Paradise Lost - Gothic (1991)

Slow-motion UK doom from some rusted dungeon, although the band would cast aside their shackles eventually become a more polished, and highly successful dark rock act, although I always preferred this kind of torturous rumblings.
‘Gothic’, alongside the early work of Cathedral, remains as a heavy slab of suffocating metal, Nick Holmes vocals are merely sludgy yawns, the music an almost dreary, tuneless drone, painting bleak pictures of black forests and wet soil before slipping into the darkness like some cumbersome serpent.
Smell the damp and forever dwell in the misery that is prime British doom metal.
7/10

Sepultura - Arise (1991)

My favourite Sepultura record, although the follow-up ‘Chaos A.D.’ and mighty ‘Roots’ run it pretty close, but ‘Arise’ is pure death metal the Brazilian way, fast, furious, tribal and angry, but done with the pile-driving melody and heavyweight arrogance which ‘Beneath The Remains’ sadly lacked. Igor is full throttle on the drums, proving to be the ultimate contender for Dave Lombardo’s lofty throne in Slayer, but on ‘Arise’ his thuddings take on a new dimension, giving the record a gloomy backbeat as the riffs pile into the ears like corpses spilling from mass graves.
Title cut ‘Arise’ matches Slayer in its building aggression and sinister atmospheres, whilst ‘Dead Embryonic Cells’ and ‘Altered State’ reduce buildings to ash and instantly become death metal classics.
Sepultura certainly have their own sound, Cavalera’s hoarse vocals not merely just some insane ranting, but instead harsh demonstrations and violent cries.
For many, ‘Arise’ was the band’s very own ‘Reign In Blood’, and although I wouldn’t compare the two records at all, ‘Arise’ is certainly worthy of living in the shadow of Slayer’s masterpiece.
8.5/10

Alice In Chains - Facelift (1990)

Dark and moody ‘grunge’ metal, the other irritating heavy scene to spawn from metal’s arse. At times clever, sometimes stoned, often drowning in that Sub-Pop sludge bucket of mess, ‘Facelift’ is unclean, yet catchy in its mumblings, Layne Stayley the new voice on the block, kicking around with Nirvana, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam and the likes as rock takes on a bigger head, a refreshing twist that resigns the ‘80s glam and dark metal days to its grave. Suddenly, bands are striding in their droves from Seattle, alternative metal is on the up, and despite the scene becoming saturated in imitators and no-hopers, a select few emerged from the cesspit, ‘Facelift’ being one of those murky, obscure and dense sounding offerings, which, when standing alone remains a classy if sluggish journey, but with Seattle at the time spawning more offspring by the week, bands such as Alice In Chains sprung up the corporate ladder to fame and fortune, and on cuts such as ‘Man In The Box’ you can see why, although such a record is a little too sleepy for continuous play.

7/10

Morbid Angel - Altars Of Madness (1989)

Quality Floridian death metal, but not in the same vain as much of the other same-sounding American sludge, these guys instead opting for bombastic yet equally hellish noise, barking courtesy of one of my favourite death vocalists, David Vincent.
What Morbid Angel offer which many other bands of this ilk don’t is difficult to pin-down but the twisted riffs and stormy vocals add a kind of wicked and psychotic atmosphere, even if the titles are rather cheesy, ‘Chapel Of Ghouls’, ‘Maze Of Torment’, etc, etc, but this is pure unholy cacophony, similar in vein to the debut album Deicide which also frothed in the right places, both records coming across like some billowing storm which you cannot help but be caught up in.
Although this was the follow-up to the band’s more removed black metal opus, with Vincent on board, ‘Altars…’ hit the scene as an immensely arrogant and thrashing serpent.
8/10

Corrosion Of Conformity - Blind (1991)

