I’ve mentioned before that it takes some serious confidence to jack a Black Sabbath song title because the inevitable comparison will probably not redound to your honor. Swedish noisecore dervishes Breach tried it before with Black Sabbath’s namesake song. But they’re not the only ones to give in to the temptation. But here we go again.
“War Pigs” is inarguably one of Black Sabbath’s greatest songs. You love it. I love it. It’s a doomy, moody, apocalyptic masterpiece. Its hastily rewritten lyrics (it was originally called “Walpurgis”) straddle Sabbath’s twin obsessions with the occult and the fucked up state of modern society, blending black magic and the Vietnam War into a single tale of a society tumbling on the verge of satanic anarchy.
So of course repetitive Japanese mash monsters Zeni Geva singularized the song as “War Pig” and flayed it into a seven minute slog of a riff that smashes against your brain like a bunker buster of noise rock. K.K. Null is the most accomplished master of entrancing repetition this side of Michael Gira and “War Pig” is a relentless Godzilla rampage of stomping drums and multiheaded King Ghidorah string strangling. All in all, Zeni Geva hold their own against the undisputed masters of metal misery.
I’ve been re-reading Brian Wood and Riccardo Burchielli’s brilliant and prescient DMZ comics lately. It makes me think a lot about the conditions that could lead to a second American civil war. A war-weary public feel like they’re about to be railroaded into yet another military intervention in the Middle East without any clear understanding of the goal or strategic necessity. Whackaloons are talking about secession because they lost a democratic election. Congress is so broke that it can’t even come together to accomplish the most basic requirements of governing. There’s something in the air that Brian Wood could see coming nearly a decade ago. People left, right and center have this vague, undefined feeling that forces just out of sight and beyond their control have taken over the levers of power, a quiet coup by the kleptocracy.
Astute grinders sensed it coming as well. Texas libertarians Kill the Client dedicated a whole album to the concept way back in 2008.
Freedom-loving Ron Paul aficionado Champ Morgan launches a revolutionary diatribe, exhorting people to rise up against the plutocrats who have used their wealth and influence to tilt the economic playing field against Joe Sixpack who’s just trying to cover a mortgage and keep the kids in school. It’s the frustrated cry of the bewildered workaday office drone who never got a fair shake. Kill the Client aren’t calling for a huge societal upheaval. They just want the rules to be square for everyone.
Hailing from the opposite end of the political spectrum, Jan Frederickx and crew appropriated the language of Karl Marx when they called out the kleptocrats on Agathocles’ 2010 effort This is Not a Threat, It’s a Promise. Frederickx exhorts “Comrades of all nations [to] kick back capitalist domination.”
Two bands with almost diametrically opposed political ideologies keyed in on the same sense of frustration with the way the modern economy is unforgivably gamed to the benefit of the already rich. Same diagnosis but different prescriptions. However, it gives you the sense that maybe something is brewing among the disaffected masses of wage slaves who lack the clout to force their elected representatives to act in their constituents’ interest. So maybe next time somebody warns you about a redneck uprising in Helena, Montana, you better pay attention.
Whether it's a pretentious spelling of eon our a shout out to the helper spirits that keep the world running per gnostic philosophy, "Aeon" the song title inspires bands from a variety of genres to go big and go mystic. It's time to sit back and really think about your place in the universe. As some dude once said, "That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die."
Though Gigantic Brain was birthed out of grindcore, the one man band (now a duo) has never been one to be restricted by stale convention. And GB announced its liberation with the first track of the Betelgeuse EP, part of the band's post-Invasion Discography creative burst. In Gigantic Brain's hands, "Aeon" is a placid, beautiful, meditative piece that seems to have evolved from a separate phylum compared to the band's prior material. Gigantic Brain's oeuvre has always had a pensive soulfulness that's often missing from the accustomed hostility of grindcore and "Aeon" is a great example.
