Marduk: Swedish black metal hits Australia

I’m a firm believer in unplanned fun. That is, the less expected a night, event or catch-up is, the greater the likelihood of it turning into a memorable occasion.

Such was the case very recently when I found myself in the city and decided to catch a gig headlined by Swedish black metal masters Marduk. All unplanned of course.

I had been in the CBD to celebrate with my day job work colleagues (yes, I have respectable day-time employment ). The team would be moving back to our now-refurbished suburban office after three or so months of temporary work in the city, so I’d organised a table for a dozen people at Mrs. Parma’s restaurant. This place easily has the best chicken parmas in Melbourne — and a magnificent assortment of micro-brewery beers to boot — and after polishing off a Mexican parma (my favourite) and finally managing to sample the splendid 3 Ravens beer I’d heard so much about, a few of us hardier folk decided to kick on. As soon as we left, we found a bar almost directly next to where we’d just come from, but a few glances between us quickly resulted in a decision not to enter.

To quote a certain popular meme, one does not simply enter the first bar one finds when ‘kicking on’ for the night.

 

This never gets old.

So we bypassed that one and ended up at the Hofbrauhaus, where along with some fine Bier, I felt like a small part of my life had now been successfully fulfilled after I sampled the peach, chocolate and plum schnapps.

Sensing that the night was drawing to a close and feeling pretty good about everything so far, we bid our farewells and I headed to the train station. That’s when I spotted some long-haired, black-clad, bullet belt-ridden freaks — not an unusual sight in the city, but there were quite a few of them here, forming a line outside the well-known concert venue that is the The Hi-Fi bar.

Why of course, I remembered. Some Swedish black metal dudes were in town. And they’d be performing. Live. Playing Marduk's new album, 2012’s Serpent Sermon. Would it be… worth catching them live perhaps?

I will preface this by saying that I’m not much of a Marduk fan, at least in the sense that I own and know only one album in the entire Marduk discography: Heaven Shall Burn… When We Are Gathered (along with the accompanying Glorification EP).

So I’m not a huge fan in the sense that I don’t know that many Marduk songs.

On the other hand, Heaven Shall Burn… is one of my favourite metal albums of all time. Released in 1996, it has some of the best black metal I’ve ever heard. Tracks like Glorification Of The Black God, The Black Tormentor Of Satan and the simple-yet-utterly-awesome (and exceedingly difficult to pronounce) slow epic that is Dracul Va Domni Din Nou In Transilvania — these tracks rock my socks of every time I hear them, though I’m sure the true kvlt haters out there will disagree.

The best Marduk album I’ve ever heard. It’s also the only one I’ve ever heard.

So basically I love this one release and don’t know any other Marduk albums. Since I also love a lot of black metal in general I figured I’d call a mate, Nick, to find out if, just on the off chance, he might be attending tonight. It turned out he was, so we caught up five minutes later and I was at the door shelling out cash for a ticket.

But then… I quickly realised that I was confronted with a problem. As mentioned previously, I’d come directly from work. Here I was at an extreme underground black metal music gig and I was quite literally the only person there dressed in business shoes and corporate slacks. At least my (I’m told) expensive and genuinely non-knock-off Tommy Hilfiger polo shirt which I wear on special occasions (like social events with work colleagues) was black. Nonetheless, my heavy metal cred wouldn’t cop this for long. I quickly bee-lined to the Marduk merch table and acquired an Australian Tour Marduk shirt, which incidentally, in a dejected gesture of defeat, I exchanged five minutes later for the next size up. I might have to cut down on those lovely Mexican parmas…

IGNIVOMOUS, PORTAL, ORDER OF ORIAS AND MARDUK LIVE

The first band on the bill played what you might say had an ‘acquired’ taste. Ignivomous played not so much a blend but more of a solid brick of unrelenting, fast, never-ending brutal death metal. Every track was a plutonium-heavy rapid assault which, while I don’t mind in reasonably small doses, wouldn’t suffer from the addition of some variety, hinted at in the occasional creative riff change. Here’s some Ignivomous live video from a previous gig if that’s your cup of tea.

