The last Vomitous demo tape was an excellent if all too short exhibition of Suffocation-esque pounding, and that’s precisely what this is too. Pick any of the ‘ation’ bands, in fact: Immolation, Malevolent Creation, Incantation, Infestation and even Deicide-ation by the time highlight ‘Entrapped In Stench’ comes round. This band wear their influences proudly on their logo’d longsleeves.

Suffocation’s belter self-titled come back album could be said to be the closest sonic marker here. Pinch harmonics, crunching riffs and innumerable cymbal snaps are where it’s at. Now we all know this got very boring a long time ago. We also know though that when it’s done well, it’s untouchable. Vomitous do it very fucking well, and bring a clarity and directness to it that even their better competitors in this country sometimes lack.

‘Entrapped In Stench’ really stands out from this pack because of its sense of chase - the same sort of feel that Cannibal Corpses ‘Devoured By Vermin’ had. Great death metal is all about blasts, breakdowns and real songs. It’s a talent that you either have or you dont. Vomitous are showing here that they’re a band suffused with it. On the basis of this tortuosly brief demo, their album should be absolutely amazing.

There’s a great middle ground in death metal that is neither too clever, nor too pig gruntingly stupid. It’s the middle ground of great songwriting and sticking to death metal basics that Morbid Angel, Cannibal Corpse, Deicide and Suffocation made their names on. Vomitous have got it too. You’d be a fool not to pick this up.

-Ciaran Tracey ::: 29/06/09

This, going on the classic strength of that immortal Bolt Thrower debut, is far from a bad. The recent spurt of bands which have been spearheaded by the likes of Limb from Limb and Sanctum (now sadly RIP) have injected a dose of energy and plain lethality that’s often sorely lacking in what passes for the ‘modern’ Death Metal scene.

Coupled with Amebix’s resurrection and the encouraging developments in the respawning Swedish DM scene,Germany’s Instinct of Survival could hardly have chosen a better time to release their long awaited full-length on Ireland’s own Underground Movement label. Previously boasting a far more grind-orientated sound, they’ve since changed their sound towards something resembling the above style.

The ringing strokes of ‘Human?’ set the tone for ‘North of Nowhere…’ as a record that seemly seeks to accomplish two goals. On one hand, the band project a dark and pretty melancholic outlook through moments of clean guitar and expansive chord progressions, even delving into a brief acoustic track with ‘Broken’, which conjuring up the image of some punx minstrel strumming away on an ash-covered beach.

The other aspect is tracks of straight-forward aggression with some meaty riffing and heft. The likes of ‘Suffocation’ and the tail end of ‘Lifeless Bodies’ deserve particular praise in this respect, full of vitality and the requisite power to get the foot tapping.

The vocals are perhaps the most hit and miss factor on the record, neither going for the outright brutality of a consistent Death growl or being really consistant in the the gruff spoken word approach to develop any real message or authority. Hints of ‘Scum’ era Napalm Death and the obvious likes of Axegrinder mean that there’s strong variation going on in the vocal department but often a reversion to an uninspired, throaty shout leaves the riffing sounding a bit lost. One factor that can’t be criticised is the production, a proper wall of sound adding a lot of impact to the tracks.

Overall, there’s very little that’s actually wrong with ‘North of Nowhere…’, but even less again that’s outstanding about it. The album passes by, electing a decent impression on the listener, but rarely grabbing attention in any real way. Live, it may be a different story, and hardened fans of this sound will find plenty here to their liking, but casual listeners will hardly be scrambling for the play button for another fix. It’s Crust meets Death Metal, Jim, pretty much exactly as we know it.

3 / 5 - Lorcan Archer ::: 23/06/09 

The band have a list of influences as long as your arm, accurately taking in everything from Burnt By The Sun to King Crimson. The majority of the time they sound something like Ephel Duath, inasmuch as there’s about thirty ideas clanging about one after the other and little sense of flow. Locallly, they’re not entirely dissimilar to Era Vulgaris, if a bit more off the wall.

