Immortal Force

By '87 in Brazil, extreme metal and straightforward thrash groups—whether they be demo oriented or chance enough to be signed on to Cogumelo, aka "mushroom," Records—took over more terrain with releases from the brief holdover of heavy and speed metal bands having their fun. Groups that would become infamous in this country turned out, let's say for now, differently in retrospect, such as Vulcano, Sepultura, Dorsal Atlantica, Holocausto, Sarcofago, Chakal and, here, Mutilator who were ready to sabotage that smile, pillage that picnic and drain their system from a deluge of pent-up, most likely environmental emotions that will instead come to flood a town nearest you.

You got to imagine the production was cheap and the equipment was even cheaper. The actual recording session was most likely brief, a learning experience and a chore to explain the unconforming fundamentals of this fresh type of extreme music—where, as far as releases go, the metal genre itself is about as old as '82 in the country—to a sound engineer who probably had more racked on years with samba music passing by his ears than the former. Mutilator essentially took what they have, used it while they had it and gave it all they got in a held-back, hung-out-to-dry kind of way with their full length "Immortal Force." It's an animal that manages to keep the listener guessing as to whether it's purely wild or might've had some slight taming.

The music is savage and primitive, and, of course, lets that be known whenever they can. The pacing is demanding of your attention, such as jumping from one bombardment, er, section to the next. Though the band has a few areas where they might let up, such as the guitar just warming up for the rest of the group to join in—their way of generosity—though they will only occasionally give the listener a break. They hand out a few mid-paced moments where the guitars pump thicker, weighted strings as the drummer might keep your attention locked with pummeling double bass, yet you know he can't wait to return to the finger-thrustin', head-poppin' momentum. Even the solos can be intrusive. "War Dogs" literally opens up with this hectic jumble of notes, as if providing you with a breather for a new song wasn't in their agenda. Though they do dish out some forethought with finger tapped leads, and also this occasional characteristic technique of holding a note, manipulating the whammy bar and giving the moment a certain eerie effect overtop.

The vocals on the demo and split shifted between growled to raspy. The delivery here is projected through different means but isn't without charm as Kleber uses this particular yell and shout—as if he's heatedly protesting, except with instrument in hand—coupled with a heavy Brazilian-Portuguese accent. The vocals are terrible by any professed technical standpoint, but I think their hateful, third-world rage is what propels them forward. His English is off, his timing is misplaced, his lines are jumbled—yet their ferocity is what gives them charge. I think if he took a lesson or two in music or English from, say, General Mines University, or whatever the local equivalent, it wouldn't have given off the same impact. It's almost as if he went in with more chip on his shoulder and attitude than honed practice. Most importantly he's able to pull off that certain type of resonation and almost become a character, where if not, the performance could have easily sent him on a one way trip to the floor with a face-plant.

"Immortal Force" is the second word in abundance, and the first if Ponce de Leon was right and I'd get to listen to this eternally. Whether it be the fast-action oriented guitar lines giving more catch than some hobby fisherman get on their best day; drumming that doesn't get to Sarcofago-like blasting, but from their own hard-hitting tendencies are in cahoots with handicap parking space makers as they hamper unsuspecting people immobile daily; vocals that could either be one pissed-off tour guide in Minas Gerais or some guy who's seen one too many violent acts in the favelas. This is all combined with a production that resonates their roughness, and still gets their crude notes through without being too muffled or hidden. You got to throw a few elbow nudges and pokes at this release. I mean, if you compare it to popular examples of thrash it can be unreasonable in certain areas, like you can easily point out its unbalanced nature. They still put some skill to composition, either by their basic but measured timing or their know-how of giving you just enough taste of a section and then switching to the next. That way when the music stops the boulder rolling, the heart-pounding experience lingers, and as a listener you may feel inclined to hit that repeat button out of wanting it all over again. This album works in different ways than other musical styles in different regions and countries. And this is up there as '80's Brazilian thrash at one of its most entertaining points.