Author Archives: Friar Johnsen

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THE EVERSCATHED, …Again the Chains… (2006, demo)

The skull:
This skull thought he knew the layout of his basement well enough to just float over to reset the circuit breaker in the dark, but then he got all snagged up in the chain web he forgot he was working on last week. “Oh, god damn it. Honey! HONEY! Can you grab a flashlight and come down here and help me out? No, no, I’m alright, I just… Can you just give me a hand? And watch where you’re going, it’s a real mess down here. I really gotta clean this place up. God damn it! And can you bring me a band aid or something? Now I’ve got to go get a fucking tetanus shot. This is just great.”

The music:
The instant the first track, “Shackled by Failure” starts, you know that these dudes love Death. But while most Death clones shoot for the melodic complexity of albums like Human and Symbolic, The Everscathed took the low-ambition route of following in the footsteps of Spiritual Healing, and only half of it at that, as they generally stick to the low-string and power chord riffs in Chuck’s transitional playbook and skip the high melodic lines that define the later Death albums. Both of the songs on this demo are pretty much the same in that regard. As Death knockoffs go, even considering the narrowness of their scope, The Everscathed aren’t bad, but you also quickly realize exactly how important all those tapped melodies and harmonic lines were to Death’s creative success (not to mention an ace rhythm section, which The Everscathed definitely do not have.) Without those trebly excursions, you’re left with a lot of samey-sounding riffs that aren’t nearly as evil or heavy as I think The Everscathed want them to be. As far as I can tell, all of the full length albums by the band follow more or less the same pattern, so I guess if you kinda like mid-period Death but think they were just too noodly, then maybe this is the band of your dreams.
— Friar Johnsen

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THE NEW BLACK, II – Better In Black (2011, AFM)

The skull:
So, what, this flaming skull was stenciled onto a shed or something? Painted on some random hunk of wood, or maybe, yeah maybe the sign above the swinging doors of a dangerous biker bar? The New Black Saloon, enter if you dare! Art like this, trying as it does to evoke the grit and recklessness of some half-remembered or imagined motorcycle culture, is a sure sign that the band it’s advertising is not particularly rowdy. I basically believe that there’s really no such thing as a dangerous musician, and if there is, he probably isn’t signed and definitely isn’t making albums that look like this. Practicing your instrument, writing songs, posing for promotional photos: these are not activities willingly undertaken by the genuine badass. At most you’ll get the likes of Zakk Wylde, spoiled alcoholics with beer muscles and unkempt beards. An album cover like this is supposed to say, “I don’t give a fuck!” Instead, it loudly broadcasts, “I give quite a few fucks, actually, and I’m deeply invested in your believing that I am really tough. Please feel threatened by me, and maybe just a little aroused.”

The music:
I guess you could call this radio metal, or something? I don’t really have the vocabulary to describe these new pop metal styles, stuff made for the mass market in the post-nu-metal era. There are tons of bands like this out there – you hear them on the radio in the rental car when you forgot to bring a CD, or maybe at sports bars or something. I guess Alter Bridge and Stone Sour are the pacesetters in the genre, a sort of ubiquitous, low-grade quasi-metal that sounds edgy if don’t pay attention, but won’t offend if you do. These guys would probably recoil at the notion that they’re basically the same as Papa Roach, but really there’s no great distinction. As metal, this shit barely passes: there are almost no real riffs, the songwriting is barely a step up from pop punk, and everything is polished to a plastic shine. With a band like The New Black, you might actually imagine their favorite Metallica album is Load. When I hear this sort of music, I immediately assume the entire enterprise is a cynical grab for rock stardom, but when you notice all the little ways they stray from the top 40 path, like a guitar harmony here or a solo there, you have to consider the possibility that these guys just have atrociously bad taste and honestly just want to make exactly the sort of bland dad metal they’re making. And that’s how a band like this ends up on AFM, I guess. If they were just in if for the money, they wouldn’t even bother slogging it out for three albums with an indie; they’d either land that Roadrunner deal or they’d give up, each dude reappearing a year later in some new band that wants to be the next big thing. I don’t know what’s more depressing: making music like this in a mercenary effort to underestimate the taste of the public, or making it because this is where your sad-sack muse led you.
— Friar Johnsen

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MINOTAUR, Death Metal (1990, Remedy)

The skull:
Do these guys not know what bull horns look like? I know they’re thrashers and not farmers, but still. Or, did they think, “Who says we can’t have some other horned skull on our cover? We’re not married to Minotaurs just because we’re called Minotaur. Sodom doesn’t always have, like, dicks and butts and pillars of salt on their covers or whatever.” As horny skull dudes go, this guy is pretty cool, if totally generic. But as we’ll soon see, that’s completely appropriate for this band!

