May 17, 1976; Oyster/Polydor

“The world spins, while we put his dream together”

The Context

Ritchie Blackmore knew he had a great singer, but that was pretty much it. But then again, he had only intended to recruit the members of Elf to back him up for a one-off cover of Quatermass’ “Black Sheep of the Family” before it all turned into an entire album, and again that came about largely because he liked working with the singer.

But the rest of Elf wasn’t nearly as ready for primetime, as Blackmore learned early into tour rehearsals. For that matter, one could hear the tentativeness in the writing and especially playing when listening to Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow: there were a couple great songs, a couple pretty good ones and a whole lot of meh and everything from the performances to the production was full of mid. If this was going to be what the legendary guitarist did after leaving Deep Purple things were not off to a promising start, and the middling sales and chart placements only reinforced that Blackmore needed to try harder.

So Rainbow’s very first lineup ceased to exist not long after their self-titled debut was released. And for all that has been written about Blackmore’s temperament as a band leader and human, his instincts about who he needed to up his game were spot-on, at least in 1975: of course there was retaining the frontman now calling himself Ronnie James Dio, not only because the American had a great voice but also because as a lyricist he was in complete lockstep with Blackmore’s interests. But second only to Dio was the already iconic Cozy Powell, who despite being one of the only drummers on the planet to have had hit singles under his own name was considering leaving music for professional racecar driving when he got the call to audition. And while Jimmy Bain and Tony Carey were unknowns both proved ready and willing to match the newfound intensity Blackmore was ready to bring.

But even though every band in the ‘70s recorded and toured at a frenetic place it was still a little surprising how quickly things came together after this new lineup of Rainbow was settled- the guys got on the road in late 1975 and were already previewing new tracks during their short North American run before settling into Musicland Studios in February 1976, and just 3 months after that Rainbow Rising was released…

The (Original) Reception

1976 was an interesting year for heavy music, containing a very mixed bag of promising upstarts, long-awaited breakthroughs and the beginning of the end for many of the genre’s heavyweights. This was when AC/DC and Scorpions began making headway outside of their homelands; Aerosmith, Kiss and Queen built on the blockbuster successes of the previous year; Rush, Blue Öyster Cult and Thin Lizzy saw years of hard work begin to pay off while UFO was slowly but steadily gaining traction (though their real breakthrough would come a year later). Even Budgie was there in the mix.

But the bands who owned the first half of the decade were beginning to implode under the weight of exhaustion and chemicals: Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin still packed large venues but were supporting confused albums that betrayed their lack of inspiration, while Uriah Heep was trudging along oblivious to the fact that they were falling apart in real time (to be sure, obliviousness was a big part of Heep’s whole thing). And speaking of falling apart, Deep Purple resorted to putting out a live album from an older lineup because the current one literally collapsed in front of everyone.

And then there were two records that proved to be hugely impactful in the long run but were underappreciated in their time. To be fair, Sad Wings of Destiny was released on a tiny label with neither the funds nor the capacity to market let alone elevate Judas Priest, but what was then called Rainbow Rising (it was eventually shortened years later once the group stopped being called Blackmore’s Rainbow and just went with Rainbow) had the pedigree of a guitar hero, big-budget recording with a respected producer and major label support yet still only performed modestly in the UK (its #11 chart placement matching Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow) and worse in the US (missing the Top 40 and charting lower than its predecessor). Japan and mainland Europe were far more welcoming and bolstered both the album and the band on the road, but while these dates were eventually recognized as legendary- with practically the entire German run recorded and released over the decades- most of the setlists were still devoted to the first album along with a bunch of instrumental jams and only a small handful of Rising tracks (“Stargazer”, “Do You Close Your Eyes” and “Starstruck”) getting regular play.

The band themselves weren’t in agreement about the record either: while Bain, Carey and Powell believed they had made something great, Dio felt it was too jammy and thought Blackmore and Powell in particular were given too much room to flex. And while Blackmore called Rising his favorite Rainbow record, he was so disappointed with its sales that he pushed the band in a more commercial direction despite opening most of the 1976 and 1977 shows with the barnstorming “Kill the King” as a preview for the next album- not to mention firing Bain for not being able to handle more complex bass parts.

How Does It Hold Up?

Rising may not have lit the charts on fire nor had the same immediate impact as those aforementioned Aerosmith, Kiss, Rush and Lizzy records, but of those only Rocks sounds quite as vibrant and powerful next to Rainbow’s second album five decades later. Martin Birch’s flawless production was certainly a big part of it- although insiders claim Blackmore took the lead in terms of producing, Birch handled most the engineering (alongside corralling all the alphas in the band) and he gave Rising such space, texture, dynamics and power that it still jumps out of speakers and headphones even now. Birch perfectly captured the entire band fully in sync with Blackmore, Dio and Powell at their arguable peaks, which is really saying something considering what Blackmore and Powell had already achieved and what still lay ahead for Dio. The only part of Rising that felt tethered to the era were Carey’s synths, but even those were smartly arranged and put in context with the rest of the music and didn’t get in the way of Blackmore’s snaky riffing and elegant solos, Dio’s towering bellow and the sheer percussive thunder that was Cozy Powell.

But alongside the sound were the songs, and Blackmore and Dio simply didn’t make a single false move: Rising was the first heavy rock album to not contain a single ballad or slow track, with only the bluesy “Run with the Wolf” not immediately kicking ass. “Tarot Woman” was likely the first of Ronnie James Dio’s “evil lady” songs, but what might’ve scanned as silly or cheesy on its own became towering with the bobbing and weaving of Blackmore’s guitar and Powell’s propulsion. And if “Starstruck” and “Do You Close Your Eyes” mined similar themes they also rocked direct and hard and rivaled Zeppelin with their focus and intensity and easily one-upped similar moves from Aerosmith and Kiss.

But while the first side of Rising alone made for a great hard rock record, the second half (ironically the main source of Dio’s dissatisfaction) blew the doors wide open. Two tracks, both over 8 minutes long, both among the greatest tunes ever. “Stargazer” was the epic and “A Light in the Black” the marauder, and both brought metal to new heights simply by virtue of bringing a new level of awesomeness. Yes, “Kashmir” was an obvious (and stated) influence on “Stargazer”, but let’s be honest- “Stargazer” is more exciting, dynamic and compelling (and we’ll come out and say it: in 1976 Ronnie James Dio and Cozy Powell were in better form than Robert Plant and John Bonham).

“Stargazer” was the first symphonic metal song and remains the best of its kind, and most definitely belongs among the 10 best metal tunes of all time. And if “A Light in the Black” doesn’t have that level of distinction, it still rules since it likewise captures Dio, Powell and Blackmore at their blinding best although here Powell might come out slightly ahead on account of inventing a new approach to heavy metal drumming with his relentless double-kick barrage. There wasn’t anything remotely this powerful in 1976, and for that matter most of what came after stands in its shadow.

The Legacy

As mentioned earlier, Sad Wings of Destiny was the other epochal 1976 release and like Rising proved far more impactful in the long run. Sad Wings seems to have garnered more esteem over time, and indeed it was crucial in the evolution of heavy music, but a lot of that has to do with Judas Priest staying the course and committing to making heavy metal with a mostly stable lineup (Spinal Tap-level drummer turnover notwithstanding). Along the way, they continued growing as writers and performers and made better records (Sin After Sin was an incremental elevation and Stained Class was a masterpiece and prelude to the triumphs of British Steel and Defenders of the Faith). Basically, Priest built an identity and career that enabled their influence and stature to crystallize, whereas Blackmore cycled through so many different members in his attempt to chase hit records that Rainbow came to be defined by its lack of consistency.

But Rising was every bit as significant in upleveling hard rock and metal, and its impact continues to reverberate across multiple subgenres. It pretty much set the standard for heavy music in mainland Europe and laid the foundation for every subgenre that emerged from the continent- even melodic death metal is rooted in the dynamics and heft of Ritchie Blackmore and Cozy Powell. And the album was key to building the legend of Ronnie James Dio, as Rising was the album where he truly found his voice as a singer and songwriter; not for nothing, Jimmy Bain would become a key collaborator for Ronnie in subsequent years as well. In its way, Rising was the most uncompromising album of its era, not really making any concessions to commerce and going full-bore on the drama and heaviness and showing everyone just how far this music could go.

Rating: 5/5

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Heavy Metal entered the 1990s as a dominating musical force, with the genre taking center stage on both album and singles charts worldwide and garnering some measure of respect from critics (even if it was only a handful of acts getting decent reviews, and even then only grudgingly). And during the first part of the new decade metal continued to thrive: hair metal was thankfully on the wane after reaching full saturation around 1989, but its biggest groups were still doing well and providing both a cushion and gateway for heavier acts and by the same token fatigue with glam created a runway for a new wave of (theoretically) smarter and less pandering groups to take center stage.

It turned out to be the beginning of the end (or the beginning of an end, or an end to a beginning), and by 1994 the entire genre was on the ropes. But heavy music was still big business in 1991 and what’s striking 35 years later is the sheer diversity of the hard rock and metal bands that were part of the mainstream conversation: Poison, Extreme and Mötley Crüe were ringing up massive sales and filling sheds, Van Halen’s For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge was one of the biggest albums of the summer and Skid Row’s Slave to the Grind became the first metal album to debut at #1. To some extent these were all predecessors to the hotly anticipated Use Your Illusion records, but the real story turned out to be the bulldozer that was Metallica, which came out August 12 and proceeded to not only dominate both heavy and popular music but entirely reoriented the thrash scene (basically by moving away from thrash altogether).

1991 was such an embarrassment of riches for this music that for all of the blockbusters there were as many if not more records that got overlooked, at least on a commercial level. Some of these were instances where bands finally got it right after years of struggle, some were worthwhile comebacks that didn’t get enough credit for restoring diminished franchises and some were regional favorites that just didn’t have the chance to break out on a bigger level. Many of these have since received a fair amount of retroactive love, but even so still don’t get mentioned in the same breath as the major 1991 releases.

This entry is the first of a 3-part series that will shine a light on some of these records, with each post focusing on a particular country to speak to what was going on in those territories at the moment. Starting with the United Kingdom, which by 1991 was almost a decade removed from the glory of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal and had fallen massively behind in both sales and esteem when it came to metal. But two historic groups began to fight their way back (though for both that involved leaving England) and one new group featuring a handful of cult heroes set the stage for an entirely new subgenre…

Saxon, Solid Ball of Rock

January 14, 1991; Virgin

“Somewhere in the night, a candle burns for you”

One of this Substack’s earliest set of entries was a series ranking the Saxon discography (which is now a bit out of date because these guys never stop), and Solid Ball of Rock occupied a rather respectable #8 position.

Saxon finally got their shit together in time for the ‘90s. Chastened and left for dead after their attempts at courting the mainstream backfired spectacularly, Saxon made three crucial moves: first and foremost, they abandoned any hope of major American success and deliberately chose to commit to true-blue heavy metal once and for all. They needed a trip to Germany to properly reset: they damaged their credibility so badly in the UK that their last hope was to glom on to the emerging power metal scene and bring in Blind Guardian producer Kalle Trapp.

Just as critical was replacing the rhythm section: Nigel Glockler was and always will be Saxon’s quintessential drummer, so his return brought back much needed thunder. Perhaps most significant in the long run was the arrival of Tim “Nibbs” Carter, who was not only brought in on bass but wrote 5 tracks and co-wrote 2 others. This latter development proved crucial, as Carter’s “Altar of the Gods” and “Baptism of Fire” were easily the most frenetic, intense and focused tracks Saxon had put out in 8 years.

There was still some dunderheaded cheese, but it was mostly endearing in classic Saxon tradition rather than the pandering of the late ‘80s and even the mozzarella of “Requiem (We Will Remember)” was balanced out by its hooks and the clear affection in Biff Byford’s ageless wheezing and lyrics. And if the title track and “I Just Can’t Get Enough” felt a bit stock, they were still plenty enjoyable as was “Lights in the Sky”- after several years in the wilderness, Saxon was finally getting back to business.

Solid Ball of Rock wasn’t initially well received critically, but it sold reasonably well in Europe (at the very least it staunched the bleeding) and over time has actually held up better than one would expect. More than that, it was a meaningful first step in restoring Saxon’s viability.

Rating: 3.5/5

Motörhead, 1916

January 21, 1991; WTG/Epic

“I make love to mountain lions”

England was over Motörhead, and the feeling was mutual. Lemmy and his crew hadn’t sunk quite as low as Saxon, but years of lineup changes and increasingly rote albums created fatigue among fans and band alike, and the band’s business affairs were in complete shambles thanks to questionable management and crappy labels. And Lemmy’s penchant for popping up in the most random circumstances (jumping on stage with Frankie Goes to Hollywood, recording with Samantha Fox, “acting” in lame B-movies, etc.) made one of rock’s most beloved characters look a little desperate.

But while Saxon retreated to Europe, Lemmy opted for rather different environs and moved to Los Angeles, rapidly ingratiating himself with the scene and making the necessary connections to revive the Motörhead brand alongside the stalwart Philthy Animal Taylor (Würzel and Phil Campbell would continue to reside in Britain and Wales, respectively, but both remained loyal to Lemmy). And with new management, a new label propped up with major label backing and a big-name producer on deck, the guys were ready after 4 years without a new record (though it didn’t feel nearly that long) to reintroduce themselves.

1916 was indeed a rebirth, with the opening triptych of “The One to Sing the Blues”, “I'm So Bad (Baby I Don't Care)” and the towering “No Voices in the Sky” bursting out of the gates with renewed vigor and grit and aided by robust production that put Philthy Phil’s OTT drumming loud and center. Lemmy sounded renewed throughout, delivering both his brand of streetwise wisdom (besides the still-relevant “No Voices in the Sky” there was the harrowing and moving title track, which brought one of WWI’s bloodiest battles to cinematic life with just Lemmy’s voice and minimal backing) and hilarity (the aforementioned first two tracks and “Make My Day” which included a pickup line- “Tell you what, you’re red hot. Let’s go do it in the parking lot!”- that only Lem could get away with). The album was mostly lean and mean Motörhead rock and roll, basically the album that Rock ‘n’ Roll tried to be but with much better writing and production. And if “R.A.M.O.N.E.S.” was a touch too obvious, it was also a super fun minute and a half blast of a tribute.

But all the sunshine, hanging out with big hairs and major label money seeped into 1916 in some not-so-great ways. Worst of all was the pandering ballad “Love Me Forever” which demonstrated once and for all that Lemmy Kilmister was not a singer, but the cheap boogie “Going to Brazil” and plodding “Nightmare/The Dreamtime” felt like Motörhead trying things for their own sake and “Angel City” went nowhere despite its “day in the life of Lemmy” lyrics reminding how much fun it must’ve been to hang out with the guy.

1916 didn’t quite recalibrate Motörhead the same way Solid Ball of Rock reset Saxon- there would be one ill-fated attempt at going mainstream and a few more years of label foibles before the band could truly find their way back- but its minor success did make the group at least worth taking seriously again. And it bears repeating that even with the occasional slickness there was still nobody else who sounded as grimy, intense and lovably skeevy, especially in 1991 Los Angeles.

Rating: 3.5/5

Skyclad, The Wayward Sons of Mother Earth

October 17, 1991; Noise

“I will not play a part in this infantile farce, your offer I decline”

At different points, Satan and Sabbat were hugely important to the development of metal, especially in the UK: the former beefed up the New Wave of British Heavy Metal with an intensity and technicality that set the stage for thrash, while the latter amplified those components and brought a new level of complexity and extremity to thrash as a whole while also making British thrash a thing despite the genre being recognized the world over as an American phenomenon. But both were done in by bad business and bad blood: Court in the Act was released by Roadrunner during the label’s infancy, while Sabbat signed one of Noise’s infamously awful contracts. Satan tried trudging along and even changed their name a couple times but nothing worked, and Sabbat imploded thanks to a combination of the aforementioned business dealings and musical tensions between Martin Walkyier and Andy Sneap.

Walkyier was actually stuck on Noise despite leaving Sabbat, so his next move would have to be released on the label despite Noise founder Karl-Ulrich Walterbach despising the frontman (to be fair, Walterbach disliked everyone). And when he formed a musical connection with Steve Ramsey and Graeme English the guitarist and bassist went along with it since it wasn’t like Satan or whatever they were calling themselves at the time were really going anywhere either.

But while the new group they called Skyclad was very much rooted in thrash and Walkyier carried on with the pagan imagery of Sabbat, their first album was every bit its own thing: The Wayward Sons of Mother Earth truly sounded like nothing else out there. In some ways it was a logical extension of Sabbat, what with Walkyier’s lyrical fixations and irascible snarl, but Ramsey and English were more studied craftsmen and brought a sense of structure- indeed, a big part of what drove Walkyier away from Sabbat was the increasingly prog-level complexity Andy Sneap was layering into his composing, but from the outset Skyclad was more song-oriented. This was a set of killer thrash tunes delivered with red-eyed intensity from a cantankerous frontman with a distinct point of view, and numbers like “The Sky Beneath My Feet”, “Our Dying Island” and “Terminus” showed how thrash could evolve while still retaining its core essence.

The real story with The Wayward Sons of Mother Earth, of course, came with “The Widdershins Jig" and its invention of folk metal: the album was unmistakably thrash but the subtle fiddles (and in the case of “The Widdershins Jig" not subtle at all) gave away that Skyclad was on a different trip. But unlike so much of the folk metal that would come later, Skyclad knew how to layer violins into their approach without compromising the metal and make no mistake this was a heavy record. Walkyier was a dynamic and idiosyncratic frontman with a biting wit and snarky attitude, and Ramsey and English understood how to make his polemics stand out without overwhelming the music; for that matter, the introduction of folk elements gave his words even more weight.

The Wayward Sons of Mother Earth was the beginning of a long and strange run for Skyclad, as well as the birth of a new subgenre and proof positive that England wasn’t done as a musical force in metal, even if the band’s impact would be most immediately felt elsewhere.

Rating: 4/5

Coming up: mainland Europe ignores trends and fortifies the genre…

Fans love debating what they consider a band’s best or worst album, and sometimes that is tempered by labeling something as their “favorite” album. This article will ponder a different question: what record best captures a band’s qualities and capabilities in full, sonically and/or image-wise? In other words, which album best aligns with the picture you have in your head of what that band actually is- their “most” album? It might be what many of us consider their best record, but more often it most closely conforms to our most common idea of what they represent, in ways both good and bad.

Revisiting an earlier article, below are 3 more examples of what we might consider an artist’s most album, with thoughts about why that album best represents their ethos (it could be musical, visual, conceptual, or some combination) and considers whether their most might also be their best…

Van Halen, Diver Down (1982)

“Looking back in anger, the city is relieved”

History has depicted Van Halen as an unstoppable juggernaut from their monumental debut up to at least 5150 and arguably through For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge. And for the most part they were a blitzkrieg that mowed down everything in their path and became a shorthand for how heavy music should be approached. But there were challenges and drama beyond the infamous clashes of egos, and as the curtain over what was actually a very secretive operation was ever so slightly lifted the interpersonal dynamics were even more fraught than anyone on the outside appreciated: every record after Van Halen II (with the lone exception of OU812) was a battle to make, whether it was disagreements over musical direction, needing to revisit old demos to make up for a lack of worthwhile material, production choices or just plain old animosity between Eddie Van Halen and whomever was at the mic.

In 1982, all of this was exacerbated by Fair Warning underperforming relative to the previous 3 VH platters- despite being their highest charting record at the time legend has Warner Bros. resorting to payola to increase radio play and goose sales to Platinum after every other record effortlessly went multi-Platinum. Fair Warning was seen as Edward Van Halen seizing control over the band’s direction, and when it stalled commercially David Lee Roth was that much more emboldened to push back. More than that, everyone was utterly exhausted after four straight years of albums and tours and needed a vacation. And a break was exactly what was planned for 1982, with no concerts or studio time booked so the guys could recharge (and take some badly needed time away from each other)…

…But then Van Halen’s one-off cover of “(Oh) Pretty Woman” became a surprise hit and their highest charting single to date, and that was enough for Warner Bros. to push them right back into the studio and get something out in the market quickly. With barely any time to record and even less to come up with songs, the band and Ted Templeman grabbed on to whatever they could, whether it was instrumental noodling (a quarter of the final album’s tracklist), 5 covers (almost half the record) and a scant 4 original tracks, 2 of which were dusted off from demos recorded in the mid ‘70s. One of the covers (“Dancing in the Street”) did have original music, but the backing track was a piece Eddie Van Halen intended to offer Peter Gabriel and Templeman and Roth’s decision to use it for the Martha and the Vandellas cover Diamond Dave had been bugging Eddie to record for at least a year became part of a grudge the guitarist held against the singer and producer for the rest of his life.

So the album put together in 12 days and ultimately called Diver Down was a complete mess, and of course it not only revived Van Halen’s commercial fortunes but became their highest charting album to date (making it up to #3) and one of their biggest sellers…

What makes it their most album?

For those who labeled Van Halen as lightweights and basically a joke, Diver Down was Exhibit A: most of the covers smacked of novelty, the originals were barely written and haphazardly played and some of the instrumentals were pointless bordering on insulting. The record leaned into the notion that this was a band of miscreants who saw fit to basically fart into a microphone, call it an album and charge retail for it.

By the same token, everyone who saw Van Halen as not just musicians but personalities had plenty to chew on here: most of the covers put David Lee Roth’s lounge lizard and old timey showman schtick all the way out front, while anyone who thought Eddie Van Halen as a purveyor of alien sounds could point to his instrumentals. And those who were baffled and/or enthralled by the band’s ability to sound simultaneously punchdrunk and completely in sync had the handful of originals to savor- “Hang ‘Em High” especially sounded like they might not even make it to the end of the song.

But one listener’s caterwaul is another’s lightning in a bottle, and those originals along with some of the covers and instrumentals also leaned into Van Halen’s fearlessness and complete mastery of their sound. Eddie’s guitar tone on its own was a category unto itself, Michael Anthony’s harmonies were flawless and Alex Van Halen’s lead drumming was in full lockstep with his brother’s seemingly effortless riffing at every turn. There was nobody else in the world that sounded quite this alive, and even the goofiness of “Big Bad Bill (Is Sweet William Now)” and “Happy Trails” crackled with an inimitable spark.

Diver Down by its very design leaned into people’s perceptions of who and what Van Halen was, mostly because the guys didn’t have time to offer anything more than what was immediately at their disposable or even think about it and partly because they weren’t so much burning the candle at both ends as piledriving through life because it was the only way they knew.

But is it their best album?

Uh… no. Diver Down was a complete mess and at just slightly over 30 minutes barely deserved to call itself an album. Even the most loyal diehards couldn’t deny this was tossed off, because that’s exactly what it was and so much of it made no sense.

But that aforementioned spark went a really long way, and while Van Halen’s albums may have been many things they were never boring (at least not until OU812, and arguably not really until Balance) and Diver Down was not an exception. “Hang ‘Em High” may have been more strut than song, but it was a kickass strut with awesome machine gun riffing and an even more awesome solo over gonzo drumming. And the band’s underrated acumen for songwriting came through on dark horse gems “Secrets” and “Little Guitars”, and for that matter their cover of “Where Have All the Good Times Gone!” was not only better than the original but might actually be the better of their Kinks remakes. There was something innately compelling about Van Halen’s original lineup, and even if Diver Down found the constant personality clashes and tireless pace wear them down their unique alchemy still came across at the right moments.

Rating: 3.5/5

Megadeth, So Far, So Good… So What! (1988)

“They said it’d never come, we knew it was a lie”

Dave Mustaine frequently summed up Megadeth’s interactions with producers in the late ‘80s along the lines of “they didn’t know who- or rather, what- they were dealing with”. Slayer might’ve crushed beer cans on the back cover photo of Reign in Blood but Megadeth was unquestionably the most fried of the Big 4, so much so that even if they weren’t brandishing anything more harmful that cigarettes they couldn’t take a single photo without looking completely sozzled and their first couple records teetered on total collapse even during their finest moments.

All of this made Megadeth one of the most dangerous bands on the scene, and also one of the most exciting. In a year full of masterpieces, Peace Sells… But Who’s Buying? was an especially violent record that set a new blueprint for how technical heavy music could get while bulldozing everything in its path and without going full prog, and it sold well enough (at the time it was on par with Master of Puppets on a commercial level) that there was a fair amount of anticipation both in the underground as well as the larger metal scene for what they would offer up next.

So of course half the lineup vamooshed in a whirlwind of animosity and all manner of substances, with the jazz-oriented and strung-out Chris Poland replaced by the more traditionally shredding and strung-out Jeff Young and the polyrhythmic basketcase Gary “Gar” Samuelson thrown out in favor of his drum tech and fellow basketcase Chuck Behler. And not only did this new iteration of Megadeth manage to spit out a record rather aptly titled So Far, So Good… So What! but make the right album at the right time, riding thrash metal’s commercial crest and outselling its predecessor while firmly positioning the band as a major rising force in metal.

What makes it their most album?

The notion that Megadeth was a bunch of out of control and antisocial miscreants was inarguably fully manifested on their third album. Neither Dave Mustaine nor anyone else in Megadeth made any secret of their issues with substance abuse, and So Far, So Good… So What! sounded like they had more than enough of everything- even if “Mary Jane” was actually about a young witch buried alive by her father not only would nobody have been surprised if it was about the other thing but they would’ve known excessive reefer consumption was the least of it. For that matter, Mustaine’s sneery hollering about the joys of drunk driving on “502” captured both his overall state of being as well as his general mindset. Really, every person who ever made fun of Mustaine’s vocal style went right to this record.

