Although Vibert’s influence is widely felt, you could be forgiven for wondering why he isn’t mentioned so readily as a leading electronic artist. It all comes down to one thing—Vibert had a sense of humour. While the rest of the drum’n'bass world were pulling their hoods down over their faces and barking out hard-ass Metalheadz-flavoured savagery, or else stroking their chins and soaking in nu-jazz beats and pieces, Vibert was off to the side, busy making albums that were, for want of a better word, fun.

Back on Time, Vibert’s new archival release for label Ninja Tune, finds him serving up a selection of unreleased and recently rediscovered Plug material recorded during the period 1995 to 98. The album is, as you’d expect if you’re familiar with Vibert’s work, similar in nature to his critically acclaimed 1996 album Drum and Bass for Papa. That album, filled with Vibert’s experimental tweaks and glitches, was the highpoint of his recordings under his Plug moniker. And although it wasn’t a smash hit with the clubbing crowd, it was, and still is, a consummate example of ’90s electronic revelry. With Back on Time featuring material recorded around the same period as Drum and Bass for Papa, it’s fair to say expectations are set high. And Vibert doesn’t disappoint in the slightest.

The one huge benefit in Vibert’s favour with the new release is that his production work was always a step ahead of others. Meticulously structured and mixed, a lot of Vibert’s work circled the realms of experimental and avant-garde electronica, not because it was so strange as to be unclassifiable, but because it was simply very forward-thinking.  This sense of progression instils Back on Time with a lot of credibility and relevance. While there’s definitely an old school flavour to the album, that doesn’t mean it sounds out of date. There’s still plenty on here that sounds inventive, and whatever nostalgia is at play is best evidenced by the mid-90s samples, which add a respectful nod to the past more than dating the material as such.

Opening track “Scar City” certainly feels like it could have been easily lifted from Drum and Bass for Papa, which starts things off on a very positive note. Vibert’s use of sitar mixed with a rough and tumble, warping bass-heavy kick on “A Quick Plug for a New Slot” predates jungle by a few years, and works incredibly well in establishing a swaying little dancefloor candour. “Mind Bending” serves as a swirling Acid House pounder, but is just as likely, given Vibert’s Plug persona, to be a cheeky little glowstick-waving wind-up. Every track on Back On Time is diverting and gratifying, but late album tracks “Flight 78″ and “Yes Man” are just ridiculously good. The former is a magnificent example of skeletal, formative breakbeat in action, with Vibert’s production adding plenty of warmth, while ‘Yes Man”, easily the album’s highlight, is just a big fat rich dancefloor crusher. Its counterpointing beats and samples wouldn’t seem out of place blasting in the early hours circa 2012­­­.

I’d say it was a shame we had to wait so long to hear the tracks on Back On Time if not for the obvious fact that this really is the perfect time for us to be listening to them. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, and Vibert’s work has been increasingly appreciated in the years since the 90s, so it’s ideal that we can listen to Back On Time today, rather than yesterday.

Back On Time is an album that deserves the perspective that time allows, and whilst Vibert has created a lot of music since he recorded these tracks, these are some of his best tunes ever. The world of electronica is a wondrous, expansive and frequently beguiling realm. But if you consider yourself to be a true, and avowed fan of the genre—and you’re genuinely interested in imaginative, progressive and seminal work—then Back On Time is an album you simply must own.

Seriously, does this even look like a band you'll be enjoying?

Well, here’s an album that’s about as far from my usual listening choices as you could possibly get. You see, Blessthefall are a Christian metalcore band. I should probably add a little bit more in there, especially if you’re a bit religiously sensitive. It goes like this. In another world, outside of Manual, I have a career—if you can call it that—writing solely about metal, so it probably comes as no surprise that Christian acts don’t feature heavily on my playlist—most of the bands I listen to play for the other team. But Blessthefall was handed to me late last year to review, and so, because I’m an open-minded guy, I figured, why the hell not (no pun intended).

I should say, right at the start, that irrespective of your religious beliefs, there’s nothing to stop you tuning in to the band’s new album, Awakening. If you’re after some superficial rowdy noise it’s all here—screamo vocals, drop-tuned guitars, post-hardcore meanderings and plenty of punishing double bass thumps. Looking back, as I did, for I am a diligent reviewer dear readers, there’s no hugely substantial change from the band’s earlier material, but, if anything, the band does sound more polished this time around—more confident perhaps, and there’s a touch more technicality on offer.

Blessthefall isn’t doing anything new here, there’s no reinventing of the metalcore wheel. So you get harsh vocals mixed with the clean, and breakdowns spliced throughout. Bit of the keys, big scruffy riffs and… you know the score. It’d be fair to say those elements have been done to death on many other albums, and they do sound dated, but then, that’s nothing you couldn’t say about all of metal’s various genre hallmarks, and Blessthefall sound sincere and definitely deliver each song with abundant gusto.

Is it any good? Well, no, it’s hackneyed old tripe. The band certainly has a core fanbase of dedicated fans, and while I’m not likely to ever be one of them—a fact confirmed after listening to the album—there exists a thriving market for the band. Maybe I’m missing something here? But, Awakening‘s appeal seems limited for a number of reasons. Firstly, it’s musically stale, there’s nothing adventurous or particularly exciting here. And secondly, it’s lyrically facile. While it’s the band’s right to advocate its position, and sing odes to whomever it wishes, for anyone outside their target market it’s not going to grab you. Not that that matters for fans of loud guitars of course, as I said, if you want some crunchy metal it’s all there. Dig in, mate.

All up, well… whatever, really. I could live without it, and so could you. To my ears it’s just uninspired and repetitious metalcore. It might be spiritually fulfilling, but it’s totally and utterly creatively bereft.

Of course, ’07 was a long time ago, at least it is in terms of the electronic community who are anything but static. So how do the band fare four years down the track, and with a million other ’80′s influenced artists releasing albums in the meantime? Well, that’s kind of complicated. In one sense Diamonds and Death is a great album to have thrumming along in the wee small hours—a perfect little slice of retro themed electronica. But it’s not exactly razing its hands in the originality stakes. Of course, that’s not VHS or Beta’s fault. They’ve just been outpaced by a genre of electronica that’s fair exploded over the past few years. And it doesn’t lesson the quality of the material as such, just makes it seem familiar.

Band members Craig Pfunder and Mark Palgy were originally based in Kentucky, Georgia, but moved to Brooklyn, New York, in 2009—no doubt inspired by the city’s vibrancy. There’s certainly a sense of ‘bright lights big city’ to Diamonds and Death, a feeling that the years they spend Djing in New York clubs gave them a renewed appreciation for a graceful groove. But they were also operating in a much wider pool of artists who’ve also harnessed the same late-night vibes to good effect.

That’s not to suggest the album is lacklustre, it isn’t at all. “Breaking Bones” and “Under the Sun” kick things off very well, with plenty of sultry electro-pop bluster. And “I Found a Reason” and “Jellybean” both set the band onto an energetic course. I guess what weaknesses exists are more about expectations than the actual album. That feeling that you were anticipating something a little, well, earth-shattering.

