Author Archives: Friar Johnsen

SKULL461

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WEST WALL, Conquest or Death (2009, self-released)

The skull:
Tank treads, barbed wire, and two kinds of grenades. Right here are the makin’s for a very nice poster for that weird guy at the flea market who sells WWI memorabilia and smells like cancer. The skull itself displays a resplendent brow, the sort of massive braincase you’d expect to house the hyper-intelligent brain of an ubermensch. But, isn’t it always the way that Poindexters like this are constantly losing shit, like their glasses or their lower jaws? This is probably why Germany lost the war.

The music:
If West Wall aren’t a neo-Nazi band, they’re as close as you can come without out and out heiling Hitler or including the word “Aryan” in your bandname. You could, if you were so inclined to delude yourself, simply read West Wall’s lyrics as being of a piece with, say, Hail of Bullets or Sabaton or any other band that sings about World War II. You could get away with this, even, if you didn’t know that members of West Wall were active in the skinhead scene, or you never saw a photo of the band fully costumed in totenkopf shirts, etc. You might, in that case, just think they were a run of the mill death metal band with a lot of songs about tanks. Panzer tanks. But, now you know, and if you can still listen to West Wall (named after the Siegfried Line) without feeling like a total shitheel, well, good for you, I guess.
— Friar Johnsen

SKULL459

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CAULDRON BLACK RAM, Stalagmire (2014, 20 Buck Spin)

The skull:
Let this be a lesson to sleepy skulls everywhere: no matter how tired you are, DO NOT lie down for a nap in a drippy limestone cave. You drift off for a couple decades of well-deserved rest and when you wake up, you’re fucking fossilized to the ground, with nothing to do but wait for some asshat paleontologist to show up and dig you out. And if one of your skull buddies finds you while you’re sleeping, you can be sure when you wake up there’ll be a dick drawn on your dome, in Sharpie no less. You’ll never live that shit down.

The music:
When I started spinning this disc, I was immediately reminded of Meathook Seed’s excellent, underrated debut, Embedded, which was built on weird, slinky riffs, jarring transitions, and a sort of willful inexactitude. No one ever made another album like Embedded, and I’m not saying that Cauldron Black Ram finally have. Nor am I suggesting that Cauldron Black Ram were influenced at all by that one odd Mitch Harris side project, but they have clearly arrived at a similarly strange notion of death metal (minus the keyboards and drum machine, though). Without sounding deliberately old fashioned, Cauldron Black Ram have made an album that evokes the spirit and dare I say curiosity that used to animate at least some small sliver of the death metal scene. Unquantized, only as tight as you can get from rehearsal, and defiantly mid-gain, Stalagmire is death metal freed from the horse-race demands of brutality, speed, and technicality that have nearly ruined the genre in the last decade. If it’s not as good as 2014’s leading contender for death metal album of the year, Morbus Chron’s Sweven, there’s also no shame in that second place finish. Cauldron Black Ram have been around forever, but I’d never heard them before now, and for sure I’ll be working my way backwards to determine when it was they got so good.
— Friar Johnsen

SKULL457

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SEVERE DISGRACE, Disciples of Aggression (2011, demo)

The skull:
It may look like that rat is scampering over the skull, but no, that’s not what’s happening. He’s climbing on top of the skull, mounting it, if you will, to perform a lascivious deed. In other words, this filthy rat is about to get his skull fuck on. I realize this is shocking, that you probably haven’t seen anything like this before, but if you ever find yourself on business in the European microstate where The Council gathers, you’ll encounter this sort of thing on the pay-per-view channels in basically every hotel. The heart wants what it wants; don’t judge.

The music:
It’s rethrash, and it’s Brazilian, which means it basically sounds German, although these days, only Swedes make totally German-sounding thrash anymore. Everyone else mixes in at least a little Bay Area spice, and for Severe Disgrace, that mixing generally happens in the intros and breakdowns (or “mosh parts” as I called them in my teens.) The verse and chorus will be pure Kreator worship, and then all of a sudden, we’re plunged balls deep into a mediocre Exodus song. It can be a little confusing, but really, it’s not all that bad. One thing I like about Severe Disgrace is that they appear to be operating entirely without a sense of irony, which in these benighted days of pizza thrash is really a blessing. This is thrash that sounds angry and disaffected, which is really the best kind of thrash. These aren’t the best songs, but they’re played well enough and with the right kind of vibe, and when they do hit on something special, like the genuinely sinister bridge of “Evil Possessed,” it almost makes me think there’s room enough in this world for another thrash band.
— Friar Johnsen

