Well here's a debut album loaded with enough old school rock n' roll balls to get the geriatrics swinging their jeans, catchy and fresh enough to interest the doubting pop industry, and yet still darkly inventive enough to tickle the underbelly of the subverts. In turn, they lovingly tug once more at those emotional threads conjured by bands like Led Zeppelin, Fleetwood Mac and Cream. The inevitable result? Blues Pills are about to shift some units with this release.

Craftily divided into sections, each offering something interesting to focus upon, the album oozes star quality. Tracks 1 through 3 offer quick-change chord structures that ripple their way along a driving underscore which harries and hurries you along. Opener "High Class Woman" has a hard, rock-punching edge about it with fierce licks and strong hooks, whilst the excellent, groove-laden "Ain't No Change" and "Jupiter", with its mind-expanding middle-eight, ride along bluesier, walls of guitar fuzz that get you deep in the gut.

Tracks 4 through 6 mark out a welcome change of pace which brings the stunning Joplin-esque vocal of Elin Larsen to the forefront. Strong without being butch, her delivery has a sweet, rasping quality, plenty of range and a fine grasp of when to stress a lyric and when not to. So whilst the flawed yet elegiac, slide guitar number "River" stands out proudest of all, sashaying along as she enunciates each vowel, it is the friskier, slow-quick-slow rhythm and cosmic power of "Black Smoke" which speaks most clearly to the heart as well as the soul. Tracks 7-9 begins the steady build back up to speed with the swing of "Devil Man" bringing some much needed fire, "Astralplane" loading up on blues, and Chubby Checker-cover "Gypsy" punching every majestic note out with joyous delight. Throughout these and into the album closer, the simple sustained sweeps of retro kingpins Graveyard (who they share a producer with) show their face placing that chronological marker upon the Swedish quartet.

Offering something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue, whatever your taste, this is an impressive debut that should, by all accounts, marry itself to your very marrow. I thought I had a cold, black heart, but suddenly I can feel the damn thing beating. I think I'm falling for Blues Pills... and hard.

John Skibeat 

Band info: www.bluespills.com
Label info: www.nuclearblast.com

John Skibeat is a self-described word monkey hampered by cravings for strong ale and stinky cheese. He continues to practice surgical dissection on most genres of music with the leftovers currently reaching publication at 'zines like Heavy Blog Is Heavy, The Line Of Best Fit or Ave Noctum. When not smacking seven bells out of various sizes of orb, he tumbles at johnskibeat, tweets @johnskibeat and blogs at, yes, you guessed it, johnskibeat.

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I shouldn't have to waste time going over the events surrounding Behemoth frontman Adam “Nergal” Darski but I will anyway. Briefly. Between 2009's Evangelion and new album The Satanist (Nuclear Blast in EU, Metal Blade in North America), Nergal fought and won a battle against leukemia. And he has celebrated by crafting an album that spits in the face of weakness. Behemoth's 10th album seethes with the kind of raw power (with top notch production) we've come to expect but it's not without a couple surprises. Opener “Blow Your Trumpets Gabriel” rallies the masses in classic Behemoth fashion. Some plodding militance crashes with the supreme reign of chaos and lightning fast everything. Nergal calls for attention like only he can. His voice is infinitely commanding. Throughout the album he puts himself on display in a totally natural way. Instead of simply roaring, there are subtleties and emotional cracks appear in his corpsepainted facade. His berated throat fans the flames that burn eternal in Hell, scorching The Satanist's unbelievers.

Nergal is joined on the guitars by Seth. The pair of six-stringed evangelists leave no riff unconverted, ripping and shredding their way through the candlelit darkness with unrepentant speed and devastating solos. Not that that wasn't expected. What was unexpected in a way is how Behemoth rein in their headlong battle with more mid-paced pounding accented by atmospherics of the vocal, brass, string and melodic varieties. Their electric weapons of enslavement even give way to (gasp!) acoustics and spoken words on “In the Absence ov Light”. Never fear. Total obliteration follows within the track.

The rhythm section of Orion and Inferno, bass and drums respectively, really shine on The Satanist. The deep, growling bass ploughs through the mix throughout, enhancing the album's overall menace, at times even becoming the dominant force (“Ora Pro Nobis Lucifer”). His rhythmic partner blows the doors off the cathedral with an absolutely stellar performance. Inferno really outdoes himself with spectacular speed but also with measured thunder, snappy fills and a knack for adapting the castigation without a hint of hesitation to fit the tone and flow of the tracks.

While this is Behemoth doing what Behemoth does, they're now doing it better than ever. However, two tracks stand out in particular. The title track is truly epic. Orion's bass is all over it. Choral chants rise and fall within mid-paced movements. It's loaded with ambience and power dominated by Nergal's desperate, impassioned vocals. Closer “O Father O Satan O Sun!” breaks from the mold as well. It barely rises above a gallop at times, letting the listener down easy after the frantic previous tracks. Vocal harmonies lend a cinematic air. There's groove (Orion again) and atmosphere to go along with undead solos and a sort of creepiness. It's an amazing track and easily the album's best.

The track embodies the blood and guts, the life-giving force that permeates this passionate album; that which drips from The Satanist's every pore: devotion. Devotion to the sound, to the aesthetic. Devotion to Behemoth and everything they've worked for and stood for. Devotion to life. Because Satanism isn't about death, it's about life.

Matt Hinch

Band info: www.behemoth.pl
Label info: www.nuclearblast.de

Matt Hinch lives an unassuming life on the backroads outside Forest Mills, Ontario, Canada. He packs in as much metal as he possible can amid factory work, raising three daughters with his wife and working the land. In addition to Scratch the Surface Matt also writes for Hellbound, Ghost Cult Magazine, About Heavy Metal and his own blog, Kingdom of Noise. Keep up with him on Twitter @KingdomofNoise.

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The mighty Suffocation are back with a new effort, their fourth full-length album since reforming in 2003 and first to feature Dave Culross on drums (Dave played on “Despise the Sun” EP from 1998).
If you like Suffocation, you’ll surely like “Pinnacle of Bedlam” – ten songs of prime New York style death metal housing that patented Terrance Hobbs and Guy Marchais viciously brutal riffing, the inhuman growls of Frank Mullen, and Culross’ potent drumming. Let me just reassure you that nothing is lost with the former Malevolent Creation drummer stepping in for the powerhouse that is Mike Smith, his performance is simply monstrous.
“Pinnacle of Bedlam” mines the same blisteringly fast, extremely brutal and slightly technical style that made of Suffocation one of the best and most venerated groups in the death metal scene, and although some may argue about the rather clean production work of Joe Cincotta, it can hardly be faulted.
File this one right next to “Effigy of the Forgotten” and “Pierced from Within” for it’s an instant classic. 

Band info: www.facebook.com/suffocation
Label info: www.nuclearblast.de

 
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When it comes to down to delivery high quality thrash metal few do it better than Testament. Albums like “Practise What You Preach”, “Souls Of Black” and “The Gathering” are mandatory staples for everyone with a preference for thrash metal from the Bay Area. The band last album, “The Formation Of Damnation” is a tough act to follow by any standard, so let’s see what Chuck Billy and his musical partners managed to accomplish on “Dark Roots Of Earth”, their latest offering.

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