The flipside was Mustaine’s gnarled sense of politics, and while one could point to later records like United Abominations or Dystopia as better representations of his post-2001 ideology it was SFSGSW that epitomized the cynicism, nihilism and street-level activism that defined critics’ perceptions of Megadeth as one of the smarter thrash bands. And outside of “Peace Sells”, “Set the World Afire” and “Hook in Mouth” were the mission statements and philosophies that most illustrated how people came to see Megadeth, and their intelligence was both augmented and undermined by the rambunctiousness of the playing, which similarly heightened the image of this crew as being hyper-technical while also completely out of their skulls.

The zonked out feeling carried over to the album’s production: neither original producer Paul Lani nor eventual mixer Michael Wagener were able to bring the tunes or sound into focus, and the record sounded just as foggy and cantankerous as the musicians. All of the albums the Big 4 released in 1988 had strange productions, but SFSGSW was the one that most sounded like what Megadeth actually was, and not exactly in a good way.

But is it their best album?

Uh… no. So Far, So Good… So What! rather surprisingly outperformed every other thrash album released in 1988 except for …And Justice for All, charting at #28 and becoming Megadeth’s first to go Platinum, and critics likewise lavished praise on what they saw as something far more intelligent and interesting than hair metal. And it was intelligent and interesting: even at their most frazzled and fried Megadeth was exciting as a musical force, and the fire and fury throughout “Into the Lungs of Hell”, “Set the World Afire” and most of the back half were a provocative hammer to the skull. At the very least, there was no denying the fretwork: Mustaine was near the top of his game here and Jeff Young mostly kept up. And as ridiculous as “502” and the utterly absurd “Liar” were, they both banged awesomely.

But after the initial hype died down everyone saw SFSGSW for the mess it so obviously was: even the cornerstone track (and Cliff Burton elegy) “In My Darkest Hour” turned ludicrous (though also admittedly hilarious) once Mustaine resorted to airing grievances, while his slurring snarl on “Anarchy in the UK” didn’t bother to even learn the lyrics. Come on: he couldn’t even make it through “Liar”’s chorus! And all of the drunken, coked out and strung-out bashing got exhausting even though the record was barely 35 minutes long. Nobody, least of all the band themselves, disputed that the albums both immediately before and after were superior in every possible way, but So Far, So Good… So What! somehow felt like a truer reflection of what Megadeth was actually about.

Rating: 3.5/5

Dio, The Last in Line (1984)

“But the magic that we’ll feel is worth a lifetime”

Ronnie James Dio got his revenge. A year after leaving Black Sabbath on bad terms, and 4 years after leaving Rainbow under similarly less than amicable circumstances, he put out a record by a new band that not only bore his name but was unmistakably his own creation and handily outsold both of his previous acts. While Sabbath flailed with Ian Gillan on (the underrated dark horse) Born Again and Ritchie Blackmore made one last attempt to make Rainbow an AOR band on Bent Out of Shape, Ronnie stuck to his guns and not only got better reviews for Holy Diver but sold a lot more records, eventually going Double Platinum while neither Born Again nor Bent Out of Shape made it to Gold.

One year after that, Black Sabbath was on life support and Rainbow was disbanded but Dio struck while the iron was hot, maintaining the core of Jimmy Bain, Vivian Campbell and Vinny Appice while adding Claude Schnell on keyboards and quickly recording a follow-up that doubled down on Holy Diver while adding the slightest hint of commerciality to a handful of tracks to give them a fighting shot at MTV rotation. It didn’t matter that Ronnie was about 20 years older than the hotshots burning up the Sunset Strip or that Bain was strung out most of the time, or that Campbell was increasingly irritated with the frontman’s iron grip over all of the band’s affairs- Dio was one of the hottest metal bands on the scene (and poised to become a major concert draw as well) and there was no stopping this train. And audiences were on board, with The Last in Line not only outcharting Holy Diver and initially outselling it as well but also setting the table for Dio’s first run as arena headliners.

What makes it their most album?

If Holy Diver played at times like a sequel to Mob Rules, The Last in Line was where Dio began to create their own identity. And pretty much all of the things that come to mind with Dio are on this record, from fist-pumping self-empowerment anthems (“We Rock”) to morally ambiguous tales of good and evil (the title track) and strangely low-budget grandeur (“Egypt (The Chains Are On)”) to goofy and hilarious “evil woman” laments (“Eat Your Heart Out”) to invocations of dancers, fire and stone (pretty much every song). The only thing missing was a “look out!!!”- that’s how busy Ronnie was, he didn’t even have time for his usual courtesies.

Alongside all of this, The Last in Line crystallized the essence of Dio, both the man and band: there was Ronnie going full orc and wielding a sword when he wasn’t wagging a crooked finger at ballerinas and the band offering a very specific take on the streamlined metal that was defining the era as Campbell’s shredding and Appice’s blocky percussion became hallmarks of the group’s core sound. Whether one found Ronnie and his band’s affectations hilariously awesome or just ludicrous, this album provided equal fodder for all sides.

But is it their best album?

Although Holy Diver is more often cited as Dio’s masterpiece, many would’ve pointed to The Last in Line as the band’s high watermark during their commercial prime. And putting them side by side (potential battle of the classics?) might make the case for some parity: “We Rock” was more focused and immediate than “Stand Up and Shout” (“I Speed at Night” was the other fast one and straight up banged) while “The Last in Line” similarly had greater clarity though “Holy Diver” was more charming. And if Ronnie’s commercial instincts would begin to curdle one album later “Evil Eyes” and “Mystery” were both enjoyable mainstream rockers, and the churning“Egypt” was one of Ronnie’s greatest epics.

The flipside was that even if nobody could sell nonsense with anywhere near Ronnie James Dio’s level of commitment, there was still nonsense aplenty on The Last in Line. “Breathless” and “Eat Your Heart Out” were silly bordering on inane, and “One Night in the City” mostly just sat there. And the aforementioned duplication of sequencing (opening anthem followed by epic title track, a move Ronnie would repeat on Dio’s next two records) was already beginning to show the seams of the formula. Nonetheless, Dio’s second record was a more than worthy successor that presented one of metal’s greatest singers in one of his best lights and arguably showed his truest self.

Rating: 4/5

What do you think? Are there different records you think should fall under this category? Are there other “most” records that come to mind? Comment and offer your opinion!

The history of Helloween is (mostly) neatly divided into 5 eras: the Noise years with Kai Hansen and introducing Michael Kiske, the short-lived and ill-fated run with EMI driven largely by Kiske and Roland Grapow, the mid-late 90s rebirth with Andi Deris and Uli Kusch, followed by the early-mid ‘00s stabilization with Sascha Gerstner and Dani Löble before the band came full circle with “Pumpkins United”. Each of these sections has names and personalities attached (and introductory/transitional records), and despite Helloween’s legacy being shaped by two records from their early years their discography is informed more by the individuals involved rather than a particular musical approach. For that matter, even when they deliberately referenced Keeper of the Seven Keys it was more about the idea of those records rather than the actual music.

That Helloween is a push/pull experience on so many levels makes their discography much harder to pin down that one would expect from an ostensible power metal band: of course one can have their preferences but nobody can convincingly point to any single iteration as either uniformly great or terrible. Even those much-maligned early ‘90s records have held up far better than their disastrous initial reception would’ve indicated (can’t imagine many readers expected a lengthy defense of Chameleon but such is where the analysis took us). Every permutation of the group made records that were (sometimes shockingly) glorious, and each lineup also stumbled to some degree.

And therein lies the paradox and reward of the Helloween catalogue: precisely because they managed to strike lightning at various points over the years even with sometimes vastly different membership they have one of the richest discographies in metal, and certainly one of the most interesting. They made a lot of records, some of which played it safe and some that felt sour, a few that were rather likable and more than a few that were just plain awesome.

Consider: the same lineup that populated the bottom rung of this series also made one of their all-timers…

#3: Gambling with the Devil (2007)

“For me your way of life is just a joke”

It was inevitable that Stefan Schwarzmann would play in Helloween at some point, and just as inevitable that he wouldn’t last very long: he had drummed for seemingly every German metal band ever but outside of U.D.O. never stuck around for more than a couple years. So it was hardly a surprise that Schwarzmann ended up parting with Helloween after the tour supporting Rabbit Don’t Come Easy- besides being a journeyman his style didn’t really fit with the band’s material. Even so, Dani Löble came in during a period of relative stability: Sascha Gerstner did a good amount of the lifting in smoothing things over (smugness aside) after the tumult surrounding The Dark Ride, so it really was as simple as Helloween needing a drummer and Löble being ready for the gig.

So while there was plenty of bullshit surrounding Keeper of the Seven Keys: The Legacy, Löble really had nothing to do with that and he quickly proved himself a capable, adaptable and most of all professional and reliable skinsman. This alongside the minor success of Keeper Legacy were enough to not only establish another stable lineup but give them confidence in their approach, and since they were fortunately free of the Keeper notion the guys were ready to do what they do while also not being afraid to stretch a smidge.

That it was only a smidge was the key: if the band’s attempts at quirkiness and humor often range from goofy to insufferable, Gambling with the Devil found just the right doses of oddball to throw in for good measure. So Michael Weikath’s two solo contributions (the original CD booklet credited every song to the full band, but it was eventually revealed that wasn’t at all the case) may have been a bit juvenile but not aggressively so and they managed to flow sensibly within the record’s runtime, and his two co-writes with Sascha Gerstner (the only times the two guitarists wrote together) both smoked, particularly the barnburning “Paint a New World” which just straight up blitzed. Andi Deris similarly pushed things a bit with his self-described trilogy of tunes in the second half, but he wisely split them into distinct tracks rather than attempting a single mammoth and bloated epic so each piece had a chance to shine and the concluding “I.M.E.” was an tough and effortless anthem with resolve and effortlessly recalled the charm of the early years. And concluding with Markus Grosskopf’s weirdly paced but super catchy “Heaven Tell No Lies” illustrated the band’s confidence: what would’ve typically been a bonus track on account of its idiosyncrasy (and also because it was a Grosskopf number) was instead the closing argument and showed that rather than just following a formula Helloween was in their zone. And unlike The Time of the Oath, Gambling with the Devil didn’t bother with self-conscious humor or pathetic ballads.

But while the record didn’t feel formulaic or rote, there were signs that the guys were following a specific blueprint starting with padding Gambling with the Devil with enough tracks to fill an hourlong runtime. The aforementioned Weikath songs felt like they were there because of course Weiki was going to have at least two of his own numbers even if it felt like he was writing for the sake of writing, and Deris’ “Kill It” sounded rote while his “As Long as I Fall” got by largely on the strength of its chorus but otherwise felt like a conscious attempt at a single.

But even with these caveats Gambling with the Devil surged with far more life than one would’ve expected from a latter-day Helloween album, especially as it came after the cynically conceived Keeper Legacy (not to mention everything that came after). And although it didn’t receive great reviews upon release, the record has held up extremely well and ultimately presented this lineup at its very best.

Rating: 4/5

#2: Better Than Raw (1998)

“I will have my way as once before”

As should be readily apparent by now, the story of Helloween and their albums is about dynamic and sometimes conflicting personalities; by definition theirs is a tale of songwriters and their particular capabilities, temperaments and motivations. This is precisely why individual members and their credited tracks are called out, as the balance (or imbalance) of writing contributions played no small role in making these records what they were: everybody wrote on their own and co-writes usually topped out around 2 tracks per record if that.

But the back half of the ‘90s told a very different story, as the first 3 records with Andi Deris were largely built on collaboration: what ultimately made Deris Helloween’s driving force wasn’t just his stage presence, songwriting and tireless work ethic but his ability to bring the individual members together to rally around a common cause. And that immediately manifested in cohesive records that featured a band in sync largely because they were writing together. This not only snapped Michael Weikath back into focus but revealed that Uli Kusch was the Phil Collins of power metal: a powerhouse drummer who not only always found a way to show off his chops without overplaying and made sure to serve the song, but who also grew into a great songwriter in his own right. For that matter he was a pretty good singer too, handling some of the backing vocals on stage and doing a fine job taking lead on some ad hoc side projects. Kusch was already well-traveled and well-regarded as a session musician alongside his short but memorable runs with Holy Moses and Gamma Ray, but few were expecting him to become the band’s secret weapon and ace in the hole. Yet that was exactly what happened first with his propulsive percussion driving Master of the Rings and then his contributions to The Time of the Oath becoming highlights.

The flipside was that Roland Grapow didn’t feel the same way about collaboration and was not very private about his irritation over not having more of his songs make the final cut. But some 25 years after Grapow’s unceremonious booting from Helloween, some perspective is in order: while the guitarist was a stabilizing force during their darkest period and was strong on stage both on guitar and backing vocals, his writing was uneven at best. He delivered some of Pink Bubbles Go Ape’s better moments and “The Time of the Oath” was awesome, but of the 7 tracks he contributed to Chameleon and Master of the Rings only “Step Out of Hell”, “Mr. Ego (Take Me Down)” and “Still We Go” were more than passable and even then just barely. And while his solo albums were fine, they didn’t suggest Grapow was sitting on a treasure trove of amazing songs.

All of this is to say that while Roland Grapow was and remains a fine guitarist and composer he needed to step up his game and not take for granted that Helloween would record his songs just because he wrote them. This became ever more apparent when Better Than Raw turned out even better than The Time of the Oath, and largely because everyone brought their A game: Uli Kusch had a hand in writing 4 tracks (including the superfluous but still requisite instrumental intro) and all of them kicked ass- “Push” was a beast of an opener that was borderline technical thrash in its construction and featured a chorus that was even heavier than the breathless verses, but somehow it stayed catchy throughout with an awesome central riff; “Revelation” was an awesome power metal epic and if “A Handful of Pain” was a bit more mid-paced it still surged with forward momentum. Even the Kusch/Deris B-side “Back on the Ground” ruled. And of course Kusch’s drumming was absolutely phenomenal throughout, not once making a false move.

Whether Kusch’s burgeoning writing partnership with Andi Deris pushed everyone to try harder or more likely the entire band was confident and in a good place after two well-received records, Better Than Raw flowed with ease as it went from strength to strength. Michael Weikath’s two solo compositions came at the end and both were among his very best: "Lavdate Dominvm" was admittedly a touch too clever with its all-Latin lyrics, but the music and melodies were fully on point, and “Midnight Sun” was absolutely awesome and perhaps his best epic even though it only ran 6 minutes.

Even the most arguably formulaic songs worked when placed in context and sequence: “Falling Higher”, “I Can” and “Hey Lord!” were obvious sequels to “Sole Survivor”, “Where the Rain Grows” and “Why?” and less compelling by definition but also sounded natural to Weiki and Andi and nonetheless were among the best-written power metal tunes of the time and also just really good songs regardless. Only “Don’t Spit on My Mind” (the one Markus Grosskopf co-write because of course) felt a bit awkward and sour, largely thanks to its weird title, weird bridge and annoying chorus, but even here the verses had a steadiness that reflected the band’s consistency and power.

Better Than Raw was initially seen as a step down from The Time of the Oath, partly because of its nonsense title and cover art and also because this lineup had so successfully reestablished Helloween as a viable entity (at least in Europe and South America) over the last couple albums that unless they really changed things up this was always bound to be seen as just “the next one”. But going through the tracklist and listening from front to back, it absolutely holds up as not only the best from arguably the most critical iteration of the band’s history but one of their best overall. The writing, playing and production were a culmination of the band’s fighting their way out of the abyss and in absolute command of who they were and what they could do. Even when nitpicking a small handful of questionable moves one can hear the certainty with which the guys moved as a collective (even if Roland Grapow wanted more attention). There wasn’t even a hapless ballad to drag things down- “Time” may have been slower and a bit ponderous but it wasn’t at all cloying or pandering.

It makes sense the guys ultimately did try to change things up on their next record, because not only did Better Than Raw put an exclamation point on their ‘90s but it fully encapsulated the entire methodology of the Deris/Weikath/Grapow/Grosskopf/Kusch era and they had done the absolute best of what they could with this approach. But some notions of familiarity do nothing to diminish the power of what Helloween could be when they were firing on all cylinders.

Rating: 4.5/5

#1: Keeper of the Seven Keys: Part I (1987)

“I wanna do so much in my way”

Kai Hansen didn’t really want a singer, and Michael Kiske wasn’t impressed with what he heard. Even though it was obvious that Hansen couldn’t handle singing (or rather screeching) on stage every night, the guitarist couldn’t quite fathom why Helloween might need to bring someone else in. And for that matter, Kiske wanted to sing melodic heavy metal numbers in the vein of Iron Maiden and Judas Priest, and even if his band Ill Prophecy wasn’t going anywhere the singer was still in his teens and Walls of Jericho sounded way too rough with all the speed and shrieking. But Michael Weikath had been tipped off that this local teenager had an amazing range so he persisted in his efforts to recruit the young singer, and it took just one listen to an Ill Prophecy demo for Hansen to hear the possibilities.

The backstory behind Helloween’s most famous lineup has been extensively documented, as have the numerous accolades piled on to Keeper of the Seven Keys: Part I from the moment it was released. Even with the band’s original plans for a double album getting scuttled by a greedy and stingy Karl Walterbach, as well as Walterbach’s refusing their choice of Michael Wagener as producer in favor of the less expensive combo of Tommy Newton and Tommy Hansen, as well as Michael Weikath sulking in the corner after Walterbach rejected his songs (and rebuffing Kai Hansen’s overtures to co-write), nearly 40 years later Helloween’s second full-length retains its magic, full-throttle power and charm.

Walterbach may have been an asshole, but he was absolutely right to emphasize Kai Hansen at the moment when the guitarist’s writing became fully actualized because literally everything he offered was perfect- there is little point in naming his contributions on the first Keeper because every last one of them smoked. That Hansen could write a 13-minute epic without an ounce of fat and make it feel a third as long speaks to his gifts, and there was no mistaking the palpable joy in his composing and playing: he was genuinely loving every minute of this and his enthusiasm was infectious.

To be sure, the rest of the band (other than Weikath) was fully on board and in sync, from Ingo Schwichtenberg’s frantic drumming to the revelation that was Michael Kiske (who brought in a great tune of his own with the catchy and fun “A Little Time”). Far more than just a German Bruce Dickinson, Kiske brought youthful energy that matched Hansen’s occasional cheekiness and elevated the entire Helloween enterprise. And Tommys Newton and Hansen (particularly Newton) captured the band and their songs in full flower, even making Weiki’s lone contribution (a self-pitying ballad, no less) feel like a natural part of the Keeper framework.

The first Keeper was a genuine jolt to the international metal scene: it obviously took several cues from Maiden and Priest, but it was very much its own thing and fused the very best elements of traditional heavy metal, classic rock and thrash in a way nobody had really considered before. Power metal as a construct had already existed for a few years prior to its release, but the first Keeper was the decisive entry in the cannon that defined the terms of the subgenre to this day.

Rating: 5/5

Epilogue

It has truly been a long and winding journey for Helloween and its members, and 10 years after “Pumpkins United” brought them full circle it’s hard not to ponder where they go from here. Giants & Monsters was a strong late-period entry in their discography, but for understandable reasons it was largely greeted as just the next record rather than an event. And while the band is still doing well on tour, there is noticeably less excitement surrounding their 40th anniversary and the band themselves has begun switching things up with setlists in an obvious attempt to make things more interesting for them if not audiences.

But Helloween is also alone among their counterparts in still having some relevance and commanding a large audience- Grave Digger and Rage are still out there but with completely different lineups and limited interest, while Running Wild recently disbanded for a second time and none of them have delivered anything remotely as good as Giants & Monsters. And with the lone exception of Blind Guardian, none of their successors in the power metal scene are still working at this level both commercially and creatively, so even if Helloween is well into their twilight years they remain a viable force. As such they are still worth paying attention to, and while their next record may or may not be another gem it will nonetheless merit thoughtful consideration. And that is no small achievement for a band that has been around this long and gone through this much.

R.I.P. Ingo Schwichtenberg (May 18, 1965-March 8, 1995)

March 13, 2026; Epic/Century Media

“Wе gave your fury to the night”

Hard to believe, but it’s been over 20 years since Mark Hunter was photographed wearing a t-shirt reading “New Wave of American Heavy Metal” and inadvertently not only gave a then-new crop of heavy bands a banner to rally around but offered new hope to a genre still recovering from nü metal. And in pretty short order this new scene not only coalesced around a next-gen Big 4 but it was easy to draw parallels to an earlier golden age with Killswitch Engage as the analog to Metallica (the combination of power and accessibility), Shadows Fall in the Megadeth slot (Killswitch-adjacent with members connected from earlier bands), Chimaira playing the Anthrax role (enthusiastic supporters perceived as less consequential musically) and Lamb of God as the new Slayer (the least accessible and the most violent).

And over the course of the last 20 years Lamb of God indeed became something of a next-gen Slayer insofar as they managed to grow in popularity without compromising their approach. If anything they were arguably the biggest of the NWOUSHM lot as most of their major label albums reached the Top 10 in the US, with three landing in the Top 3. Some albums got more attention than others, but the band remained unwavering and didn’t miss a beat even when Chris Adler left under nebulous and not entirely amicable circumstances. And while the records made since the drummer’s departure haven’t garnered the same level of acclaim, that is more a function of LoG having been at it for a long time and by virtue of being more than 10 albums deep entering their legacy phase.

Because what Into Oblivion reveals is that if there is another band template the Richmond crew is following, it’s AC/DC: once Ashes of the Wake showed that Lamb of God could not only survive the transition to a major label with their integrity intact but actually flourish they have followed the same playbook with only minimal refinement. And with Josh Wilbur now on his 7th straight album as producer, everything from the snap of Art Cruz’s drums to the processed crunch of the guitars to Randy Blythe’s belligerent yowl is exactly the same as it ever was.

To be very clear, getting more of the same from Lamb of God means getting more awesomeness: Into Oblivion is another scorching set of bangers that seethe, clobber and whip ass. The opening trio of the title track, “Parasocial Christ” and “Sepsis” are all furious beatdowns that bludgeon remorselessly and show that Lamb of God remains singular in their ability to deliver this kind of sweet violence. Speaking of singular, Blythe likewise remains one of the most thoughtful lyricists in metal, not necessarily shying away from politics but staying focused on the human element and not calling anything or anyone out by name. Likewise, later cuts like “St. Catherine’s Wheel” and “Devise/Destroy” bludgeon with the band’s specific combination of fury and efficiency.

By the same token it appears that Lamb of God recognize that running the board the same way every time will yield diminishing returns, and Into Oblivion expands slightly on the wrinkles the band has occasionally woven in since Sturm und Drang. Some of that includes the doomier elements scattered throughout the second half, and more notably Randy Blythe is more generous with peppering in spoken word/clean passages- again this was something introduced back on Sturm und Drang but whereas that and the next couple records had one song (or portion of a song) with cleans here it’s more like 3. None of this reads as compromise on LoG’s part as these bits are only vaguely melodic and are arguably even less suitable for radio play than “Parasocial Christ”- it feels more like Blythe is trying to keep things interesting and avoid falling into a rut. But these moments can also feel unfocused: whereas his crooning on “Overlord” seamlessly meshed with the ominous vibe of the music the spoken/sung parts on Into Oblivion can jut out as they don’t always play in context to the track. It is moments like these where Lamb of God can sound a bit stuck, as if they want to find ways to expand their approach but then get gunshy about veering too far from the tried and true.

Lamb of God is still among the very best at what they do, and as the obvious successor to Slayer they have yet to make a truly false move. And across repeated listens over time, Into Oblivion presents itself as another storming record soundtracking a throwdown. Insofar as LoG is very good at a specific thing, and that specific thing is all we really need from them, the album plays like another welcome addition to the discography. But although it is very enjoyable while it plays, Into Oblivion is really no different than anything they’ve done since Sturm und Drang and arguably since Wrath for that matter. And for anyone who hasn’t questioned the utility of a new Lamb of God record since Chris Adler’s departure, this record has to mark that fork in the road as not only has practically all of this been done before but the new bits- such as they are- don’t entirely fit either.

Rating: 3.5/5

Even when it was simple, it wasn’t really that simple. It should’ve been simple: some young would-be musicians playing in local bands getting together to play heavy metal, and because they were young they were both respectful of and irreverent about their influences and strived to play harder and faster than their forebears.

But it all started when one of said musicians saw a couple others playing with their band and asked them to come join his band even though that group had dissolved. And even once that was all cleared up and the four guys got together, there was the fact that while the new group was fundamentally inspired by Judas Priest, only one of their songwriters was a true-blue metalhead: not only was the other primary composer more enamored with Deep Purple and especially Queen, he literally wore this on his sleeve by jumping on stage in shiny clothes and glam boots. Oh, and he was also mercurial and a bit of a downer whose sense of humor didn’t always register as such; meanwhile his counterpart always had a grin on his face and radiated sheer joy at the mere suggestion of playing heavy metal music. Somehow the two got along, at least well enough to develop a productive working relationship and attract the attention of a local independent label specializing in heavy metal coming out of mainland Europe. And things went well at first, but it turned out the head of the label had personality issues of his own and besides just being greedy took it upon himself to intervene as the band was preparing their all-important second album (and first with a young and dynamic new singer). All of this put together, in tandem with the general vagaries of the music business, ensured the center could not hold.

