Embrional - The Devil Inside [2015]

Polish death metal trope Embrional put out a fairly impressive debut with 2012's ''Absolutely Anti-Human Behaviors'' which was arguably among the 'better' offerings of brutal or technical death metal that came out that year, even though stylistically the Poles possess a whim that doesn't quite fit either camp. Of course we can all thank fuck for the Polish scene smothering and festooning us with quality upon quality of neck-braking excursions of death metal, be it Vader, Behemoth's latest, Lost Soul, Decapitated or the less know Deivos, and also for the fact that Embrional hasn't gone astray after the success of their debut. A reasonably unctuous nod at both the old and the new school, ''The Devil Inside'' keeps the pace of its predecessor, with all its mechanized devilry and didactic, old school-oriented precision, though it may have also left me in some degree of dismay along the way while failing to excavate anything novel on the way...

In other words, the gratifying suspense and novelty of the debut has somewhat faded with the sophomore, naturally of course, but you'd think that the Poles would have carved a fresher niche in 3 years for the whole serving. This is grotesque, intense proto-brutal death metal which I imagine garners much of its aesthetics from the Floridian scene of the 90's, as it's very reminiscent of Morbid Angel, Cannibal Corpse, Hate Eternal, but with also the beckoning, thrashy technicality of Pestilence or Cynic if I had to take it to such a degree, yet the Poles masterfully retain the primal, urban grime that had made their debut such a cankered cake feast for me in the first place, with enough smudge, distortion and bizarrely spidery riff patterns to creep out even more resilient ears. At the same time, the Poles are certainly never 'brutal' to the extent that I'd equate them with the heavier material of Corpse, even though I highly doubt they weren't influenced by the creeping monstrosity of some of the riffs on ''Bloodthirst''. Surgical but never unnecessarily bombastic or overloaded with worn down chugs or insipid, soulless guitar sweeps and wankery, I love that there is still a sense of trauma and suspense to this record almost as much as there was to the debut, like an industrial anthem empowering cannibalistic corpses from their maggot-infested cemetery.

The vocals are always there, a sinister growl that certainly feels more capaciously evil and absorbing than most forced cookie monster growls, and it helps that every aspect of the music gets a fair share in the mix so that the guitars aren't up front and the drums actually have an earthen texture to them despite being quite impressive, so that they don't sound like mechanized cinder blocks pounding your ear drums vociferously; the graven mantra of a mid 90's death metal record can be traced here if carefully listened through, even if the production have values have a naturally high ramp to them. Yet the debut was far from perfect to begin with. There are hindrances here that unfortunately don't go unheard, such as the lack of depth in the riff-craft. All told, I do love the kind of clinical yet caustic riffing the Poles propagate, yet at the same time I couldn't help but feel that they were somewhat worn out in that department since there wasn't a whole lot of variety between the tremolos, the death/thrashing breakdowns and the more mechanical pickings. ''The Devil Inside'' is an uncouth human grater, efficient and consistently enjoyable, but it's a grater gone a tad rusty, especially after 2-3 spins. Nevertheless, besides that, as well as the utterly disposable and clumsily named ''Whores, Drugs and Brain Dead'', with such great tracks as ''Evil's Mucus'', or the vorpal ''Callousness'', this is a veritable slaughterhouse of culinary hypnosis and mathematical nightmares which fans of carnal death metal, old and new alike, ought not miss.

Highlights:
Evil's Muckus
The Abyss
Callousness

Rating: 75% 

Vardan - Winter Woods [2015]

I've yet to delve into Vardan's tremendous backlog of releases, averaging 3-4 records a year in the last few years, but immediately becomes clear that the man's productivity is no moot point. With so many records already under his belt and a few extra projects like Nostalgic Darkness running smoothly, the man aspires to be the Italian black metal equivalent of one Rogga Johansson, with his own immersive logjam of calculated Swedish death metal carnality. Just about six months into the year, and there are already five albums to his name, each, no doubt, like the one at hand, haunting exercises in rabid, scathing cold and wintry despondency. Of course, haters are gonna hate, and the whole bedroom black metal mentality has over the years acquired such an edge that most bands have seamlessly dissevered themselves from the outside world for the sake of recording in their own forsaken basements and whatnot, usually with mixed results: it can decidedly be hard to adapt any stringent attitude towards the trend, because my one half screams hallelujah at the advent of bands like Darkthrone and Leviathan while the other half yearns to pull out all the hairs on the top of my head in dismay that so many modern black metal have ended up as broken eggs while going for bedroom black metal omelette...

