Warrior Soul - Drugs, God & The New Republic (1991)

The angst-ridden rebel returns, Kory Clarke with a mouthful of dirt and an attitude to match, digging the sleaze, swinging to excess and breathing in the grey smoke of the world he so despises.

This is rock revolution volume two, more upbeat and rock 'n' roll than 'Last Decade...', at time still as sarcastically bleak, check out the downbeat buzz of 'Jump For Joy', but boy, what an anthem.

This is pure punk rock, Clarke is on a one-man crusade through the rubble, kicking up dust and chewing on the rust, making himself known even to those who don't want to listen. He can be mellow too though, 'Children Of The Winter' reeks of youth but it's the swagger that blows the mind, 'My Time' and 'The Real Thing' just shake and roll, it's like a nuclear Rolling Stones, casting aside the debris and holding a fist for the new generation, whilst the title cut just soars, its ascension is eternal.

Warrior Soul are such an important band, despite the fragrance of depression and grey laced wings they fly with, but they can be beautifully angelic alongside their hint of the tragic, and for me this is their peak, because despite the harshness and power of the voice, such a band pretty much some up the word 'cult', because if Warrior Soul had made it big, they just wouldn't have been the same.

God bless Warrior Soul.

8.5/10

Mordred - Vision (1992)

In 1992 'Vision', a mini-lp of sorts, hit the racks, and for some reason it didn’t get great press at all. One magazine said it was ‘average’ and was more Queensryche influenced than anything else!! For me, 'Vision' was a great step forward for the band, branching out into vast soundscapes as well as the usual fusion of funk-drenched guitars, superb scratching and samples, and the usual metal soul. Holderby seemed more involved, having written three of the six songs on this mini-platter, and yet this record was to be Scott’s last outing, and for me, the funeral of this great, underrated band.

'Vision' is a laid-back slab, cosmically mixed, soulfully tweaked and something akin in stature to Voivod’s magnificent, darkly-tinged Angel Rat opus although that particular opus being more Pink Floyd-esque. If anything, 'Vision' is Mordred moving away from the thrash and becoming a heavy rock act. By 1992 death metal and 'grunge' was taking over, the Bay Area thrash scene was dying, rock was also dying, and it would take quite a few years to re-emerge albeit in regurgitated form, because 1992 was all about so-called grunge, although that scene was mainly late ‘80s, and an underground scene at that, but by 1992 bands such as Nirvana, Pearl Jam and Soundgarden had taken over, they were accessible to the masses, maybe there was no more room for Mordred.
'In Time' kicks in, casually too. It could have fitted perfectly onto 'In This Life' as a companion to 'Downtown', with its quirky guitars, Scott’s loose tones and the street-wise lyrics, the track, like so many other Mordred tracks, beefed by a solid, memorable chorus and shining percussion. 'West County Hospital' is once again laid-back, no hint of a crunchy riff as such, but this is one of their greatest moments, Holderby’s lyrics hitting the heart, a personal story by the sounds of it, of young desperation, an urge to break free from the strains of society, only this time the chorus is incredibly mellow, highly infectious and very soulful, a sound one would become accustomed to on Holderby’s solo effort 'Ungodly Blue Sun'. 'West County Hospital' is a cool moment, proof that Mordred were keen to expand, to become accessible yet still distinctive, but certainly more mellowed from the previous two efforts, and 'The Vagrant', previously known as 'Fragrance Of Vagrance', elaborates on the usual street-wise subjects, this is another track that could have appeared on 'In This Life' yet once again is of a laid-back nature, more of Pauses’ injections, the scatty breaks and the funk-fuelled guitar works, and once again that infectious chorus of, “…can you tell me why, I’m left with no means to survive”, something so predominant on cuts like 'Lion’s Den', 'Falling Away' etc, that soaring, perfectly rhymed bellow. However, 'Reach' is far different, a spaced out cosmic exercise spruced up with White’s far-reaching lyrical content of the planets, the solar system and all things solarised, this is an immense track, complex in nature that slides with cool scratch bursts and ascends on a chorus straight to the zenith.

Lyrically this is once again class, and despite all the great musicianship of the band, as well as the eclectic ideas, lyrically they had always been spot-on, moving between a variety of subjects yet always saying something even if at times unclear, yet clearly psychedelic in content.'Close Minded' is probably one of the most predictable Mordred songs. This may sound harsh, but for me it’s the EP’s weakest track, despite still blowing all the opposition away. This is true rap-metal crossover, a pummelling, juggernaut of a riff replacing a hip-hop beat and Pause takes to the mic, he raps as cool as any rapper or other MC, but this is almost too predictable for a band of this quality, with a lyrical content that literally questions why people should be so narrow-minded about this style of music, but it’s a common theme by 1992, and lesser bands such as Body Count, early Anthrax, Beastie Boys, The Hard Corps (to a lesser extent), and a whole host of latter bands, i.e. Rage Against The Machine, Biohazard, Korn etc, were doing it in the same almost shoddy, commercial manner. Don’t get me wrong, 'Close Minded' is a cool track, but it’s too obvious, as if to say, “…hey, we fuse metal and rap so let’s do a rap over some riffs”, and if anything it’s too simple for this great band, and for me it wasn’t a track trying to be different and it wasn’t a track where people were going to take note because it was common ground by this point even if Vaughn’s lyrics are excellent.

