Predator

No, John, no. That's just awkward. Frankly, it's a little embarrassing.

Yes, I know it's closer to your "classic" sound than anything else you've done in three decades. That doesn't automatically make it worth a damn, you know. What? Yes, I know it's a comeback album... nobody ever expects anything from those, right? Nope, that's no excuse -- look at your own peers and countrymen: Angel Witch had an absolutely spectacular one. Salem just had *two* quite respectable efforts in a row. Even Quartz were able to pull it off. Nope, no free pass for mediocrity this time.

What we have here is the worst sort of an attempt at resurgence: a band trying too hard to capture some intangible essence of what they once were, but instead of discarding their advancing age, they jettison only the mental adulthood that should've plonked them on the head and told them "this is a horrible idea". Indeed, out of all the Holocaust material released since the NWOBHM era, this album best approximates the *sound* of their fondly-remembered early material. But it does that in the way of recent Slayer or Metallica efforts, with all the substance, quality and attitude of the work of a committee. There are some unfortunate reasons for this, and one of them is interestingly bizarre, but we'll get to them in a bit.

You see, like The Nightcomers, this is mostly mid-paced, no-frills metal churning in the lower registers, with riffs existing somewhere in the space defined between Black Sabbath and KISS, and a dark undercurrent threading its way through it all; certain elements from Holocaust's more progressive middle period have been dragged in, too. It's shot through with dreaded modern "updates" to the sound, yes - that annoying reliance on simplistic rhythmic chugging, and the tendency to replace actual heaviness with open-chord, crash-cymbal-heavy modern rock passages. But far worse is the modern "update" to the creative process itself.

The early 1980s releases were sizzling with a transgressive sort of songcraft and creative tension, alchemically distilling metal from rock, as it were. In contrast, this material reverses the process, crawls back to the worst of the "rock" and wallows drooling in it. It is somewhat dark and menacing, yes -- but only to the degree that these qualities have been co-opted and approved as safe by the cultural mainstream in the intervening decades. It's inoffensive; none of it is really memorable -- the songs are awkward assemblages of parts that fit together only vaguely, full of the sense that they're being shoehorned into a calculated formula, with no fluidity of phrasing whatsoever. Predator is like those vapid Hollywood celebs and supermodels who occasionally make a point of being spotted in a Motorhead or Maiden t-shirt, to convey that they're a bit "edgy".

This is an odd reversal for main man (and only constant member) John Mortimer. In Holocaust's early days there was a constant split within its ranks: one faction (Mortimer's) wanted to push heavy metal to its logical conclusion, away from rock conventions, towards heavier and darker territories. The other camp was more interested in typical rock-star aspirations. This ultimately led to their actual fission into two different bands, each amusingly holding the name for a brief while; and then there were none.

Of course, a few years (and Metallica royalty checks) later, Mortimer found himself in a position to re-establish the band and pursue his musical vision more freely. This inaugurated the second Holocaust phase, marked by ventures into a much more progressive and less conventional sound. Their highly distinctive output during this period ran the gamut from very, very good (Convenant) to indefensible horseshit (Hypnosis of Birds), but one thing that never managed to cling to them was the stink of creative bankruptcy.

Things seemed to peter out again after 2003's Primal, and that's where the story takes a turn for the weird. Apparently, Holocaust was quietly put on hold while John immersed himself in a new and ambitious musical project, but this dragged on for some seven years without anything materializing. Then he had an epiphany, a revelation - triggered by a sudden, deep, and transformative obsession with none other than Lady Gaga. I wish I was making this up: the man himself has described his exposure to the eccentric pop diva as a deeply spiritual and even religious experience, a "high" and a "personal revolution" (it says here). One of its effects was his immediate decision to restart Holocaust, which brings us to this mini-accident here.

It's almost funny to think that, in far-gone eras, heavy metal used to have a healthy immune system when it came to such things. Why, at least eyebrows would've been raised, if not an alarm - when a metal musician displays such frank and consuming worship of its complete antithesis, there would've been some suspicion and apprehension about what was to follow . These days, such parochial twentieth-century attitudes are almost difficult to imagine; one might as well envision the average metalhead taking off his crusty, cutout-shoulder Deafheaven top and going on a poser-smashing rampage. For all intents and purposes, most of what passes for metal now *is* mainstream culture with an extra distortion pedal (and perhaps a drinking horn, or some other stupid, contrived prop). And that makes Mr. Mortimer is quite at home.