SKULL455

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SÓLSTAFIR, Black Death (2002, Ketzer)

The skull:
Designing an album cover to look like a liquor label is only clever to the likes of Zakk Wylde, which is to say it’s about as far from actually clever as can be imagined. The only redeeming quality of this jokey design is the downright prehistoric skull on display. With a lower jaw that could impress Nutcracker Man or Jay Leno, this guy looks ready to do some serious chompin’, not to mention some serious partyin’. He’s the sort of lovable oaf you can’t say no to, even if he shows up with a bunch of Icelandic dudes who habitually overstay their welcome.

The music:
Previously, I had only heard more recent Sólstafir records, where the band coast on one or two riffs for interminable lengths, “crafting” 13 minute songs out of raw materials suited for maybe a short intro, at best. I can appreciate, at least on paper, the vibe they try to summon (especially when Rhodes piano is involved), but in practice, those epic endurance tests masquerading as songs reek of hubris and laziness, not to mention a too-evident love of The Church. Fortunately, this early entry to the Sólstafir canon is a peppier, and more succinct, affair. Originally released as a demo but pared down by a couple songs for an EP release, Black Death is a slightly “folky” mix of black, death, and doom metal, played with energy and passion. I’m reminded in places, weirdly, of Hexx’s much-disparaged death metal period, in particular the excellent Morbid Reality. The post-whatever influences (-rock, -punk, so on) that dominate the band’s later albums are present here, but only as seasonings in a mostly metal stew. There’s definitely a spark here that, had I heard this 10 years ago, I would have taken as a sign of a band with big things to come, and I would have been right, I suppose, but the bigness, as it turned out, was not so much in the realm of great ideas, but in that of hype.
— Friar Johnsen

SKULL453

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PHANTASM, Keeper of Death (1993, Russian Disc)

The skull:
As promised with SKULL419, here is the successor to Russia’s Propeller. These guys really upgraded their aesthetics here. Of course, Phantasm is a much more awesome (if unoriginal) name than Propeller, and this skull is also mas macho. Whereas the Propeller pentagram was a kind of bladey thing, here we have barbed wire which is actually threaded through fissures in the skull (a nice touch!) Propeller featured what looked like a marionette skull, but Phantasm’s skull is clearly a badass dude. And while there’s still the issue of the too-big eyes, this guy makes up for it by dripping blood from his nose and mouth. Everything about this guy screams, “You motherfuckers thought you knew about death and pain? Well, you don’t know SHIT.”

The music:
Unfortunately, while Propeller got their look together when they changed to Phantasm, they sure as hell didn’t get their act in the studio together. This is the same kind of deathy thrash, but the sound is atrocious and the playing mysteriously sloppier. This was only recorded a year or so after that Propeller demo, but it sounds like it might have been made 5 years before. It’s a very strange regression for a band who, as of their demo, sounded like they knew what they were doing. That said, this being a proper LP and not a demo, it’s acquired a reputation as an underground classic in some circles, and if you like caveman death metal a la Master, then you might really go in for this, shitty production and all. Granted, you won’t find it for less than a small fortune, but spending hundred of bucks on a totally inessntial LP from Russia will make it sounds way more awesome, at least in your mind.
— Friar Johnsen

SKULL451

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OMINOS, Ominos (2011, demo)

The skull:
I could be wrong, but I believe this is the first moonskull in the Skullection. At least, I think they’re going for some kind of moon thing here, because if not that, what? Sometimes a skull is just a skull, but those white crescents have to be something, right? Is this just the reflected image of a skull gazing forlornly into a birdbath he installed in his backyard? He was so looking forward to watching black phoebes and western scrubjays frolic in the basin, but he hasn’t spotted a single bird out there yet. And his hummingbird feeder isn’t seeing any action either. He says to himself, “I thought birding would make me happy, for once…” before his thoughts dissolve to nothingness.