There’s certainly fun to be had here, make no mistake about that. The title track, “Diamonds and Death”, is possibly one of the best numbers the band has ever fielded, with hook that is easily on par with anything LCD Soundsystem ever released, and “Watch Out” has some fantasticly sleazy Euro-disco at its core.

All up, you need to be realistic here. If you predicting some blazing return you’re set to be disappointed. But again, that’s not because the album is terrible in any way, it’s just a low-key step back into the limelight, rather than an explosive entrance. Give it time—it’s a grower—and who knows, maybe next time round they’ll deliver the dance-floor rock masterpiece they’ve got in ‘em.

Tumbling from track to track with quick-fire bursts of (slightly) sweetened guitars, vocalist Devin Peralta’s coarse cadence and soaring melodies ensure the album never falters in delivering everything you’d want, or need, from the Reno, Nevada-based outfit.

Melodies galore, upbeat tempo changes, smart lyrics and plenty of grit define Agitations. Kicking off with the album’s most furious track, the scorching “Six Degrees”, might seem like a reckless decision—surely it’s all downhill from here, right? But no. It’s not, not in the slightest. Follow-up track “Iron Lung” might not have the same level of overt aggression about it, but that doesn’t stop its punchy tempo from being hugely addictive—and you’ll find yourself smiling even as Peralta sings about the dissolution of dreams.

Of course, there’s always the risk with melodic punk tunes, especially the sort of short pithy numbers Cobra Skulls produce, that they become indistinguishable from one another. No problem there either—the band mixes things up nicely. Utilizing acoustic guitars on “Believe” and “The Mockery” adds some honeyed, alluring tonality to the album, and multi-rhythmic tracks like “The Mess”, “Drones” and “All Drive” ensure that the album never becomes a one-dimensional breakneck blur.

But hey, let’s not forget the quick-fire numbers. “Now You Know”, ” The Minimum” and “Solastalgia” are all whirlwind blasts of up-tempo hooky rock. And if there’s one thing Cobra Skulls have mastered, it’s the art of squeezing every ounce of magnetism into a couple of minutes—just listen to the little ska breakdown in “On & On” to hear how the band utilize every second of their tracks to their maximum potential.

With smart, self-reflective and astute lyrics, along with an overabundance of captivating riffs, Agitations is 26 minutes of some of the most ingenious melodic punk I’ve heard in a very long time. Get some. Now.

Fat Wreck Chords 

Cobra Skulls

Cure mainman Robert Smith, along with his cohorts, have been tilling the field of Goth and melancholy avant-rock for many years, and while they’ve released live albums before this, Bestival is their first since 1993′s Show/Paris set—making it a long overdue release for fans. The album’s perfectly recorded, as you’d expect from a band that’s known for capturing sonic tweaks pristinely, and as an added bonus there’s good karma involved, with all the profits from the release going to a support network for troubled kids from the Isle of Wight.

It’s hard to know where to begin to when describing what’s on offer here, such is the richness of the band’s exhaustive set. Opening track “Plainsong”, taken from their ’89 album Disintegration (my personal favorite), kicks things off with a rush of sweeping exuberance and rich reward. Synths, textured guitars and restrained percussion merge with Smith’s mournful vocals to set a beautifully evocative and wistfully playful mood that the band retains throughout the set.

With the band having such an expansive catalog it must have been an interesting proposition picking the set-list for the evening, but they do a great job of covering all the bases for loyal fans wanting a few deeper cuts and for folks new to the band. The hits all make an appearance; “Friday I’m In Love”, “The Lovesong”, “Lullaby ” and “Boys Don’t Cry” are all there, delivered with plenty of enthusiasm, but so too are more obscure tracks, giving fans a truly comprehensive overview of the band’s ability to mine indie-pop’s various veins.

The audience sure sound like they’re having a blast, and their reaction to Smith’s mischievous lines and the band’s obvious effervescence adds to the album’s charms—listen for the little chuckle from Smith on “Lovecats” as things get really feline, it’s obvious he’s having just as good a time as the crowd. At over two hours long the night’s set was clearly an extensive one, but the pacing throughout means you’ll not get tired for a second—by the time they close the set with a rousing run-through of the re-jigged (and renamed) track  “Killing Another” you’ll be suitably, and justifiably, in awe of the band’s strength.

Bestival truly is a magnificent album, and one well worth your purchasing. For a band whose reputation is often misunderstood as simply mournful, or misconstrued as overly dour, The Cure sound genuinely celebratory and lively here.  As the guitars jangle and the keyboards jingle there’s a whole lot of love going round, from band to the crowd and back again. If you’d ever wanted to own a Cure album, or needed a kick in the ass to remind you of their importance, you’d be well advised to pick up Bestival today.

The Cure

The Quietus Albums of the year can be found here.

Spin magazine top 50 2011 can be found here.

Spin magazine best Rap 2011 can be found here.

PopMatters 75 best albums of 2011 can be found here.

PopMatters top R&B 2o11 can be found here.

PopMatters top electronic artists 2011 can be found here.

PopMatters best indie-pop 2011 can be found here.

Popmatters best metal 2011 can be found here.

About.com best Rap albums 2011 can be found here.

Metacritic best debut albums 2011 can be found here.

Pitchfork top 40 metal of 2011 can be found here.

NME top 50 2011 can be found here.

Rolling Stone top 50 2011 can be found here.

Uncut top 50 can be found here.

Mojo top 50 can be found here.

Exclaim top 50 can be found here.

AV club top picks of 2011 can be found here.

BBC music top picks 2011 can be found here.

And finally; my picks for best NZ metal here, and best metal 2011 here and here.

For the past 26 years Sticky Filth have been laying it on the line with a mix of straightforward, forthright and steadfast blasts of crust-infused punk and hardcore. With plenty of metal’s sharpness and bile, the band have been churning out buzzing chunks of intuitive streetwise roots rock that’s remained consistently down-to-earth, resonating with anyone who’s ever been fucked-over in life and love, or just had a utterly crap day at work. That’s why we love ‘em, and that’s why they’re legends—Sticky Filth are us. Any doubts check out “Said the Labourer” from the band’s excellent new release Fourth Domain, where its refrain of “I’m working to live, not living to work” sums up life for the majority of us perfectly.

With founding members Craig Radford and Chris Snowdon both being injured in separate accidents in 2010, the band’s 25th anniversary celebrations were derailed. But with them both on the mend, label Elevenfiftyseven has deemed it time to release the band’s long awaited new album, and sticking with their tried and true formula of stripped back energetic rock, the first single off Fourth Domain, “Happy Birthday”, says it all. “It’s been a long and windy road, sometimes I had to switch to four-wheel-drive, while all around is victory, our victory is the we do survive”; damn right Mr Radford. What more do you want? An analytical dissection of a quarter of a century in the mucky world of rock ‘n’ roll? Of course not—Sticky Filth are survivors, that’s all that matters. And no truer words are spoken than, “What goes on in the band, it stays in the band, that way no one makes a fuss”. Candid, unambiguous and headstrong. Honestly, were you expecting any great changes from the band, would you even want any?

