Sunday, November 28, 2010

SACRED REICH the american way (1990)



Sacred Reich, hailing from Phoenix, Arizona.

Sacred Reich brings little to the Sacred table of Thrash Metal, and so I hesitate to call their 'Reich' 'Sacred'. These bozos were trippin' if they thought their slow mo metallic noise would ever truly represent such a sweet name. Sub par vocals, nothing classic or fun. They chug away like the rest, and you can't remember a damn thing about it. Hey, though, why not? I kind of imagine that if I had been delivering pizzas in 1990 I would have wanted all the Thrash tapes I could get my mits on.

Artwork. Look at the picture. See it yet? Look again. See it? Yeah. You see, the Statue of Liberty has been eroded by toxic fumes which have made Manhattan, or perhaps all of the North American continent, inhabitable only by skeletons. I'd say that's a good representation, metaphorically, for The American Way. This was right after the Ghostbusters Nintendo-controllered the ol' babe to her most metal moment, so they wanted a little of that triumphant action.


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NUMBER 9

Sunday, October 17, 2010

I.N.C. razorback (1987)




I.N.C. (Indestructible Noise Command), hailing from Fairfield, Connecticut.

I'll never go to THAT hospital again. They'll let ANYBODY be a Doctor these days. This particular example of The Sacred Thrash is moderate at best. The recording is pretty poor and the vocals sound like a test track, and the emergency room sounds DELICIOUS and the songs are written sloppily and performed even sloppier. I think that the allegory of the Corporation (I.N.C.?) wheeling you around a hospital as a crazed, I'm thinking amphibian? mutant orderly is pretty far-fetched. I mean, when has that ever happened? I don't get what they're trying to say. Also, hey guys, at least get, like, an 8th-grader to draw some kind of insignia or emblem, instead of that cheap, regular old one; Whiplash did it. To sum up, I don't think they had the budget. But they did have the RAZORBACK!


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NUMBER 8

Friday, October 1, 2010

EVILDEAD annihilation of civilization (1989)




Evildead, hailing from Los Angeles, California.

This is one of the bands which form the basis for the fun-loving, graffitti-the-planet resurgence of Thrash and Crossover that has exploded in the past couple years. You'll really want to add this to your collection for a number of excellent reasons. Let me describe.

The Thrash is Sacred, the shredding is mostly untouchable, the vocals are pissed but who-cares, and the last song is called B.O.H.I.C.A., and that stands for 'Bend Over, Here It Comes Again'. The old dude, probably called Ed (my personal favorite Thrash mascot, even above ol' Vic Rattlehead) has a Club Dead towel and Club Dead soda cup; the air is polluted beyond cleansing by factories in the distance; there are jets; there are three skulls on the icon; there are toxic waste barrels carelessly splayed before the beachgoers; the beachgoers are crackling and mutating openly;

Why wait?


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NUMBER 7

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

RAZOR shotgun justice (1990)



Razor, hailing from Guelph, Ontario, Canada.

Ah yes, shotgun justice. Not too many of us get a chance in our time on this wretched wasteglobe to really exercise some good fun. What I'm talking about is shotgun justice. And what I'm talking... about is peeling back half the skin from that ol' face to reveal the secret skull lurking beneath, opening up that mean leather jacket to reveal a hazy, mildly rippled midsection replete with one huge VORTEX of a naval, dusting off Debby (he's named the gun, I think), painting maybe one pinky with wood-brown nail polish, and really letting something (what was that stain, a seagull?) have it. I mean, the half-skull isn't even GRINNING! For God's sake, will somebody just give us some shotgun justice for God's... sake? Sacred Thrash at the turn of The Last Decade done real Crossover fast and ripening the decibel-ed air for a certain Municipal Waste. Ripening and ripening. Lyrics go something like "Roses are red, violets are blue, if I'm buying bullets, they surely are for you" you get the picture. Razor. Shotgun Justice, guys.

SONG TITLE HIGHLIGHTS: "Miami", "Cranial Stomp", and let us not forget "Shotgun Justice"


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NUMBER 6

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

THE GREAT KAT worship me or die (1987)



The Great Kat (Katherine Thomas), hailing from New York, New York.