Thankfully, ''Winter Woods'' veers more towards the former camp. If you're familiar at all with your Burzum, Darkthrone or Forgotten Throne, you know what this sounds like, harrowing waves of mourn and broken lines of cruel, frozen melody piercing your eardrums with unruly monotony. Vardan IS a riffs man, with some cool Transilvanian Hunger-esque tremolos cascading with spiking anguish, but the range of riffs on the album are admittedly not too varied: we're definitely not talking about something on par with ''In the Nightside Eclipse'' here. With the rustic/seasonal cover art and the initiation of the opener, ''Winter Woods Pt. 1'', it's certainly not difficult for the listener to have at least some idea of the underlying contents of this disc, that is rustic and depressive black metal solaces being funneled down your ears, yet Vardan somehow manages to capture a few instances of true grief and captivating dolor without sounding too repetitive. The pace certainly me reminds me of their more well-known and notoriously suicidal countrymen Forgotten Tomb at their peak, circa 2002-2004, since Vardan never altogether rushes into gaits of unbridled Norwegian ferocity, like, say Carpathian Forest of 1349. To add, the sense of longing here is magnified by the high proportion of doom-y entanglements and slower moments, bleak sequences of linear clean guitars where that resonant despair of Vardan simply enclosing himself in a toilet and slashing open his wrists while seated in the bathtub becomes all the more vivid. Certainly, I could cite 2-3 instances here where the unfolding of the fuzzed electric guitars after a prelude of cleans eloped me almost entirely with sheer pang and melodious regret, like on ''Cold Night of My Soul'', and indeed those are the best moments in the album.

But let's not entirely be deluded. This obviously isn't the next best Leviathan record, and maintains a startling simplicity. There are moments where ''Winter Woods'' doesn't feel like a far cry from the Hungarian mavens Forest Silence with their lurching, despondent atmospheres, though Vardan at once feel grittier and less bombastic. For one, I wouldn't have minded some ambient effect, because for the most part Vardan's 'eerie' clean guitar sequences drone with too discolored a sound. And this surely isn't the easiest pill to swallow if you're ears aren't trained for the gritty and the ghastly. I also have little appreciation for the drums, which are hardly professional. Granted drums aren't too significant in black metal, but Vardan never lowers their volume too much, and the constant open hi-hat abuse occasionally pangs the consistency of the recurring tremolos and dense ambiance. That said, I can say I've enjoyed Vardan's vocals enough to make 2-3 spins worthwhile, as he howls like a haunted cacodaemon in the shivering cold of the night, echoing with dismay. For sure, Vardan could ramp up his proficiency in the riff department: considering all his other albums follow a similar path to ''Winter Woods'' he must be running short on riff-supplies, and the ones existing here aren't the most inventive ones either, especially with artists like Jute Gyte who can put the grit and creativity of most other black metal musicians to shame. Rawness is key here. Blunt winter tapestry for minimal absorption, with guaranteed lacerated wrists if overdosed. Not the best black metal I've heard recently, but sufficiently engulfing if your tastes lie in Burzum, Darkthrone, Forgotten Tomb, Ulver, or the like.


Highlights:
Cold Night of My Soul
Uroborous Black Circle

Rating: 65%

Impalers - God From the Machine [2015]

Danish thrash? In retrospect, I'm glad with the Danes Impalers putting out another record, not solely because it fills in the shortage of thrash metal premises, which, to my knowledge, have not been fulfilled by any band since the 80's except Artillery, but also because the band 2013 full-length ''Power Behind the Throne'' was already a forgotten disc in that endless mound of promos and albums which I acquire annually, without concessions. Nevertheless I'd say among the heap of neo-thrash acolytes who preach the wisdom and savagery of Kreator, Sodom or Destruction, Impalers stands out as by far one of the more potent, capable of serving instances of undiluted 80's chainsaw thrash action without adhering to some of the more stylistic conventions of the genre such as those whose trail was blazed by Watchtower, Toxik, Coroner and Artillery in the 80's and early 90's. Not that it's a problem... I'd feign to see some proper Coroner worship any time, especially since retro-thrash is in such a dire state nowadays, but granted Impalers isn't crossing that strait, we still have ourselves an enjoyable piece of 80's worship.