'Vision' wraps up the platter, a vibrant, buzzing cut awash with colour, Scott’s delivery hazed, the scratching splashing and sprinkling, a mish-mash of cosmic rock and dazed and confused abandon rested upon a mellow chorus, and before you know it this brief EP is over, leaving you begging for more, yet at the time little did this listener know that such dreams were short-coming, this would be the last of the real Mordred, who, by this time had also released three excellent records, a brilliant live video filmed at one of the 1991 London Marquee shows, entitled, 'In This Live', and three singles. The next record, their worst, 'The Next Room', an awkward, Holderby-bereft slab of power metal would be the end, although such an end had obviously reared its ugly head long before.Vision, at the time of its release, didn’t seem to be promoted very well, and it wasn’t received as ecstatically, rumours of ill spates with the press abounded, true or not, but spin this record again and you’ll be swept up in the whirlwind, and the album remains a fitting last word in that it should be called 'Vision', a word that sums up the world in which Mordred lived…and created, yet which many obscenely ignored. Their loss.

9/10

Last Crack - Burning Time (1991)

Call it alterno-metal, call it arty rock, whatever, this is classy stuff, imagine if U2 were actually any good, mix it up with a funky mysticism and the coolness of say I love You and you have Last Crack, a religious metalfest enshrouded in mystery, darkness and all things nice.

This is a strange record, there's no doubt about that, but it's one that didn't deserve to be lumped in with the early '90s new metal crowd, because Last Crack were simply too classy to conform to a trend, and frontman Buddo way too enigmatic to be caught up in fanciful funk trends, his cooler than cool expression, behind tinted shades, one of messiah-like proportions as the band and their grand sound beat out numerous wickedly dark and intriguing hymns, never really letting on to their ethos but instead drowning the listener in a quagmire of raging musicianship and dream-like lyrics. Where The Front lacked any kind of attitude or perversity in their retro pomp, Last Crack embrace their own arrogance and glide with the angels as well as the demons, churning out a fine variety of unpredictable tracks, whether they take on the form of poetic whispers or sonic booms.

I can only suggest you pick this gem up because attempting to describe the potency of say 'Mini Toboggan' or 'My Burning Time' would be pointless, this is simply a quality hard rock record with lashings of individual and original swagger.

8.5/10

Voivod - Angel Rat (1991)

Defying their early thrash-punk roots, Voivod, after the mellower concept experimentation of 'Dimension Hatross' (not reviewed) and 'Nothingface' (not reviewed) turned in a true classic on 'Angel Rat', complete with freaky cover and further eerie artwork courtesy of drummer Away, they delved deep into Pink Floyd's psych realm with this wistful, Zeppish rock album. Suddenly long gone were the spiky tribal clatterings as the band leapt light years ahead to fuse '60s oddness with a new wave sci-fi of sorts, throwing in all manner of influences from The Cure , Rush to the insane ramblings of H.P. Lovecraft.

'Angel Rat' is reminiscent of a surreal painting, a bizarre, twisted realm of falling stars, purple oceans and cosmic creatures, where a deeper menace lurks but never shows its true face. This is gothic, and very alien but not possessing the coldness of the last two albums but instead offering a glimpse of some vivid yet nightmarish place where we'd love to tread but prefer the comfort of our own homes. The Voivod place is sometimes deserted but peel the layers of hallucination away and you'll find holographic freaks leering from every dim corner, lights flickering, strange craft whizzing into the zenith and a selection of songs which are accessible, and certainly catchy but which slip from your brain as soon as the record is over, prompting you to listen once again to the nocturnal whispers that will once again take you on this peculiar voyage.

'Clouds In My House' got the band on the t.v., a wistful, swirling fusion yet fragile psych rock work-out, whilst 'Panorama' jerks like a bleating robot, the band painting stormy pictures of '50s b-movies coupled with extraterrestrial retro rock.

Lyrically it's masterful, never letting go of its ability to astound yet always baffle.