The music:
For some reason, I was expecting Greek style black metal, but instead this is garage-quality shithead thrash. It’s not really retro, but it’s hardly forward-looking, either. This is metal made by people with tiny music collections. Like, if the band members pooled their discs, they’d probably have most of the Metallica albums, two or three from Pantera, Burn My Eyes, Divine Intervention, and maybe something by Lamb of God. The playing is loose and messy, and the vocals are atrocious, but the main strike against Ominos is their plain inability to write songs or even single riffs worth hearing. I bet they could totally talk 20 of their friends into buying a ticket to the Devildriver show they’re playing, though. Ominos go on at 5:30pm.
— Friar Johnsen

SKULL449

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MARK LOWREY, Rusty Mark in the Metal Palace (1985, self-released)

The skull:
When you think of Jack and the Beanstalk, you think about the giant up top, but did you ever stop to consider how fucking big those beans must have been? And if the race of giants cultivated giant legumes, they might well have also grown giant corn, and would probably have invented two prong cob holders so their giant children wouldn’t burn their fingers. To a terrestrial human, these might have looked like swords. Pictured on this album cover is one of the sad predecessors to Jack, who stumbled into the giant’s home sometime in late June, early July and was rather quickly impaled on a corn holder by some impetuous giant toddler. It’s a shitty way to go, no doubt.

The music:
Workmanlike U.S. metal of the sort that padded the space between the great tracks on the early Metal Massacre albums. Think Tyrant, Pandemonium, Thrust, that sort of thing. Totally boring, but accomplished enough that surely someone thinks this is a lost classic. Someone from Austria, probably. Someone with a lot of money, at least, because this album, when it shows up, sells for at least a couple hundred bucks. Go figure. The cover art and impossibly bad title made me suspect that this was some kind of Metal Enterprises quickie release, but no, it appears that Mark Lowrey, a vocalist of no special skill, just really felt his work needed to be heard, so he pressed these up himself. No one from the backing band ever did anything else, but considering there are not one but two guys named “Rusty” in the lineup, I suspect that maybe some pseudonyms were used. If I were an L.A. session dude, I certainly wouldn’t want to be associated with Mark Lowrey. I have a certain fondness for plodding early metal like this (I own 3rd Stage Alert on CD, for fuck’s sake), but even by my relaxed standards this is dull stuff, like Twisted Sister without a sense of humor (and Dee Snider). That most of these songs are about or even include “metal” in the title is just an additional kick in the balls. Lowrey deserves some special award for his lack of irony, though: “Unsung Song” is not an instrumental, and the album’s instrumental is titled “Purple Pyramid.” That’s the kind of brilliant nonsense that no snarky reviewer could make up on his own.
— Friar Johnsen

SKULL447

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SARCOFAGUS, Live in Studio 1979 (2010, Svart)

The skull:
This most excellent BDS can only be found on the vinyl reissue of this collection, which was released on CD a few years earlier with a really, truly unremarkable cover. It was wise of Svart to doll it up thusly, because who can resist the majesty of this crazy guy? Inside every metal lover is a death’s head, I guess is the message, and inside every death’s head are a couple of pinballs. I especially love that the skull photo is terribly out of focus, which only makes the inept Photoshop paste job that much more charming. The whole thing in a way evokes the look of an old fashioned in-camera effect, almost as if to pretend that this image is contemporary with the music it’s fronting. If that was intentional, then I say, “Huzzah!” to the fine artist who assembled this piece, but in the far more likely case that it’s just a happy accident, I must still commend him on his exceptional luck.

The music:
Sarcofagus stake their claim on being the first significant heavy metal band from Finland, and that may well be true. Who am I to say? But, I can say that they’re only metal in the way the first couple Rush albums were metal. Probably now this sort of thing would just be called “hard rock” but if they identified as heavy metal in the late 70s, then I guess that’s good enough. Certainly I’ve heard a lot of NWOBHM that’s less heavy than this, and Sarcofagus aren’t bad, even if I’m never entirely sold on the everyman vocals. They have some good riffs, and the keyboards leaven the procedings in all the right ways. If you enjoy keyboard-heavy NWOBHM like Shiva, then you’d probably dig Sarcofagus, and for that matter, they might even appeal to retrometal hipsters into bands like Witchcraft or Orchid. This particularly collection is probably not the ideal starting place, although it’s certainly not bad. It’s just that you’d probably be better off with their early singles and studio albums, which were anthologized just a couple years ago.
— Friar Johnsen