The sound of ''God From the Machine'' has an immediate Teutonic appeal, as if the ferocity of those early Kreator records  were somehow infused with brisker production values and slightly more growled vocals instead of Millie's signature verbal barks. That is to say, the album still bears a strong resemblance to Destruction's later work, following the explosive ''The Antichrist'', but Impalers is still more melodic than that, incorporating harmonies and modern metal melodies which fluidly bridge the ravaging chugs and rhythmic chops which demonstrate the group's finesse with their cutlery. Nearly every song here is a butcher's feast, with loads of delicious chops, palm muted tremolos and immense projections of chords like the verse riff on ''Prepare for War''. Impalers isn't exactly an Angelus Apatrida or a Suicidal Angels, which both possess too much inherent melodic death/thrash tendencies to be called 'pure' thrash outfits, because the sense of melody on this album is scarce, existing mostly in the spurious, bluesy leads. Mechanically clad, ''God From the Machine'' evokes then image of some unwarranted robot intruding into some city with huge, ballistic laser guns and rockets protruding from its soldiers... a feeling more apocalyptic than your regular thrash outing, perhaps as a result of the vocalist's haughty growls and dynamic drum work: either way ''God From the Machine'' somehow aspires to become something marginally different from its ancestors like Kreator and Sodom, who with records like ''Pleasure to Kill'' or ''Obsessed With Cruelty'' salvaged an antiquated sense of evil rather than the robotic mosh-fest present here.

That said, Impalers still owes a lot to the Bay Area scene. I can relate them instantly with the Germanic scene due the evident hostility of the guitars (the vocals help too) but I'm sure that the Danes owe something to Metallica, Vio-lence, Forbidden, Slayer and Overkill something as well. But I can also see that the band is somewhat on the edge of experimentation here: ''Beyond Trinity'' is a ballad that opens up with clean vocals and deliquescent guitar arpeggios, building gradually to a brisker array of riffs, something akin to a ''Welcome Home''. Any any rate, the Danes are more modern and polished than a thrash band out the 80's, and the riffs here aren't exactly recycled, with enough fury, memorability and in-your-face gang vocals to establish a firm kick in your balls. I would have definitely enjoyed if they hadn't paraphrased so many of their riffs, especially with songs like ''The Vulturine'' or ''The Walls of Eryx'' which not only surpass the boundaries of regular thrash-time, but exercise excessive quantities of futuristic mosh that doesn't feel on par with the crunchy ear candy I received on some of the better tracks. Still, refined, tight, professional, and definitely ahead of a good number of their peers, Impalers delivers the thrash animus nicely with ''God From the Machine'', and you can bet kids in tight jeans and Slayer shirts will be recounting this as one of the best thrash to have come out in 2015.

Highlights:
God From the Machine
Prepare for War
Destroy the Meek

Rating: 72,5%

Ossuaire - Le Troubadour Necrophageophile DEMO [2005]

It's not everyday that you unearth French death metal - in fact my knowledge of the genre's existence in France doesn't go too far beyond Massacra - since France's 21st century output has been marked by a colossal weaving of uncanny black metal acts more than anything else, but find you may, and trust in Ossuaire we do. This triad had independently released a debut back in 2010 (back when bare bones old school death metal revivalism was still fairly popular) but naturally it passed almost unnoticed. But before even that, they actually had a demo, buried under the nether of lost OSDM recordings, and I had the chance to uproot it. The funny thing about it is that while wildly falling to the thrill of their salacious fantasies in a rather funny way, the trio manages to cultivate a death metal sound that doesn't serve as an immediate carbon-copy of any other niche I can name; a strangely proficient brew of Bolt Thrower, Death and Finnish obscurity a la Demigod, Convulse and Depravity.

So let's be straight: this isn't something that will change the fundamentals for death metal, far from it. Through unwavering research and quests into the obscene, I've been thankfully able to discover some real 'game-changers' in the field, even at a time where the glorious pungency of Autopsy and the force-fed awesomeness of the Swedish chainsaw have expired; Ossuaire's queer little demo basically draws upon the Bolt Thrower of 1988-1992 and Finnish putrescence, not as a contender for reinventing the wheel, but as a tasty reminder of some of the ugliest records of the 90's. The tone and production on this demo is fairly outstanding because they've managed to captivate the fuzzed-out soniscape of the early 90's, but beyond that the riffs are anything if not old school, huge, cantankerous bulks of disgusting rhythms and chug fests driven with the prosaic blasting of the drums. It doesn't knock you right across the park, but it's filthy and titular enough to enjoy the sight of dislocated bones while reveling in bowels and grime. Ossuaire take paunchy sound from the American scene as well. ''Le Fleau'' is overflowing with thrashy sways and hypnotizing tremolos redolent of Immolation, Cannibal Corpse and even Morbid Angel, and unlike Bolt Thrower, they don't always stick to being 'slow', since the demo is speed-wise (and aesthetic-wise) not very far from ''Eaten Back To Life'' or something of that vein.

