#harppia

Sepultura: Bestial Devastation EP (1985)

As I said yesterday, split releases, like many marriages, are fragile, short-lived unions of convenience; bound for divorce just as soon as either spouse disagrees with the other's life interests or ambitions and breaks off on their own; so much for "'til death do us part."

This 40-year-old split LP (not original, but reissued, of course) is a perfect case-in-point: pairing Brazilian heavy metal legends Sepultura with fellow Belo Horizonte natives Overdose, whose career, like their moniker, was anything but legendary.

And yet, both groups, plus fledgling Cogumelo Records, were just getting started, at the time, so a split album made a lot of sense for all involved, as no one could have possibly predicted the two bands' astonishingly divergent destinies.

Earlier this week, I wrote about the original A-side, Overdose's three-track Século XX (20th Century), so today I'll cover the B-side, Sepultura's five-cut Bestial Devastation, for which no translation is required, and therein lies the rub.

Because, while Overdose clearly felt more comfortable singing in their native tongue, Sepultura's Max Cavalera would have none of it -- rather sagely stating that trying to write Portuguese lyrics for heavy metal was like writing English lyrics for samba.

Not that accurate English pronunciation, let alone correct grammar, were all that important to conveying Sepultura's amusing satanic intentions in opening croak "The Curse," nor ensuing blackened thrash rituals like the title track and "Necromancer."

"The curse is launched, beware ... The Lord of Death declared the war; Satanas is invoked to destroy; And to command the bestial ... Devastation!"

But don't be fooled: as intentionally crude and savage as these songs may be; as primitive the production and amateurish the musicianship of teenagers Max (vocals, guitar), Igor Cavalera (drums), Paulo Jr. (bass), and Jairo T. (lead guitar), there was obvious potential amid all that apparent chaos and noise.

Like extreme metal contemporaries, both overseas (Hellhammer, Kreator, Destruction, Bathory) and at home (Vulcano, Holocausto, Dorsal Atlantica), Sepultura were already stretching their abilities with varied arrangements, riff, and tempo changes.

This promise of accelerated musical growth in years to come is more evident (if no less violent and sacrilegious) on twin standouts "Antichrist" and "Warriors of Death," and Brazilian metal-heads confirmed this by generally rejecting Overdose's comparative melodic sophistication in favor of Sepultura's raw, unruly mayhem.

Their faith would be rewarded as Sepultura marched inexorably towards an unprecedented international breakthrough, while Overdose lost both direction and momentum over the course of six inconsequential albums before breaking up in 1996.

Sepultura, meanwhile, seemed to be utterly unstoppable until another kind of "divorce" tore the band apart from the inside; a tragic, heartbreaking outcome that some of us have frankly never fully gotten over ... but that's divorce for you, isn't it?

Vodu: Seeds of Destruction/No Way EP (1988/1989)

When I was a teenage head-banger, counting the days stuck in 1980s Latin American purgatory, fledgling Brazilian metal bands like Vodu, Viper, Vulcano, Korzus, Dorsal Atlântica and, yes, Sepultura provided partial relief for my unfulfilled heavy metal dreams.

And I say "partial" because, with a few notable exceptions known to foreigners, most Brazilian metal bands faced insurmountable financial and technical odds when they attempted to record and distribute their music domestically, let alone internationally.

São Paulo's own Vodu (which, as you might guess, is the Portuguese word for "voodoo") were a perfect case in point: barely eking out a living on local club shows and the odd opening slot for visiting heroes like Venom, Exciter, and (don't laugh) Nasty Savage, until they found the means to record 1986's The Final Conflict debut.

A rough, financially-strapped, but energetic slab of Helloween-inspired power metal, the album punched above its weight class, but it couldn't save the quintet from hemorrhaging its singer and both guitarists shortly after its release.

Only bassist André Cagni and drummer Sérgio Facci remained, but they duly recruited new singer Claudio Victorazzo and guitarists Victor Birner (*) and Paulo Lanfranchi to help them carry on, then set to work on 1988's Seeds of Destruction.

Clearly looking to evolve with the times, Vodu embraced a harsher, faster thrash metal sound indebted to a host of Bay Area and Teutonic purveyors, but especially New Yorkers Anthrax, who had just released their breakthrough Among the Living LP.