I'm just going to rip something from another site for a second:

"The Great Kat burst onto the scene in the mid-eighties, a ball of energy, scantily clad and mugging for the camera at every opportunity while loudly proclaiming to one and all that she was the fastest guitarist of all time. Truth be told -- while her image makes it hard to take her all that seriously, the fact of the matter is that she's an incredible guitar player, apparently a graduate of the Julliard School where she played violin (which she still does). Two full-length albums were released in the late eighties, basically speed metal with her hyperactive classical guitar work front and center. Eventually the novelty seemed to wear off, in that she more or less faded from world-wide view, but in fact she's still at it to this day, image and attitude fully intact."

This album is sort of terrible, but it's not all novelty. The Sacred Thrash is shredded to the end of the universe on this thing. I like that she is snarling? Is she going to bite the guitar? That's pretty brutale?

SONG TITLE HIGHLIGHTS: "Satan Goes to Church", "Kill the Mothers", "Satan Says"


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NUMBER 5

ASPID krovoizliianie (1992)



Aspid, hailing from... Russia.

The Sacred Thrash gets the cyrillic treatment on this rare, rare album from old country. You can only find it anywhere as "Extravasation", but the real name is Krovoizliianie. The songs here are meticulously written, unraveling in similar fashion to your average sprawling golden-era Metallica composition, but without such righteous riff moments as anything they ever accomplished. Some of the parts clash awkwardly with other sections, which provides for some real surprising moments if you happen to be casually listening. The vocals are pretty vile and sweet, and once in a while out of nowhere they pull of some new age keyboards and then cut them right off. A fascinating addition.

Artwork. That's right. You're looking at a vast metropolis ruptured from the depths by a fiery serpent demi-god waiting beneath the core of the venomous Earth, spewing fire and death galore. Is galore the best word to use there? I don't know, but I think if their lyrics (all in Russian) are about that city and what happened to it after that thing showed up, it'd be pretty awesome.

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NUMBER 4

Monday, September 27, 2010

AIRDASH hospital hallucinations take one (1990)




Airdash, hailing from Helsinki, Finland.

Nope, that's not a Sega Genesis game. Can't you see how it would be, though? This one's just weird. Who cares about the details.

SONG TITLE HIGHLIGHTS: "Jungle Jim", "Vengeance Through Violence (No Bullshit)"


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NUMBER 3

Sunday, September 26, 2010

ATROPHY violent by nature (1990)



Atrophy, hailing from Tucson, Arizona.

Here, an unusually non-brutal setting, the sandbox, serves as a chilling terrorscape for the brain-washing of children into ruthless, possibly occult-obsessed, ubermilitant, goalie mask toting burier/killers by a bitter, elder God. Atrophy's logo and artwork choice says, in so many words, humans are children who bury people before playing with our tanks, and that's life. The album is really very good, a perfect example of The Sacred Thrash when the arena was tragically too crowded to last. It is aggressive and well-produced, laden with righteous, strangely memorable solos, and the vocals are Exodus style with a smattering of Testament singability in just the right places. Can you say that about your own life? Well. At least Atrophy can say it about their second, and last, album.

SONG TITLE HIGHLIGHTS: "Puppies and Friends"


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NUMBER 2

WHIPLASH power and pain (1985)



Whiplash, hailing from Passaic, New Jersey.

A classic cover. You've got grotesque bald muscle men, gigantic cyborg skull-grips, raging airborne electricity, lacerating screams, EVERYTHING. The summation of both Power, and Pain. Whiplash's logo is just as classic. While most metal logos are painstakingly thought out and drawn with great skill, having to reach a sublimely elite level of disgusting, aeon-reaching brutality, The Sacred Thrash has in classical times been the true slacker. The idea was to draw that shit up, throw on some Umbro shorts, and let's get to work. The Thrash speaks for the band, not the logo. Whiplash's Thrash is in every sense a true Thrash sound, a tribute to the early days when Kill'em All was the very pinnacle of achievement, and it is done more than well. A sick example of The Sacred Thrash.


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NUMBER 1