Jotenheim

I'm not foolish; Jotenheim were never going to become the new Metallica, were never going to take the world by storm and put it back together again in their image. 'Epic metal', in the Platonic Ideal displayed here, has never (and probably will never) be popular. If I'm feeling uncharitable I put it down to the crass, depthless and unthinking inanity of people; in a more reflective - and realistic - mood, it's clear that this genre does nothing to endear itself to popular taste. Obscure, meandering, slow and ponderous; smashingly heavy and raw; posturing and absurd as much as it is majestic and glorious. But that, of course, is why I love it. In any case, this EP by Italian collective Jotenheim, is - without any doubt whatsoever - one of the very finest examples of the genre ever put together; and it may very well stand forever unique, given the current non-existent status of the band. Does this make it a rare and glimmering treasure, all the more valuable for its singular identity, or a rueful waste of potential? A bit of both I suppose; like most things.

That this work, and thus the whole history of the band, stands at just five songs (of which only three are truly original) is both sad and glorious. Sad, because the number so meagre and the quality so high that one cannot help craving more; glorious, because each work is a little masterpiece, and their record is an unblemished, 100% strike rate.

It starts with the sound of a furious thunderstorm; the irony of the storm before the storm clearly not lost on anyone, the atmosphere settling down thickly in repose as the sounds of rain and thunder continue for over thirty seconds unabated. Then, 'Skullcrusher' blasts you in the face.

The sound of Jotenheim is primitive indeed. Thick and pounding riffs, some of the best you'll ever hear; big, smashing drums; incredible gravelly, growling and glowering vocals that sound a bit like Ironsword except even more menacing and potent. The riff style is classic heavy metal, carrying melody along with heaviness. Many sections involve a change of tempo, which really enhances the maze-like feel of the pieces as they wend their way to a dramatic end. The bass is nicely accentuated, as it comes on in a thick bottom-end and is certainly not content to just stick to what the guitars are playing; wandering sinuously hither and thither under the oppressively thick distortion, it lends a welcome groove and gravitas to the proceedings.

The three originals here are profoundly brilliant; I have never really heard better music in the genre. 'Skullcrusher', starting out with a monstrous, stalking riff and an even more monstrous bassline to back it up, explodes into a storming headbanger, seething with raging riffs and outrageous vocal roars. 'The Dog of Ulster' hits immediately with a riff which is, quite simply, one of the best riffs ever written, storming forward in agitated triplets, ever rising up the scale in a swooping climb that drips with menace. And 'Excalibur & the King' goes from acoustic intro breakneck pace to a trudging ominous plod and back again and everywhere in between, and ends with an absolutely extraordinary guitar solo which will have the hairs on your neck standing to attention. No words are really enough to explain the gloriousness of that solo, which starts with the most incredible release, and builds to a crescendo of beautiful and unearthly arpeggios.

The remaining two tracks are a cover and an arrangement; a fantastically raw and brutal cover of Manilla Road's 'Queen of the Black Coast', and an arrangement of the theme from the 'Conan the Barbarian' movie for acoustic guitar. It is really excellently done; haunting and introspective, and beautifully played.

So, in sum, this album is too short in too many ways. It epitomises the career of the band; brief and a stone's throw from non-existent, they made barely even the faintest of ripples in the metal ocean. Like a precious jewel that falls into the sea and is lost, there is a sadness in that; but there is joy too in the one who, quite unexpectedly, discovers its beauty. A lost masterpiece.