The music:
Despite the title, this is not death metal, but thrash. To be fair, there was a lot of confusion on that point in the late 80s/early 90s, although I don’t think anyone could have called this music “death metal” with a straight face even back then. This is an exact cross of Pleasure to Kill and Expurse of Sodomy. Minotaur adds precisely nothing to the Teutonic thrash formula, and singer Andi even splits the difference between Mille and Angelripper. So, if you like early Kreator and Sodom, you’ll probably like Minotaur. If you don’t, you won’t. Weirdly, for a cult band with a ton of demos and EPs and split 7″s, Minotaur have so far resisted compilation, so unless you want to trawl ebay for old vinyl and cassettes, you’ll have to content yourself with one of their two full-lengths, from 1988 and 2009. Probably that first one is alright, but I’d be pretty skeptical of the second.
— Friar Johnsen

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ABIGHOR, The Bloody Cross (1989, demo)

The skull:
The best thing about covers like this is knowing that someone had to actually use scissors and glue to make it. Start with a picture of a volcanic eruption, perhaps from a National Geographic back issue, slap on a skull from an olde-tyme anatomy book, and finally paste on a gilt and bejeweled censer, to make some kind of point about the church, or something? It’s a metaphorically bloody cross, you see. The technology to make the cross appear literally bloody just didn’t exist in Abighor’s local library in 1989.

The music:
I am only slightly ashamed to admit that I own not one, but two versions of Abighor’s sole full-length release, 1994’s Anticlockwise. That album is a lesser entry in the mid-90s Italian prog/power explosion, reminding me of early Time Machine, only not as good. And, so armed with what amounts to an unreasonable degree of familiarity with this band, I thought I had a good idea of what I’d be getting with The Bloody Cross. What I got, though, was speed metal with only the vaguest intimations of progressive inclinations: more Exciter than Fates Warning, although they do occasionally stretch out a little even on this early effort. Amateur playing and production make this a challenging listen at times, but the energy and aggression are welcome, and while the midtempo Queensryche worship of Anticlockwise is perfectly fine for what it is, maybe if Abighor had stuck to their guns and expanded on the speedy, almost thrashy sound they have here, they might have ended up at something a bit more interesting in the end. If nothing else, the highly accented vocals of Giancarlo Mattei work better in this less controlled setting than they do in the more polished prog metal of the band’s later work. His John Cyriis scream fits better when the band is nearly going off the rails, but set against the too-serious keyboard metal of Anticlockwise he comes off as just another Italian warbler with more range than sense. The Bloody Cross is far from classic, but as context for the band’s history and the larger Italian metal scene, it’s a neat artifact.
— Friar Johnsen

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RIGOR MORTIS, Decomposed (1987, demo)

The skull:
Okay, it’s back to basics here: a supershitty evil skull drawn with a marker. What makes this cover is the landscape. I’m guessing this is some kind of fantasy scene, some Hyborean wasteland with perhaps a wizard’s castle in the distance. The skull of a lone warrior (who is well past the rigor mortis stage, but certainly decomposed) is staked out with his battle axe and some other kind of weapon thing. A spear maybe? Who knows? It’s a badass skull to keep you off the wizard’s lawn. Are you gonna do it? Are you gonna turn away? Damned straight you are! This guy looks like he was really mean, and he had an axe and some barbed pokey thing, and look what happened to him? You are totally out of here!

The music:
This is not another release by yesterday’s Rigor Mortis, but a whole ‘nother Rigor Mortis entirely. This band would eventually become Immolation, a band I have always hated and will always hate, although at this point, only the bald guitarist who does the funny headbanging is left from Rigor Mortis. But whatever. Immolation is death metal for assholes. And as crappy as I find them now, they were WAY crappier back in 1987. This is high school death metal at its worst. It makes the case for the theory that death metal was just thrash played by guys who weren’t good enough for the job. Even by the standards of mid 80s death metal demos, this is weak stuff, every bit as bad as the cover would suggest. Astoundingly, they band thought this was good enough to reissue on CD, so if you’re a real glutton for punishment, you can pick up a copy of Immolation’s eloquently titled Stepping on Angels… Before Dawn to enjoy Decomposed in all its remastered glory. You asshole.
— Friar Johnsen

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RIGOR MORTIS, Rigor Mortis (1988, Capitol)

The skull:
The smashed out eyes make this a particularly distinctive skull, and that feature is also, amazingly, unique in the Skullection. Here at Skull HQ, we’ve seen skulls that have suffered all kinds of abuse, but this is the first and only example of occular disembonement. But while that negative space is what draws the eye (so to speak), it’s the maniacal grin that really seals the deal. This skull (who doesn’t seem to have a name, although I spent a fair amount of time looking) just doesn’t give a fuck that he’s got no distinct eye sockets, and he’s even proud to hover there with the mace that did it. The axe and bone are bonus accoutrements that nevertheless can’t compete with this skull’s luxurious mane. “I’m so fucking bad, they put me in the logo, too. Twice.” While a nice, real skull, staged and photographed, might have made a better 300th skull, those are shockingly hard to come by, and as illustrated BDSes go, this Rigor Mortis cover is about as awesome as they come.

