Iron Maiden The Number of the Beast
If you asked the average metalhead to name the landmark releases in metal history, chances are, Iron Maiden's The Number of the Beast would make the list. Of course, the average metalhead would be hard pressed to come up with a room temperature IQ at the North Pole, so we would probably do better better to ignore such opinions.
In truth, The Number of the Beast marked Iron Maiden's descent into self-parody, a trend that would only get worse with each subsequent album. The addition of the incomparable Bruce Dickinson on lead vocals is not enough to cover up the album's glaring flaws.
The Number of the Beast is the first Maiden album to display Steve Harris' mature writing style, and by "mature" I mean this is the first album where Steve figured out he didn't actually have to write new songs to impress his brain dead fanbase. Accordingly, The Number of the Beast consists of "Hallowed be Thy Name," "22 Acacia Avenue" and one other song repeated seven times. While it is true that the former remains one of the more brilliant pieces of songwriting to emerge from the NWOBHM movement it in no way compensates for the miserable quality of the rest of the album. It is a tribute to the greatness of Bruce Dickinson that he is able to rise above such mediocre material to lend a certain anthemic urgency to otherwise DOA songs like "Run to the Hills" and "Invaders," but even he can's save absolute dreck like the unbearably cheesy title track.
The Number of the Beast is also notable for its introduction of a basic approach to mixing and production that would help sap the life from the band's music for the next two decades. The vocals are pulled forward (good idea, as Dickinson was clearly the best thing the band had going for them), but so is the bass (not such a good idea). The latter is annoyingly and inexplicably up front in the mix, though the reasons probably have something to do with Steve Harris' massive (and largely unearned) ego. That this self-indulgence comes at the expense of an adequate guitar sound is unforgivable, and it is a clear sign of just who was responsible for turning Iron Maiden into the most boring and predictable band in heavy metal.
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Metallica Ride the Lightning
Before Napster, before the crew cuts, the cigars and the semen, before the "Black Album" and endless MTV rotation, there was only Metallica, supposed "creators" of thrash metal, binge drinkers and headbangers of epic proportions, legends in their own time. Of course, they sucked the big one then too.
Debuting with Kill 'Em All, an unstoppable juggernaut amatureish NWOBHM worship, bad vocals and gay innuendo (with approximately 69% of the lyrical content consisting of references to leather), the band returned in 1984 with Ride the Lightning, which, along with 1986's near clone Master of Puppets, is widely considered the pinnacle of the band's (supposedly) illustrious career. Such praise is misplaced, as Ride the Lightning only serves to demonstrate that, despite accusations of "selling out" later in their career, Metallica was always a pop band at heart.
While other thrash bands (most notably Slayer, Sodom and Kreator) spent the mid-80's expanding metal's boundaries of composition, technique and concept, Metallica was content to recycle the previous generation of heavy metal (sometimes quite literally, as we shall see) with a thrash aesthetic and a rock n' roll sensibility. As a result, Ride the Lightning comes across as candy coated thrash, all the rebellion without any irritating thought required.
Not surprisingly, Metallica turned to the last resort of the idea-challenged the world around: liberal politics and teenage angst. So we get a couple of childish screeds opposing war ("Fight Fire With Fire" and "For Whom the Bell Tolls," that latter of which shamelessly ganks its main riff from Angel Witch's "Angel of Death"), one opposing the death penalty (the incredibly tedious title track), songs about suicide and petulant rebellion ("Fade to Black" and "Escape") and a Bible story (the almost inconceivably overrated concert staple "Creeping Death"). Buried under this avalanche of suck are "Trapped Under Ice" (which retains a credible, if simplistic urgency) and "Call of Ktulu," a brilliant piece that manages to transform a tired genre staple (the metal instrumental) into a high decibel sonata. This marks not only the high water mark of the album, but of Metallica's rather revolting career. Even so, it doesn't even come close to redeeming the putrid pile of shit that is the rest of the album.