The Finnish influence is buried between the less noticeable tremolo patterns, like in ''Necrofistum Prima Nocte'' where they extricate a gruesome, sinister aura, though I wouldn't have minded if they had some more substance to them. The vocals aren't really too distinguished here, but if you're into the kind of timber championed by Craig Pillard or Karl Willets, they should fit your bill. The lyrics are all in French, so it's an odd delight to be hearing the same tales of gore and bloody requital sang in the language renowned for its posh extravagance. This is 'posh' death metal, and haters can fuck off. But that aside, this is hardly an introspective brand of music (in case the cover art didn't do the work) with implications that don't go far beyond your 'stock' old school death metal offering, and while it would be interesting to hear what the Frenchmen would sound like if they got on a level with, say, Trbiulation or Putrevore, the demo is solid a piece of work, but nothing I'll be listening to consistently.

Highlights:
Le Fleau


Rating: 63%

Gruesome - Savage Land [2015]

What's the best way to respond to morbid gimmicks? More gimmicks! Despite the fact that so many old school death metal acts keep falling under the same dome of generic, tactless ordure, member of Exhumed and Dekapitator Matt Harvey insistently pushes forward in the imitation game, with the most affably like-sounding album I've heard in years. Indeed, it doesn't pain me when I see a huge old school resurgence budding to counterfeit the more modern, busy-bodied splurge of technical death metal bands, especially when masters of like Death, Pestilence, Autopsy, Exhumed, Carcass and Morbid Angel are put into exhibition through fresher production qualities, but the downpour of this musical carnality has long lost its initial gloss of delectable, grotesque beauty embodied via some of the foremost contenders of the new wave of old school death metal, and coming across one band which actually heralds something more than the dry worship of the early 90's has become an eerie process. Unfortunately, Gruesome does not quantify as the insurgent savior in this case of cannibalistic banality, and in fact their debut ''Savage Land'' goes beyond even the rudiments of worship: a literal copycat of what Chuck Schuldiner formulated in 1988.

Everything, from the campy, gore-induced cover art to the precise tones of Harvey's inflection, scream ''Leprosy''. While I would have found the opaque, spidery lattices of guitar riffs redolent of a typical OSDM revival offering, ''Savage Land'' has an instant and unwavering appeal to the exact motifs and carnal leftovers that was granted to us with Death's 1988 magnum opus, sprawling tremolos still tinged with the primal expressionism of late 80's/early 90's thrash metal, and the album is so devoted to its source material that it exhorts the kind of semi-technical for which Chuck was renowned for with inseparable mastery, fleshing out the layers of contusion and antiquated morbidity in the way which Schuldiner would have done. It's almost as if Chuck has been brought back from the dead, with his infected 1988 timbre (before he began to focus on raspier growls) and decided to give his fans one last tour de force. Gruesome certainly know to relish the exact period on which they based the album on: ''Savage Land'' denies both the even more primitive evil of ''Scream Bloody Gore'' and the more technical, polished aestheticism of Schuldiner's later efforts and sometimes undesirable flirtations with melody. If anything this is a potent, convincing tribute to everything the great man dedicated his life for. Yet despite the putrescence of it all, ''Savage Land'' brims with a robust production and crisp tenet uncommon for ''Leprosy'', owing to the obvious gulf of 27 years in between records, and the formulaic intensity reaches new heights with the pummeling vividness of the kit. It does grant the album a greater impetus for the grooves which marginally separates it from ''Leprosy'', including some fairly cool fills here and there, but I certainly wouldn't substitute it for  Hoglan's sinister beats and organic texture which made the album such an instrumental part of my cognitive death metal compendium.

