10

Overkill: Ironbound 2010

The “Big 4” of thrash metal — Metallica, Slayer, Megadeth, & Anthrax, just played Yankee Stadium a couple weeks back to wrap up their exhaustive two date North American Tour. Word is, in the Twitter-verse and elsewhere on the inter-webs, the show was a smashing (thrashing?) success. A little slice of heavy metal heaven for old-school ‘80’s thrash fans, if you will.

Now, I don’t want to throw a wet blanket on anyone’s devil horns, but this tour, while admittedly novel, feels about twenty years too late. Twenty years ago these bands were a four-headed monster of metal mastery, riding a career-defining wave of records like Rust in Peace, Persistence of Time, Seasons in the Abyss, and Metallica’s self-titled juggernaut. Fast forward to 2011 and the song is not quite the same. Slayer has morphed into a satanic AC/DC, effectively releasing the same record over and over again. Anthrax has suffered more lead singer & line-up changes than 80’s era Black Sabbath. Megadeth flirted with radio-friendly rock and alienated their core fans in the process. Finally, Metallica’s self-indulgent excursions into the musical wilderness of radio-rock, orchestral collaborations, and whatever the hell St. Anger was have ultimately left their fans exhausted and apathetic. Even an attempt to recreate past glory with 2008’s Death Magnetic came up lame.

One has to wonder are these guys even worthy of the “Big 4” moniker anymore?

I would submit, that the true “Big 4” of 80’s thrash metal is now Exodus, Testament, Death Angel, and Overkill. All of which are releasing contemporary thrashter-pieces that are among the best albums of their careers. Which brings us to the subject of today’s lengthy diatribe — Overkill’s 2010 magnum opus, Ironbound.

I honestly don’t know how to review this record. It really is as close to perfect as a thrash metal record can be. The opening track, The Green and Black is a microcosm of the album as a whole. It is an amazing track. A pummeling 8:12 minutes of metal featuring amazing vocals, thunderous drums, tight execution, sophisticated song writing, crisp modern production, incredibly fluid and tasteful lead work — I’m gushing.

It’s awesome.

Lead singer, Bobby "Blitz" Ellsworth gives a Herculean performance on this album. He sings high, low, menacing, and with a personality and energy that is all too often missing from modern metal. He sounds better than the “Blitz” I remember from the Overkill records of my youth. Simply put, his voice is badass.

Every track is a highlight. There are a few riffs that will remind you of other metal songs (Bring Me the Night borrows a riff from Diamond Head’s Helpless, Metallica’s Phantom Lord can be found in another), but the album is so damn good that you will forgive this minor transgression.

Overkill is one of those blue-collar bands that have been around forever but for whatever reason have not achieved superstardom. They have to tour. They have to write records. They have to grind it out year after year. They make enough money to avoid flipping burgers, but not enough to go on an extended hiatus or to become complacent. Maybe that is why their records are so damn good. They have to deliver to keep working. They don’t have the luxury of financial freedom that super-duper success would bring. They can’t afford to coast on past success and wallow in mediocrity album after album.

I listened to my share of Overkill in high school when I was a young, metal pup. However, through the years I lost track of them. Ironbound has succeeded in bringing me back into the fold.

I can’t wait to hear what they do next. 9.8/10

Megadeth: Peace Sells... But Who's Buying 1986

Somewhere along the way my hard rock and heavy metal musical tastes evolved. Like a beer drinker who now needs to smoke a little weed to get him where he needs to be, I found that as I grew older the hard rockin’ thump of AC/DC just wasn’t cutting it anymore. I needed something more. I had been introduced to Metallica by a fellow high school burnout who loaned me a cassette of Master of Puppets. I thought it was badass. I asked Santa Claus (mom) for Ride the Lightning and … And Justice for All for Christmas that year. Santa came through and as a result Metallica quickly replaced AC/DC as my favorite band. By this time I had purchased every album that AC/DC had put out to date. I loved me some AC/DC. Metallica however, was on another level. The music was heavy, fast, and dynamic. The lyrics dealt with real issues, not simply getting laid. That was always the inherent problem with listening to cock rock as a teenage boy; nobody was fucking me. I might as well of been listening to music about unicorns, leprechauns, and the tooth fairy because for this pizza-faced teenager, sex simply wasn’t in the realm of reality. Metallica wrote entire albums about alienation, revenge, manipulation, anger, & death. These were topics that spoke to me. I could relate. Music would no longer be something that just sounded great — now it expressed my feelings — feelings I lacked the maturity to express or even understand on my own. I had a voice.