Commitment. That’s a word that rings out when you think of Sticky Filth, a commitment to provide uncomplicated dirty rock ‘n’ roll. But here’s the thing, you should never ever confuse ‘uncomplicated’ with dumb. Nobody is going to accuse Lemmy of being stupid because Motorhead built a career off the same three chord propulsive riffs—if they did they’d be a idiot—and you should never misinterpret Sticky Filth’s straightforwardness with any lack of musical proficiency or lyrical prowess.

From the first few seconds of opening track “Crimson Red and Indigo” you’re greeted with a great reminder of the very best powerhouse dynamics a punk trio can evoke. Snowdon’s crisply distorting guitar, Radford’s heavyset, rumbling bass and Mark “Boot” Hill’s spirited, weighty percussion combine to set a thumping pace. Tracks like “Beady Beady”, “Machete” and “One Flew Over” tumble along with a rambunctious strut, while more downtempo numbers like “Jimmy Wheel”, “The Witch That Got Away”, and the final acoustic glory of “Hate Remains” offer a great contrast and a bit of breathing room on the album.

26 years in and nothing much has changed for Sticky Filth—and that’s no bad thing. There’s probably more recognition of life’s more emotionally painful times to be found on “Bruise Easily” and “Unkind” but the band are still cranking out the same excellent tunes that’ll resonate with anyone whose used to grafting and counting the pennies. Don’t ever mistake the band’s dedication to a specific sonic aesthetic as evidence of stagnation, they set the ground-rules for pounding three-piece punk rock decades ago and they’re still banging that pulpit as righteously as ever on Fourth Domain. Where other bands have given-up and failed, Sticky Filth have endured. We should all be paying them the reverence they deserve.

Sticky Filth

Elevenfiftyseven

Happy Birthday by Sticky Filth

It’s with that equation in mind that I sat down to give Adversities, the second release from Auckland post-hardcore outfit Cobra Khan, a listen. I’ve gone on at length about how much I loved the band’s ’08 debut Helgorithms. It was one of the shrewdest, most impressive, and visceral rock albums ever released by a New Zealand band—you might think that’s just hyperbole, but you’d be wrong. It was packed full of unyielding metal and hardcore and it harnessed a glorious post-punk bite.

Thankfully, and mercifully for avid fans, Cobra Khan have taken all that was sublime and captivating about their debut and added in even more exigency and instinctual, fervent emotionality. Easily as heavy, belligerent and propulsive as their debut, Adversities is imbued with a sense of chaos and nonconformity that distorts its metallic roots into something else entirely. Pulverizing riffs, electro-pulses and all sorts of ‘core’ aesthetics crash together, frequently in the same song. Sound disjointed? It’s not; it’s just endlessly creative. And although the songs themselves are compact—only a few tracks pass the four-minute mark—there’s plenty of room given over to unexpected, and ceaselessly rewarding, detours.

Kicking off with the alluring drawl of “Swan Rider”, a dulcet little harmonic vista to lure you in, it’s not long before the stop-on-a-dime swaggering riffs and tweaked-out solos of “Mercy Blitz” arrive, with vocalist/guitarist Milon Williams beginning the first of many thunderous sermons. It’s not all blustering fury for Williams though, his vocal lines have developed significantly on Adversities. Sure, there’s plenty of time dedicated to the guttural shout-alongs—and some of his howls sound genuinely painful, both literally and figuratively—but he’s a smart enough songwriter to balance all that antagonism with cleaner, more expressive, vocal passages. “Pariah”, for example, has a tunefully sung chorus that brings a sense of equilibrium to an otherwise corrosive tune.

While Cobra Khan’s first album was a mash-up of influences—you could hear snippets of Killing Joke, Isis and Converge as much as Snapcase, Slayer and Priest—there wasn’t a second where the band didn’t sound like they weren’t cutting their own path. Adversities retains that same sense of individuality. There might be flecks of influence here and there, but Cobra Khan has a genuinely sui generis nature—they sound unique. Maybe it’s that darkly introspective heart of Aoteoroa shining through? Whatever the case, the key to the band’s success is that they sound inventive, not (re)inventive.

Tracks like spectacular first single “Borderlands”, with guest vocals from punk legend Craig Radford, roll off the back of stellar tumbling riffs. And it’s a credit to Williams and fellow six-stringer Hadleigh Donald that although there’s definitely shifts in density throughout the album as it weaves around differing styles—there’s a everything from angular, slicing thrash, punchy hardcore, ’80s noise-rock and beyond—but the monolithic tonality never slackens. Everything sounds on, 100%, all of the time.

Take the case of “Grave Weight” and “Velvet Trenches”. Both have imaginative, evolving riffs aplenty—with the former track making great use of keyboards to offer a beautiful counterpointing tension. Both alternate between sludgy dirges, bursting thrash, and magnificently twisting solos. It takes real prowess to pull off metal that’s genuinely nuanced. “Strung By Staves”, with its staccato bursts, almost grindworthy intro, and a solo Kerry King would be proud of, offers both depth and abundant ferocity.

Sarah Fox’s keyboard work deserves special mention as well. Too many metal bands utilise keys as a simple add-on, but Fox’s interweaving and layered passages add considerable strength to the album. Bringing progressive flourishes to the gothic crawl of “Cellar Sleep”, and underpinning the extraordinary final track “White Fire” with a wonderfully unhinged psychedelic ambience. Evan Short’s basslines run rampant throughout too—adding significant bottom-end thickness to the entire album, he brings a corpulent fullness to songs like “Executions”. And you can duplicate that praise for drummer Ant Davies, whose work on the album is outstanding – check out “Hound” for evidence of his abundant dexterity and power.

So, no sophomore slump for Cobra Khan then. I guess you can tell I’m feeling enthused about Adversities. You should be too. Forget about looking offshore for your kicks, this is where it’s at. Self-produced, with a mammoth-like heaviness, and thick rich sound, Adversities is a genuine tour-de-force of Kiwi metal. Undoubtedly vicious, but an album with enough melody and emotional resonance to appeal to anyone who likes intelligent, obstinate, and brutal metal.

Cobra Khan

Elevenfityseven

All images courtesy Greg Parsons (who braved the pit to get a few shots)

Beastwars made a liar out of me. Here I was all set to post a review for their last show of the year and they go and add another one. But I’ll forgive ‘em, it’s for a good cause, and some lucky Christchurch guy will be celebrating his 25th birthday in true metal style mid December.

Anyone who was lucky enough witness to the band’s triumphant homecoming gig at Bodega on the 12th November was treated to a spectacularly passionate show. With the band truly firing on all cylinders, and the crowd riotous in response, Beastwars delivered a sludgy unhinged feast of riffs and powerhouse energy.

