A Beginner's Guide to Savant Metal

Here's a piece published in issue 2 of the excellent Unholy Hand Fanzine, published by Nathan from hideous noise-rockers Sex Wound. I think it's sold out now but you can ask. I've edited it slightly for grammar etc. and cause I write like a tit (I'm young, let me off), here we go:


A Beginner's Guide to Savant Metal

Revealing its roots in the garage-blues continuum, metal has a long tradition of inspired (and uninspired) amateurism. From the pub-blues jamming of the embryonic Sabbath to the Fruity Loops+Practice Amp fuzz of modern bedroom dwellers, the give-it-a-go impulse runs deep. Of course, this leads to a glut of mediocrity when labels get a bit generous in their signing policies, but occassionally there comes along a shining example of inspired amateurism that makes it all worthwhile. Like most genres of sufficient visibility, metal has played host to some truly deranged outsider geniuses, and they're the ones I care about.
Of course, heavy metal itself has been the perennial outsider, scorned from birth as lumpen prole-fodder, and even today only accepted by the hipster cognoscenti/short-haired wimps in its most culturally aspirational forms, or else damned with the faint praise of irony. But this is a tribute to metal's lunatic fringe (the actual lunatic fringe), the outsiders among the outsiders. They range from certified fucking nutjobs who happened to fall into the scene, to the fantastically backwards efforts of drunk German businessmen to cash in on the genre's 80s vogue (the so-called Metalploitation phenomenon). This list is by no means complete, by no means chronological, and by no means anything other than a highly subjective ego wank over the amount of obscure bands I know. Whether motivated by madness or money, the creators of the following works have truly enriched the heavy metal experience, for which I give thanks. Enjoy/Endure:

Svaty Vincent-S/T LP (1990)
One of the oddest records to come from the nascent second wave of Black Metal, and a personal vinyl collecting holy grail. Loosely aligned with the Iron Curtain-era Czech scene (Root, Master's Hammer, Tudor), this is the frankly baffling work of one Vincent Venera, plus whoever he got to abuse various instruments as backing to his unique utterances. Perhaps one of the greatest vocal performances ever committed to tape, Mr. Venera grunts and shrieks his (presumably Czech) lyrics about Satan and Marijuana, over the kind of musical backing that, if presented on an American Tapes lathe LP in an edition of 16, would get David Keenan ejaculating from here until passover. As it is, this record sounds like the riotous speedevil of Venom and the first Bathory LP, choked with paint thinner until they descend/ascend into the brilliant sphere of pure musical torture. Like a far less intentional form of the "black noise" peddled by Abruptum etc., it veers between sheer comedy and sheer nightmare-inducing tragedy. Perhaps most disturbing of all is the applause that follows a few of the live cuts, suggesting something very troubling about the immediate post-revolution Czech mindset...

Apator-Various demos, 7"s and splits (1988-?)
Perhaps similar to Svaty Vincent, but even more mindblowingly reductive, the "vocal hate" spewed by Apator is perfectly geared to destroy minds and rectums. While early recordings featured real instruments(!) and electronics, albeit employed in the most bafflingly primitive manner, by the early 90s Mr. Robert Arnhem (for it is he who was and/or is Apator) had distilled his art down to the purest form of communication. Accompanied only by the most oppressive silence ever manifested, our hero simply enunciates his (genius) song titles repeatedly, in a guttural, throat-rupturing growl. Some of these tapes last for 45 minutes, consisting of nothing but the same barely-coherent proclamations. But what proclamations they are! "Apator Masturbates in Praise of Black Satan"..."Apator Barks the Smile off Stupid Heterosexual Face" (and how!). We are presented with glorious diatribes to the universe, a desire to carve one's mark on existence that is as old as art itself. All this is to say nothing of his legendary live performances. It is hard to imagine anything more perfect than the image of a mentally ill Dutch homosexual, masturbating and cutting his arms while a broken bass guitar feeds back eternally.

