52 Albums That Shaped My Life - #1

Metallica – Ride The Lightning

(Megaforce, 1984)

Buy the album here

There is no other band that could be at the top of this list. While there has been an ongoing internal struggle throughout this year concerning the album that would represent Metallica, it was always this band that would be written about on 15^th April 2018, which is, incidentally, my birthday. And as I turn 37 years old it is fitting that Metallica have been in existence for nearly every month of that time having been officially formed in October of 1981. Often credited with popularising, or even creating, thrash metal with the 1983 release of their debut Kill ‘Em All, it only took one album for the band’s ambitions to grow. Ride The Lightning stepped beyond the all-out speed, aggression, and self-reflexivity of Metallica’s first album and set a new standard in epic heavy music. The themes of injustice, war, death, and fear were more complex and personal than before. The music was more progressive, diverse in its instrumentation, and lyrically nimble, yet it was exponentially heavier than Kill ‘Em All. Whatever they had given up in overall speed had been substituted with the vicious stomp of a rhythmically pummelling riff like “For Whom The Bell Tolls”. Whatever they had lost in crowd pleasing sing-alongs like “Seek and Destroy” had been made up for by giant metal anthems like “Creeping Death”. And whatever Metallica may have gone on to miss in terms of the pure fun of a song like “Jump In The Fire”, fans of music could console themselves with the almost unbearable beauty of “Fade To Black”.

Perhaps knowing the challenge the album might pose for existing fans or thrash diehards, it opens with its most direct and aggressive song. “Fight Fire With Fire”, after its delightfully medieval acoustic guitar intro, is a furious, burning cauldron of thrash with Hetfield’s verse vocal evoking incantations or satanic rituals while the wrist-wrecking riffage and incessant, thumping drums give you whiplash and dent your skull. The power and speed of the instrumentation is even striking now, and when Kirk Hammett gives fans their first real glimpse of his lead guitar chops on record it does not let up. Title track “Ride The Lightning” continues this heaviness, but introduces more of the dark complexity that the album embraces. An intro of harmonised guitars and pounding toms takes us to the churning, mid-paced verse riff bolstering the lyrics now famous among fans, “Death in the air/Strapped in the electric chair/This can’t be happening to me”. These first two tracks only begin to open the ears of expectant thrash fans, and it is in the iconic bell rings of “For Whom The Bell Tolls” that this album truly takes shape.

The late Cliff Burton’s insane, distorted, and squeezed bass line provides a unique atmosphere to this opening, but it is the stellar interplay between guitar sounds that define this song. The riff that appears at roughly the minute mark is still the heaviest riff I have heard, sounding like concrete strings being played by concrete plectrums by people with concrete hands. Metallica instantly provide balance to this with a wonderfully gentle, guiding lead guitar sound that lands us at the feet of the inspired chorus riff. But half of the genius of this song is that it knows when to back off, giving the vocal as much space as you’ll ever find on a thrash record, and even playing with moments of silence. Metallica’s thematic preoccupation with the damage done to the individual in war, which most will know from the iconic “One”, finds its first true expression in “For Whom The Bell Tolls”, but in “Fade To Black”, a musical and structural precursor to “One”, Metallica and James Hetfield contemplate for the first time the isolation and emotional vulnerability of suicide. This is a huge step for a band who had previously been singing about The Four Horseman of the Apocalypse or other cartoonish imaginings of death or Death, and it results in perhaps Metallica’s most moving song. The Spanish guitar with wailing electric lead behind it cuts through the crushing heaviness off the previous three songs while Lars Ulrich’s thick yet gentle drums display patience in what becomes an ever-steepening climb to an unbelievable climax. “Fade To Black” is a perfect song. In the six times I have been lucky enough to see it performed live I have cried every time, a lot, and I barely manage to make it through a listening of it on CD, vinyl, or mp3 without shedding a tear. The pitch of Hetfield’s voice, the expansiveness of the last big verse riff, and the escalating drama of that interplay between Hetfield’s sorrowful rhythm guitar and Hammett’s high-pitched shredding build until I feel like I’m going to burst. It is everything I could want heavy metal to be.

As if they knew that the heights of “Fade…” would be too much for me, the duo of tracks that follow are a somewhat odd couplet. “Trapped Under Ice” and “Escape” seem to exist in a concept album that did not get made. The former is a furious and lively thrasher with exciting rhythm guitar and vocal parts that set it apart from “Escape” which, aside from the gliding harmonising of the opening and the gently catchy chorus, is a relatively uninspired drudge. Luckily “Creeping Death” comes along to wash away the memory of “Escape”… WITH BLOOD. This is heavy metal. Epic, theatrical, heavy, complex yet direct, filled with opportunities for the crowd to chant, and designed to get people thrashing their necks. It tells the story of Passover from the point of view of the destroying angel, but more importantly has chants of “Die! Die! Die!” which have likely ruined the larynxes of many over-excited teenagers. It was arguably the last time Metallica were this much fun and this good all at the same time. “Creeping Death” will always be one of Metallica’s best songs as it feels so pure, so part of them, and absolutely rips listeners to bits at the same time. To piece listeners back together the album closes with what would become a Metallica staple: an epic instrumental. “The Call of Ktulu” is resplendent in its cyclical building of tension, key changes, and patient leads. It is reminiscent of the skilled escalation found in “Fade To Black” and I find myself rising and falling with the scales and arpeggios of Hammett’s brilliant work. It is one of the many tracks from this era of Metallica that carries the stamp of Cliff Burton’s influence, the desire to branch out and not be constricted by expectations or genre limitations. And that is what Ride The Lightning represents for Metallica and their development of a music that would somehow come to shape the mainstream of rock in the following thirty years.

In recording Ride The Lightning Metallica created a blueprint for themselves that contributed to their rise and rise through their next two acclaimed albums, Master of Puppets and …And Justice For All. And in less musically sure times they would return successfully to that blueprint with 2008’s Death Magnetic. So as I asked myself whether Ride… or …Justice…  would be my choice as most influential album in my musical life, I simply asked myself which was most influential to Metallica. Here is an album that defined what Metallica did for nearly a decade, made them inspirations to legions of new thrash and extreme metal bands, and landed Metallica on a major label following its successful release. Ride The Lightning is Metallica to me. For years I had a long sleeve T-shirt with the album cover on the front and the mantra “Birth – School – Metallica – Death” emblazoned on the back in that unmistakable James Hetfield font. I’ve never felt so at home in a piece of clothing, and while that mantra is becoming worryingly close to truth for me, I’ve never felt so at home with a piece of music. In fact, that understates it. This music feels as if it is an essential part of me, that I could not live without it. As I tried explaining to an equally intrigued and worried friend who is not particularly passionate about music, the sounds of Ride The Lightning do not feel as if they are coming from speakers, but from within my body, as if my organs were vibrating in unison to produce perfect sounds to express my soul. Metallica have been and will always be the music of my soul.  