Perhaps it’s a tale as old as time, but if this series offers one overarching narrative it would be that the story of Helloween and their music is inherently rooted in the interpersonal dynamics of whomever is playing alongside Michael Weikath in that moment. That the first set of rankings featured mostly the same lineup only underlines that point: the band’s longest iteration stayed that way because everyone’s role was defined to the most granular detail. The second and third parts offered variations on the theme as the band recalibrated with new players who brought their own temperaments to bear and (seemingly, hopefully) eventually found their way to more contented place, and the music more often than not benefited.

All of this makes the next three albums an even more interesting group, as while each are very strong in and of themselves, they tell very distinct stories about who Helloween was, how they operated and where they were in their lives. And as crazy as the drama could get, in one (very controversial) case the output was strong partly because of the drama- somehow everyone’s preciousness about their material resulted in some great songs. For that matter, even when the guys were ostensibly on the same page storm clouds loomed…

#6: Walls of Jericho (1985)

“They don't give a damn on any kind of life”

Kai Hansen has always just wanted to play music. Perhaps the single most telling thing about the guitarist/songwriter/singer is that out of all the musicians that signed with Noise during its heyday Hansen was the only one that stuck with Karl-Ulrich Walterbach all the way to the bitter end: he was the one member of Helloween not to switch management to Sanctuary (which begat the band’s attempt to move to EMI and all the chaos that followed) and not only did he not fight Walterbach when the label head claimed Hansen belonged to Noise with or without Helloween but stayed on the label all the way up to its shutting down in 2007, and long after colleagues and counterparts like Rage, Running Wild and Stratovarius jumped ship. Beyond demonstrating serious loyalty (Hansen always understood Walterbach was ripping him off to some extent, but figured it wouldn’t be much different at any other label and besides the records sold well enough and nobody bothered him about creative matters) that one fact illustrated that for all his musical ideas his ambitions were always rather modest and he was happy enough just getting to make records and earn some kind of living doing that. As Hansen himself posited, when he signed with Noise not only did he get to go into a studio and record an album, but then he got to make another one- how awesome was that?!!!

That enthusiasm and general lust for life (ahem) was all over Helloween’s first full-length and every song brimmed with unbridled energy and palpable joy. The songs themselves were definitely goofy (how could they not be, with titles like “Phantoms of Death”, “Metal Invaders”, “Gorgar” and the inevitable "Heavy Metal (Is the Law)") but the playing was far from amateurish- it would be tempting to state that the band workshopped and honed their chops on their self-titled EP released 7 months earlier, but that batch of songs (including the monumental “Victim of Fate”) showed that Hansen and Michael Weikath had the goods pretty much from the start. What made Walls of Jericho something of a revelation in the German metal scene was how adeptly the two guitarists and songwriters fused melody, dynamics and hooks with lightning-fast tempos and frantic aggression: the aforementioned tracks alongside the frenetic “How Many Tears” and the evergreen “Ride the Sky” were startlingly fast and furious headbangers that were also massively catchy singalongs, and even though these guys were a good deal younger than labelmates Grave Digger and Running Wild Helloween made them both look even more bushleague by emerging with such a fully actualized statement that was the complete package musically (even Harris Johns’ no-budget production proved to a feature) and a total blast from start to finish. And with the record’s 9 tracks featuring 3 tunes each from Hansen and Weiki along with 3 Hansen/Weikath co-writes, this is the only Helloween album outside of one very different record (more on that later…) to feature an even balance of contributions across key writers and at that very early stage positioned the two as equal co-captains and conspirators. What’s more, the consistency of these tracks showed how much promise the members had individually and collectively when they were on the same page.

Of course there is also a difference between youthful naïveté and silliness, and Walls of Jericho didn’t always thread the needle. The titles have already been mentioned, and alongside the wordsmithing the guys could be guilty of speed for its own sake. And yes… there was also the matter of Kai Hansen’s attempts at singing more often than not skidding straight into an ear-splitting caterwaul. Many found his screeching and complete lack of control endearing, and he did indeed possess a certain charisma on the mic because he was so unabashed in his excitement, but there was no way he could sustain this approach longer term- he barely made it through this one record! To be sure, Hansen would eventually get vocal training and learn how to properly modulate his vocals though it would be a full decade before he committed to singing full-time again. But on Walls of Jericho his talents as a writer and guitarist far outpaced his ability to front the operation, and pretty much nobody was surprised when multiple gigs on the supporting tour were canceled because Hansen blew out his voice the previous night.

All of that might make Walls of Jericho seem like the outlier in the Helloween discography, but even though they would never quite work this way again many of their signposts were planted right here. And as the opening salvo from a group of young, talented and energetic musicians, the strength of the writing and playing holds up and retains its power and charm 40 years later.

Rating: 4/5

#5: Chameleon (2003)

“Strong and invincible, they know every rule”

It made complete sense on a business level for Rod Smallwood and Sanctuary Management to pursue Helloween as clients. The band had gone from Hamburg clubs to international stages in the span of only 2 years, and accomplished all of this on a tiny German label while their business affairs were handled by bickering amateurs who 1) were no match for Noise’s hardheaded chairman, 2) had no experience managing larger acts and 3) had no idea how the music industry worked outside of West Germany. If Helloween could make it this far pretty much solely on the basis of their talent and personality (well, at least Kai Hansen and Michael Kiske were likable), just imagine how far they’d go with proper management from the team that shepherded Iron Maiden. And since their extensive network included meaningful connections at major labels, it felt perfectly logical that Sanctuary was the ideal team to nurture Helloween’s potential and guide them to massive global success.

But somehow everything fell apart in less than 5 years, and it wasn’t just the protracted litigation ensuing from Sanctuary’s premature and presumptuous push to get the band signed to EMI before settling with Noise. All of the business drama exposed the fault lines within the band, and Sanctuary apparently did nothing to address let alone manage the interpersonal dynamics that were visibly detrimental to their musical growth. Smallwood was notably hands off when it came to the music itself (he knew better than to tell Steve Harris what kind of songs to write) but he knew how to mediate conflict and by all accounts didn’t bother when it became clear Michael Weikath and Michael Kiske had very different ideas about how to lead Helloween or what the band should even be. Add to this a newly emboldened Roland Grapow who took the modest praise for his contributions to Pink Bubbles Go Ape as a cue for him to assume more of a leadership role as well. If Smallwood thought he was signing the next Maiden, it should’ve become quickly apparent that nobody- not even Michael Weikath- was a Steve Harris. And with nobody running interference, the members of Helloween were left to fend for themselves and an impatient EMI and quickly make up for lost ground. And that that meant three songwriters with very distinct visions (not to mention a drummer who was clearly falling apart physically and emotionally) going off into their corners and more or less refusing to speak with each other.

So was it when any surprise that everyone immediately recognized Chameleon as the sound of Helloween disintegrating and immediately rejected it? With the album’s 12 songs evenly distributed between Weiki, Kiske and Grapow and no throughline connecting any of them it was plain to everyone that Helloween’s fifth album was really 3 solo EPs packaged together into a rather lengthy and unwieldy beast that only intermittently nodded to metal- and those same members looked miserable even talking about it when they could stand to be in the same room together. Worse still was the vague notion of commerciality (later perpetuated by Weiki even though by all accounts EMI had no say in the finished product) right as metal was on the decline and notions of “authenticity” were paramount- but who would think of a 7-minute bluesy dirge titled “Music” with a chorus that went “Music is like a sunrise to me” as mainstream? And what was with all the horns? And was “Crazy Cat” supposed to be some kind of swing boogie? Coming back to the question posed one album earlier: what in the actual fuck?

Chameleon was a sprawling and confused mess, no question. But… what if it was actually awesome? For one thing, Michael Wagener (Helloween’s first choice to produce the Keeper records) was brought in to mix and helped them deliver what is perhaps the best sounding album of their entire discography. More than that, listening to Chameleon on its own terms (even if no Helloween record can fully escape its context or the band’s history) as a collection of songs, more than a few of these tracks are really good, and some are even great. Michaels Weikath and Kiske may have been very different songwriters and people, but both put their best foot forward and the latter in particular blossomed into a rather well-rounded composer. Despite Kiske claiming he didn’t like heavy music, his “I Believe” was a behemoth with mammoth (and entirely metallic) riffing and soaring power metal vocals; it didn’t sound much like the Helloween of 1988, but it was a logical evolution and expansion of their framework. Similarly, Kiske’s “When the Sinner” may have baffled everyone when it was released as Chameleon’s first single, but it had a strong central melody supporting great verses and excellent soloing (though the bridges were weird). And both his and Weiki’s ballads were arguably the best of Helloween’s entire catalogue- definitely better than “In the Middle of a Heartbeat” and “Forever and One” and arguably stronger than “A Tale That Wasn’t Right”. Sure, they were soft slow ones with everything that went along with that, but they were also nice and thoughtful songs and there’s nothing wrong with that.

As for Michael Weikath, he actually did write a couple power metal numbers, and while “First Time” was silly it was also catchy and fun. But “Giants” was a real-deal masterpiece with music that was both hooky and toweringly heavy; that his lyrics were specifically about the band’s recent struggles and included the spot-on observation “we were not unified” while neither he nor anyone else did anything to address that sadly epitomized everything wrong about the group’s dynamics. And if “Revolution Now” by Weiki’s own admission bit off more than it could chew, there were enough strong ideas and performances to enjoy even if it didn’t all quite come together.

The true weak links on Chameleon were Roland Grapow’s contributions: the aforementioned “Music” and “Crazy Cat” ranged from pointless to ridiculous (and veered between both throughout the tracks) though the former did have some elegant soloing. But “Step Out of Hell” and “I Don’t Wanna Cry No More” were both fine if a bit generic, so really the main issue with Chameleon was the disjointedness between the songs coming from the members’ misalignment, along with the terrible atmosphere surrounding the album and its creation.

Chameleon is typically put at the bottom of every other ranking of Helloween albums for these reasons, which in itself is perfectly understandable, and everyone in the band has disavowed it. But after all the years of rancor and division- and if we’re being honest, a roughly 10-year run of rather mediocre records- we’re left with a set of songs that, if listened without baggage, hold up remarkably well.

Rating: 4/5

#4: The Time of the Oath (1996)

“All those years I’ve traveled round this world, now I am standing here”

Andi Deris joined Helloween at their lowest point and brought a positive attitude, a healthy work ethic, an ability to engage with the press and a clear understanding of what needed to be done. Most importantly, the singer knew how to work with Michael Weikath and snap the guitarist back into focus on Master of the Rings. Deris quickly became a focal point in part because he was the singer but mostly for all of the above reasons, and his readiness to embrace Helloween’s entire history (including singing “The Chance”, “Mankind” and “Giants” on the Master of the Rings tour) enabled the band to situate this new era as part of a larger continuum rather than a hard reset (which to be sure this definitely was also). So even if Master of the Rings was ultimately a rather mixed bag as an album, Deris brought cohesion and clarity to the entire Helloween enterprise, and it was all too easy for those watching to declare him the band’s savior.

But if Master of the Rings made Helloween viable once again, it was Deris’ second record with the group that reasserted their vitality. Even more than its predecessor, The Time of the Oath had a clear point of view about what it was and wanted to be, and purposefully both defied global musical trends and realigned the band with its counterparts on the German metal scene- not for nothing was Helloween’s seventh album released after Gamma Ray, Blind Guardian, Grave Digger, Rage and Running Wild all released full-blooded power metal albums to some measure of acclaim. And the key to this was Andi Deris, who had a hand in writing 9 of the record’s 12 tracks and established himself as the band’s driving force. What made this different from when Michael Kiske took control was not only that Deris wasn’t trying to make Helloween something they weren’t but also his making sure Weikath was at least along for the ride if not in on it as a co-captain. But it was arguably even more significant that Deris opened up the writing process and collaborated with everyone, most notably Uli Kusch who contributed the excellent “Wake Up the Mountain” alongside worthy deep cut “A Million to One”. In hindsight it was telling that the first track on The Time of the Oath was the barnstorming Deris solo banger “We Burn”, as it articulated the album’s intentions up front, set the tone and made clear who would be driving things from here on out. And that one of Deris’ other compositions (the monumentally kickass “Before the War”) was the heaviest Helloween track since 1985’s “Judas” provided no small amount of reassurance that the guys were back on track.

It had been almost 10 years since Helloween sounded this focused and unified, with Weikath’s “Power” and “Steel Tormentor” (his and Deris’ tribute to Judas Priest) among the best power metal of the decade and the Roland Grapow/Andi Deris title track an alternately soaring and churning monster of an epic that closed the album with an exclamation point. Even the alien visitation saga “Mission Motherland” (composed by the entire band) was charming in its ridiculousness thanks to the massive riffing and Kusch’s propulsive drumming.

The Time of the Oath was brought down a bit by the somewhat rote “Kings Will Be Kings”, the extremely goofy “Anything My Mama Don’t Like” and two stultifyingly dull power ballads. All of these brought the album’s 61-minute runtime to relief and the filler made it sag a bit, especially since these could have easily been swapped with the great B-sides “Take It to the Limit” and “Walk Your Way”. Fortunately these weaker moments were more than counteracted by the strength of the record’s many high points, a good portion of which rank among the best songs of Helloween’s entire career. And with everyone working towards a common goal, this version of Helloween presented itself as stable, unified and ready to compete, though in hindsight Deris’ generosity in collaborating with the drummer set the stage for both greater triumphs and subsequent disaster…

Rating: 4/5

Coming Up: Helloween’s very best illustrate why these guys are so hard to pin down…

Somewhere in Time: September 29, 1986; EMI/Capitol

Seventh Son of a Seventh Son: April 11, 1988; EMI/Capitol

Iron Maiden’s unstoppable growth culminated with the epic World Slavery Tour and era-encapsulating Live After Death in 1985. But even at the time, the 11-month stretch of dates supporting Powerslave was acknowledged as an arduous run for the band, and while the group had become one of the biggest metal bands in the world, there was an inescapable feeling that the conclusion of this cycle was the end of an era.

With the end of one era comes the beginning of another, and exactly how Maiden began their next chapter remains arguably the first major source of disagreement amongst their legion of fans. For while Somewhere in Time just missed the Top 10 in America (making it to #11, their highest charting album in the U.S. until they finally crashed the Top 10 a full twenty years later) and remains their single biggest seller there, it was also the first Iron Maiden album not to garner consensus as at least a great record if not a masterpiece. While many loved Adrian Smith’s songwriting contributions, nearly as many felt that Steve Harris’ composition skills were turning rote. And worst of all: synthesizers! On an Iron Maiden record!!! The same year as Turbo!!!! The band was still a juggernaut on the road and Somewhere on Tour garnered mostly favorable notices, but even the shows carried the slightest whiff of uncertainty and tentativeness.

And yet the very next album, released barely a year after Somewhere on Tour wrapped, not only didn’t shy away from its predecessor’s sound but doubled down: the synths were more present in the mix and sometimes at the expense of the guitars. But as was the case last time, Maiden had the courage of their convictions and it genuinely felt like they were following their muse and trying new things rather than chasing mainstream acceptance. And this time it actually did pay off commercially, at least in the UK: Seventh Son of a Seventh Son stormed to top of the charts and delivered 4 Top 10 singles (half the album’s tracklisting) over the span of a year, while the ensuing Seventh Tour of a Seventh Tour packed arenas and festivals all over Europe. There was still some grousing over the keyboards, but Seventh Son succeeded in expanding Iron Maiden’s fanbase to a significant degree without alienating the diehards.

America, however, was a different story: Seventh Son of a Seventh Son charted at #12 and eventually went Platinum, but it was the first time a new Maiden album sold less than its predecessor. Worse was the US leg of Seventh Tour of a Seventh Tour, which played to less than sold out arenas and lost money. Whether it was a delayed reaction to Somewhere in Time (Steve Harris’ preferred narrative), the American reception proved a prelude of what was to come as the argument in the States was that Iron Maiden was beginning to sound out of touch and out of date with the fantasy concept album and arctic stage sets and hoity toity of it all while younger bands were hungrier, more rooted in reality and much faster and heavier. And perhaps worst of all, one member of the band was rather vocal in agreeing with that very assessment.

What happened with Iron Maiden in the subsequent years has been discussed at length multiple times and will forever remain ripe for reconsideration and rediscovery given all the drama that ensued. But Somewhere in Time and Seventh Son of a Seventh Son live in the band’s history as both a discrete duo and phase in their discography as well as the opening salvo of a new chapter their career, and as Somewhere in Time celebrates its 40th anniversary this year it is all too easy to spot the ways both it and its successor laid the groundwork for everything they’ve recorded since.

But how do they compare against each other? Let’s see…

Just like when Screaming for Vengeance and Defenders of the Faith went against each other, the 8 tracks on Somewhere in Time and Seventh Son will each go head-to-head. Each tune will be graded on a 1-to-10 scale, and at the end all scores will be summed to create an overall album total, which will decide the ultimate winner. Of course these records were meant to be heard and considered as holistic entities, and ultimately both are vital records in Maiden’s discography. But after all the rankings and discussions over where each one fits in the entire catalogue, it could be fun to just look at the songs and consider how they play against each both as individual tracks as well as within the very deliberate manner in which they were sequenced.

So let’s get to it!

#1: “Caught Somewhere in Time” vs. “Moonchild”

Somewhere in Time opened with its ostensible title track and introduced both the album’s conceit and Maiden’s new approach in its opening seconds: the guitar synths played a familiar-sounding Steve Harris melody but traded noodly aggression for atmosphere. To be sure, the gallop and athleticism came roaring back in quickly enough, Bruce Dickinson was once again in breathless form on the verses and the rapid-fire trade-off soloing of Adrian Smith and Dave Murray remained glorious. “Caught Somewhere in Time” was a platonic ideal for this new era of Iron Maiden as it retained the touchstones that brought them this far and didn’t let the gadgets and tech overwhelm the music. But by the same token for the first time this began to feel the slightest bit too familiar: the melodies were great but didn’t feel quite as immediate or fresh, and the chorus amounted to Dickinson dramatically bellowing the song’s title over and over as if he was trying to howl it into submission. It was still plenty enjoyable, but in the margins something began to feel a bit off.

Seventh Son’s opener was a similar tablesetter, but “Moonchild” was more dynamic and enthusiastic in its performance, which was all the more amazing considering Adrian Smith’s primary melody was all synth. The track was one of the better openers among concept albums, as it presented the album’s storyline without getting bogged down in narrative and playing like a standalone song. And Bruce’s bellowing was especially on point as he played around with different vocal textures throughout and let both his voice and the words breathe- not at all coincidentally, “Moonchild” was a Smith/Dickinson co-write and the first time a non-Harris composition opened an Iron Maiden record.

• “Caught Somewhere in Time”: 8/10

• “Moonchild”: 9/10

Winner: “Moonchild”

#2: “Wasted Years” vs. “Infinite Dreams”

Initially panned by some diehards as too slick and commercial, “Wasted Years” remains one of Iron Maiden’s greatest singles and possibly the single catchiest song they ever recorded. The first of three solo Adrian Smith compositions, everything about the track sizzled, from the tricky riff to Nicko McBrain’s charging drums (all excellently served by a sterling Martin Birch production) and Dickinson’s passionate emoting, the track looked back and pressed forward all at once, and if the sentiment in the lyric was simpler and far more literal than usual, it was still nice to hear Iron Maiden in the here and now. And that chorus is an all-timer.

“Infinite Dreams” was arguably more impactful for Maiden in the long run, as it was one of their first truly progressive tracks (notice how there was no chorus to speak of). And it remains something of a dark horse, despite it being released as a single and landing in the top 10. But that single was a live recording from the NEC in Birmingham, memorably captured in the Maiden England video, and that version had much more vigor and life to it than the rather conservative and stiff recording on Seventh Son (strangely not one of Birch’s best productions). And the studio version (which is what needs to be considered here) lacked a certain energy (and Bruce’s singing sounded a bit affected) even if the music was generally fantastic and the verses were well-structured.

• “Wasted Years”: 10/10

• “Infinite Dreams”: 8/10

Winner: “Wasted Years”

#3: “Sea of Madness” vs. “Can I Play With Madness”

Adrian Smith describes coming to write on his own as something of a happy accident, but his contributions to Somewhere in Time were one of the only things everyone agreed on. Two of his three songs were released as singles, and the third was one of Maiden’s great hidden gems: “Sea of Madness” surged with a chunky riff, mid-paced bounce that found a way to do new things with Steve’s galloping bass and melodies that felt accessible without being obvious.

Whereas the band’s other “Madness” tune was released as a single and did feel obvious: “Can I Play With Madness” had a killer chorus but the synths were more garish and there was a sing-songy quality that gave it a bit of a sour aftertaste even though it continues to go down a storm in concert. This was Maiden’s biggest hit at the time, one that felt a bit divorced from their rest of their catalogue on account of sounding so overt.

• “Sea of Madness”: 9/10

• “Can I Play With Madness”: 7/10

Winner: “Sea of Madness”

#4: “Heaven Can Wait” vs. “The Evil That Men Do”

Steve Harris has rarely if ever claimed to have writer’s block: looking through his vast songbook gives the impression that whenever he enjoys a book, movie or TV show or just likes a certain turn of phrase he thinks “bloody ‘ell, that could be a song!” And that gives us something like “Heaven Can Wait”, which finds Harris indulging all his passions: bass-driven noodling, galloping, wordy verses, choruses consisting solely of Bruce Dickinson wailing the title several times in a row and footy match chanting. This was a concert perennial all the way through to the end of Blaze years, and also one of Maiden’s goofier numbers: yes it was fun and unmistakably Maiden, and the soloing was fantastic, but it was also pretty silly and showed the seams in Harris’ bag of tricks.

Funny how one album later the fourth track was also performed by Blaze-era lineup and also contains the same type of chorus but instead of coming off stale is a feature of one Iron Maiden’s best-ever singles. “The Evil That Men Do” plausibly fit into the Seventh Son concept but functioned as a standalone track that weaponized the Maiden gallop into a short and hooky single that remained resolutely metal and somehow still became a massive mainstream hit in the UK. This was the Smith/Dickinson/Harris songwriting axis in full flower, containing the best of three rather distinct individuals and their writing approaches in service of a cohesive mission.

• “Heaven Can Wait”: 7/10

• “The Evil That Men Do”: 10/10

Winner: “The Evil That Men Do”

#5: “The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner” vs. “Seventh Son of a Seventh Son”

Both Somewhere in Time and Seventh Son of a Seventh Son kicked off their second sides with lengthy Steve Harris numbers, though one proved to be underrated while the other probably got more praise than it deserved. “The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner” was destined for mockery right from its title and indeed its construct was goofy, so much so the band only attempted it live once before shaking their heads and never coming back to it again. But looking back all these years later, the melodies were pretty great and the soloing was spot-on (indeed, Somewhere in Time as a whole was arguably the Smith/Murray guitar tandem at its very best)- this is actually a rather enjoyable track to listen to, even if one could hear Bruce rolling his eyes.

Perhaps because “Seventh Son of a Seventh Son” was the requisite massive (nearly 10 minutes) Harris epic and intentionally drove home the album’s overarching narrative many fans reflexively thought of it as the album’s centerpiece if not masterpiece. To be sure, it is indeed a dynamic and tricky composition with a great opening and sturdy verses. And the closing half is quintessential Maiden, at least on a musical level. But the verses also got bogged down in explaining the narrative and in turn illustrated that this was not as interesting a story as the guys thought even if there was some bravery in them doubling down on fantasy while heavy metal was so clearly moving in the opposite direction. And Steve apparently thought that having Bruce hollering the title several times in a row would do all the heavy lifting.

• “The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner”: 7/10

• “Seventh Son of a Seventh Son”: 8/10

Winner: “Seventh Son of a Seventh Son”

#6: “Stranger in a Strange Land” vs. “The Prophecy”

It’s a little unfair pitting Somewhere in Time’s second single against a Dave Murray/Steve Harris deep cut, but such how is these records were sequenced. As it was, Adrian Smith once again delivered a knockout with a crunchy and catchy yet mysterious central riff over a mid-paced but still propulsive gallop and an overall vibe that brought out the best in Bruce Dickinson. “Stranger in a Strange Land” remains a fan favorite 40 years later, and for very good reason. “The Prophecy” on the other hand was saddled with moving the Seventh Son concept along and was more exposition than track, even if the band remained the best at what they did and Murray’s compositions always carried a bit of intrigue.

• “Stranger in a Strange Land”: 9/10

• “The Prophecy”: 6/10

Winner: “Stranger in a Strange Land”

#7: “Déjà Vu” vs. “The Clairvoyant”

Dave Murray was always the least prolific writer in Iron Maiden, and his contributions frequently managed to both fit within the band’s framework (no doubt because Harris usually co-writes) and offer interesting wrinkles of their own. Therefore it makes sense that his tracks are usually deep cuts and dark horses, and “Déjà Vu” was a prime example of a hidden Murray/Harris gem with its sneaky melody, weird double-tracked verses and haunting chorus. Particularly coming in after the more direct “Stranger in a Strange Land”, the track was refreshingly offbeat.

“The Clairvoyant” was also offbeat with a shuffling chorus that didn’t logically flow from the dread-fueled verses or relentless throb of Steve’s bass, but Maiden had so much momentum in 1988 that it became Seventh Son’s third UK Top 10 single on the strength of their historic Monsters of Rock performance. At almost any other time prior it would’ve been another late-album deep cut, and in the context of the album it shouldered the responsibility of leading Seventh Son towards its narrative conclusion, but fortunately Harris kept the lyrics vague enough that they didn’t feel too tethered to the storyline. In a way “The Clairvoyant” found Steve Harris stretching himself a bit, as he packed a lot of meaty content into a short runtime and gave Bruce a chorus that was every bit as wordy as the verses and ultimately delivered on the band’s most dynamic and interesting singles.