The music:
A shocking number of thrash bands managed to land major label deals between 87 and 90, but few were as mediocre as Rigor Mortis. Meliah Rage comes close, maybe, and even they had a couple truly excellent songs. Rigor Mortis were weirdly lightweight, lacking the depth and punch of a Testament, while being sillier even than Exodus at their goofiest. Their riffing and songwriting, as with most Texas thrash bands, were thoroughly pedestrian for the times, and the anemic production didn’t do them any favors. Finally, they were saddled with a vocalist who lacked any unique character and whose lyrics were stupid (and not funny, which is the one possible salvation of stupid lyrics). They were far from the worst thrash band on the scene in 1987, but there were probably scores of bands more deserving of the opportunity afforded Rigor Mortis (who of course completely squandered it and were dropped in a couple years). Nevertheless, they’re a band that’s developed something of a cult reputation, perhaps due to the rarity of the album on compact disc. Their subsequent EP and full length can be had fairly readily, but the debut on Capitol commands a rather stupid price. You could spend $100 for this middling effort, or you could save yourself at least twenty bucks and pick up the infinitely superior Wargasm debut, which is similar to Rigor Mortis in many ways but always much, much better.
— Friar Johnsen

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SKELETONWITCH, Skullsplitter (2011, Prosthetic)

The skull:
This one’s a beaut, no denying it. Skeletonwitch have lately released a number of singles featuring big dumb skulls, and we’ve chosen this one as the skulliest. It’s just a lovely, moody painting of a floating skull, split as advertised. The skulls edges seem weirdly sharp, though, which almost make it look like the whole thing was made of papier-mâché. And if that’s the case, and considering the gaping hole, I think we have to assume that this skull was actually a grisly piñata. Normally, when you bust one open you try to break the bottom, to get at the candy. But it wouldn’t have mattered here, because this skullata was filled with green vapor, black blood, and probably spiders, and they made it out all the same.

The music:
For some reason, I don’t really consider Skeletonwitch to be a part of the rethrash scene, although musically there’s probably a case to be made that I should. Like Toxic Holocaust and Municipal Waste, Skeletonwitch injects a lot of crusty, punky noise into their music, but the primary influence is Slayer, and while they probably appeal more or less to the same backpatch enthusiasts, they seem less like a blatant act of pastiche than, I dunno, Warbringer. Still, there’s not a lot of creativity on display here, and the vocals are shit, so unless you hoover up every new band that vaguely reminds you of Cryptic Slaughter, you can do without this, and pretty much everything else by Skeletonwitch. Unless you just love sweet covers, in which case you should probably buy their entire discography!

— Friar Johnsen

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SOULFLY, Savages (2013, Nuclear Blast)

The skull:
I’ll tell you what’s savage: this guy’s dental regimen, am I right? He should have spent a little less time with a tattoo needle, and a little more time with a brush and some floss. But I guess when you’re decked out as fabulously as this guy is, with a black feather fright wig and a massive collar necklace (is this skull a drag queen?) then maybe you can get by with half a mouth of choppers. Probably they all get covered up with a jewel encrusted grill before he goes out anywhere.

