Posts Tagged “Wails”

Nile

Nile: Cairo practice

South Carolina metal behemoths, Nile, wound their way to our shores for the first time in over two and half years to lay customary waste to the UK’s metal hordes.

Daniel Cairns was on sentry duty in Highbury, London, and not only sent back this report, but spoke to lead general Karl Sanders about the perilous effects of modern technology on the ancient arts of death metal demon-summoning. Check out the video and live review below!

NILE

EX DEO/SVART CROWN

THE GARAGE, LONDON

SVART CROWN [8] are yet another example of just how far ahead of the pack the French are when it comes to extreme metal. They’re clearly indebted to the discordant likes of Deathspell Omega and Celeste, but they’re also adept at throwing in some beastly Gojira-style grooves too, for when you feel like a bit of a dance. There’s a good turnout for them, and their momentum will only increase. It’s a smashing set, and the bass is absolutely devastating, every thump of the instrument, eliciting a rattle in the chest. EX DEO [8] are a more simplistic and much sillier affair, but by god, they’re fun. It’s genuinely difficult to dislike any band when they come out dressed as Roman Legionnaires and sing songs about fighting and battles. It’s like a heavy metal musical version of Spartacus, without the gore and gratuitous nudity obviously, but still. There’s some excellently heavy metal posing by frontman Maurizio Iacono, as he wails stuff like ‘Hold the line’ and ‘You killed my father’. There’s a fantastic response from the Garage crowd, fists bumping in unison.

NILE [9] come out to an intro track that isn’t a million miles away from the theme of ex-WWE wrestler Goldberg, before going on the warpath. Basically, they sound absolutely devastating tonight. Messrs Sanders and Toller Wade know it too, as a giant, shit-eating grin spreads across Karl’s face constantly. They’re excellent on record obviously, but seeing them live is a different matter altogether. Their mummified, balls to the wall, death metal attack is jaw-dropping in its sheer smothering brutality, even invoking a completely un-ironic throwing up of the metal horns. Highlights include a churning, vicious sounding Sarcophagus and Ithyphalic, featuring the unlikely singalong, ‘Anoint my phallus with the blood of the fallen’. Lovely stuff.

Check out Nile’s Homepage here.

And their Facebook page here.

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Today, Decibel Magazine jams the jagged opening track from Columbia, South Carolina’s Burnt Books’ self-titled debut album, set for CD and digital release via At A Loss Recordings worldwide on January 29th, with a vinyl version to follow later in the year.

Check out the song “Selfish Friend” at this location. The following press release was also issued about the band:

“Burnt Books formed in October of 2011 born from musicians from a vast array of previous and current local bands. Guitarist Matt Thompson and drummer Troy Thames came from both the ‘smashist revolutionaries’ Guyana Punch Line and experimental punkers Thank God (Thompson as bassist in both). Troy also participated in ex-Antischism/Initial State killers .fuckingcom. Bassist Joey Parker and guitarist Chuck Sligh helped provide the heavy riffage and crazy time signatures of Tunguska. Finally, Zoe Lollis had previously been performing solo shows utilizing only her banjo and voice.

“On their first album, Burnt Books’ noisy hardcore/punk comes to life with Lollis’ growls, wails, and mocking tones coalescing with the high-paced and artistically-reconfigured punk/noise rock constructed of angular riff madness, with interludes of simply Zoe’s clean vocals and banjo, all help expand the band’s whole approach. The nine-track album was recorded at The Jam Room with Phillip Cope (Kylesa, Baroness, Dark Castle), was mastered by Colling Jordan (YOB, Twilight), and bears cover art by Sam Ford (Black Cobra’s Invernal, etc.).”

Burnt Books’ previously announced East Coast tour has undergone some reconstruction since previous announcements, and the newest itinerary is listed below, with additional live ambushes to be conducted sporadically and incessantly into the coming year. The self-titled album’s track listing is as follows:

1. Selfish Friend
2. Empty Eyes
3. Dig A Little Deeper
4. Materialist Conspiracy Theorist
5. Abandoned
6. In A Shallow Grave
7. Unforgiven
8. Liar
9. Golden Gates, Golden Streets
10. Pretty Daughters

12/12/2012 New Brookland Tavern – West Columbia, SC
12/13/2012 Nile Ethiopian Restaurant – Richmond, VA w/ The Catalyst
12/14/2012 The Sidebar – Baltimore, MD w/ Congenital Death, Nothing Is Over
12/15/2012 The Bikery – South Philadelphia, PA w/ Old Lines
12/16/2012 Death By Audio – Brooklyn, NY w/ Old Lines
12/17/2012 The Place – Brooklyn, NY
1/25/2013 Tin Roof – Charleston, SC
1/26/2013 New Brookland Tavern – West Columbia, SC

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More than 16,000 fans have checked out the YouTube clip, in which a young woman, Juliette Valduriez, shreds all over Ozzy Osbourne’s “Bark At The Moon.”

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AirbourneNo Guts. No Glory.
2010 Roadrunner Records
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

If you want blood, you of course have AC/DC.

If you want Tom Kiefer pulling on a bloody mary at the fore of what is essentially a tribute band penning their own original lyrics, there’s Airbourne.

Very tempting to roll out of this review with a ’nuff said because there’s no other way to describe Melbourne. Sure, there’s hints of the Scorpions now and then, but like Kix, Krokus, Rhino Bucket and Rose Tattoo before them, all roads lead down the emulated cracked walks of Young Boulevard in Airbourne.