52 Albums That Shaped My Life - #2

The Paper Chase – Hide The Kitchen Knives

(Southern Records, 2002)

Buy the album here

This is somehow the most twisted and the most musical moment in this entire blog. The Paper Chase was a band that revelled in distorting and choking notes until they died in front of you, yet celebrated melody with unbridled joy and delivered perfectly timed hooks as second nature. The domestic darkness at this record’s core is more frightening for all the catchiness and lush instrumentation, but it is the theme pulling the music towards a unifying central line that makes Hide The Kitchen Knives the band’s best work. While other albums, especially the band’s final release Someday This Could All Be Yours, Vol.1, proved their musical ability and their acute vision of everyday demons, none of these works had such focus and single-minded intent. Hide The Kitchen Knives magnifies minute domestic details until they burst through their own cells, splattering the listener with emotional gore and aural distortion that will never wash off.

John Congleton is, simply put, the maestro behind this madness. For most people, he’s more likely to be known to them through his vast catalogue of work as a producer with acts as disparate as Saint Vincent and Baroness. His attention to detail as a producer clearly plays into the flow of this album and the richness of its sounds. Take “A Little Place Called Trust” as an example. Scraping into existence along the sharpening blades of the title’s kitchen knives and bolstered by the mumbles of what sounds like sampled news reports, this song displays all the diverse architecture of a John Congleton song where angles, curves, wood, stone, and glass clash repeatedly but somehow unify to create a powerful yet fragile family home. The distorted guitars jump over and are then swamped by discordant piano and bleating lambs (really). Behind this madness the deep percussion and thick bass provide steadier ground for the overly sweet melodies of Congleton’s voice, allowing their insidious hooks to take hold and making his cries of “you are not the innocent” unavoidable and frightening.

And “frightening” is the word needed to describe the portentous atmosphere and sickening rhythm section of “AliverAlungAkidneyAthumb”. Its opening repetition of a spoken word sample recounts the hypnotic power of cntrl-alt-delete-u but The Paper Chase aren’t hanging around on this one. Even with the gut-churning constancy of those plodding toms and bass, the pace is frantic once Congleton breaks his silence with, “how could you let it in your house and let it in your bed”. The lyrical flow is astounding and takes you on another tour of domestic terror replete with spiritual and physical metaphors yet always grounded in a grim reality. Signing off with the darkest delivery possible of the line, “drive carefully dear” transports us seamlessly into the song of the same name with its jammed out opening and pained vocals. These songs also share the lyrics, “my little nest of vipers”, a recurring technique in The Paper Chase’s songwriting drawing the listener into this dirty world of minute details and gigantic emotions. In fact, while there are amazing standalone songs, the impact of listening to the album as a single entity exponentially magnifies the intensity of each song, so as we drift into album closer “Out come the knives” we are hanging on every single word of the worrying and evocative tale Congleton tells:

did sweet daddy die square on your birthday

in some macabre-ish attempt to see you’d rue the day.

or appear in the end and be happy he made it back,

to be just in time to cut the cake and watch you

boil alive in your own butterscotch

Congleton’s expertise as a producer and performer creates the impression that the band simply stood mic’d up in a room for roughly an hour and just jammed this out in one take. And that’s an incredible feat when you consider the thick layers of instrumentation that make this production so lively and re-listenable. It also makes a mockery of trying to explain the greatness of this record one track at a time. There is only so much we can learn from isolating these tracks when the relationship they have with their neighbouring material is important and strong. I think the best I can do is to describe the sensations I have experienced while sitting/standing/dancing and listening to Hide The Kitchen Knives. Initially I felt the imagery of the lyrics pulling me in to the titular kitchen scene imagining my own stories of familial or romantic turmoil, while the live feeling of the production pulled me to the centre of the band’s rehearsal room. But more recently the record has felt like the soundtrack to Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood. I feel myself being drawn near to delicate and detailed characters while the fear of a horrible crime lingers behind me at all times. And much like Capote’s novel, it is the attention paid to the extended reality of these stories that holds this power over the listener and made such an important record in my musical life.

52 Albums That Shaped My Life - #3

Slayer – Reign In Blood

(American Recordings, 1986)

Buy the album here

In honour of Slayer’s legendary speed during the recording of this album, I’m going to attempt to write this review in 28 minutes. That’s just enough time for you to have your skin sliced from your face by King and Hanneman’s duelling solos, your eardrums pierced by Araya’s screams, and your neck thrashed into submission by Lombardo’s incessant snare and bass pedal attack. Rick Rubin infamously cleaned up the band’s sound and played a huge part in shifting the mainstream in the direction of thrash metal, but Slayer still sound more extreme than that today. The album’s grizzled darkness played at hyperspeed still burrows under the skin nearly 22 years after its release, and the original production is heavy, crisp, and fresh. In “cleaning” up their sound, Rubin didn’t set out to make them more palatable, but rather give each perfectly timed note its due respect. There are few heavy metal albums in the mainstream that do more to prove the untouchable musicianship that exists in the genre. From death-obsessed beginning to blood-soaked end, Reign In Blood refuses to be denied its due respect with blistering solos, cord-ripping vocals, and a beats-per-minute count that set a standard for technical death metal for years to come.

What’s more is that Slayer didn’t just perform like heavy metal superhumans, they wrote perhaps the perfect extreme metal record. While the most memorable, covered, and referenced tracks are the opener “Angel of Death” and final song “Raining Blood”, these actually serve as bookends to the most incredible blast of anti-religion, death-dripping, gore-drenched musical violence that has ever been recorded.  From the chugging groove at the start of “Piece by Piece” to the insane catchiness of “Postmortem” and its vicious speed metal segue into the bloodstorm of “Raining Blood”, the album’s concise, thematically united sub-20-minute body is extreme metal purity: lyrics are spat at you, riffs are barely repeated, and there is not a single deviation from the ultimate purpose of aural destruction. There is no balance here.

“Necrophobic” is evil in audio form. It races by in little more than a minute and a half, and there is barely time to register everything that has happened. Araya’s faster-than-possible vocals and sickening screams are matched by King and Hanneman’s overlapping solos and abusive rhythm sounds, all while Lombardo and Araya hammer through an intense hardcore rhythm section barrage. It’s as stunning as thrash metal has ever been. “Altar of Sacrifice” doesn’t let up the evil sound but feels outright expansive next to the brutal brevity of “Necrophobic”. There is more space for dynamics with the move towards groove-laden moments which in turn paves the way for the insidious slow build of “Jesus Saves”. This momentary patience capitulates to a frantic verse riff and three solos which will melt your ears. Hanneman’s solo in particular feels like its tearing the skin from your flesh and flaying your unprotected body.

