Kamelot have just released a new album, Haven, on their new label, Napalm Records. Taylor Phelps caught up with the bands’ venerable co-founder Thomas Youngblood on their tour bus outside the Worcester Palladium to discuss the all the new changes with the band’s business, the creative process of writing with guest musicians, and the history of Kamelot. Videography by MasterPhelps Photography.
Kamelot, by MasterPhelps Photography
Taylor Phelps and Thomas Youngblood, by MasterPhelps
I’ll level with you all now: I’m not the biggest fan of Aussie quartet Mammoth Mammoth and their raucous, ‘Eddie and the Hot Rods with added beef’ style of Punk rock meets Stoner. It’s great in the background of your local rock pub, though, and true to form ‘Life’s A Bitch’, the opening track of third album Volume IV – Hammered Again (Napalm), fair rattles along. The ensuing ‘Lookin’ Down the Barrel’ contains a seedy riff reminiscent of compatriots AC/DC, and while there’s a slower pace than its predecessor it carries high that retro Blues metal feel, oozing a snarling attitude; the full production aiding a sound akin to Jet‘s older, heavier and just as sexually confident brother.
There is a swagger for sure, the crunching riffs and engine grease of ‘Electric Sunshine’ accompanied by thundering drums and a cocksure vocal sneer, occasionally carrying Hetfield-esque intonations. The rolling, driving riff of ‘Fuel Injected’, meanwhile, bumps and grinds along a dirty desert road: gasping, pouring in sweat like the meanest Harley you ever saw, hunting voraciously for his Mrs. Davidson. The savage power of ‘Black Dog’, its rapidly chopping yet groove-ridden riff imbued with a lead solo, possesses a gravelly intoned yet heartfelt vocal – which comes as something of a shock.
For all the driving rhythms, fulminating sound and sexy insouciance, the band’s delivery has in the past been missing real feeling, a sense that their creations actually mean something to them. Tracks like ‘…Dog’ express that sense of emotional attachment which allows the listener to really engage, making this album a more complete experience. That sleazy boogie stomp reappears toward the latter end, however, at the expense of all the silly emotional stuff: the dirty leads of ‘Sick (of Being Sick)’ snaking around the dancing, brutal groove.
Indeed, the band’s final attempt at concentrating on wistful meanderings, album closer ‘High as a Kite’, is a clunky and overlong, often prosaic way to end. Maybe it’s just miserable old me: maybe it’s time indeed to let party infect the Low End. Victor Meldrew here, The crimson Avenger, prefers otherwise…
It can be hard to tell, sometimes, about the career progression (or otherwise) of a band in this age of dwindling physical sales, so sometimes all you have to go on is how often people are talking about a band, their “buzz” and their profile. Now, I accept this can create a false impression, but while they burst onto the scene with some UK-centric noise around Rise (Albert) in 2006, it seems very few are talking about Northern Ireland’s The Answer any more (if they were at all), and perception is of a band that have gone backwards, despite some pretty hefty touring with AC/DC.
Raise A Little Hell (Napalm) is their fifth album and kicks off with ‘Long Live The Renegades’, a mash of Deep Purple’s ‘Woman From Tokyo’ and Thunder’s ‘She’s So Fine’; Cormac Neeson’s smoky Bon Scott voice and Paul Mahon’s effortless bluesy licks bringing to life a track that will no doubt become a live favourite. Citing AC/DC and Thin Lizzy as main influences, the album proceeds to walk through the greats of yesterday; ‘The Other Side’ dances in the garden of Led Zeppelin and ‘Red’ kisses the feet of Whitesnake, ‘I Am What I Am’ and the title track are slower, bluesier numbers, while ‘Whiplash’ raises the pulse. The album is locked down by the constant heartbeat of solid bass and drums, and naturally references yesteryear with casual blues rock riffs.
However, as I’ve mentioned before elsewhere (Orden Ogan), by a fifth album I’m looking for some sort of legacy, some sort of statement, and the thing about The Answer is, that they aren’t. The Answer, that is. Or if they are, the question must be “name a decent, if unspectacular, rock band of the common-or-garden variety”, and while that’s harsh, should The Answer cease to be, there would be very little wailing or gnashing of teeth. These aren’t the sort of band to release a drop-your-trousers bone(r) fide classic.
That said, good music is good music, whether it’s bought by ten people or ten million. And Raise A Little Hellis simple, effective, good hard rocking music.