8.5/10

Faith No More - Angel Dust (1992)

Faith No More must've spent their time between the exotic 'The Real Thing' and 'Angel Dust', living amongst the sleaze, revelling in the surreal and self-mutilating their warped ego's, because 'Angel Dust' is one helluva obnoxious record, a nasty, experimental, two-fingered salute to those who drowned in the sickly sweet excess of past hits such as 'Epic'. 1992 was the year of the unfairground, and Mike Patton's true stamp on the planet, as his bratty, all American boy persona gave way to serial killer suaveness, oily-haired trucker and all round dodgy character, like some sneering, shifty menace from a David Lynch film, he brought his Mr Bungle influence to the rumble of FNM's already schizophrenic wheezes, but this time it was always darker, always sarcastic, yet somehow inviting into its shadiness and despair.

The mutterings were that people just didn't get 'Angel Dust', despite some serious catchiness this record was just too violent and brutal for many alternative-rock types to grab onto, instead 'Angel Dust' slithered eerily between death metal gurgles, spazztic industrial lunacy and commercial suicide, but so many years later it remains one of the greatest rock albums of all time, a bemusing, sinister and vivid dark recollection of Patton's obsession with late night tv channels, too much coffee and in-jokes that are simply downright evil.

Faith No More, as a live act were always colourful, but 'Angel...' propelled them to greater levels of self-harm, torment and inner frustration, the band themselves creaking under inner tensions as metaller guitar god Jim Martin eventually bowed out, leaving Mike Bordin to hammer the skins, Roddy Bottum to create the weird soundcsapes, and Billy Gould to thud the bass, all essential to the FNM surreal experience in which Patton became the hillybilly-cum-psychopath ringleader, his vile words and arrogant rasps flitting between poppy chords, bouncy anthems and swirling imagery, all sewn together with a layer of severe spite.

'Caffeine' borders on inaccessible, Patton's swoons now more of an off-beat, out of sequence warble over the rumbling guitars, only 'Midlife Crisis', the first single from the album' resembles a true FNM hit, the beat is very 'We Care Alot', but lyrically it's a slightly saner Mr Bungle sprinkled with Bottum's symbolic effects and Gould's trademark bass slams.

Like 'The Real Thing', 'Angel Dust' is once again faultless, anyone who cowers away from such a frightful circus of horrors should at once be confined to a cankered cell, because deep within the grime of this record lies not only a seething terror but a genuine masterpiece, from the lush openings of 'A Small Victory, irritatingly catchy yet as alien as anything else you're likely to hear, to the almost pleasant diversions of 'kindergarten' and upbeat cheerleader echoes of 'Be Aggressive', but as the band smirk at you, knowing you can't resist the candy, they also wait to rape your soul and put the dirt under your nails, check out the grotty yet swinging 'RV' with its huge twanging chorus, akin to Primus, and the sweeping cover of 'Midnight Cowboy'.

This is a wonderful yet scary experience, proving that Faith No More defy all categorisations, break all boundaries and can equally spit in the face of the success but somehow still drag it inside for the most horrific ride of its life.

10/10

Fear Factory - Soul Of A New Machine (1992)

In 1992 Fear Factory may well have been the new kids on the block but the style of metal they created was something akin to a new sound that battered the competition. 'Soul Of...' is an inventive, aggressive and heavyweight mixture of pounding, dry industrial metal and technological death metal, the brutality of it all leaving me shuddering for weeks after I'd lent an ear, then had it burnt off by the sheer fury within.

Burton C. Bell slips from whispering maniac to rasping terror, all the while the machinery rolls behind him, it's not quite death metal but what is it exactly ? No wonder there was a buzz around this band long before this record hit the shelves, because it was obviously clear that there was going to be a massive rubble clean up after this wrecking ball had hit down.

There are choruses here also, a fresh approach, something progressive yet catchy, but never losing its weight despite its intention to create. The guitars here are the cogs which work this whole thing, but there's so much going on here, kick-starting a new wave of metal in the early '90s that would culminate in the demise of the '80s metal imagery.

'Martyr' is a raping classic, complete with electronic vocal effects, Bell's variety adding a new ingredient to the mix, 'Scapegoat' somehow catchy yet ominous, the whole mechanism being a huge, churning iron wheel, buttons being frantically pushed, effects constantly triggered, the metal world ablaze as these four guys carve their niche, haunting us for many years to come although never equalling the domination of this pumping debut. This was the new noise.

8.5/10

Candlemass - Nightfall (1987)

More epic doom descends from the fiery zenith as Sweden' finest set out another untouchable stall that weighs a ton and leaves holes in the ground. I'm still preferring the majestic 'Ancient Dreams' and Messiah's frowns, but this is still essential gloom under the plodding riffage and occasional Sabbath leanings, but this is more poetic in its darkness, often reflected in the bands album covers, being old paintings. Candlemass have cast dark shadows for some time now, conjuring images of rain-soaked castles and murky depths, their stoneface noise often bold and beautiful and soaring above a genre that offers way too many stale old wizards.

Finest moments here being 'The Well Of Souls', 'Bewitched' and 'Samarithan'.

8/10