“Criminally Insane” is a creeper punctuated with big floor tom sounds from Lombardo, expressive solos, and astounding vocal delivery of the line, “I have yet only just begun/To take your fuckin’ lives”. It leads us to the most uncompromising portion of this mid-section. “Reborn” is an onslaught of ever-changing riffs, vicious drumming, and vocal delivery so fast and snarled it defies belief. To this day it makes me feel sick to listen to “Reborn”, but Slayer care not as they tear into the equally potent and vile “Epidemic”. There is 10 seconds of some sort of catchy, bouncy riff just after the 90-second mark which quickly descends into the chaos of Araya’s screams and garrotting wire solos, but for one brief moment on this album Slayer allow you a peek to the world above, before reminding you that there is no escape once you’ve gone to hell. The giant riffs and atmospherics of “Postmortem” follow and are matchless in their sinister yet addictive qualities, providing ample set-up for the crushing and iconic sounds of “Raining Blood”.

And while the harmonised guitars, thundering gallop of the drums, and pit-starting glory of both “Angel of Death” and “Raining Blood” are electrifying, what exists in between is in many ways the crowning achievement of Slayer’s career. It is rare for a collection of such unforgiving, focused, and frantic tracks to claim such widespread acclaim and acceptance, but by placing the body of this album between these towering monoliths of modern metal, Slayer were able to satisfy the hordes while simultaneously taking a surgeon’s knife to the burgeoning genre of thrash metal. What was left behind after they finished cutting was akin to Thomas Geminus’ engraved platesof a flayed man: concise, exact, brutal, and eternally alive in death. Slayer’s Reign In Blood is the perfect embodiment of thrash metal.

[Note: the 28 minute limit was exceeded, going some way to proving you can’t get anything done in the time it takes to listen to Reign In Blood.]     

52 Albums That Shaped My Life - #6

Exhorder – Slaughter in the Vatican

(Roadrunner, 1990)

Buy the album wherever you can find it, because I can't

I had seen Exhorder T-shirts flying around long before I even knew what they sounded like.  The jagged letters in the logo suggested death metal influences, but the swampy yet razor sharp thrash I eventually heard was somehow heavier than that.  The frantic drumming only heightened the sheer fear generated by the vile and disgusting guitar sounds, and the pained and brilliantly arranged vocals surprised and slayed in equal measure.  While their sound doesn't easily associate them with the NOLA scene, the southern sludge influence of the band’s hometown can be heard throughout their debut album and lends a unique atmosphere to their groove-thrash.  The infamous Scott Burns was drafted in by Roadrunner to produce and, while the results are controversial for some, there is no doubting the intensity that the band captured with this melding of thrash, groove, and death.  Having reformed in 2008, the band have yet to release a follow-up to second album The Law, but with Slaughter in the Vatican setting the benchmark it is understandable they are taking their time to write killer material.

“Homicide” is nasty.  Plunging bass sounds that make you want to vomit, demonically twisted backing vocals, disgusting lyrics, and a guitar/drum assault that feels like GBH come together in a musical maelstrom of murder.  The groove kicks in during the second minute, but the damage is already done to a neck that will need warming up before listening to this beast.  That it’s only 3 minutes long is little help, a point proved again in another relentless blast of thrash in “Anal Lust”.  Snare ‘til you die in this two-minute wrecker gives you no time to think, but on repeat listens you will notice the skill of Kyle Thomas’ vocals.  Whether he’s going with the rhythm or against it, Thomas pulls out the perfect emphasis, pitch, pace, and intensity at every turn.  This is one of thrash metal's finest vocal performances.  Even when they slow things down on a track like “Desecrator”, the barks, growls, and screams all hit their marks, at times being spat out with such speed and precision that you can’t help but picture a torrent of spittle flying from his overworked mouth on every plosive.  “Desecrator”, while still brutal, allows Exhorder’s influence on thrash and groove metal in the 90s to shine through.  Everything the band are about is on display here.

“Exhorder” is more succinct.  No preamble here.  Just smashing you in the face from the outset.  The guitar tone and drumming are incredible and the cries of “Exhorder” are gleefully pained and catchy at the same time.  “Legions of Death” turns my prefrontal cortex to mush.  Bashing it against the inside of my skull has that affect.  Title track and album closer, “Slaughter in the Vatican” is perhaps the most patient composition, but the moment the band lose that patience is breath-taking.  Around the 1’40” mark, after a building groove, it sounds like their ADHD has driven them spare.  The next 5 minutes has them lurching back and forth between sickened grooves and brutalised blasts of thrash punctuated by Thomas’ hurling of the words, “If the father of the church is to lead and teach you/Then why doesn't he follow the rules?/Imitate the son of man and live with the poor/Instead of fearing him while he's on tour”.  But it’s the first song rather than the last that leaves its mark on the listener.  Every time I listen to opening track “Death in Vain” I think that there can’t be a better track than this on the record.  Following a suspiciously Sepultura-esque atmospheric sound effect, Exhorder unleash an album’s worth of energy in the following 4 minutes of anti-war proselytising.  It’s a petrifying whirlwind of sludge-thrash riffing, pounding snare, and gnarled vocals crowned with the lyrics, “Cause of death was never confirmed/Did he really die?/Get permission from the state/To save his precious life”. 

It’s an album that could send its fans in the direction of Obituary, Pantera, Anthrax, Eyehategod, or Sepultura, but I guarantee they will always return to Slaughter in the Vatican.  This is an album that should have been a touchstone for the thrash generation, but somehow got stuck in the sinking mud of the early 90s near-death of the genre.  Once metal fans had pulled themselves free of that mud they were free to dive back in to the swamp with Exhorder and we’ve seen a rejuvenation in the genre fuelled by old and new bands alike.  And that’s what Exhorder did for me as a music fan: reminded me how vicious, vital, and different thrash can be and brought me back to my favourite musical genre.      

52 Albums That Shaped My Life - #7

Prong - Cleansing

(Epic, 1993)

Buy the album on eBay

I use the term “party metal”, and nobody ever seems to know what I mean.  I refer to music that has all the hallmarks of heavy metal, meaning it would never be able to infiltrate the mainstream, but has the energy, danceability, and sense of fun that might result in a party getting started, even if only by one lonely guy in his front room.  I’m most often referring to bands like Every Time I Die, their no-holds-barred lyrics, and their don’t-give-a-shit charm, but the term started before that band even came around.  For one shining album, Prong made party metal that could have sweaty maniacs moshing hell-for-leather one moment, and grooving all sexy-like, looking for a hook-up the next.  It feels like music for people who would wear leather trousers out even though it’s 35 degrees in the club, but simultaneously it’s for those who subscribe to the Andrew W.K. party uniform.  So even if you’re in your jeans and white T-shirt, grab your leathered friend, get Cleansing blasting through your speakers, and let the party commence.