Having an identity - one that isn't easily subsumed and weaponized - is the single greatest sin one may commit in our time. This cultural message percolates and pervades, even in attitudes towards music. Only identity's caricature is allowed, even encouraged: commonly known as "individualism", an atomised, self-accelerating sort of blank me-worship where surface differences are all, the fulfillment of base instincts is on top of the pedestal, and the very existence of anything higher is denied. This is the openly-stated message of the Lady Gaga phenomenon, and it's no coincidence that it informs both the sound and the content on Predator.

Lyrically, when John isn't penning cringy, borderline-creepy eulogies to his newfound idol ("I just want to say how I feel about you - I adore you", "For me the Christ is a woman, but I cannot keep calling her, she's kind of busy"), he evangelizes the same self-devoted, born-this-way message she already does, but with more preachy directness ("It's never a sin to be who you are, no matter what the church or society says", "I will not surrender to any self proclaimed authority", and other such rebellious affirmations of civilization's reigning values). These are interspersed with allusions to tantric sex, and even a cock-rockin' "oh, sexy woman, sexy woman" (delivered with all the excitement that a eunuch would feel about the concept).

Sonically... no, Holocaust haven't switched over to dance pop, nor do they go on stage in furs and mirror-balls (although mascara abounds). They're merely content to rock out, following John's Gaga-inspired realization that he's an entertainer - a performance artist (again, his own words). Said rocking-out was obviously meant as some kind of celebratory explosion of life and liberty, but ends up so sterile and restrained, you almost start to suspect that they're subversively parodying the whole concept. When not a single note in the entire performance exudes any conviction, energy or enthusiasm, one really wonders: perhaps that's the point they're really making - that promoting entropy and dissolution leads to heat-death? Are we being next-level trolled? If so, salutes are in order.

One more glaring flaw in the compositions makes them ineffective even as simple rock music: like all such music, they're essentially vocal-driven, but the vocals are weak and lack an expressive range. What's more, John has some obvious problems stringing together a vocal melody without tripping over the song's rhythm, ending up with phrasings so awkward that any momentum is instantly derailed. This was never a problem when Holocaust were playing music that was still metal at heart, but when the weakest link is brought to the forefront, fail ensues.

And here's the really perplexing part: this is not the work of a talentless hack. Holocaust have proven themselves over the years; whenever Mortimer really brought his A-game, they produced some damn fine material indeed. Perhaps he can still put his Expander back in his pants, write these few years off as an extended bout of drug-induced psychosis, and come up with something in the caliber of 'The Nightcomers', 'This Annihilation', 'Salt Heart', and yes, 'Heavy Metal Mania'. Shall we hold our breaths? Somehow I think we shan't.

TL;DR: Even in the possibility space delimited by Lady Gaga - you know, "don't be a drag, just be a queen" - Predator's a drag.

Renowned for their new wave of British heavy metal classics “Heavy Metal Mania” and, of course, the ubiquitous “The Small Hours”, its been over 12 years since head Holocaust honcho John Mortimer last released an album and Predator is a welcome return for metal classicists.

At once, warmly nostalgic – there’s a lot to be said for modern metal albums that simply let rip with quality songwriting, ostentatious riffs and a sure-footed understanding that the rulebook doesn’t need rewriting every time a band releases a record – Predator also retains punk’s urgency and attitude; the sound of the UK underground as embodied in the late 70’s and early 80’s funnelled through a modern framework.

These songs are often unwaveringly dark and ominous, threatening to unleash fire and brimstone but still elevated by moments and passages of uplifting melody. “Lady Of Babylon” particularly evokes this sense of conflicting forces, hitting hard with an opening riff salvo that rumbles and unnerves like sheet lightning before skies clear and an open and almost translucent prog-esque interlude meanders its way back round to a thundering close.

Throughout proceedings, John Mortimer’s voice can hardly be described as flawless but it is authentic, natural, believable and, at times, akin to Jaz Coleman’s unholy roar; biblical and hair-raising in equal measure. No better is this reflected than on the monster that is “Revival”. A stripped raw, 80’s post punk/new wave invoking Killing Joke-esque march through UK metal history, “Revival” is an album highlight that’s matched by the equally devastating “Shiva”; rib-cage-rattling vocals adding grit to the already lead-heavy riffing and satisfyingly stompy rhythm section supplied by Scott Wallace and Mark McGrath.

Prime fodder for the NWOBHM fanboys and girls but backed by enough individuality to entice newcomers, Holocaust’s recorded return is indeed a welcome one. Just don’t leave it 12 years until the next one eh!

Originally published on worshipmetal.com