SKULL445

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GOATPENIS, Pulverize the Human Race (2007, Satanic Skinhead Propaganda)

The skull:
“It is done, master. I have destroyed the humans!”
“All of them?”
“Yes, my lord, all of them, completely.”
“Did you pulverize them, my humble servant?”
“I stripped their flesh from their very bones, to the last mewling child. Only skulls remain.”
“I asked you to pulverize them!”
“You mean, literally crush them into small bits?”
“DID I NOT COMMAND YOU TO PULVERIZE THEM?”
“Of course, your wickedness. It’s just that… I thought you meant that metaphorically, like a fancy way of asking me to kill them all…”
“SILENCE! You have failed me!”
“My lord! I don’t understand!”
“I do not expect you to understand, only to obey! Guards, seize him! Send him to the crushing pits of Zithron, so that he may learn the true meaning of ‘pulverize.'”
“NOOOOO! My lord, have mercy!”
“GUARDS!”

The music:
I’ve always had a fondness for Goat* bands. A sort of abstract fondness to be sure, as I think the only one I ever heard before was Goatwhore. Maybe I also heard Goat Horn at one point. But really, how could any band with a name like GoatPenis (let alone Goat Semen, Goat Anus, or even Goat Thrower) possibly be good? Avoiding these bands’ music seemed the most prudent strategy, and I have no regrets. But now duty calls, and I bravely answer! Of all those Goat* bands, GoatPenis are surely one of the bigger names, so it stands to reason they’d be better than most, right? Well, let me tell you: they are not good. I listened to some recent stuff, and it’s almost as good as an early Carcass demo, minus the subtle cheek. This weird mid-career demo, composed of three re-recorded older demo songs, is much worse than that, though. To be fair, the original tracks merely aspire to a Hellhammer level of instrumental competence, so it must be said that GoatPenis improved somewhat from their earliest days (in the early 90s) to the mid aughts, but really, I would expect them, or any band that was trying at all, to have gotten a little better than this with fifteen years of practice. Them again, there are literally thousands of bands who not only think that death metal peaked in 1986, but that it is physically impossible for it to ever be better than it was back then, as if Sarcofago’s first demo pushed right up against the very limits of human dexterity and engineering prowess. Considered by that standard, I guess GoatPenis are… pretty good? Maybe even slightly above average. It’s all a Goat* band could hope for!
— Friar Johnsen

SKULL443

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SHATTERED REALM, Broken Ties… Spoken Lies (2002, Eulogy Recordings)

The skull:
When Dr. Rappaport brushed the dirt away, she knew she’d found an exemplary specimen, a nearly complete skull that dated to a time long before it was believed that humans had settled in the area. But, as she moved outward from the skull she made an even more shocking discovery. The cheesy olde english logo, the defiant title, they could mean only one thing: the primitive people of this remote island had independently developed hardcore thousands of years before even the advanced civilizations in the west. Her mind reeled, as she began to ponder the implications. Had this person died of natural causes, or had they fallen at the hands of an out-of-control windmiller, or a poorly timed stage dive? The sumptuous grave goods already discovered at the site led her to believe that this person might have been some sort of chieftan or king, but now she had to consider that the skull belonged to no less important a figure than “frontman.” She knew she was about to turn the anthropological community on its head.

The music:
Shattered Realm sound almost exactly like Hatebreed, which is to say they sound like a bunch of shiteating hardcore kids who just heard Seasons in the Abyss and think it’s the most aggro shit ever. You get the expected knuckledragging breakdowns mixed with some rudimentary riff-like structures that wouldn’t even be good enough to satisfy Kerry King in 2000. Shattered Realm clearly didn’t have any budget for drum editing or quantizing, so they come across as agreeably shambling and loose, but that’s only to say they sound exactly as sloppy on disc as they surely do in the rehearsal room. The vocals are, as you’d imagine, a dumb mix of charmless growling and impotent yelling, and the lyrics are every bit as cliche, about trusting no one, believing in yourself, and fucking shit up. There are also some mentions of demons, so I guess these guys like death metal too? My favorite thing about Shattered Realm is that they’re from Asbury Park, NJ, which is exactly the sort of shitty town you’d expect to birth a band this lame.
— Friar Johnsen