Today's Metal Tune

“Deaf Forever” was something of a new beginning for Motörhead as well as a slight attempt at leveling up: although the Kilmister/Burston/Campbell/Gill lineup quickly recorded 4 tracks for the No Remorse compilation and constantly turned up on British television (to say nothing of Lemmy popping up while Frankie Goes to Hollywood appeared on Top of the Pops), Orgasmatron was Motörhead’s first proper album in 3 years and hiring Bill Laswell to produce was a signal that they were making some attempt to both recalibrate and stay in the game.  To that end, Laswell brought more character and dimension to “Deaf Forever” than was heard on any Motörhead record before or since: from the cavernous drum echo to the puncturing guitar sound to the hellhound backing vocals this was the closest Lemmy and crew came to sounding like art rock.  Of course this was still Motörhead so the tune still managed to knock you flat on your ass: Lemmy’s bark was even more intense than usual and made the streetwise cynicism of his lyrics weightier, the buildup to the chorus was absolutely massive and the entire brand was in full freight train mode.  The rest of Orgasmatron couldn’t quite live up to the power of “Deaf Forever” (though it somehow became Motörhead’s biggest seller in America despite coming out on a tiny label), but the urgency of the track was a reminder that there was nobody else on the planet like this bunch of miscreants.

“Masquerade” started with a fairly lame intro, but the first track on Radakka’s debut album gave way to pretty massive heaviness and picked up steam from there.  John Dobbs’ vocals were a bit dramatic, as were the lyrics which were very ‘90s relationship angst stuff, but the music and especially the drums were on point.  One could tell what Radakka was aiming for, and the chops were there.  But the band also felt a bit stuck and forced into the ethos of their time, which somewhat hamstrung “Masquerade” and their overall potential.

The reunion of most of Tokyo Blade’s original lineup has lasted far longer than their first go, and albums like Dark Revolution offered some measure of continuity by presenting an only slightly modernized version of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal.  “Burning Rain” had great riffs, solos and drumming that recalled the band’s early material, and Alan Marsh’s vocals worked with the track though he sounded a bit whiny in spots.  Unfortunately, the backing vocals circled back to Tokyo Blade’s sad attempts at hair metal, and Andy Boulton’s biggest problem as a writer was that the songs were usually a minute or two longer than necessary and this track was no exception at almost 6 minutes when 4 and a half would’ve sufficed.  “Burning Rain” was still far better than anything bearing the Tokyo Blade name in 2020 had any right being, though it captured the band at both their best and worst.

“Night Danger”, like most of Red, Hot and Heavy, was just straight-up kickass and saw Pretty Maids at their most unpretentiously heavy (and most fun).  Ronnie Atkins’ growl was perfect for the time even if his gesticulating was a bit ridiculous, and Ken Hammer’s riffing was right between the eyes and bluntly effective.  This was another instance of northern Europe absorbing the sound and feel of the NWOBHM and pushing heavy music into the ‘80s, and “Night Danger” captured the excitement of the era well.

The Industrialist found the Fear Factory concept growing stale: Dino Cazares’ jackhammer riffing began feeling boilerplate, and he didn’t appreciate just how much was lost by using a drum machine.  But Burton C. Bell still sounded good on tracks like “Disassemble”, adding new layers to his growl so that even though he didn’t break out his sonorous croon until the track’s final moments he remained compelling throughout.  Bell and Cazares sounded revitalized just one album earlier, but the combination of resorting to another concept album (and one that rehashed all of the same themes) and recording more or less as a trio with Rhys Fulber to save money gave the impression that Fear Factory had nothing left to say.

“Lone Justice” was simultaneously one of Anthrax’s most beloved and most disparaged tunes: Spreading the Disease’s second track stepped back from the thrash of “A.I.R.” in favor of an energetic but largely traditional metal rendering of the Wild West, and while a sizable portion of the band’s fanbase loved the hooks, soaring choruses and goofy charm just as many (especially the guys in the band) just found it goofy.  To be sure, it was a bit simplistic musically and what business did these yokels from Queens (and a singer from Oswego) have singing about gunslingers- had Scott Ian not discovered Stephen King yet?  But “Lone Justice” was also one of Anthrax’s most fun songs, one of their more loose-limbed chargers and one of their last straight-up headbangers before they went all-in on thrash and started getting a little too stuffy for their own good: Joey Belladonna was maybe flexing a bit too hard on the verses, but he parted the clouds on that massive chorus and Charlie Benante’s drums were effortlessly rolling and tumbling.  It just sounded like everyone was having a good time without thinking too much about it, and that such a notion would soon run counter to Anthrax’s operating philosophy (even as the smiles got wider) might’ve made the track an outlier in their songbook but it didn’t make it any less entertaining.