• “Déjà Vu”: 8/10

• “The Clairvoyant”: 8/10

Winner: TIE

#8: “Alexander the Great” vs. “Only the Good Die Young”

The story goes that it took nearly 40 years for Iron Maiden to bring “Alexander the Great” to the stage because it was too complex a piece of music to recreate live. That could be true- after all, by the time it was included on the Days of Future Past setlist the band also had Janick Gers alongside Adrian Smith and Dave Murray- but what went unspoken was that even by their sixth album Maiden already had a plethora of long (and long-winded) numbers and Somewhere in Time’s closer didn’t really stand out next to any of them. Yes it had good melodies, a typically strong Nicko McBrain backbone, great soloing and an absorbing musical ebb and flow. But it also had hilariously literal lyrics (“He paved the way for Christianity” and the ludicrous closing line “He died of fever in Babylon”) and a sense of drama that was overinflated even by Maiden standards. He wouldn’t ever admit it, but it felt like Steve Harris was self-conscious about delivering another “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” and strained for something as majestic and overwrought.

But “Alexander the Great” had the benefit of being its own thing, whereas “Only the Good Die Young” had to not only close out Seventh Son of a Seventh Son but conclude its storyline. And it didn’t really do either all that well: the Harris/Dickinson track had a cool verse and great pre-chorus, but the chorus itself felt a bit singsongy and trite and the tune didn’t so much end as come to a crashing stop with only the reprise of “Moonchild”’s opening acoustic lullaby strum to tie it all together. Given the concept of the Seventh Son and his warning the village about the forthcoming apocalypse, it probably couldn’t have ended any other way, but then “Iron Man” told this exact story in a single 6-minute song and was awesome all the way through up to and including its concluding musical avalanche. Next to that, “Only the Good Die Young” was small potatoes.

• “Alexander the Great”: 7/10

• “Only the Good Die Young”: 6/10

Winner: “Alexander the Great”

Final Tally:

• Somewhere in Time: 65

• Seventh Son of a Seventh Son: 62

WINNER: Somewhere in Time

Perhaps a bit surprising that Somewhere in Time comes out ahead, considering its reputation as well as the massive global success of Seventh Son. And the whole might be greater than the sum of its parts when it comes to the latter record, as the smoothness of Martin Birch’s production gave the entire record a cohesive sheen that connected the singles and album tracks alike. But although Somewhere in Time was similarly cohesive in that- perhaps unintentionally- its songs seemed to speak to different nuances of the same theme, it was first and foremost a collection of tracks meant to both stand on their own and also make up a whole record, and when looked at in that context Seventh Son reveals the weaknesses within many of the tracks not released as singles- and within some of the tunes that actually were singles.

And with the benefit of decades of hindsight, one can appreciate that looking at these two records individually and together, and song by song, Somewhere in Time and Seventh Son of a Seventh Son represent both the beginning of a new chapter and the end of Iron Maiden’s first act. These albums were the culmination of a long journey that took one of the emerging stars of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal from sweaty clubs in London to arenas all over the world, and all in the span of about 8 years, and the two records coming in at the end of that saw a group that both knew who they were and pondered what else they could do.

The first two Keeper of the Seven Keys records will forever remain the centerpieces of Helloween’s story. No matter the band’s ebbs and flows over the next few decades, these two albums and their depiction of a young band ready to take on the world are evergreen documents not only of a specific moment in time but of the innocence and promise of what heavy metal was and could be. And regardless of what came after, both records had a foundational impact on the genre across all of Europe- it is not at all an exaggeration to state that the Keeper records permeate literally every single European power metal record that has come out in the last 35+ years (and yes, their influence on power metal is even stronger than Iron Maiden’s).

But nothing regarding Helloween is ever that simple, and nor are the Keeper records. For all of the acclaim they would garner upon release and in the years since, neither were actually massive sellers: they were certainly the most successful albums Noise Records would ever put out and worldwide sales topped 1 million, but neither shifted substantial units outside West Germany and neither cracked the Top 100 in the United States. To be sure, for a German speed metal band on an independent label they did very well commercially and well enough to garner the major label interest which ironically derailed their career, but so much of the story about the Keeper albums lies in the potential they foretold. And what happened with that potential and the long aftermath makes the saga of those records complicated and fascinating even to Helloween’s members: Kai Hansen embraced the albums and their legacy somewhat, Michael Weikath chafed against it before grudgingly accepting it, Sascha Gerstner self-consciously tries to recreate it, and shortly before he rejoined the band Michael Kiske was openly baffled by it, loudly pondering why people still talk about Keeper of the Seven Keys when not only was he only in the group for 7 years but his replacement had been around far longer.

As a result, in many ways this series ranking all of Helloween’s studio albums is about the different ways the band acted and reacted over the years to their run of records in 1987 and 1988, with the first few records showing the upshot to the stability the guys had finally achieved and the second part breaking down the twists and turns of their resets and recalibrations with all the good and bad that entailed. Perhaps because of that, it is not really a coincidence that this set- coming in right in the middle- goes headlong into one of the band’s most famous records and how it continues to inform the group to this very day…

#9: Keeper of the Seven Keys: Part II (1988)

“Hey, we think so supersonic”

Michael Weikath is frequently described as highly intelligent, highly manipulative, moody, passive-aggressive, a sourpuss and/or just a dick. Any one or combination of those things can be true, but the notion that Weiki is some kind of domineering force doesn’t really hold water when looking across the Helloween discography: of the first 8 albums presented in this series, only Master of the Rings featured an outsize number of his songs, whereas for the all the rest he typically contributed 3 or so tracks per record.

And then there was the second Keeper of the Seven Keys album, which from conception was intended to be oriented around Michael Weikath and his songs. The matter of who contributed more songs actually wasn’t an issue- Kai Hansen was fine with taking on a reduced role since the previous record was dominated by his material, and Michael Kiske was by his own admission still developing as a songwriter. For that matter, since most of the songs for both Keeper records were written around the same time and intended to populate a double album- and Karl-Ulrich Walterbach made the executive decisions to first split the tracks between two separate albums and then fill the first Keeper with Hansen tunes (because he didn’t really like Weiki’s songs, or Weiki as a person)- it so happened that songs like “Dr. Stein”, “Rise and Fall” and “Keeper of the Seven Keys” were on the shelf ready to be recorded.

The real issue wasn’t that Michael Weikath wasn’t writing more of the songs, it was that he also took control of the recording. And this was how everything fell apart: although Tommys Hansen and Newton were ostensible co-producers, during the making of the first Keeper camps and cliques formed with Kai Hansen and Tommy Newton on one end and Weiki and Tommy Hansen on the other. That resulted in the first Keeper being more of a Tommy Newton production, and the difference in Tommy Hansen’s approach became very apparent not only during the recording sessions but as the second Keeper was being mixed. Instead of a powerful but warm sound the songs came out clattering and blunted, and even with Newton intervening per Noise’s mandate at the last minute to save the mix the final product was clanking and brash in a way that not only didn’t serve the songs but actually somewhat diluted their impact.

The production on Keeper of the Seven Keys: Part II therefore laid Michael Weikath’s songcraft bare, revealing for all to hear the push/pull nature of the man’s writing- and of the man himself, for that matter. And the results partially explained why Walterbach kept these tracks off the first Keeper, because they contained a ton of ideas and more than a few good melodies and lyrical turns of phrase but didn’t always cohere into memorable songs: the epic title track is well-loved by a not insubstantial contingent of the band’s fanbase, but it is also a jumble of disparate parts- some of which quickly default to juvenile sing-song melodies- barely strung together by a chorus that, if we’re being honest, is just OK. And can we also be honest and admit that Weiki isn’t nearly as clever or funny as he thinks? “Rise and Fall” and the overrated “Dr. Stein” were both silly to the point of stupid and wasted Michael Kiske’s talents by pushing him to dog-whistle wailing for no discernable reason. It was really only the rousing “Eagle Fly Free” (the last number Weikath wrote for the record, and notably the one he wrote after the first Keeper broke big) that put the sullen guitarist’s best foot forward: it wasn’t only arguably the best song on the record, nor was it only one of Helloween’s all-time best album openers, but it easily ranks among the best songs Michael Weikath has ever written.

“Eagle Fly Free” alone was enough to make the second Keeper at least worth considering, but it was the non-Weiki tunes that saved the album, and this is where the unspoken but readily apparent truth about the album rears its head: for all the talk about Michael Weikath running the show and derailing the band, his contributions only made up half the record. The two Michael Kiske tunes were more modest in nature but found the frontman steadily gaining confidence as a songwriter- and his two B-side contributions “Savage” and “Don’t Run for Cover” were even better and should’ve made the album proper over “Rise and Fall”- but hot damn was Kai Hansen on a hot streak because all three of his tracks (including the roaring “Save Us” which appeared in the middle of the North American release and was a bonus track on global CD and cassette versions) smoked righteously. “I Want Out” got more attention because it was a single and Hansen’s literal resignation statement, and it is justifiably one of the band’s evergreens, but “March of Time” and “Save Us” are every bit as memorable and awesome.

The thing about Keeper of the Seven Keys: Part II was that if Helloween functioned even just a little more democratically it would’ve not only been their third wall-to-wall killer record in a row but could’ve also set the band up for a saner existence. An album somewhat evenly balanced between Michael Weikath, Kai Hansen and Michael Kiske tunes would’ve given each member space to focus on the strongest material- and for that matter a less dysfunctional working environment might’ve convinced Hansen to stick around. Instead we got an album that put the band’s internal dynamics out there for all to see, and in turn everyone ended up with a record where the mix of stellar songcraft, forceful playing and meandering jokes became nearly untenable, even for the members of the group.

Rating: 3.5/5

#8: Helloween (2021)

“I’ve had a dream about forgiveness”

Michael Kiske was seemingly at war with himself for practically half of his life. It was one thing that the singer found himself seemingly forced into a solo career at the tender age of 26, and at a time when heavy music was at its lowest ebb in popularity, but it didn’t take long for Kiske to shift from anger at Michael Weikath to bitterness with literally everyone. In hindsight we can recognize a troubled young man trying to figure his life out in public, but he not only publicly disavowed his previous work but also expressed irritation at the fans who loved those songs and published a self-righteous screed titled Art and Materialism (to be fair it was the mid ‘90s when self-righteousness was the thing) that didn’t do him any favors. Everything he released after departing Helloween, from solo albums (most of which weren’t bad at all) to ad hoc projects like Kiske/Somerville to full-band affairs like Unisonic sounded like he was singing with gritted teeth, as if he resented having anything to do with music. Even Kai Hansen (apparently the one person Kiske didn’t despise) joining him in Unisonic could only get him to soften his tone about Helloween’s music just slightly.

It took a lot of time and a backstage encounter with Michael Weikath- who had plenty of his own growing up to do (and who literally asked Kiske “what did I do that you can't forgive me?”)- before the singer was ready to let go. Whether he was just tired of being asked about Helloween (or just tired of being resentful), or whether working with Hansen again softened him up, the announcement that Michael Kiske would join Helloween on tour under the “Pumpkins United” was shocking not only because it had been so many years but because he was actually willing to sing those songs with this band.

It was such a big deal that the news of Kai Hansen’s concurrent return to the fold was practically treated like an inevitability. But if anything the guitarist’s motivations were harder to discern: Kiske may have been coming full-circle after years in the wilderness, but even if the guitarist had maintained good relations with the members of Helloween (even Weikath) over the years and Gamma Ray was in the third act of their career, Hansen had always been content with the latter’s commercial status and never made overtures towards attaining larger success- indeed, one of the reasons he left Helloween in 1988 was his feeling like the band was becoming too big and the expectations of an international touring act were too much to handle. Then again, Hansen was also showing signs he was losing interest in leading Gamma Ray, as he recruited Frank Beck as lead singer after over 20 years of singing (to be sure, his voice had worn considerably) and had been less prolific as a composer and performer over the last several years- he still made plenty of appearances on record and stage, but seemingly more often as a sideman or guest than as lead singer, guitarist, producer and primary songwriter of Gamma Ray (which itself began as a solo project). Perhaps the notion of “just” playing guitar with maybe a brief vocal showcase was appealing and felt simpler. The money had to have been better too.

Even so, doing a handful of shows was one thing. And while anyone could’ve anticipated a larger tour after those festival dates earned raves (though the first show was marred by Kiske visibly relying on backing tracks- he blamed a cold- the rest of the concerts were glorious) the level of demand across the globe (even in America) threw everyone off guard. Helloween was suddenly bigger than ever, so of course there had to be an album with this lineup. And the band went a few steps further by not only announcing this record would be self-titled but also reviving the original Keeper imagery and having Dani Löble record on Ingo Schwichtenberg’s old kit.

So it’s all the more interesting and strange that Helloween in so many ways was a logical continuation of their last several records, right down to the power structure implied in the songwriting contributions: once again Andi Deris wrote half the album mostly by himself, with Michael Weikath getting 3 of his own, Sascha Gerstner landing a couple and Markus Grosskopf offering up his usual single romper. Whether he didn’t feel inspired or just decided he was there to sing, Michael Kiske didn’t show up anywhere in the writing credits and outside of a short intro Kai Hansen only wrote one song. To be sure, it was the big one: “Skyfall” was the album’s epic, its closer, its culmination and its cornerstone, a massive and big-hearted beast of a track that deliberately recalled “Halloween” but also functioned as a mission statement for the entire Pumpkins United era. That it was unwieldy was entirely the point- this was an outfit with three guitarists and three singers and everybody was getting their turn, but Hansen effortlessly recreated the magic he brought to his first run with the group and in so doing seemed to push Weiki to try a little harder as his charging and anthemic opener “Out for the Glory” was easily the best tune he’d written in a very long time. Likewise, the ridiculously titled 6-minute(!) “Down in the Dumps”- because of course the ever-ornery guitarist would write something like that- had a vigor and bounce that indicated he might be in on the joke. That it was the penultimate track before “Skyfall” only made it more hilarious.

But adding two individuals to the same formula Helloween employed over the previous 15 years also meant that Helloween was cumbersome and felt even longer than its 64-minute runtime: there was too much for the finished product to cohere into the magnum opus the guys were clearly aiming for. It’s easy to point to Andi Deris since he wrote more: for every banger like “Fear of the Fallen” or “Mass Pollution” he also brought in the boilerplate “Rise Without Chains” and “Cyanide” along with the Sascha Gerstner co-write “Best Time” where he and Kiske declared- nay, insisted- that they would have the best time of their lives. They made such a point of it, no wonder Weiki was down in the dumps- and for that matter Weikath added to the bloat with his 7-minute snoozer “Robot King”.

The filler didn’t overpower Helloween’s many strengths, perhaps most notably the rather shocking ease with which Kiske and Deris integrated their vocal lines (Hansen’s screeching was thankfully mostly limited to short bursts on interludes). And the record’s highlights smoked almost everything the band recorded over the previous 20 years. But the sheer volume was overwhelming to the point of near-exhaustion. That said, the upshot was that the combination of great moments (particularly “Skyfall”) and the continuing good vibes of the reunion- these guys actually seemed to get along- turned Helloween into a bigger success than anticipated, and gave the band confidence and runway to build on their sudden reemergence…

Rating: 3.5/5

#7: Giants & Monsters (2025)

“To live and let live is the only way out for us”

The success of 2021’s Helloween both revitalized the band and painted them into a corner: it was favorably regarded among most listeners, charted well (including a Top 40 showing in the US, not only their highest charting album there ever but their strongest by a landslide- their next highest charting album was Straight Out of Hell and that landed at #97) and the supporting tour was a victory lap that saw large audiences around the world continue to embrace the “Pumpkins United” concept, but the upshot was what was originally intended as a short-term novelty and quick cash grab turned into a going concern, and Helloween doing well both critically and commercially meant there was no going back. And even if everyone inside the Helloween organization spoke of harmony and alignment inside the band- in particular calling out the fast friendship between Andi Deris and Michael Kiske- this was still an ungainly enterprise with 5 songwriters whose styles don’t always service the same vision.

But depending on the person and group success can breed momentum, confidence or complacence, and in the case of Giants & Monsters a confluence of all three. For this was the most relaxed and assured Helloween in any of its guises has ever sounded, moving across a set of rather disparate tracks without strain. Furthermore, if the last several records were overstuffed with multiple songs containing multiple parts at multiple lengths seemingly just to prove a point, here were 10 songs that mostly landed under 5 minutes and with a 50-minute runtime (not including Markus Grosskopf’s bonus track) that made Giants & Monsters the shortest Helloween album since Master of the Rings over 30 years earlier and possibly their leanest record ever.

That sense of economy not only made Giants & Monsters much easier to digest but pushed the band to focus on the songs even if it meant disrupting the power balance ever so slightly. So this time Kai Hansen got 3 tracks, all of which were either very good (“We Can Be Gods”) or fantastic (the opening Andi Deris co-write “Giants on the Run” and the massive and awesome closer “Majestic” which lived up to its title) while Deris was slightly less prolific but made his numbers count: one could argue that the singer was checking the boxes with his trademark hooky tracks and customary ballad, but those hard rockers (“A Little is a Little Too Much” and pre-release single “This is Tokyo”) were both really catchy and entertaining and Michael Kiske’s enthusiasm for singing “Into the Sun” made it acceptable as a “Tale That Was Not Right”-type breather. And even if Sascha Gerstner’s "Universe (Gravity for Hearts)" once again blatantly tried to recreate “Keeper of the Seven Keys” (and felt even more thirsty once “Majestic” showed how it was done), he did a better job of it this time and his “Hand of God” was one of his stronger deep cuts.

To be sure, Michael Weikath’s two tracks came off a bit formulaic and it remains a bit curious that Michael Kiske continues to abstain from songwriting (and there was no good reason for “Majestic” to simply fade out rather than crash to a glorious coda). But Giants & Monsters flowed so well that even the less memorable or inspired moments blended into the tapestry and didn’t detract from the many more successful tracks- even the bonus track “Out of Control” (the one time in either "Pumpkins United” album that Kai Hansen ran the mic on his own) was charming and fun. Giants & Monsters actually sounded more enjoyable with repeated listens: some tunes were better than others, but nothing sounded bad and what might have initially played as just another Helloween record over time revealed itself as something of a gem. This came in no small part by virtue of presenting a unified group of individuals that were not only confident but for possibly the first time in their lives actually content with themselves and each other, and in that manner Giants & Monsters seemed to complete the circle on the Keeper of the Seven Keys saga.

Rating: 4/5

Coming Up: Helloween’s unique ability to wring glory out of drama, and vice versa…

January 23, 2026; Tradecraft/BLKIIBLK/Frontiers

“Each mile the road has worn me thin”

Dave Mustaine wanted that #1 so bad, and it was right there for the taking. On an otherwise slow week in music news Megadeth’s latest album was capturing an outsized portion of attention, and after a few years of bad blood and lineup changes things seemed to have stabilized with a group of well-respected musicians along with a slightly more measured tone from Mustaine. This new album reflected all of this by showcasing the entire band not only in their playing but also their composing, as the songwriting credits showed significant contributions from every member. And musically this was the right record at the right time- with thrash metal still recognized as one of metal’s premiere subgenres, Mustaine and his crew were ready to both expand on the framework he established as well as streamline their approach to focus as much on songs and dynamics as shredding. The icing on the cake was that in that moment Megadeth were on nearly equal footing with Metallica on a critical if not commercial level, and it hadn’t been very long since Metallica released a self-titled, black-covered record which was their own version of what Mustaine was going for to strong sales and massive touring. And with tracking throughout the week showing Megadeth on track for a #1 debut, everything was falling right into place…

The year was 1992, and Megadeth was ready: Countdown to Extinction saw a cohesive and confident band riding the wave that shifted metal’s commercial appeal away from glam and towards heavier places (so long as there was still some kind of melody or hook). And while their fifth record became their biggest seller and is generally regarded as one of their best, at the time some naysayers felt it was a compromised effort: clearly taking cues from Metallica, the songs on Countdown were streamlined and direct in a manner that stood in contrast to the frenzied attack of their previous records. What’s more, the guys were extremely intentional about the choruses, nearly all of which aimed straight for the radio bullseye. But by the same token, even Metallica wasn’t playing with this level of precision, and the lyrics were still full of Mustaine cantankerousness and trenchant commentary- there were no odes to bad dreams or chick-baiting ballads. Inside the metal community it was widely understood that Countdown to Extinction was better than Metallica, and a lot of that had to do with not only Mustaine’s focus but his willingness to open things up to his bandmates, each of whom played no small role in composing both music and lyrics.

And for all of that, Countdown shot straight up the charts and debuted at… #2, falling prey to the juggernaut that was Billy Ray Cyrus and his mullet. Megadeth still scored the highest chart entry of their career and sold enough to headline arenas, but in Dave Mustaine’s mind Metallica was a #1 band and Megadeth wasn’t and that was nothing short of infuriating.

So there was a strange symmetry nearly 35 years later when Dave Mustaine finally got his #1 album and beat out a formerly mulleted country phenom with a self-titled record (and with a white album cover) that was almost entirely co-written with his bandmates, all of whom were respected musicians before joining Megadeth. But Megadeth is a far different experience than Countdown to Extinction, and not only because it comes with a completely different lineup and not only because over three decades separates the two. Even though Mustaine wrote only one of the album’s 11 tracks on his own (compared to 5 on Countdown), Megadeth feels less like a band coming together as a unit than a group of players working in service of one man’s vision. And since that one man happens to be Dave Mustaine, wellllllll….

This is not the first time Mustaine has claimed that Megadeth was ending, nor is it even the first time he is citing health issues. But unlike in 2003, there is no turning back from the ravages of time, and Mustaine sounds noticeably weaker as a guitarist and (especially) vocalist on Megadeth- the riffs don’t sound as sharp and everything feels held back a bit, and Dave’s trademark whiny snarl sounds reduced to disgruntled wheezing even (especially) on the ornery “I Don’t Care” which was surely intended as a punkish rant but sounds more grouchy than rebellious. That means the rest of the band has to do a lot of the heavy lifting, and they acquit themselves well: Teemu Mäntysaari (recommended by Kiko Loureiro) is a strong guitarist who plays like a fusion of Chris Poland and Marty Friedman (and incidentally co-wrote almost the entire album), Dirk Verbeuren’s drumming is masterful especially when he gets to let loose on “Obey the Call”, “Made to Kill” and “Tipping Point” (and not coincidentally he got co-writing credit on those first two), and if James LoMenzo is mostly there to hold the beat- David Ellefson’s lead bass style is missed- he remains a consummate professional who knows how to serve the song (and for that matter he is credited as a co-writer on a couple tunes). These are guys who know how to play, and indeed the playing on Megadeth is fully on point.

But no matter how involved the rest of the band was in crafting these songs, everything hinges on Dave Mustaine and his vision, and most of Megadeth plays like the work of an ever-bitter man who despite claiming supremacy over his chosen idiom doesn’t seem to have much passion for it anymore. In the same way that 72 Seasons was Metallica going through the motions (speaking of symmetry, this time it was Metallica who could only muster a #2 debut while Mustaine took the top spot- take that, Lars), Megadeth exists because it had been a few years since The Sick, the Dying... and the Dead! and Mustaine had a thing about going too long between records. And he sounds straight-up bored on “Puppet Parade”, “Another Bad Day” and “Obey the Call” in a way that rest of the band can’t cover up, especially since most of these tracks are mid-paced with riffs and tempos that give ample space to the simplistic and meandering choruses, so many of which sound almost exactly the same.

Still, there are enough moments on Megadeth that recall the singularity of Mustaine’s talents. Even with the compromised vocals, “Tipping Point” is a kickass opener with strong leads and furious drumming, and nearly all of the faster moments (“Let There Be Shred”, “Made to Kill,” “Obey the Call”) have that distinctly Megadeth combination of frenzied soloing and gonzo drumming. And because everyone is a great musician in their own right the playing is frequently superb; the guys frequently lock into each other and add their own bits and bobs without overplaying, and when that comes out towards the end of “Obey the Call” the results are often glorious. The one thing that can be taken as a given on most Megadeth records is outstanding musicianship, and that alone makes Megadeth at least a halfway worthwhile listen.

But of course Dave Mustaine can’t help himself, and Megadeth’s final two tracks give the game away. The “I came, I ruled, now I disappear” coda on “The Last Note” would’ve been a lot more resonant had it not followed multiple verses (and multiple songs, for that matter) full of self-pity and old man complaining even if once again the playing was stellar. And as for the highly publicized cover of “Ride the Lightning”… it’s not ideal to quote another review but when Pitchfork noted that the track reaffirmed that “at the end of the day, he’d rather just be playing in Metallica”- well… when they’re right they’re right.

To the ever-bitter end, Dave Mustaine remains resolutely himself and lays himself bare whether intentionally or not. And Megadeth presents the man in his physical and emotional headspace for all to hear, and while he still shows the occasional spark and his band does everything they can to prop the songs up, we are left with someone seemingly best capable of half measures and with only his grievances to keep him warm.

