Tag Archives: smiling

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VARG, Wolfskult (2011, NoiseArt)

The skull:
“Wolfskult” is German for “wolf skullet” and you can see here a majestic specimen of this incredibly rare coif. Typically, the wolves emerge from the back of a balding man’s head but here they are attached to a literal skull, for added authenticity. The wolves are being blown up somewhat by a black wind, I assume, as they would ordinarily hang down in the back. This somewhat spoils the effect of the “Austrian passport” as the doo is sometimes called, but I will admit that it does make for a striking composition. The skull, as you can imagine, is most pleased with his snarling wolvenlocks, and is probably off to pick up chicks. What woman could say no?

The music:
I was expecting black metal, that being the typical style of bands named after wolves (especially in Swedish), but actually this is some kind of pagan death metal. Unlike, say, Ensiferum, however, Varg are actually a death metal band, and not some trumped-up power metal band with a growler. I’m reminded more of turn-of-the-century Hypocrisy than anything else, with maybe a hint of Amon Amarth in the cheesier moments. There are no nasal clean vocals attempting to summon the spirit of the meadhall; there are no flutes or bagpipes, no folk. And unlike Turisas, Varg does not wear comical barbarian furs. But, exactly like Turisas, they paint their bodies in red and black stripes (and no doubt causing Glenn Tipton to wonder why he didn’t think of it.) I’m not about to research this, but I assume there’s some quasi-historical theme at work here, a la Braveheart, although really, it’s a stupid practice no matter the provenance. I generally find the whole “pagan” scene to be ridiculous and lame, but Varg are at least better than most of their pipe-tooting, horn-hoisting, jig-dancing cohort, and if painting yourself like a circus tent and paling around with Eluveitie is what you have to do to make a buck in this business, well, there are worse ways to debase yourself — you could always play in Trollfest.
— Friar Johnsen

SKULL300

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RIGOR MORTIS, Rigor Mortis (1988, Capitol)

The skull:
The smashed out eyes make this a particularly distinctive skull, and that feature is also, amazingly, unique in the Skullection. Here at Skull HQ, we’ve seen skulls that have suffered all kinds of abuse, but this is the first and only example of occular disembonement. But while that negative space is what draws the eye (so to speak), it’s the maniacal grin that really seals the deal. This skull (who doesn’t seem to have a name, although I spent a fair amount of time looking) just doesn’t give a fuck that he’s got no distinct eye sockets, and he’s even proud to hover there with the mace that did it. The axe and bone are bonus accoutrements that nevertheless can’t compete with this skull’s luxurious mane. “I’m so fucking bad, they put me in the logo, too. Twice.” While a nice, real skull, staged and photographed, might have made a better 300th skull, those are shockingly hard to come by, and as illustrated BDSes go, this Rigor Mortis cover is about as awesome as they come.

The music:
A shocking number of thrash bands managed to land major label deals between 87 and 90, but few were as mediocre as Rigor Mortis. Meliah Rage comes close, maybe, and even they had a couple truly excellent songs. Rigor Mortis were weirdly lightweight, lacking the depth and punch of a Testament, while being sillier even than Exodus at their goofiest. Their riffing and songwriting, as with most Texas thrash bands, were thoroughly pedestrian for the times, and the anemic production didn’t do them any favors. Finally, they were saddled with a vocalist who lacked any unique character and whose lyrics were stupid (and not funny, which is the one possible salvation of stupid lyrics). They were far from the worst thrash band on the scene in 1987, but there were probably scores of bands more deserving of the opportunity afforded Rigor Mortis (who of course completely squandered it and were dropped in a couple years). Nevertheless, they’re a band that’s developed something of a cult reputation, perhaps due to the rarity of the album on compact disc. Their subsequent EP and full length can be had fairly readily, but the debut on Capitol commands a rather stupid price. You could spend $100 for this middling effort, or you could save yourself at least twenty bucks and pick up the infinitely superior Wargasm debut, which is similar to Rigor Mortis in many ways but always much, much better.
— Friar Johnsen

SKULL293

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GRINNING DEATH’S HEAD, No Afterlife (2009, Youth Attack)

The skull:
I picture the artist commissioned to illustrate this album spending about five minutes thinking, “How am I going depict ‘No Afterlife’? Hmm,” before saying, “Fuck it. I’m just gonna do the band name.” Boom. Done. Although truthfully, this is a pretty awesome grinning death’s head. He clearly took a serious beating, and he’s still smiling. It all started with some asshole yelling, “Oh yeah? Well how’s about I wipe that smile offa your face for ya?” and it ended with the same asshole walking away highly frustrated.

The music:
This is the absolute worst sort of no-fi black metal bullshit. It sounds like the band set up at the bottom of a stairwell while one of their toadies operated the boombox “mobile recording studio” at the top. It’s basically impossible to tell what anyone is doing here, and I can’t imagine what this band was hoping to accomplish. I mean, maybe this sort of thing was shocking or transgressive or whatever in 1992, but in 2009? For fuck’s sake. Grinning Death’s Head used a big dumb skull for their subsequent demo as well (it’s a skull in a chalice!), but no way in hell are any of us at Skull HQ going to listen to this band ever again, for any reason.
— Friar Johnsen

SKULL291

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BLACKHORNED, A Night at the Graves (2010, self-released)

The skull:
It’s well known that The Council frowns on skulls in possession of other bones, which is why skeletons are absolutely forbidden from The Skullection. But here we have an impish skull grinning madly and surrounded by bones that are clearly not a part of his own anatomy. He’s just a cheeky joker, popping out of a midden of human remains, probably to surprise some of his skull buddies, whom I imagine hovering somewhere out of frame. Or maybe this skull romps in piles of bone as a child plays in a heap of raked leaves or drifted snow. He’s just having a laugh, kicking back on a night at the graves, which is one of the few entertainment options available to a free-spirited and underemployed skull these days.