For their (supposed) last show of the year, Beastwars laid on a solid set of opening bands. Robin, a two-piece mucky drone outfit from Palmerston North comprised of two slightly nervous looking women, were a great start. They played a short set, but showed real promise, throwing out some great riffs and pounding percussion. I’d definitely be checking them out if they hit town again, and I’d advise you to do the same. Any band, let alone a two-piece, that has the courage to face down a Beastwars crowd, deserves much respect.

Up next was Detrÿtus, whose set was unfortunately marred by an awful mix. From what I could make out they were a mix of psych, noise, doom and heavy prog. But to be honest, I could be completely wrong. Like I say, a lot was inaudible from where I was standing, and that was a real shame, because when the mix cleared briefly they produced an enticing racket.

After a short break the next band arrived: Hamilton three-piece Arc of Ascent. I had not heard a note from Arc of Ascent before the show, in fact walking in my mate said he’d heard they were, “kinda psych/stonerish stuff” and that’s about as much as I knew. But man, I tell you, I was just blown away by the band. They set up, locked-in and just walloped the crowd with an incredible mix of High on Fire, Sleep and Nebula styled riffs, mixed with the escapism and mind-expanding delights of OM. If you ever, ever, get a chance to see them, do it. They were amazing, and to be honest I was really unsure how Beastwars were going to follow their set, such was the power of the band’s performance. I was slack-jawed, dumbfounded and—whatever. I discovered another favorite kiwi band and I looking forward to them playing Wellington again so I can witness a full-length set, stacked with hallucinogenic possibilities.

Time for the main act, Beastwars back on home turf. Well, what to say? Firstly, the crowd. It’s one thing for a band to play well; it’s another to have the crowd go genuinely fucking nuts. And it was arms, fists, chests, heads, shoulders and all sorts of body parts smashing together in a rapturous heathen-fueled frenzy of debauched delights once Beastwars took the stage. I’m way too old to be getting in the pit, but even I crept towards the front to join in the worship and veneration of NZ’s finest metal band. And did they deserve our frenzied praise? Of course! Beastwars slayed the lot of us.

With a run-through of the album, along with an encore of their very first track, “When I’m King”, and a new track I never did catch the name of, the band were at their most powerful and furious best. Vocalist Matt Hyde had the crowd eating out the palm of his forever razing hands. Like some crazed fire and brimstone spouting preacher, Matt took control of the stage from the first minute, staring the gods down and soaking in the glory of a crowd screaming the lyrics to “Damn the Sky”, “Lake of Fire” and virtually every single number right back at him. Drummer Nato and bassist James laid out the grittiest, grungiest of foundations for Clayton to smother with his buzzing, distorting riffs, and the band worked and worked on ramping up the intensity, while dangling the promise of some final, life-affirming catharsis as the gig headed towards its climax.

And man, did they ever deliver on that promise. I’ve seen a lot of great metal gigs in my time, and maybe it all came down to the atmosphere on the night, but the show was something I’m going to remember for a very long time. A real homecoming, in the rowdiest and most brutal terms. Beastwars owned that stage, and possessed the crowd. It was sweaty smiles all round leaving the venue that night. Incredible.

Adams is a prolific artist —Ashes and Fire is his thirteenth album in little over a decade—and he seemingly records and releases every note of every half-baked idea he’s ever had. While there’s been plenty of great music along the way (and a fair amount of dross) his own eccentricity as an artist, and his very public battles with drugs and alcohol, have meant he’s often in the press for his own spectacular failings rather than the quality of his music.

Everything came to a head for Adams a few years back, following the dissolution of his backing band the Cardinals. He stopped working for a period, taking the time to concentrate on his health and new marriage, and attempting to find some inner peace along the way. The early word on Ashes and Fire was that it was going to be a return to form, that his time off had allowed him to get back to producing the sort of masterful countrified rock he’d perfected on Heartbreaker all those years ago. That’s a nice thought anyway. And it’d be great if it were true, but it’s not, and while Ashes and Fire is certainly a fine album, and one well worth checking out, it’s definitely not a game-changer.

Ashes and Fire is essentially Adams’ most Dylan-esque album, with a similar rambling ’70s nature. Adams has all the heart-on-the-sleeve honesty down pat, and it’s kind of nice that he’s decided to channel his more self-destructive pursuits into something so intimate. Tracks such as “Do I Wait” and “Invisible Riverside” have a little more grunt than the others but the album is set around a rootsy vibe that’s more reflective than rockin’.

A return to form? I don’t know if I’d call it that, but it’s definitely got a sluggish (in a good way) singer/songwriter feel. As such, it’s got a real melancholic attractiveness about it, best suited to lazy afternoons. Adams sounds relaxed, and best of all like he’s learnt a few lessons, two elements that make the album well worth listening to. I’d be the first to admit that maybe he’s a little on the soft side for some folks, but he’s hardly pop-dribble; he’s just an honest man, putting out some honest sounds, and you can’t fault him for that.

“Boots Electric Theme”, a duet with Homme’s wife Brody Dalle, is the perfect indicter of what’s on offer—see video below for all the delightful unpleasantness—with the song ramping up the sordidness, sauciness and lady-killer vibes that underscore the album. Hughes was always big on the tongue-in-cheek filth factor, and he’s certainly mining the vulgarity it for all it’s worth here; Honkey Kong is replete with all sorts of, hopefully ironic, dirty rock and soul clichés.

Kicking off with the ’80s electronic drum-pad slap of “Complexity”—a track that is both ridiculously kitsch and catchy as hell—Hughes meanders leisurely through a bunch of tracks that utilise a few grubby proto-rock riffs mixed with a bunch of sweaty soul and heavily tattooed and moustached R&B. “Speed Demons”, which has to be the album’s top track, combines some fuzzed up Hammond organ, fervent sermonising and blues-based rock ‘n’ roll to honour life’s baser pursuits. While “Dreams Tonight”, with its preposterous ’50s backing singing routine, presents some electro-dub balladry that’s just outlandish fun.

I guess, if anything, Boots Electric’s debut honours Saturday night swinging good-times vibes, and the inevitable Sunday morning regrets. As such, Hughes amps up the tomfoolery and tasteless tenderness in equal measure. It isn’t rocket science, or anything sophisticated; Honkey Kong is really just an excuse for Hughes to kick around a few blues, pop and funk gems, and deliver some bawdy tunes along the way. It’s just 30 minutes of sweet, uncomplicated, lewd entertainment—and it doesn’t overstay its welcome for one second. All up, I’d say Hughes definitely succeeds in his vision to provide some hackneyed old sleaze-filled themes all wrapped up in some strip-club-worthy tunes.

(Boots Electric)

Lulu

Metallica are huge, the most successful metal band in history. They play to jam-packed stadiums all over the world. They are ridiculously wealthy and extremely famous, and although they haven’t released a halfway decent album since the early ’90s, they put on a spectacular live show. The news that they were collaborating with Lou Reed was met with considerable confusion from fans, for good reason. Lou Reed is not an artist known for musical consistency either—you could argue that he hasn’t released anything creatively noteworthy since the ’70s. His arrogance and highfaluting approach to outlandish projects has met with success among a cult audience, but he’s seen his share of failures too. That’s not to knock Lou unfairly, he is worthy of his rock legend status after all, but on paper a collaboration with Metallica looked like a train wreck waiting to happen. It’s actually much, much worse.