Refuge came out in 2002, but “Torn Apart” was straight out of 1995 with its dank production, Therion-esque sense of low-budget drama and almost laughably over the top operatic vocals.  Rain Fell Within fit within the Therion mold though they leaned far more into the goth and opera side rather than the doomdeath that was the latter’s foundation, and Dawn Smith was essentially an American Tarja Turunen right as Nightwish was gaining serious traction outside Europe, so the track was somewhat well placed for its moment.

Rob Halford deserved some credit for trying to broaden his scope a bit, and by all accounts Fight was supposed to be brief diversion for the Metal God in between Judas Priest album/tour cycles.  On that level, something like “Kill It” could’ve been appreciated for what it was, which was a street-level slammer that allowed Halford to try different vocal approaches, engage with newer strains of metal and hang with the kids.  But then Fight inadvertently became the singer’s main band and his personal mission statement, and the track sounded inane bordering on idiotic: Halford’s intonations and attempts at commentary were extremely ‘90s and quickly became even more dated than his earlier proclamations about robots taking over the world, while the stuttering riff aimed for Pantera but just sounded basic.  There was a certain troglodyte charm to the whole thing and Halford’s charisma and enthusiasm for the material went a ways towards making the tune a simplistically fun headbang and something of a guilty pleasure- Rob was so clearly excited and inspired by metal’s next wave that one wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt even if it felt like he was playing catchup and inadvertently looking more long in the tooth as a result.

As album titles went, Suicidal for Life was both a mission statement and easy joke, and so it went for a good portion of the tunes on Suicidal Tendencies’ last shot at major label glory.  Speaking of titles, “Don’t Give a Fuck” made Mike Muir’s intentions crystal clear as he and the 1994 iteration of the band (which somehow included a completely out of place Jimmy DeGrasso alongside Robert Trujillo and Rocky George) flailed about in defiance of getting too popular but also annoyance over not selling more records.  It certainly played like a mix of contractual obligation, mid ‘90s absurdity and a schlocky attempt at provocation only made more ridiculous by Paul Northfield’s pristine production.  But in a way all of that made complete sense for the time- a crossover group called Suicidal Tendencies on Epic Records at a time when supposed authenticity was valuable currency, and what better way to show street cred than putting a cussword in your song titles?

The first Heavy Metal Heroes compilation didn’t have the same cachet as the first Metal for Muthas since it came out on much smaller label and didn’t have two tracks from the fast-rising Iron Maiden.  But it was arguably the better record overall since it was a truer encapsulation of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal in all its energy and naïve glory: there was no chance of a group calling themselves Metal Mirror going anywhere, but “Hard Life” was a good a banger as anything by Angel Witch or Holocaust at the time.  The tune had all the bushleague charm that powered the NWOBHM, from the frenetic but not overly complicated riffing to the ramshackle drums and endearingly cheap vocals, and played like a great time at the bar.  Calling “Hard Life” working class metal wouldn’t entirely be fair, but the track was only ambitious insofar as so much NWOBHM was about bringing metal back to the ground floor and Metal Mirror accomplished that with their one moment.

Louder than Love was appreciated more for what it suggested than what it actually was, for all of the bits that made Soundgarden one of the greats were there but it didn’t quite come together and even the best moments had a slightly tentative feel right down to Terry Date’s strangely anemic production.  “Gun” felt like a slammer just waiting to be let out: it was heavy and massive and Matt Cameron’s drumming basically invented Mastodon, but Chris Cornell was a bit too laidback even if he showed his singularity when he let out that earthquake howl.  Soundgarden was still the coolest band in metal at the time and “Gun” showed a ton of promise, they just needed to shake off the nerves and let loose.