The music:
A Night at the Graves collects some rehearsal room demos and some live tracks, and was allegedly sold only at shows on CDR, although I’ve seen it listed at reasonable prices by a few mailorder vendors, so it can’t be that rare. Blackhorned play, as you’d probably expect, sleazy death/thrash with some D-beat leanings. Think Nocturnal Breed, but not as fast. I find this kind of music fairly worthless, but then again, it’s lifestyle metal, made for people who want to cultivate a very specific aesthetic and mystique. Somehow in life, a guy decides he’s gonna start wearing a black denim vest and a bullet belt and aviator glasses and spiked bracers (at least on special occasions). He decides that his music will be cult, his beer cheap, and his showers irregular. He starts off easy, maybe with some Aura Noir and Desaster and two or three bands that start with “Dis-“. And before you know it, he’s got a shrine full of Blackhorned rehearsal demos and a landlord threatening him with eviction. It happens all the time, and there’s nothing any of us can do to stop it.
— Friar Johnsen

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ASPID, Manqueta (1991, demo)

The skull:
“What? Yeah, I’m a little cracked up in the back, but I think that looks kind of cool anyway, and hey, check out these pearly whites! You don’t see a lot of skulls with a full set of gleaming choppers like these, do you, baby? Hey, where are you going? Why you gotta be leaving? That’s okay, though, cause I like the view. Oh yeah, you know I got eyes, or something. And they like what they see baby, so why don’t you back that thing up? Come on, baby, bring it on back to Skully!”

The music:
There have been a lot of Aspids, but this isn’t the best one. The best Aspid were a Russian tech thrash band who released the excellent Extravasation album in 1993. But this Aspid, the Spanish one, at least started out okay. (For the record, “aspid” is another name for the European viper.) Manqueta is reasonably good speed metal, something of a cross between Agent Steel and early Arakain. Good riffing and solid, high pitched vocals (with lyrics in Spanish.) The sound and the style scream 1986, but as this demo came out in 1991, Aspid were clearly a little behind the times. Sadly, they would later get with the times by dumbing down and moving in a groove metal direction. But for a little while in the early 90s, Aspid were a pretty cool band, and speed metal afficianados would do well to track this one down for their collections.
— Friar Johnsen

SKULL92

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PENDULUM, Skull Fuck  (1989, Euthanasia)

The skull:
Oh my. This is one of the greatest skulls we have ever curated in the Big Dumb Skullection. While we disqualify any cover featuring multiple skulls, this one skirts around that rule by featuring a skull that is simply made of smaller skulls…it’s just part of its genetic makeup, it can’t help it. And it’s in grave danger of losing all those little skulls, with that half-moon blade swinging pendulum-style right into the skull’s forehead, spraying blood and tiny skulls everywhere. And the skull looks immensely happy about this! Perhaps the blade is firing neurons in the skull-brain that produce a feeling of total elation or something. Two hooded figures flank the scene, looking on as if this was some sort of medieval sporting event. We believe these two are ancestors of a couple members of the Council of the Skull. This cover is almost too good to be believed.

The music:
This long-dead Texas band are aiming for a kind of wiry, buzzing technical speed metal sort of thing, probably influenced in part by fellow Texans Watchtower, who were in their prime the year Pendulum released this 4-song EP. It’s interesting music, possibly fusion-influenced, but the vocals are horrible. The vocalist is what your mom means when she says “How can you listen to all that yelling?” And this guy isn’t even doing a threatening sort of yell; he sounds like a petulant child who just discovered D.R.I. and is trying his best to whine like Kurt Brecht but ends up sounding like an entirely powerless and way less squeaky Jason McMaster (ex-Watchtower).  You have to admire Pendulum’s forward-thinking approach, but the vocals kill it, and the arrangements are a total mess too, so unless later demos are better, it would seem their finest contribution to metal is that amazing cover artwork.
— Friar Wagner

 

SKULL77

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BRUTISH CREATION, Death Pursues Us (2006, Macabre Mastermind)

The skull:
Big, dumb, and framed by two very terrible fonts. I read an article recently which suggested the overbite that pretty much everyone has (meaning, when you close your mouth all the way, your lower teeth nestle behind your upper teeth in the front) is a relatively recent phenomenon, caused (it is hypothesized) by the use of utensils. This guy here appears to lack this overbite, so perhaps this skull predates the widespread adoption of utensils? If the skull is Death himself, then I guess that would make sense. Death don’t need no fork.

The music:
Bob Egler is Brutish Creation, and Bob Egler is not very good at music. Obviously recorded in Bob’s bedroom, featuring a cheap drum machine and beats no actual drummer could (or would) play, Death Pursues Us is a grim slab of thrashy death metal (or deathy thrash metal: take your pick) that reminds me distantly of early Sepultura, although I can’t say exactly why. It’s certainly not the riffing, or the songwriting, or the vocals (which Bob belts out charmlessly), but I guess maybe the guitar tone sorta reminds me of the Brazilians? Who knows. This demo-level recording is a tough listen, and while Bob’s produced a few more “albums” since this, I have no interest whatsoever in knowing if he got any better.
— Friar Johnsen