Produced by 90s metal producer extraordinaire, Terry Date, you’ll hear Pantera guitar tone influences on this record, and at times that groove metal feel might make you think Prong are little more than Pantera impersonators.  However, Prong and Tommy Victor (guitar, vocals) are far less interested in macho posturing and way more into industrial and dance music influences.  In fact, Prong are closer to White Zombie in their sense of musical fun, and, while the explosion of DJs in metal bands wouldn’t occur until later, you can feel the push towards scratching being incorporated into metal with some of the guitar techniques and sampling employed here.  “Broken Peace” begins with a Tom Morello-inspired background riff and a pummelling bass line.  Those Rage Against the Machine-like guitar squeaks hint at the developments mainstream metal would see in the 90s, but more importantly provide a lighter, more danceable backdrop to the industrial riffing that kicks in.  While Prong want you to dance to their tunes and keep everyone happy with their rounded rhythm section sounds, they are a heavy band and the riffs are crushing in their weight and sharpness.  Tommy Victor’s vocals are not the usual frothing, angry metal frontman style, but rather have a slow, deliberate burning intensity to them, exemplified by his delivery of the lines:

Now it's all exploding

Pick up the broken peace

Nothing left to break.

“One Outnumbered” maintains this vaguely politicised burning intensity but balances it with coddling passages of dream-like guitar clouds and soothing bass.  It’s indicative of a band mindful of dynamics and the value of a gentle sway to break up the neck-snapping headbanging.  That’s all well and good, but it ain’t metal if it doesn’t punch you in the face at some point, and the riff here is a series of jaw-cracking jabs, the vocal a left hook to make your head spin.  It’s one of those riffs that makes you wish you could bang your head backwards as well, as if standard headbanging doesn’t fully express your approval of the pacing, rhythm and crunch of that guitar sound.  Tommy Victor displays an exceptional innate sense of rhythm and groove on this record, both on guitar and in his vocals, and at points the album feels like a tribute to the riff, every song designed to put its perfectly formed guitar parts directly into your brain.

Even when things get a little swampy on the later tracks, there is an undeniable guitar hook in each song.  The squeezed riff of “No Question” inspires thoughts of Zakk Wylde’s over-exposed production on Sonic Brew; “Home Rule” hits with the intensity of Rollins Band and its great riff is perfectly complemented by peppery drumming; the staccato phrasing of “Sublime” is a prime example of what Prong do even if it wanders too much.  But the true heart of this album is in its opening third.  First track, “Another Worldly Device”, does not delay its riff attack, shredding your tympanic membrane with a delightfully abrasive guitar sound played at speeds that keep your feet moving double time.  The raspy vocals match that riff, before the solo injects a little left-field lunacy with wailing squeaks that continue to lie below the surface of the closing chorus.  “Cut-Rate” has a lunacy of a thrashier nature, with top speed being reached within tenths of a second of the song’s beginning.  The solo somehow seems to crank that speed up until the song can barely contain itself and it dissolves into some vague industrial noises and a plodding, heavy outro.  While both of these songs are great, Prong’s strength is not necessarily in playing at speed.  The album’s iconic high point is the party metal duo of “Whose Fist Is This Anyway?” and “Snap Your Fingers, Snap Your Neck”, both more focused on intense groove, stop-and-start rhythms, and banging of the head.

“Whose First Is This Anyway?”, a song title applicable to so many life situations, is built on an incessant rhythm that allows the guitar parts to chop, stop, roll and generally keep the listener grooving and moving.  The influence of and on White Zombie can be heard most clearly here and is a clear sign of Terry Date’s work across the bands he worked with in the 90s.  “Snap Your Fingers, Snap Your Neck” is a bona fide heavy metal classic.  The lyrics of working class hardship seem to carry a self-reflexive heavy metal importance that has made the track a club classic since its release.  The rolling bass intro lines up another cutting Prong guitar sound, but it’s happy to let Victor’s voice stand on its own before lurching back in with a galloping pre-chorus riff.  The picked sections, open string strumming, pinched harmonics, and vicious main riff provide an incredibly varied foundation for the iconic line to grab hold of its listeners, “snap your fingers, snap your neck”.  It’s a song for singing along, swinging your hair, and banging your head with your friends whether they prefer leather or denim.  Christ, even if they prefer corduroy or twill cotton.  Cleansing is an album that exists right at modern metal’s heart.  Welcoming fans from both ends of the metal spectrum to celebrate guitar riffs and party hard.  While Prong have never quite rediscovered this perfect balance, Cleansing stands as a classic metal album with an identity all its own.      

52 Albums That Shaped My Life - #8

Nevermore – Dead Heart in a Dead World

(Century Media, 2000)

Buy the album here

In December of 2017 Nevemore’s former vocalist Warrel Dane died of a heart attack.  The band had split following The Obsidian Conspiracy, and Dane was recording his second solo album when he passed away.  While his problems with alcohol contributed to Nevermore’s split and ultimately his death, Dane's talent for dramatic, histrionically wild heavy metal vocals helped set his band apart from their contemporaries.  One of the few American acts to successfully adopt a more modern European style of heavy metal, Nevermore balanced crushing heaviness with mature melodies, and politicised ruminations on our technological world with Gothic fantasy.  Taken from the word repeated by the titular bird in Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven”, the band’s name seems fitting given their and the author’s American reworking of Gothic and horror traditions more commonly associated with Britain and Europe.  Dane’s theatrical style, lurching from soulful baritone crooning to high-pitched shrieks to sharp-edged, aggressive modern metal vocals, provides the album with a mid-Atlantic feel that somehow avoids compromise. 

Like Opeth at their peak, Dead Heart in a Dead World combines distinct styles while maintaining focus and direction.  Jeff Loomis’ guitar sound has a depth and versatility that is also reminiscent of Opeth, while Van Williams' punishing percussion reminds me of Vader but with the feel to deal with Nevermore’s more ballad-like tracks.  This balance of styles has the album on a knife edge of hysterical emotion and technical chicanery.  The joy of listening to Nevermore is the feeling you will fall from that edge at any moment, only to be pulled back by the perfect musical balance or an expertly timed shift in tone.  Take their nearly unrecognisable cover of Simon and Garfunkel’s “Sound of Silence” as an example: tight, heavy riffing and incessant snare strikes create an oppressive atmosphere that runs the risk of overpowering the wonderful lyrics of the original, but Dane’s ability to tell the story with loud “whispers” and proud, full-bodied melodies levels the scale.  Recorded at a time when metal bands were covering all sorts of popular songs, Nevermore’s effort stands out as a benchmark for all others to heed before trying their own.  But it is in their own compositions where they truly excel, producing hard-edged, technical, yet poetic heavy metal that conjures thoughts of Iron Maiden, Mercyful Fate, and most notably Queensrӱche.

