Four unreleased studio tracks, with 20 live cuts. Sub-standard S.O.D. (two originals, two covers) with crap production, like ProTooled Pro-Pain out-takes.
The band settles into a personal, raw record of bluesy metal, with Kevin’s voice an instrument of beauty and persona, delivering with passion and dimension.
A bright and expensive-sounding recording with juiced electricity at the guitars, crafted o’er an upbeat punk-charged collection of songs with shouty vocals.
It lacks of urge to be heavy for heavy’s sake, oddly mirroring the Violent Storm record experience, from Doogie White’s erstwhile Yngwie bandmate Mick Cervino.
Like Van Halen and the Crüe, they were the house band at L.A. hair metal haven, Gazarri’s, albeit only crafting one major label record, making them a footnote.
Like Paradise Lost, Amorphis seems bent on encompassing their catalogue and compressing it into diamonds of progressive, note-dense, mostly quite heavy tracks.
Beginning life as a poisonous black metal cabal, moving through luminous, magical industrial metal, through too much techno, and now, back to a heavy medium.
Sung and recorded better than a Sentenced album, but every time the verse starts, you’re bored. Stodgy, oppressive songs which, in the end, aren’t that heavy.
Emotion worn on the hearts of their white, frilly sleeves, Sonata Arctica sometimes get too close to maudlin. On the more orchestral side of the catalogue.