Soon all of my friends were hooked on this unbelievably heavy underground band. We would scour the rock magazines and newspapers for any little detail about the band that we could dig up. The internet as we know it, did not exist. We knew that they just lost their original bass player to an unfortunate accident. We knew that they had just blown the mighty Van Halen off of the stage at The Monsters Of Rock. We also came to find out that they had fired their original lead guitar player and that this red-headed ne’er-do-well was now fronting his own band of thrash metal degenerates — Megadeth. The legend of Dave Mustaine was growing. As teenage kids without any real, credible source of information, Dave Mustaine’s departure form Metallica became the metal equivalent of Greek mythology. The story changed depending on whom you talked to.

It wasn’t long before I got my hands on a dubbed cassette copy of Dangerous Dave Mustaine’s second attempt at Metalli-revenge, Peace Sells… But Who’s Buying. I loved it. I can remember listening to it on my Walkman everyday on the way to and from school. It was heavy and fast like Metallica, but darker. The songs were more challenging to the listener. Master of Puppets was instantly memorable because of the hook in the chorus; ”MASTER, MASTER!” Peace Sells didn’t have obvious hooks. The song writing was complex… even jazzy at times. You had to want to like this album because it was going to take a few listens to click. For the most part Megadeth eschewed traditional verse-chorus, verse-chorus song structure on Peace Sells. For example the opening track, Wake Up Dead, kicks right in with eight lines of vocals, then nothing until the middle part of the song after several lead guitar solos and time changes. There is not any discernible attempt at a chorus. The same can be said of the second track, The Conjuring. No chorus whatsoever, just verses that continue to build. It isn’t until track three that we get anything resembling traditional song structure. Peace Sells, isn’t just a song, it’s an anthem.

”Whaddya mean I aint kind? I’m just not your kind.”

The lyrics are spit out in Mustaine’s unique sarcastic delivery. Many fans are put off by Dave Mustaine’s vocals. He does not possess the macho bark of a James Hetfield or Tom Araya. Dave’s vocals are closer to the punk rock snarl of Jello Biafra or Johnny Rotten, with a little Alice Cooper mixed in for good measure. Political and poignant, Peace Sells would become the trademark Megadeth track. Dave Ellefson's signature bassline would serve as Kurt Loder's MTV News intro music for years.

Devil’s Island follows and is as close to a traditional thrasher as this album will get. Good Mourning/Black Friday is the albums centerpiece. A brilliantly executed (pun intended), and morbid tale of a serial killers exploits, the track features some incredible lead work from virtuoso guitarist, Chris Poland as well as some frantic and jazzy drumming courtesy of the late Gar Samuelson. Like Wake Up Dead and The Conjuring, Black Friday avoids a traditional chorus, that is unless you consider Mustaine shouting “I’m out to destroy and I WILL CUT YOU DOWN” a sing-along chorus. Bad Omen, a cover of I Ain’t Superstitious, and My Last Words (a song about Russian Roulette) round out the album in glorious thrash metal fashion. Again, the material is dark. These are not happy campfire songs, unless the aforementioned campfire is taking place in hell.

For guitar players, Peace Sells is a veritable cornucopia of riffing and lead work to worship and digest. At the time, in what I’m sure was intended to ruffle the feathers of the mighty Metallica, Megadeth branded themselves ”The World’s State-of-the-Art Speed Metal Band.” They earn the title on Peace Sells. A band of lesser skill would simply be unable to perform this particular collection of Megadeth songs.

After my introduction to Megadeth via Peace Sells, Metallica quickly and quietly fell to number two on my list of favorite bands. I could just relate to Megadeth more. Rooting for Metallica is like rooting for the Yankees or Apple. It’s easy. They always win. Megadeth however, are perennial underdogs. I can relate to getting fired and having to start over. I've been there. I can relate to bad decisions and equally bad behavior. I can certainly relate to regret. I understand the desire for revenge — the motivation it instills. I get it.

In 1986, Peace Sells was Megadeth’s declaration of war. Despite being asked to leave, Dave Mustaine wasn’t going anywhere. 9.5/10

AC/DC: Blow Up Your Video 1988

Every red-blooded American boy’s journey into Heavy Metal uber-fandom has to start somewhere. For this young lad, that starting place was none other than a hard rockin’ band of Aussie’s named AC/DC.

I cut my teeth on that shit.