In album closer “Dead Heart in a Dead World” we find Queensrӱche’s sense of drama but with an extreme metal edge that punches the emotions home and leaves the listener reeling.  In “The Heart Collector” we find the same earnest self-reflection and near melodrama.  Dominated by Dane’s plaintive cries and melodic crooning, Loomis takes a back seat here and Jim Sheppard’s rich bass sound becomes the foundation on which the ballad is built.  With that said, there are beautiful lead guitar details everywhere you turn in “The Heart Collector” and a heavy closing section that subtly blends the track with its surroundings.  Nevermore are often far more direct, evidenced by opening track “Narcosynthesis” and its furious expression of facing repressed memories.  With military precision Loomis, Williams, and Sheppard drill holes in your skull, which Dane then fills with fear-driven emotional drama.  It feels like Loomis’ guitar might break in two under the pressure, while Williams’ drums are steel kegs shattering your teeth with their exacting harshness.  “Inside Four Walls” opens with a more rounded bass-driven sound, but quickly pares back to a vicious Loomis verse riff perfectly setting up the expansiveness of the chorus.  Loomis’ bridge passages and solos are startling, as if he’s treating the song as a Youtube guitar exhibition while somehow retaining focus on the song’s tight 4-minute structure.  Even when Loomis and Williams show off it always feels as though it’s in service of the song.  “Engines of Hate” might be the perfect example of this: it seems to twist and turn with aggression and speed, displays incredible musicianship, and never once loses sight of its purpose.  It’s furiously heavy, technically complex, but structurally tight and unadorned: the sound of a perfectly focused heavy metal band.

However, the album’s peak appears when Nevermore bring together fantasy, spirituality, and humanity’s dangerous attempts to dominate nature through technology.  “The River Dragon Has Come” seamlessly blends these tropes into a seething and somehow featherlight heavy metal onslaught.  It’s here that Loomis' perfectly distorted guitar sound is able to lift its listeners to the greatest heights: phenomenal riffing, displays of patience and timing, ear-melting leads, and a songwriter’s willingness to let everyone else shine.  Complemented by Williams' bionic limbs, Sheppard’s huge bass foundation, and Dane’s inspired, emotive storytelling, “The River Dragon Has Come” is one of the most re-listenable songs I’ve ever encountered.  In fact, this is one of the most re-listenable records I’ve ever heard and is among the best heavy metal albums of the millennium it helped to mark.  Incorporating traditional metal sounds with focused songwriting and modern metal production quality, Nevermore, along with Opeth and Strapping Young Lad, set a standard for modern metal bands that was proud to look back but far more excited to push forward.  Dead Heart in a Dead World is ironically an uplifting and inspirational emotional journey.

52 Albums That Shaped My Life - #9

The Presidents of the United States of America – The Presidents of the United States of America

(Pop Llama/Columbia, 1995)

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Opinion: The Presidents of the United States of America officially disbanded in November 2016 shortly after the presidential election because they could no longer associate themselves with the person who would share their title.

In their tumultuous existence, stretching over more than 20 years, The Presidents tried to spread the opposite of whatever the sitting U.S. President is made of: joy.  Infused in every song was abstract silliness, love, and a sense of fun that found expression in the hookiest hooks, chilled California sounds, fuzzy Seattle sounds, off-key screams, bouncing riffs, and inspirationally nonsensical lyrics.  Most widely known for this album’s hits (and my favourite karaoke songs) “Peaches” and “Lump”, The Presidents… is more interesting and touching than either of these songs suggest.  While they are all rock songs with simple rock song structures and simple rock song sounds, each is given a sense of personal experience and tender care that creates a connection with the listener rare among such outwardly silly bands.  No other band can make me sing along with complete and earnest dedication to seemingly meaningless lyrics:

Ten million monkeys all pick up guitars,

Nobody taught them how

Five thousand fishies rockin' really, really, really hard

Nobody taught them how

Check-out chicken drivin' Vinny's little blue car

Nobody taught them how!

And while it all seems like pointless fun, The Presidents… are also connected to reality.  For one, they have consciously taken part in the world’s largest ongoing jam by covering “Kick out the Jams” by MC5, and have written songs about their lack of talent/hope and the lure of fame in the California sunshine.  “We Are Not Going to Make It” is the most direct rocker of a song on the album.  A big hooky bass line leads us straight into a ripping chorus sung on the edge of their screeching capability, and with lyrics like, “… there's a million better bands / with a million better songs” you have to admire the honesty of the band’s debut.  The false start at the beginning of the song coupled with its unproduced garage rock sound makes it nearly impossible not to love them.  “Naked and Famous” is a much more considered track overall, and its patience and humour make it a soul-cuddling conclusion to the record.  Its picked verse sections are endearing while the plodding pre-chorus and chorus are a wonderful set-up for a fuzzed-out, solo-filled, “woo hoo”-tinged bridge section where The Presidents… let loose again.  The quiet contemplation of nude fame becomes an outright celebration of the human desire to be naked and famous at all. 

While “Stranger”, with its wistful verses and bombastic chorus, brilliantly touches on the clumsiness of instant human attraction, especially in awkward circumstances, the band otherwise seem preoccupied with animals and what our relationships with them might tell us about ourselves.  The album cover imagines what The Presidents might look like as little brass animals, and songs like “Kitty”, “Boll Weevil”, and “Body” are dedicated to the peculiarity and appeal of different animals.  “Body” appears to be the childhood memories of amphibians and lizards that have died in various ways, the images of their dead bodies having left indelible images in the child’s mind.  Its seductive verse sounds create an alluring atmosphere that becomes brilliantly weird the first time you realise what they’re singing about.  The pounding closing to the song, with the refrain “I can’t get your body out of my mind”, is an album highlight.  “Boll Weevil” seems to be about a lazy friend with physical characteristics of a boll weevil, mostly his bug butt, and is an ode to the glory of being outside in the sunshine.  While they may not convince Boll Weevil to move, the infectious energy of the track has me wishing hard that I had some sunshine to go out chasing right now.  Album opener “Kitty” uses cat sounds, cat behaviour, and the simultaneous appeal and nuisance of cats to introduce the listener to the animal-themed madness coming their way.  It’s a welcoming, infectious, and funny start to an album that will leave you feeling like you love everyone and everything.

And that’s why this album is on this list.  As the rest of the albums that I’ve written about might give away, I don’t find myself drawn to much “happy” music, but this album taught me to dance, shriek, and even sway with closed eyes to all these fun sounds and ideas.  The wonder of an unstoppably infectious track like ”Feather Plukn” is what this music is all about.  It’s silly, cute, and nonsensical but it’s sung with complete and forthright joy.  Even though the song marvels at the talents of animals, I feel like the band are cheering me on, celebrating all the amazing little things I can do – even though some of the animals seem more talented than me.  This spirit of celebratory joy is what made “Lump” and “Peaches” such big hits for the band.  And while I take those songs for granted somewhat, they brought thousands of people together in celebration of being alive, animals or not.  The best way I can describe the impact of this band is to recount seeing them live in London years ago.  The Presidents… were playing the entirety of this album start to finish, and though I’m not a naturally social animal, within seconds of the set starting I was wrapped around the stranger next to me, jumping in unison, singing or screaming every word together, and having the most fun imaginable.  In between every song we smiled at each other, and at the end of the gig we wished each other the happiest lives.  If you were to tell me that story I might boke, but in all honesty, it is one of the purest, happiest, and most enjoyable nights of my life.  