Next was Order Of Orias, a band I’ve seen several times and which I’ve blogged about previously. I rather like Inverse, Order Of Orias’ 2011 debut full-length album. It conveys a strongly fatalistic and malevolent atmosphere (remarkably, said to have been produced on a shoestring budget), even though I’ll concede that I probably couldn’t name most of the tracks from the album if I heard them come on my playlist. I just like chucking on this album — the operative word here being album, rather than individual tracks — and soaking up the bleakness as a whole, which is why at the time of writing this band ranked number 46 on my personal Last FM chart stats out of almost 1600 artists.

As they came on stage their opening track was preceded by an interesting (pre-recorded in this instance I think) somewhat ambient-leaning instrumental track. Nick pointed out that this was from new or in-progress material that he’d heard, describing some of it as “coming from outer space”. I agreed, and if this brief preview is indicative of material to come then surely there’s something here to get excited about.

Then the ‘real’ playing started. They were as tight and heavy as the last time I saw them, while vocalist Anthony, boot perched on the foldback, roared ferocious invocations, as if summoning some elder evil force. This is a band that I’d really like to think is going places. Literally in fact. Last year they played the DeathkultOpen Air festival in Germany. Hopefully when a new album comes out they’ll be doing more of that.

Australian black metal. Or blackened thrash. Or… hell, I can’t keep track of what the kids call it these days.
Order Orias. Live at Marduk. Surely you can tell from the high quality phone pic?

The curveball performance for the night was Portal. Despite the fact that there's a relatively long Wikipedia entry for Portal, an attempt to describe this band’s performance with mere words wouldn’t do justice to what actually occurred. It’s black metal. Death metal. Crazy metal. The below photo, thankfully of a slightly higher quality than the above pic, may give you some idea of what it was all about.

You totally had to be there.

I counted two eight-string guitars. Black hoods on all the members. A five-string bass. Mad drumming. The vocalist’s crazy headdress. And that totally dissonant and crazy, tempo-changing, blast-beatingly over the top dissonant sound that, combined with the intense volume, transformed the whole spectacle into a creeping blanket of occult noise.
Also, did I mention that they did their entire performance in that attire?

Yet despite the cacophony there appeared to be some intense musicianship going on here. Alas, if only I could hear it! I closely watched one of the guitarists and his hands slid up and down his instrument like some deranged octopus. “There’s some technical shit right there,” Nick pointed out.

The video below might somehow convey the overall effect, despite the loud volume completely obliterating the audio on my phone. I do feel that if Portal’s stage presence had been any less over the top then it’d be easy to dismiss them as laughable and gimmicky. Which admittedly, to some people, may very much be the case.
As it was, for those who dig it, the combination of technical musicianship (whether that’s your cup of tea or not), extreme volume, and impossible-to-look-away-from stage presence combined into what may best described as an overwhelming force that twisted things into another dimension.

Black metal TISM.

Finally Marduk hit the stage. Or rather, assailed it, blasting away and playing furiously to a whole bunch of songs that I would have almost certainly appreciated even more if I recognised even one of them. Alas, not a single cut from Heaven Shall Burn… When We Are Gathered was played that night. Still, I wasn’t complaining.

Mortuus, Marduk’s vocalist, showed himself to be an accomplished front-man, invoking the crowd into not so much a frenzy, to use that old cliché, but rather, a decent and vigorous amount of movement and head banging for those at the front and centre who chose to do so.

It was a contrast to the comparatively sedate motions of guitarist Morgan. You wouldn’t think he was the band’s founder and sole continuous member since Marduk’s uniquely-named first release (find it here — note: the album artwork at this link is NOT even remotely worksafe), or that he was a talented multi-instrumentalist. It didn’t stop him from playing all those killer black metal guitar riffs though.

It was also good to see this stompin’ evil Swedish black metal band show what resembled a sense of humour. At one point, Mortuus commanded the crowd to make some noise. The response was instantaneous, but he pulled a face and did a so-so gesture with his hand. He then commanded the crowd to try again. No, it wasn’t the funniest of stand-up comedy routines. But in comparison, the previous band performed an entire set draped in black hoods. So at least there was something resembling rapport…

 

Marduk live. Black metal goes Down Under.

The gig ended with an encore and as we stepped outside I instantly regretted not bringing ear plugs. For a full day afterwards all sounds were draped in an uncomfortably familar and unhealthy muffled filter.