That being said, there are few other moments here worth mentioning. Notably the leads, which are, like everything else, derivatives of Chuck's uncanny leads and crepuscular harmonies, are somewhat improved if we had to take this album as a replica of ''Leprosy'', with songs like the title track and ''Trapped in Hell'' featuring some catchy, if spurious solo work that I found to be a major distinction point between this album and the other (if it can be called a 'major' distinction.). But otherwise there are whammy bars and imprecisely concocted leads aplenty here, like on the fast, molesting ''Psychic Twin'' with not much depth to them. On a funnier note, the band parodies the song ''Open Casket'' with its corresponding tune ''Closed Casket'', and there's even a a cover of ''Land of no Return''... in case, well, you needed more Death for your listening pleasures. It's certainly a more brutal offering than ''Leprosy'' courtesy of modern production values, but the skin tingling, blood-curdling pleasure of the latter, it's indisputable ability to resurrect the dead and pile rotting bodies on top of one another until you're body withers away cold and numb, is amiss. Gruesome are either unaware of the fundamental fact that ''Leprosy'' happened once, and will never happen again, or they're just parodying the record, which at this rate of devotion and accuracy, seems unlikely. And while no death metal would be devoid of its influence, copy pasting is just downright weird as a musical practice. A cool, fierce record that certainly fits the bill if you're into the early Floridian scene, but unlikely to elicit more than a few listen from me.

Highlights:
Hideous 
Gangrene
Trapped in Hell

Rating: 67%

Malthusian - Below the Hengiform [2015] (EP)

During the steady flow of the last 5-6 years we've accumulated more amorphous or 'cavern-core' death metal then we'd care to listen to: Antediluvian, Ulcerate, Mitochondrion, Impetuous Ritual, Teitanblood and Vassafor are just a handful of the many that come to mind, and Ireland's Malthusian has showed no reluctance in joining ranks with these bands and the ungodly, otherwordly death metal which they've effectively articulated. The band's debut EP and first offering after a rather highly regarded demo speaks in the exact language as the aforementioned giants, with an appeal to the extra-dimensional chaos of Lovecraftian horror and cavernous din espoused by the country of the maple leaf in particular. Make no mistake: Malthusian come (or rather trudge) with a murky expose that promises something far below the straits of 'catchy', 'melodic' or 'assonant', and ensures a permanent place near the bedrock of your iPod, spewing forth lava and bile.

''Below the Hengiform'' is at once cataclysmic and bloated with a disgusting synthesis of impenetrable death/doom motifs and wallowing vortexes of black metal airiness. The Irishmen deserve some credit for begetting the same kind of oozing, cantankerous death metal as some of the peers, but with a few flourishes and twists here and there to render things more unique. To be sure, 'cavernous' seems like a wonderful way to describe the coitus of tempestuous guitars, dowsed in reverb and the overall atmosphere they so successfully forge, but Malthusian gape through a certain level of almost oriental accessibility, with their looming chords balancing more towards an ''Onward to Golgotha'' rather than an ''Obscura'', though fascinatingly enough they employ enough technical skill a and variety in certain riffs to give the squamous slipperiness of the riffs some level of containment. Rather than piercing straight into the helpless soma of listener, the riffs spew a continual discharge of ichor and pustular extravagance, coating, slowly but gradually, as though with incandescent bones and limbs dipped in grime and pus; yet even then there's a level of tension to be suffered through the parade of some more dissonant riffing which Ulcerate or Gorguts fans would appreciate, even though the larger portion of the record is decidedly more loyal to the recipes of the masters of the early 90's than anything.

So this is 'old school', if that's your game, though for either party Malthusian pose unanimous annihilation. The quality of the production certainly works in their favor. Unlike in many records, the drums are clearly audible here, and not only that but they incorporate an abusive percussion through a wealth of cymbals and demented blast beats that suit the matchless chaos of the riffs well. The vocals are arguably the most distinct part of the Ep. As a contrast to the low-end riffing and spelean dive bombs, vocalists PG, AC, and MB (yes, they've got three guys going vox!) implement a mix of denser growls and utterly nightmarish shrieks redolent of Deicide, through at least twice as unnerving. Unfortunately, ''Below the Hengiform'' isn't as viscid to the ear as it is within itself. There are 2-3 riffs which I was utterly engrossed by, like the verse riff on ''Slouching Equinox'', but since the music engenders more artsy atmospheric than anything else, it's probably a safe assumption to say that none of the material here really stands out as mesmerizing, even at its sheer, apocalyptic best. With compositions as long as 9 minutes and just 3 tracks, you're bound to be in some shortage of dynamics, though thankfully the final (and shortest) track ''Forms Without Vapor'' is shattering and memorable enough to stave off the banalities of the other two tunes with its lurching, grooving riff patterns and linear, raspy black metal vocal lines. So like all the bands hailing under the black/death banner, but without providing as colorful a flavor as some others, Malthusian requires immensely concentrated consumption, followed by regurgitation. And then repeat.