52 Albums That Shaped My Life - #11

Monster Magnet – Dopes to Infinity

(A&M, 1995)

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There are albums that always feel like you’re coming home when you listen to them.  You’ve been away a long time, and the welcoming familiarity of those sounds brings back relaxing and reassuring memories.  But it’s not just the nostalgic comfort it brings, it’s the quality of the sounds, and that sense the music, like your home, exists within you the whole time.  Dopes to Infinity is one such album.  Monster Magnet accomplished this simply by not trying.  They weren’t trying to be anything, they only wrote and performed the music they were destined to make, with no pretensions, no posturing.  While the band lost that natural feel over the next four albums – Powertrip was an attempt to become hard rock icons (and did this brilliantly); God Says No came off as a self-aware diversification of their sound; Monolithic Baby! was a disjointed mish-mash of the previous two albums; and 4-Way Diablo felt like they were lacking direction or inspiration – they would regain it spectacularly with the release of Mastermind.  It’s the spaced-out, laidback, drug-fuzz of Mastermind and Dopes to Infinity that is the best of Monster Magnet.  On these albums the notes, echoed vocals, organic solos drift from one astral plane to another, combining corporeal pleasures, metaphysical meanderings, dream-like imaginings, and modern cultural references to form a space rock cornucopia.

Title track “Dopes to Infinity” is a clear example of this, effortlessly sliding from dense stoner riffs to floating on heavenly clouds through the gentle hum of the backing vocal and the perfectly mixed guitar lead.  That’s without mentioning how utterly righteous Dave Wyndorf’s voice is, and its ability to imbue words like, “We are all here my friends/Alive and spaced but all so beautiful”, with both cool and gravitas.  I haven’t always understood what Wyndorf is singing about, but I’ve always felt like it means something.  The seamless transition into second track, “Negasonic Teenage Warhead”, takes us to Monster Magnet’s first notice to the world that they could write incredible rock anthems.  Essentially conveying Wyndorf’s disappointment at Kurt Cobain’s elevation to rock star and the accompanying saddening of rock ‘n’ roll, Monster Magnet wanted to remind the mid-90s that it was ok to rock out JUST FOR FUN.  Big bass, killer riff, cyclonic theremin sounds (?), rock screams, and a giant pogo-ing chorus all combine to create the foundations for giant rock hits on next album Powertrip.  In 2001, Scottish comics geniuses Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely used the track title to name their new teenage X-Men trainee character, who was subsequently brilliantly re-imagined as a disaffected teen with explosive powers in the 2016 film Deadpool.  These things seem to exist in meta-textual harmony as Monster Magnet used a Jack Kirby Marvel character to name the fifth track here, “Ego, the Living Planet”, most recently seen depicted by Kurt Russell in Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2.  I have it on good authority that Kurt Russell is a huge Monster Magnet fan.  It’s all connected…

“Ego, the Living Planet” is built on a cosmically repetitive, driving stoner riff with monk-like chanting and frantic lead woodling lying just below the surface.  The only vocals are the briefly repeated line, “I talk to planets baby”, and the screams of presumably planet-devoured souls.  Wyndorf’s love for and fascination with the epic sci-fi and philosophical work of comic writer and artist Jack Kirby inspired him to create a song about one of his most innovative characters, a living planet.  The size of the riff and the cosmic feel to the whole song perfectly capture the feeling of awe such a character can inspire.  But Monster Magnet being Monster Magnet, they pivot in the following track, lulling us back to comfort with gentle strumming and loving vocal melodies in “Blow ‘Em Off”.  Monster Magnet are in such a perfect groove on this record that you never notice the changes of tone, the shifts from quiet to loud, or the difference between hallucinatory visions and very real observations from the world of 1995.

It is difficult to pull out favourite tracks from Dopes… because each song has at least moments that near perfection, but Monster Magnet reach levels of undeniable stoner excellence in “King of Mars” and “All Friends and Kingdom Come”.  In the former, Wyndorf shines the light on another comics influence, Edgar Rich Burroughs, by referencing two of his most iconic creations with the single line, “And I can crown me Tarzan, King of Mars”, while taking us on a journey through soundscapes of heavy, reverberating, open string strumming, gentle leads, booming bass, and perfectly unnoticeable drums.  “All Friends and Kingdom Come” seems to describe the megalomaniacal actions of another comic character from Evil Ernie, who, having been given Armageddon-like superpowers, holds the future of humanity in his psychotic hands.  Where “King…” displayed the brilliance of Ed Mundell, Joe Calandra, and Jon Kleiman on their instruments, “All Friends…” presents the subtle melodies of Dave Wyndorf’s voice as the focal point. 

“King…” keeps us hooked with detailed soundscapes, “All Friends…” with simplicity and immediacy, but both display how completely interwoven the band’s various sounds, tones, and ideas are on this record.  The experience of listening to this record is one of seamlessly flowing sounds, images, tastes, smells, and touch.  It is the gentlest of trips because, even though it rocks incredibly hard at times, it never forces things, never pushes things where they don’t want to go as musicians, and where you as listener rather they wouldn’t.  It is undoubtedly healthy for artists to push themselves into unfamiliar territory in the pursuit of new forms of art, but sometimes it is more enjoyable to witness artists working at the peak of their ability within their limits, simply riffing on what they already know and bringing us along for the ride.  As with the brilliance of White Zombie, there is little point trying to discuss all the detail that goes into a record like this, all I can suggest is finding a copy of Dopes to Infinity and letting your mind be blown to kingdom come.  

    

52 Albums That Shaped My Life - #12

Rage Against the Machine – Rage Against the Machine

(Epic, 1992)

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Sitting in the back seat of my Dad’s car with a personal cassette player listening to Rage Against the Machine en route to a family holiday in Florida is not the most rebellious thing I’ve ever done.  But hearing those words and crazy guitar sounds burning in my ears during those hours, I felt ready to protest everything, to jump out of a moving car, to tear the branded holiday wear from by body, and live a life outside of the machine.  While this has never actually happened (it’s a work in progress…), this was a watershed moment for me musically, culturally, and politically.  It’s not every day that a kid goes to Disney World a neatly dressed, rule-obeying lad, and returns a ferocious, politically minded and opinionated nuisance.  My Mum and Dad are probably angrier at RATM than any other band. 