If memory serves right, the first AC/DC cassette I ever bought was Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. I bought it at an ACME grocery/department store in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. My mom would take my brother and I with her to go grocery shopping. I would beg her to let me break away and visit the music department. Once there, I would stare at the album covers, the illustrations, the wild, pointy logos — I could only imagine what the music inside must sound like.

Wasting time in the music store was one of the few things in my childhood that I truly loved. I would keep lists of cassettes that I wanted to buy. AC/DC, Iron Maiden, Pink Floyd, Def Leppard, all made the cut. However, once I purchased Dirty Deeds, all those other bands had to take a backseat. I had found my favorite band. The best part was, by that time AC/DC were already over ten years into their career and had amassed an impressive back catalog for me to discover. Let There Be Rock, Powerage, Highway to Hell, Back in Black, all awaiting my anxious discovery. It didn’t take long for me to get caught up. That was what was so special about the release of Blow Up Your Video. It was going to be the first new AC/DC album that I ever bought. I couldn’t wait.

Blow Up Your Video really gets slagged by AC/DC and hard rock fans on the internet. That always shocks me. How could these trolls not be hearing what I hear? The most common complaint is that the album has too much filler. I disagree. I think every track is a winner and certainly as a whole, the album is more consistent than much of the Brian Johnson era output, with the obvious exception of Back in Black. Even today, I would argue that Blow Up Your Video is that last truly great AC/DC album.

The album kicks off with the lead single and modest hit, Heatseeker. I can remember the t-shirts for this song in the record stores back then, they depicted Angus Young straddling a giant missile with all the phallic subtlety of a hog dog going into a doughnut. The second track and single is an old school AC/DC foot stomper called, That's the Way I Wanna Rock 'n' Roll. It’s in this song that AC/DC proclaims their desire to “blow-up” MTV and the music video culture that had transformed the record industry in the eighties. AC/DC wanted their rock-n-roll simple and to the point — free from the image obsessed trends that MTV and record labels had cultivated. Meanstreak follows, and is a nifty, bluesy, number that suits Brian Johnson’s nicotine ravaged pipes nicely. In fact, it should be noted, that this is probably Brian Johnson’s last truly great vocal performance to be entered into AC/DC’s catalog before his voice finally succumbed to years of abuse. Kissin’ Dynamite is one of my favorite tracks. It has a dark, nihilistic feel, which is unique for a band whose music is typically upbeat. Some Sin for Nuthin’ shares a similarly dark vibe, but is more bluesy in nature. Two’s Up has an epic feel and fits nicely on the later half of the album. The albums closer, This Means War is as close to speed metal that AC/DC will ever get. It is a relentlessly upbeat track that features a sick riff that sounds like a combination of Highway to Hell’s Beatin’ Around the Bush and The Razors Edge’s Thunderstruck.

Top to bottom Blow Up Your Video is classic AC/DC. The choruses are well written and avoid the hard rock cliché of simply repeating the title of the song four times. Angus’s leads are standard issue Angus, but seem to feature more pinch harmonics than usual — think Billy Gibbons of ZZTop. As the first “new” AC/DC album I ever bought back in 1988, it exceeded my expectations and got me through many trips to and from school on my Walkman. For me, this record really cemented AC/DC into “favorite band” status.

As a pre-teen, I can remember actually asking my mom if she cared that I listened to, and had purchased a copy of Highway to Hell. She didn’t. I knew that AC/DC’s music was questionable listening for a young person like myself at the time. I suppose I was looking for some affirmation or perhaps even permission to pursue my love-affair with AC/DC. With a mother’s permission granted, I dove head-first into the sweaty, beer-soaked waters of AC/DC. Maybe I’m not qualified to write an objective AC/DC review. If it helps my credibility any, I felt that 2001’s Stiff Upper Lip and 1995’s Ballbreaker each had a handful of sub-par tracks. But Hell, I’d rather listen to a shitty AC/DC track than the best song Nickleback ever wrote. Blow Up Your Video rocks. Fuck you, internet h8trs. 9/10

Guns-n-Roses: “The Spaghetti Incident?” 1993

I am alone in my love for this album.

