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SOPHICIDE, Perdition of the Sublime (2012, Willowtip)

The skull:
Perdition of the Sublime is perfect death metalese, a jury-rigged assembly of college entrance-exam test words strung together to form some semblance of a meaning, even if no one would ever use them in that order in a sentence. A bonus layer of antichristian mockery is included here, as “perdition” has a specific theological meaning that lends the objective “sublime” an almost oxymoronic air. But, no matter how to interpret the pretentious title, you’re unlikely to require a moon, a skull, or a tree. But once you’ve relegated the sublime to perdition, you have to make do with the base materials left behind, and in that case, I suppose Sophicide have done the best they could. Still, is brown the only non-sublime color? Must fucking be.

The music:
Sophicide sail the same sonic seas as Spawn of Possession or Soreption, and if Sophicide aren’t quite as good as either of those bands, they’re still an excellent technical death metal outfit, making music that delivers on both brutality and sophistication. For my tastes, this is a bit blastier than is ideal, but generally speaking, Sophicide aren’t tripping over themselves to out-evil the next band, while still presenting their heaviest elements without sounding like they’re trying too hard (a la Son of Aurelius’s first record), and the widdly instrumental bits are genuinely impressive. Naturally, songcraft is more or less ignored here, and the flow from riff to riff sounds random as much as anything, but rare are the moments where I feel the band just crammed two riffs together for lack of a better idea. The lead work is fairly astounding, too, even if it comes off sometimes as a bit TOO composed (I don’t require all-out-jazz in my lead guitar, but I prefer when leads at least give the impression of a player following his muse in the moment.) All in all, this is an excellent album, and certainly one of the best I’ve listened to for this project in the past year. Not just good for a Big Dumb Skull, this is honestly excelent and should be required listening for tech death enthusiasts.
— Friar Johnsen

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PRIMEVAL REALM, Primordial Light (2014, Pure Steel)

The skull:
Although the ultimate example of a skull-hill has been deemed insufficiently stupid to qualify for admission to the Skullection, this new work from Pennsylvania’s Primeval Realm more than bridges the gap. Golgatha, the hill on which Jesus was supposedly crucified, was translated to mean “place of the skull,” and here we have the most literal possible interpretation of that translation, even if it seems weird to pair such obvious Christian imagery with language (Primeval, Primordial) that is clearly meant to suggest a far earlier time than a mere 2000 years ago. But, whatever! Who are we to poo-poo so fine a skull hill as this? The poor skull looks like those crosses are giving him the damndest headache, and I especially appreciate that even as a metaphor made real, this skull looks beat-up and toothless. I guess it’s tough work propping up the Calvariæ Locus.

The music:
Obsessed-style doom is for sure not a favorite of mine, but Primordial Realm unquestionably do this style absolutely as well as it could possibly be done. The songwriting is top notch, with plenty of trad-metal hooks to temper the obligatory (if leaden) Sabbath nods, and a totally crushing production. I can’t say I’m entitely sold on guitarist/mastermind Joe Potash’s vocals, which have a kind of baritone, everyman temper to them, but his melodies are good enough to make up for his lackluster tone. Brian Leahy’s thick, humming Hammond lines easily fill the space sometimes too keenly-felt in single guitar bands, though he rarely steps out front. At their best, Primeval Realm channel early 90s Trouble, minus Eric Wagner (of course) and the signature twin-axe stylings of Chicago’s finest, and even a pale imitation (which Primeval Realm are not) of that band’s finest era can yield some impressive tunes. Of course, this is still doom metal, so by the end of the album, if you’re at all like me, you’ll be ready for it to stop, but believe me, as someone who is compelled to listen to a lot of mediocre doom metal, when you’re not scrambling to hit “stop” midway through the first tune, you’re doing great.
— Friar Johnsen

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E-FORCE, The Curse…  (2014, Mausoleum)

The skull:
Hubba hubba! Here we have a scene depicting the goings on at some German strip club, around 5 AM, in which twins Grunhilde and Brunhilde get all kindsa cray-cray together after a long night of dancing. The wall of the club where the twins strut their hot stuff is painted to depict a skull upon a moon-like planetary surface. The skull looks on, impossibly frustrated with the scene before him. He looks on sternly, and jealously, thinking: “God damn it, I forgot to bring paper money. These girls aren’t gonna give me the time of day.” This is the curse of the skull.