So, if you can imagine said album at 50% capacity -- in terms of performance, songwriting, production, and yes, plain talent -- then you'll be prepared to sample Vodu numbers like the title track, "What's the Reason," and "Flag of Truce."

That may sound harsh, but it's just the facts ... and those are the highlights!

Moreover, Vodu's occasional detours into hardcore crossover ("Keep (On) Fighting") and classic heavy metal (see the Iron Maiden-inspired "Look at Yourselves") don't fare much better, unless one lowers expectations to accommodate the impoverished conditions of these songs' creation.

Personally, I waver from involuntary cringing to rose-tinted-glasses nostalgia, but I have the benefit of personal experience -- even if I can barely remember it, much as I can hardly remember seeing Vodu opening for Motörhead in 1989 at São Paulo's Ginásio do Ibirapuera.

By then, the group, had followed up Seeds of Destruction with a scattershot EP called No Way, which combined decent live (**) performances like "This is Not Your World" with forgettable new studio material and a rote cover of The Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go."

This 2020 vinyl reissue from Portugal's Lost Realm Records conveniently brings both releases together under one "roof," and makes them somewhat more enticing with a deluxe package and booklet with bilingual liner notes.

As for Vodu, they underwent further line-up changes in the next few years and didn't record again until 1993's Endless Trip, by which time they were completely obsolete in a world where Sepultura had rewritten the standards for Brazilian heavy metal.

After a decades-long layoff, the group reassembled for 2020's Walking with Fire comeback, but, following Cagni's death from stomach cancer in 2023, it's more than likely we won't be hearing from Vodu ever again.

* Trivia Time: nowadays, guitarist Birner works as a soccer analyst for ESPN Brazil.

** Including some authentic-sounding (I can vouch for it) sounds of a typical Brazilian '80s metal show, in which half the audience was busy trying to kill the other half, until skinheads pick a fight with both sides, then the cops crash the show and beat up everyone, etc.

Viper: Soldiers of Sunrise (1987)

From Piper (yesterday) to Viper (today) -- see what I did there?

Few people seem to recall this nowadays, but Viper were one of the first Brazilian heavy metal bands to make some waves overseas, even if theirs were but ripples when compared to the genuine tsunamis unleashed by Sepultura at the start of the ‘90s.

Curiously, though they emerged out of the megalopolis of São Paulo (South America’s largest city), brothers Pit (bass, vocals) and Yves Passarell (guitar) didn’t have to look far for fellow metal warriors, because second guitarist Felipe Machado lived in the same building and singer André Matos lived in another one nearby.

Oh, what I would pay to attend a Home Owners’ Association meeting, once the teenagers started making their metallic racket!

Anyway, starting with 1985’s The Killera Sword [SIC] demo, on which their line-up was completed by drummer Cassio Audi, Viper left little doubt that their hearts belonged to New Wave of British Heavy Metal standard-bearers Iron Maiden and few others, but then what’s wrong with that?

Not much when a young band has to hone their skills in an isolated heavy metal backwater like Brazil, and it’s a testament to Viper’s commitment that they composed English lyrics from day one, and then quickly set their sites on recording a proper full-length in 1987’s Soldiers of Sunrise. 

Released through domestic label Rock Brigade, the album was recorded in a single, frenetic week of live takes in the studio and minimal guitar and vocal overdubs, and many of the songs were just as frantic, as the influence of power metal bands like Helloween and Manowar had crept in.

These influences are beyond evident on raw quasi-thrashers like “Knights of Destruction,” “The Whipper,” and “Law of the Sword,” which accelerate Maiden’s patented gallop into breathless sprints, while Matos tries to out-air-raid-siren Bruce Dickinson, and Pit’s athletic bass-playing gets even more in-your-face than Steve Harris’.

Not to be outdone, Yves and Felipe trade solos and tight harmonies like Dave Murray and Adrian Smith on the semi-epic title track and album standouts “Wings of the Evil” (if “The Trooper” had a sequel ...) and “Signs of the Night,” but so earnest is their enthusiasm, I doubt you’ll hold this against them.

And if you still think I’m exaggerating the Iron Maiden influence ... just process the made-to-order instrumental, “Killera (Princess of Hell).” 

Finally, the rather corny “H.R.” (short for “Heavy Rock”) saw Matos replacing his Dickinsonian operatics (he went for broke with “woah-woah-woahs” on “Nightmares”) for lower registers because his voice was completely shot after such a grueling recording schedule.

