Overkill – The Killing Kind – Review

Overkill

The Killing Kind (CMC)
by Chaz Thorndike

OK. If you’re rolling your eyes at the thought of yet another metal release by yet another band that just won’t go away no matter how much you ignore them, I’m with you. I’m not sure I’m pleased to say this album doesn’t suck, ’cause I certainly don’t want to encourage the rest of those dated, fist-banging dorkwads to keep the fires burnin’; but yeah, Overkill has a definite place in the current metal community. I have no idea what that means, but it sounds good. I have no qualms about admitting that I really dug the first, I don’t know, three albums by Overkill. I could probably play the whole Feel The Fire album on guitar after a dry run – luckily, no one’s asked. That, ahem, skill and a dime won’t even buy me a phone call ’round these parts. While I can’t name all their albums to date (a discography was conveniently left out of the bio), let’s let bygones be whatever they want to be and get on with what, surprisingly, is a good ol’ kick-ass album.

It seems that live double album purged the band of nostalgic tendencies and allowed them to rocket from almost guaranteed has-beendom to certifiable nowness. While the second half of The Killing Kind may slump into rebel stomp mediocrity, weighty Metallica-esque conceptualizations, and a ballad (man, I don’t even want to talk about it, OK?), the record starts off strong, really.

D.D. Verni sets the stage with his patented bass rumble. I don’t know what makes his sound so distinctive, but I’ve got two speeding tickets that can be directly traced back to his inspiration. Blitz opens his mouth, and I too chuckle at first. His signature vocals always remind me of someone who never did their “How Now Brown Cow” exercises. He’s based a career on singing like some glam fruit that his own fans would kick the shit out of. This album’s strength begins in retaining its powermetal roots, yet executing them with the sledgehammer production qualities commonplace in the mid-’90s. The infusion of two new guitarists (the guys with no hair, you can’t miss ’em) brings in a ferocious, crunching stomp to balance out the chugging rhythms and metal solos like we don’t hear much anymore. Dueling harmonies, eh? Well, it ain’t KK and, uh, the other Priest-derivative, it’s more Grip Inc.-progressive, or something. A powerhouse drummer gives the final push over the top, in both sheer speed and complexity. The final key ingredients are the second voice/back-up vocals. A gruff, manly voice to support Blitz’s, ah, thin? crisp? high-end? voice. (How can I express that I’ve always found his vocals the equivalent of “Yeeeah, boyeee!” by Flavor Flav?)

This, and many fine-tunings, brings Overkill back to the front of the killing fields. Just in time to help drown out the again-fashionable chant “Metal is dead.” Heavy music has learned to mutate and adapt faster than anyone can discredit it.