Probably the most famous "Aeon" would be the penultimate song from Neurosis' masterwork Through Silver in Blood. Either definition of aeon plays to the band's man and nature mystique. Neurosis get all spiritual with a tinkling piano opening that gives way to their wonted crush only to stumble into a clashing, staggering mid-section only to roil back up into a crushing finale. It's like Gustave Dore engravings being transfigured into radiant sound.
Most recently, Dephosphorus crowned the astounding Night Sky Transform with an ode to Fermi's headscratcher, a meditative blotch of gray sky paranoia intoned by guitarist Thanos Mantas.
Sci-fi and grind go together like saucer visits and ass probings, so naturally Dephosphorus weren't the first to keep watching the sky. To celebrate the (pants-tighteningly awesome) news that Gigantic Brain's two year carbonite deep freeze is over (as a two piece now!), here's Virginia's greatest digi-alien-grinder giving his spin on "Fermi Paradox" from 2009's Betelgeuse EP.
Considering Black Sabbath single handedly (more or less; suck it, Blue Cheer) invented this heavy rock thing we all love, it takes gigantic hairy balls to nick not just one of their songs titles but their namesake song. However, that's exactly what happened in 1999. Though to be fair, Black Sabbath did steal their name anyway. I guess it all evens out.
Swedish noisecoreniks Breach swiped the name of the gods on album Venom, an unheralded gem of second gen noise rock that lands somewhere in the sweet coital space between Converge and Anodyne. Rather than a doomy dirge about a lovely midnight dinner party with Satan, Breach make their "Black Sabbath" a scraping noisy hardcore freakout.
And just because I love them so much, here's Australia's sludge monsters Halo absolutely pounding out the tale of the most atramentaceous Sunday in history.
Is there something about the name Darker Days Ahead that's cursed, that causes otherwise great bands to churn out disappointing albums? Because the name has soured both Terrorizer and Tragedy. So here are the title tracks from each, which surprisingly, taken in isolation, don't make for bad songs. So maybe my curse hypothesis needs further refining.
While publicly proclaiming my love of kaiju metal a few months ago, I did severe damage to my credibility by forgetting that Justin Broadrick is not the only one who has fallen under the sway of Godzilla's benevolent lepidotera companion. Canadian power violencers The Endless Blockade have also sung the praises of the peaceful spirit of the Earth. While I prefer Battra, the spirit of the Earth's rage, I've got to admit these are a pair of pretty sweet songs.
The negative pressure ventilator, aka the iron lung, was a technological marvel that kept thousands of polio patients alive during the 1930s and '40s. The technology has been superseded and the gadget is little more than a historic curiosity since vaccines have essentially eliminated polio. However, the image of the iron lung still has enough resonance to inspire a trifecta of excellent noise.
First up is Brutal Truth whose anomalously conjoined "Ironlung" was a mid-album noise pastiche to break up all the grinding on breakout album Need to Control.
The breathing apparatus also inspired British psycho punks Rudimentary Peni to get all noise collagey, closing out the (allegedly) semi-autobiographical freakazoid album Pope Adrian 37th Psychristiatic. Turn on, tune in, freak the fuck out.
Obviously the band Iron Lung took their name from the, duh, iron lung, but it also inspired their song "Iron Lung," another power violent tiptoe through the band's back catalog.
You are NOT getting sleepy. For all the talk about "Mass Hypnosis," there's just no way you can nod off when Nasum and Sepultura, both in their prime, start screaming at you for attention. Thrashin' and grindin' and hypnotisin' your ass with the power of the almighty hooky riff. Two different bands, two different eras, two differing genres, one common objective: your undivided attention. Mass hypnosis!
While I've never had the pleasure of being introduced to bird flu, I have done battle with its cousin H1N1, swine flu. Maybe I'll finally get my chance because bird flu is a serious concern these days thanks to research into H5N1's ability to transmit between mammals. The findings have stirred up controversy among those who say publishing the results, while valuable for researchers seeking effective treatments for the flu strain, could be used to weaponize the virus. Bird flu is also right in grindcore's wheelhouse because both Sweden's Gadget and Australia's Extortion have dipped into that well.