Deliverance-Devil's Meat (1987)
It's the mid 80s. Baz, Kev, Don and Larry are gutted that the NWOBHM sputtered out without them getting their big break, and as they sink pints of best bitter in the Worksop Arms, the future looks bleak. Then Kev strikes gold. "You lot ever heard of this black metal malarkey? I reckon it could be our ticket out of here!". Lightbulbs go off over heads and the cigarette machine vibrates with approval. Someone calls the Satan Brothers and something magickal is born.
The above creation myth is almost a complete fabrication (although the album production is credited to the mysterious Satan brothers), but listening to this record certainly evokes such imagery. This is mid-80s black thrash filtered through a slurry of pork scratchings, Trophy Bitter and over-familiarity with the Def Leppard songbook. Elements of mid-80s Priest screech through the murk on souped-up choppers, while the wailing leads speak of brutal provincial despair. Such signifiers of AM radio excess are welded to the primitive frenzy of Venom, Hellhammer or NME (about whom more later). Pub thrash starts here.

Killer Fox-Killer Fox (1986)
The finest hour of the infamous Metal Enterprises label, run by a somewhat sinister German fellow to make some quick cash from undiscerning metalheads. This guy would release pretty much anything, from sub-Malmsteen guitar demo to 10th-rate oi!, all packaged and marketted as metal records. It's probably best not to inquire who Killer Fox actually were, and just enjoy the sheer transcendent hackery on display. This basically sounds like the Residents covering one of the later, more pretentious Demon LPs. Totally bizarre prog metal (without the virtuosity) covered in all manner of moog slime and vocodered female vocals. I think it's supposed to be about Atlantis or something but it doesn't really communicate this too well. Nevermind.

NME-Unholy Death (1985)
This is on here more for the stories surrounding the band than the actual record, which, although wonderfully primitive, is really not much weirder than "Show No Mercy" or "Black Metal". Vocalist Kurt Struebing was an actual, legitimate lunatic who killed his adoptive mother with a hatchet and pair of scissors, to "see if she was a robot too". The resultin incarceration of course put paid to the band's activities. Upon release in the mid-90s, he reformed NME as somekind of groove metal band and ended up driving of a bridge while fucked up on PCP and/or meth. A true inspiration. "Unholy Death" is probably one of the best first-wave black/thrash records, so check it out.

Flames of Hell-Fire and Steel (1987)
Find this LP and you're in the money, as it's pretty much the holy grail for metal collectors (yes, moreso than the Yellow Goat). Time and hype seems to have obscured the sheer savagery contained within, but it's a beauty. From the wilds of Iceland comes this slab of completely feral savant-thrash. Endless waves of guitar shred mingle with the demented vocals (think Martin Walkyier meets early Vikerness, but MORE). Mystic hymns to geographical isolation and teenage alienation, summoned by drunk kids in a government youth centre. Stirring stuff.

Dawnfall-Drei Raum (1995?)

I think this only exists as a sketchy bootleg so it's hard to be sure of the date, but I know the band were operational from the early-mid 90s, so I'll guess 95 or so. Whatever. Here we have the finest demonstration of the vision carved out by these Krazy Krazy Krauts (No WP), with what sounds like a distorted harpsichord scratching out video game melodies over skewed black metal. Long tracks to get lost in, and some potentially devastating psychological consequences. Foreshadows late-90s "post-BM" without being a dick about it.

Blood Red Moon-Various Tracks (2008)
Proof that the savant metal tradition continues into the MySpace era, here we have perhaps the strangest convolution of the "Bedroom Black Metal" phenomenon. Long stretches of seemingly random powerchords and sparse shrieking are underpinned by the best drumming ever. Owing more to Pussy Galore or free jazz than the traditional blastathon, the seemingly random syncopations repeatedly tear the ground out from under you, making for a truly dizzying experience. And I'm pretty sure that, like all great outsiders, it's unintentional. Get clicking.