That they have ideas and are willing to use them is evident. They must learn though to rein them in, and to create songs that are more concise, distilling the best of those ideas into sections of real punch. Tracks like ‘The Cul De Sac Of Monotheism’ really do show them at their strengths, with a nice harmonic vamp leading up to a great final crescendo. This one opens well, much in the vein of the aforementioned Burnt by The Sun. So they can do it when they try.

The rest however is overlong and disconnected. The band’s kaleidoscope of influences are audible all at once, leaving a distinct tone of their own difficult to find. The vocals are left somewhat pointless within this mix. Agenda, reason and indeed the very lyrics are more or less impossible to make out. What’s the point of making music if you dont articulate what it is you’re trying to say?

It’s not bad gear. Their playing is dead on and their better ideas are very inventive. They just need to sit down, have a long and frank talk about what kind of music they really want to make, then go and do it. If the result of that conversation is what’s on this cd, then good luck to them. ‘Catch 33′ will elude them for a while yet, though. Pare it down, lads.

Ciaran Tracey ::: 29/06/09

This is a record filled with many different moods, and indeed differing extremes. Far away (for the most part) from the industrial sounds of Townsends past, there is in fact a certain eathiness to the album. Swathes of lovely clean guitar create mellow and melancholic atmospheres, with some very nice clean singing, at times reminiscent of Anathema’s Vincent Cavanagh.

Such peaceful moments later give way to disturbing screams and passionately aggressive passages. Almost like going into the Devin GhostTrain, we are on a journey here, and the fact that you have no idea what is coming next is what makes it interesting, vital, and always fresh. The female vocals of Ché Dorval give some very interesting contrasts also. Lyrical themes such as Devin’s new found sobriety, past addiction and personal revelation augment the music very well.

There is the feeling that Townsend has found a wonderful creative spark on this album; there are playful moments, moments of art-rock indulgence and wonderfully textured and sculpted guitar passages, as well as progressive, spaced out journeys through the expressive innerspace that is Townsends mind; but never does it tip into the sea of pointlessness.

Townsend knows when to make the cut, when to trim off the fat and keep the core of the music alive and unclouded by over-indulgence - you see, this is what makes the record work.

If one finds at times that this feels like a band jamming together, organically creating essential rock music like greats such as Pink Floyd or even Porcupine Tree, then that would be due to Townsends decision to source session musicians of a high-pedigree in his local Vancouver.

In particular, the drumming of former Jefferson Airplane and Powder Blues drummer Duris Maxwell, along with ambient keyboardist Dave Young brings some very interesting dimensions to this release. There is an almost analogue sound to it, with very little compression on the tracks, further accentuating the jazz rock and ambient tendencies that can be found in places to varying degrees.

It can’t be denied that this collection can be initially rather difficult; some would no doubt describe it as a frightening journey, filled with many twists and unexpected turns. However, the old adage holds true, and listening time is without doubt rewarded with increased listening pleasure. This one deserves your time.

4.5/5 - Colin Callanan ::: 25/06/09

This reissue of ‘Grátr’, their self-released demo from 2003, is a fine showcase of the skill and drive that the trio possessed from the very start, which they would move swiftly to expand upon with their two full albums. Lupis Lounge, their permanent home since 2005’s ‘Frostnacht’, have done well to focus their attention on reissuing ‘Grátr’ as calling it nothing more than a demo is a grave disservice. This is a full-blown and fully realized album in disguise.

Musically, the release lays the foundations for the two far more expansive full-lengths, but all the bones of what makes the Helrunar sound what it is are here. The pastoral nods to the likes of Dorenreich through acoustics lulls and powerful spoken word sections serve as a foil to what makes up the majority of their sound: fast and energetic Black Metal.

