Myths

Listen to me here, do not bother with any collections of myths released after 1981… good. Now, I’m starting to count those English thrash veterans that haven’t reformed yet… shit, takes quite some time, but I eventually reach to number… two. Yep, it’s only D.A.M. and Sabbat that keep resisting the reunion temptation… well, for Sabbat you know the story… they should come to the Sabbath… sooner or later. So count them in… with or without the Walker… sorry, Walkyier.

No kidding, it’s pretty much the glorious 80’s once again on the Isles, and with some detritus added to the carnival over there this year, things nearly hit the top. I can’t say that each reunion stint from there has been truly outstanding, nope, it hasn’t, but overall it looks good, and again not from a quantity point-of-view only. However, if you approach these myths here with the expectation to hear another slab of old school Bay-Area-fixated thrashisms along the lines of the guys’ first two instalments, you’re in for a hefty surprise. With the band frontman Mark Broomhead having participated (bass) in his compatriots Seventh Angel’s last showing so far “The Dust of Years” (2009), his main outing’s delivery has swung in this direction, too.

What’s this direction? The one of vintage classic doom, that one. Yep, thrashers become doomsters… the way of the Christian metal practitioners, and although “Bright Black” tries to blacken... sorry, brighten the horizon initially with livelier bouncier rhythms, it all becomes one dense tale of darkness and sadness before long like “Tales of Sadness” exemplifies so well, a ponderous moody doomy hymn, a funerary stroller that inevitably has its more memorable side (the dramatic Cemetary-sque “Call Me Human”), but dirgy slow-motion semi-idylls like “Exoria” will stretch the nerves of everyone around, including the soporific ballad collectors. With the album reaching the anti-climactic realms mid-way, it hardly needs a confrontational throat like Broomhead who holds his own with a steady mid-ranged baritone, seldom emitting genuinely melodic lines, sounding both indignant and defiant, and also marginally more lyrical on the more vivid near-sing-alonger “Pharisee”. The more dynamic layout stays around for “The Game”, but this is far from a game-changer although “Forever Soldier” refuses to remain forever ensnared in clumsy doomisms, and unleashes a few on-the-verge-of-thrash strokes as an uncharacteristically energetic epitaph.

But again, all these attempts can only be viewed half-deals, without an able back-up, dispersed in a sea of deep impenetrable serenity, one that gets bumpy on occasion, but largely stands dignified as an illustration of intentionally pursued equanimity, a near-profound change of heart having in mind the nature of the band’s earlier recordings. Having grown wiser with time? Not really, unless wisdom on the music scene has inexplicably started being measured with cumbersome wavy, not very disturbing sways. Sway, sway, sway… from here to Heaven, and back. Yep, cause the doors of Heaven would hardly open for our batch here. Their newly epitomized doomy tactics would hardly interrupt St. Peter’s snooze for the latter to make the effort and open those doors… certainly, there’s no guarantee that raging retro thrash tunes would substitute for the magic “Open Sesame” phrase, but at least there’s always a bigger chance for that to happen if you make some noise…

and Broomhead and his team of angels know very well how to do the noisy twist. Just crank it up a few notches next time, lads! As we all know, into the moshpit can sometimes be the much better option to a hypothetical picture-perfect, paradise-like existence.