The Braindance Coincidence
Various Artists
Rephlex
Personally, I think Rephlex is only being modest by naming their decade-spanning label compilation The Braindance Coincidence. Aphex Twin's label is well known for releasing excellent genre-bending electronic music, and it is this dedication to quality, not merely a coincidence, that has earned it the renown it now enjoys. Sycophantic praise aside, The Braindance Coincidence contains 16 tracks, each by a different Rephlex artist. The tunes range from poppy vocoder tracks such as DMX Krew's "The Glass Room," to the funky computer rap danciness of Cylob's "Rewind," to genuinely fucked-up shit such as Bogdan Raczynksi's "Death to the Natives." In short, there's something for everyone (uh, almost everyone) taken from the Rephlex catalog. This album's a great way to familiarize yourself with the Rephlex label or expand your electronic music knowledge to one of the truly groundbreaking labels.
Rephlex, PO Box 2676, London N11 1AZ, UK, http://www.rephlex.com
Matthew Schaefer
Wagon Christ
Musipal
Ninja Tune
Wagon Christ (a.k.a. Luke Vibert), in his debut album for Ninja Tune, serves up 13 funky tracks that make for some damn fine electronic listening music. Almost goofy at times (though never cheesy), Musipal weaves in unusual melodic lines with tight downtempo beats without pretending to be hardcore hip-hop. A couple tracks hearken back somewhat to Vibert's lovely jungle rhythms, but the overall tone of the album -- one of smooth funk coupled with "pure electronic modern electronics" -- is carried throughout. Recommended with parties, conversations, sex, and pet grooming.
Ninja Tune, 1751 Richardson #9501, Montreal, Canada, http://www.ninjatune.net
Matthew Schaefer
Phoenecia
Brown Out
The Schematic Music Company
Phoenecia's Brown Out is a heavily atmospheric album, dealing in very moody soundscapes with quite an experimental edge. The music is not readily accessible to either the dancer or the casual listener, but those willing to take on the auditory challenge may be justly rewarded. Sounds such as temple bells, pings, pongs, and various electro-lovelies have been programmed to create some fascinating -- though difficult -- music. Below the fray, however, dub-influenced bubbly bass tones add a whole other element of sound to the mix. Check out Brown Out if you're interested in embarking on a headphone tone poem trip.
The Schematic Music Company, http://www.schematic.net
Matthew Schaefer
Nightwish
Wishmaster
Century Media/Spinefarm
Pretty much old hat by now, seeing that it's been out in Europe for most of 2000, Nightwish's Wishmaster finally sees stateside release to galvanize the glowing press abroad. Yea and verily, it's not difficult to see why the Finnish quintet goes down like smooth brown ale across the pond: near-anthemic/near-gothic metal that squarely operates between the power- and Euro- poles, stadium-ready keyboard atmospherics and flourishes, a heavy-handed sense of oppressive urgency, and in lead valkyrie Tarja Turunen, a classically trained opera singer. And it's the lattermost element that loudly sets Nightwish apart from their Helloweenie contemporaries: While most frilly-shirted Michael Kiske wannabes flounder in vain trying to hit their upper registers (and poorly), Turunen is the real deal, lithely moving about multitudinous octaves without a second thought, and remains likable all the while. Regardless, hers is a "take it or leave it" set of pipes, one guaranteed to stratify most punters, but hey – at least it’s a distinguishing characteristic. At 53 bombastic, blubbery minutes, Wishmaster is perhaps bested only by '90s Virgin Steele for metal of this form and fit, but what a wild ride nonetheless.