Despite heaps of plaudits and a sturdy career as metal stalwarts, Portuguese brooding metallers Moonspell have never quite achieved the huge acclaim and success (outside of their native country where they are a chart topping act) that they perhaps warrant. Certainly their latter day output surely has some mainstream appeal and accessibility, especially considering the worship that some Gothic metal bands (HIM being the prime example) have garnered. If any album of theirs should see them herald a wider audience then Extinct (Napalm) could well be that moment.
Certainly their most instant album to date, Extinct showcases the band’s finest elements to the full. Dark and melancholic in tone and subject matter but the hooks have an almost pop vibe to them, with some remnants of the pace and ferociousness of their black metal days, such as on album opener ‘Breathe (Until We Are No More)’, an anthem and potential rock club floor filler in the making. Fernando Ribeiro’s vocal displays are as luring and diverse as ever, veering from a seductive croon to a visceral bark with ease and fluidity.
The real ace in the hole is the Pedro Paixao’s atmospheric samples and piercing synths; adding a whole new dimension and tone to proceedings; exceptionally so on the likes of the title track where they steal the limelight with ease. There are even the faintest hints of a prog influence, shown on the eerie, piano led close ‘La Baphomette’.
Always a familiar name to some, especially those in the know, but now one that has all the qualities that scream out mainstream success, Moonspell should begin to hit the big time with Extinct if there is any justice. Bleak and full of despair yet anthemic and catchy as hell, with plentiful layering and nuances to find; a stunning work.
The first track of Pulses of Pleasure (Napalm) is called ‘Fast, Loud and Rude’ and that tells you everything you need to know. Once it kicks off with a riff that buzzes around like a pissed off wasp you’ve just failed to swat, high on the spillage of your fizzy drink, you know exactly what type of journey Evil Invaders are going to take you on.
With a more melodic (and slightly restrained) take on Exodus, and lashings and thrashings of Exciter worship, Evil Invaders don’t do subtle. Or diverse. They do, however, pedal a line in nostalgic old school thrash and speed metal and everything, from the retro production to the squealing solos (nice harmony lead in the title track, by the way guys) and the pacy chromatic riffs is lovingly recreated. Existing in a bubble where metal ended when Udo quit Accept and Kai Hansen stopped fronting Helloween, Evil Invaders’ sound and influences begin in 1979 and end in 1986.
While the production and performance values and the base level of pretty much every band releasing music out there these days has increased a thousand-fold in the last thirty years, Speed Metal still allows, nay, welcomes with studded wrist band adorned arms, the amateurish “rough and ready” approach which did alright by Raven and Razor (one assumes the band name is taken from the Razor album of the same name?). Deliberately Shit Metal only exists in the hearts and minds of those with both (white hi-top clad) feet in yesteryear, and Gehennah, who do this retro thing with more balls, menace and conviction, shit Evil Invaders for breakfast.
Some might argue naïve charm and a love of a bygone age, when denim and chains (and rivets) ruled the roost, but the fun factor soon wears off as Pulses of Pleasure reveals itself to be big on style and short on substance. The classic speed metal albums were great because, above all, they lived and died on standout riffs and excellent songwriting. Evil Invaders fall short on both counts.
Whatever their time machine of choice, be it hot tub, DeLorian, magic red shoes (what… they are from Kansas…) or a stack of records, power-trio The Midnight Ghost Train have reset their clocks and gate-crashed the peak of the arid desert rock party that was the late 90’s and returned with all the big phat riffs, albeit with a darker and more nihilistic tone to their narratives in comparison to their Californian cousins, on their third album, Cold Was The Ground (Napalm).
New bassist Mike Boyne, often taking the role of prominent protagonist, fuzzes languid moves underneath Sabbathian grooves, as unhurried guitars roll out riffs that could be out-takes from the recording sessions of Fu Manchu’s The Action Is Go (Mammoth), and there really is a feel of enjoyment of their craft and making it seem effortless both in construction and delivery of the rockier moments, a confident nonchalance that makes ‘BC Trucker’ and the roil of ‘No 227’ simple, enjoyable bluster, while ‘Straight To The North’ shows a doomier side, with a tale to be told.
There is a sand-gritty heavy blues overtone to Cold Was The Ground , while the Ben Ward-esque gruffness of vocalist Steve Moss is suitably brusque, adding to the lo-fi bar-brawl charm, and his rhythms, patterns and storytelling lock with the riffs in a manner reminiscent of Neil Fallon and Clutch, particularly on ‘The Canfield’.
