Wrath of the Gods

Nope, I’m lying to you here… normalcy doesn’t pay off. It only does when unleashed in an asylum… in a fuckin’ madhouse. Like it was the case on the band’s debut. The thing is that such a combination, unhinged insanity and semblances of normalcy blended in the music industry’s backyard, occurs only once in a lifetime… for the rest of life remain the memories, which may make one both sad for not being able to come across another such gust of genius; and glad that he/she has the CD/cassette/vinyl/mp3 safely tucked away somewhere, readily available if anyone wants to get exposed to it... as a remedial gesture, mind you.

The thing is that not that many are those who’d be eager to expose themselves to the rest of the band’s discography. The sketches for the eventual sophomore, released as the “Psychedelic Symphony” assembly a year later, weren’t very attractive… not to mention the reunion stint “Demon Master” which was… I don’t want to talk/write about it. It seemed like Marc Biedermann had lost it all, intentionally or not, and that a return to the asylum would never be scheduled, even if the doors of said asylum were gaping wide open, and the musicians were promised a most handsome remuneration to reside, and respectively create something, within its walls.

Quite honestly, I completely lost interest in the guys’ endeavours after the second instalment, and when this chap told me that the band had an EP, a combination of old and new tracks, some nine years later, I only nodded disparagingly, making no effort in tracking it down. Well, it turned out a decent slab, the new material I mean, which smelled progressive power metal, above all, with Biedermann making big waves with his six-string capabilities.

The album reviewed here sounds like an extension of said EP, but not necessarily in a very good way. The name of the game is a varied, uneven heavy/power/speed/thrash metal conglomerate, for the large part, the rowdier thrashier attitude mostly reflected in the crunchy Bay-Areasque “Straight as the Crowbar Flies”, initially released as a pilot single, and the intense lively shredder “Slow Death”, the possible highlight here. These two numbers are served up front and create the impression that something sane and asylum-seeking may get stirred for a big change, and although the short dynamic speed metal winner “Protomolecule” is still on the positive side, it doesn’t take that long for this offering to taste the fields of mediocrity, the leisurely-executed bluesy charade “Spaced” sinking half the ships in the harbour, some of those still surviving after the edgier more confrontational title-track. The diverse atmospheric progressiver “Behemoth” could have been deemed a winner if it wasn’t so lethargically sprawled, the accumulated anti-inertia draining all energy from the shaky pretentious meanderings on ”Lucifers Awakening”, the peaceful rock-ish swings of “Amazing Maniacal Monolith” ultimately failing to overshadow the intriguing song-title.

The epitaph is worth lending an ear, though, the sprightly heavy metal anthem “No Rest till Budapest”, Biedermann deftly assisting on the side with his hoarse but effective semi-clean timbre. His guitar pyrotechnics seldom take central stage here, but there’s seldom a dull moment from this sector, either, the man feeling inspired but not to the point of overtaking the entire space. This is far superior to the ill-fated second outing, but won't even be granted a 100-mile radius access to the sane asylum. I hate myself for referring to the band’s first coming time and again, but once you’ve conquered such a perilous place, with your very first effort at that, you’re bound to bear your cross from then onward, either modestly or boastfully acknowledging your participation in it… depending on the artist’s character I guess.

How will Biedermann choose to proceed in this case? I don't really know, but I can asylum... sorry, assure him that the Gods are not angry with his current status. They weren’t overtly entertained by this third charm, but they’d by all means be curious to hear more… as long as the demons of old have been exorcised, and the flag of old school metal stands firmly raised on the roof of this sane…

but enough with this.