The early days of this cult band were those of thrashy hardcore but in 1991 ‘Blind’ emerged like some gigantic sea beast flopping out of the water and then proceeding to devour all in its wake as metal travelled new avenues, bands such as Soundgarden making real headway, and the world ready for this kind of bruising metal.
This owes a lot to the likes of Trouble, Sabbath and Metallica, yet still is able to stamp its own authority, vocalist Karl Agell (who only appeared on this record) coming across like a wonderfully everflowing power frontman, the band grinding out their politically-strewn anthems amidst some seriously heavy grooves, putting them, for a short while in the spotlight as their hymns for the estranged rise and rise.
Strangely, it’s ‘Vote With A Bullet’, complete with Trouble-esque pounding, and featuring guitarist Pepper Keenan on vox, that shines, a glowing glimpse into what was to come, but although slightly overlong, the record rocks, owing its rifferama to Tony Iommi, some serious grooves winding their way through the wax here, ‘Damned For All Time’ booming across the horizon, and ‘Mine Are The Eyes Of God’ swaggering like Goliath.
This is a truly huge record from a criminally ignored band.
9/10

Slayer - Seasons In The Abyss (1990)

With the bowels of Hell still vomiting black smoke from the wrecking machine that was the vile ‘South Of Heaven’, the band somehow manage this time to cross the pitch, cold visions of that record with the intensity and blood-soaked abomination of ‘Reign…’, ‘Seasons…’ in turn being the last great Slayer album and the also, rather tragically, the last, up until 2006’s ‘Christ Illusion’, to feature legendary sticksman Dave Lombardo. We won’t go into why the guy departed the band, except to say that without this thunder Slayer became a far lesser band.
‘Seasons…’ is purtid, astonishing, drenched in sin, and ultra-heavy, raging on opener ‘War Ensemble’, the group casually bringing back those violent ‘Reign In Blood’ pinnacles as Tom screams and rasps like a demonic priest, in turn his spit-filled tones derailed by King and Hanneman’s twin strike, wild solo’s careering off into the ether like spasmodic missiles.
Ten songs on offer, each and every one a riotous classic, managing to chug yet batter, and then speed up like some murderous rollercoaster, spiralling into the darkest tunnels where the true horrors lurk. War ravaged cities where the charred dead smoke under the pallid sky, serial killers preying on hapless victims, and in the immense title track and album closer, at first creeping with sinister motion then flattening the wounded, melting into a truly accessible chorus, and that’s the whole key with Slayer, their mightiest moments not merely being evil noise-fests but somehow managing a melody that embeds itself in the brain like a parasite. ‘Skeletons Of Society’ is another of those infectious tunes where the flames flicker and dance in the distance, but it’s the sprawling, seedy ‘Dead Skin Mask’ that causes the most fear, made all the more hideous by the calm, cold and arrogant chorus.
In between these classics there are more to get your fangs into, monstrous thrash assaults, black passages of act, war-torn anthems for the thrashers.
‘Seasons…’ is a leviathan. The last word in thrash. The last great Slayer album cover too 10/10

Red Hot Chili Peppers - Mother's Milk (1989)

Long before metal got funky, and sickly, the Red Hot Chili Peppers were playin’ their freaky styley sound of slap bass jams, cartoon capers and spasmodic soul, and for me ‘Mothers Milk’ is their finest record, several years before they became the favourite band of many an uncle and coated the airwaves like an all too sugary icing.
‘Mothers…’ weaves, bobs, ducks, cavorts, grooves and sways, huge doses of metallic Parliament, Funkadelic and streetwise soul, bubbled up by Flea’s jumbled bass and Anthony Keidis, zany frontman into pulling faces and slipping between choppy raps and smooth tones.
At the time there appeared to be a bit of a rivalry between RHCP and innovators Faith No More, but FNM rose above the sickly sweet stench of funked up rock and delivered their poison to blacken the pristine quilt of alterno-rock.
The Peppers would go on to become one of the world’s biggest rock acts, but this is the record where it started despite some fine moments on their earlier releases. ‘Taste The Pain’ is the pivotal cut, a strutting, quirky tune, but the variety on offer here is at least authentic funk, not some bandwagon-surfing, suped up imitation. ‘Knock Me Down’ is a driving Hendrix soul anthem, ‘Sexy Mexican Maid’ a sultry number, but randomly pick out any smouldering groove on here and you’ll at once bathe in the funk and also want to make passionate luurrvv!

7.5/10