Hell's*Fire

“…but I knowaah…” “…’cause of youaah…”

Another piece of ice that cracked free from metal’s main iceberg is Mistreater’s lonely, independently-announced Hell’s Fire. With a cool, old-fashioned hot rod decal-type logo and fairly top-heavy title for the time, these Ohio natives come at us with a sound that’s as home-spun and frill-less as it is early, just like the fund-handicapped, late-teen local band that they are. Poor and malnourished underdog bands such as these are often more lovable than the label-backed ones, but the key word here is ‘often’, and while Mistreater sound like they’re in thrall to Motley Crue’s demo days on Quaaludes, the din on this seven-tracker is rather clueless early ‘80s bar material. But really, is this sound in any way uncommon for ’81?

Well, whereas the Crue were busy penning party-hardy, fast-riding odes to venereal disease, this four-piece, despite a boringly prissy nom de plume like Mistreater, haunt some of their novice sound with a droning, almost cabalistic atmosphere, adolescently engaging like a Hardy Boys mystery stretched across tracks like “Evil Woman”, “Big ‘A’”, and “Will You Believe in Me?”. Working simultaneously with and against these more groping numbers are livelier tunes like “Mistreater”, the title cut, and “Lies/Graverobber”. For song placement, this battle of demeanor dominance can make one style seem like mere cartilage for the joints of the other, but it’s really a fine, if not unsurprising rotary of songcraft.

The teenage vocals of Curt Luedy are almost Vince Neil in a law-abiding mood - naturally elevated, never off the handle, and uselessly stylish like the two lyric fragments heading off this review don’t deny. Their slightly above-common songwriting is further ignited by Larry Nottingham’s showy solos that whip around and about in brief blizzards of electricity, notably off-kilter in “Evil Woman” and their namesake track.

Unbelievably, these stupid songs will stow away in your mind much like bums on a train. Something like top song “Mistreater” with its rousing, agitated rumble of a rhythm and perfectly matched vocal tract will linger in memory’s outfield, slow to stir yet contagious in a bothersome sort of way, ‘cause you know there are better songs out there that should be setting up camp in your skull.

During a perfect time in metal history when boundaries are ripe for the tackling, Mistreater progress modestly bordering on common and usher in really nothing new or noteworthy. Despite this, they’re not a useless band. Flat and about 86% blah-ish, but not useless.