The tone is raw and frantic but fully melodic, occasionally even approaching the pitch and lyckantrophic fury of Ulver’s ‘Nattens Madrigal’. While Helrunar’s later works would offer a more layered and diverse sound, there’s a tendency for the songs here to offer a touch of atmospherics before going straight for the throat.

It’s refreshing and enjoyable song-writing in general, with vocalist Skald’s cheeky shout of ‘Kome On!’ midway through the rocking ‘Seelenwinter’ being perfectly placed. ‘Das Heilige Feuer’ is a particularly strong cut, the ever so simple addition of a melodic motif to the tail end of the main riff lifting it into a whole new level.

The vibe that the release conjures up is one which is suitably syvlian in its feel, but which thankfully doesn’t fall short in the intensity department. A careful use of layered backing vocals and a powerful, rich mix does the job nicely.

There’s a fine focus on the fundamentals; catchy riffs and powerful vocal delivery, and these are the honest factors that work as the backbone of the release. With a character and vibe all of its own, it has to go down as one of the most accomplished first offerings of any Black Metal band of the past decade. A well chosen stop-gap before the next album it certainly is.

3.6 / 5 -Lorcan Archer ::: 22/06/09

In no time Drudkh’s prominence far surpassed that of Roman Saenko’s primary band Hate Forest, and in spite of the limited support offered by a comparatively small label such as Supernal, and a total lack of interviews and other promotional gimmicks, the Ukrainians’ status today is such that every scrap of news causes a stir, and each new release is anticipated months in advance.

Not all has been positive in the three years since the incredible ‘Blood In Our Wells,’ however. The folk album ‘Songs Of Grief And Solitude’ and the more experimental, but less than inspiring ‘Anti-Urban’ EP suggested that Drudkh might be a band struggling to find new inspiration. Whereas each of the first four albums saw the band evolve and vary its sound considerably, one suspects that after ‘Blood…’ Roman and Thurios felt a need to reinvent themselves completely in order to keep things interesting.

Although 2007’s ‘Estrangement’ saw Drudkh return to past strengths, successfully combining all of the various elements of the first four albums, it fell just a little short of the band’s own very high standards, and couldn’t quite dispel the fears that the Ukrainians’ ability to condense, in the form of entrancing and haunting music, the beauty and the tragic history of their homeland had already peaked.

Burdened (perhaps unfairly) with the weight of this expectation, ‘Microcosmos’ begins with the short intro entitled ‘Days That Passed’, a droning and, as the name suggests, wistful piece, with a slightly folky, slightly eastern feel, that might just about have fit somewhere on Dead Can Dance’s ‘Aion’ album. The transition after little more than a minute to ‘Distant Cries Of Cranes’ is not subtle, but a rather crass change of pace; an expression of the more harsh, aggressive side of Drudkh’s nature. But then, for all of Drudkh’s capacity to spellbind, for all of the grandeur, a certain lack of finesse was always part of their sound too, albeit sparsely used.

Gradually, though, Drudkh revert to their more melancholic, more hypnotic type, with those long repetitive instrumental passages that ensnare the listener. This facet of Drudkh’s sound reminds of no other band as much as Primordial, an association which is particularly apparent in both ‘Decadence’ and ‘Ars Poetica.’ The main difference between the two is that Drudkh lack that rabble-rousing, melodramatic element so important to the Primordial sound, emphasising instead the plaintive and the sorrowful. Both bands, however, and perhaps paradoxically, always give a sense that there is hope.

What is perhaps most notable about ‘Microcosmos’ is that in spite of the move from Supernal to the somewhat higher profile Season Of Mist, the production has taken a backward step. That is not to say the sound is bad, it’s just a lot more stripped down and minimalist than on recent releases, and is unlikely to bother any but the most pernickety of sound fetishists.

