Antes do Fim

Often left stranded in the jungle is Rio’s Dorsal Atlantica, especially when (semi) significant Brazilian bands are being rattled off for due acclamation, but by now it should be common knowledge Cro-Magnom, Hardcore, and Vandalo were there snappin’ necks with the rest of ‘em. But y’know what? There wasn’t an underground South American metal band that wasn’t stuck in the same boat. Everyone south of Panama was just as obscure as the next guy in ’86, and there was as much a chance of hearing Dorsal Atlantica as Sepultura, Vulcano and Mutilator, though the one (not really glaring) disadvantage for DA was the refuge they didn’t find in the Cogumelo stronghold. Wouldn’t really matter though, ‘cause it seems most of these early Brazilian acts went on to bravely record a slew of lps right into the ‘90s, most of which ran screaming into unknown rain forests to someday be rescued by determined explorers, especially thrash enthusiasts outside South America. Well, Dorsal Atlantica’s history is no different; their map was just as shitty.

Truthfully, there’s more to say about DA’s debut than Morbid Visions. Well, there is and there isn’t. Antes Do Fim holds firm, medium ground all the way, textured more evenly with similar tightly reckless speed picking (“Morte Aos Falsos”, “Vorkuta”, “Joseph Mengele” and junkyard dog opener “Cacador Da Noite”, especially), but hangs around with more melody that usually bumps around as long interludes (paying rent in most of these tracks, though inventive “Inveja” swirls some psychic paraphernalia into things while “Guerrilha” does little else but wander like a vagabond). Congested, grumpy vocals, fairly parallel to both records, makes everyone who cracked knuckles and grinned to Sepultura’s first full-lengther reasonably pleased.

Now, while Morbid Visions is furious on a lengthier scale, this nine-tracker knows when to hide its teeth to throw together a less despicable/more artful show – there’s been more horrible ideas, right? Maybe something with a twist of progressive intrigue, or a ‘touched’ but sane slice of personality to turn thrash’s tide of inhospitable Dark Angel and Razor-ish pureness back upon itself, like something Metallica never had a problem doing - a fine theory, but when good and bad angels pop up on each shoulder as the music spins…. Melody is dandy as long as it goes places people want to discover, and if it doesn’t…well, the television crackles and softly flickers to life, conversations about wart removers fester in a corner, snoring that can rattle a lumberjack roars, and in most cases, something else more interesting is thrown on to maintain the party’s quota of speaker damage. So, if you haven’t tripped over my drift yet, many of the melodic breaks and rests seem hatched more out of necessity than creativity, gunning hard to travel their desired direction but haven’t the leg strength to keep moving. Or maybe I’m just way off and was expecting too much from a young band stomping around metal’s most crowded alien region. In any case and despite the outcome, at least they tr(y)ied. Morbid Visions kept the virtuosity to a standard minimum and ultimately triumphed in the long run.

Just like every other Brazilian offering, the mix is produced-in-a-tunnel Cogumelo-style, meatier than the one for Morbid Visions, and is something that’s become endearing to all South American releases whether it’s roaming through forgotten foliage or marching up the main drag with a float behind it. To expect different is simply naivety.

As an entity of ’86 and beyond, Antes do Fim doesn’t spell out ‘spectacular’ in sparkly letters, but ‘decent’, ‘passable’ and even ‘okay’ are etched clearly in the mud, not that most of us can read it since it’s probably in Portuguese, just like the lp’s proven politically-charged lyrics. Honestly, I’d like to find more enjoyment in this album, but instead sitting through it tends to strain my endurance, my patience, and my system in general, and for a not-so-clever parallelism that has nothing to do with metal, or music for that matter, is its worldwide success can be considered a routine single lopped between the shortstop and third baseman, both of whom give it a few lazy steps and decide it’s not worth it. The left fielder jogs over to retrieve it because he has to.