Century Media, 1453-A 14th St. #324, Santa Monica, CA 90404, http://www.centurymedia.com
Nathan T. Birk
Thyrfing
Urkraft
Hammerheart
Early on, with their eponymous debut in 1998, Thyrfing practiced a strain of Viking metal that cobbled together an early-'90s Norse black attack with those rousing, pint- and sword-raising melodies Wotan'd be proud of – imminently enjoyable, but maybe a bit too enamoured with Blood Fire Death-era Bathory. Well, Thyrfing (pronounce "surfing" with a mouthful of coleslaw) still craft hymns to the olden ones, but on their latest Urkraft offering, the Swedish sextet up-ratchets their craft more than a few notches, lathering on a goodly deal of atmospherics, ornamentation, and variation to an already tightly wound sound. It's not necessarily that they've written better songs – or, conversely, had worse ones to begin with – because, again, what Thyrfing do is will always be relatively marginalized. Rather, they've moved away from a mere two moves (blasting away and marching out), sounding infinitely more confident and able to move between the two (they do, and often), more confident and able to mix up their mead by many measures, the sum effect rendering this batch of icy journeys improved and inviting. And frontman Thomas Vaananen is similarly improved, his croak sounding less hoarse and more scathing, especially when knocking heads with his newfound clean tenor (via Quorthon, natch). At the end of the day, though, Thyrfing are still a record or two short of upping the ante on the absolutely unfuckwithable Enslaved, or at the very least, Mithotyn or Einherjer, but they're sure to please hordes of berzerkers the world over, this writer included.
Hammerheart, PO Box 277, 6300 AG Valkenburg, The Netherlands, http://www.hammerheart.com
Nathan T. Birk
Soilwork
A Predator's Portrait
Nuclear Blast
In the wide world of metal, that old cliché "third time's a charm" is a relevant factor: On their trifecta release, a metal band fatefully proves whether they will posit themselves as future legends or mere mediocrity dwellers. Ergo, a small sampling of third albums in the heavy metal genre: Master of Reality, Reign In Blood, Master Of Puppets, The Number of the Beast, Whoracle. Soilwork's third album, A Predator's Portrait, proves this adage out… to a point. Following up their promising, not-quite-yet-superstar-status sophomore platter, The Chainheart Machine, Sweden's Soilwork continue to finely hone their post-Gothenburg death/thrash/rock attack into blood-caked razor wire on A Predator's Portrait, with frontman Bjorn "Speed" Strid agilely moving from his tastefully decipherable rasp to a previously unearthed clean channel (no doubt influenced by Opeth's Mikael Akerfeldt, who also makes a guest appearance on the title track) and keyboardist Carlos Del Olmo melding subtle, yet integral, atmospheres onto the meltdown riffs of Ola Frenning and Peter Wichers. And speaking of the two axe-slingers, Frenning and Wichers have now become a masterful tandem, balancing the searing riffery of latter-day At The Gates and the soaring leads of modern-day In Flames with equally stout-hearted aplomb, their lines remaining both dynamic and familiar, because, like all great musicians, they've now become a law unto themselves. All the above considered, then, what truly sets A Predator's Portrait apart from the band's humble beginnings is the songs themselves, all of which are immediately memorable without pandering to formula, all of which logically flow from one to another without overshadowing the one before or after, all of which bespeak "this is Soilwork and no one else."
Truth be told, however, much like The Haunted's recent The Haunted Made Me Do It, A Predator's Portrait isn't necessarily the simultaneously life-damning/-affirming blow this writer was expecting. It's times like these when I curse my station in life as a music journalist and its consequent alterations, now forever etched, to my music-appreciating psyche. As a metal fan, the record is top-notch: compelling and crushing, memorable and mesmerizing. But as a metal critic, I can only image that, had A Predator's Portrait been full of songs as devastating as the title track to The Chainheart Machine (the album's standout, and the band's finest four minutes so far), the record could well have been as mind-blowing and classic-status-ready as the aforementioned holy texts. But comparing A Predator's Portrait to them? That's like comparing any random Michael Chricton novel to Crime And Punishment – here's to crossed fingers for Soilwork's next one.