Although there are similarities to ‘Estrangement’ in terms of the song writing, ‘Microcosmos’ is perhaps closer to ‘Blood In Our Wells’ than any of the band’s other releases. It doesn’t quite reach the same heights (but then how could it?), but it builds on the return to form of the last album, and assuages any fears that Drudkh might have lost its way. Sure there are one or two flaws, like the unnecessary bass part in ‘Distant Cries Of Cranes,’ but that’s just nitpicking. Fans of their previous work can invest without reservation, and for the curious this is as good a starting point as any.

4.6/5 - DBM ::: 22/06/09

“On strictly musical grounds, I’d say that about half of it is absolutely wonderful, whereas the other half of it isn’t much at all.” (2005)

White Light / White Heat-esque production values? Check.

Forest-flattening, tunnel-vision’d tub-thumping? Check.

Channeling a genuinely insular, hermetic mood thicker than old custard? Check.

Wryly obscure electronics inspired by Albion’s headiest wordsmith? Check. (Cool!)

A “fuck you” desire for constant evolution and independence at the cost of fanbases, celebrity and basically anything outside their own four walls? Check.

A roguish, yet sensitively asexual cologne? Um…

And still something niggles me about Ulver. I can’t put my finger on it and I reckon that’s half the problem - there’s something dazzlingly absent about the post-Perdition albums and EPs. I think.

I haven’t worked out if it’s simply bad song writing hiding under experimental chin putty and an arthouse moustache, or an almost impenetrable otherness unique to whatever it is they are these days. But fuck it - I’m getting more out of trying to pick their lock than rupturing my wallet over the latest die-hard edition of another audio Xerox exercise.

In short, a trip to Lillehammer was fucking mandatory.

“An incentive to further frolic only.” (1999)

The sun was swaying, the trees were shining - all (vain) hopes of some black metal tourism were brilliantly razed to the ground by a seemingly out of the blue Norwegian heat wave, rising zephyrs, scantily clad Scandinavians and a closed-down town. Cool and the fucking gang. And so it went with the audio-intake. Predictably, there wasn’t a hint of metal in earshot for the whole night. Who would have thunk it?

Hands grabbed and eyes gawked at cool-as black and gold t shirts, black wax housed in Norwegian wood and a book of early demos with the old logo walked. Perfect wares - old, new and hording fans all catered for. Not many folks rushing for the smellys, though.

“Minions on the Jester boards think that, by actually paying a slant for our pieces, they are the sole supporters of our excessive lifestyle with its glorious mansions, fancy cars and filthy habits. They really have no idea.” (2005)

I’d heard Ulver wanted to ‘shock’ the audience, and that they did in their usually unpredictable way. A suitably leftfield guestlist of Lars Pedersen (When: drums), Daniel O’Sullivan (Guapo: guitars / bass / some piano), Ole Aleksander Halstensgard (Paperboys: turntables) and Pamelia Kurstin (cigarettes / angelic filth / heart strings / theremin) accompanied the wolves’ gather.

As a lingering note of apology left the screens, stunningly well chosen / synchronized Nazi imagery, apparently impossible film reels of concentration camps cut with Third Reich top trumps, flickered behind the set-opener of an elongated “Little Blue Bird”. From then on it was Ulver’s game.

“In a sense what we do is actually kinda slapstick.” (2005)

Though the set leaned heavily on newer tunes, there were a few bizarre inclusions in the form of “A Memorable Fancy: Plates 16-17″ and an ethereal reckoning of “Porn Piece, or the Scars of Cold Kisses”; but the itinerary wasn’t really the point. 

Heaving, organic instrumental backdrops threw the fingers up at their rather plastic studio counterparts (does Ulver’s more modern production not rank amongst the worst in recorded history?) and there was a jubilant nimbleness previously obscured by armchair listening.  This band owes it to their fans to play live.

“This band is not a social project.” (2005)

An extremely nervous looking Garm was on jaw-dropping form once he found the balls to push himself to the fore.  Honestly, the guy has one of the best throats around (stop it…) and, sans studio, he still holds it (the odd stench-ridden, well-matured croon aside).

