This first single on the new Alice in Chains’ new album Black Gives Way to Blue is a 7 minute long sludgefest and can be downloaded for free from the bands website. The dense harmonic undertones are reminiscent of their later work and see new vocalist William Duval’s voice largely obfuscated – there’s scant chance here to see what he’s really made of. Slow, brooding and heavy in every sense of the word, this has an understated chorus that has the potential to grow and grow.

I’m feeling a little less uneasy about this enterprise. Alice in Chains seem neither to be reliving past glories nor forging into new territories – this feels like an evolution.

This quick-and-to-the-point first taster from their forthcoming album New Junk Aesthetic is not a great departure from their previous offering The Big Dirty. This frantic southern hardcore rock-out includes (somewhat muted) backing vocals from none other than The Dillinger Escape Plan’s Greg Puciato. Does this add anything to the recording? Other than aiding the ability for it to shift more copies, no. However, if the new album is all like this, it can’t be a bad thing.

I’m not generally a big fan of Black Metal, in the same way that I’m not a fan of rattling a Quality Street tin full of pebbles next to my ear. However, lately a few bands have been creeping into my into my unwilling conciousness. These seem to be of a slightly less traditional Black Metal form and of a more progressive ilk (for example Enslaved’s Monumension and bits and peices of Anaal Nathrakh).

This track by ‘Avant Garde’ black metallers <code> really stands out. Haunting vocal harmonies wash over eerie guitars punctuated by agressive black metal noise. This is not just your average black metal creepy posturing – there’s real songwriting ability here. These guys seem to treat black metal as a playground in the same way that Opeth do with death. I’m not really familar with their back catalogue (although the track The Cotton Optic is also excellent), but if this is anything to go by, they are going to be very popular indeed.

Unlike the somewhat more lo-fi teasers for the next instalments of the Devin Townsend Project, the Alice in Chains teasers aren’t giving away much. The forboding content backed with heavy grooves are enticing indeed. Only 3 more months of anticipation and creepy ‘teasers’. Comeback albums of this sort rarely live up to expectation; bets on folks.

Manchester’s genre busting musicologists Oceansize could broadly be classified as post rock. Their atmospheric and unpredictable music is frequently beautiful and always challenging. Boasting 3 guitarists, Oceansize create soundscapes that flow effortlessly between ambient and aggressive and produce a depth of sound few other bands can achieve.

Few songs have the ability to make me feel so emotionally charged as the immersive Women Who Love Men Who Love Drugs from their startling debut album Effloresce. This surging epic begins with the subtly murmured lyrics suggesting the vagaries of drug abuse, before slow building into gigantic storm of frantic Jonny Greenwood style guitars. We are then soothed again by the song’s final coda of echoing guitars and washes of ambient sound. Perfect.

I’m revelling in the unfolding drama that is Metalsucks’ 21 best metal albums of the 21st century so far. It is a brave thing that they do. Already proving controversial, this list, compiled from the votes from a load of metal community notables, is nothing if not fantastic entertainment. I don’t buy the metal elitist derision that’s going on around inclusions such as Deftones White Pony and System of a Down’s Toxicity. These albums were critically acclaimed, very influencial and above all, extremely popular. And herein lies the heart of the problem. Music snobs (like myself) world over have inate sense of intimacy with our music; we spend countless hours singing the virtues of our favourite underachieving musical saviours, only to forsake them the moment the rest of the world sits up and listens. I’m as guilty of this as the rest of you, but in the fulness of time the good will out. I’m pleased about the inclusion of these albums in the list – they are quality albums that have stood the test of time – and let’s not forget, a large selection of real people contributed to this list; people actually like these albums. If left to neigh sayers, it’d be a list of recent, flash in the pan wannabe’s, or long term underacheivers. Does not the inclusion of Opeth’s Ghost Reveries and Gojira’s From Mars to Sirus legitimise the list somewhat? Probably not unless the top 5 happens to include Sunn O)))) or Cynic.

