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- Lifesblood (2001)
- Remission (2002)
Lifesblood (2001)
7.5
Shadows That Move / Welcoming War / We Built This Come Death /
Hail to Fire / Battle at Sea
Mastodon
is the band of superlatives. Read reviews of this band's releases and try
to keep count of the almost grotesque adulations. If we were to believe all
those delirious statements, Mastodon is the heaviest, most gifted, important,
relevant and consistently ass-kicking band in the world. Whereas most of those
statements are of course hyperboles resulting from unbridled enthusiasm, there
is something about this band that incites you to make such claims.
Perhaps not because if this release, but the next two surely fall into that
category. Describing Mastodon (or "unnecessarily tagging and filing them,
putting them in a graspable category for laziness' sake," as the sceptics
might say) isn't exactly an easy job, but perhaps "Slayer-meets-Iron-Maiden-meets-King
Crimson-meets-The-Dillinger-Escape-Plan" will do the job. Actually, the spastic
energy of the DEP became less restrained after this release, but one listen
and you'll know why it was released by Relapse, the world's favorite label
for "difficult" metal, "difficult" implying that this isn't the kind of stuff
made by rookies who bought their Guide to Hard Rock Riffs only a week
ago. This is music made by freaks, for freaks who are tired
of groove and music that just rocks. You can't bang your head to Mastodon,
you can't party to Mastodon, you can't have fun to Mastodon. Torturing and
freaking out are definitely options, but most of all, this is music for elitists,
people who expect their music to be demanding/exhausting/challenging. If my
girlfriend enters the room while I'm listening to Mastodon on the headphones,
she might as well think that a close relative has just died, as the only things
I'm doing is nodding my head (from the left to the right) and murmur "this…
can't… be true." The album starts off with a quote from One Flew over the
Cuckoo's Nest - William Redfield raving about form, content, God, the
Devil, hell and heaven - but then suddenly switches to this brutally pounding
riffing, nearly chaotic, with drumming that initially doesn't seem to make
sense, and dual guitar parts that seem to fight over prominence. Next, there's
a mid-tempo groove that would evoke classic thrash bands, if it weren't from
the gutteral roaring of bass player/vocalist Troy Sanders. Several shifts
and turns follow, intricate drum patterns pummel you into the corner and leave
you behind open-mouthed. And… it's only the album's most accessible song.
EP closer "Battle at Sea" also takes its time to develop and even contains
folksy semi-acoustic parts that would also pop up on later releases and lend
'em a sense of grandeur even, but unfortunately the song's impact is partly
ruined by the stretched cookie monster-growling that, in combination with
some high-pitched shrieking might remind you of some early Napalm death. Halfway
the song, however, it's classic Mastodon: dazzling drum terror, guitar
parts that would make even Fripp's head dazzle and brutally fast rhythms segueing
into punishing drones. The three cuts in between these two are shorter, more
hectic and regularly oppressively heavy. The distorted vocals in "Welcoming
War" are definitely an acquired taste, but the band's tightness is jaw-dropping.
Similarly, the incredible angular intro to "We Built This Come Death," preceded
by an excerpt from Mind Control, a work on Nazi experiments/torture,
will have you yell "What the FUCK is THAT?", which makes it even more
of a disorienting experience when the band adds some melancholic tension that
is more about apocalyptic, melancholic doom than brutality. But, things are
never what they seem and the madness always returns: "Hail to Fire" is the
most aggressive tune, with barked vocals, Link Wray-goes-hellish exercises
and almost jazz-like breaks. The density of it all is very overwhelming, to
such a degree even that you' won't notice many of these parts don't really
gel into a whole, as the songs are more a succession of blasts than unified
punches. As such, it's a bit of a pity that the sum of these parts isn't greater
than the whole, but the band would soon tighten up its song-writing to even
more impressive results.