Realm’s Endless War was a slight departure for Roadrunner at the time, as the band’s tech thrash stylings weren’t exactly in line with the label’s predominantly extreme roster in the late ‘80s.  But by the same token, “Slay the Oppressor” represented a certain faction of the underground defined by groups like Watchtower and to a lesser extent Annihilator, and Roadrunner was very much about the underground: the track didn’t have the dizzying technicality of the former nor the songwriting acumen of the latter, but its focused aggression certainly stood out next to the wooly mayhem of early Sepultura and Deicide.  The power of the musicianship was first and foremost for Realm, and that came through on “Slay the Oppressor” in a way that made them slightly ahead of their time.

Don Dokken’s always questionable vocal ability became even more glaring when he put out a compilation of cheaply re-recorded greatest hits some 20 years after his namesake band peaked, but “Magic Man” had a bit more life to it thanks to Jon Levin’s fiery riffing and solos.  Levin was clearly aiming for (and was definitely tasked with) a George Lynch vibe and he mostly came through here, enough so that it was a rare instance where a “new” track outshined the more familiar hits, particularly since its newness could cover up Don’s vastly diminished range.  Credit was also naturally due longtime drummer Mick Brown who hadn’t lost a step and matched Levin in liveliness and did more than Don to make “Magic Man” feel like a proper Dokken track.

How exactly Philip Boa was able to coax the likes of Dave Lombardo, Mille Petrozza, Waldemar Sorychta and Chuck Schuldiner to both play on the same record as well play supporting roles remains unclear, but Jesus Killing Machine not only featured all of the above in 1994 but didn’t sound anything like any of their day jobs.  “Metallizzed Kids” was a terribly spelled mid ‘90s industrial thrash number that maybe nodded to what Kreator was going for at the time, but this was really Boa’s show and his vocals stuck out over the clanging.  The guitars and drums sounded really good, but the tune felt a minute or so longer than necessary and began to get tedious towards the end- this was very much a product of its time so there was only so much anvil pounding one could take.

“Trust No One” was heavier than usual for Sinner (especially considering it was a solo Mat Sinner composition), with steady double kick propulsion and fat power chords slammed with force by Tom Naumann.  It fit within the overall construct of The Nature of Evil as a logical continuation of the more forceful sounds of Judgement Day, and indeed the guitars and drums did a lot of heavy lifting since Mat’s vocals and lyrics were still ridiculous tough guy nonsense with questionable syntax and gnarled garbled gesticulating.  That the crunch of the guitars was so powerful while the vocals were so lame proved important, as Mat Sinner and Tom Naumann would basically bring this approach to Ralf Scheepers in assembling Primal Fear.

Abigail wasn’t that far removed from Fatal Portrait on a musical level, but King Diamond’s second record was where the whole idea behind the band snapped into focus.  Whether one followed the narratives the lyrics and vocals meshed seamlessly with the tech/goth/thrash hybrid that Andy LaRocque, Michael Denner, Timi Hansen and the irrepressible Mikkey Dee cranked out in lockstep, making tracks like “The Possession” work as both a link in the storyline and slamming standalone headbanger.  One might’ve expected the tune to sound more like Mercyful Fate given it was written by Michael Denner and King Diamond, but it was of a piece with the blockier and shreddier sound the group was fully harnessing on Abigail.  At their best the group was both an irresistible force and immovable object, with the musicians charging with a certain inevitability while King’s singular vocals were a special effect but also its own instrument that kept the music and concepts moving. 

It felt like Skyharbor had a real shot at something for a minute, as Sunshine Dust came out with proper international distribution and built on years of goodwill coming in with the cresting of the djent scene.  And with the band solidifying a proper lineup for recording and touring after mostly existing on the internet, the guys seemed to poised to properly coexist alongside Tesseract and Periphery.  To that end, “Menace” may have been a bit more direct and metallic, with Eric Emery’s vocals a bit more emo, but the band’s chops were as tight as ever and the dynamics inside the tune were strong as was the writing in general.  It wasn’t fair to compare Emery to Dan Tompkins, and the American singer left his own on mark on the music.  Forrester Savell’s production was perhaps a bit too clever (which was surprising given his wealth of experience working with bands in this space), but Skyharbor was one of the more underrated bands of their moment and “Menace” was a tight and purposefully heavy number.