Update 28th June 2009:

Now gentlemen, you’re just not playing the game. I was being open minded – placatory even. Then you had to pull this out of the bag. I mean really, you could have doctored the results or something and saved embarrassing yourselves. OK, it’s not the worst album in the world, and title track is excellent, but #6? Really? What next? Linkin Park? Saint Anger? Common gents, give me back some hope…

Update 08th July 2009:

Well, what can I say. The list went from bad, to worse, to excellent to not too bad. Opeth’s Blackwater Park appearing at #3 seems the most positive thing this list has to offer. KSE at #4 is just plain dull and Lamb of God As the Palaces Burn at #2 seem so awkwardly placed between Opeth and the stately #1 Mastodon’s Leviathan – surely an impressive album, but the best of the decade? Only the fullness of time will tell. This list seems very of its time. Try this again in 2 years and I think the list will look VERY different.

Old Devil

It’s difficult for me to write about AC/DC without being autobiographical. At the age of 9, my only exposure to popular music was Wham! and dancing to Howard Jones with my sister. We’d recently moved house to a new area, and I got in with the local crowd of greasy youths, who were into some strange music that I’d never heard of before. My cultural consciousness was ripening and I was ready to belong, to something, to anything. So when one of those listless youths played me AC/DC’s For Those About To Rock…We Salute You (and, incidentally, Iron Maiden‘s 2 Minutes to Midnight) my brain lit up like a torch – I was infected.

Years later I still rate that track as the greatest piece of rock ever recorded. I mean seriously, it’s got a 21 gun salute! In recent years it became an ambition of mine to see it played live. What more spectacular event could there be? A culmination of a lifetime of love of the rock and roll art form.

Before this year I’d never seen AC/DC live – never managed to experience the movable rock and roll mecca that is For Those About To Rock… live. They’d not been to these shores for many years and many expected that they would never return. So as you can imagine, when they announced the tour I snapped up tickets as fast as Ticketmaster could get me through the booking process (which is actually quite fast – there’s a nerve pummeling time limit, it’s like being on the Crystal Maze).

I actually bought 2 lots of tickets, one for the 02 gig and one for Wembley – I wasn’t going to miss this, no siree! But, it was seeing this spectacle in a stadium that was really my dream, and could imagine that I was seeing it at Monsters of Rock. So it was all building up to last night.

The O2 gig was fabulous. The set was solid, but the set list was published in the paper the previous day, which removed some of the flavour of proceedings (see also my rant on predictability in live shows), but all in all it was fist in the air rock and roll fest.

Now, on to the review of last night’s gig. First thing’s first – the set list was the same as the O2 gig, exactly the same. To all intents and purposes I saw the same gig, just with more people watching it. The predictability, however, was largely balanced out by the atmosphere, which to use a hackneyed but appropriate term, was electric.

This is all the more impressive given that the very evening before, Michael Jackson had keeled over and died. There’s some interesting juxtapositioning here; according to Jackson’s lawyer, Jackson died of a heart attack brought on by an overdose of painkillers. Jackson was abusing these pharmaceuticals to calm feelings of anxiety over the 50, I repeat 50 consecutive gigs he was to play at London’s O2 arena. I challenge even a spring chicken like Miley Cyrus to pull off such a feat, let alone a 50 year old with mental health issues.

AC/DC, somewhat Jackson’s senior, didn’t go for the trendy option of a residency at the O2, they did a standard tour with a few stadium dates, but seeing them up on stage you can imagine them being able to do what Jackson clearly couldn’t. They may look old (Young’s thinning hair was painfully apparent) but they don’t act it. What’s more ironic is that whereas Jackson is clearly deranged, Angus Young, who on stage would appear deranged, almost certainly leads a understated suburban existence in one of Sydney’s leafier suburbs and is as well balanced as they come.

Sweaty daddies and big explosions

The previous night’s events hadn’t dampened the crowds thirst for rock and roll. A set that confidently lifted several tracks from their phenomenally well timed new album Black Ice didn’t skimp on the classics either. The fact that everyone knew that AC/DC would play  their most well known and loved song Back in Black 3rd in in the set didn’t spoil anyone’s night. Young’s extended guitar thrash-outs didn’t bore anyone, they knew what to expect, cheered at the right time and marveled at his ability to make an increasingly discordant and evil noise with his guitar. There were explosions, which are always cool, and a giant lady pleasuring herself against a train. Nice.

The classics were rolled out exactly as they should be. The energetic stage act is played out exactly as it should be. Angus excreted exactly 7 gallons of sweat, exactly as he always does, and his brother and the other bloke stay at the back where they belong.

Everything in it’s right place. Just as it should be. That’s what rock and rolls about, right?

