Kill or Be Killed

“…bury me deep, my underground throne…”

Believe me when I say I’ve tried so many times to extract more from this nine-tracker than just fairly average, mid-throttle thrash which, I dunno, soon afterward turns mostly to stone in my memory banks. Yes, every so often Kill or Be Killed is allowed a fresh rotation to proffer a new defense for its parole, as if the years on the shelf since its last playtest could somehow conjure novel new developments from the same jail cell or something. Well, the strategy did work well on Anvil’s underpowered Strength of Steel. Of course how I feel about this decades-old disc is moot to all the world, but my conundrum with it is more half-assed personal than anything else, ‘cos I really wanna toss it on, kick back and feel more satisfied with it than the last time. At the same time I can’t get any more disappointed with it. The thing is, a fairly possible logical explanation why KoBK turned out the way it did exists, and whilst its lyrics tell nowhere near the interesting tale, it’s all connected to a-side ender “Knights of Old Bridge”.

Y’see, Mendham, NJ’s Blessed Death, prior to their ’84 demo, was Chrome Locust the Black Sabbath cover band. In late ‘83/early ’84 during a gig at Old Bridge, NJ’s Club 516 they met around two dozen local off-da-hook metalheads known collectively (and loosely as well, I guess) as The Old Bridge Militia, who were simply a group of ardent metal fans whose rural housing quickly became popular as the area’s safe haven to crash at, a multi-day checkpoint, and, of course, as party central (the main one - a large farm house on twenty-nine empty acres – was deemed The Fun House) for many early out of town underground metal bands with barely the loot between them for that jelly sandwich they’ll devour in the back of the van that's been their luxurious living quarters for months of unshowered days. These acts – Anvil, Raven, Slayer, Exciter, Anthrax, Exodus, Motorhead, Overkill, Venom, Hades, Metallica…fleabs, every last one of ‘em – came from all over, at first by invitation to perform in shows put together by Jon and Marsha “Megaforce Records” Zazula (whose house also often doubled as an abode for wayward longhairs), based out of their Clark, NJ record shop Rock n’ Roll Heaven, but in time regular visitation revolving around planned performances became less and less frequent as, well, most everyone involved simply became…friends (cue heartwarmed viola solo).

Not surprisingly, these chromed-out Sabbathians were guests of The Fun House after a show as well, however to the Militia’s surprise were clueless of the existence of the many metal bands that had already thrown up on the rugs they were sitting on. Needless to say, by night’s end they sure as hell got clued in, and at least two of the chromed (vocalist Larry Portelli and guitarist Nick Fiorentino) took to Mercyful Fate, Slayer and Manowar in particular. With Chrome Locust’s next visit months later, the singer and guitarist introduced three new members in Anderson and the Powelson twins, their new ominous moniker of Blessed Death, and their debut demo fresh with material aggressively sliced as if it were bloody meat they consumed on that fateful night, which brings us to the tiny tale of obscure Tungsten Records.

So impressed with the newly-embraced, yet contrast in stride of the reformed five-piece, two of the Militia - ‘Rockin’ Ray Dill and ‘Metal’ Joe Chimienti – sought to and successfully financed the band’s debut full-lengther on their brand spankin’ new Tungsten label, but with no distribution the project only skidded to a halt, so they wisely asked the Zazulas if their proven Megaforce label could absorb Tungsten and put Kill or Be Killed (a title inspired by New York subway vigilante Bernhard Goetz. Remember him? Wrote a paper on him my senior year) in stores. And as they say, the rest, as well as the inspiration of “Knights of Old Bridge”, is history. Ah, but that excuse mentioned earlier is still a mystery left lingering.

“…reactors stand like guardians for bones in nuclear wars…”

Well, it's my lovely position that the Blessed ones, or at least the two original members, eagerly rushed the writing process and (prematurely) recorded tunes to emulate the minty-fresh sound that only mere months ago blew their hair back for the first time, and at no time should it be forgotten that this new sound celebrated (at times much) faster momentum, a much more tumbling hide, and could at any moment flare monstrous like a chain of angry volcanoes compared to trudging through typical quagmire-ish “Sweet Leaf”, “Wicked World” and “Cornucopia”. It’s possible the quintet’s rather recent affinity for thrash metal, while genuine, hadn’t the proper time to fully swallow its rather more intense direction, wildling-hearted character, and raunchy underpants that you could smell naturally leaking from the pores of competing acts. It’s just a theory, though.

Unfortunately, the lower points weigh heavier on the ‘ol seismic scale, and after forty or so seconds into dramatically-pitched opener “Melt Down”, the track already hears its own promising grandeur losing steam, caused mostly by having to navigate potholes of bluesy innuendo barely by its midway. Even had the deep blue content of these potholes been ruled an absolute must-have on the disc, someone shoulda told them to champion it deeper into the playlist so that their personal metallic style had time to sink in, y’know, somewhere around the b-side’s second song…and that’s not just ‘cos college-prep course Intro to Song Placement And Other Common Sense says the A1 placement on any recording should have a welcome mat reserved only for a songwriting bonanza that’s treated by the band like a top model.

This is where fandom starts, the ranking factor for whether a listener’s interest in/attention for the music will thicken and grow like The Blob to better absorb the landscape ahead or whether it dissolves like whatever faith was initially put in the cover’s praying hands. Even with “Melt Down” squeezing pretty tight, there appears to be some apprehension in delivering the chokeheld goods at full thrash bore and in this tune ends up reining the horses in when speed metal’s fundamentally slower stable approaches. Then while “Pig Slaughter” and “Omen of Fate” use wider brushes of volatility than their predecessor, still missing is the kind of mega-brazen, bunker-thick, ‘move the fuck outta the way!' thrash urgency that's pleasing when it’s homicidal without fault, palpably scary even to opposing armies, and has conquered with a sonically impregnable wall of diesel chainsaw ruckus.