The release of the album’s first single, “The View”, was a tragedy of vast proportions.  Whatever thin hope anyone held that the album might have some artistic merit was shattered as Lou mumbled his way though the track with Metallica front-man James Hetfield grunting along. The rest of the band stumbled about playing some sort of second-rate musical accompaniments. It was appalling, and the Internet was soon ablaze with wild speculation about just how abysmal the rest of the album could possibly be.

Well, I’m here to tell you it’s all bad news. Actually, when you think about it, Lulu is even worse than bad news. The album isn’t some indiscriminate tragic accident, or an unfortunate escapade that’s going to embarrass you for a few weeks. No, the worst thing about Lulu is that Reed and Metallica rehearsed, recorded and produced this effort over a period of months. Surely someone, at some stage, could have let them know that releasing this album was going to do irrevocable damage to their careers. Not that they were doing well critically anyway, but Lulu‘s the kind of mistake that’ll haunt you forever. From now on it’s their own special case of rock herpes; it’ll be popping up at unwanted times evermore.

So, lets take an in-depth look at the songs. Actually, let’s not. I’m not that cruel.

The clearest issue with Lulu is that it is essentially a very bad Lou Reed album, with Metallica in the role of back-up band. Lou spouts forth some of his worst lyrics ever (based on an early 20th century German Expressionist play, no less). In his usual quirky New York fashion he rambles on with increasingly bizarre tales, and while that’s probably not an issue for fans of Reed, because they love that eccentric stuff, there’s no reasonable explanation as to why he would combine those poetic narratives with a band whose music has never been renowned for its intellectual subtlety. It’s baffling, to say the least. It would be nice if we could blame it on the smack, the crack, or the booze. If it was just a fucked-up, drug-addled misstep that’d be understandable—and curiously attractive—and at the bare minimum it’d give Lulu a messed-up rock ‘n’ roll back-story, and a bit of kitsch value. But Reed’s cleaned up his act, and as for Metallica, well, anyone who has seen their humiliating Some Kind of Monster DVD knows their story well enough.

Aside from Hetfield providing a few growls and groans here and there, the only thing Metallica bring to the party is an embarrassing dearth of ideas. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Reed’s lyrics are incompatible with a band like Metallica, the music itself is also completely uninteresting. I’m all for droning soundscapes and raw, under-produced metal, but those genres are best left to bands that can actually produce inspired work, not the regurgitated second-hand rip-offs that comprise Lulu. Honestly, Metallica would’ve been better off having a go at producing a dubstep album than this mess.

Metallica and Lou Reed are clearly entitled to release whatever they desire at this point in their respective careers. But that’s not really going to cut it as an excuse for the catastrophe that is Lulu. Whatever positives you could pluck from the album—you might enjoy Lou’s eccentric lyrics, or hear a riff you liked—it cannot, in any way, redeem those involved in this mess. Lulu is a wasted effort, it’s definitely a waste of your time, and it’s a failure of epic proportions. Lulu is unquestionably one of the worst albums of all time.

I think there might be a new class-of-2011 school of hip hop coming through. The likes of Mac Miller, Phonte, and our very own David Dallas, are spitting out some pretty intelligent curve ball rap (think early Kanye), and it is all very good to listen to. I found Skewby on 2dopeboyz (where everybody finds everything hip hop these days). I heard his single, “Eleven 58″, liked what I heard and thought I’d keep exploring.

More or Less sounds like a debut; the lyrics circle around the pretty normal fare of young love, growing up and making it in the rap game, “the more I do what I love/the less I’m paying my bills/the less I make it to bed/the better I start to feel/the less I come around/the more I become appealing/but life’s short so why practice disappearing” (“More or Less”). Skewby is young, and seems ready to take over. There is a lot of swagger, but also a hint of integrity—no booty-ass hoes or (too much) getting high here. It’s all a bit refreshing.

The mixtape starts with slightly distorted guitars and muffled beats, hinting at the creative instrumentation and sampling that sits behind most of the fourteen finely-flowing stories. The production keeps you hooked. George FM-type jazz grooves behind a bunch of tracks keep things light-footed (“Sunny” and “Life Magazine”).  Conversely, “Must Have” has the makings of a semi-aggressive floor-filler. Skewby appears versatile—a pretty essential ingredient in music these days (rap notwithstanding).

More of Less is worth listening to from end to end. There is a lot in here. If this is the start of a rap career for Skewby, then it is a pretty solid one. I’ll be keeping my eyes out and ears to the ground to see where he ends up. I hope he makes it.

(Skewby)

I have to admit to being slightly dubious when I pressed play on the debut album from Glasgow’s electronic wizard Rustie. In many circles he’s been touted as ’11s electronic saviour; but we’ve been here before, and this week’s ‘saviour’ is often next week’s failure. Check out some of the hyperbole tossed about for his debut album: “A neck-breaking beast that sets a new benchmark for electronic music… modern masterpiece,” “The most exciting record of the year…. UNF**KINGBELIEVEABLE,” and “It’s hard to think when an album last sounded this mind-meltingly new… a true 21st century classic.” High praise, and there’s plenty more suggesting Rustie is some kind of Scottish dance floor guru. And you know what, they’re all damn right because Glass Swords really is a throw your hands up, head shaking, peeking, tweaking, storming release that doesn’t hold back on its riotous mix of beats for one second.

With elements of IDM, ambient, retro-synth, trance, hip-hop, glitch and of course dirty dubstep, Rustie’s debut effortlessly blends a whole variety of different styles creating a dreamy rave-worthy mix. There are hints of Battles, Daft Punk, The Orb, Justice and loads of other big names to be found, but Rustie manages to take a piece from here and there without sounding like a copyist, and combines them into something wholly unique.

Glass Swords is busy, frenetic and admittedly kind of cheesy in parts—you can’t escape the ’80s electro-pop elements—but it never feels like Rustie is producing anything deliberately tacky. One of the album’s strongest features is its intentional nostalgia; it’s just one big, heaving sweaty dance floor blast from start to finish. And for an album that’s essentially built upon a divergent set of hyperkinetic influences, Glass Swords doesn’t sound disorganized or uncomfortably contrasting. That’s the true measure of its success. One minute you’re smothered in swirling sci-fi synth, the next it’s tweaking acid-prog and the next it’s all funky instrumentalism and video game blips. It’s all fucking mad, essentially, but damn it if it doesn’t all work real well.