The music:
It’s kind of weird to think that Max Cavalera made good music for only about six years, and that’s generously including his formative years in Sepultura. Since Roots he’s basically made nothing but shit (although that first Cavalera Conspiracy album was okay), and while I haven’t been following Soulfly closely over the years, I’ve seen them a couple times and heard enough of their music to give them a wide berth. So when I first saw this cover, I thought, “Of fucking COURSE Soulfly would do a BDS!” and I licked my chops at the prospect of tearing Max a new one. But then something funny happened. I listened to the album, and I… I didn’t hate it. It feels dirty to even admit that. I listened to a Soulfly album and it wasn’t complete shit. I mean, it’s not awesome. It’s not the second coming of Arise. It’s probably not even as good, overall, as Chaos A.D., which I consider to be a fairly rotten album. But, it has a certain swagger, and while, for sure, it’s still got its fair share of idiotic breakdowns and thumpy nu metal grooves, it’s also got a lot of genuinely cool riffs. Max, for a change, sounds like his old self, not some bloated, dreaded, knapsacked caricature, and the production is heavy. The first two songs, especially the second, “Cannibal Holocaust” are rock solid, and while the third starts to reintroduce the breakdowns and 90s-style harmonic riffs, it’s not until the fourth track (featuring the dude from Clutch) that this becomes obviously Soulfly and not some mythical not-awful Max band. Track five, “Master of Savagery” pulls out of the nosedive a bit before the next number goes all in on the numetal Soulfly stupidity I was expecting all along. That song, “Spiral,” is every bit as bad as I know, deep-down, Soulfly to be. But then the album rebounds a bit with “This Is Violence,” which would rank pretty high in the Machine Head ouvre, before taking another bad turn with a tune that brings in Mitch Harris from Napalm Death, and another featuring the bassist from Static X (worst guest spot ever?) The last tune, the atrociously titled “Soulfliktion” dares to echo the memorable “who”s of “Beneath the Remains”, but isn’t a completely rotten tune on its own terms. To say this is the best Soulfly album is certainly no great compliment, and the middle is an unpleasant slog, but I would never have imagined when I first hit play that I’d have made it to the end at all. I won’t be buying this, so it’s not like Max has won me back, but for the first time in a long time, I guess I’m willing to consider the possibility that the old dog might still hunt.
— Friar Johnsen

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VIRAL LOAD, Bashed Fucking Skull (1997, demo)

The skull:
My uncle has always been an early adopter type. Whatever was the hot new gadget, he got it, and made the most out of it. In the early days of PCs, he was fond of a program called Print Shop. It was a primitive graphics package primarily used to create greeting cards and flyers for bake sales and other ephemera. Early versions were, of course, monochrome and designed for use with dot matrix printers. Anyway, we would often get birthday cards or whatnot created in Print Shop, in all their stock graphics glory. You couldn’t do a lot with Print Shop, and Photo Shop it most certainly wasn’t, and pretty quickly a seasoned user of the software would find himself creating basically the same images as everyone else, because basically you had no choice. Print Shop lived on through the early days of color inkjet printers, but it eventually proved so limiting (and its output so ghastly) that it faded into the mists of pre-internet legend. But I guess at least one person was still using it in 1997, because this cover, with its plastic images, the corny squished skulls on the back of the J-card, the bizarre phantasmagoria of a background, the shitty extruded font, etc., could only have been made in Print Shop. I applaud that last, lonely user, who in his DIY zeal to get his music heard, conceived and delivered unto this world a Big Dumb Skull as gloriously stupid as this. The world is unlikely to see finer in these late technodystopian days.

The music:
Oh man, I am totally psyched for this. Eastern European heavy metal at its finest. Lemme just cue this up and hit play… Uh. Wait. There must be some mistake. This doesn’t appear to be the decades-late Croatian answer to Tygers of Pan Tang. This is some kind of shitty brutal death metal? With a drum machine? What the fuck? Now the cover doesn’t make sense AT ALL. This is the sort of idiot gore metal that demands a cover of, I dunno, lacerated tits or something. Something that combines pimply misogyny with a ton of blood. This cover isn’t going to offend anyone (except those last few old ladies still clutching their pearls at swear words) and it utterly fails to represent Viral Load honestly. Then again, if you really knew what you were in for, you’d never listen to this, so maybe the Trojan Horse strategy was a wise one. Sucker people in with the promise of totally unironic metal and then when they least expect it, BAM, you hit them with your half-assed Skinless worship. That’s almost certainly giving Viral Load too much credit for cleverness, but literally nothing else could possibly explain the marriage of this music and this cover. It’s a fucked-up world, though.
— Friar Johnsen

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GRINNING DEATH’S HEAD, No Afterlife (2009, Youth Attack)

The skull:
I picture the artist commissioned to illustrate this album spending about five minutes thinking, “How am I going depict ‘No Afterlife’? Hmm,” before saying, “Fuck it. I’m just gonna do the band name.” Boom. Done. Although truthfully, this is a pretty awesome grinning death’s head. He clearly took a serious beating, and he’s still smiling. It all started with some asshole yelling, “Oh yeah? Well how’s about I wipe that smile offa your face for ya?” and it ended with the same asshole walking away highly frustrated.

The music:
This is the absolute worst sort of no-fi black metal bullshit. It sounds like the band set up at the bottom of a stairwell while one of their toadies operated the boombox “mobile recording studio” at the top. It’s basically impossible to tell what anyone is doing here, and I can’t imagine what this band was hoping to accomplish. I mean, maybe this sort of thing was shocking or transgressive or whatever in 1992, but in 2009? For fuck’s sake. Grinning Death’s Head used a big dumb skull for their subsequent demo as well (it’s a skull in a chalice!), but no way in hell are any of us at Skull HQ going to listen to this band ever again, for any reason.
— Friar Johnsen