So I went home, content in the knowledge that, at least for this week, I’d done my bit for heavy metal. I went to the gig. I supported the local Australian metal scene. I bought the World Serpent tour shirt. I even got a Marduk patch to add to my Iron Maiden jacket.

My only regret? Other than neglecting to use earplugs and suffering from tinnitus all weekend?

That awesome Mexican chicken parma. Much as I love ’em with all my stomach, they forcibly make themselves felt again the next day.

Not everyone has this reaction I hope (I’m not very big on chilli and spicy food) but in my case I’m certain it’s due to those jalapeno slices. I find them hotter than the blasphemous hellfire found in so many Marduk lyrics. And I got to relive — or is that relieve — it all again the next morning right after my first coffee…

Myrath: progressive metal music from Tunisia

Each one of us (or at least each one of us with a soul) can recite the bands and music we love.

Personally, I’ve been a big Maiden fan and heavy metal lover ever since I heard Iron Maiden’s Fear Of The Dark album 20 years ago. On top of that I’ve also been a fan of electronic music — predominantly industrial and its many offshoots — for the last 10 or so years.

I say that because I feel it’s a bit funny how those who may not know you so well may be surprised to find that the music you make all that noise about isn’t quite so close to your heart as the band that you’ve loved since you were 10. Yes, this is quite common. By virtue of the fact that you haven’t been ranting and raving incessantly about how wonderful your life-long favourite band is, others may think that the bands you do go on about incessantly are really what you love most. The last time this happened to me was at a black metal gig, where an acquaintance from countless EBM / industrial club nights was astounded to see me in my Iron Maiden jacket.

 My pride and joy.

Confused yet? Put it this way. Newer bands, new discoveries and hot new things inevitably get talked about (unless it’s Classic FM) wheras the old stuff isn’t ignored, just ingrained.

I can only speak for myself, but I also feel that the older you get, the harder it is to easily get really excited by so much new music. Yeah, I’m old and grey and I wish those damn kids would get off my lawn — but take a second to read the first point in this terrifying Cracked.com argument that tries to explain why all new music will suck once you hit a certain age.

So there are bands we love and naturally there are bands we hate. In alternative music scenes in particular I’ve noticed a phenomenon whereby the artists that bring out the most vitriol in us tend not to be the clearly recognisable “enemy” — commercial R&B, or anything that takes out one of the top three spots on a TV talent show.

I’ve always noticed — and I’ll conceded that I’ve been guilty of this once or twice — that it’s the artists that are most similar to the ones we love, rather than the diametric opposites, that bring out the worst. Usually this has something to do with “selling out” or being commercially successful. Metallica, Slipknot, Dimmu Borgir, Marilyn Manson, Disturbed, Korn and Cradle Of Filth all make music that is undeniably heavy, anti-mainstream and very much NOT pop music. Yet I've inevitably found that the legions of people who dislike these bands tend to hate them with far more vigour than would ever be reserved for (the affronts to good music that are) One Direction, Reece Mastin and Bieber.

And yet, you will never hear Slipknot or Cradle Of Filth on my local metropolitan commercial pop music station, 101.9 Fox FM (i.e. 101.9 this sucks). So it’s all in the eye of the beholder I suppose.

So there are bands we love. There are bands we love to hate. There are lots of bands that are quickly forgotten because they’re somewhere in the middle and they struggle to register over the strength of these powerful emotions. And occasionally there are bands that may not be one’s cup of tea but are nonetheless worth further exploration because they make music, or stand for something, that is inherently cool.

Myrath is one such band I recently stumbled upon. They’re a new progressive metal band from Tunisia of all places and they play an interesting blend of prog metal laced with liberal lashings of traditional oriental or folk sounds. Oriental folk that is. Oriental progressive folk metal maybe?

Personally, the Myrath sound doesn’t blow me away (although it does grow a little each time) but then again most prog metal doesn’t excite me. Personal taste I guess. However, fans of melodic prog metal may find something out of the usual box here. Check out the video below to see what I mean.

Someone please get them to do the music for whatever comes next in the Prince Of Persia franchise.