Brendan Perry is probably the closest thing I’ve come across in terms of channeling that exacting emotional weight through pitch-perfect delivery, and the Dead Can Dance reformation gig in Dublin a few years back is a good reference point for this one.  Watching wavering genius bloom over the course of a too-short set is a frustratingly spell-binding experience.  If you were there, you know.  If not, I can‘t really do more to describe it.  Sorry.

“We are as unknown to you as we always were.” (1999)

But apart from the man himself, it was Pamelia Kurstin who stole it for me.  Her weeping vibrato on ‘Shadows Of The Sun’ is nothing short of stunning and she was given a bit more room to shake her money-maker on stage.  Pure skin-twitching sorrow. 

Her solo set in Glasgow a few years back had me on my fucking knees (for purely musical reasons you understand…) and this was no different.  Without wanting to get dickish, the girl beside me was in tears almost every time she flicked her fingers.  (Oestrogen-crazed lunatic.)

“Sometimes, but not often mind you, we’re bigger geeks than our audience.” (2005)

It was a motley crew outside of those two.  O’Sullivan kept himself in check (thank God) but didn’t really tear anything up. Pedersen looked like a Spinal Tap extra and the soundman clearly had a career in cover-based book judging - the mix was all hard rock drum-thunder and stadium fist-pumping.

But the fact that this was never rectified makes me wonder if it was deliberate - a quick fix of energy for the attentively seated, with myriad errors skulking behind a distractingly pounding percussive veil. One thing, though - if you’re going to push a musician to the fore, make sure he deserves it. Sloppy drumming and elastic time-keeping are all-too obvious oceans apart.

The remainder of the cast cut strange figures, by turns jumping around like a Ricardo Villalobos / Louis Antoine Jullien hybrid or becoming stage presence antimatter, boiler suits and grave digging apathy a-go-go.  But they can’t be blamed.  15 years locked inside will do that to you.

The desire to keep the audience at a distance was a recurring theme, not limited to the percussion, seated venue or zero stage-craic. The inclusion of a cover (The Byrds’ “Everybody’s Been Burned”) was a bizarre decision for a band with such a sprawling back catalogue and diminutive stage time. A quick scan of the lyrics, however, seems to reveal a lot more about the reasons for its inclusion - the logical desire for isolation crumbling into a forced exposure doomed to failure. Nice.

The admirable, sweeping crescendo of “Let the Children Go”- replete with rolling timpani bombasts and safari backgrounds - was almost too open in its mockery; while a later attempt to replicate the grotesque (with joker in the pack “In the Red”) fell flat due to a dreadful quality issue surrounding the jazz samples and their overlays. Intentional ineptitude or just the jitters? A hard one to call.

But persecution is a bit pointless given the nature of the event, especially if you believe such a lack of subtlety is deliberate (see: Inside, Blood).  That the set flowed well wasn’t in doubt, despite the inclusion of one or two tracks that are borderline album filler (”Rock Massif”, “Not Saved”).  The audience was always expecting something of the other, and certainly wouldn’t have picked most of it.

This though is painting a misleadingly bleak picture.  Kurstin’s extended theremin solos on “Funebre” and “Like Music”, alongside Rygg’s aforementioned celestial vocals, took every subsequent note a little past the actual, a little further ‘out’; the opportunity to really shock and awe was tangibly close, though sadly never quite taken. Almost exactly 60 minutes? Low key, dark and tragic indeed.

“These endeavours were written as stepping stones rather than conclusions.” (1999)

After much hair scratching and wine swallowing, I’ve decided that most of this is irrelevant. Ulver have played live.  Everyone was equally elated and disappointed afterwards.  There ends the chapter.  Ulver are playing live again this summer (festivals, no less!).  Here begins the next, retrospectively disappointing, chapter. 