The Midnight Ghost Train don’t tend to do complicated, but on ‘The Little Sparrow’, all bass meander and spoken word account of (I assume) Moss’ relationship with music and the downsides of being in a band, they show there is more than one hoss in this town, before the Kyussed to the max downtuned blues ‘Twin Souls’ rambles in.
While neither the most original nor most challenging of listens, Cold Was The Ground is humble, modest, ramshackle and more than effective, with rockier tunes like ‘Gladstone’ and bluesier moments like instrumental ‘One Last Shelter’ showing that the desert is still an appealing place to get your rocks off.
With their last proclamation Carrion Skies(Code666), British band Fen let the Black Metal flood back into their sound, releasing their strongest album to date and ultimately featuring in the Ghost Cult Magazine Top 40 Albums of 2014. In celebration of opening the sluice gates, front man The Watcher revealed the depth of his Black Metal love by unveiling his Top 5 unsung oft overlooked underground treasures
Setherial – Nord (Napalm Records – 1996)
Cold. That’s the one overriding word to sum up this furious blast of mid-nineties Swedish black metal – cold. Freezing, even. Taking its cues fairly heavily from Emperor’s seminal In the Nightside Eclipse (Candlelight) album, Nord strips backs the keyboards whilst simultaneously cranking up the intensity levels considerably. Riff after riff of freezing melody pours forth across thundering percussion, lengthy songs (the opener alone is nearly 12 minutes long) buoyed by relentless twists and turns. An exhilarating, windswept listen and serious contender for black metal’s finest hour.
Diabolical Masquerade – Nightwork (Avantgarde Music – 1998)
Anders Nystrom may be much better known for his “day job” in Katatonia but back in the mid-90s, as the mysterious Blakkheim he released four records of haunting, horror-themed black metal under the banner of Diabolical Masquerade. The pick is undoubtedly the third full-length Nightwork, a peak-laden brace of songs replete with infections fretwork, searing melody and an underlying sense of humour. This isn’t at all to detract from the ‘abandoned mansion’ atmospherics of the album and Nightwork simply oozes a convincing crepuscular ambience in amongst the riffage.
Armagedda – Ond Spiritism (Agonia – 2004)
From pure early Darkthrone worship on their debut to ‘fist-in-the face’ muscular black metal on ‘Only True Believers’ to occult-themed dungeonesque roamings, Sweden’s Armagedda explored a gamut of expressions within their short, three-album career. Swansong ‘Ond Spiritism’ is the peak – a lengthy, sprawling opus with an undeniable cloak of darkness wafting across the whole thing. Graav’s guttural croak spits venom in his native Swedish whilst the guitars and bass swirl like a thick fog. Absorbing and unsettling work from the young Swedes.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1jyRiMz27aU
Tenebrae in Perpetuum – Antico Misticismo (Debemur Morti – 2006)
Yet another band who are no longer with us, Tenebrae in Perpetuum specialised in a particularly brittle, shrill form of frozen melodic black metal – made particularly surprising by the fact that they were actually Italian! Mainman Atratus’ guitar sound is one of the most distinctive you’ll hear – a treble-heavy, reverb soaked saw that nonetheless manages to convey the band’s excellently-developed sense of melody and song structure. All three of their full-length releases are worth tracking down so consistent is their quality but Antico Misticismo probably edges it thanks to a couple of genuinely spine-tingling moments.
Obsidian Tongue – A Nest of Ravens in the Throat of Time (Hypnotic Dirge – 2013)
The most recent release on this list and hopefully a band who won’t remain ‘hidden’ for too much longer, this US-based duo ply their trade with a particularly punishing brand of “Post” black metal. Building on the template laid down by the so-called ‘Cascadian’ sound (Agalloch, Wolves in the Throne Room et al), Brendan Hayter and Greg Murphy lay down a serious challenge on their sophomore effort here. Winding passaged of considered guitar, inventive percussion and a darker atmosphere than many of their peers render them a real one to watch. That they can pull it off live is just the icing on the cake.
It’s been two years since Swedish retro rockers Year of the Goat released their debut album, Angels’ Necropolis and the band is back with a new release, the three track The Key and the Gate EP (Napalm)
Fans of their debut will be pleased to know that their brand of Satan-themed retro pop-rock is still firmly in place, and this EP suggests the next album will be more of the same and up to the same standard.