(Rustie)

Donkey Jacket, the band’s second release, will unavoidably be compared to the White Stripes. It treads a familiar path, blending dirty blues-soaked riffs with a touch of acoustic country and plenty of hooky up-tempo melodies. It’s a fair enough comparison too; both bands clearly draw inspiration from the same pool of artists but Henry’s Funeral Shoe have less of an obvious pop element, at least they do on the more stomping tunes, and their punk ethos is more readily apparent. Alex Clifford’s vocals also have a more gravelled, world-weary tone than those of Jack White. In a sense he sounds more wounded, and that’s a good thing.

Obviously as a duo there are limits to what you can create, especially if you’re so steeped in a minimal chord genre like the blues, but the band exploit all of their limited resources, making full use of percussion, harp and thick-toned slide and feedbacking guitar—with a few effect pedals to add some texture. The album sounds rich and full, and it’s packed with plenty of grunt. You’d be hard pressed to guess it was just two guys bashing this out, and if you knew nothing about the band you’d be equally surprised to find this wasn’t produced in some swampy everglade.

If you’re a fan of ear-splitting, riotous blues then there are enough smoking riffs on here to keep you enthralled. “Love is a Fever”, “Be Your Own Invention”, “Mission & Maintenance” and “Gimmie Back My Morphine” are all hellishly catchy. With tumbling riffs galore they highlight the boys’ innate talent in crafting something that’ll definitely shake your ass, but that has enough depth to be appreciated on musical merits alone. While the album is packed full of storming tracks, there are also a couple of more refined numbers in here to give you a breather, and maybe to play for that special someone in your life. “Across the Sky” and “Bottom to the Top” both offer up some soulful variety—making great use of Aled’s gritty vocals.

Two guys, a drum kit and a guitar. That’s all it takes for Henry’s Funeral Shoe to craft some of the punchiest, wickedest blues I’ve heard in a long time. Nice and organic, and rough as guts in parts, these two Welsh lads make a fine old racket.

(Henry’s Funeral Shoe)

In an age where vintage jams are frequently dismissed off-hand as uninspired, or even worse, end up being produced by jaded hipsters, it’s heartening to discover a band that’s unashamedly retrogressive. Radio Moscow are aficionados of the golden age of dusty rock, and clearly proud to admit it. There’s no hint of any of that sad-sack ‘ironic’ nostalgia at work here; this is the real deal, delivered with due reverence and plenty of enthusiasm.

There’s no mistaking the band’s influences. Blue Cheer, Sir Lord Baltimore, Third Power, Dust, Bang and a whole swag of early ’70s proto-metal, garage-punk, heavy-psych and boogie bands are all represented on the new album.  And there’s also a thread of soured hippy idealism as work too. A touch of the same murky spirit that took a hold of American heavy rock in the early ’70s is present, when the peace and love climate turned in on itself, and many a joyful psych band was infused with darker undercurrents.

I have to admit I’d never heard a note from these guys before I pressed play on this album—and that’s a serious deficiency on my part, because I’m a complete freak for proto-metal acts. Still, better late than never because the band tick all the boxes for that authentic old school Sabbath meets Robert Johnson vibe. I’m also curious why they’ve not made a bigger impression in NZ. We lap this stuff up—the Little Bushman have sold plenty of albums off the back of just this sort of psychedelic rock—and the Black Keys have been massively successful down here. The band’s lack of visibility certainly isn’t due to a dearth of muscle because Radio Moscow have authenticity and aptitude by the bucket load.

You only need to listen to the wah-wah and organ frenzy of opener “Little Eyes” to sense the genuine love for stripped down stoner rock. And unlike some other retro-inclined bands they don’t forsake the funkiness or the blues that was at the core of many of the greatest ’70s rock acts. “Speed Freak”, which sounds exactly like its title suggests, reeks of backwoods naughtiness, and “Deep Down Below” has a ragged blues harp that kicks things up to a whole other level. “Turtle Back Rider” has a distorting R&B riff that is funky as all hell, and “Creepin” brings in the soulful and the mournful blues.

Packed with voodoo drum patterns and a swaggering riff, the album’s best track, “Densaflorativa”, oozes the sort of Southern flavour Primal Scream were aiming for (and missing) in their own ’90s cock-rock years. But you could really pluck any song off the album and find the same murky spirit lurking within. Every tune is soaked in whiskey and weed atmospherics.

As great as the tunes are—and they are fantastically potent slices of primitive rock—the album’s most impressive feature is the fact that Parker Griggs was solely responsible for the majority of the instrumentation (along with bass support from Zack Anderson). It’s a pretty cool feat he’s pulled off, because the band has all the attributes of a powerhouse trio. Griggs has also captured the mood of the times superbly with a grubby, fuzzy production that speaks of analogue gear and tube amps—it’s exceptional really, you’d swear it was recorded in 1972.

The album starts off with a hiss and a roar and never really lets up. It reverberates with stacks of thunderous fundamental riffs that have been twisted into some hard-rockin’, good-times, prehistoric metal. Do yourself a big favour and seek this one out immediately. I’m off to invest in their first few albums; you best do the same, brother.

(Radio Moscow)

Every new Thrice album arrives with the weight of expectation looming large and Major/Minor is no exception. Their ’09 release, Beggars, was perhaps their most notable release for the mixed critical response it received. It was a brooding release, and while not shying away from their usual mix of haunting and emotive fare, was nonetheless a slightly lacklustre album.  However, from the first few seconds of Major/Minor‘s opening track, “Yellow Belly”, it’s clear the band has decided to go hard, with polished chunky riffs brought to the forefront, and lead singer Dustin Kensrue sounding resoundingly passionate.

The album has a far more lucid focus than the band’s past few works. Musically it is leaner, more straightforward and greater use is made of unencumbered rockier dynamics. “Blinded”, “Blur” and “Cataracts” are prime examples of the direct cut and thrust of much of the album, with each track rolling along on the back of thick riffs, and a fair amount of ’90s alt-rock atmospherics (you can’t deny the overwhelming presence of grunge-like emotionality on this one). Lyrically, the band make use of poignant, heartfelt pleas for empathy in a grimy entropy fixated world, and while Kensrue dissects failed relationships, anguish and pain he never loses sight of the prospect of hope and redemption.

Where to from here for Thrice is, once again, anyone’s guess, and that’s perhaps one of their finest attributes. They certainly keep you guessing, and although they have roamed far and wide over the musical spectrum, they have never lost that compassionate punk spirit that has underscored all their works. Major/Minor is less experimental and less cryptic than their last few albums and it’s all the better for it—its straightforwardness only accentuates the band’s lyrical themes. Another superb album from Thrice.

(Thrice)

Strung Out have always stood out as a bit of an anomaly on the roster of their label, Fat Wreck Chords. That’s no dig at Fat—the label’s taste is impeccable—but Strung Out have been the one band that have shown the greatest desire to develop their sound and progress lyrically. While many of their peers are happy to reproduce the same So-Cal inspired punk, album after album, Strung Out have continuously produced works that are more technically complex and have a far greater narrative depth.