Rating: 2.5/5

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If the grouping of albums in the first part of this series ranking Helloween’s discography set the stage for a larger narrative about the band, it would likely be that stability without purpose leads to stagnation, as the 10-plus years before “Pumpkins United” kicked off a new era for the band saw an increasingly complacent group lean so heavily on formula- right down to how many songs each member would contribute- that the records were barely distinguishable from each other. And even though the circumstances behind The Dark Ride were rather different, it offered only a slight twist on the same theme as that was an instance where aspects of the same formula were forced upon individuals who weren’t on the same page- and if nothing else that tension at least resulted in a more enjoyable record than a lot of what would follow over the next 20 years.

All of that table setting leads to a run of albums where the context changes with each entry, to say nothing of the lineups. It’s not too much of a spoiler to reveal that every album in this post has the same rating: these entries in a lot of ways make up the guts of the Helloween story, and in this middle zone there are a lot of albums that come really close to greatness but for one reason or another don’t quite get all the way there. Actually, the reasons become apparent when these albums are viewed in totality- at multiple points in the band’s life Helloween has found itself starting over and/or resetting, and the initial results both brimmed with the possibility of a rebirth as well as carried a tentativeness and uncertainty that belied a lack of complete confidence or command of their aims.

Therefore it makes some sense that this set begins with Helloween fighting their way back from oblivion…

#12: Master of the Rings (1994)

“I never looked higher than I could see”

By most accounts, Helloween was essentially all Ingo Schwichtenberg had in his life- at the very least, it was not only his vocation but his main hobby. So when the band was forced into an extended hiatus in the early ‘90s, he was the one most out of sorts: Michael Weikath moved to New York City with his girlfriend, Michael Kiske went to the beach, but Schwichtenberg was stuck in Hamburg on his own without anything or anyone to lean on. The usually easygoing drummer fell into a deep depression and turned to alcohol and cocaine to cope, and Helloween’s eventual return to action wasn’t enough for him to shake it off. And while he managed to power through a couple albums he ultimately collapsed on stage during the Chameleon tour and was fired shortly after. From Michael Weikath’s perspective it was probably very straightforward- Ingo was such a mess that he would go through 10 beers before tracking his drums in the studio, and regardless of Helloween’s vastly diminished commercial standing they were still a working enterprise that couldn’t sustain an unreliable member. That Schwichtenberg was fragile and clearly in need of help was something the guys (who were mostly in their early 30s) weren’t equipped to even consider let alone accommodate.

That this already sad story would end in the worst possible way a couple years later goes to show just how tenuous intra-band chemistry can be, and more than anything Ingo Schwichtenberg was the biggest casualty of the personal and business drama that followed Helloween’s initial success. The circumstances behind his departure made Michael Kiske’s exit seem almost perfunctory: Weiki’s cold calculus was the last two records didn’t sell, people weren’t showing up to the concerts and Kiske was trying to run the band, so the young singer (who despite having been in the band for 7 years at that point was still only 25) was given the axe. But Kiske played a role in his own ouster as well- despite later claiming he would’ve gladly sung on another Keeper-type record if only someone handed him the songs, he showed little interest in power metal over the previous 5 years and for that matter would spend the better part of the next 25 years bitterly disavowing almost anything having to do with heavy music. And while he was the most sympathetic to Ingo Schwichtenberg’s plight and maintained good relations with Kai Hansen, Kiske made no attempt to hide his disdain for Helloween and mostly burned through whatever goodwill he had with the metal community.

So lengthy preamble aside, Helloween was at their lowest point going into 1994: down two members and still not fully recovered from the loss of a different member several years earlier, dropped from EMI, irrelevant in Europe and a complete nonentity in America. And at first glance Weiki’s choice for a new vocalist was a curious one, as Andi Deris came from Pink Cream 69 and was generally known more for hard rock. But not only did Deris apparently understand the assignment, the singer formed a natural and confident songwriting partnership with Weikath. And with journeyman drummer Uli Kusch coming on board shortly before recording, as well as Tommy Hansen back to produce, the newly reconstituted Helloween went into the studio hoping for not only a comeback but a rebirth- no small task given anything they did would be marked as much by absence as by presence.

And the first few tracks on Master of the Rings do indeed sound like a band reborn: “Sole Survivor” and “Where the Rain Grows” were statements of intent that not only asserted the band’s commitment to melodic metal but forcefully reasserted their right to exist (the latter was especially interesting in that while new guy Deris wrote the lyrics, the words perfectly encapsulated Helloween’s state of being after the last few years). The entire first half of the album was a barrage of resolute heavy metal anthems, with even the more mainstream-sounding “Why?”- not coincidentally the one track written solely by Deris, which ironically would’ve totally made sense as a Michael Kiske number on Chameleon- having an added charge thanks to the band’s attack. What jumped out wasn’t just that Helloween was once again playing metal without caveats or courting wider acceptance, but that they were delivering great songs with such clarity and without straining to make a statement. For the first time in a while, the whole group sounded in sync and no small amount of credit was due to Andi Deris and his positive attitude and work ethic (and his rather remarkable ability to keep a frequently conflicting set of personalities on the ball, a trait that would first make him a co-captain and ultimately the band’s driving force moving forward). Even though he sounded little like his predecessor, Deris sounded so natural singing these songs that he not only immediately gained acceptance among the few that stuck around but was widely embraced as the group’s savior. And while the writing was dominated by Deris, Weiki and a combination thereof, Roland Grapow’s three tracks fit fairly seamlessly into the fabric of Master of the Rings, as “Mr. Ego (Take Me Down)” served as the record’s lengthy groover (and took a few cheap shots at the band’s former singer) and “Take Me Home” similarly blended into the album’s approach.

But Master of the Rings was front-loaded, and the seams revealed themselves on the filler-stuffed second half. In ways both good and bad, the back half was full of songs that wouldn’t have sounded out of place on Chameleon: Weiki’s bridge on “Secret Alibi” (“so many stories have been told; I give a damn, they’re much too old; how often will we face the end of our dreams?”) reminded that the guitarist was far more thoughtful and introspective than his surly reputation suggested. But by the same token both it and “The Game is On” were self-consciously goofy in the verses and likewise reminded that the guitarist wasn’t nearly as funny or clever as he thought. The similarly “humorous” “Perfect Gentleman” also wore thin on repeated listens despite having a sturdy melody, and “In the Middle of a Heartbeat” was a lame power ballad. And while Grapow’s tracks were perfectly fine, they mostly came and went without leaving much of an impression.

It was as if the band knew they were on to something but didn’t have the capacity to fully see it through, as the concluding batch of tracks didn’t have the same confidence and conviction of “Sole Survivor” or “Where the Rain Grows” even though they weren’t all necessarily bad. This made Master of the Rings less impactful as it played on, even as it was a leaner (a full 20 minutes shorter than Chameleon) and generally strong record.

Rating: 3.5/5

#11: Rabbit Don’t Come Easy (2003)

“Something’s growing in my pants”

Sascha Gerstner didn’t get a ton of love in the first set of these rankings. Most of that was on account of his frequently delivering a batch of not-great songs on not-great albums, but he often bears a smugness that speaks to his peculiar position in Helloween: if Andi Deris is the driving force who proudly flies the flag and Michael Weikath is the curmudgeon who seems to resent playing music while at the same time maintaining a firm grip on the band’s business, while Markus Grosskopf is the steady and good-natured bassist who goes with the flow, Gerstner comes across as acting like he’s above it all. And it’s been like this from his first album with the group: while promoting Rabbit Don’t Come Easy the very tall (seriously: dude’s like 6’7”) guitarist not only proclaimed that he wasn’t really a fan of Helloween’s music despite being recruited from a band (Freedom Call) that owed its very existence to the Keeper albums but also insisted that people needed to shut up about all the lineup changes as if he had a right to feel aggrieved. His tone would eventually soften on subsequent album cycles, but to this day he still speaks of writing songs in such a way as to remind the other members (Weiki in particular) of what Helloween used to sound like, despite claiming to not even really like those records.

Gerstner’s attitude brought a sourness to Rabbit Don’t Come Easy even though Andi Deris wrote or co-wrote 9 of the record’s 12 tracks. This was no doubt driven by a desire to show consistency after the scattered approach of The Dark Ride, as well as Deris bringing forward self-consciously “happy” numbers like lead single “Just a Little Sign” to outwardly pivot from the heavier sound of its predecessor. The singer did snap things into focus- this was one of the most straight between the eyes albums the band ever released, at least as far as each track blending right into the next and not really coming up for air as even the slightly slower moments like “Don’t Stop Being Crazy” had a heft and momentum thanks in no small part to guest drummer Mikkey Dee. And in its better moments, of which there were plenty, Rabbit Don’t Come Easy soared: “Just a Little Sign” may have been silly but it was also fun and very well-written, as was “Open Your Life”, “Never Be a Star”, “Do You Feel Good”, “Hell Was Made in Heaven” and Weikath’s closing “Nothing to Say” which was a surprisingly swaggering 8-minute groove machine.

But just like the last time Helloween found themselves short two members, Rabbit Don’t Come Easy had its share of filler and songs that tried a little too hard to hit the reset button while also not sounding so far apart from the album they were trying to move away from. Weikath’s “The Tune” was cut from the same cloth as his “All Over the Nations” from The Dark Ride but sounded even more patronizing, “Liar” was numbingly repetitive and “Sun 4 the World” and “Back Against the Wall” were boilerplate and a little boring.

For better and worse, Rabbit Don’t Come Easy laid the groundwork for the next 15 or so years of Helloween’s existence, and not just because it marked Sascha Gerstner’s debut with the band. More than anything, the album leaned on the members’- Deris in particular- sense of craft and their ability and readiness to write melodic and catchy metal songs with a specific combination of power and hooks. And that proved to be a double-edged sword, for while it meant that there was always a certain amount of quality and at least a small handful of killer tunes, if they weren’t paying close attention (and as the first part of this series illustrated, they often weren’t) things could get rote really fast.

Rating: 3.5/5

#10: Pink Bubbles Go Ape (1991)

“Our world is a beautiful place to be free”

All things equal, there should’ve been a new Helloween album in either late 1989 or early 1990; Roland Grapow was recruited to replace Kai Hansen not long after Hansen’s last show and the new lineup had toured America and Japan as part of the last round of dates supporting Keeper II, so they had time to cohere as a unit. And considering Grapow was a seasoned songwriter in his own right, the band still had three prolific composers to pool songs from so they should’ve had plenty of material to work with. Had that next album been conceived, recorded and released while the group had momentum on their side enough it would’ve had a decent shot in the marketplace: it might not have been a blockbuster, but it could’ve been the right record as Iron Maiden began their own (voluntary) hiatus at the end of the ‘80s.

But timing truly is everything, and business shenanigans (excellently documented in David Gehlke’s highly entertaining book Damn the Machine: the Story of Noise Records) effectively forced Helloween out of commission not only right as they were about to break through but perhaps more significantly during the two years that heavy music transitioned away from what had worked for most of the last 10 years towards a much more uncertain future. That in itself wasn’t the band’s fault: times changed as they do and music adapted and evolved in turn, and while heavy metal as a genre was still big business (look no further than Metallica’s self-titled fifth album which came out 5 months after Pink Bubbles and commercially decimated virtually every other record in every other genre) the biggest groups weren’t repeating the same old moves.

But what was the band’s fault was how they chose to deal with everything in front of them. First, the band decided to treat Noise’s lawsuit and forced hiatus as an excuse to go on an extended vacation. No, they couldn’t record or tour, but they could’ve used that time to workshop new material both individually and as a band and they definitely could’ve paid attention to the shifting sands and pondered their next move as a unified front before going into the studio. Instead the band mostly came in with unfinished songs expecting producer Chris Tsangerides (who they claim was forced on them) to help them sift through it all and work out the arrangements with them as Tommys Newton and Hansen had previously. And that reflected how the guys were too scattered both physically and emotionally to properly think through what they were trying to achieve and come forward as an aligned unit in service of that goal- they not only had the control they had sought from Noise but also had powerhouse management along with the support of a major label and a bottomless recording budget, so what did they want to do with all of that? In many ways this was what Kai Hansen was reacting to as much as exhaustion from touring: after most of the credit for the success of the first Keeper was laid on Hansen, Michael Weikath by definition had to assume almost complete control over the next one and with that the band’s power dynamics were such that even though democracy was impossible nobody wanted to do the hard work of actually leading (not even Weikath, who despite his standoffish nature is more passive aggressive than anything else). And because they never made an effort to align or collaborate it was all too easy for third parties to whisper in one member’s ear about their own greatness, which lead to Michael Kiske taking the reins and dominating the writing despite having only contributed 3 songs to the two albums that established Helloween on the international stage.

So when something calling itself Pink Bubbles Go Ape was released to a rather confused fanbase in 1991 everything fell apart rapidly. For one, the ongoing drama with Noise prevented Helloween from touring until a full year after the album was released and kneecapped the group’s promotional abilities. And then there was the title and artwork: sure, Helloween’s whole thing was being lighthearted and happy-go-lucky, but what the hell was all this??? And where were the breakneck tempos balanced with catchy guitar melodies and soaring vocals? The last record had “Eagle Fly Free” and “I Want Out” whereas this had… “Heavy Metal Hamsters”- what in the actual fuck? If “Kids of the Century” was a fine first single, it was also one of only two tracks that remotely resembled anything Helloween was known for, with Michael Weikath’s “Number One” coming across as especially pandering and too many tracks playing like straightforward (and rather mainstream) hard rock rather than speedy melodic power metal. And considering the major label and massive budget- the band spent more than half a million dollars making this record- Chris Tsangerides’ production was shockingly flat and lifeless. Tsangerides had just come off of recording Painkiller and was generally known for making metal albums sound vibrant and powerful, so what the hell happened here?

And yet… is it possible after 35 years of controversy, bitterness and disavowal that Pink Bubbles Go Ape could be listened to simply as an album and collection of songs without the underlying and subsequent baggage? Because if so, one would find a record that was definitely flawed but also a rather robust collection of heavy metal tracks. “Kids of the Century” was arguably one of the best openers of Helloween’s entire catalogue- not as strong as “Eagle Fly Free” or “We Burn” but certainly up there with “Sole Survivor” and better than “Just a Little Sign”, and a killer metal track that actually did carry through the Helloween trademarks that originally made them famous (and the lyrics proved timeless). Likewise, Grapow’s contributions were uniformly strong- “The Chance” has been retroactively reappraised and appreciated, but “Mankind”, “Back on the Streets” and “Someone’s Crying” were also hidden gems. And considering the band’s frequently pathetic attempts at ballads, Kiske’s “Your Turn” was perhaps their best take on the form. Sure, “I’m Doin’ Fine, Crazy Man” and the infamous “Heavy Metal Hamsters” were misguided bordering on inane (fully crossing over to stupid in the case of the latter) and either should’ve traded places with Markus Grosskopf’s killer “You Run with the Pack” as B-sides, and the weak production really did tamp down the actual heaviness and power in the music (“Kids of the Century” and “The Chance” had awesome riffs and melodies that unfortunately didn’t come out in the final mix). But Pink Bubbles Go Ape was much better than its notorious reputation suggested and actually contains more than a few dark horse gems.

Rating: 3.5/5

Coming Up: Helloween finds their way, and finds their way back…

January 16, 2026; Nuclear Blast

“But none of their hatred mends our powers”

Kreator was 9 albums deep and 17 years in the game when Mille Petrozza recalibrated their overall approach on Violent Revolution; that record’s combination of unchecked fury, precision and focus was nothing short of a rebirth, the sound of a band fighting its way back after almost 10 years of musical drift and revolving door lineups with Petrozza the only constant (even Ventor sat out Cause for Conflict). But their tenth album was more than just a return to Kreator’s thrash roots as it saw Petrozza absorb both the power metal and melodic death metal that had risen out of Europe over the previous 5 or so years and bake it into his framework far more comfortably than industrial, goth and groove metal.

There are a few reasons to bring up Violent Revolution when discussing Kreator’s 16th record. For starters, Krushers of the World (that’s “Krushers” with a K because they’re just that extreme) happened to be released the same year Violent Revolution turns 25. And that landmark anniversary signifies some crucial facts: Kreator has persisted and thrived as a well-respected recording and (especially) touring entity- and with almost entirely the same lineup- far longer post-Violent Revolution than prior. And during those intervening years, as the band became more popular than ever it was Violent Revolution far more than Extreme Aggression (let alone Pleasure to Kill) that became the key frame of reference for both the group as well as their growing fanbase, with all of the subsequent records working off its template with mostly only minor variations. Some of these albums were stronger (Gods of Violence) than others (Hordes of Chaos), but they all played within a consistent thrash metal framework layered with power/melodeath flourishes and Petrozza’s frazzled muppet gargling about Satan.

Krushers of the World is no exception. Hate Über Alles may have been their first album in a while to receive a more muted reception in a way that stalled their momentum a bit (Hordes of Chaos didn’t get amazing reviews either, but it still continued their upward commercial trajectory), but Krushers isn’t really a pivot other than bringing Jens Bogren back to produce. The songs are better but only by a few degrees and not strikingly so. Instead, what seems to be the case here isn’t so much that Kreator is pushing their formula to its breaking point but rather seeing where they can further refine the template (a rather difficult task given they’ve been milking this sound for 6 albums straight) by accentuating certain components and maybe peppering in a different bit or two. So on some tracks the power metal elements are a bit more pronounced in the choruses, and while early reviews spoke of reintroducing the goth metal of Endorama they were mostly reacting to Ventor’s disco drumming on “Satanic Anarchy”’s choruses and the slight atmospheric flourishes (and also some more Ventor boogie) on “Tränenpalast”. More than anything it felt like the band was aiming for a set of tunes that would play well in concert, as the verses and bridges build towards choruses that frequently run straight for the anthemic.

And for most of the first half they succeed. “Seven Serpents” (“Snakes in human form!!!"), “Satanic Anarchy”, “Tränenpalast” and “Barbarian” are all first-class ass rippers that pummel with the sort of efficiency and purpose that’s been Kreator’s modus operandi for the last 25 years and more than reasonably stand up next to “Gods of Violence”, “Satan is Real”, “Civilization Collapse” and “Hordes of Chaos”. “Blood of Our Blood” is similarly effective though it plays a bit simplistic even by Kreator standards. In a way Kreator has become something of a Teutonic thrash version of post ‘90s Motörhead, coming out every few years with a very familiar but still consistently entertaining set of brawlers, and just like with Motörhead there is professionalism and consistency but also genuine conviction- Ventor is still a maniac on drums, the riffs and solos still sizzle and nobody seethes about evil like Mille Petrozza.

But also like Motörhead during their last 20 years there are signs of diminishing returns, and the back half of Krushers of the World shows the formula wearing thin. “Combatants” and “Psychotic Imperator” feel rote and come and go without leaving much of a trace, while “Deathscream” (which feels like it should be another worthy clobberer but instead mostly just hectors and quickly gets tiresome) and the concluding “Loyal to the Grave” strain too hard for the rafters- the latter especially sounds boilerplate coming after the earlier title track, which does the exact same thing and only marginally better. And speaking of wear, Petrozza’s fraggle yell isn’t quite as overpowering this time- to be fair the dude is pushing 60 and has been barking and grunting about brutality and destruction for most of his life, so it’s actually miraculous he still has enough juice to keep at it like this, but it’s still a stark reminder that all of this chaos can’t last forever.

One’s appetite for and appreciation of Krushers of the World will ultimately depend on their affection for Kreator in general and their level of investment in the post-Violent Revolution discography in particular. Understanding that they are not likely to switch gears at this point Krushers is either just more of the same or another largely consistent set of bangers that nonetheless doesn’t soar as high as previous victories.

Rating: 3.5/5

“Don't tell me stories 'cause yesterday's glories have gone away, so far away
I've heard it said there's a light up ahead
Lord I hope and pray, I'm here to stay”

In 1994, Ozzy Osbourne won his first Grammy for a live rendition of a song where he claimed he didn’t want to change the world and didn’t want the world to change him.

Well, to what extent the world changed Ozzy is something that only he and his immediate family might be able to speak to, but what the rest of us can say conclusively is that Ozzy Osbourne and Black Sabbath did in fact change the world.

This goes well beyond simply (“simply”) inventing an entire genre of music. Decades after all the critics and naysayers were proven hopelessly wrong, it is wholly demonstrable that Sabbath is second only to the Beatles in their impact on music as a whole and the world at large. As the one singer who didn’t understand the assignment on July 5, 2025 (more on that later) once claimed, “it’s not my point of view, it’s a fact. We all know that it’s true”

Perhaps more than anything else, what the Back to the Beginning concert at Villa Park amounted to was the ultimate acknowledgement and celebration of just much Ozzy Osbourne, with and without Black Sabbath, has brought to all of our lives. And in a big way that made Ozzy’s passing less than three weeks later that much more devastating- of course we all knew Ozzy was in very poor health, we saw him visibly struggle at his Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction and on stage here, and we inherently understood that this was well and truly his final show. But we weren’t ready to actually say goodbye forever: there may not have been any more albums and definitely no more concerts, but Ozzy was still going to be around somehow, somewhere out there milling about, somehow showing up and making everyone smile and remember how much we love him.

But he’s really gone. And some six months later, our collective grief may have subsided somewhat, but John Michael Osbourne’s absence is still profoundly felt.

And that is why it is worth taking an honest look back at what some have called “the most important day in heavy metal history”. Because while it was inarguably a gathering of most of the biggest acts in the genre, it was just as importantly the day when the entire genre stood united to celebrate the music and honor the man and band that built it all.

Even with the stumbles- and there were more than a few, as literally every act fumbled or missed a cue at least once when they covered Ozzy or Sabbath tunes- what continues to resonate 6 months later is the genuine and at times overwhelming appreciation and love that radiated throughout the day from everyone on stage and in the audience. It wasn’t only love and appreciation for Ozzy and Sabbath as musicians or even as people, but an embrace of everything this glorious noise has given all of us.

Below are thoughts about all of it, starting with the big elephant in the room…

Who Didn’t Show

Tom Morello’s single biggest achievement as Back to the Beginning’s musical director was corralling such an expansive group of artists and bands to Birmingham for several days- not only the show itself but a few days of rehearsals. The lineup was simply staggering and really did include practically every single major metal act to ever put out a record. But there were some key figures absent, and the reasons (when provided) didn’t always track:

• Judas Priest: arguably the single biggest gap, since Priest picked up the baton from Sabbath and ushered in the next wave of metal in the mid ‘70s and are ultimately second only to Sabbath in their importance to the genre. They also had the best reason for not showing, as they previously made commitments to support the Scorpions during their big hometown celebration that same day. This was unfortunate but also the most forgivable as nobody doubts Rob Halford’s sincerity and affection for all of the members of Black Sabbath, and Priest offered something in the way of a tribute with their cover of “War Pigs”- it may have been literal to a fault, but was so genuine in its appreciation that getting mad about it reflected more on the listener than the band

  • And besides, Priest ultimately was represented at Back to the Beginning by a key former member (more on that below)

• Led Zeppelin: less surprising, but also less forgivable. Three fourths of Zeppelin famously had little love for Sabbath and looked down on the genre they created, but John Bonham was not only friendly with the Sabs but would practice to “Supernaut” and the entire band had no issues with swinging by whenever Sabbath had drugs on hand. But that was all a long time ago and after 50 years it wouldn’t have killed Jimmy Page and Robert Plant to simply acknowledge their contemporaries, especially Plant who came from the same town. And if appearing on stage was too much, couldn’t they have just sent a 1-minute video message? Plant would later claim that he meant no ill will and simply didn’t know "anything about what's going on in that world right now", but all these years later that reads less as aloofness and more like snobbery

• Iron Maiden: also not very surprising given what played out during the final dates of Maiden’s ill-fated stint on Ozzfest. But that was also 20 years ago, and Sharon Osbourne insisted Ozzy had no animosity towards the band. However, Sharon didn’t say that she had no animosity, and we all know that counts for a lot. More than that, the entire Maiden camp didn’t offer a single word about Back to the Beginning or Sabbath and only offered a rather perfunctory statement on Ozzy’s passing. And even if Maiden could credibly claim that neither Ozzy nor Sabbath were key influences, as the third most significant metal band of all time behind Sabbath and Priest it behooved them to do just a little bit more

• Megadeth: perhaps the least noticed of the absences, but worth observing they were the only ones among the Big 4 to not show up. Even more significant is that apparently Dave Mustaine wasn’t even invited

  • Similar to Priest, Megadeth was represented in some capacity by former bassist David Ellefson who did his part supporting one of the ad hoc supergroups

The Bands and Their Covers

Every band called to the stage made good use of their allotted time. Though there were no real surprises as far as each band’s usual sets, Tool arguably won the day with a startlingly intense daytime performance that put their balance of sterling musicianship and focused aggression up front. And that really speaks to just how important this day truly was to everyone involved: it was big enough that a band as insular as Tool immediately agreed to join the lineup, and similarly significant that they were willing to appear pretty low on the bill given their stature, but they played with almost none of their usual stage setup, while the sun was still out, and allowed themselves to be filmed. The footage from this show is the first professionally recorded Tool concert in over 30 years, and it is awesome.