One thing which in my view sets them apart is, as I said, the fact that they come from Tunisia. Firstly, this gives them a moral license to play that distinct oriental sound, on top of what is most likely also a decent understanding of how it’s meant to be played, where other bands would flounder in sticky cheesiness; secondly, their heavy metal badass cred instantly goes up by several notches, what with Tunisia being where that little event known as the Arab Spring — an event which swept across half the Arab world — caught fire in 2010. Myrath lead singer Zaher Zorgatti kind of put things in perspective in a 2011 interview with Terrorizer magazine about Myrath’s (recent) Tales Of The Sands album: “That period was chaos,” he said. “Everybody was watching his neighbourhood for bad members of the old regime, and many people were killed at that time. And I was thinking about recording the album — how we would manage to finish the recording session.”

Let me state for the record that the true universal spirit of metal does not care where you’re from, what you look like, and all that — but busting your balls to record and release an album while people you know are getting killed in a country where there's a bona fide revolution going is as metal as it gets.

Finally, Myrath appear to be generally switched on in this age of instant digital gratification (except for the Twitter page maybe). I suspect that the bands that regularly update their digital presence with even half-digestible content are doing their fans and therefore themselves a big favour. For instance, videos that are a bit out of the ordinary but unlikely to appear on a ‘regular’ release tend to get the fans interested. Here’s an example…

Ok smartarse, I realise it's actually a Tarja Turunen concert. But say what you like about the
alleged prima donna antiques of the former Nightwish singer, her voice is bloody amazing.

So check out Myrath if you like your metal proggy and exotic. As I said, it doesn’t blow me into space because prog metal just isn't my thing. But if that sound is your cup of Tunisian mint tea I'd definitely soak this up.

Manowar: Gods Of War (is the worst best Manowar album ever)

A while back I mentioned how I once suffered from a lapse of judgement when I purchased a bulk lot of 500 CDs in the mistaken belief that I’d either make a killing on eBay or add considerably to my personal collection. Oh wait, did I say one 500-CD lot? I meant two.

I did sell a modest proportion of those CDs, but with the arse end of the physical media market permanently caved in I later found it very difficult to sell a last bunch of 75 remaining releases. I asked around and it turns out a workmate’s wife had some luck selling some old vinyl to Dixon’s Recycled music stores, so I thought I’d see if my local outlet was interested.

I went there without any actual music on me — my objective was simply to duck in quickly to see if they were prepared to give me a quote at a later date. Naturally, after entering the store — which as I just said, I did becuase I needed to find out if I could make money by selling CDs — I promptly left half an hour later with $49 of second hand CDs on me. Namely the follwoing releases: Celtic Frost — To Mega Therion; Hocico — Memorias Atrás ; Black Sabbath — War Pigs; and Sanguinary Misanthropia — Diabolic Gnosis (a dubious purchase as I found out).
And then there was this little gem: Manowar’s — Gods Of War album. The tenth Manowar album by the most metal of heavy metal bands and, depending on who you ask, possibly the worst album in the entire Manowar discography.

 This is the album cover. As you can see, it’s got everything you could possibly want in a divine warrior-themed heavy metal concept album. There are swords, demons, nekkid chicks… even the title is in runic. That's as metal as it gets!

MANOWAR, HEAVY METAL, AND WAGNER

The thing about Manowar albums these days (or these years, what with the five-year gap between this album and their previous effort, Warriors Of The World) is that they never do things by half measures. You can rest assured that these relatively recent Manowar songs will have nothing but exemplary production, superb musicianship, and technical cohesion worthy of any world-class heavy metal band. The problem, unfortunately, to quote a good friend here, is that “Manowar used to be good until they disappeared up their own arses.”

Don’t get me wrong, I think there are a few (the operative word here being “few”) awesome Manowar songs on this album. It’s just unfortunate that Manowar are now a heavy metal band that, when they get it right, they do quite well — but when they get it wrong, they get it spectacularly wrong.

Manowar - Gods Of War I feel is the product of a successful band that managed to loose the plot a long time despite enjoying a strong cult following. Consequently, there are some seriously divided opinions on sites like Metal Archives (yes, I realise Metal Archives reviews are only slightly more credible than YouTube comments, but it does serve to illustrate how Gods Of War is one of those "either love it or hate it" albums).