Highlights:
Form Becomes Vapor


Rating: 73%

Inculter - Persisting Devolution [2015]

Norway is a fertile harbor for not only its chief export of black metal, but also for a recent upsurge in bands which claim immunity from being stringently pigeonholed into either one of the black, thrash or speed metal genres, and hence exposing themselves to the market shamelessly as 'black/thrash', drawing their influences not just from such antiquarians of primal evil such as Bathory, Venom or Hellhammer but also younger acts like Nekromantheon, Deathhammer and Aura Noir, also haling from Norway. Needless to say, Inculter is another one of Norway's breed of frolicsome evil, a compelling two-piece running on the strength of merely an EP and a demo, with a new record that hardly eschews the kind of rifftastic profanity purists seek in this niche. And to wit, the Norwegians create an infernal expanse of black and thrash metal that doesn't just scream 'Bathory', but actually secures its position as a record with some identity and simmering infernal magnetism.

''Persisting Devolution'' definitely moves a fraction beyond the 'stock' black/thrash offering as offered through the various records of Force of Darkness, Destroyer 666, Witchburner and the like, owing to the skippy, fraudulent quality of the riffs, at times sounding like a blackened version of Death Breath's ''Stinking Up The Night'' with frenetic, lashing chords and fantastic speed/thrash cutlery, always campy yet also genuinely disturbing. The tone and pace of the album are perfect; it's sufficiently lo-fi, rugged enough cook skewed human flesh on, if you're into some analogy, but still clear enough as to hearing the excellent slew of riffs which the Norwegians propagate, reaching paces fast enough to keep up with one ''Reign in Hell'' or ''Horrified''. Make no mistake folks: this as 80's as you're going to get. The promise of denim, leather, spikes, motorbikes and auditory grime is just the cherry on top of the huge rotten cake of festering flesh and gnarly awesomeness, but unlike so many gimmicks undergoing a similar trajectory Inculter are abstrusely efficient with nearly not one second spared from the the album's razor-sharp array of riff-works and fanaticism. Remi's vocals are serpentine and gruesome to the bone with a clear nod pretty much any other band operating in this niche, but his inflection is ghastly enough to accrue frilly 80's anger and infernal fire at the same time.

Inculter's subscription to the art and literature of the black/thrash niche is more than convincing. The songs are all boisterous, fast and fleshy, from the choppy ''Mist of the Night'', to blistering speed metal rampage of  ''Diabolical Forest'' to the simply excellent ''Traducers Attack''; each track does not necessarily promulgate an entirely original or separate sense of evil or blasphemous delight, but there's so much fun to be had among the jumpy cascade of riffs, mutes, pluggy bass lines and cramped drum fills that one really cannot care all to much, especially with the existence of 2-3 outstanding pieces in the entire compendium. The closest thing I can cite to ''Persisting Devolution'' besides the regulars is probably Deathhammer's ''Onward to the Pits'' or Nekromantheon's ''Rise, Vulcan Specter'', although the former was more engrossed in heavy/black than anything else, and the latter was indefinitely heavier. It only goes on to show that the album is another great addition to the black/thrash vernacular. Even at the finale, ''Envision of Horror'', the dynamic evil is there. There's still plenty of space for Inculter to develop, but ''Persisting Devolution'' brims with youthful, daemonic energy; ignore at your own risk.

Highlights:
Persisting Devolution
Traducers Attack
Diabolical Forest
Mist of the Night

Rating: 80%

Solefald - World Metal. Kosmopolis Sud [2015]

If some kind of annual award for musical wackiness would have existed, Solefald would have trumped its competitors each year it put out a new album. While Sigh would have no difficulty competing against their Norse counterparts, the duo's latest, ''World Metal.'' achieves such levels of imaginative finesse, surrealistic progression, folksiness and unprecedented eccentricities, that it even tops their 2010 opus ''Norrøn Livskunst'' which was already one of the most superior bizarreries I had heard (it still keeps its position). Five years later, with nothing keep the masses appeased in between records besides an EP which struck me as far more mediocre and lethargic than it ought to be, Cornelius and Lazare reassemble for what might be the most astonishing afflatus the year has to offer, abandoning the traditionally 'Norse' aesthetics of their previous Icelandic Trilogy, a veritable amalgamation of epic Scandinavian black metal and the residual avantgarde,  and delving straight into the foliage global music complete with all its oddities.