The music:
It’s impossible to listen to E-Force without putting them in the context of the Voivod timeline. The band’s main selling point, of course, is that bassist/vocalist Eric Forrest filled some gigantic shoes when he joined Voivod in the mid ’90s, fulfilling both the vocal (Snake) and bass (Blacky) duties, replacing those who are impossible to replace. Negatron is a rare low ebb in the band’s discography (although it certainly has its moments), while Phobos found the reinvented Voivod finding their feet. Forrest sounded for-real on Phobos, not forced and out-of-place as he did on Negatron. And that was it for Forrest-era Voivod. While the guy never seemed entirely integrated as a Voivod member, he got close and performed well enough, especially in the live setting where the band remained at the top of their game. And let’s face it: the cards were stacked against him from the start. Voivod reunited with Snake, and eventually with Blacky too, and Forrest wasted no time forming this band. E-Force was first based in Quebec, but when Forrest moved to France, the membership changed accordingly. And here comes the sad truth: E-Force is not a great band and The Curse…, their third, is not a great album. Forrest’s vocals are raspy, aggressive modern thrash shouts, akin to a metalcore kid trying to sound like latter-day Darren Travis (Sadus), and the chunky riffs are the same faceless things we’ve heard played over and over again in countless other modern thrash bands, or by old-school bands who now sound thicker and chunkier and appeal to the young’uns who weren’t even born when Pleasure to Kill and Infernal Overkill were released. There’s energy in abundance here, and they’re all technically good players. Glen Drover even pops up as a guest soloist, but unless you worship the last few Destruction albums, post-Max Sepultura, and the last couple Kreator albums — and you surely could be into worse music than that, of course — then you probably don’t need to bother with this. Even a Voivod completist like myself draws the line at tangential branches of the family tree like this one. Union Made…Echobrain…E-Force…hardly mandatory stuff. [Apparently it’s not the curse of the skull we’re witnessing on the cover, but, according to the final song on the album, “The Curse of the Cunt.”]
— Friar Wagner

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SEVERE DISGRACE, Disciples of Aggression (2011, demo)

The skull:
It may look like that rat is scampering over the skull, but no, that’s not what’s happening. He’s climbing on top of the skull, mounting it, if you will, to perform a lascivious deed. In other words, this filthy rat is about to get his skull fuck on. I realize this is shocking, that you probably haven’t seen anything like this before, but if you ever find yourself on business in the European microstate where The Council gathers, you’ll encounter this sort of thing on the pay-per-view channels in basically every hotel. The heart wants what it wants; don’t judge.

The music:
It’s rethrash, and it’s Brazilian, which means it basically sounds German, although these days, only Swedes make totally German-sounding thrash anymore. Everyone else mixes in at least a little Bay Area spice, and for Severe Disgrace, that mixing generally happens in the intros and breakdowns (or “mosh parts” as I called them in my teens.) The verse and chorus will be pure Kreator worship, and then all of a sudden, we’re plunged balls deep into a mediocre Exodus song. It can be a little confusing, but really, it’s not all that bad. One thing I like about Severe Disgrace is that they appear to be operating entirely without a sense of irony, which in these benighted days of pizza thrash is really a blessing. This is thrash that sounds angry and disaffected, which is really the best kind of thrash. These aren’t the best songs, but they’re played well enough and with the right kind of vibe, and when they do hit on something special, like the genuinely sinister bridge of “Evil Possessed,” it almost makes me think there’s room enough in this world for another thrash band.
— Friar Johnsen

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OMINOS, Ominos (2011, demo)

The skull:
I could be wrong, but I believe this is the first moonskull in the Skullection. At least, I think they’re going for some kind of moon thing here, because if not that, what? Sometimes a skull is just a skull, but those white crescents have to be something, right? Is this just the reflected image of a skull gazing forlornly into a birdbath he installed in his backyard? He was so looking forward to watching black phoebes and western scrubjays frolic in the basin, but he hasn’t spotted a single bird out there yet. And his hummingbird feeder isn’t seeing any action either. He says to himself, “I thought birding would make me happy, for once…” before his thoughts dissolve to nothingness.

The music:
For some reason, I was expecting Greek style black metal, but instead this is garage-quality shithead thrash. It’s not really retro, but it’s hardly forward-looking, either. This is metal made by people with tiny music collections. Like, if the band members pooled their discs, they’d probably have most of the Metallica albums, two or three from Pantera, Burn My Eyes, Divine Intervention, and maybe something by Lamb of God. The playing is loose and messy, and the vocals are atrocious, but the main strike against Ominos is their plain inability to write songs or even single riffs worth hearing. I bet they could totally talk 20 of their friends into buying a ticket to the Devildriver show they’re playing, though. Ominos go on at 5:30pm.
— Friar Johnsen