And yet, all in all, Soldiers of Sunrise was just about as professional and impressive a heavy metal album as Brazilian bands were producing, at the time -- in fact, it was better than most!

So Viper were entirely deserving of their early notoriety and made the best of it on their much improved ‘89 sophomore LP, Theatre of Fate, before losing Matos to Angra and pivoting to a thrashier metal sound on ‘92’s Evolution.

Oh, and don’t worry because I won’t be following Piper and Viper with, say, Stryper on tomorrow’s blog, or any time before Hell freezes over.

Alta Tensão: Portal do Inferno (1987)

Not to make light of a dead-serious situation, but the Russian invasion of Ukraine has me seeing RED this week, so I’d like to show solidarity for the Ukrainian people with a week’s worth of red vinyl, for what little that’s worth ...

Many were the 1980s Brazilian heavy metal bands that unintentionally curbed their international potential because they refused to, or, more often, didn’t have the luxury, to write and sing (or grunt) English lyrics.

But, let’s be honest: few of these bands actually possessed enough talent and drive to compete at that next level, so today I bring you a borderline case-in-point in the largely forgotten Alta Tensão, whose moniker, fittingly enough, was Portuguese for High Voltage.

Hailing from the rock ‘n’ roll backwater (even by Brazilian standards) of Campo Grande, Mato Grosso do Sul, the quartet caught my ear with 1985’s New Wave of British Heavy Metal-obsessed Metalmorfose EP, which also benefited from unusually decent production for a Third World release.

But nearly two years would pass (a virtual eternity for teenagers who lived and died by the fast-evolving ‘80s metal scene) before the group returned with ‘87’s full-length Portal do Inferno (Gates of Hell), at which point their Portuguese-sung lyrics had arguably become the lesser of their worries.

The greater worry being their increasingly dated style, which stubbornly retained the N.W.O.B.H.M.’s progressive side (Iron Maiden, Diamond Head, etc.) for multi-part epics like “Silêncio“ and “Cortina de Ferro” and the instrumental “Thanatous,” while adopting speed metal velocities on more concise head-bangers like “Chakal,“ “Judas Iscariot,” and title track.

Except for the uniquely English-sung (and oddly Van Halen-riffed) “Sacrifice,” the end results reminded me of good Manowar (yes, there was such a thing ... once), though perhaps the album’s abundant castle metal storylines and heroic fantasy cover art also had something to do with that.

In any case, to make matters worse, the band had been reduced to a trio and their production standards had somehow deteriorated -- drastically!

To the point that my first exposure to physical and digital copies of Portal do Inferno sound like absolute crap (tin cup drums, rampant distortion, horrible mix, etc.), until this reissue found a way to improve them somewhat.

If not for all of these challenges, I’d say that Alta Tensão were still one of the more competent -- instrumentally and compositionally-speaking -- Brazilian metal bands of the 1980s, so you may want to give them a spin.

Chakal: Abominable Anno Domini (1987)

Brazilian heavy metal enjoyed a breakout year in 1987, and no city spawned more breakout bands than the country’s third largest, Belo Horizonte: home to the likes of Sepultura, Sarcófago, Mutilator, Holocausto, and, last but not least, Chakal (yes, ‘chacal’ is the Portuguese word for jackal).

Formed in 1985, the fledgling group had just enough time to rehearse some songs and give them a savage thrashing on borrowed instruments at the influential Metal B.H. II Festival, featuring most of the above, plus Sagrado Inferno, Armageddon, and, from São Paulo, Minotauro.

By the time Chakal landed a deal with hometown label Cogumelo and got to work on their debut album, Abominable Anno Domini, their line-up included vocalist Vladimir Korg, guitarists Mark and Pepeu, bassist Marcelo Laranja, drummer Willian Wiz, and their instrumental skills had come a long way.

Indeed, this LP ranks among the most vicious, extreme, yet accomplished Brazilian thrash/black/death metal records released up to that point, thanks to sonically devastating, misanthropic moshers like “The Planet is Dead,” “Children of the Cemetery,” and “Warriors of Disgrace.”

Of course, modern listeners may find it a little harder to discern Chakal’s rather impressive technical abilities, complex arrangements, and flashy solos through the album’s murky, low-budget production, but that’s the price of admission with Third World heavy metal, my friends.