Remission (2002)
8
Crusher Destroyer / March of the Fire Ants / Where Strides the Behemoth
/ Workhorse / Ol'e Nessie / Burning Man / Trainwreck / Trampled Under
Hoof / Trilobite / Mother Puncher / Elephant Man
A
disorienting smokescreen, a steady earth-trembling hum filled with the rumble
of muffled war drums in the distance. Confusing clutter, disjointed and dysfunctional
pieces of armour - shields, swords, spears, helmets, bows and broken arrows
- all loosely arranged in pointless patterns under and besides loudly breathing,
almost sighing, patiently dying horses with broken legs, gaping wounds and
iron protection shields that prevent them from getting up. Clammy blood loss,
congealing clots and half-rusted patches - so much of it spoiled and sprayed
that it spreads a reek of fear, defeat, disaster and - mixed with the unmistakeable
odour of human excrement - death. It's a grotesquely horrific setting and
the events that took place, the kind of horror that could continue to haunt
the nightly hours of children and adults for generations, could've been similar
to a visual counterpart to Mastodon's sophomore album, Remission. It's
a clear-cut departure from the overly hectic Lifesblood, but the pieces
are finally falling into their places and have given their sound and style
and epic grandeur that evokes the battlefield visions you could also get from
listening to High on Fire's Surrounded by Thieves, the nearly cerebral
faux mythology of Isis' Oceanic and the brutal beating of Slayer's
South of Heaven. 
It
is a remorseless concoction and even though it lacks the dazzling genre-hopping
and relentless switching of the debut EP, Remission is every inch its
fully-realized, mature big brother. Its eighth song is called "Trampled Under
Hoof" and it is, besides a pun (and an appropriate version at that), almost
an understatement. "Raw egg squashed by ass of 450-pound American" would've
been even more appropriate. Or "crushed by elephant."
When I heard the album for the first time, I could only swallow and stare into the distance in disbelief as its insane sonic punch impressed me more than anything I had heard in the months before. In terms of heaviness, Remission delivers the goods like few albums do, whether its on the strength of the oppressively demanding musicianship, the ultra-fiery performances or the sheer force of the album's grooves (that have replaced <>Lifesblood<>'s manic instability). Whether it's a track like "Where Strides the Behemoth" that sets out to fracture your bones with a bulldozer punch as violent as a physical thrashing, or the complex riff-fest of brief opener "Crushed Destroyer," Remission intends to hunt your ass down. Indeed, you are the fish, Mastodon the fisherman and drummer Brann Dailor is their indisputable captain. I have no idea whether he's really the de facto leader of the band, but he's without a doubt the decisive factor here, the most overwhelmingly present musician, the restless engine in a league of his own and setting a new standard in a genre of which you thought that all potential had already been devoured. The best thing about his ultra-complex warfare is that he only adds more power to the music and not - like other similarly gifted drummers out there - gives you the impression it's a course for the very, very advanced to show off. In his own way, he gives the attack of guitarists Bill Kelliher and Brent Hinds - an eclectic amalgam of classic hardrock interplay, prog wanking and thrash violence - a lift to a higher level. As opposed to the debut, several songs here take their time develop and when they reach their climaxes, you're either running away or immensely enjoying the colossal heaviness that is displayed. Titles like "Workhorse," and "Trampled Under Hoof" don't belie their content and manage to infest the songs with exactly the cinemascope-effect you expected. Similarly, the intro to "March of the Fire Ants" is a pure call to arms, a knock on the gates of hell and a menace that reduces the average nu-metal album to boys-band girlishness. The band's ambition also makes them venture beyond sheer bludgeoning and they usually get away with it. The restrained guitar intro to "Ol'e Nessie" is almost beautiful in its simplicity and in combination with the unavoidable wall of sound that's worked towards easily as good as the way in which Isis manage to reconcile sonic extremes on their best songs. Occasionally, these extended sections work against them, as they disrupt the pace, especially when the groove that's following isn't exactly top-notch, like in "Trainwreck." In fact, it's the over-reliance on moody parts during the album's second half that's the album's main minus, as you'd expect the incessant thunder of the first few songs to continue and risk to doze off during one of the final's introspective moments. Still, Remission's heavy moments (and there are plenty of them) never cease to make an impact and require your 100% concentration. Play this album when you're inviting your babbling friends for dinner and it'll end up in a bloodbath, but when you're on your own, ready to focus and eager to enjoy your solitary hobby, Remission will provide the soundtrack. Believe me, fondling those stamps has never involved that much courage, determination, spittle and blood-spilling.
Read album reviews of similar or related artists: Live Review Mastodon - Slayer