Actually no. No it’s not. The most rock and roll thing I saw all night was the drummer playing with a fag drooping from the corner of his mouth.

I’m not saying that it wasn’t an immensely enjoyable gig; it was – like being at a party with 50,000 of your mates who all like the same songs. Hearing that many people hollering the chorus to You Shook Me All Night Long is a wonderful thing. AC/DC should be celebrated, and this may be the last time any of us get to do that. But that’s just what is was – a celebration. Not a night that you will remember and cherish, something spontaneous, one in a million,  “were you there when…?”. Perfectly executed, passionately delivered, meticulously rehearsed and continuously repeated.

So, back to the culmination of my rock and roll loving life. I was about to rock. I was quite drunk. I was suitably boisterous. When the encores arrived, I was excited. Then it came.

How could it ever live up to my expectations? The crowd weren’t waiting with bated breath for this singular spectacle. They knew it was coming. They’d seen it before and were thinking about how to get to the loo and still stay ahead of the crowd to get on the train. The guns weren’t very big and there weren’t 21 of them (6 to be precise). It all finished too quickly, and was punctuated by sweaty daddies squeezing past me to leave the stadium.

Disappointed? Only in myself. At my age I should know better. Thank you AC/DC for 25 years worth of pleasure and for the countless more moments of pleasure you provide via my iPod. For that, I salute you.

(4)

Setlist:

1. Rock N’ Roll Train
2. Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be
3. Back in Black
4. Big Jack
5. Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap
6. Shot Down in Flames
7. Thunderstruck
8. Black Ice
9. The Jack
10. Hells Bells
11. Shoot to Thrill
12. War Machine
13. Dog Eat Dog
14. Anything Goes
15. You Shook Me All Night Long
16. T.N.T.
17. Whole Lotta Rosie
18. Let There Be Rock
Encore:
19. Highway to Hell
20. For Those About to Rock (We Salute You)

Funked off

It’s easy to discount Extreme with their almost infinite deficit of cool. Extreme were forsaken after the cringe inducing indulgence of III Sides To Every Story. Their über ballad More Than Words being covered by Irish boyband pansies Westlife was the final insult.

It’s sad, because Extreme were responsible for some original and technically brilliant songs. Get the Funk Out, from the trans-genre masterpiece Pornograffitti may be a lightweight gesture at aggression, but it actually packs a real punch. A storming funk-metal bass line and deceptively complex set of riffs build up to this majestic guitar funk-out. Nuno Bettencourt, one of the greatest rhythm/lead guitarists there is, delivers a centre-piece that is a left field evolution of the two handed tapping technique which defies belief. Behold.

Chuck Schuldiner may have triggered the Death Metal genre with his band Death, but he took it in new, uncharted directions with the album The Sound Of Perseverance. This progressive metal masterwork almost never happened (Schuldiner intended to release an album with his new project Control Denied after disbanding Death in 1996, but instead opted for a further release via his original band), and is still underrated against a stellar back catalogue of work.

Frantic and complex riffs and frequent time changes compliment a change to his tried and tested vocal style into a Black Metal snarl.  Standout track Spirit Crusher lurches and stutters between frenetic thrash, melodic death and angular prog. The complex instrumental midsection contains some prodigious guitar solos and the whole song is underpinned by some of the best drumming you’ll hear provided by Richard Christy.

In the end, this album proved to be Schuldiner and consequently Death‘s swansong.  RIP Chuck, you are missed.

cephalopodous

Like their cephalopodous namesake, Californian post-metal oddballs Giant Squid are somewhat unusual and have long appendages (or songs). And what are curious beast they are. At times sounding like they ascend from the depth to confuse sailors; their obscure mix of styles is mesmerizing and unsettling.

From a bedrock of post rock like Godspeed.. and Pelican, Giant Squid layer flavours of 90′s American alternative, world music, and the classic prog of King Crimson and Pink Floyd. The vocals, a clear nod to the Jello Biafra/Serj Tankian, are accompanied by a plethora of instruments (trumpet, piano, cello). But this is no prog/muso noodling, there’s well structured songs here with tunes that reveal themselves in layers. They’re indie sensibilities add a popier dimension that their peers lack. It’s a refreshing mix in a sea of turgid Meshuggah wannabes.

Stretch your tentacles folks, and embrace the Squid.