“…life is a vision, blessed only by death…”

“Into the Ovens” and “Eternal War” expel lots of energy keeping their formulaically lively, yet rather bare bones songcraft awake and on its feet, and it’s unfortunate that even the combined hostility of their establishing rhythms are unable to keep things more interesting than a conversation bereft of nuance, most personality and a good story powering it.

Then with a simultaneous departure in style, both Larry Portelli and the band take the initial half of “Blessed Death” and set out evolving it into a beguiler rather than a beast. With a bent knee solo or two it partially succeeds, but its half-caste melancholy flow is awkward and becomes a handicap that's amplified when hit with vocals. For more than the reason of never finding its stride (which makes locating its peak a lost cause), it’s not the go-to scrambler of the bunch, but kudos for some outta box lab work.

Because of a brief, but memorable off-time marching gait and extendo-burst of thrash-mash, “Napalm” burns extra gooey with an all-around coolness that shoulda found way better footing earlier in the album’s trek. Instead of apologies, however, it flings its fiery new shoes into the face of the title track, but causes it little discomfort ‘cos it’s caught in the throes of the slow celebration of a Sabbath-skewed rebirth much of the lp hadn’t acknowledged. I know someone must've been wondering if all residual Chrome Locust smatterings had been exorcised from Portelli and guitarist Nick Fiorentino’s repertoire, and that answer’s pretty much nope.

Since Kill or Be Killed wraps on a high note that during “Melt Down” was found quickly unwrapping itself, its good points continue rolling until they hear a heated, thrash-worthy set 'o pipes that seems to harbor an alter ego that strafes skyscrapers with the kind of screams that could belong to Tyrant (CA) frontman Glen May with less mystique. Pro shrieker Portelli pulls few punches with a delivery that clings heavily to the psychotic, and don’t let the end of a verse catch his eye unless you want it promptly sharpened and launched into the clouds. On the other hand, it doesn’t mean his high-register rampages aren’t often guilty of overindulgence and, come the end, being oversaturated with repetitive techniques. Regardless, he’s kinda the only band factor here with recognizable merit that makes one think that he’ll one day enlarge his scene presence to something special beyond this. Guess I can’t tell the future after all.

“…slipping deeper into death, cold as stone, my last breath…”

The crown, however, rests on ambitious stretch “Knights of Old Bridge”, 6+ minutes of a more multifaceted Hallows Eve typeset replete with some of the disc’s headiest and fluent thrash and is home to a smaller doom population than in the record’s closer. Portelli emerges as a triple threat with yet greater range than alluded to earlier, adding a persona of enunciated, almost heroic royalty to proclaim “…as I look toward the sky and think of days gone past…” like important suffrage announced by a guest vocalist, meanwhile Jeff Anderson earns his ‘lead guitar destruction’ cred through solos loaded with a higher caliber. A song befitting the people it commends despite lyrics mostly irrelevant to the tale.

Basically, the songwriting approach Blessed Death takes to achieve Kill or be Killed, except for some exceptional visions of clarity, is common and naïve and even understandable if you know the story. It’s also pretty easy to defend a work ethic that had fought hard to adopt and record a style which was somewhere in left-center field compared to their doomier roots, however it’s unfortunate that really only a pair of tormented lungs keeps this thing clinging to my memory’s shelf.

A Small and Possible Political Platform Correlating Kill or Be Killed and Real Life ('cos this review just isn't long enough):

A mostly insignificant tidbit concerning KoBK (insignificant ‘cos it really has nuthin’ to do with the music) that I owe my undying thanks to is the band's back cover shot, where the guys assume not the latest in bullet-belted, studsy-spiked thrashwear many thrash bands were toting at the time, but instead present a menacing, hoodlum biker-without-the-bike appearance - a look I began emulating during my high school days after getting the album sometime during early '86. Admittedly, I was hoping the change in appearance would help stave off the indulgence in intimidation (and worse) enjoyed by particular jocks/burn-outs/'cooler' kids and their national pastime of picking on the short rotund kid with acne. Well, it turns out coupling this 'hoodlum' look with a long shag of hair and the benefits of aggressive weightlifting proved to be a winning combination that by the beginning of the next school year had people assuming I was the predator in the room instead of merely being in disguise to deter my aforementioned enemies, and it also directly reinforced the “…leave me alone, fuckface…” aura I was going for, which also proved worth perfecting for later bouncer life. A few distasteful, yet image-enforcing nicknames like Satan and Devil Man, obviously spawned by screwball-to-the-masses musical tastes, sealed my deal with the devil.

The Point: say what you will about bullying, one of today's hottest kiddie topics, but without such bullies galvanizing me to seek control over this continual trouble and my overall fate - my quest, my problem, my fate - that didn’t include mewling to teachers, the principal or my parents, nor counting on vague, wide umbrella-berthed and haphazardly-written bullying laws rushed to the vote, I wouldn’t be the confident, strong-willed and self-reliant person I am today. Maybe more kids will learn to dictate their own fate. Others doing it for them builds little character.

So that's my half-assed personal connection with this slab. You dig?

“…give me Old Bridge or give me death…”