Nuclear Blast, 1453-A 14th St. #324, Santa Monica, CA 90404, http://www.nuclearblast.de
Nathan T. Birk
Severe Torture
Feasting On Blood
Hammerheart
Severe Torture's Feasting On Blood…(sigh) brilliant, absolutely brilliant, guys. In all fairness, though, Severe Torture are as good as they come in the trigger-happy, post-Suffocation school of gore-grind, but isn't that asking too little? And, really, who's counting? In any case, the Dutch quartet has two tricks up their bloody sleeves: accelerate and (less so) decelerate. Thing is, within this polarized framework, Severe Torture go for a deliberately direct attack that, for better or worse, never succumbs to obtuse riff cram-a-thons or inebriated, headless song structures, the end result rendering itself sometimes-catchy, sometimes-bleary-eyed, sometimes-enjoyable. Nonetheless, after a cursory read of Feasting On Blood's song titles (here’s the first four: "Feces For Jesus," "Decomposing Bitch," "Baptized in Virginal Liquid," and, um, "Blood"), not to mention lead gurgler Dennis' toilet-flushed gullet eruptions, you can pretty much surmise it's a strictly ghettoized affair with next to nil potential for advances in employment on Severe Torture's part. Solely recommended for those graveless souls who wear all black in the summer and anyone into poverty-level metal.
Hammerheart, PO Box 277, 6300 AG Valkenburg, The Netherlands, http://www.hammerheart.com
Nathan T. Birk
Dimmu Borgir
Puritanical Euphoric Misanthropia
Nuclear Blast
Hot damn, what an all-star lineup Dimmu Borgir have assembled for Puritanical Euphoric Misanthropia: Despite having lost a couple members in the two short years since the preceding Spiritual Black Dimensions, the Borgir boys have added to their ranks former Cradle Of Filth skinsman Nick Barker, guitarist Galder (concurrent leader of Old Man's Child), and, on bass and backing vocals, ex-Borknagar frontman/four-stringer I.C.S Vortex. However, it's no small feat that these additions never threaten to eclipse or overshadow the songs themselves on Puritanical Euphoric Misanthropia, but perhaps these men were the extra, little kick in the leather pants needed to flesh out the sextet's sound. Granted, Dimmu Borgir's cards, for the most part, have been in place since 1996's Stormblast, yet the band's latest offering finally manages to surpass the ever-present hype and plagiarism that have swelled up around them and threatened to swallow whole any artistic merit inherent in their aesthetic.
As intermittently glimpsed on the aforementioned Dimensions, Dimmu Borgir really cook shit up, and fine, when they slow things down to a discernible pace, as in a classic-metal mid-tempo or those sweaty thrash ones that hint at their influences (Sodom, Dark Angel, Destruction, etc.). Here, the latter are more in abundance and hyper-blast tempos roughly only crop up a third of the time, and both instances are certainly a good thing, especially when they're butted up against those meandering, foggy atmospheres just lingering above and around the decibels being shredded. Speaking of atmosphere, Vortex's occasional vocals work both as instrument and voice, bearing that black mark that earmarked Borknagar as true individuals, yet integrated seamlessly and space-clouded into Dimmu's diminutive foundation, and more distinctively than his guest ones on Misanthropia's predecessor. To some, Fredrik (In Flames, Dark Tranquillity, Arch Enemy) Nordstrom's production, which downplays the atmosphere for cold guitar tones here, may strike many as squeaky clean and perhaps sterile, but to these ears, it exudes class, stealth, and precision, all three ideals by now worth pursuing in black metal, circa 2001. And that’s why Puritanical Euphoric Misanthropia succeeds: It lodges Dimmu Borgir as serious musicians pursuing serious ideals instead of just another gothed-up vehicle through which T-shirts and other "shocking" merchandise get peddled, which certainly could have been once argued for (the latter, pejorative element, that is). Two final thoughts: kudos on the killer cover of Twisted Sister's finest moment ("Burn In Hell"), but what's up with the three-word album titles (add For All Tid and Enthrone Darkness Triumphant to the list)?
Nuclear Blast, 1453-A 14th St. #324, Santa Monica, CA 90404, http://www.nuclearblast.de
Nathan T. Birk
Sloth
The Voice of God
The Music Cartel
There's presently a great deal of bamboozlery in the mutually inclusive worlds of doom metal and "stoner rock," but it appears that the cream of the crop is finally rising to the top, and loudly, at that. Case in point: Sloth's mammoth The Voice of God debut. A relatively new voice in the (overcrowded) crowd, Sloth aren't doing anything remotely new, they're just doing it well – so well, in fact, that when the submerged, low-end riffs of guitarist Roland come rolling and roiling through, all head-nodding and hypnotizing, you can't help but raise your hands in rapture to the stone(d) caravan in the night sky; and with the average song length at a stymieing nine minutes, this introductory thud is stretched out mightily and engrossingly, its seven songs in 61 minutes being the ample dosage for a hallucinogen this overwhelmingly strong. Lots of Trouble, slightly less SST-era Saint Vitus, with the wattage and crunch of Sleep or perhaps Fudge Tunnel to boot, The Voice of God proudly and presently lands the British quartet somewhere's between modern Cathedral on one 'lude more, Electric Wizard minus one. Psychedelic without resorting to hokey (hookah?) posturing or a bevy of "freaky" effects pedals, narcotic without being overtly or self-consciously so, The Voice of God is indeed a scary one.