If you asked the average metalhead to name the landmark releases in metal history, chances are, Iron Maiden's The Number of the Beast would make the list. Of course, the average metalhead would be hard pressed to come up with a room temperature IQ at the North Pole, so we would probably do better better to ignore such opinions.
In truth, The Number of the Beast marked Iron Maiden's descent into self-parody, a trend that would only get worse with each subsequent album. The addition of the incomparable Bruce Dickinson on lead vocals is not enough to cover up the album's glaring flaws.
The Number of the Beast is the first Maiden album to display Steve Harris' mature writing style, and by "mature" I mean this is the first album where Steve figured out he didn't actually have to write new songs to impress his brain dead fanbase. Accordingly, The Number of the Beast consists of "Hallowed be Thy Name," "22 Acacia Avenue" and one other song repeated seven times. While it is true that the former remains one of the more brilliant pieces of songwriting to emerge from the NWOBHM movement it in no way compensates for the miserable quality of the rest of the album. It is a tribute to the greatness of Bruce Dickinson that he is able to rise above such mediocre material to lend a certain anthemic urgency to otherwise DOA songs like "Run to the Hills" and "Invaders," but even he can's save absolute dreck like the unbearably cheesy title track.
The Number of the Beast is also notable for its introduction of a basic approach to mixing and production that would help sap the life from the band's music for the next two decades. The vocals are pulled forward (good idea, as Dickinson was clearly the best thing the band had going for them), but so is the bass (not such a good idea). The latter is annoyingly and inexplicably up front in the mix, though the reasons probably have something to do with Steve Harris' massive (and largely unearned) ego. That this self-indulgence comes at the expense of an adequate guitar sound is unforgivable, and it is a clear sign of just who was responsible for turning Iron Maiden into the most boring and predictable band in heavy metal.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Metallica Ride the Lightning
Before Napster, before the crew cuts, the cigars and the semen, before the "Black Album" and endless MTV rotation, there was only Metallica, supposed "creators" of thrash metal, binge drinkers and headbangers of epic proportions, legends in their own time. Of course, they sucked the big one then too.
Debuting with Kill 'Em All, an unstoppable juggernaut amatureish NWOBHM worship, bad vocals and gay innuendo (with approximately 69% of the lyrical content consisting of references to leather), the band returned in 1984 with Ride the Lightning, which, along with 1986's near clone Master of Puppets, is widely considered the pinnacle of the band's (supposedly) illustrious career. Such praise is misplaced, as Ride the Lightning only serves to demonstrate that, despite accusations of "selling out" later in their career, Metallica was always a pop band at heart.
While other thrash bands (most notably Slayer, Sodom and Kreator) spent the mid-80's expanding metal's boundaries of composition, technique and concept, Metallica was content to recycle the previous generation of heavy metal (sometimes quite literally, as we shall see) with a thrash aesthetic and a rock n' roll sensibility. As a result, Ride the Lightning comes across as candy coated thrash, all the rebellion without any irritating thought required.
Not surprisingly, Metallica turned to the last resort of the idea-challenged the world around: liberal politics and teenage angst. So we get a couple of childish screeds opposing war ("Fight Fire With Fire" and "For Whom the Bell Tolls," that latter of which shamelessly ganks its main riff from Angel Witch's "Angel of Death"), one opposing the death penalty (the incredibly tedious title track), songs about suicide and petulant rebellion ("Fade to Black" and "Escape") and a Bible story (the almost inconceivably overrated concert staple "Creeping Death"). Buried under this avalanche of suck are "Trapped Under Ice" (which retains a credible, if simplistic urgency) and "Call of Ktulu," a brilliant piece that manages to transform a tired genre staple (the metal instrumental) into a high decibel sonata. This marks not only the high water mark of the album, but of Metallica's rather revolting career. Even so, it doesn't even come close to redeeming the putrid pile of shit that is the rest of the album.
