After his shock departure from UK thrash gods Sabbat, Martin Walkyier set up his stall at the carnival bizarre with Skyclad. Another truly brilliant and mesmerising thrash act of medieval stature and with the wise nature of an ancient owl, essential not only for Walkyier's demonic growls but those amazing structures, filtering through a menagerie of instruments from flutes to violins, all the while encased within a speedy, sinister cacophony of thrash. Way ahead of its time, very British, oaken and majestic, and every bit as poetic. All one needs is a roaring woodland fire and an imagination, because Skyclad is every bit as fantastic and elven as Sabbat, casting grim spells and spinning a myriad of yarns. Not once falling for cliche, this is the perfect background to Tolkien's march of orcs. This is pure molten metal but it exists beyond the dreams (and nightmares) of a majority of other bands, so gifted is it its medieval madness. 'The Sky Beneath My Feet elevates Walyier as a songwriter, placing him in his own magical realm, untouched as those guitars speed around him like Gothic doves. 'Our Dying island' and the spectral 'Mongleam And Meadowsweet' are like nothing I've ever heard before, so intricate and interwoven by melody and fantasy, one hardly gets time to drawn breath before they are enveloped by another gleaming forest glade or entangled in the crawling roots of a vampyric tree. I still prefer the first two Sabbat records, but Skyclad and Sabbat are two very different bands, and to them, annually we must forever offer a gift in worship.
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