All the warning signs were there, even in the band’s heyday.
When on the inside of ‘Domination’ Trey Azagthoth was including Chun-Li from Streetfighter II in the thanks list, someone should have spoken up. Instead, we let it pass when clearly the men in white suits should have got a phone call.
By the time ‘Formulas Fatal To The Flesh’ had come round it was clear he’d gone well off the deep end. But that was a great record, and so those eccentricities were fine. Stories of nervous promoters discovering him playing Quake in internet cafes instead of at soundcheck - though perhaps apocryphal - said much. Even Tony Robbins couldn’t sort it out.
And what of David Vincent? His wilderness years of erogenous self rediscovery outside Morbid Angel brought PVC and eyeliner back into the band. If there were already question marks over where they’d be going after ‘Heretic’, there were now alarm bells. If nothing else, his return was going to colour Morbid Angel badd.
Yet extreme metal is about being yourself, pushing your own agenda, and looking the way you want to look. So they’ve done that. Fuck the naysayers (i.e. their fans) - they’re going to write silly songs and enjoy themselves a bit more.
The result has to be one of the most jaw dropping turnarounds in metal. To ‘Cold Lake’, ‘Remanufacture’ and arguably ‘Host’, add ‘Illud Divinum Insanus.’ Yep - it doesn’t even sound good.
Opener ‘Omni Potens’ is a sort of Dead Can Dance ‘Aion’ rip off, though since this has appeared on consecutive Morbid albums it doesn’t matter that much. It’s fine, if crass. Instead, it’s the gaily titled ‘Too Extreme!’ that’ll have your jaw on the floor as it opens this debacle proper.
The gabber beat is shocking. The mechanical samples sound entirely out of place on a Morbid Angel album. The lyrics are utter, utter shit (’We are your new religion, no religion’ - sub-Soulfly toss) and worse than anything, the happy clappy guitar zinging is like something off the Prodigy’s ‘Charly Says’ except nowhere near as good. The wee bass break at the start makes it seem like they want to be White Zombie. You’ll be so embarrassed you wont know where to look.
Luckily ‘Existo Vulgore’ comes to the rescue. Were the whole album made of tracks like this, we’d be having a very different conversation right now. It’s a fantastic cut in the classic ‘Domination’ mould, with all the groove, power and attitude that we grew up on and come to expect from the Ancient Ones. A killer, without doubt, and one that will last on the rock club dance floors.
They stick with the death metal for one more. ‘Blades For Baal’ very nearly makes the grade - but it’s also where the wheels start to come off. You can hear their boredom setting in. To that end, it’s the kind of track that Exmortem, Hate Eternal or any other DM soundalikes could have knocked out at a Saturday practise. By no means bad - it’s fast, bracing and punchy - it just doesn’t have the gravitas that Morbid Angel should be bringing.
And it’s at this point in the album that the shit really starts flying out Morbid Angel’s bums.
When Celtic Frost asked ‘Are You Morbid?’ some years ago, they should have paused, drawn breath and thought: “What happens if one day, Trey goes weird and writes some shit song answering our question? Guys, is this really worth it?”
Twenty years later, Dave ‘n’ Trey step forward to do just that, answering in the affirmative with one of the most awful, hare brained attempts at stomping stadium metal that you’ll hear this side of Metallica’s ‘Hero Of The Day’. The bladder loosening, tacky wah wah pedal is as pathetic as it is unintentionally hilarious, while the riffs are so lowbrow you just cant believe they’re coming from the guys that used to be your heroes. It’s a total, unmitigated disaster.
The sleazy, dark groove that underpins ‘10 More Dead’ is admittedly cool, but is so far forgotten by the time ‘Destructos VS The Earth / Attack’ wades in with its honking great club foot that it’s use is short lived.
Much of the hurricane of piss that’s about to blow Morbid Angel’s way will centre around this ridiculous piece of dimwit muzak. Was it maybe supposed to be for Genitorturers, or the next Transformers movie or what? Because if not, these men need help, and fast. There is no reason on earth this couldn’t have been released as a side project. It’s an embarrassing, teenage, cybergoth ditty that has no rational place in the esteemed catalogue of this band. It is without credible explanation.
You’ve presumably heard ‘Nevermore’ by now; it does what it says on the tin. Chalk it down as one of the good tracks.
Next up is one of Dave’s classic slow and sexy numbers, in the form of ‘Beauty Meets Beast’. It’s a tired, turgid track full of the kind of imagery he was probably dreaming up while talking smooth to hot babes like Vanessa Warwick and Tim Yeung. That wouldn’t be a problem except it’s fat, flaccid and utterly forgettable as a piece of music. The band could have written this asleep. Shame, as it has probably the best solo on the album in a very ‘Gateways’ style.
With career ending tracks already plentiful on this album, you’d think if they were going to commit brand suicide they’d be content to leave it at that. But if you’re going to go out, then ‘Radikult’ is the big one.
Unbelievably, Morbid Angel have seen fit to try the same faux glam, big beat, swinging clump that Marylin Manson brought to the world a full fifteen years ago. He had the excuse of T-Rex and David Bowie worship, as well as a tongue in the cheek. What on earth do Morbid Angel have to say for themselves?
The lyrics tell their own story. ‘Livin’ hardcore and radikult’ sings Dave, sounding and looking for all the world like Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson respectively in a worthless, sad, pathetic song that should never, ever, have seen the light of day.
Oh and just in case there wasn’t enough wannabe gabber, ‘Mea Culpa’ heaps excreta at a wall in a vain effort to see what can stick. Not a lot, predictably: it’s woeful.
So there you have it. The most anticipated comeback of recent years will enjoy massive profile for all the wrong reasons. It’s compulsive listening, at least once, just to be appalled. The band have abandoned themselves and almost everything that made them essential. And for what?
People ask why this matters. Let me tell you, it matters, a lot. In common with a great many people, I loved Morbid Angel and what they used to say. The swirl of aggression and otherworldly occultism they used to channel in a way that noone else could was pure power. How many of us haven’t had ‘Dominate’ on before a saturday night out on the tiles to remind us what life’s all about? It’s essential.
They’ve shat on that though, trying to reinvent themselves. And for who? Honestly, for who?
Though enormously sad, their new image and even their new sound are not their biggest crimes. The biggest crime that this album commits is one of inconsistency and a total lack of self awareness. This from a band who were so sure footed for so long, and wrote albums and playlistings that were perfect.
Any idiot could and should have told them that ‘Vulgore’ and ‘Radikult’ CANNOT, by any definition known to music, sit on the same record. It’s fucking madness! I have no clue what these guys were thinking, and how a song like ‘Destructos’ can even occupy the same orbit, nevermind album, as ‘Nevermore’.
It’s insulting to the listener to expect them to follow this desperate, confused and increasingly self delusional train of thought as two guys in their forties and two hapless hired guns navigate their way round a maze of their own making, bumping into each other and banging heads like musical idiots.
It’s been said already that a deep identity crisis is at the heart of this. The inexplicable awfulness of some tracks on here cannot be over emphasised.
As if it bears any more explanation, this is not a Morbid Angel record. It’s a cry for help.
2.3 / 5 - Earl Grey ::: 26/05/11