But it would be cool to see them again, despite the hugely flawed magic of their seemingly one-off Lillehammer gig.  Here’s hoping for some more Blake material and a blast beat or two next time, but I reckon the show’s stuck on repeat for a while given the energy-sucking undertow that was only physically evident when they came out for their cheesily thespian final bow.

It was the best of times (Garm’s amplified clicking lighter and fizzy ring-pulling hilariously pissing over any solemnity), it was the blurst of times (no “Proverbs Of Hell”?! Tsk tsk, Christophorus…) and I’m glad to have caught it.  Do the same if you can and expect less than zero.  You’ll be handsomely and harrowingly rewarded.

“It is hard. We know. Very advanced. Very narcissistic. A bona fide blow in the head. Lights out.” (2005)

- Review by Chris Storey ::: 16/06/09

Their name at home remains unmentioned outside the usual cabal of underground enthusiasts, but their glad exile into this most reclusive of underground sub-genres is nothing unusual considering their style. Beginning with last year’s excellent split with a similar entity in our scene, Rebirth of Nefast, they now seem to have found a home with Debumur Morti productions, and have ceased  their quiet pilgrimage from label to label in order to deliver this, their first full-length. 

With the departure of long-time vocalist Vordr prior to recording, the draughting of Rebirth of Nefast’s Wann to fill the slot appears to have gone down without a hitch. That vocal talent suggested on R.O.N.’s excellent ‘Only Death’ demo back in 2006 has now been afforded a full and powerful production, the clarity of which alone elevates this effort well above the wrathful but all too often anemic output of their European peers. ‘Black Illumination’ offers no great departure from the band’s past material, save for a seeming desire to add an ever more encompassing darkness to their sound. 

The gasping, choked emissions of the vocals are a highlight throughout, melding easily into the cold and constant roar of the guitars. The impression is one of a band totally at ease with the limited dynamics they use in their songs, hammering out the progressions with determination and confidence. The simple dynamics of decaying screams work effectively alongside a cacophony of angular, cold guitar riffs and drumming which propels the songs into different caverns of sound as the songs progress. There’s a genuinely malignant vibe here which speaks of nightmares and destined decay; an atmosphere being properly attained. Fans of Ofermod’s excellent ‘Mysterión tés Anomias’ will find things to their taste here. 

That adherence to the principal of a certain sound is harldy broken throughout the whole album, but with repeat listens, it’s clear that a strong sense of, if not melody, then certainly memorable rythems lie underneath the tracks. Despite first resembling 40 minutes of speeding uniformity, many snatches of motifs and melody, especially in opener ‘A Grail of Smouldering Ash’ are subtley supported by a very unobtrusive use of keyboards and ambient sampling, which is well worked around the jagged riffs and insistent percussion. That dark, monastic feel is retained despite the overall harsh attack, with the calculated yet bloody-minded guitar occasionally dropping into sections of ringing chords that just spell out contempt for the listener, before ripping away again. 

The elements that make up the album mean that it’s not one that you’re ever going to be reaching for with a metal party in full swing. It’s very competent, almost uncaring in it’s sticking to the successful formula. The real question is if, having duly shown that this style is one they have conquered, will the expansive dynamics hinted at on the closing title track be a route they choose to go down. That track finally lets up the assault, stepping back and breathing in the aura of despair they’ve been whipping at you for most of the album, before ending with one of the strongest riffing sections of the album. Myrkr have proven their skill at their chosen craft, and wherever they choose to go from here, ‘Black Illumination’ will serve as a fine monolith to their dedication to this particular black art. 

4.0 / 5 - Lorcan Archer ::: 06/06/09 

This roughly recorded demo is very much akin to the aforementioned - specifically their ‘Through The Cracks Of The Earth’ offering. It shows the same strong drumming, a smiliar occasional use of electronic noises, and grim clean guitars here and there as well. In fact, one could go so far as to say they’ve picked up the mantle of Thorns around the time of their ‘Underneath The Universe’ mini-masterpiece from some years back. It’s a powerful mix of old and new.