Decidedly non-grinding this time out, but I can't let the fact that both the Dead Kennedys and Slayer - probably two of the most defining bands of my pre-grind high school experience - have songs called "Chemical Warfare." The juxtaposition of Jello Biafra's comical indictment of chest-thumping militarism hilariously bounces off of Slayer's attempt to be all scary and serious and dark and oh sooooo metal.
The Dead Kennedys lived by Voltaire's prayer, and the 1980s provided them plenty of fodder for their sneering assault on stifling Reagan-era conformity. Biafra took the jingoistic fellating of the military and the United States' war-mongering prowess that was de rigueur at the time and upended it. What better target for liberated chemical weapons than your local country club?
In Slayer's hands, "Chemical Warfare" becomes an awesome, abrasive slab of relentless thrash that stands out on their finest all around release, Haunting the Chapel. (As an aside, can we all finally just admit that Reign in Blood is two great songs bookending a bunch of really meh filler? I mean, is there really a garage band out there clamoring to add "Reborn" or "Necrophobic" to their repertoire?) There is no humor to be had here. The jokers will only die laughing.
For totally bonus shits 'n' giggles, here's Sepultura's "Rest in Pain (R.I.P.)," which liberally steals from the Dead Kennedys' "Chemical Warfare" as it fades out.
To keep himself occupied during those tedious tour bus rides (when the keyboardist wasn't playing video games, at least), David St. Hubbins of Spinal Tap fame subscribed to the Namesake series of cassettes. The hook was that a celebrity would read the works of some author with the same last name (though why Dr. J was reading the works of Washington Irving remains a mystery). More than just a throwaway gag during the credits of a 30 year old flick, the notion of namesakes really resonates with me. When you come from a general musical world that revolves around hate, misery, death and pain, it shouldn't be a surprise when two different bands strike at the same image or idea. It's a pretty limited pool you're working with. Nonetheless, I'm always intrigued to see two divergent groups of musicians reach the same point from different directions. Case in point, in a three year span both Napalm Death and Converge hit upon songs titled "I Abstain." I can't see any other correlation between the two bands and two songs other than that they both decided on the same phrase at about the same time. One doesn't seem to be a reference to the other, as far as I can tell. Intriguingly, both bands slotted it as the second track on their albums First out the gate in 1992 was Napalm Death with Utopia Banished. After a pointless bit of noisy/industrial folderol, Napalm get their death on with "I Abstain."
Short of my personal favorite, "Dementia Access," I'd say "I Abstain" pretty much typifies both the album and Napalm Death's better post-Mick Harris output. With the only consistent presence and principle songwriter on their first thee full lengths defenestrated, guitarists Mitch Harris and Jesse Pintado shook off the deathly (but respectable nonetheless) rust of Harmony Corruption and started penning pretty much the kinds of songs you'd expect from the guys who anchored Righteous Pigs and Terrorizer, respectively. Just ignore that run from Fear, Emptiness, Despair through Words From the Exit Wound and dive back in with Enemy of the Music Business and the continuity seems to make more sense. Two years later sickly talented Massholes Converge were lighting the fuse on a hardcore powder keg with their debut Halo in a Haystack (conveniently collected on Caring and Killing with bonus goodies for those of you who don't want to spend a rent check on a piece of hardcore trivia). There at track two is old faithful, "I Abstain."
The plodding menace of the song's deliberative tread is about as anti-grind as you can get short of going all drone doom on our asses. But from the start, "I Abstain" flashed the poise, creativity and pure technical chops that would define Converge, especially once they encountered a young lady who will forever be known as Jane Doe. Two very different bands within the space of three years write songs with identical titles. So who owns it best? Don't ask me. I abstain.