But the biggest surprise- and one of the things that made this far more than just another festival- was that every band included at least one Sabbath or Ozzy cover in their sets. The biggest songs were naturally off the table, so each act had to dig deep into the Sabbath discography and in the process both revealed their respect and made Back to the Beginning that much more significant as a celebration:

• Once again, Tool delivered one of the highlights with a perfectly ominous “Hand of Doom”. Interestingly enough this was one of the few slower Sabbath tunes performed that day as most groups went for the faster (or at least more mid-paced) material, though Slayer similarly went slow- and super deep- with “Wicked World” which was predicted by exactly zero people

• Somehow “Electric Funeral” was covered by both Rival Sons and Pantera. One guess as to who won that battle

• Halestorm was the only band to cover an Ozzy solo tune with a serviceable but stiff “Perry Mason”. Credit to the band for going somewhat deep, as this was the one of only two post-1986 Ozzy songs played the entire day, the other being played by Ozzy himself later (more on that below)

• A shocking amount of love for Never Say Die!: not only were three tracks from the generally (and unfairly) maligned final OG Sabbath record played at Back to the Beginning (as many as Sabbath Bloody Sabbath and Sabotage combined!), but they were covered by the two biggest acts on the bill

  • “Never Say Die” and “Junior’s Eyes” were naturally somewhat hindered by Axl Rose’s diminished vocal range, but the latter was actually a bit more affecting for the same reason. And if the rest of Guns N’ Roses played it a bit safe, new drummer Isaac Carpenter was an absolute beast throughout their entire set including these covers and the similarly surprising “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath”

  • Metallica’s rendition of “Johnny Blade” might’ve been the best of the covers by virtue of shock value alone, but they also deserve credit for finding a way to navigate around the prominent keyboards of the original while still retaining the track’s core musical passages and melodies

The “Supergroups”

Tom Morello clearly paid attention to the randomness with which so many ad hoc “supergroup” jam sessions were set up for various award shows and other events, because the two clusters of “Tom Morello’s All Stars” that played at Back to the Beginning were a bit more thoughtfully arranged. But only a bit: lineups like these are unavoidably scattershot, so there was bound to be something random like teaming up Ugly Kid Joe’s Whitfield Crane with Scott Ian, Nuno Bettencourt and Sleep Token II. Therefore it was not at all surprising that the results were mixed, though on the whole there were enough fine moments to make the enterprise worthwhile, especially as a means of presenting the breadth of Ozzy’s career with and without Sabbath:

• Most immediately notable was Nuno Bettencourt as stealth MVP of the entire day. Without a ton of fanfare- and without Gary Cherone- the Extreme guitarist shredded through every riff and solo effortlessly and essentially covered for Jake E. Lee on “The Ultimate Sin” and “Bark at the Moon”, the latter of which he straight up crushed

• Speaking of Jake E. Lee, one genuinely touching moment was seeing the largely reclusive guitarist greeted with a hero’s welcome. Still visibly recovering from being shot multiple times 8 months earlier, Lee put on a brave show while admitting he couldn’t handle all of his parts on “The Ultimate Sin”. That said, his soloing on “Shot in the Dark” showed he’s still got it even if he needs a little more time to heal

• And speaking of legendary guitarists that haven’t graced big stages in a while, K.K. Downing may have looked ridiculous at first in his leather-on-leather ensemble playing through a perfunctory “Breaking the Law” (not helped by Billy Corgan’s completely mismatched vocals). But his soloing on “Snowblind”… hot damn. Those couple minutes are reason enough for Judas Priest to give him a call

• Eddie Trunk made a thing about not all of Ozzy’s former sidemen being present- because of course he would- but virtually everyone who backed him up for the past 35 years was there in some capacity. Sure, it would’ve been nice to see Bob Daisley and Tommy Aldridge, but the issues between Daisley and Sharon are widely known and it was what it was. It was huge that Jake E. Lee was there, and more than a little nice to see Rudy Sarzo for old time’s sake

• “That creep can roll”:

  • David Draiman may have been booed during Disturbed’s set, but he was really the only singer on the bill who could credibly handle “Shot in the Dark”

  • Steven Tyler may have made an appearance or two over the last few years, but it was still shocking to hear him absolutely tear into “Train Kept A-Rollin'“, “Walk This Way” and “Whole Lotta Love” and sound perfect

  • Yungblud may take a lot of shit for a lot of reasons and may or not be AI. But damn if his “Changes” wasn’t moving

• Lzzy Hale and Tobias Forge were unmistakably enthusiastic in performing “The Ultimate Sin” and “Bark at the Moon” respectively, but also less confident than expected: Hale resorted to screeching through the final chorus and the Ghost mainman similarly lost his step by the final verse

• If every singer at least wore their love for Ozzy’s music on their sleeves, Sammy Hagar apparently heard “Flying High Again” for the first time while he was performing. It was a startingly off moment and a strangely embarrassing mishap for the Red Rocker, who otherwise has a well-earned rep as a consummate professional but in the moment was barely trying to even go with the melody

  • His much steadier delivery of “Rock Candy” made the insult even more egregious: Hagar might be down for any party, but only putting effort into his own song rather than paying proper tribute to the day’s host was off-putting

Ozzy Osbourne’s and Black Sabbath’s Final Shows

Almost as soon as Back to the Beginning was announced Ozzy’s camp worked on managing expectations around his involvement: the original press release touted it as a goodbye and “the final show” and Ozzy almost immediately clarified that these would be short sets as opposed to full headlining gigs. That was understandable, but as the weeks wore on word began to spread that Ozzy might not even handle entire songs and would instead sing a line or verse before handing the mic to another singer. Even the other members of Black Sabbath were cagey when asked about Ozzy’s level of participation.

Knowing what we know now, it bordered on miraculous that not did Ozzy sing all his songs but actually sounded pretty good. Yes, Zakk Wylde doubled his vocals more than once (most prominently on “Mama, I’m Coming Home”), but the Ozzy we saw was fully present, giving everything he had and feeding off the crowd. It was both poignant and sad seeing the Ozzman frequently try to get up from his chair only to feel his body fail him, but the fire in his eyes lit up the entire stage and for that matter his voice was shockingly strong considering everything he had been through over the last several years. Of course he wasn’t perfect, but Ozzy sounded at least as good as he had over the past 20 years or so which was really saying something. And if anything, for all of the skepticism and worry Ozzy wasn’t the weak link on stage…

• The Ozzy covers selected by the day’s other bands made more sense when considering what the Ozzman chose to sing: 4 of the 5 songs in his set came from Blizzard of Ozz and tacitly revealed what resonated most with him- and acknowledged Randy Rhoads and just how important he was to Ozzy

• “Mama, I’m Coming Home” may have been obvious, but it’s no secret how much that particular song meant to Ozzy (also a nice nod to Lemmy). And the emotion was real all around, there truly wasn’t a dry eye in the house

• Despite appropriately ending his solo set with “Crazy Train”, Ozzy’s portion of the evening felt somehow incomplete. But then Tony Iommi slammed that chord to kick off “War Pigs” and goddamn Black Sabbath is in the house

• Speaking of goddamn, Geezer Butler may be in full wizard mode with his white hair and Gandalf beard, but his singular basswork throughout the entire set and especially N.I.B. reminded us he’s still the coolest motherfucker on the planet. Dude hasn’t lost a step

• However, if we’re being honest… Bill Ward basically verified the various claims made by the Sabbath camp over the years by missing more than one cue and stumbled over his fills despite having had multiple rehearsals with Tony and Geezer. It wasn’t enough to take away from the pure magic of seeing the four founding fathers of heavy metal on stage together one last time, and even in compromised form there is still only one Bill Ward. But still…

• Ozzy’s heartbreak in announcing “Paranoid” would be the last song he would ever perform and saying the quiet part out loud was palpable, and it was impossible to miss the sadness in his eyes at the very end- as fireworks shot through the sky over thunderous applause, there was Ozzy Osbourne sitting alone on stage (the rest of Black Sabbath sure left the scene quickly) and visibly processing all of it. Perhaps that was how it needed to end: we will never know what was running through Ozzy’s mind as it all played out, but more than just helping both invent and reinventing a whole genre (AngryMetalGuy convincingly made the case that Blizzard of Ozz and Diary of a Madman essentially defined where metal would go in the ‘80s and beyond) Ozzy stood alone as a frontman and figurehead and if anyone deserved a long and loud salute from a sold out stadium audience alongside his peers and descendants it was him

At the end of the day, yeah… this was this the biggest day in the history of metal. Nobody else could so easily and naturally unify so many icons, and by all accounts everyone gladly and excitedly went out of their way to pay homage and tribute with zero ego tripping.

There will be never be another Ozzy Osbourne. May he rest in peace and may we rejoice in the many gifts he gave us.

R.I.P. John Michael “Ozzy” Osbourne (December 3, 1948-July 22, 2025)

June 6, 2025; Napalm

“The future is not ours to evaluate”

The news that Katatonia parted with Anders Nyström in early 2025 didn’t scan as a shock even though the guitarist founded the group with Jonas Renkse all the way back in 1991: Renkse had been the band’s primary songwriter for the better part of 16 years and wrote all of City Burials and Sky Void of Stars by himself. Furthermore, according to Daniel Moilanen Blakkheim did not play on either of those two previous Katatonia records, so the announcement that Nyström and band parted ways was largely greeted with a shrug among the many fans who had been wondering about the nature of his role in the group ever since Night is the New Day. And the announcement of not only two new guitarists but also a brand new record less than a month later suggested this had been in the works for some time.

Turns out, Blakkheim’s depature had been in the works for a while, but apparently unbeknownst to Nyström. While most of Katatonia’s many lineup changes over the years were attributed to economics and lifestyle matters- the band simply hasn’t made enough money to consistently sustain itself- Nyström almost immediately made clear that the band and particularly Renske basically ghosted him, as Renkse apparently reconfigured Katatonia (including tweaking the logo) and recorded something called Nightmares as Extensions of the Waking State without any knowledge on Nyström’s part. In his missive Nyström also confirmed the open secret that City Burials had been conceived as a Jonas Renkse solo album (hence his absence from the recording) but was recalibrated as a Katatonia record late in the game, but by the same token the erstwhile guitarist took pains to clarify his exact role post-The Great Cold Distance and noted his crucial involvement in co-producing all of their records and providing critical input on song arrangements. So while he readily acknowledged that Renkse took over songwriting duties- and without any real pushback from Nyström- he actually played a vital role in how those songs ultimately took shape on record.

That bit of context is vital to understanding Nightmares as Extensions of the Waking State, which largely plays of a piece with the last few Katatonia albums but is very clearly the work of Jonas Renkse as writer, leader, producer and visionary. Whether he was inspired by his guest appearances on Ocean (Collective) albums or was naturally moving in a more progressive direction, Katatonia’s thirteenth studio record is far more focused on setting and maintaining a mood than delivering a collection of songs: the ten tracks included segue into each other seamlessly and most do not have choruses that immediately announce themselves as such. And while every album since The Fall of Hearts has nudged in the same direction, both City Burials and the more rock-oriented Sky Void of Stars had more clearly defined and structured songs. Nightmares is no less hooky and not much less dynamic than those records, but Nyström’s absence is definitely felt as tracks like “Thrice”, “Lilac”, “Departure Trails” stare into the ether rather than guide the listener through a journey or even move from point A to B. Based on how these tracks flow, the former guitarist’s assertion that he played a substantial role in arranging Renkse’s tracks into more structured songs rings true, because in his absence most of Nightmares feels more like an array of very similar sounds that coalesce into an overarching mood but don’t hang together as actual tunes.

But by the same token Renkse is a master at his particular set of skills, and while his whole deal is beyond established at this point every Katatonia album operates at a high level and Nightmares is no exception. The new guitarists acquit themselves admirably with mournful yet searing leads and Daniel Moilanen continues to astound- his jazzy but intense drumming is high in the mix and has a more slashing sound that does a lot of the lifting in bringing these tracks to life, and if anything it is the percussion more than the guitars or even vocals that define the sound of Nightmares. Even so, the new lineup sounds in sync and functions as a unit in lockstep: tunes like “The Liquid Eye”, “Warden” and the slightly more up-tempo closer “In the Event of” offer compelling iterations of the Katatonia sound by virtue of the seamless integration of Renkse’s still compelling singing, weaving guitars, thoughtful bass and those drums, aided in no small part by Adam Noble’s well-rounded mix.

The challenge going into Nightmares as Extensions of the Waking State was ostensibly the same one facing every Katatonia record since The Great Cold Distance insofar as creating something both distinguishable and memorable while continuing to work within a very specific and confined template. But the assumption that Nyström’s departure would be immaterial proved not only inaccurate but brought that primary challenge into further relief, as Nightmares does indeed offer a memorable version of the formula but with less defined arrangements that make that formula the defining feature.

Rating: 3/5

On April 29, 1985, the merger of Gentry, Iron Fist and Powerfool culminated in the release of a self-titled EP credited to a quartet of young Germans now calling themselves Helloween. That 5-track mini-album was foundational not only for the new group but also for Noise Records, the upstart independent label capturing the rapidly developing German metal scene in the mid ‘80s, and although it wasn’t the first major Noise release (Running Wild and Grave Digger had released their debuts a year earlier) the Helloween EP blew the doors wide open and immediately positioned this particular outfit as vanguards for a new wave of faster and more energetic form of heavy metal. And with the release of their first full-length 7 months later, the combination of Kai Hansen, Michael “Weiki” Weikath, Markus Grosskopf and Ingo Schwichtenberg were poised for something bigger than Germany (or Noise) could contain.

Over the next four decades, Helloween would indeed break out of Germany and outgrow Noise, though not without strain, struggle and tragedy on their long and winding journey: it took a lot of churn, growing pains, lessons learned and letting go of grievances to get them to where they are now, which is rather shockingly the best place of their entire career. The ensuing 17 albums the band in all its incarnations would release showed a group of individuals both working within a defined template and audibly chafing against it (in fact, their worst albums were the ones that slavishly stuck to the blueprint), and what makes this discography more interesting than their legacy would suggest is how their most acclaimed efforts have moments that verge on self-sabotage while their more controversial albums were not only much better than originally received but contain some of their most brilliant material. And through it all we can hear both the confluence and push/pull of individual songwriters (similar to their idols in Queen, the members rarely wrote together) and the power dynamics they indicated, both for better and worse.

So while #1 on this series may be rather obvious, nothing below that is a given as Helloween’s occasionally fractured history has peaks and valleys across most of their five distinct eras. And perhaps just as interesting is that most of the entries at the bottom emerged during the most stable run of their career…

#17: My God-Given Right (2015)

“Why should I wait, what is left there for me?”

With their fifteenth record, Helloween had maintained the same lineup for 10 years and 7 releases, making My God-Given Right the latest from what was by far the longest-lasting iteration of the group. And by this point everything about the band and their music was set in place: Andi Deris had long since established himself as the band’s primary composer and contributed half the album’s tracks mostly on his own while Michael Weikath and Sascha Gerstner wrote most of the rest and Markus Grosskopf added a stray, and Charlie Bauerfeind was on board for his seventh straight album as producer. The album ran about an hour long and had a mix of power metal anthems (the Deris and Gerstner numbers), dynamic but awkwardly phrased and somewhat cranky Queen-inspired heavy metal (Weikath’s domain) and a couple long ones.

In other words, My God-Given Right followed the exact same formula as every other album made by the Deris/Weikath/Gerstner/Grosskopf/Löble lineup. And for whatever claims Weikath and Deris made about the record being more “open” it was the same as it ever was, only increasingly rote and stale. Yes, the template could still produce catchy and entertaining tunes like “Lost in America”, “Battle’s Won” and “Heroes” (not coincidentally the singles) and the members of Helloween were far too in command of their craft to put out a true stinker. But even if nothing was flat-out terrible there was little that really stuck out either and the 13 tracks both blended together and grew exhausting over an hour, and Weikath’s grumpiness (with each album it felt more and more like he was writing and playing with gritted teeth) was growing tiresome.

And while the band’s consistency and stability paid off insofar as My God-Given Right was actually one of their bigger records and found the band playing to its largest American crowds ever up to that point, those audiences were mostly there for songs created long before this lineup got together and largely tolerated the newer material. Helloween seemed to recognize this, and even if their very next move was driven far more by business than creativity, the next few years would shake things up in a highly impactful way…

Rating: 2/5

#16: 7 Sinners (2010)

“I love it true and played with fire”

Markus Grosskopf has always been the least prolific songwriter in Helloween, but his contributions are often effortlessly quirky and charming and have a way of distinguishing themselves outside of the band’s increasingly rigid template. So it was nice that he got a couple songs on 7 Sinners, which aimed to be a consciously heavier album (it came immediately after the semi-acoustic/orchestral Unarmed, which nobody including the band themselves liked) but felt labored and tried too hard. This was one of their stranger records: the formula hadn’t changed and for the most part the guys were writing the same way about the same things, but Charlie Bauerfeind’s production was more bludgeoning and the band followed suit in a way that blunted some of the hooks and didn’t always make sense for the songs. To be sure, the songs weren’t entirely there either: Deris once again dominated the songwriting and was not at the top of his game, while Gerstner contributed three tracks which proved he was the least consistent songwriter in the band even though he gets as many if not more tracks than Michael Weikath. And an hour of this was simply too much to take, especially when so much of the material was nondescript yet delivered like a 2x4 to the skull.

That said, there was nearly half an album of good songs on 7 Sinners: “Where the Sinners Go” and “Are You Metal?” opened the record and were the stronger Deris tracks (and not for nothing, the latter offered up the header for this very newsletter)- both were energetic, fun and catchy headbangers that promised better than what the record could ultimately deliver. By the same token, both of Weikath’s numbers (“Raise the Noise” and “The Sage, the Fool, the Sinner”) were engaging and present in a way that actually felt unusual for the typically irritable founding guitarist and the aforementioned Grosskopf ably followed suit with “World of Fantasy” and “If a Mountain Could Talk”, the latter of which was far better than its title suggested.

7 Sinners actually did pretty well for the band: it didn’t really change anyone’s minds about Helloween, but “Are You Metal?” gave the album and Helloween continued momentum at that phase and further solidified the lineup, even if the rest of the record quickly faded from memory.

Rating: 2.5/5

#15: Straight Out of Hell (2013)

“Some always try to reign with fire”

“Nabataea” was the most ambitious Helloween track in nearly 20 years: a historical epic about an ancient Middle Eastern kingdom, the 7-minute Andi Deris number was as bombastic and grand as Iron Maiden but heavier and more direct. It was also their best track in some time and stood in contrast to most of the rest of Straight Out of Hell which otherwise stuck to the template. The album was an improvement from 7 Sinners in that the highs were higher: besides “Nabataea” there was Michael Weikath’s “Burning Sun” alongside Markus Grosskopf’s “Far from the Stars” and “Straight Out of Hell”, all of which were delivered with a buoyancy that lent credence to the band’s claims about making a “happy” record. After 7 Sinners went too far in trying to amp up the aggression, Straight Out of Hell found Helloween back in their zone and the 60-minute runtime felt less burdensome.

The upshot was that the highlights made the filler stand out that much more, and there was no shortage of filler on Straight Out of Hell. “Live Now!” and “Waiting for the Thunder” were both boilerplate and a little patronizing, and Sascha Gerstner’s “Asshole” was so thuddingly stupid that its catchiness actually made it even more offensive. This was one of those Helloween albums that was deliberate to the point of self-conscious, adhering to the band’s formula and trusting that it would do most of the heavy lifting. And on Straight Out of Hell’s better moments the formula did work, but not enough to make the album a consistently enjoyable experience.

Rating: 2.5/5

#14: Keeper of the Seven Keys: The Legacy (2005)

“With the best years of our lives we paid our share”

Even though there was no overarching concept to the first two Keeper of the Seven Keys albums, the decision to revive the branding for Helloween’s eleventh album was nothing more than a cash grab and plea for attention: Markus Grosskopf’s claim that a Japanese promoter told Weiki the current lineup (which was technically changing with the departure of then-drummer Stefan Schwarzmann) was so strong that they should make a new Keeper record was straight-up ludicrous (not that he didn’t hear that, but that anyone would take it the least bit seriously). And sure enough, Keeper of the Seven Keys: The Legacy had absolutely nothing to do with either predecessor bearing the moniker outside of containing two 10-minute plus epics that supposedly followed up on the Keeper “concept”- but again, there was no concept. Adding to the insult was that The Legacy was presented as a double album even though at 77 minutes it could’ve fit on a single CD and a good portion of the first half (the Gerstner songs, another standard-issue Deris “cheeky” semi-pop metal number) was average at best and the Candace Night duet “Light the Universe” accomplished nothing.

But by the same token, being at least somewhat self-conscious about the very real legacy of the original Keeper albums forced the then-new iteration of Helloween to work a bit harder, and while “The King for a 1,000 Years” (which didn’t work hard on its grammar) was a fine enough opener that came reasonably close to earning its nearly 14-minute runtime, the second disc was consistently good-to-great: Deris’ “Occasion Avenue” was the real epic that delivered from beginning to end, Weikath’s “Do You Know What You Are Fighting For” was one of his best latter-day songs while his “Get It Up” was goofy but for once sounded like he wanted to be there, both of Deris’ shorter numbers were enjoyable and the Deris/Grosskopf closer “My Life for One More Day” was an emotive closer that actually felt like it was closing the loop from not just “Occasion Avenue” but “Keeper of the Seven Keys” itself. While the second half of The Legacy wasn’t enough to make the entire affair much more than middling- and the title still chafes 20 years later- it was strong enough to make it one of the only post-2002/pre-”United” albums worth coming back to.

Rating: 3/5

#13: The Dark Ride (2000)

“I know what’s ahead, today would be a good day to die”

Helloween was in a good spot at the end of the ‘90s: having not only put out three well-received albums (plus an enjoyable live record and pleasant covers record) but also mostly bounced back from their divisive and disastrous early ‘90s iteration, they were seemingly riding high after also finally securing a stable lineup that while not carrying the mystique of the Keepers era had built up a strong discography in its own right. But cracks were forming behind the scenes: while Roland Grapow played a significant role in keeping the band afloat creatively in the first half of the decade, he was none too pleased that only one of his songs made it onto The Time of the Oath and he came up completely empty on Better Than Raw. Meanwhile, Uli Kusch had blossomed into a strong writer and had contributed to many of Better Than Raw’s best tracks, and that began to further upset the power balance- ever since Master of the Rings Helloween was generally led by Michael Weikath and Andi Deris, but with a drummer beginning to assert himself more plus a guitarist trying to reassert his place in the hierarchy things were bound to come to a head.

Adding to this was a creeping sense that after three albums in a row that (at least partly by necessity) followed a specific approach and sound it was time for a change. There was (fortunately) no chance of Helloween going nü metal, but Kusch and especially Grapow were ready to embrace some heavier sounds and it was the two of them that pushed to bring Roy Z. in to produce the next record. And given the widespread acclaim afforded to Accident of Birth and especially The Chemical Wedding, the rest of the band were willing to give it a shot, and for that matter Deris himself blogged that “none other than Bruce Dickinson” visited the studio and voiced his approval about the material they were cooking up.

And even with Charlie Bauerfeind on hand as co-producer, The Dark Ride was indeed a relatively heavier affair, with downtuned guitars, less space between the instruments and the melodies dialed back slightly. Grapow’s two tracks really leaned into the idea of a darker and heavier Helloween, and both “Escalation 666” and the closing title track were foreboding, intense and pretty awesome. Kusch also made the most of the new setup, as his “The Departed (Sun is Going Down)” was an effects-drenched but super catchy and propulsive highlight that to this day sounds like nothing else in the entire Helloween discography. These tracks didn’t deviate from Helloween’s core sound so much as introduce new layers and dimensions to their existing foundation, because between the band’s inherent craft as writers and players and Deris’ vocal style it was all still recognizably the work of these five individuals. And it is worth noting that upon its initial release, The Dark Ride mostly received favorable reviews; it was only after the album didn’t sell as well as hoped that people began to criticize the sound and production of the record, and even then it felt like it was more Weiki and Deris than anyone else including the fans. With Markus Grosskopf mostly staying neutral though still largely siding with Weiki on all matters only Grapow and Kusch defended The Dark Ride, and that proved to be the catalyst for their expulsion (although there was other internal and business drama that fed into this- both Grapow and Kusch expressed shock over their dismissal, but Deris has repeatedly stated that they “betrayed” the band somehow, though over 20 years later nobody has gone into any detail about what really happened).

But while The Dark Ride was indeed a very flawed record most of its sins have nothing to do with Grapow, Kusch or Roy Z. After all, 6 of its 12 tracks were credited to Andi Deris, and they showed a songwriter who couldn’t commit to a single direction so he just threw everything against the wall: “We Damn the Night” was a kickass banger that would’ve fit on The Time of the Oath but still made total sense here, but “Mirror Mirror” and “I Live for Your Pain” tried to split the difference between light and dark and ended up muddled, while “If I Could Fly” and “Immortal” were otherwise typical ballad-y numbers that weren’t compromised by the production. Weiki’s “All Over the Nations” and “Salvation” were similarly of a piece with his writing over the past 5 years (and also fairly strong), with only the latter maybe sounding a bit less bright in this setting. And that Kusch’s “Mr. Torture” not only included pearls like “Mr. Torture sells pain to the housewives in Spain” but was released as a single showed that they really couldn’t settle on a consistent approach.

The reality of The Dark Ride is that it was far more controversial to the members of Helloween than the rest of the world, which mostly just saw it as a mixed bag. The issue wasn’t that they listened to too many outside voices, it was that they didn’t have a clear vision for what they were trying to accomplish. And if any one member was to blame it was the individual who was not only credited with saving the band just a few years earlier but would continue to dominate the songwriting for decades to come.