The main complaint about the Gods Of War album is the fact that there are way, way, way too many cheesy wannabe-operatic interludes, intros, outros, middle bits, pre-middle bits, pre-outros… For example, the opening track, Overture To The Hymn Of The Immortal Warriors, consists of a painfully cheesy classic orchestra, interspersed with an equally cheesy choir which then breaks into… more cheesy classic orchestra and equally cheesy choirs! This goes for six minutes and twenty seconds. When track two, The Ascension, finally kicks in, it turns out to be… another cheesy classic intro! This one goes for a further two minutes and thirty seconds, albeit with some added spoken word. The point being, there's not a riff to be heard for almost nine minutes.

At long last, track three, Kings Of Kings, fires up. I actually think it's one of the better Manowar songs to date, a power metal anthem in the best sense, with enough riffing and headbanging to almost make you forget the painful opening eight minutes and fifty seconds. But then, just when you think this Manowar album is about to kick into top gear, the song concludes with… another cheesy, crappy little symphonic track.

And so on it goes throughout this whole Manowar album. Like the 'improved' fan-made edit of Star Wars - Episode I which cuts out Jar Jar Binks, so too could Gods Of War be re-released as a solid heavy metal album with a double digital number of minutes removed.
Alas, the peculiar arrangement of the Gods Of War album is entirely deliberate. It's meant to be the first of several Manowar concept albums about mythological war gods (Norse mythology in this instance). Manowar’s famous singer, Eric Adams, is apparently a big Richard Wagner fan and Gods Of War attempts to (kind of) emulate the gigantic four-part formula of Wagner’s Ring Cycle — an opera so ridiculously epic that it has to be performed over four consecutive nights, seeing as the whole thing goes for no less than 15 hours.

And therein lies the problem. My grandfather, who loved classical music, was fond of the following quote: “Wagner has lovely moments but awful quarters of an hour.”

I reckon that’s spot-on for Gods Of War too. There are awesome moments. It’s just that they’re interspersed among so much rubbish.
But you know what? I try to see a good side to every underground or alternative music album I get my hands on. Yes, I still buy CDs. And Gods Of War does contain some genuinely awesome moments which means I am almost prepared to forgive Manowar for their many other moments of extreme self-indulgence.

Almost…

So you're listening to your copy of Gods Of War and you want to check out the CD booklet. You open it and find this band photo. Ok, there's nothing unusual here, they're a conservative heavy metal band, in the sense that you'd never see these guys with short hair or doing a guest appearance on an album that didn't contain guitar solos (although singer Eric Adams did perform the full Phantom Of The Opera at the theatre... no, really) .

Suppose you want to, like, oh I dunno, actually read the lyrics on the album you legitimately purchased? Turn the page and you get… what? The lyrics are in freakin’ runic! Oh no wait, you think… that’s just some artwork. It has to be some kind of pretentious intro, in line with the rest of the album’s other pretentious intros and many in-between filler tracks. The real lyrics must surely start over the next page and…

What the hell is this (click the pic to get a closer look)?!? Are these supposed to be the LYRICS!? How the hell am I supposed to decipher this? I just want to read the lyrics on this album which I didn’t steal from the internet because I actually spent money on it. Who the hell do Manowar think they are?!

Good Lord! The ENTIRE album booklet is in RUNIC! Including the bloody thank you notes! Look at it! They’ve provided the runic translation for terms like “vocals” and “bass” and… I have absolutely no idea what the rest of the page says BECAUSE IT’S IN FREAKIN’ RUNIC!

Oh, a translation! I guess I can now start translating... terms like “we’re a bunch of total douchenozzles”. Screw you Manowar, pull your freakin heads out of your arses. I will NEVER forgive yo.

Caption this photo

I invite you to leave a caption for this image in the comments section below.

I like this photo because I think it’s kinda funny. There’s actually a perfectly legitimate reason for the gas mask… Here’s what’s going on…

CAPTION HERE.

My fiancée and I live on a suburban rental property which we reckon was built in the ’70s or ’60s. It’s a two-bedroom weatherboard house that was built in the typical style for the time. Its age means there’s occasionally a leaking window (and let’s not forget the misaligned stumps that cause ping pong balls to accumulate in corners) but apart from those minor quirks we reckon it’s more than cosy enough for us to think of it as our home.