And, like most Brazilian metal bands of the time, Chakal's rudimentary English invariably yielded some oddly worded (“May Not the Mankind Suffer, “Children Sacrifice”) or downright funny (“Terminal Brain,” anyone?) song titles and lyrics, though these were partially disguised by Vladimir’s acid-laced croaks. 

Plus, even these flaws were ultimately well-suited to horror movie tributes like the Dawn of the Living Dead-inspired “The Dead Walk” and the epic, Friday the 13th-sampling standout, “Jason Lives,” to say nothing of the obligatory anti-Christian tirade via venomous closer “Mr. Jesus Christ.”

All of the above has helped Abominable Anno Domini stand the test of time quite well compared to its Brazilian contemporaries, but Chakal was sadly unable to build on its momentum and made their fans to wait until 1990 (*) for their sophomore album, The Man is His Own Jackal.

By then, Sepultura had already stormed foreign shores and left even their nearest competing countrymen in the dust, raising the bar to such a degree that Brazil wouldn’t produce another, far more modest international success story until prog metallers Angra and brutal death squad Krisiun came along. 

For their part, Chakal continued to struggle and followed their once again delayed third long-player, 1993’s Death Is a Lonely Business, with a ten-year hiatus, before embarking on a couple low-key, new millennium comebacks (to the tune of four albums, I believe) to capitalize on their cult status.

* Chakal did issue a single in 1988 called Living with the Pigs, featuring a couple of decent tracks in the provocative “S.A.T.P. (Shoot the Police)” and forgettable? “Never Die Young.”

Korzus: Mass Illusion (1991)

If you’d asked me, circa 1986, to name some of Brazil’s most promising heavy metal bands, São Paulo, Korzus would have been on the tip of my tongue, but so much had changed by the release of 1991’s LP, Mass Illusion, some five years later and 30 years ago.

First the good news: starting with its predecessor, Pay for Your Lies, Korzus had finally started penning English lyrics (like their onetime followers, now role models, Sepultura), having realized that their earlier, Portuguese-sung records may as well have had a “DEPORT” stamp on their passports.

Now the bad news: the ‘80s-rooted thrash metal style displayed on Mass Illusion was quickly reaching its expiration date, as more extreme descendants like black and death metal gained more traction and Nirvana waited in the wings to shake everything up, later this same year.

Let’s review the evidence, shall we?

Though they fired off plenty of excellent, frenetic riffing and hooky gang choruses, highlights like the title track, “Blood for Blood” and “Agony” were still essentially by-the-book thrashers, inspired by the thinking man’s thrash example of foreign bigwigs like Anthrax and Exodus.

The somewhat leaner, more direct “P.F.Y.L.” and “Beyond the Limits of Insanity” revealed a Prong-like economy with potential for further exploration in Korzus’ future, but did we still need metal bands recording even mildly interesting instrumentals like “Unpredictable Disease” in 1991?

Uh, no ... 

And a brutal, semi-serious cover of the Brazilian rock classic “Inútil,” originally cut tongue-in-cheek by Ultraje a Rigor, served no apparent purpose other than to advertise the talking point that Ultraje leader Roger Rocha Moreira’s was sitting in the producer’s chair.

In other words, while I myself could listen to vintage thrash like this all day, Mass Illusion was a case of too little, too late for Korzus, who probably wished they’d saved the money spent on this deluxe gatefold sleeve (ancient Egyptian relics ... a deep, dark cave?) for marketing and promotion.

About that: not long after the album’s release, lead guitarist Silvio Golfetti was asked to sub for an injured Andreas Kisser on Sepultura’s European tour, and the rest of Korzus would soon follow to perform their first international shows, including a stop at London's legendary Marquee Club. 

But the thrill of playing overseas was all they brought home, and a long hiatus preceded ‘95’s hardcore-based KZS album, and even longer stretches between ‘04’s back-to-thrash Ties of Blood, ‘10’s Discipline of Hate and ‘14′s Legion, made it impossible for Korzus to ever attain their musical dreams. 

Azul Limão: Vingança (1986)

In recognition of Pride Month, I’ll be featuring colored vinyl in a rainbow sequence all week long ... 