Rating: 3/5

Coming Up: The lineups change, and it gets a lot better from here…

May 29, 2000; EMI/Portrait/Columbia

“I will hope my soul will fly, so I will live forever”

The Context

Steve Harris was the only one who couldn’t see that Virtual XI was a disaster. Iron Maiden’s second album with Blaze Bayley at the mic actually wasn’t anywhere near as bad as its reception indicated, but it was a complete bomb both critically and especially commercially that found a legendary live act struggling to fill clubs. And while a loud handful of extreme diehards and contrarians defended the album and Blaze in particular on internet chat rooms and message boards, others on these same forums began posting mp3s of Blaze absolutely butchering “The Trooper” and other classics while rumors spread of Nicko McBrain storming out of dressing rooms in a huff yelling about the band’s state of affairs (and not really trying to hide his dissatisfaction in interviews). Through all of this, Harris loudly stood by his vision and his frontman, claiming he was perfectly happy with smaller venues and swearing that not only were the gigs amazing but the two albums they made with Blaze (especially The X Factor) were among the best Maiden records of all time. Not only that, but he also spoke of songs that were already written for the next record with Blaze at the helm.

Elsewhere in the world, Bruce Dickinson was reveling in the mass critical and fan acclaim for his two most recent solo records: after a wandering (and highly underrated) spell in the mid ‘90s that left him commercially left for dead, Accident of Birth was welcomed as a return to form with only minor grumblings of opportunism, but the reception for The Chemical Wedding (released 6 months after Virtual XI) bordered on rapturous with that album appearing on several Top 10 lists. The Chemical Wedding was ultra-heavy but also melodic, sharply written and immaculately produced by Roy Z., but it didn’t sell a ton of copies and outside of South America Dickinson was not a hot property as a solo act. Furthermore, what went unspoken was that while Bruce and his killer solo band (which included Adrian Smith) sounded awesome on stage and generally went down a storm, deep down Dickinson felt he was meant for much bigger stages and crowds.

As it happened, Rod Smallwood and Sanctuary continued managing Bruce even after he left Maiden. And Rod being Rod, he knew what needed to be done and forced Steve Harris to first recognize that Iron Maiden couldn’t carry on with Blaze Bayley and then accept that there was only one viable option for a singer even as Harris was reaching out to Doogie White (who had auditioned for Maiden some 5 years earlier after Bruce left). Overtures were made and Bruce, despite claiming doubts after The Chemical Wedding was so acclaimed, agreed to meet with Steve after Eddie Casillas supposedly told Dickinson “the world needs Iron Maiden right now”. From there things moved quickly, and while Bruce claimed the decision for Adrian Smith to return to the band alongside him was completely separate from the conversations he was having about his own status, in either event the prodigal singer’s reunion was actually less of a surprise than Smith (who hadn’t been that much more than a weekend warrior the decade he was out of the group) coming back to the fold and furthermore playing alongside both Dave Murray and Janick Gers as part of a three-guitar lineup.

But Bruce Dickinson’s decision to rejoin Iron Maiden came with two conditions that would not only establish ground rules for their next album but ultimately recalibrate the band’s entire approach to making records. First, Dickinson famously disliked Steve Harris’ home studio (where every Maiden album since No Prayer for the Dying had been made) and wanted to work in a location that was both more professionally set up and also closer to neutral territory. Even bigger than that was Bruce’s stipulation that the band work with an outside producer, further wresting control away from Harris. It wasn’t just about power dynamics: it was an open secret that Harris had lost a good amount of his hearing from years on stage, and his taking over production duties after Martin Birch’s retirement resulted in by far the worst sounding Iron Maiden albums of their entire career. Dickinson, on the other hand, spent his years in the wilderness engaging a diverse group of producers from Keith Olsen to Jack Endino to Roy Z. and just as important kept his ear to the ground and knew what a good recording sounded like. Harris was surprisingly open to the idea and went so far as to suggest Bob Rock- a very strange and misguided choice, but actually sensible insofar as Steve was showing that he was willing to engage with the outside world and thinking that Maiden’s comeback could be helmed by the guy who produced the biggest heavy metal album of all time. After Rock declined the offer, the band opted for Kevin Shirley, whose track record was highly varied (great work mixing Rush’s Counterparts, some success producing Silverchair and Dream Theater but also terrible Journey and Aerosmith albums) but appealed to the band with his recommendation that they record live with minor overdubs.

And so the newly reconstituted Iron Maiden headed to Paris (after a short run of rapturously received shows got the lineup up to speed) to record the all-important comeback. The album was barely finished before chat rooms lit up with word that Bruce Dickinson and Adrian Smith’s return to Maiden would be titled Majesty of Gaia with a pre-release single written by Dickinson and Smith called “Heaven’s Gate”. And for years that would be an inside joke amongst the commentariat, a quick way to dismiss nonsense chatter. But then in May 2000 “The Wicker Man” (the first Smith/Harris/Dickinson co-write since “The Evil That Men Do”) heralded the arrival of their twelfth album…

The (Original) Reception

The release of “The Wicker Man” jumpstarted the Brave New World cycle with a rousing call to arms that almost completely restored the world’s faith in Iron Maiden in the space of 4-ish minutes. The opening track was easily the most direct and straight-between-the-eyes Maiden single since “Be Quick or Be Dead” and made clear their intention to reclaim their place atop the metal hierarchy, and interestingly it was Adrian Smith more than Bruce Dickinson who took center stage with both his power chords and rhythmic crunch as it reminded everyone of the very specific strengths he brought to the band (and that neither Dave Murray nor Janick Gers possessed on their own). By the same token, the heft and focus of “The Wicker Man” made it feel more connected to Dickinson’s recent solo material, though the clattering of Steve Harris’ bass (even if Kevin Shirley was leading production, ‘Arry stayed on as co-producer) and Nicko McBrain’s blocky drumming were unmistakably Iron Maiden. Some complained (because of course there were going to be a few naysayers on the world wide web) that certain moves (such as the closing “whoa-oh-oh-OH!”s) were too obvious or that the riff was a little close to Judas Priest’s “Running Wild” or that it sounded too much like a Bruce Dickinson solo track, but they couldn’t drown out the excitement that most felt about one of the most important heavy metal bands of all time bringing back two of its most beloved members and returning with confidence, focus and purpose.

But while that momentum carried over to Brave New World’s chart positions (Top 10 in the UK, Top 40 in the US), the arena dates mostly sold out (most notably the Madison Square Garden show, which sold out in 2 hours and was the first time Maiden played there since 1987) and initial reviews- particularly among the extremely thirsty and hyperbolic British metal rags- were very positive, once people had a chance to hear the whole album reactions were a bit more mixed. Virtually everyone agreed that this was their best record since Seventh Son of a Seventh Son, while Kevin Shirley was praised for credibly reproducing their live sound on record and hearing Bruce’s voice over noodly guitars and galloping bass again was especially refreshing in the wake of nü metal’s hostile takeover of the genre. But once the first wave of excitement died down, fans began to call out that “The Wicker Man” was a bit of a red herring as it was one of only 3 songs under 5 minutes and one of only 2 tracks that Adrian Smith had a hand in writing (the other being the similarly economical “The Fallen Angel”) while a staggering number of tunes played out with soft intros giving way to heavier verses and choruses that mostly consisted of one or two lines repeated over and over, and these tunes usually ran around 7 minutes or longer. This still sounded like Iron Maiden, but it wasn’t exactly Seventh Son and it sure as hell wasn’t Piece of Mind.

These mixed emotions carried over to the Brave New World tour, which saw the band start off with the album’s first three tracks in sequence and make plain that they were committed to their new material and had no interest in being a nostalgia act. Over about 7 months of shows Maiden would end up playing 8 of the 10 songs on Brave New World, though “Out of the Silent Planet” would only get a small handful of airings despite it being released as the second and last single from the album. And while “The Wicker Man” and “Blood Brothers” quickly became crowd favorites, “The Mercenary” and “Dream of Mirrors” were mostly tolerated by audiences waiting for “The Trooper” and “The Number of the Beast”.

But the band was mostly unified in standing behind Brave New World, with even the usually laid-back Dave Murray and Janick Gers proclaiming their eagerness to write more progressive and mature songs, though while of course Bruce not only enthused about the progressive elements but also called Brave New World one of the band’s best records Steve continued to maintain that The X Factor was better- while sitting next to Bruce. What was made apparent to both fans and critics was that while Iron Maiden was seizing the opportunity that renewed interest in the band had afforded them they were adamant about doing so their own way, following their own muse and trusting that the quality of the songs and the strength of their live show would sustain them.

How Does It Hold Up?

Maiden was proven right about that last point (more on that later), but even more than reasserting the band’s commercial viability (it approached Gold certification in the US, which for a legacy metal band was enough to convince Sony to keep them on) Brave New World unlocked a new kind of creativity for Iron Maiden even if all of the individual components were recognizably them. “The Wicker Man” may have been the most immediate tune on the album, but there was more than enough going on to merit repeated listening, and the record’s pleasures not only revealed themselves over time but often found new ways to sneak up on listeners over the years.

As mentioned earlier, the entire band and especially Bruce spoke of aiming for something approaching progressive metal without going all the way over to Dream Theater and maintaining Maiden’s identity and core sound. And to that end, many of the album’s finest moments created a mood and followed it to logical endpoints, segueing from melodic to heavy mostly seamlessly and luxuriating in the opportunities that came with having three very distinct guitarists playing off each other. If Adrian brought an incredibly sturdy rhythm guitar backbone that made “The Fallen Angel” a bulldozer, Dave’s liquid solos and Janick’s jabbing riffs and leads added musical counterpoints that added up to something far greater than the sum of its parts. These often-subtle intricacies came to life throughout “Ghost of the Navigator”, “Out of the Silent Planet” and “The Nomad” (one of three Dave Murray co-writes, a record for the soft-spoken guitarist), the latter of which especially revealed new depths with additional listens. And the particular brilliance of Kevin Shirley’s approach as a producer was to give each player the space to respond intuitively, so even as there was a lot going on inside the songs there was no clutter. All of this enabled the band to sound cohesive and working in lockstep to bolster the songwriting, where numbers “Ghost of the Navigator” and the title track had interweaving guitars, bass, drums and vocals ebbing and flowing towards their journeys and destinations.

And the songs were indeed there, though what they revealed was that even if not everyone in the band besides Steve Harris absolutely loved The X Factor or Virtual XI, nobody in the group- not even Bruce- repudiated them either. “The Mercenary”, “Dream of Mirrors” and “The Nomad” were originally written during the Virtual XI sessions (with Blaze claiming to have written some lyrics for “Dream of Mirrors”) and furthermore Harris had begun writing “Blood Brothers” around 1997, and all of these would’ve made some sense on a Blaze Bayley-fronted follow-up to Virtual XI. So the fact that a not only was a full 40% of Brave New World conceived with a different singer in mind but that everyone including Bruce saw fit to retain these tracks instead of starting fresh speaks to a general alignment in their value as songs. And to that point, they continued the subtle evolution of the band’s songwriting that first popped up on Virtual XI- if “The Mercenary” was a fairly direct Gers/Harris charger, “Dream of Mirrors”, '“The Nomad” and “Out of the Silent Planet” added distinct musical and lyrical phrasings and twists that, while in and of themselves foundationally Maiden, weren’t typically presented in this manner, in the process showing that the famously hardheaded and often myopic Steve Harris was in his own way willing to try new things (it was not at all a coincidence that even though Steve had a hand in writing every track for the first time since Killers he only wrote “Blood Brothers” completely by himself; by his own admission he became more of a curator adding bits and bobs to Bruce and the guitarists’ compositions). This extended to the lyrics, which returned to the faux-literary themes of yore mostly without rehashing and in fact adding no small amount of gravitas from years and experience: Bruce and Steve’s lyrics were often reflective but never pandering or solipsistic, and “Blood Brothers” was genuinely moving.

The apparent realization was that the writing over the past several years hadn’t so much suffered as been underserved by weak production and a vocalist who didn’t have the wherewithal, vision, charisma and talent (sorry Blaze, but you’re no Bruce) to both push back and push harder. It all came together on “The Thin Line Between Love and Hate”, the 8 and half-minute dark horse Murray/Harris masterpiece that closed Brave New World: it had verses and choruses but didn’t commit to a verse/chorus structure and lyrics that alternated between somewhat crotchety, sage, hopeful and weary, full-throated alongside passionate vocals and band that was absolutely on fire and vibing on each other, so much so that even when Nicko missed a cue at the end and called it out in frustration, Steve’s response was “let’s keep it!”- and they not only kept the mistake but included the hot mic dialogue. In those final moments of alternating leads and stirring melodies over elegant strumming and steady but complex drumming and one last vocal that may have at first played as wobbly but really just sounded so alive, the humanity and glory of Iron Maiden shined brighter than a million suns.

But then again, every Iron Maiden album- even the classics- has some questionable moves, and Brave New World had enough that, while not coming close to derailing the whole enterprise did give the naysayers credibility. And as is so often the case the very same qualities that drove the record’s finest moments also led to some uncomfortable moments: “Dream of Mirrors” had a few strong components but came together awkwardly, “The Nomad” got off to a similarly clunky start and “The Mercenary” felt boilerplate and so hamfisted that even Bruce couldn’t completely sell Steve’s lyrics which read as an attempt at rewriting the dreadful “The Assassin”. That these were all written during the Blaze years indicated that if anything Bruce should’ve put his foot down more- he was open about making a conscious effort to play nice and get along with Steve, but while these tracks all sounded significantly better in this setting they could’ve used more polishing in the arrangements and especially the lyrics. And all the criticism about the long intros and longer tunes coming in one after the other was fair: “The Wicker Man” was followed by three epics in a row, which was a lot to take in even though all were great tracks in their own right. But again, with repeated listens the flow of Brave New World made much more sense and presented a wealth of riches, it was just a bit strange and distancing that what was supposed to not only serve a major comeback but also present Iron Maiden to newer and younger audiences wasn’t as immediately inviting at first.

The Legacy

For the next several years, the “not immediately inviting” part was what would stay in people’s minds whenever Brave New World came up, and some reviewers would even walk back their initial praise. But several things happened over the intervening decades: for one, as this lineup of Iron Maiden settled in and became the longest-lasting iteration of the group by far, they doubled down on this album’s approach and if anything leaned even harder on the prog elements to the point where their last three records each had multiple 9+ minute tracks. And as both old and new fans got acclimated to what the sticker on Brave New World called “21st Century Maiden” many came back to this album and began to appreciate and even savor the melodies, intricacies and performances.

The members of Iron Maiden certainly did, as most of them still point to this as a decisive turning point in their careers- of course the reunion had a lot to do with it, but they also spoke of the smoothness of the recording and its success as giving them confidence in their way of working, and to that point they continued to not only work with Kevin Shirley on every subsequent album but gave him more control over the mixing and mastering. Likewise, Steve Harris took to his new role as compositional curator, with each guitarist- particularly Adrian Smith- taking on much more active roles as songwriters to the benefit of the music. Indeed, until Senjutsu every Maiden album only contained one solo Harris composition. And true to Bruce’s original stipulation for coming back to the fold, not once have they set foot in Steve’s home studio, instead alternating between London and Paris (with a brief detour back to Compass Point for The Final Frontier).

Brave New World was both a reset as well as the beginning of a sustained era of success (they have consistently filled arenas and stadiums all over the world and in 2026 are selling out stadiums in the US, and all of their albums since have charted in the Top 20 in the US- with their last three in the Top 5- and Top 5 in the UK), and not for nothing is it the sole 21st century Maiden album that still appears on setlists as “The Wicker Man” and “Blood Brothers” continue to play to rapturous applause and singalongs all over the world (for that matter, “Brave New World” gets played every so often as well). But in resetting and recalibrating after a decade of critical and commercial drift, the album reannounced Iron Maiden on the international scene in a major way by proudly declaring their singularity, and if some (*coughBraveWordscough*) still complain that the new records don’t sound like Powerslave, many more have embraced Maiden’s evolution, maturity and determination to move forward creatively on their own terms.

Rating: 4/5

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May 29, 1995, Noise

“And I wonder why, but there is no turning back”

The Context

Insanity and Genius was a well-received course correction after the diverse and divisive Sigh No More saw a conflicted Kai Hansen looking at the world with ambivalence instead of his usual optimism, but of course the story wasn’t quite that simple. First, there was the requisite lineup change as Jan Rubach and Thomas Nack were recruited from Anesthesia to take over the rhythm section. Moreover, even if Gamma Ray’s third album was more traditionally heavy metal it wasn’t of a piece with Heading for Tomorrow: whereas Hansen’s first record after leaving Helloween was an upbeat expression of confidence and good cheer that played like an extension of his writing on the Keepers albums, Insanity and Genius felt powered by cynicism and cocaine. Rubach and Nack were rooted in thrash and brought that to their playing, giving the songs a relentless propulsion that often overwhelmed the rather strong songcraft, and Hansen and Dirk Schlächter’s riffing largely followed suit while Ralf Scheepers still sounded like Rob Halford only much crankier as he fought to be heard over the redlined production (again, cocaine).

Nonetheless, Insanity and Genius was a strong comeback (even though Sigh No More was much better than its original reception indicated) that loudly asserted Gamma Ray’s position as loud and proud torchbearers for heavy metal right at the moment most of the genre’s bigger acts were running away from the term. And with the supporting “Melodic Metal Strikes Back” tour with Rage also garnering favorable notices- and not coincidentally, Helloween playing to venues at 10% capacity around the same time- Gamma Ray might not have been the biggest band in the world, or even the biggest metal band, but they were respected and doing well enough in Europe to be seen as a credible act.

But of course more changes were afoot. As Judas Priest began to emerge from the ashes of Rob Halford’s departure, they first considered Devin Townsend and D.C. Cooper before getting serious about finding someone with a comparable tenor and range, which naturally led them to Ralf Scheepers. But while Scheepers continues to downplay the experience, noting that he never formally auditioned for the gig, the fact was that not only was he contacted by someone in the Priest camp but that conversation was also serious enough that it gave him the push to leave Gamma Ray even if the existing reality was that the 7-hour commute from Ralf’s home in Stuttgart to the band’s Hamburg base was increasingly untenable.

And if Dirk Schlächter had his way that wouldn’t have been all as far as the lineup. Schlächter’s first instrument was bass and the 4-string was always his preferred weapon of choice, so the original plan for the next record was for him and Jan Rubach to switch places. But Rubach pushed back and the group relented this one time, kicking the can on the matter for the moment (more on this later).

But even with all of this, Hansen and Gamma Ray still had positive momentum on their side, so there was never a question as to whether they would carry on. And the vocalist question was quickly resolved once Schlächter offered that since Hansen wrote almost all of the lyrics, arranged the vocal lines and sang on the demos he might as well just take over singing duties altogether.

So this somewhat streamlined version of the band marched into the studio with a batch of songs largely written solely by Hansen and remained determined to ignore the fact that heavy metal was at its lowest ebb in 1995…

The (Original) Reception

…and those who heard Land of the Free rejoiced in Gamma Ray’s unabashed embrace of a genre that was spat on. Three decades later it is nearly impossible to overstate just how far metal had fallen off: most of the press treated the genre as a joke at best, major labels were shedding virtually everyone even partially associated with the genre, bands were disassociating themselves from the term and groups that once packed arenas were struggling to fill clubs. The situation was slightly better in Europe, but only slightly as metal retreated to the underground- something that would eventually pay dividends over the next couple decades but at the time reflected how little the masses cared about this music. And in the midst of all this arrives a defiantly rousing and cheerful heavy metal record by a band led by a singer/guitarist who simply did not consider doing anything else.

This proved to a matter a great deal, and in ways that few could have foreseen. For although Gamma Ray was a commercial nonentity outside of mainland Europe and Japan, word began to spread on chatrooms all over the world about bands that were not only still out there playing heavy metal, and not only still making albums, but actually making good and even great records. That’s right: before the internet destroyed the business model record labels had employed for roughly 50 years, the world wide web was an information superhighway that enabled messages from all over the globe to sail the cyber sea, and it quickly became a place for music lovers of all stripes to congregate, discuss and debate the artists and genres they loved and (especially) hated. It was in these spaces where people who were thousands of miles from any venue Iron Maiden was touring learned that Blaze Bayley could not handle his new band’s discography on stage and was thus the reason for their decline (these chatrooms would also be the incubator for the rumor that Maiden’s first album with Bruce Dickinson and Adrian Smith back in the fold was called Majesty of Gaia and the lead single would be “Heaven’s Gate”, but that’s a conversation for another time), but really the net was a refuge for people who still loved heavy metal to talk about the music with others who felt the same way, even if they would never speak to each other in person.

And that was how word about an album called Land of the Free began to spread all over. Here was a band playing straight up heavy metal- many were starting to call Gamma Ray and likeminded groups out of Germany in particular “power metal”- and not catering to trends but rather delivering melodic riffs, high energy rhythms and soaring choruses with enthusiasm and conviction. This was the real alternative to what was going on in music, even if it was a conscious throwback to a sound that only 5 years earlier seemed to rule the world. And Land of the Free was the standard bearer and point of entry for many outside Europe to glom onto, as many around the world, particularly in Asia and North America, went online and saw things like “well, if you like Gamma Ray, there’s this other German band Blind Guardian who’s maybe even more awesome” and “Rage is pretty good too, they toured with Gamma Ray but you should really check out Stratovarius” and “Running Wild’s last record is just ok, but their earlier stuff really kicks ass”. This was the new word of mouth, and it is not at all an overstatement that Gamma Ray’s profile benefited enormously from the cumulative raves coming from all those random chatrooms- although it didn’t translate to blockbuster sales and they wouldn’t really become an international touring act for another 10 or so years, Land of the Free broke through in large part because enough randos shouted about a heavy metal album released in 1995 to other randos who would’ve otherwise had no idea anybody was actually playing this kind of music anymore. And in a lot of ways the story of Gamma Ray took a decisive turn not only because of Land of the Free as an album, but the specific way its acclaim was spread.

How Does It Hold Up?

Kai Hansen’s obstinance, perseverance and love of Judas Priest played no small part in Land of the Free’s reception. But more than being steadfast, Kai Hansen had written a tight, focused and relentlessly catchy set of songs that articulated his vision, worldview and talents. Only he would’ve flipped the usual order of things and opened the album with a nearly 9-minute epic (well, there was also Iron Maiden beginning The X Factor with “Sign of the Cross” around the same time, but again that’s a whole other conversation), and “Rebellion in Dreamland” was a remarkable statement of intent. First, it demonstrated that even if he was no Ralf Scheepers, Hansen could convincingly handle himself as a lead vocalist- the singing lessons he had been taking since leaving Helloween paid off in a big way, and from this point forward nobody would question his place at the mic. And even better was the natural confidence in the track from its thoughtful arrangement to the clarity of the performance: everything was in its right place and the song flowed perfectly even as it moved from steady to charging to breakneck back to mid-paced, and through it all was Hansen leading the way both vocally and with his riffing and lyrics that rejected irony or cynicism. “Rebellion in Dreamland” was ambitious but not mannered or labored- it simply was.

And that was just the opening track, after which the band wisely went straight into the full-throttle power metal of “Man on a Mission” which was lyrically aligned with its predecessor (Hansen vaguely spoke of Land of the Free as a concept album, though he could never articulate what that concept was and there was no discernable storyline. Rather, there was a common thread in many of the lyrics around notions of freedom and a slight anti-war bent) but stayed pedal to the metal outside of a little Queen-like interlude. As a collection of tunes, Land of the Free was actually no less diverse than Sigh No More: there were upbeat singalongs like “Land of the Free” and “Time to Break Free”; frantic thrashers “Gods of Deliverance” and “Salvation’s Calling”, both of which were not coincidentally written or co-written by Jan Rubach; mid-paced ponderers in the form of “All of the Damned” and “Abyss of the Void” and a ballad (the Schlächter-composed ballad “Farewell”, featuring guest vocals from Hansi Kürsch). But this album had a consistent sound and feel throughout, in no small part due to the thoughtful co-production by Hansen, Schlächter and Charlie Bauerfeind: whereas Sigh No More could feel disjointed and like a jumble of (actually rather good) songs thrown together, Land of the Free played like a cohesive statement with logical ebbs and flows.

It was that feeling of cohesion that gave the record added significance and weight to the commentariat who were so hungry for someone- anyone- to not only play this type of music without disclaimers but do so at a high level. Right as metal’s icons were either in strategic retreat or putting out substandard material, here was a group that clearly enjoyed playing metal and knew how to craft memorable tunes. And when those tunes worked- like on “Rebellion in Dreamland”, the soaring title track (featuring Michael Kiske’s intentionally overpowering backup vocals on the chorus), the ass-whomping “Gods of Deliverance” and ponderous closer “Afterlife” (written in the wake of Ingo Schwichtenberg’s suicide, its tentative nature fitting for an ex-bandmate trying to make sense of it all)- Land of the Free was a marvel to behold.

But… listening with fresh ears all these years later, one can admit that even if the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, some of those parts don’t quite congeal and are more admirable for what they attempt than what they actually achieve. “Man on a Mission” was initially seen as a cornerstone track on the record, but on its own Thomas Nack’s pummeling percussion can get grating. Likewise, “Farewell” veered even closer to Queen than “The Silence” but without a clear hook, “Salvation’s Calling” found Hansen screeching aimlessly and with a strange bitterness, and the Queen references made their way to “Time to Break Free” which found Kai Hansen giving Michael Kiske air cover to vent about his recent departure from Helloween- odd, since Hansen mostly maintained cordial relations with Michael Weikath after he left the band but wrote lyrics voicing Kiske’s disdain. It was a strangely sour number on a record that otherwise aimed to rally, and coming in towards the end of the album began to put some of its earlier flaws into relief.