There’s only one real bugbear. Not long after we’d moved in it was brought to our attention that the walls in the toilet (this being an extension) most likely contained asbestos. Though it’s hard to believe nowadays, asbestos was once a very common building material, and it was especially popular in Australia in the form of fibro sheeting and other products.

Thankfully, I’m told a large proportion of the asbestos used in construction that’s most commonly encountered (which I believe comes from so-called white asbestos) isn’t bad for you provided it remains undisturbed. That is, it’s dangerous only if it disperses its miniscule toxic particles, such as if you were to drill or cut into the stuff. Hence, its reputation as the bane of home renovators.

So there I was, doing a very good impression of appearing to be a knowledgeable gardener on my new veggie patch (all five pot plants worth) when I came across something strange. I was digging a hole for some food scraps when suddenly I hit something vaguely solid, buried around 10cm under the grass in our backyard.

At first I thought what any normal person in my position would think, namely, that I’d unearthed a forgotten back yard treasure. However, panic set in when I poked the stuff with my trowel and noticed a crumbly-looking, pale-ish, fibrous kind of material.

Once again, I thought what any sane person in my situation would think. Namely, “Oh my God, what if I’ve just inhaled asbestos fibres!?”’

My first step was to look it up on the web, hence my extensive knowledge of asbestos disposal treatment from all of five minutes’ worth of checking the web. That’s how I unearthed (see what I did there?) the information presented to you previously.

I quickly calmed down when I realised that my chances of contracting a long-term asbestos-related disease were greatly reduced. I ‘breathed a sigh of relief’ (did it again). But what to do?

First, I had to dispose of that toxic waste. And did I have the solution!

I am the proud owner of the genuine Warsaw Pact-era gas mask that you see in the photo — if anyone can identify the make or model I’d be very grateful. It’s proudly displayed on top of our DVD shelf, ready for use at a moment’s notice for when the Huns pre-empt their major summer offensive with a chlorine gas artillery bombardment.

I know it works because I previously used the gas mask in a potentially lethal field trial. A flatmate had adopted a stray kitten and while the cat was dearly loved, its cat box rarely received adequate human attention. Instead, the flatmate simply kept piling more kitty litter on top the old stuff. Sure enough, the cat litter box reached the critical overflow point, and yours truly somehow got suckered into changing the whole thing.

I vaguely recall the decision to volunteer me was made after the contents of the cat box were disturbed in an attempted clean out, whereupon the intensely choking smell of cat urine drove everyone from the room. I kid you not, my flatmate was dry reaching (either that or it was part of a convincing act to get me to do the dirty work). Then I struck upon the idea of using my gas mask and, would you believe, I was then leisurely able to go about my business.

Another time, I went to this party which I was told was full fancy dress. I dressed up in every piece of military attire I could find and just before knocking on the door I put on my gas mask. The door was opened by a very surprised looking host who, after recovering from the astonishment that comes from opening the door and being greeted by a strange man in a camouflage uniform and gas mask, conceded that actually no, it wasn’t really a fancy dress party.

So yes, I was totally that guy at a non-fancy dress party. In a gas mask.

As I was saying, I had to dispose of the asbestos buried in the back yard. Apparently you’re supposed to keep the stuff wet to prevent it from getting powdery. So I got out the hose and sprinkled the area with water. However, I was still ultra-paranoid — asbestos can do nasty things to your skin — so for added protection I put on this immensely thick pair of industrial-style gloves. Then I carefully shovelled the stuff (I reckon there was less than half a kilo) into a rubbish bag and tied it securely.

But, I thought, somewhat irrationally… what if I’d still inadvertently inhaled some fibres?

That’s when I had an equally irrational thought. Welsh men’s choirs are renowned for their energy and power (this will make sense in a moment) and, while I have no idea if the following is true, I was once told that the tradition began amongst miners who would intentionally sing their hearts out on their way home from a shift in an effort to expel coal dust from their lungs. Go figure…

So I thought, “I know!” I’ll go for a run and that’ll have the same effect. Even better, given how unfit I am there would be no shortage of heaving, spluttering, huffing and puffing.

So that explains what's going on in this photo
That, and the only true way to do your gardening is in your Iron Maiden shirt.