But RATM are just as angry at us.  Tracks like “Killing in the Name” and “Wake Up” throw our passive complicity with injustice in our faces, asking us to arm ourselves with knowledge and act.  While live recordings from the time betray vocalist Zack de la Rocha’s youthful idealism, the band’s integrity and intent cannot be questioned.  They used their major label status to support causes and protests standing against global injustice, with the band’s very real support of the Zapatistas in Mexico even resulting in rumours of Zack de la Rocha being involved in gun-running for the organisation.  Guitarist Tom Morello’s recently created Firebrand Records for protest and rebel music exemplifies his dedication to spreading the word and giving a platform to otherwise unknown political music acts.  It’s this dedication to their causes and the very real burning anger at the heart of each song that makes this album so moving and inspirational.  While the teeth of mainstream metal seemed to have fallen out in the early 90s, RATM came screaming to life, tearing through the posturing of MTV metal bands with incisor-like efficiency. 

“Know Your Enemy” is one such track.  Morello’s killswitch shifting of reality is grounded by Tim Commerford’s enormous funk bass before the speedy punk riff kicks in and takes us into the song’s anti-establishment heart:

Yes I know my enemies

They’re the teachers who taught me to fight me

Compromise, conformity, assimilation, submission

Ignorance, hypocrisy, brutality, the elite

All of which are American dreams.

The final repeated line is the blood-boiling, condemnatory conclusion to a furiously tight, funk-punk attack on the figures of authority who distort and abuse the system to keep others down.  But we should also celebrate the musical diversity on display: Morello’s riffing takes on classic mid-paced metal stylings as well as deeply heavy modern metal “chugging”, not to mention his almost indescribable solo on this track, while Maynard James Keenan’s guest vocal adds texture and a different delivery of anger.  If you are seeking the most direct delivery of anger then preceding track, “Bullet in the Head”, has all you need.  Commerford’s bass and Zack de la Rocha’s vocals form the foundation of this track while Morello’s killswitch antics keep the listener guessing where this song might go.  It’s a relatively slow build, but for the song’s final two minutes that tension and anger are focused on powerfully delivering you the message that you have “a bullet in your fucking head”.  And while it’s easy to dismiss this as just a catchy, violent image, or as an interesting metaphor for being brainwashed by the “system”, it’s important to remember that RATM mean this literally too.  Then as now, innocent people are being shot in America by figures of authority, and it’s an injustice that somehow seems to divide people, such as the political/media/societal fallout of Colin Kaepernick’s beautiful and brave protest of police brutality and systemic racism.  Rage Against the Machine is arguably as relevant today as it was the day of its release.

While album opener “Bombtrack” perhaps feels dated and “Killing in the Name” is over-exposed, a classic track like “Wake Up” is just as violently potent today, and there are less discussed songs that deserve recognition.  “Settle for Nothing” and “Fistful of Steel” are just two examples of an album that is quality from first to last.  The former is a quiet, slow-build to unbelievable waves of heavy rage crashing around your ears intended to motivate immediate change.  The latter is a pounding lesson in the immediacy of heavy metal and rap music combined; “Fistful of Steel” is simple, direct, heavy as hell, and with as much attitude as you could ever need.  But for me, all that built up rage and the message at its heart is perfectly distilled in closing track, “Freedom”.  Bursting in on a bouncing riff, it has as much positive energy as any song on the record.  The stop-start power of the instrumentation, Brad Wilk’s control of the pace and anticipation, and Zack de la Rocha’s spit-filled tirades combine to make me thrash and sing along for seemingly minutes on end without ever breathing.  It’s a suitably destructive and constructive ending to an icon of resistance.

Fusing funk, punk, metal, and rap Rage Against the Machine reshaped rebellion in an age when it became acceptable to add the prefix “pop” to the term ”punk”.  But the commercial success of the band has taken us perilously close to taking this protest music for granted.  Rap-metal became a synonym for shit metal later in the 90s, but RATM are not to be blamed for that development.  In many ways, their final studio album of original songs, The Battle of Los Angeles, is a better album than this iconic debut.  Their legacy should remain untarnished after the bone and brain rattling attack of “Testify”, “Born of a Broken Man”, and “War Within in a Breath” from that album.  However, the band will always be remembered for reminding us to scream, “Fuck you I won’t do what you tell me!”, but to always, and more importantly, back it up with knowledge and action.  So while it is important to know your enemy, it might mean more to know yourself first.

52 Albums That Shaped My Life - #13

Death – Symbolic

(Roadrunner, 1995)

Symbolic is not Death’s best album.  Human and Leprosy are essential listening, but as an ultra-infectious starting point for new fans, there is no better than Symbolic.  Filled with viciously grooving hooks, frenetic galloping passages, 80s and 90s video game riffing, and customarily excellent musicianship, this record is a smorgasbord of Death sounds.  It doesn’t have the cohesiveness or invention of Human, but it crams into 50 minutes just about everything you could want to know and feel about this band.  Symbolic was my gateway to the phenomenal and genre-defining work of Death, and as such has shaped my musical life as much as any other extreme metal album.

Line-up changes had become an accepted part of Death’s career, with only the late Chuck Schuldiner being a constant in their existence, and their 1995 release was no exception.  Bobby Koelble and Kenny Conlon would make their only recorded appearance with the band, while Gene “Atomic Clock” Hoglan would make his second and final album with Chuck before continuing his unmatched drumming tour of heavy music.  With the exception of Paul Masvidal and Sean Reinert’s influence on Human, Death was really Chuck Schuldiner and the Death Boys from the outset, and that fact shines through on this record.  Symbolic feels as though Chuck is allowing his writing to flow naturally, fusing the more exploratory styles of Human and Individual Thought Patterns with the instant catchiness of Leprosy and allowing himself more fun through his music.  There is a 90s video game quality to the whole affair.  In songs like “Without Judgement” I hear Makoto Tomozawa’s work on Megaman X, but the album’s frenetic riffing, rampant solos, and insane drumming continually remind me of playing Smash TV on the SNES or Xenon 2 on PC.  I feel like I’m dodging a hail of laser bullets, spinning in circles trying to avoid obstacles or collect power-ups, and panicking every time more baddies enter the fray.  It’s a dizzying experience of dense riffs, crystal clear solos, military precision drumming, and beautiful death metal vocals.

“Crystal Mountain” might be the best example of the immediacy of Chuck’s approach on this album.  Opening on a galloping riff, supported by Hoglan’s exquisite double bass control and overlaid with echoing lead guitar accents, this track is about as cheesy and catchy as extreme metal gets, with even a Spanish guitar somehow infiltrating the final moments.  It was the first Death track I ever heard and convinced me in mere seconds that I would be buying this album.  Once purchased, “Without Judgement” continued in this vein with its video game initial riff leading to more tightly packed verse guitars and frenetically paced choruses.  The speed and pitch perfect delivery seems to physically pick you up and spin you round, while Chuck’s vocals and lyrics provide the thoughtful counterpoint to this loss of corporeal control.  His drawn out vowels and deliberate pacing highlight his lyrical plea for a society and its people to be more open-minded, and to eschew over-simplification of others’ issues.