The band have shown a confident, ambitious spirit with each new release. And while their songs have always had plenty of swinging, rugged hooks and sing-along resonating choruses, they’ve consistently infused their work with touches of heavier tones, for a weightier, more forthright, thrust. That said, the band have been let down on occasion by some wafer-thin production. That slight deficit is conclusively remedied on their new release as the songs have been remastered and remixed. They sound punchier, crisper, more nuanced and a lot more direct. The first three tracks, “Firecracker”, “Velvet Alley” and “Mind of my Own”, positively sizzle with energy. The band’s songs were vigorous enough without the tweaking, but their newfound clarity only intensifies their zealousness and gives the album a fresh and powerful feel.

Top Contenders offers a comprehensive overview of the band’s career thus far. The album is comprised of songs from all their releases, with plenty of them occupying space in the band’s live set-list, along with three brand new tracks (which are excellent too). Fervent fans might find fault with the album—there’s always someone who can’t understand why their favourite obscure b-side isn’t on a best-of release—but this really is a fantastic summary of the band’s career, and it’s an essential primer if you’ve not heard the band before.

Ultimately, Top Contenders is a great release from a band that has released some of the finest underground anthemic rock. It’s catchy, rough, tough and hard-nosed. As such, its punk rock at its finest.

(Strung Out)

(Fat Wreck Chords)

Written by Theo Sangster

I described Abel Tesfaye’s House of Balloons, released earlier this year, as ‘the sordid tale of a drug-fuelled top-of-the-tower cocaine party’. Having spent a fair whack of time this year in high rises and hotels (no drugs though – I promise), I can attest to the fact that it can be lonely at the top; almost deafening at times to be honest. To prove my point, the first track on The Weeknd’s follow up mixtape Thursday has rightly been called “Lonely Star”: looking down, the cars and young lovers on the sidewalk may as well be the drug spots that have formed in his blood-shot eyes. Tesfaye may just well be the prodigal son of R&B, the brooding “Life of the Party” whose ‘friends’ will disappear just as quickly as the easy money, easy girls and latest cocktail of “drugs in his body”. He “loves her today, because it’s Wednesday”, but for the rest of the week he will be as evanescent as she will be fickle. Thursday’s lyrical content is just as heavy as The Weeknd’s previous release, deeply insightful at all times, and the beats are just as fresh.

The kid is actually kicking it quite seriously. Standout track “The Zone” (featuring a pretty sick verse from Drake) pushes the heartbreak to ever-dizzying heights: “I’ll be making love to her through you/so let me keep my eyes closed”. It’s the closest you can ever be to somebody, but all he feels is galaxial distance. Goodness me, we are only three tracks in! The rest of the mixtape follows a similar discourse and is well worth the listen. Interesting production runs throughout, employing an arresting array of samples and deft musicianship – far too much to describe here (a good thing). “The Birds Part 1″ and “The Birds Part 2” are a depressing duet (though I still don’t quite understand the Alfred Hitchcock reference). The Dylan-driven “Rolling Stone” turns a nod to rock ‘n’ roll heroes of old (Tesfaye has more ‘moves like Jagger’ than any mainstream pretender), and final track, “Heaven or Las Vegas”, ends the mixtape on a Hotel California inscribed comedown. Like The Eagles’ classic tune, Thursday is that lovely place you can never leave. It’s ultimately a lonely experience, but one I recommend for its sheer genius.

(The Weeknd)

The bands last album, We’re Here Because We’re Here, was a triumph; critically acclaimed as a masterpiece of forward-thinking contemporary rock. And although it’s been a long-time since you could claim Anathema were a metal band they’ve taken the opportunity to revisit their roots on the new release Falling Deeper, reinterpreting songs from their back catalogue, albeit in a very different manner.

The key to Anathema’s success as a band these days is their ability to turn a wide range of instrumental, post-rock and classical influences into a singular, progressive suite of songs. And that is exactly how they have approached their new album. Casting aside the metal of yore they have transformed the songs into mesmerizing, orchestral soundscapes. “Crestfallen”, a song originally recorded on the bands debut EP, is pared back to its most rudimentary parts, with a haunting piano melody and acoustic guitar transforming it’s previous spikiness into something else entirely.

Throughout the album the band show why they are leaders in the atmospheric rock pack. “Everwake”, with guest vocals from Anneke van Giersbergen, is simply stunning and “Alone” is saturated in moody, evocative tones. The band also reveals their passion for epic composition on the new album. “Kingdom” is filled with strings, percussion and keyboards, all tentatively balanced against one another. And “J’ai Fait Une Promesse” is all sweeping majestic timbres and dulcet, poignant harmonies.

Falling Deeper ends with the magnificent, and prophetic “We The Gods” and “Sunset of Age”. The first, a reflective gentle song essentially leads you into the next number, which is filled with strings and guitars working together to push you towards the crescendo-like conclusion.

If you like sophisticated and creative post-rock then Anathema is a band you have to hear. The bands previous album is a little more accessible, but only in the sense that it is more ‘rock’ than the new one. If you’ve enjoyed any of their past albums, or were curious to dive into something refreshingly original, then Falling Deeper is the one for you. Anathema have always had a strong sense of vision and this is another significant and innovative release from the band.

(Anathema)

Written by Theo Sangster

Terius Nash may have written “Umbrella” and “Single Ladies” but resting on your laurels has never been a career-continuer (and we currently have two of hip hop’s likely lads currently ‘watching the throne’). Of course, Nash’s mixtape, 1977, is only a promotional taster for The Dream’s slightly delayed album—out soon supposedly—but that is no reason for complacency. Aimed squarely at the mainstream ghetto audience, the mixtape is stuffed with booty-ass hoes, various convertibles and enough Patron for the entire wedding party. I like 1977, and I don’t like it. I like maybe four tracks, and I listen to the rest just because he is The Dream. “So Long” floors me every time, it is the perfect pop song—listen to this if nothing else—and it hints at the hit-making genius behind Rihanna, Beyonce etc. A lot of the music I just don’t get because I come from a white middle-class family, but Pharrell’s contribution to the ego-tripping “This Shit Real Nigga” and the title track “1977 (Miss You Still)” are dope— yes, dope!

1977 opens with the line “Wake me when it’s over,” and although there are definitely a number of snooze-worthy moments on the mixtape, that’s where the ‘next track button’ on your dinosaur of a laptop comes in handy (just the hits!). Or simply use the repeat button on “So Long”. Listen to 1977, but also listen to the 2011 mixtapes from The Weeknd and Frank Ocean, and then decide what songs you want to keep on your iPod. Maybe even make your own mixtape out of them. Your girl will love it.

And so the mighty Mastodon returns. Their new album, The Hunter, is a remarkable return to the heavy, unsettling and crushing weight of the band’s past. Mastodon’s last release, Crack The Skye, was an incredible album; layered in thick, lethargic and progressive tones it signaled a new direction. It was an introspective and sophisticated release, but Mastodon have obviously decided to kick the idea that they’ve matured in any way right to the curb. The Hunter is stripped back, kick-ass, sludge and roll. The band has discarded the more blatantly complex structures of their last release to craft something a lot dirtier and more immediate.

