Scene of the Crime

“…if it’s much too loud, well, we don’t care…”

Suspect Records’ rarified Scene of the Crime compilation rates a pretty high spot on the serious metal collector’s wall of treasures nowadays, and before the internet made collecting (anything) easier and an ultimately more encouraging endeavor, the chances of locating that Supreme Specimen of Holy Wax in any shape you’ve been searchin’ years or even decades for was almost as hopeless and moot as trying to jump to the moon. Some argue that such venues have diminished the thrill of the hunt. Maybe so, but as a more or less avid collector of vinyl, metal or otherwise, hands-on proof the album actually exists (or just the smell of the stupid thing) is wood enough for me.

Ever wonder what makes certain albums worth the prettiness of platinum? Not "copies sold" platinum, mind you, but shiny price tags that bring visual fear, puzzlement and disbelief onto faces of non-record collectors (and fear, puzzlement, and disbelief plus palpable disgust if that face is attached to the house-hunter in the relationship). In a compilation’s case - scarce print run, early historical relevance to a known style or particular act, hard to find cult/popular band cut, original and/or alternate recording, speck-sized record label now inexplicably considered significant, a young Justin Bateman guest bassooning somewhere, whatever – it could be all or none of these factors or even more outlandish and alien facts yet, however all it takes is one to kick a compilation’s final asking price into the triple digit stratosphere where a collector’s crosshairs spends a shit load of time locked on.

Scene of the Crime is generous with one of those derisorily great live-action jackets that with mild cheddar breath shouts metal’s early menace of rebellion, looking older than ’81 with its ‘70s-styled puffed title font, D.I.Y. daisy wheel typewritten backside, stark b&w, yet colorfully punk attitude, and obvious guitar/axe symbolism the world’s been digesting since swallowing rock n’ roll whole. It’s rebellion heartened by the logos of Sparta, Manitou, Savage, Panza Division, and Tyrant that tower with all kinds of brawn, further steeling our resolve that anything effeminate or benignly temperate will not be allowed to gunk up this thing’s grooves, and if a batch of hard rock songs is what we’re faced with, then they’ll not likely be jelly-bellied or weak-kneed. Well, that logic is the hope, anyway.

The first from the foxhole, Panza Division, is already a veteran with a ’79 single (I think), but it’s a timeline evident in their hard rock overbite that’s simultaneously tolerable and troublesome. The quartet can get away with grinning as “Blitz” flies off the handle a bit; it’s a quick in the wheels, old-style hard rocker roiled with a thick n’ fluent AC/DC/“Riff Raff” identity with a few duck-walkin’ Chuck Berry solos, and as a whole sounds more tributary than a chip off the ‘ol original songwriter’s block. A title like “The Day Delta 4 Played Mars” produces a smile even while a board-stiff (bored), stop-gap rhythm slaps theirs silly and hopefully hard enough to silence whatever uninteresting story the narrator is trying to bless us with.

As song placement luck would have it, we’re not kept waiting as what may be the disc’s most infectious song comes quickly in Manitou’s same-named opus, half-spooked with lowlight keyboards, tribally-off percussion, and a creamy upper tenor slowly spinning a tale that becomes more incandescent as the rhythm section fills in with gradually heavier, more organic waters. Following this river will lead to a source much like U.K. (Jersey’s) Legend and its tributaries “Why Don’t You Kill Me” and “Choices”. Cow belling the lp home is their more straightforward “Overlord”, a slightly above-average showcaser of the band’s more upbeat brainpower.

The song and band that requires the least introduction is “Let It Loose”, a rambunctious one that’s sort of a freak of speed metal’s pre-evolution that would become Savage’s trademark crowd pleaser, while an even more hectic version headlines their ’83 debut full-length, Loose n’ Lethal. More world status comes its way when some guy named Lars Ulrich finds this disc somewhere in London and jams his turntable with it for his Metallica mates, who in turn famously cover it for their Hit the Lights demo. Don’t know if Savage made some dough off the acknowledgement, but “Dirty Money” brings home bacon that, while needing more resourceful brainpan simmer time to market it as gourmet, is crisper side up and easily digestible.

Sparta’s “Lords of Time” indeed lords over the 6+ minutes that ends side one. It apparently counts as their second contribution to the disc as well since it's actually the only tune that appears. This particular song, however, is the five-piece’s non-single original that’s responsible for a lot of the loot this album gets. Unfortunately, with its majority mid-pace and steady stream of pretty standard rhythms, “Lords of Time” is simply missing more interesting creative invention - y'know, whatever's necessary for a song to be enchanting enough for listeners to hit that rewind button an extra time or three. Its eye is on the prize with what’s here, but doesn’t have the heat vision to set it ablaze.

Like Sparta and Manitou but with greater flattery, Tyrant unsurprisingly favor the classic grudge of Priest, “Day of the Knight” and “Sanctuary” mixing light and dark not at all unlike “Beyond the Realms of Death”, dungeon-wet despair catching glimpses of passing hope that carriages a quasi-cryptic vibe which incidentally is the same brew Sparta’s time lord needs to go back and consume.

Selection-wise, while probably not a dream of the compilation world, nor its 2013-inflated bang-fer-buck, Scene of the Crime has capable winners to keep things pleasurably interesting. Be unafraid to display this on yer wall in plain sight of household penny pinchers who’d rather spend it on stupid stuff like food and electricity and shelter. As well, safeguard your Debut No. 1, Kent Rocks, Metal Massacre original first pressing, Roksnax, Roxcalibur, and anything else lining that same wall you hold dear, ‘cos as you explain why a black sphere with some ultra-obscure bands a whole fifteen people in the galaxy have any inkling about, plus some pre-debut Savage, is worthy of both your car insurance payments, remember that this could be the crime scene where this straw broke your back. Hell, you may even get that divorce you've been praying for.

My ex actually encouraged my collecting.

“…I ignore your call, I ignore you all…”