The Legacy

Land of the Free continues to be cited as a key milestone in the development of power metal as a major force in the late ‘90s, but this appears to be a case of the vibe outweighing the songs. After all, even when the album is singled out as one of the best power metal records of all time and/or Gamma Ray’s best, the vast majority of the time only “Rebellion in Dreamland” and the title track are singled out. To be sure, Gamma Ray mostly owned their lane as their counterparts in Rage and Running Wild were in flux (Black in Mind and Masquerade found both bands settling in new lineups, while the former was Rage’s first after departing Noise and the latter was a quickly recorded so that Running Wild could leave Noise). But consider that less than two months before Land of the Free came out Blind Guardian released Imaginations from the Other Side, and if Gamma Ray had momentum and history on their side the internet was just as quick to notice this other German metal band delivering something not only just as strong but with smarter arrangements and even more focus. Indeed, if one wants to take a close look at heavy metal music from 1995, it was arguably Imaginations that really jumped out and struck a nerve, as it not only garnered just as much love from the message boards but accelerated Blind Guardian’s trajectory in bigger ways.

Nonetheless, Land of the Free was a crucial record for Gamma Ray that in its better moments laid a critical foundation for the power metal scene, and the value of the name was enough that Kai Hansen would bring it back some 12 years later under the guise of a (not very good) sequel record. In the moment the album restored the metal community’s confidence in Hansen as a songwriter and bandleader, even if this iteration of Gamma Ray would fall apart not long into the promotional cycle: Rubach opted to leave rather than move to guitar after Schlächter once again wanted to switch to bass, and Thomas Nack decided to rejoin Rubach in their previous band Anesthesia after wrapping up touring commitments for Land of the Free. But with the addition of Henjo Richter and Dan Zimmermann Gamma Ray finally solidified its lineup and would march confidently as leaders in the power metal movement as that scene began to flourish on a global scale. And it was Land of the Free that positioned the group as such- even if the songs themselves were ultimately a mixed bag, this was the record that engaged and ignited a dispersed but mighty fanbase that wasn’t ready to give up on the sweet sound of heavy metal.

Rating: 3.5/5

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October 24, 1995, Elektra

“The same goddamn thing, just the names have changed”

The Context

The Sound of White Noise cycle began as a triumph and ended with a whimper. Anthrax had the support of a new label well versed in metal, a new singer who not only packed a mighty roar but was well-liked in the metal community and could write his own lyrics, and just had momentum in general coming out of two massively successful tours that nearly 35 years later are still spoken of in reverent tones. And things went amazingly well at first: Sound of White Noise debuted in the Top 10, “Only” was a sizable hit that made inroads on mainstream rock radio and most reviews were ecstatic. Perhaps best of all, Sound of White Noise was a fully realized statement that actualized Anthrax’s ambition, full of memorable songs and absolutely lethal production that still holds up.

But something turned a few months into the promo cycle and even as the band kept putting out videos and touring the momentum was irretrievably lost. Scott Ian blames Elektra not only forcing “Black Lodge” as the follow-up to “Only” but then making them wait a few months until Mark Pellington was available to direct the video, and perhaps the gap between singles stalled things. But regardless of the whats and hows, the tide turned and as the band wound down their touring cycle playing smaller venues than when they started, Sound of White Noise ended up perceived as a bit of a disappointment and Anthrax was on their back foot.

The air of disappointment no doubt led to Danny Spitz not so much being fired as basically ghosting everyone until Scott, Charlie and Frankie just figured he was no longer in the band. And Spitz wasn’t the only one turning his back: after massive turnover at Elektra, their new leadership saw Anthrax as a burden and committed to do as little as their (admittedly rather large) contract stipulated. And of course metal in the ‘90s, etc. etc….

All of this left the band in a defensive and reactive place: their last album was retroactively criticized for reasons they couldn’t totally understand and nobody could properly explain, and by the same token they could appreciate and embrace music stripping down the excesses of the recent past. So they brought in the Butcher Bros. to produce their next record despite the sibling duo having never really worked with a metal band previously and went up to Pennsylvania to give it another go and record a set of leaner songs with leaner production…

The (Original) Reception

The nonsensically monikered Stomp 442 (nobody could ever explain the title) was indeed leaner than Sound of White Noise in both sound and songs, despite only being a few minutes shorter. And once again initial response was largely positive: the record got a favorable writeup in Rolling Stone and the metal community took well to lead single “Fueled” and its streamlined attack. John Bush was still regarded as a strong frontman and the ideal voice for Anthrax, and the band was still prominent enough to get to make the usual promotional rounds in mainstream outlets.

But the record very quickly ran smack into the mid ‘90s, charting at #47 (Anthrax’s lowest placement in nearly a decade) and reception immediately chilled to the point where the band was barely able to fill clubs. “Fueled” didn’t take hold in any rock radio format, and follow-up single “Nothing” lived up to its title and landed not with a thud but a plonk. More than that, a band that was once seen as more thoughtful and sincere in their convictions was viewed as trend-chasing and desperate with their haircuts (even though Charlie cut his locks years earlier and Scott had been bald since Persistence of Time), flannel and baggy pants. Metallica was one of the biggest bands in the world, Megadeth was still a Platinum-selling act for a bit longer and Slayer was content just being Slayer, but Anthrax were tossed aside as just another out of date heavy metal band, and even worse were seen as a bit hapless- was that John Bush rapping on the opening track?

How Does It Hold Up?

Stomp 442 was nowhere near the gale-force powerhouse of Sound of White Noise, nor could it approach Anthrax’s best records with Joey Belladonna. But what the early acclaim picked up on, and the subsequent criticism took for granted, was the quality of the band’s craft. With Charlie Benante officially writing all of the music and Scott Ian and John Bush co-writing lyrics, the album was a direct punch to the gut delivered with precision, focus and no shortage of hooks. In hindsight it wouldn’t have made sense for a more experienced metal producer (even an alternative metal producer like Dave Jerden) to handle these songs, as they would likely have either shined the tracks up too much or boxed them in. Instead, the Butcher Bros. kept things focused and tight, and with only three songs crossing the 5-minute mark (and none going longer than 5:30) these tunes kicked up a racket quickly and without fuss.

There was also a sense that the band was a little less self-conscious even as they were trying to roll with the times, as it didn’t feel like they were trying to craft anthems or make major statements. “Random Acts of Senseless Violence” (largely about Colin Ferguson opening fire on the Long Island Railroad) was the only track with political/social commentary and “Fueled” was the obvious choice for a single, but otherwise Anthrax sounded like they were simply in their zone, to quote another track. That paid off with both of the aforementioned numbers- Bush may have sort of sounded like he was rapping on “Random Acts of Senseless Violence”, but really he was just spitting out Scott’s lyrics faster than usual, and Charlie’s stop/start riffing and drumming was pure attack, and “Fueled” was a straight-up kickass rocker that was justifiably an evergreen on stage during the Bush era. “American Pompeii” was likewise a highlight on account of its killer bridge and chorus alongside Benante’s power groove. From song to song, there were hollering choruses and catchy breakdowns and beatdowns that not only made each track flow seamlessly into the next but also kept things moving with the efficiency of punk rock. The high points, of which there were quite a few, showed how Anthrax was able to absorb the sound and ethos of the era without forsaking heavy metal or sounding disingenuous. Of course it helped that they had Pantera as advocates- though a good amount of attention was given to Dimebag Darrell’s guest solos on two tracks (a favor he would repeat on their next two albums), perhaps the bigger story was how Benante absorbed some of Vinnie Paul’s techniques and integrated them into his usual approach (something that would come in very handy a few decades later) as Stomp 442 bounced and, well, stomped much more than usual for Anthrax.

Although Anthrax’s writing, playing and arrangements were never as complex as the rest of the Big 4 (Megadeth arguably had the most chops as players, Metallica’s arrangements frequently veered to prog and Slayer had a unique dissonance in their riffing and soloing alongside the musical force of nature that was Dave Lombardo), their peak-era material largely tried to keep up with their peers in all of those areas. But with the lone exception of Fistful of Metal, Stomp 442 was the most straight down the middle record of their entire discography, and that was very much a double-edged sword: for all of the highlights mentioned earlier there were almost an equal number of by-the-numbers groove metal tracks lurching about aimlessly with choruses that didn’t always pay off. “King Size”, “Riding Shotgun” and “In a Zone” had solid moments in parts- maybe a chorus, often a bridge or an especially locked-in pulse- but didn’t cohere into fully formed and memorable songs. And if portions of Sound of White Noise sound a bit dated lyrically, the wordsmithing on Stomp 442 reeks of 1995 with warmed-over angst, faux machismo that quickly turns to parody (and not always in the way Scott Ian intended) and in the case of closing ballad “Bare” stultifyingly nondescript lyrics that squandered an otherwise satisfying melody. In retrospect, this was the result of a band trying not to be left behind and unintentionally accelerating that very outcome.

And Anthrax was left behind, to the extent that 30 years later it is debatable as to whether they ever recovered. Megadeth had their own misadventures courting mainstream acceptance but ultimately settled into a comfortable position at the upper end of mid-tier, Slayer stayed in their lane and found their confidence and steadfastness rewarded over time by somehow becoming an even bigger concert draw than during thrash’s heyday, and Metallica has been an entity unto itself for roughly 35 years. But in attempting to thread the needle by welcoming trends while also not disavowing heavy metal and openly embracing brands like Pantera and White Zombie (who returned the favor), Anthrax was seen as amateurish and slightly desperate even though a lot of the songs on Stomp 442 were actually quite good.

The band would experience one disaster after another over the next 10 years until they reunited with Joey Belladonna and Danny Spitz in a transparent cash grab, in the process throwing John Bush (who by that point was seemingly more content with his lot in life than his bandmates) and the music they made with him by the wayside. And to be sure, the venues did get bigger and the records got better reviews and higher chart placements. But Anthrax never escaped the perception that they were the little brothers and thus lightweight, and a lot of that comes down to people glomming on to Stomp 442’s flaws rather than appreciating its stronger moments.

Rating: 3.5/5

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April 25, Nuclear Blast

“Let go your convictions, restrictions will cost you”

The Blackening was almost immediately greeted with rapturous acclaim upon its release in 2007: all of the early press centered on a confident band swinging for the fences and both engaging with the New Wave of US Heavy Metal while also coalescing their trademarks and adding new dimensions and dynamics to their thrash/groove metal approach. But while Machine Head’s sixth album was hailed as their magnum opus and arguably the best record they ever made, what was also understood if not regularly stated was that the band had not only built on the promise of Through the Ashes of Empires but fully wiped the slate clean and transcended the misguided attempts at nü metal that culminated in the borderline desperate flopsweat that was Supercharger. Robb Flynn had refocused both himself and his band, and with Phil Demmel fully integrated into the group Machine Head strode confidently into a new era and reestablished themselves as standard bearers.

Almost 20 years later, Unatoned (not bothering with the strikethroughs) came out as the second record following another Robb Flynn-induced Machine Head disaster, but not only has the damage Catharsis wrought been much harder to shake off, it seems like Flynn is no longer trying to prove anything, least of all his own place in the scene.

Of course it’s not at all fair to compare the eleventh Machine Head record to The Blackening: besides the aforementioned 18-year gap (not to mention 4 albums) between the two, too much has happened to everyone everywhere to think Flynn and his bandmates could simply recreate something with that level of clarity, focus, hunger and ambition. But the shared context behind both albums, particularly the fact that the MH brand was fighting its way back to relevance, puts Unatoned into some relief. And likewise to be fair Unatoned didn’t have the benefit of coming after Through the Ashes of Empires: Of Kingdom and Crown was a vast improvement and course correction after Catharsis more or less destroyed Machine Head as a functioning unit, but it felt more than a little self-conscious and defensive and left a strange aftertaste that didn’t fully restore confidence in Flynn. And whereas The Blackening solidified the Flynn/McClain/Demmel/Duce lineup, Unatoned once again featured a new guitarist (Reece Scruggs) and drummer (technically Matt Alston has been in Machine Head since 2021, but Navene Koperweis played most of the drums on Of Kingdom and Crown) and only lent further credence to the notion that Machine Head at this point was little more than a Robb Flynn solo project.

All of this bleeds straight into the music, which both feels overly familiar and yet almost entirely devoid of the ambition that has defined every Machine Head album (even Catharsis, terribly ill-conceived as it was, still aimed for something) with the lone exception of maybe The More Things Change… At 41 minutes, Unatoned is easily the shortest album Machine Head ever recorded, and other than “Bleeding Me Dry” not a single track goes much further than 4 minutes. This is the sound of Flynn and his latest crew simply getting to it and keeping every song straightforward, lean and direct. There are no epics, no digressions and no statements of intent of any sort.

And honestly… it’s kind of a relief. Of Kingdom and Crown had more than its share of moments, but Flynn was trying so hard to prove a point and emerge from the wreckage of Catharsis (even while bitterly defending the album that tore his band apart) that by the end it was a bit of a chore. Unatoned pretty much just gets right to it, delivering 10 (not including an intro and an interlude) straight-up heavy metal tracks with thundering drums (Flynn and Colin Richardson perfected MH’s drum sound around Through the Ashes of Empires and have stuck to it ever since), Flynn’s hoarse hollering and the occasional pinched harmonics. And the opening volley of “Atomic Revelations”, “Unbound” and “Outsider” totally work as midday festival moshers and kick ass accordingly. And unlike its predecessor, Unatoned never feels overly mannered or labored- Flynn sounds like he’s in his zone and not overthinking. It’s almost as if he’s finally accepted Machine Head’s lot in life as a mid-tier act- MH came closer than ever to really breaking through on Unto the Locust and even Bloodstone and Diamonds, but something never quite clicked into place, and after his (likely meth-induced) proclamations that Catharsis “might make metal mainstream” it’s refreshing to just hear some loud and smashing metal.

But Machine Head at their very best was an unstoppable force, and more often than not that came about because Machine Head was an actual band. And therein lies perhaps the most critical distinction between Unatoned and The Blackening: Dave McClain and Phil Demmel were more than just excellent musicians, they were critical in the writing and arranging of the band’s best songs, not to mention forceful personalities in their own right. But while Scruggs and Alston are perfectly capable players who do right by the material, and Scruggs had a hand in writing a good amount of the songs on Unatoned alongside longtime bassist Jared MacEachern, they all play second fiddle to Flynn, who like so many others is at his best when he has counterparts and foils. This gives Unatoned a certain facelessness that is somehow exacerbated by the guest vocals on “These Scars Won’t Define Us”- an otherwise totally fine track that can’t help but draw attention to the fact that Lacuna Coil, Unearth and especially In Flames are all about 20 years past their prime.

And thus describes the push/pull experience of Unatoned: there is plenty to enjoy here, its leanness is definitely a strength after the bloat of the last three Machine Head records and for the first time in a long time Robb Flynn isn’t trying to make some major statement about something. But that lack of ambition, along with the inescapable feeling Machine Head is just Flynn and some sidemen, keeps even the better moments from lingering in the brain too long. Unatoned doesn’t sound rote, and there is more than enough that hits the same sweet spots as the MH evergreens, but even if nothing sounds offensively bad the record ultimately comes and goes with neither excitement nor outrage.

Rating: 3/5

September 5, Reigning Phoenix

“See my face smiling in the fire”

The impact of Nuclear Blast Records essentially splitting into three labels in 2021 had a longer tail than anyone might’ve expected. At first it seemed like a simple matter of business: one of the label’s founders, feeling marginalized in the face of a potential takeover, started his own shop and invited Nuclear Blast’s more traditional metal acts along, and Primal Fear was one of the bands that joined him. Simple enough so far, and the entire lineup was on hand to sign the paperwork and take photos, followed not long after by the release of Code Red on the newly established Atomic Fire Records.

But then another ex-Nuclear Blast exec formed another splinter label in 2023, and that label acquired Atomic Fire in 2024. This meant existing contracts needed to be updated, and when it came time for Primal Fear to formally sign with Reigning Phoenix, this time it was only Ralf Scheepers and Mat Sinner posing for pictures. That was a giveaway that something was up, and the between-the-lines implication that from a business perspective those two were definitionally the only essential members almost immediately played out with the announcement that half the group- and literally the entire touring lineup outside of Scheepers- was walking away from the band. Perhaps this had all been in the works for a while, and Michael Ehré had only played on the last two records, but Alex Beyrodt had been a member for almost 15 years and on-off guitarist Tom Naumann was not only a founding member but a steady presence for the better part of a decade and had increasingly been more prominent as a co-writer and co-producer over the the last couple Primal Fear albums, so their departures were genuinely disruptive for the nearly 30 year enterprise.

Indeed, it was Naumann’s absence that most needed to be accounted for when it came time to make the next record. For Ralf Scheepers and Mat Sinner, the notion that Magnus Karlsson would return to a more active role probably seemed intuitive: the Swedish guitarist and composer had technically been with the band since 2009 and was their primary collaborator for most of the past 15 years. But the reason Naumann was brought back into the fold around 2014 was because Karlsson was increasingly loathe to tour, and both Metal Commando and Code Red featured more songwriting contributions from Naumann. For that matter, despite being listed in the credits Karlsson played no role in promoting Code Red in any capacity.

But apparently Karlsson was convinced to return to Primal Fear full-time, and along with Italian shredder Thalìa Bellazecca and drummer Andre Hilgers the next phase of Primal Fear came to fruition with the optimistically titled Domination. And the buildup to the album’s release didn’t provide a ton of clarity as far as what to expect: although the rather Stratovarius-esque lead single “Far Away” was fast and noodly, the overall vibe of the tune felt less triumphant and more like they were coming up for air. But then came “The Hunter”, a classic PF banger that kicked far more ass than anyone would expect from a long-in-the-tooth power metal group on their fifteenth record: there is just something so elementally satisfying in hearing Ralf Scheepers yell “I will tear you apart, I’m the huntuhhhhhrrrrr!!!” It was enough to cover for some of the more basic aspects of the mid-paced follow-up “Tears of Fire”, which checked the boxes and had a sturdy hook but also felt a little too familiar for comfort.

But “Tears of Fire” turned out to be more indicative of what Domination turned out to be: with every track a Sinner/Karlsson/Scheepers composition, the album is an unsurprising but still unfortunate return to the rote baselines of 16.6, Unbreakable and Apocalypse. Those records all had their moments, tracks that balanced craft and formula with an especially sticky hook in the chorus and a general spark in the playing and especially from Scheepers. And to be sure, Domination has those moments as well: besides “The Hunter”, “Destroyer” and “Crossfire” are vibrant riff rockers with momentum, while “Tears of Fire” benefits from the context of being placed after four charging metal pounders and in this setting feels like a confident breather. Even the idiotically titled “I Am the Primal Fear” has a nice surging quality (not coincidentally, this is also the one with a riff that most recalls Tom Naumann). And Ralf Scheepers sounds thoroughly engaged throughout: more than any other heavy metal singer pushing 60, he has managed to both mostly maintain his range as well as modulate his choices in notes to account for the inevitable effects of time. With one painful exception (more on that below), he doesn’t unleash the unyielding wail of a “Sign of Fear”, but Scheepers still remains one of the most convincing voices in metal.

But almost all of those highlights come during the first half, making Domination front-loaded and frequently a drag as it marches to a less than glorious conclusion. Although the instrumental “Hallucinations” is fine, “Heroes and Gods” wastes an otherwise enjoyable verse with an astoundingly asinine chorus- apparently Mat Sinner thought he could Steve Harris us into submission. “Eden” is both the resident ballad and long track, and feels limp on both counts, while “Scream” literally recycles its title from a 16.6-era bonus track (though it is marginally better than its predecessor). Aside from “Crossfire”, the entire back half is the sort of generic power metal that made Primal Fear’s middle years immediately forgettable, and even worse, the minor attempts to shake things up fall remarkably flat: “March Boy March” has Scheepers howling mercilessly for no discernable reason over borderline cartoonish thrashing, while the rather unfortunately titled “A Tune I Won’t Forget” goes absolutely nowhere and ends the entire record on a down note.

The fundamental challenge Primal Fear has faced, pretty much since after their second album, has been in both adhering to a very well-worn formula while still crafting exciting and memorable tracks. And their lengthy discography shows just how much they’ve struggled with that, but while not every record with Tom Naumann was stellar (and not every record without him was awful), he did bring a rhythmic alchemy that shaked the band out of the doldrums of the Henny Wolter and early Magnus Karlsson albums. Karlsson is a strong player and prolific writer, but Domination shows that he needs another guitarist as a compositional counterpoint, and while Bellazecca is clearly a more than capable soloist she didn’t contribute to the writing either by choice or directive from Mat Sinner.

Where all of this brings Primal Fear moving forward remains to be seen- between Sinner’s ongoing health issues (he claims to have mostly recovered and certainly looks more active than during the Code Red era), Karlsson’s still mixed feelings about touring and Scheepers calling out logistical and business challenges in international touring, they could very well be scaling back their activity. But while the better moments on Domination indicate they can still deliver a mighty banger, Sinner and Scheepers effectively limited their own success by apparently deciding they were the only ones who should have a stake in Primal Fear as an entity.

Rating: 2.5/5

November 22, 2024, Reigning Phoenix

“Heyyyyyy!!!!”

Over the past 20 years, Mastodon and Opeth were the two metal bands who have achieved the distinction of being adored by critics and serious music listeners while also subject to serious backlash as they inched away from the extremity of their earlier material. By extension, both coexisted as the two most closely scrutinized acts in metal, with Opeth in particular drawing a mix of admiration and irritation over Mikael Åkerfeldt’s insistence over the past 15 years on following his own muse and largely abandoning the death metal he was clearly bored with in favor of paying homage to obscure ‘70s British prog.

While all of this was going on, Opeth’s popularity at first continued its upward trajectory following the commercial breakthrough and creative apex of Ghost Reveries: Heritage and Pale Communion both charted inside the Top 20 in America, with Sorceress not too far behind at #24- far higher than Ghost Reveries, let alone Blackwater Park. But In Cauda Venenum, despite garnering better reviews than their last three records, was their first in over 10 years to not make the Top 40 in the US, and although Opeth still played respectable venues all over the world, that was largely on the strength of their ‘99-’08 material. So when longtime drummer Martin Axenrot departed in 2021 and was replaced by former Paradise Lost skinsman Waltteri Väyrynen, and their fourteenth studio was announced as a concept album about family secrets emerging from the death of a patriarch, fans and critics were expecting a continuation of the patchouli prog of the previous four records…

…Until “§1” emerged as a pre-release single and listeners were greeted with seemingly out-of-nowhere cookie monster growls from Åkerfeldt that signaled he and his band were turning it up again. And after "§3" signaled that the first track wasn’t a fluke, anticipation reached levels not seen since Watershed.

And indeed, The Last Will and Testament liberally mixed the death metal grunts of old with the more plaintive singing most everyone had gotten used to since 2008. More than that, while the production was as smooth as all of their post-Watershed output, there was a noticeable uptick in aggression in the riffing and especially the drumming, with Väyrynen immediately introducing himself as a key player and core component of Opeth’s new (old) sound- all of their records since Blackwater Park have near-perfect productions, particularly when it comes to the drum sounds, and this record is no exception. That all of the musicianship was absolutely top-shelf was a given at this point- absolutely nobody expects or looks for sloppiness on an Opeth record- but even after all these years their dexterity remains astonishing, and the fact that this level of proficiency was in service of Åkerfeldt’s heaviest songwriting in over 15 years ensured The Last Will and Testament would be greeted with near-unanimous raves from fans and critics alike. At just around 50 minutes, this is actually one of Opeth’s shortest records, and perhaps not coincidentally one of their tightest: there is almost no filler or fat, as Åkerfeldt made all of the shredding, double kicks and time changes focused on the context of the record. As such, there aren’t really any skippabl moments because the whole record coheres into a seamless whole.

But it wasn’t really that simple. Yes, the prog and metal were there, and the growling was back too. But what about the songs? There were great parts, and Opeth albums are never boring (not even Heritage), but considering that Åkerfeldt modulated his vocal approach based on which character’s POV he was narrating, the fact that the growling was supposed to represent the thoughts of a cranky old man (and were often announced with a comically surly “Heyyyy!!!!”) came off a little silly. Speaking of silly, the storyline in the concept was pure soap opera and at best felt like an exercise rather than a burst of inspiration. It was a relief that these tracks were on the shorter side by Opeth standards (nothing reached the 10-minute mark), because even the musical motifs, as strong as some individual passages were, didn’t sound like they could sustain themselves into double-digit territory.

To be sure, every Opeth record since My Arms, Your Hearse is guaranteed to function at a high level, and the band’s chops are a wonder to behold throughout The Last Will and Testament. Furthermore, Åkerfeldt’s singing, previously somewhat maligned, has grown into a fine instrument in its own right, and he knows how and where to insert his growls to make them both contextually relevant and more impactful, to the point where closing track “A Story Never Told” played like a resigned sigh and felt more meaningful as a result. But after the initial plaudits died down, continued listens reveal that this album doesn’t have the combination of guttural force and frightening technicality that powered Opeth’s best material, nor does it have the consistency and clarity of purpose of their post-Heritage records. Instead, it sits in a slightly uncomfortable middle area, and even if Åkerfeldt maintained his growling wasn’t just a matter of giving the fans what they want, it doesn’t hit as hard when the rest of the songs don’t fully back it up.

Rating: 3.5/5