Uncertain Future

Recounting one's childhood is usually greeted by a pleasant sense of nostalgia, consisting of fond memories of such things as one's first home gaming console or VHS movie for the average Gen X affiliate. However, occasionally a happy reminiscence of one's more innocent years can give way to that first encounter with horror, such as your practical joker of an older brother scaring the bejesus out of you by startling you with a plastic machete and a ski mask, or doing it to yourself when happening upon his audio cassette copy of Seattle thrasher Forced Entry's debut LP and seeing the cover art at the tender age of seven. Yours truly was naturally not scarred for life by either experience, but he can't help but still suffer some disquiet when pondering the visual of some hapless cruise ship passenger drowning in the middle of a storm-ridden ocean with his vacation boat and the full moon gazing on in the distance. Needless to say, the visual definitely leaves an impression, and it is a very fitting one given that Uncertain Future is an album that leaves a very deep auditory impression through its highly distinctive stylistic twists and turns, often mirroring the choppy randomness of waves thrashing about in the hurricane-enveloped Pacific.

Nailing down just what this album is in a historical context is a bit difficult, as it is clearly presented in the template of a standard late 80s thrash album, yet has a number of quirky progressive touches that all but predict much of what became prominent in metal during the 90s. The structure of songwriting being employed is notably asymmetrical, often jolting back and forth between slow and fast tempos in a manner abrupt enough to trade blows with a number of sludge bands out of the early Nola scene. Similarly, the tone of the guitar, riff work and soloing employed by Brad Hull has occasional hints of Dimebag Darrel and Jeff Loomis, which is perhaps fitting in the latter case given that he was tapped to replace Sean Blosl in the reformed and more modern incarnation of Sanctuary. Likewise, the odd time signature employment and rhythmic unity of the entire arrangement bears some degree of similarity to Meshuggah's often forgotten progressive thrash debut offering Contradictions Collapse, which this album also got the drop on by a couple of years. To be fair, progressive thrash was not necessarily a brand new concept in the late 80s, but given that some of this material was written as far back as 1987, it's pretty safe to say that this power trio was ahead of the curve.

In similar fashion to a number of non-conforming efforts, this album is a bit of a grower and has earned a reputation in some more old school thrash quarters as being disjointed and random. Though the more industrious researcher will note that this outfits early 1987 demo All Fucked Up has more of a straight up Bay Area character in line with Death Angel and Testament (most of said songs were likely written as far back as 1985 in response to a steady listening diet of Exodus), it becomes pretty clear in the first few seconds of this album's opener "Bludgeon" that this is a very different take on thrash. The opening riff work wheels through a semi-technical series of twists and turns, occasionally becoming driving but largely mimicking the fits and starts of a free jazz ensemble of piledrivers, until settling into a bass-steeped atmospheric session with Brad Hull wailing away like he's soloing to "Cemetery Gates" a year before Pantera recorded Cowboys From Hell. This is all before Tony Benjamins' gruff-obsessed, Chuck Billy on steroids vocals enter into the equation, which is similarly accompanied by a host of jarring shifts in feel ranging from a slow-trudging doom stomp to a flowing stream of runs and drumming fits. Barring the drums being maybe a hair too loud and drowning out the bass and guitar noodling, it's a near perfect representation on how grooving can kick ass if done with some intricacy.

Though some songs on here veer a tad bit closer to a traditional thrash metal sound than others, overall this is a purely forward-looking album that tends to eschew conventional ideas of tempo, structure and cadence. In similar fashion to the opener, "Kaleidoscope Of Pain" and "A Look Through Glass" spend very little time in the repetition department, the former occasionally kicking up the tempo to the point of fever pitch in a manner comparable to Vio-Lence, while the latter combines the technical intricacies that would be all over Forbidden's Twisted Into Form a year later with an occasional mid-paced driving and melodic consistency that would be in line with Testament's Practice What You Preach if the Blind Illusion-inspired bass work of Benjamins wasn't regularly throwing a wrench into things (though this isn't a bad thing). Indeed, it's moments like on the aforementioned third song and the closing speeder with a side-order of Slayer-inspired evil melodic detailing "Foreign Policy" where this band's traditional thrash background shine through the brightest and serve as the most accessible parts of an otherwise gloriously convoluted progressive trailblazer. Then again, though it starts on a quirky atmospheric note and has some tribal drumming gimmicks thrown in, "Anaconda" is probably the most memorable of the pack and the biggest boon for anyone hoping for a more predictable Bay Area thrash excursion.

From a purely objective standpoint, this is one of the better albums to come out of the west coast thrash metal scene in the late 80s, as between its innovative approach and all around strong performances by all members involved it can't help but stand out from the crowded field of bands riding off of Metallica's and Exodus's coattails, though admittedly some of them ended up putting together better albums as a result. On the other hand, for anyone who is not inclined towards progressive metal to any degree and wants either a full on, high tempo assault comparable to Reign In Blood or Darkness Descends or something with more of a rhythmically straight-lined approach after the mold of Anthrax or Overkill, this may prove to be a bit outside of one's comfort zone and might be understandably greeted with a meh or a "huh?". But for an acquired taste, this is definitely an album that holds a major payout for those patient enough to stick with it, carrying enough bells and whistles to accommodate an hour's worth of music in just under 40 minutes. As far as this reviewer is concerned, the three greatest things to come out of Seattle were Queensryche, Sanctuary and Forced Entry, with Alice In Chains being a fairly close fourth. Forget about the indifferent flannel toting hacks and no-talent mockery of punk music, this is the hill that Washington state should have planted its flag on.