Though these long songs (10min, 8min, 10min) often veer off in slightly unnecessary directions, the band are ususally smart enough to lock it down when focus is needed. In that respect they’re pummelling, with double bass drumming avalanching down for the harder sections. In fact the shoddy productions helps this, and sounds very much as though they’re playing and recording it live. Maybe they arent. If they are though, this is serious stuff.

The other interesting things here are the breakbeats. Used well, these are an awesome addition to most extreme metal. The beauty of it is that they’re rare, which makes tracks like ‘Mallacht Ár Máthair’ bollock bustingly heavy when they tumble over themselves out of nowhere. That track is another interesting mix, by the way. It’s as if they’ve absorbed a little of Primordial’s grandeur before casting it, and tradition, to the wind and diving straight into slithery, knife-like half beats.

There is a lot of potential in this. They need to rein in the songwriting, granted, and the vocals could be a lot stronger. Instrumentally they’ve got ideas, and they know how to use them. It’s like a weird cross between The State Pathologist Dr John Harbison and Shadow Season, for anyone who remembers either band - and that’s a pretty intriguing thought. It will be most interesting to chart these critters’ development.

-Ciaran Tracey ::: 09/06/09

Their latest, ‘Eight Ways’, is not only an album that needs to be heard. It’s an album that screams to be heard, demands it, with every note of its being. I’m usually confident in MI’s ability to sum up the albums that are great and that are worthy. This is one of the few that leaves me grasping for an adequate response to what is really, honestly, a cut far above even their own previous best.

Its every song is a masterclass in passion, conviction and the type of self belief it takes to make music that you as a band want to make, and to hell with everyone else. That’s why the softer tracks here are even more poignant than before, and the harder ones harder.

They had already matured to a level most bands are simply too blinkered and boxed in, usually by themselves, to even contemplate. That was ‘Desiderata’, which was an awesome thing. This one is even better, in fact better by far in its variety and its absolutely magisterial songwriting.

It’s their most direct. Their most lyrical, their most heartfelt and their most driving. The regal, wounded and elegaic ‘Armour’ throbs with hurt, and transcends almost any track in their discography to date, with the power of its honesty shaming a genre that all too frequently plays hard to no avail.

‘Resolution’ shows just that: a brilliant, firebrand piece of oratory, with Agnete Kirkevaag setting out once again her stall, in case you didnt hear the first time she took the head off your shoulders. ‘Life, Lust & Liberty’ and ‘The Flesh, The Blood And The Man’ are two more highlights, with her silk and steel vocal approaches giving way to the kind of singing firepower that cant be kept down. There’s a line in here about ‘the little things / like this need to sing’. That’s the crux of it. This is music by people who have a reason and a need to make music. It’s the antithesis of shitty, conveyor belt, money metal in all of its pitiful guises.

There was debate recently on the forums about what constituted a 5/5 album in MI’s long and largely accurate overview of underground metal . If you’re in any doubt whatsoever, this is what it sounds like. Detailed and delicate, thumping and throrough, it’s an album that’s a constant wellspring of ideas and invention, and most important of all, fantastic, memorable songs.

There simply arent enough bands like Madder Mortem. From the promise of the ‘Misty Sleep’ demo, through Misanthropy’s ‘Mercury’, to ‘Desiderata’ where they finally emerged from their chrysalis, it only takes you to hear the utter grunt and shuffle of ‘A Different Kind of Hell’ to be convinced this is an album of music made by people who mean it. Buy it, borrow it, beg for it, but at the very least own this album. No serious collection is complete without it - and it’ll serve as a yardstick for whatever you buy after it. Mark me.

Buy it, be amazed, and blush for the shite you currently call good.

5/5 - Ciaran Tracey ::: 08/06/09