Featuring a classic NWOBHM twin-guitar lead, the opening title track is very melodic and hook driven. Frontman Thomas Sabbathi’s smooth croons the catchy choruses, while there’s a host of infectious riffs and impressive solos. It’s fun but a bit lightweight. The seven-minute ‘Magic Mountains’ is a slower, blues-inspired classic rock number. Anyone who liked Graveyard’s Light’s Out release will enjoy its haunting power. Filled with classy solos, it’s a great track and easily the highlight of the EP. Closer ‘Non-Euclidean Calculus’ may sound promising, but in reality is little more than a glorified outro; a 70s prog style instrumental of atmospheric keyboards and moogs, it’s a long wind down from an enjoyable but not overly exciting EP.
I’ve never been a fan of an artist tweaking with a release, especially after it has been available for fans to pay money for a couple of years. It rarely improves the product and in most cases damages the initial spark that brought it to life in the first place. Perfect example, how many people watched Star Wars and thought “Oh I wish Han didn’t shoot first!! Can we have a shit laser blast to appear from nowhere and make the character a little less bad ass please?” No one? Thought so.
Milking The Stars (or fans’ bank balance) is the new album by veteran space rockers Monster Magnet. The record features re-recordings of five tracks from the bands previous album The Last Patrol (both Napalm) which itself was released the previous year in 2013. Despite this Milking The Stars: A Reimaging Of The Last Patrol ,to give it its full title, reckons it would be a good idea to rerecord them. Oh and by ‘reimagining’ Dave Wyndorf and co basically mean, make it sound like The Doors then add more acid and tie dyed sheets.
The album opens on one of the new songs recorded for the release (five reimaginings, two live tracks and five brand new tracks for the album in total) called ‘Let The Circus Burn’ which can be best described as seven minutes of the band instrumentally pissing around. It might sound good if you were let’s say, smacked out on enough acid to wake Jim Morrison up in the morning, or think it was a good idea to let Ringo sing on a few songs, but to me this is unbearable self-indulgent hokum of the highest order.
The album does have some pretty dirty moments peppered throughout the record when it is not off tripping its face off. The third track ‘No Paradise For Me’ is pretty filthy stuff, not necessarily a return to their stoner roots or their Power Trip (A&M) days, but there is at least something in there.
Overall, Milking The Stars: A Re-imaging Of The Last Patrol is a reinterpretation of more recent material released by the band less than a year ago with more of a psychedelic vibe. I am going to be honest and say I am baffled as to why this “reimagining” exists as the tracks already feature a heavy psychedelic presence , with the re-recording seemingly pushing that into overdrive, damaging the album in the process.
I’ve been promising myself I’d check out Coloradoan duo The Flight of Sleipnir for some time and latest album V. (Napalm) points out just how criminal my tardiness has been. Opener ‘Headwinds’ starts out all ‘Planet Caravan’ with gently warbling vocals drifting through dreamy psychedelia. Suddenly, emerging hostile screams escort mellow leads through bristling anger, an anger which is subdued somewhat by a mix favouring the moaning harmony. The ensuing ‘Sidereal Course’, a doom-laden Simon and Garfunkel meets Jefferson Airplane, is graced with a growling riff and brief explosions of fire and brutality, a ferocity that adds violence to the core feel, which has a real air of 70s Americana about it.
It’s a shame the pummeling drums and rhythms are frequently cocooned in a mono-style production; the desolate hostility of ‘The Casting’ dwarfed by a delicious, ephemeral lead sequence. The creativity here, however, is immense with ‘…Casting’s’ riffs lending a frosted black edge to a reflective folk-rock pace which is graced by seriously emotive tones, while ‘Nothing Stands Obscured’ blends a maudlin Haight-Ashbury vibe with London Grammar-style wistfulness before a stratosphere-rending, post-black conclusion. The easy, lilting harmonies of ‘Gullveig’ splinter on the rocks of a crashing riff and icy screams, an acoustic-infused folky Floyd meeting a harrowing mournful edge, in a marriage of beauty and acrid bitterness that sums up the album as a whole. ‘Archaic Rites’ has an indie female vocal ghosting over a gently veering undercurrent, augmented by a tasty hippy flute solo, a snarling riff and hypnotic oscillations closing an affecting track, whilst a lazy yet impassioned blackened groove is speared by truly spectacular lead work on closer ‘Beacon In Black Horizon’, David Csicsely‘s impressive drums quietly dictatorial, the eerie coda a lament to a fallen chieftain.
The differing elements of ‘…Horizon’ epitomise an album with feet in so many pies that it aurally represents the eight-legged beast the band is named after. As legs connect the horse’s hooves with one body so organically, so this duo melds its various strands into a belonging whole; to an inventive tour de force and an essential experience.