Airbourne’s 2007 debut Runnin’ Wild was an AC/DC variety of The Darkness, less over-the-top, more to the point, but unequivocally a throwback novelty. When your purpose for being is to replicate instead of salute, well, that’s flattering to the original source, yes. However, when a second album manifests with every single nugget out of the trick bag straight down to the licks, the solos, the singular bass thrums and the caterwauled backing vocals, it’s overkill.

AC/DC at their height is an unstoppable force. The term “piss and vinegar” applies better to them than pomp and circumstance. It’s easy to see why so many newer bands like Sound and Fury and Airbourne get excited when standing in the midst of Let There Be Rock and High Voltage. For Airbourne’s purposes, those two albums are staked on jumpy ditties like “Raise the Flag” and “Back On the Bottle.” Yet No Guts. No Glory. takes more than a lion’s share of Razor’s Edge era and beyond AC/DC for its so-so pride ride.

By the time Joel O’Keefe wails about getting out on “Bottom of the Well,” the lazy drag of the tune (which sounds perfectly snug on AC/DC’s ehhh Blow Up Your Video or Ballbreaker albums) coaxes you right out with him. That is, unless you’re buying into what Airbourne has to offer, which is a younger, jacked-up version of the original. Where the banner may one day fall, let he with swollen jeans take up the cause.

Seriously, No Guts. No Glory. wears out its welcome by the time “White Line Fever” struts into play. Cool groove, nice rhythm, catchy hook. Too bad the lyrics are the only thing original about it. “Raise the Flag” is a peppy number on the faster side and “It Ain’t Over Till It’s Over” is a smoker, but you already have Powerage, Highway to Hell and Let There Be Rock in your collection and they’re faster to get to if you alphabetize your shelf, A’s be damned.

Simplicity speaks, there’s no getting around it. Airbourne serves up to the common man, the working stiffs, the downtrodden backbone keeping the world turning. It’s why you’re looking at artwork featuring rigs, steel workers (Airbourne even gives them their own tip of the hardhat on the pandering “Steel Town” and “No Way but the Hard Way”), knocked over whiskey bottles and of course, chicks. “Blonde, Bad and Beautiful” may not sound like “You Shook Me All Night Long,” but it’s Airbourne’s sequel outlaying what happened once Brian Johnson began his cuckolding business. “Armed and Dangerous” calls out to a worldwide clan of rabble rousers, while “Back On the Bottle” is self-explanatory. Was Bon Scott was right to check out at the end of a fifth? According to this song there’s no more righteous death.

In other words, all the fundamental demographics which have made AC/DC the commercial sensations they are.

Bitch that Airbourne hoists everything that is AC/DC on No Guts. No Glory. No beating around the bush, it exceeds compliment. Granted, AC/DC was never a complicated bunch of rogues. Their sweaty boogie traces further back to Howlin’ Wolf and Leadbelly, yet it was their brash kissing cooze demeanor which has amplified their legend. Airbourne can call the bandwagon to arms in the name of sex, booze and rock ‘n roll all they want and there’s plenty of nostlagic party animals eager who will follow. You can’t take away Airbourne’s energy, which is why you keep letting yourself be suckered all the way through No Guts. No Glory. More than likely, though, you’ll feel cheated by album’s end, like you might as well have listened to Flick of the Switch if you were seeking out monotony.

Airbourne has their schtick down perfect, no denial there. Too bad they’re wasting their energetic talents posing in the mirror instead of branching out into something real. A thousand Beatles clones can’t be wrong, but in this case…

Rating: **

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HarpoonDouble Gnarly/Triple Suicide
2009 Interloper Records
Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Is it just me or is grind metal getting faster by the nanosecond? On a day when a President Obama is sworn in with winds of change gusting slowly yet confidently from his back, American basements, garages and downhome studios bear the din of metal bands stepping up their residual tempos quicker than ever.

Granted, Chicago’s (hometown of our country’s enigmatic new leader) Harpoon has the advantage of digital assistance to jack their already noisome fuzz blender to velocities nearly undreamt from standard human beat processors. The more you spin their full-length debut (which is really the finished product of their self-titled demo released in May of last year with a few extra songs), only then will you begin to keep up with Dean Costello’s manic drum programming.

Of course, upon initial greeting, Double Gnarly/Triple Suicide is going to feel like catapaulting down a flight of stairs courtesy of a vicious shove from your blind side. Literally, this album plummets at ludicrous speed as Dean Costello (also fielding bass and guitar duties) works his squelchy and buzzbombing riffs into the album’s rambunctious rapidity while his shotgun partner, vocalist Toney Vast wails and rasps at will. For the record, the duo recently added a new bass player to their fold, D.J. Barraca.

With just enough engineering discipline and killer shred lines to avoid being a hackneyed shadow of Herman Rarebell (the grind group, not the Scorpions associate) and Pig Destroyer, Harpoon absolutely slays on minute-efficient cuts like “Throngs,” “Buddy System” and “Walter Reuther” (aka “Walter Fucking Reuther”) while flinging out bruising beats and swarming riffs on the 1:57 “Sloth-Ass.”

Double Gnarly/Triple Suicide will sock you in the mush, make no bones about it. Still just a hair on the raw side with echoey beat replicants, Harpoon nevertheless benefits from slicker than grease note shrills plus the capacity to play in tandem to outrageous rhythm patterns that would give even Dave Lombardo the fits at times. Wielding blazing fast thrash and punk melodies in less time than an episode of Jeopardy doesn’t hurt the cause, either. Both cause immediate information overload.

The digital era is making bands move faster than its hypothetical matrix can withstand. God help humanity if it has to keep up with Harpoon’s incredulous speed.

Rating: ***1/2

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