And I have to be careful not to oversimplify what Death have done on this record.  While it is more accessible than its two immediate predecessors, there is interesting complexity at every turn.  From Chuck’s slightly offbeat vocal on “Zero Tolerance” to the eight minutes of structural and pacing experimentation of “Perennial Quest”, via the choppy guitars and wild mid-section solos of “Empty Words”, this album is frequently surprising and rewards repeat listens.  The grooving intro of album opener “Symbolic” belies the chopping riffs, psychedelic sci-fi-inspired solos, and unexpected vocal rhythms that follow.  At times the song is travelling so fast, and there is so much density of sound, that the mind almost can’t keep up.  Adrenaline starts to flow in response to this barrage, and each Chuck growl stands to attention the hair on your neck and arms.  This is a feeling that doesn’t let up through album highlights “Empty Words”, “Sacred Serenity”, “1,000 Eyes”, and “Without Judgement”, each contributing to the album’s astounding middle act, and leaving listeners gasping for more.

Every time a Symbolic track pops up on shuffle, it’s time to stop what I’m doing, pay attention, and thrash my head relentlessly.  Every song is irresistible, the production is perfect, and the lyrics and vocals challenge any preconceptions of death metal.  That feeling of being thrown into a physical maelstrom while being intellectually stimulated is rare in music and is the reason that Death are so iconic.  To Chuck’s credit, Symbolic retains these qualities while somehow managing to incorporate an almost pop music level of catchiness.  This is death metal for those who enjoy a little life with their death.

52 Albums That Shaped My Life - #14

Tool – Ænima

(Zoo Entertainment, 1996)

Buy the album here

On the CD of Tool’s Ænima is the image of a person performing an act of incredible flexibility, perhaps in pursuit of spiritual enlightenment and physical stimulation of the chakras found in yoga… perhaps attempting to fellate himself.  This is the tone Tool struck on their second full length release.  Even the title - a combination of Carl Jung’s term ‘anima’ representing the feminine archetype in his theories of collective unconscious, and the word ‘enema’ which is the flushing of faeces from the bowels – is equal parts intellectual and scatological.  Throughout the album there are challenging ideas, lyrics, and song structures, but Tool are more than happy to throw them in your face as if it was an elaborate rouse, or a stairway to nothing.  Disdain dominates the tone.  If I imagine the band sitting together while I’m listening to it, Adam Jones, Justin Chancellor, and Danny Carey are looking away as if they don’t care whether I’m listening or not, while Maynard James Keenan is giving me the finger with his twisted-up, little rat face.  This combination of disaffection and anger is Tool’s reaction to the vapid and flaccid cultural surroundings of mid 1990s Western capitalism, but feels even more relevant in the age of the internet where readily digestible content has elevated the meme to our primary form of emotional self-expression.

Ostensibly an alt-metal album with prog leanings, Ænima’s songs are frequently interspersed with odd conjoining tracks of varying tone and content.  These range from the distorted record sounds of “Useful Idiot” to the infamous recipe for hash cookies found in “Die Eier von Satan” which is read in German with the stylings and crowd reaction of a Hitler speech.  It seems to be an attempt to disorient the listener, making them evermore vulnerable to attack or new ideas.  After softening them up Tool hit them with the Altered States-like closer “Third Eye” which, in true Tool fashion, references both a transcendental gateway in human consciousness, perhaps found through psychedelic drug use, and the human male urethra.  It’s a mammoth song with musings on psychedelic drug use “prying open” the third eye, childhood memories, enlightenment, and freedom.  Opening on a pounding heartbeat and Bill Hicks eulogising drug use in artistic creation, the song is birthed by way of searching drum lines, slowly building bass, criss-crossing guitar distortion, and more of Hicks’ challenging comedy.  Keenan’s vocal is gentle and instructive, but as the tension builds his voice and the guitars heavily distort, and the song feels as though it will burst.  This passage seems to represent the trauma of drug use, and the calm and melody that are found on the other side stand for the enlightenment that may be reached in discovering the true meaning of the “third eye”. But ultimately, the album leaves us with the vicious heavy screaming, crashing drums, and sheet metal guitars of the line “prying open my third eye”.  It suggests violence and damage in finding enlightenment, but also conveys that passivity will never discover anything new, that meekly accepting the commodified life of capitalism will never enrich your life.

Tool are more musically accessible than this would suggest.  The intensity and focused malintent of a track like “Hooker with a Penis” is indicative of Tool’s ability to write direct, aggressive, powerchord-driven rock music.  “Forty Six and Two” takes a different tack, drifting in on warbling bass sounds, deliberately picked guitar notes and what sounds like bongos, before Maynard’s delicate vocal carries us patiently to the instant hooks of the track’s huge chorus.  And in “Jimmy” and “Ænema” Tool carefully build and nurture a desire for melodic catharsis that they are unafraid to fulfil.  The peaks of “Jimmy” are awe-inspiringly, spine-tinglingly intense with the dense riffs and melodic wails creating an atmosphere that is simultaneously claustrophobic and epic.  “Ænema” is more upfront with its riffs and melodies but matches this with an aggressive chorus that builds with each reprisal and Maynard’s soliloquy on “this stupid shit”.  The band’s suggestion that we all “learn to swim” is made more convincing by the sheer weight of sound that swamps your brain in the furious build towards this album’s climax.  Maynard gives us the rest we need with his beautiful delivery of the line, “I’m praying for rain”, but it’s a momentary distraction as landslide guitars crash in to this beauty, driving it out of our minds with thoughts of Armageddon.  Tool will make you feel like the world is ending, but that worse things could happen.

If you need to convince a friend that they need this album, the opening three tacks of Ænima will do that work for you.  “Stinkfist” is an immense opening track.  I can still feel the surprise I felt on first hearing that pulsing bass, Maynard’s equal parts fragile and angry voice, and the lilting, scratching, searching sounds of Jones’ guitar.  That sense of awakening is sustained through “Eulogy” and “H.”, and it’s in these two songs that we become familiar with Tool’s progressive sensibilities and soaring choruses.  “Eulogy” wanders, but is always mere seconds from exploding with melodic force, taking advantage of the tight, almost sinister, chugging of the verse riffs to provide a sense of elevation.  As the song closes one of the album’s defining moments leaves a lasting impression: Maynard screams “goodbye”, holding that final vowel sound for 12 seconds.  It’s an awe-inspiring, breathless moment that never fails to grab my heart and pull me closer.  This connection is further cemented with the more abrasive passion of “H.” with its similarly powerful chorus of brilliantly gauged drumming and truncated syllables and instant vocal hooks.  And this is Tool’s true strength.  Concepts, themes, enlightenment, deconstruction of western capitalist emotional wastelands, and even the undeniable skill of each musician all fall by the wayside when you are grabbed by these passionate, uplifting, and hook-laden outbursts.  Tool fans talk about interpretations of lyrics, album art, interval tracks, and even Bill Hicks, but what we’re all really in love with is that almost every song on Ænima lifts you up, shakes your bones, and has you singing and screaming along until you slump exhausted on the floor.  Music for self and global annihilation.