After the bloated self-masturbatory slab of egomaniacal cheese that was Use Your Illusion I & II,  1993’s The Spaghetti Incident? felt like a return to form for the once untouchable G’n Fuckin’R. As the first post-Nirvana Guns-n-Roses album, The Spaghetti Incident? was born during the height of the grunge rock movement — a movement that rejected everything the eighties stood for; greed, fashion, excess, blind consumerism, Reagan-era nationalism and top-down economics. In some respects, I think the album was an unsuspecting victim of the era in which it was released. Guns-n-Roses — a band of street trash that hit the big time — went from being the only band that mattered in the late eighties to being poster-children for corporate excess and conceited rock star arrogance. Much of this was their own doing (or more specifically, Axl Rose’s). Ill-advised MTV mini-movie music videos for November Rain and Estranged were beyond ridiculous and not befitting a snot-nosed, drug-addled L.A. rock band.  The videos took the edge off of GnR’s bad ass-ery and transformed them to uber-rich, elitist, Hollywood celebrities. Fans who longed for the Appetite for Destruction GnR, now had to endure daily tabloid headlines and narcissistic music videos detailing the rollercoaster relationship between Axl Rose and supermodel, Stephanie Seymour.

In short, GnR became Keeping Up with the Kardashians.

It’s no wonder Generation X jumped ship and bought Nevermind.

The Spaghetti Incident? is a covers album comprised mostly of punk songs. This might seem like an odd choice to the often narrow-minded GnR metal-head fan base, but the punk format stripped GnR back down to its essence, and the band is better for it. Gone are the excessive orchestrations and indulgent arrangements that plagued Use Your Illusion I & II. Instead the band wisely embraces their punk rock influences and cover songs by the likes of The Dead Boys. The Damned, and New York Dolls.  The result is a re-energized Guns-n-Roses reminiscent of the early Live! Like a Suicide era of the band.

The lead vocals on The Spaghetti Incident? are often split between Axl Rose and Duff Mckagan. They even share lead vocals on The Stooges classic, Raw Power. Their cover of U.K. Subs, Down on the Farm is loaded with attitude and is equally hilarious as Axl adopts a phony British accent. The best track on the album is a cover of The Damned’s Ain’t It Fun. The song just feels epic and Slash shines on lead guitar. Other stand-out covers include The Misfits (Attitude), The Professionals (Black Leather), and even 70’s radio rock staple, Hair of the Dog by Nazareth. There is also an excellent but controversial cover of Charles Manson’s Look at Your Game Girl.

The Spaghetti Incident? is Guns-n-Roses last effort before Axl went completely bat-shit crazy and fired the whole band to embark on a seventeen year journey into the depths of naval-gazing self-importance that would ultimately and eventually result in the commercial bomb that is Chinese Democracy. It’s unfortunate because what should have happened, had the rock-n-roll stars aligned, is that GnR would have rediscovered their hard rock roots as a result of The Spaghetti Incident? and went on to make Use Your Appetite for Destruction II & III. 8.5/10

Death Angel: Act III 1990

This album is criminally underrated.

The third record by California thrash band, Death Angel, is aptly titled Act III.  It is a stunning effort and represents tremendous growth for the band in every way — song writing, performance, lyrics, and musical diversity — from their previous two releases, 1988’s Frolic Through the Park and 1987’s The Ultra-Violence. Standout cuts like Why You Do This and Bored off of Frolic Through the Park hint at what was to come, but even the most enthusiastic Death Angel fan could not have anticipated the gigantic leap that is Act III. 

Act III opens with the sound of waves crashing on the beach before the band crashes into Seemingly Endless Time, its thrashing opening track. Like all of the tracks on Act III, Seemingly Endless Time doesn’t just thrash, it boasts a stellar vocal performance, well-crafted hooks, and memorable leads courtesy of guitarist Rob Cavestany. Simply put, he is one of the most underrated players in metal. Following Seemingly Endless Time is another Death Angel thrasher titled Stop. The band really shines on this song. The rhythms are barreling along at a million miles per hour but still effortlessly stop, start, and shift tempo. Mark Osegueda’s lead vocals are incredible and work particularly well during choruses when the band, who knows how to write a hook laden backing vocal, sings along. 

On the third track, Veil of Deception, Act III takes an unexpected turn. An acoustic number with incredible lead and backing vocals, Veil of Deception grabs you at the first listen. The guitar playing is tasteful and mature in execution. The vocal harmonies elevate the track and separate Death Angel from many of their harmonically challenged peers. Death Angel should also be applauded for having the guts to insert such a diverse track into Act III a mere nine minutes into the album. Typically, bands bury these kind of musical diversions deep within a records track list, almost as if they are embarrassed of their own experimentation.

The Organization and Discontinued follow and return Act III to its rightful, thrashy, disposition. Once again, catchy, gang-chant backing vocals make each song instantly memorable. The next track, A Room with a View, was a minor MTV hit and the band enjoyed frequent exposure on Headbanger’s Ball. A ballad that once again showcases the bands ability to pull off thoughtful, well-crafted songwriting, A Room with a View demonstrates musical maturity beyond their respective years. Once again Rob Cavestany’s lead guitar shines.