The Music Cartel, PO Box 629, Port Washington, NY 11050, http://www.music-cartel.com
Nathan T. Birk
King Diamond and Black Rose
20 Years Ago – A Night of Rehearsal
Metal Blade
Little known to anyone outside the King Diamond devout, the Great Dane fronted a little combo back home called Black Rose before launching the mighty Mercyful Fate in the early '80s. Previously unearthed to the public at large, 20 Years Ago – A Night of Rehearsal is just that, yet despite the tin-canned, garagey production present here, Black Rose actually had some nifty songs, which many bands, past or (especially) present, could only pray for. With the non-pejoratively dated keyboard prowess of Ib Enemark at the forefront, Black Rose were basically a product of the '70s, hinting at the proto-NWOBHM of demo-days Maiden, more often the AOR of Kansas and Foghat (Deep Purple would've been too easy, considering Enemark's strong stylistic semblance to Jon Lord), a weeded-out waft of prime Uriah Heep or even E.L.O. usually lingering above and around the proceedings. Of most interest to his fans, the Diamond one hadn't quite fully developed his trademark falsetto or macabre lyrical imagery at this point, but scents of both do pop up infrequently (see "Road Life" and "I Need Blood," respectively). Still, something of a non-event and, at the very least, a diehards-only curio, A Night of Rehearsal is nonetheless sure to please all the King's men.
Metal Blade, 2828 Cochran St., PMB 302, Simi Valley, CA 93065-2793, http://www.metalblade.com
Nathan T. Birk
2nd Generation
Irony Is
Novamute
Remember the good old days of Ministry and The Land of Rape and Honey? Or how about Cop Shoot Cop? Bands that were not just loud, but overwhelming. The ones with a visceral, bone-shaking rumble. That is this band. I have feeling that if you were to see this band in concert, your friggin' eardrums would bleed. This is a heavy album, a heavy, mean, and evil album. The second track is probably one of the better tracks of the year. Forget about those bands like Slipknot, Incubus, and their ilk, if you want to flip your mom out, play her "SlowBurn." While another track, "Black Spring" is the aural equivalent of a blues band plunging into the bowels of hell. Listening to this album is like watching some one pouring liquid metal ore into a sucking chest wound. Heavy and mean, this album is just plain heavy and mean.
http://www.mute.com
Terry Eagan
Carl Craig
onsumothasheeat
Shadow
A surprising change of pace for this jetsetting superstar DJ, onsumothasheeat explores the indescribable, improvisational and complex methodologies of urban music. Sequestered in this broad category are the fundamental elements of jazz, hip-hop, and the eventual evolution into drum n' bass and electro. Here, Carl Craig examines each facet thoroughly, handpicking from the prolific Shadow catalog, and translates each breezy nuance through his solid-steel decks.
As Ultralights' breezy "Supernova" segues into the Kraftwerk-like fiddling of LB's "Superbad," it's obvious the man has chosen wisely, like the tried and true music aficionado he is. Throughout the mix, Craig proves modern dance can blend positively into the time-honored be-bop swing of the past. Live breakbeats bounce like tennis balls off cement once the dark atmospheres of Goo's "The OG" enter the room, inducing permanent shockwaves throughout the remainder of the record. This 13-song mix definitely indulges in ambiguity and experimentation, rather than the set one would expect from Carl Craig. Whatever sheeat he is on, let's hope he never gets off.
Shadow Records, 26 West 17th Street, #502, New York, NY 10011, http://www.shadowrecords.com
Kiran Aditham