Here’s a Brazilian heavy metal band most of you have never heard of, and the reason is simple: Rio de Janeiro’s abstractly named Azul Limão (which translates to Lemon Blue) never made any noise overseas, chiefly because they chose to write lyrics in Portuguese instead of English.

Like it or not, English is rock ‘n’ roll’s lingua franca, and Sepultura’s Max Cavalera wasn’t wrong when he said that “singing heavy metal in Portuguese is like singing samba in German,” or something to that effect ... can anyone find that exact quote?

Heck, I’m a Portuguese speaker who lived in Brazil in 1986 when Vingança (Vengeance) arrived, and I chose to ignore Azul Limão for this very reason -- even though I could personally relate with their lyrics (e.g. “Satã Clama Metal,” “Não Vou Mais Falar”) about freedom from everyday prejudice in a conservative Christian society, just emerging from decades of military rule. 

And, though I’ve obviously softened my stance or we wouldn’t be having this conversation, I must say that the marriage of metal and Portuguese remains as awkward and unhappy today as it did 35 years ago, not helped by Rodrigo Esteves’ high-pitched squawk.

Perhaps more importantly, Azul Limão lacked the innovative extreme metal bent of a Sepultura or Sarcófago, meaning that perfectly respectable cuts like “Portas da Imaginação” and plodding twins, “Sangue Frio” and “O Grito,” relied on well-established (read: overused, by 1986) New Wave of British Heavy Metal lessons.

So maybe it’s no surprise that Vingança was at its best when Esteves, talented guitarist Marcos Dantas, bassist Vinicius Mathias and drummer Ricardo Martins opened up the thrash throttle on the title track, “Fora de Lei” and their sole world-class head-banger, “Você Não Faz Nada.”

But all of the band’s potential didn’t amount to a hill of beans without international, let alone domestic exposure, and though they quickly rolled out a solid six-track EP called Ordem e Progresso in ‘87, Azul Limão had faded away by decade’s end and didn’t reform until the new millennium, by which time cult nostalgia was all they could hope for.

p.s. -- In case you’re wondering, the Japanese-inspired obi strip you see here was NOT a common practice for Brazilian record releases, just a clever addition to this s, so this 2001 reissue. 

Vulcano: Live! (1985)

I’ve spewed a lot of copy about Vulcano over the years, but perhaps I should begin by stating the most significant fact: that they were arguably Brazil’s first true extreme metal band, and I’ve heard similar opinions stated by a few acquaintances who were active in the infamous Norwegian black metal ‘Inner Circle.’ 

Unable to afford the luxury of a professional studio, the highly-motivated band based in the major port city of Santos took the initiative of recording one of their own shows for what became their first official release: 1985’s simply named Live! 

And, as its crude fantasy battle cover image illustrates, the whole enterprise was as primitive as might be expected from a Third World country that was only just emerging from decades under military rule, which is my way of warning you that these nine tracks basically sound like crap!

But they also crackle with the sort of desperate, life-or-death vitality that no studio setting could have possibly captured; so, today, Live! provides a rare glimpse of Brazil’s poorly documented heavy metal movement, just as it was about to take off, 35 years ago.

Vulcano, like Sepultura, Dorsal Atlântica and a few others, were one of the pioneering bands lighting that rocket, and unapologetically vulgar blackened thrashers like “Witches’ Sabbath” and the seminal tandem of “Guerreiros de Satã” and “Total Destruição” were forged from the velocity of Motörhead, the intensity of Slayer, and the satanic theatrics of Venom.

Meanwhile, barely more accessible head-bangers like “The Signals,” the interminable “Fallen Angel” (complete with a chaotic drum solo), and demo favorite “Devil on My Roof” tried to broaden Vulcano’s sonic horizons, but there was only so much they could do within such unprofessional recording conditions.

To underscore that last point, the album’s classic final cut, “Satanic Legions,” was unfortunately compromised by a disintegrating drum kit, and I’ve been told that reissues like this one were transferred directly from surviving vinyl copies, because the master tapes were lost long ago.

Oh, and in case this even needs mentioning, the lyrics screamed partly in Portuguese and partly in remedial English by frontman Angel Uruka (a proud disciple of Lemmy, Cronos and Cookie Monster) rarely make any sense, but we’re talking heavy metal here, folks: music speaks louder than words.

Which reminds me that my words, too, can’t really do Vulcano’s Live! proper justice, so spin this if you dare, and thank or curse me later.