That's not to say they've entirely abandoned their sound - certainly not - since the dispersion of the band's older niche is far more than piecemeal. You know it's Solefald. Lazare' indispensable cleans are there with all their epic, hovering gloss, interwoven with simplistic, heavy black metal riffing and grandiose synthesizers or organs that beckon such greats such as ''Song Til Stormen'' or ''Norrøn Livskunst''; and Cornelius' inflection is still there, maybe not as indecipherable or raspy as before, but certainly plump with force and carnal power. The echoes of the band's sound yawn and  reverberate with the majestic force of northern waves and huge, pallid Icelandic mountains. Yet there's caveat to it all, one that's all to absorbingly delicious. In retrospect, I remember maybe 2-3 real black metal riffs (aside from the swelling tremolos and richer chord progressions) and the guitars aren't so protean as, say, Dream Theater, nor as significant to the mix even though there are some marvelous, grooving anchorages on the record which owe themselves to Kornelius' riffcraft, so the guitars have given themselves up to other sounds populating the mix. Pianos, synthesizers, saxes, organs, all typical of the Solefald cannon. But this time the Norsemen have integrated even more, from Congolese toms to electronic inclusions that range far beyond the safer medium of samples and minute samples. We're talking multi-layered servings of mind-fuckage and, yes - I hesitate to say - even dubstep if that's what you want to call it. The opener, ''World Music With Black Edges'' is one that completely lives up to its name with entirely unpredictable sequences of oddly euphoric pianos to straight dance/disco scores. This is a rave, and the DJ's are two of Norway's busiest, most ingenious composers.

As much as I hate to admitting the apparent overtones of electronic music, ''World Metal.'' certainly never overlooks the fact that this is still a metal record (albeit one which purists will start to exorcise the moment they hear it) and Solefald seamlessly incorporate electronics - without overcrowding - into their smorgasbord of calculated cultural and musical diversity. There's also a twist to Cornelius' vocals in that they're far more mercurial. He keeps his gnarly guttural inflection, but he does an excellent job of channeling George Corpsegrinder-esque lows into such tracks like ''The Germanic Entity'' which sizzle with irresistible, crushing groove, as well cleaner moments, as in ''Future Universal Histories'' where he speaks through radio broadcast. At any rate, his timbre matches the diversity of sounds that envelope him, capable of modifying the changing environment. And if that piece didn't freak you out there's still ''Bububu Bad Beuys'', where Cornelius' minimalist, almost Darkthrone-ish riff patterns mold with tribal African beats and drums: it's sure to win the award for the most ridiculous song of the year. Yet these Norsemen are certainly not fucking around. ''String The Bow of Sorrow'' is a splendorous and uplifting tune with gigantic choral and instrumental overtures, a Scandinavian avantgarde response to Carl Orff's ''Carmina Burana'', and it's equally angry as it is somber.

It's a grand emotional crescendo, mounting to the moody finale, ''Oslo Melancholy''. I did miss tracks like the superb blackened rockabilly ''Blackabilly'' from the previous record, and I was mildly disappointed for the absence of something in the vein of ''Eukalyptustreet'', but the duo's ability to avoid dullness, interchangeability and nadirs is unbelievable. There are indeed very few artists in today's metal market who could hold up to such levels of consistency, change and originality as these two pariahs. ''World Music.'' is more emotionally gripping than any of the other records in their backlog, not for its sheer epic excellence but because it also feels like the folksiest of their offerings. Indeed, tracks like ''String the Bows of Sorrow'' are good enough to be sung by exiled Scandinavian sailors during long, troublesome voyages. So here's to another album that justifies why Cornelius and Lazare oughtn't acquire any other pastimes besides music, because when they make it, it's simply sublime, and with already some twenty spins I'm salivating at the thought an equally masterful, eccentric follow-up.

Highlights:
Future Universal Histories
World Music With Black Edges
The Germanic Entity
2011, or a Knight of the Fail

Rating: 93%