Running Away

There are few things in the history of 80s metal that the current community is more embarrassed by than the infusion of shameless AOR pandering into the equation, often times making the scene all but indistinguishable from the likes of Journey and Kansas. While there was always something of a pop tinge to bands like Motley Crue and Dokken from their inception, it wasn't until around the mid 80s that their metallic edge became subdued to the point of being dangerously similar to the lighter rock sounds of the glam rock scene. One the other hand, a good amount of what gives today's melodic power metal craze in Europe its accessibility can be traced back to this era, and a few bands got fairly close to what would later become the Stratovarius school.

Although a completely unknown band with very little to say on present metal practices, the UK outfit Ironheart with all its AOR and traditional early metal trappings finds itself in familiar territory for anyone who listens to mid 90s Stratovarius, minus the Helloween inspired speed riffing of course. Their lone offering in "Running Away" presents an image much more grim and depressing than the music itself on the album's cover, owing to a sort of unbridgable gulf between somber, fatalistic lyrical content and fairly shallow, formulaic musical ideas. One can't help but note a striking similarity between the keyboard drenched, vocal heavy character of this music and the often panned mid 80s efforts out of Tygers Of Pan Tang and Saxon. But Ironheart find themselves at a further disadvantage given that vocal work of Paul Wrightson struggles to get beyond a one-dimensional, limited ranged, squeaky clean croon along the lines of a B-grade Don Dokken imitator.

Nevertheless, the band manages to offer up 3 songs that are reasonably catchy and metallic enough to keep the ears occupied for its full 12 minute duration. The thick, keyboard dominated intro of "Running Away" does sound mildly comparable to the eerie, sorrowful minute long instrumentals that kick off a typical Axel Rudi Pell album, but the song itself proves to be less heavy and forbidding than anything that Pell would put forth, save maybe his debut offering "Wild Obsession" which was not terribly characteristic of the sound he is known by today. This song has a bit more in common with the 80s output of Leatherwolf, though it really fails to deliver the same level of pizazz that "Street Ready" possessed. It isn't until the closing song "Last Chance" that things really start to cook, but even at its best, it doesn't function much beyond a lighter and tamer version of a typical Grim Reaper song, sticking to a rigid formula that allows for very little development beyond a standard verse/chorus structure.

This is competent music, but not terribly distinctive or exciting. Those with an inclination towards Dokken's "Back For The Attack" will find some basic stylistic similarities and a level of appeal that comes with discovering new music from the same era, but it tends to wear thin after a few listens. The vocalist is no Don Dokken, the guitar soloist is definitely no George Lynch, and the massive rhythm section doesn't really inspire the level of distinctiveness that Jeff Pilson and Mick Brown would bring to the table. Sometimes great music goes undiscovered because of a lack of interest, but in this particular case, the lack of interest was likely more tied to a parallel lack of unique luster amid an ever crowded field.

Ironheart is apparently a virtual unknown in British heavy metal. A bit too late on the scene to be considered part of a “new wave” of anything, they managed to produce one isolated single before vanishing off the face of the earth. I’d really like to give these guys a merit badge and declare them unsung heroes of the age or something equally deserving, but after giving this a few spins, I can’t say that they ever had much of a chance. They had the hooks, and they certainly had the clean, polished sound that was selling “heavy metal” albums in droves by the eighties’ end, but they lack distinction. They polished their performance to such a degree that there’s no edge left, no great discriminating factor that would've set them apart and sent them upon the road to bigger and better (or in their case, any other) things.

As the intro synths swell, fear immediately grips the listener. “Oh no,” they think,” I’ve accidently placed a Brian Adams record onto my turntable. My mates are going to think I’m a puss.” But no, a riff kicks in soon enough and we’re treated to a nice little exercise in late 80’s stadium metal aesthetics. Guitars and synths double the main hook, a polite vocal melody lingers overtop, and a keyboard melody works around the main chorus (neat idea), with a bluesy solo to boot. Reminds me heavily of Saxon of the same period, but where whole albums of this direction kind of came off as fluffy for Biff and the boys, this makes for a nice single, one that could have ran with the pub jukebox pack if it ever even got that much exposure. “How Do You Feel?” really drives that feeling home, dropping the synths completely for a more conventional heavy exercise. A bit too simple and unthreatening for my blood, more like a Black ‘N’ Blue track or one of Quiet Riot’s tougher numbers.

“Last Chance” proves to be the purchasing point for this single, the only track of the three that really echoes the desperation evoked by the cover art and the one that attracted me here in the first place. The main riff is a rare jewel in a desert of ‘meh,’ but man, I can’t even really call this a lost classic either. Vocalist Paul Wrightson is just too unassuming, too.... damn polite in his delivery. Scream bloody gore at me, man, bang your head as if up from the dead....just show me a pulse and I'd be pretty content, anything will do really. This is '88 for Lucifer's sake... but no, he casually delivers his lines at a gentle pace, never going out of his comfort zone as far as range or emotion are concerned.

You get the feeling their hearts were in the right place, but this inkling of a shadow of a flicker of a pulse is hardly conveyed to the listener and Ironheart flatlines on the operating table, like an old man keeling over after a brisk Sunday walk.