So, goodbye to the epic numbers and welcome to the punch-drunk world of Mastodon. “Black Tongue” and “Curl of the Burl” kick things off with a fantastic blend of those muddy riffs of old combined with the sonic richness a fancy studio provides. The band have clearly regressed on the new album, although that’s no criticism, just a reflection of more Blood Mountain or Leviathan style guitar workouts (you could have plucked “Spectrelight” right off an early album). They’ve still found plenty of room for the lysergic and celestial influences.

Tracks like “Blasteroid” and “Stargasm” have clearly benefited from a stronger stoner and desert rock influence, and while there have been a few grumblings in the press about the band’s more hook-laden tunes drifting towards Foo Fighters territory you can safely ignore such arguments; Mastodon are leaders, not followers.

The way in which the band blends their prog predilections with their desire to rock out a little more underscores just why they are so well respected by fans and critics alike. It’s heavy metal—there’s no doubting that—but it’s clever. And for all the tattoos, chipped teeth and bar fights the band is intelligent enough to ensure that the aggression is tempered by a strong sense of composition. Sure, there’s a touch of pop here and there, but Mastodon have never shied away from throwing in a catchy swaggering riff where it’s needed. That’s what makes their music so compelling in the first place.

Mastodon’s discography is crowded with great albums; I’d be hard pressed to find much fault with any of their releases. They may all have different characteristics, and be searching for meaning in some wildly different places, but the band have consistently released fascinating albums. You can add The Hunter to that list. Mastodon’s latest reaffirms why they leave plenty of other heavy bands quaking in their boots. Smart, hefty and filthy. What more could you want?

The 2005 reunion tour with the ‘classic’ Anthrax lineup saw vocalist Joey Belladonna return after a 13-year absence, but when the tour finished Belladonna exited the Anthrax camp swiftly. John Bush, who put in years of dedicated service after Belladonna was dismissed from the band in the early ’90s, came back to perform a few shows, then he too was gone. Things looked chaotic, but in 2007 virtually unknown vocalist Dan Nelson arrived on the scene, songs were recorded and a new record was on the horizon. At least, it was until Nelson left the band as well.

Things looked worrying; the band had an album in the can but no singer, and the turmoil surrounding their lineup changes threatened to derail any momentum or credibility the band had built up. Finally they approached Belladonna, asking him to consider rejoining the band and re-recording the tracks they had laid down with Nelson. Thankfully, he said yes.

Twenty years since being unceremoniously dumped, Belladonna is back on decks. The last time we heard from him the band was operating at the height of their popularity, so the obvious question is: is the new album any good? And can it repair the damage to the band’s reputation? The answer is a resounding “hell yeah!”

Worship Music is easily the band’s best work in two decades, and arguably a stronger album than their last great release, the John Bush-fronted 1993 album Sound of White Noise. The band sounds genuinely reinvigorated on Worship Music, crafting a tight, aggressive and pared back set of tunes. It’s just the sort of streamlined rowdy thrash ‘n’ roll that we’ve been lacking of late. If you ride a skateboard, know someone who rides a skateboard or even just once saw someone on a skateboard, then you need to own this album.

The band’s chief songwriters, rhythm guitarist Scott Ian and drummer Charlie Benante, have produced 12 storming tunes—plus one Refused cover—that are thick with furious, biting riffs and loads of rousing choruses. Some amazing lead work arrives courtesy of Rob Caggiano. His soloing all over the track “Judas Priest” is particularly impressive, and his production job on the actual album is superb, leaving room for plenty of room for the rough and ready New York exterior the band are famed for, mixed with some modern polish and crunch.

Benante, and bassist Frankie Bello, provide some momentous grooves. Benante has long been revered for his drumming skills and his mark is all over the album—see the earth-shattering tracks “I’m Alive” and “The Devil You Know” for some examples of his propulsive percussive might. But the album’s true highlight has to be the return of the mighty Joey Belladonna.

Belladonna turns in his best work ever on Worship Music. He was slung out of the band with the arrival of alt-metal and grunge—his vocal register not really resonating with angst-ridden hipsters—but his time away has leant his voice a stronger timbre than ever before. He has a new aggressive gruffness to his voice and it’s put to fine use on stomping tracks like the first singles, “Fight ‘Em Till You Can’t” and “Hell on Earth”. He sounds re-energized, and that lends a genuinely passionate tone to his work. Belladonna’s return imbues the record with a sense of enthusiasm and integrity. Any doubts, then check out the soaring harmonies of “The Giant”—you can’t fault that sense of gusto.

It’s been a rocky road getting here but Anthrax have pulled a late-career swerve and produced an album that’ll nestle up alongside the best work from their prime years. Thirty years of playing, and 10 million sales later, they still sound as hungry as ever. Is the album flawed? Well, nobody’s perfect. At more than an hour long things are a bit overextended here and there, but that’s of little consequence in the overall scheme because Worship Music is infinitely better than anything those other Big Four bands have produced in years. If there are a few seconds that could have been trimmed, who cares? With so much disarray in the band these last few years the fact that Anthrax have created such an energetic and vibrant slice of hard-edged metal is all that counts.

It’s so very good to be able to welcome Anthrax back. Worship Music is a true delight for fans. I wholeheartedly recommend you check out it out your earliest opportunity. Back, among the living.

Our first coverage of the 2009 Nationals pays tribute to the guys and girls who took out all the top spots on the weekend. There was some heavy skating, especially from some of the U16 and U13s. Also much respect to all the people who came from far and wide to be there, be it to compete or just to join in on the festivities. Last but definitely not least many thanks to all the sponsors and organisers for making a top notch event a possibility. Thanks to (in no particular order) Cheapskates stores nationwide for putting on regional comps and for being the main sponsor, Element and Vans for doing their part too. Reuben and Kev for putting the pieces together and keeping the judging platform respectable (I was surprised the Bodycount track lasted that long). To Chey, Rhys, Justin, Tim and CBJ for doing the difficult task of judging that comp. I won’t wish that on anyone.

Dallas Marshall won the best manual trick comp. Although, the award should have been for the most ludicrous amount of super stylie tres and backside flips ever done in a 48 hour period.

TA’s Liam Campbell won a package for getting there early.

This chap (I didn’t catch his name) won the I Sacked Myself award.

U13s: Ben Evans (1st), Joe Stewart (2nd) and Chase Collins (3rd).

Ladies: Hannah Kennedy (3rd), Izy Mutu (2nd) and Georgina Matthews (1st).

U16: James Huntly (1st), Eru Tutaki (2nd) and Shawn Boucher (3rd).

Judge this! CBJ, J Dubs, TK, KG and MC Sanjay!

Stop the press! Finally we have a truely groundbreaking (sort of) technological advancement in skateboard construction. The Brew Killers from Creature. “No beverage is safe”. Now, the Macgyver in you all has probably found many ways to open a brew with a skateboard by now, but full credit to Creature for wrapping it up in green and black (flag) and sending their version our way.