The second half of Act III is equally as strong as the first. Stagnant, X-TC, Disturbing the Peace, and album closer Falling Asleep all kill. Act III is strong from start to finish. There isn’t a bad cut on the album; in fact most are downright great. The album thrashes, but adeptly shifts gears. The album is diverse, but is never a challenge to the listener. When I listen to Act III, I am always amazed that the album didn’t propel Death Angel to superstardom. Two years later Metallica would become the first thrash band to break into the mainstream with the “Black” album. For my money, Death Angel beat them to the punch. 9.5/10

Metallica: Death Magnetic 2008

For many in Generation Y their first exposure to Metallica was probably Enter Sandman or Until It Sleeps. That thought just blows my mind. As a proud, card-carrying member of Generation X, I grew up with a very different Metallica. My Metallica was a band that you did not hear on the radio or see on MTV. They did not release albums with lofty commercial expectations. They rejected their peers in the music industry. They mocked them. They viewed themselves as fans that happened to be on stage. Their stage clothes consisted of tattered blue jeans, unwashed hair, and bad acne. Their bass player was still wearing bell-bottoms in 1986. Their sound was both uncompromising and trail blazing. They were at the forefront of a new strain of metal music that would become known as Thrash. Unlike eighties hair metal, this new music bore no resemblance to Chuck Berry’s rock-n-roll. It was a fusion of underground European metal and hardcore punk. All speed, no swing. Their tapes circulated around my high school like a bag of skunk weed or a lesbian porno. It was contraband. For this introverted and misunderstood teen, Metallica was dangerous and taboo. It was must have music.

Then came 1991 and everything changed.

Metallica became the mainstream.

After seventeen years of radio airplay, music videos, award ceremonies, magazine covers, photoshoots, interviews, documentaries, major motion pictures, soundtracks, therapy sessions, rehab, tribute albums, line-up changes, and enough self indulgent musical experimentation to make Styx blush, Metallica have allegedly returned to their roots with 2008’s Death Magnetic. The results are mixed.

The album starts off with a heartbeat as if to indicate that the Metallica of old are still alive and are just seconds away from reemerging from an almost two decade slumber. The beating heart segues directly into That Was Just Your Life, an at times thrashy number that features James Hetfield almost rapping (!) the lyrics. The End of the Line follows and is, in my opinion, the best track on the album. The track features all the trademark riffing one would expect from classic Metallica and boasts several dynamic shifts in tempo and mood. The third track is also the albums first single — The Day That Never Comes starts off by borrowing liberally from 1984’s Fade to Black and concludes by essentially rewriting 1988’s One. It’s a good song but seems a bit too familiar. It’s also on this track that the most problematic aspect of Death Magnetic is most evident...

Clipping.

When the chorus of The Day That Never Comes kicks in you will start to wonder if you’ve blown a speaker. Fear not, your stereo is fine. It’s the song that sucks. Or more specifically, the songs post production. You have just fallen victim to The Loudness Wars. Much has been written about The Loudness Wars online, I’m not going to rehash it here. You can research it yourself. But to make a long story boring, music has been mastered at increasingly higher volumes for the past twenty years, thus resulting in a product that while louder, sacrifices dynamics and range. Oh... and it clips.

Death Magnetic makes your speakers sound like they are farting. Which coincidentally is what 1988’s ...And Justice for All made my speakers do too. Just check out the intro to the track Eye of the Beholder. Which begs the question -- how can one of the wealthiest and most successful bands in the world consistently put out records that sound like shit? Death Magnetic is clipped beyond the threshold of enjoyable listener-ship, ...And Justice for All had zero bass guitar but somehow still managed to make my speakers fart, and 2003’s St. Anger was a complete creative and audible abortion. Do they even care? I seriously have to wonder. I saw Metallica in concert on the Death Magnetic tour. Kirk Hammet managed to butcher the iconic intro solo to Fade to Black. It’s a song he’s probably played a million times since its release in 1984. Sometimes I think they are just going through the motions.

Sonics aside, Death Magnetic starts out strong through four tracks and then fades the rest of the way. We are given a completely unnecessary third part to the Unforgiven. The chorus reminds me of Creep by the Stone Temple Pilots and James actually sounds bored singing it. Cyanide and The Judas Kiss sound like Load era tracks. Suicide & Redemption is okay, but easily becomes their fifth best instrumental behind Orion, The Call of Cthulhu, Anesthesia (Pulling Teeth), and To Live is To Die. The closing track, My Apocalypse is my least favorite. It sounds like a forced rewrite of 1986’s Damage Inc.

Death Magnetic has its moments and is definitely Metallica’s strongest effort in over a decade. Unfortunately for Metallica, they will always be both blessed and cursed by the strength of their own early legacy. They have coasted on the success of their first four landmark albums for nearly twenty years. They have used their legendary stature as creative license to explore whatever misguided musical whim they please. They have tested their fans loyalty and with Death Magnetic, they hope to win them back. Perhaps with the muscular production of Master of Puppets they might have succeeded. Instead we have the fuzzed out and over-cooked clip job that is Death Magnetic, leaving this fan to wonder if they even care. 6.5/10

Danzig: Deth Red Sabaoth 2010

I am a Danzig fan. I own everything the man has ever done. Misfits, Samhain, Glenn Danzig and the Power and Fury Orchestra, Danzig, Black Aria I and II… all of it. Shit, if he somehow dug up an old garage recording of his high school band, Whoodat and Boojang, I’d probably buy that too. I have a Misfits, Samhain and Danzig totem pole tattoo thing taking up much of my left arm. Clearly I mean business when it comes to Danzig fandom.

That’s why this review is going to be painful to write.

Danzig’s ninth studio album, Deth Red Sabaoth in some ways represents a return to form. Unfortunately for me, it also represents a continuing and frustrating trend -- the belief that with proper, even decent production -- this could have been a truly great Danzig album.

Despite internet scuttlebutt to the contrary, the problems that plagued 2002’s I Luciferi and 2004’s Circle of Snakes are present here as well. This is one of the most poorly mixed albums I have ever heard. The vocals are either buried by the muddy mix of Glenn’s backing band (Deth Red Moon) or sound as if they were recorded in a tin can (On a Wicked Night). Admittedly, Glenn’s earlier punk output with the Misfits and Samhain lacked quality production. Often it was downright awful. However, the vocals were always upfront in the mix. The best pipes in punk, gloriously on display, to the delight of all devil-locked Danzig devotees.

The Rick Rubin years continued this trend and even added a more musically sophisticated backing band. Eschewing his punk rock roots, Danzig the band, morphed into a blues rock powerhouse, complete with “borrowed” Howling Wolf and John Lee Hooker riffs. In spite of the benefit of a band of more capable musicians, Rubin knew who the star was, and wisely kept Glenn on top of the mix.

Compounding the fact that Glenn’s vocals are once again non-existent, is the inexplicable dominance of guitarist, Tommy Victor. The guitars are WAY up front in the mix, blanketing the entire band in pinch harmonics, directionless shredding, and dive bombs. There are more leads on this record than a Steve Vai solo project. Which is odd, because Glenn has had a history of frustrating past guitarists (John Christ) by limiting their lead guitar contributions. I can’t help but to imagine how fantastic an album by the original line-up could have been if Glenn had ever turned John Christ loose like he did Tommy Victor on Deth Red Sabaoth.

If you can get past the sonic malady, the material itself is at times, strong. Hammer of the Gods (one of a handful of tracks in which Glenn is audible) is a thunderous opener reminiscent of the I Luciferi era. JuJu Bone, is a bluesy track that would have fit nicely on 1992’s How the Gods Kill. Glenn has always had a knack for powerfully epic album closers and does not disappoint with Left Hand Rise Above. Deth Red Moon would have been the best cut on the album if the vocals were even remotely audible.

The album packaging is more of the same for later-era Danzig. Half-naked porn stars in skull masks, illegible copy littered with typos, tastelessly photoshoped images, and of course, Glenn mean-mugging for the camera. He really needs to hire a skilled graphic designer. The cover painting is good if you can get past the GIANT Deth Red Sabaoth type treatment.

Glenn is heading toward 60 and running out of time to put out another quality release. I really wish he’d go the Johnny Cash route and just do stripped down acoustic blues records from here on out. I think it is his best shot at regaining some much needed artistic credibility. No one wants to see an aging metal dude, acting like a hard ass in a fishnet tank top, singing about Satan, to a crowd of mulleted, unemployed stoners.

As for Deth Red Sabaoth? It is an album that will not make you forget the fantastic output of the Rubin years, but instead will likely have you messing with the EQ and counting the days until we get a properly remixed and remastered release. 6/10