In my modest estimation I'd say punk was probably the greatest musical revolution of the modern era. It was they who showed that suddenly the individual could be in the center stage. "Here's a guitar, here's a couple of chords - now go out there and play!" was 
the basic mantra of the DIY attitude (sans the political baggage) which drove irate teenagers to the guitar shop and spawned countless bands. It's no wonder that two of the main suspects which inspired the black metal style - Motörhead and Venom - commanded high respect from both punk audiences as well as within metal circles. With this attitude in place underground musical units started sprouting up all over the globe with fans cluttering up in damp basements to take part in these unholy rituals. The fan / musician dichotomy became dissolved even further with most belonging to both categories. It wasn't long before Celtic Frost / Hellhammer (who incidentally cite famed crust punksters Discharge as a major influence), Bathory and early Sodom formed the sacred pillars or the aesthetical compass, if you will, to which every band since and henceforth turns to for inspiration. The common thread through the first-wave was unchecked aggression, ostentatiously outrageous attire and a strong tendency towards the Occult (I bet if you were to somehow compute the rate at which the word 'Satan' occurs in either track titles or band names it would register at once every 6-7 words). The prime ingredients however were two: primal energy and a dark atmosphere. These are in effect what decidedly pulled these proto-black metal units away from the technically oriented orbit which death metal ensembles were entering head-first. It's
important to mention of course that back then there was no Internet and
only
limited technological capacities were available to the masses. Hard to imagine since a good portion of us were still swimming in our father's balls but despite these less than favourable
conditions there was a definite tangible fervour, a creative geist 
so to speak, driving the whole
scene which meant merely rehashing old formulas wouldn’t cut the mustard. Every band willing to gain respect within this limited yet fanatically devoted
fan-base had to carve its own distinctive sound and aura. Rather appropriately in their 1984 demo Triumph of Death, Tom G. Warrior of Hellhammer infamously wrote "If Venom are killing music, Hellhammer are killing Venom". It's exactly this continuous process of negating your past but at the same time creating something new, pushing the envelope - as was the case with the aforementioned demo - which defined these ever-unfolding dynamics of the extreme metal underground. At the same time, the mail service was absolutely fundamental in
sustaining the international underground arteries winding and branching between
countries through dubbed chromium tapes, zines, short-lived distros and xerox'd
flyers. Within this Darwinian
selection process few bands made it past the demo stage either for lack of
talent or resources. It was a survival game definitely but not of the strongest
necessarily, but the most passionate, the most hungry. Just drop the needle on Sepultura's first LP and you can almost feel the sweat, the heat and the sheer drive to play their instruments with as much conviction as possible. .png)
Romantic drivel you might say? Perhaps. But there is a certain something which sets the puppies (who think they're wolves) from the actual wolves. No matter how technical you play, no matter your fine production, your radio play time there is a requisite energy you can't fake. And where did this energy stem from? A force as intangible to describe verbally as it is audially palpable when you actually sit down and listen to these truculent pieces of ungodly noise. Maybe we could put it down to a misplaced spurt of pubescent rebellion, a couple of sexually frustrated teenagers having their kicks until one day they get married, have kids and look back at their exploits with a mixed sense of nostalgia and matured dismissal. Or maybe it's something more than that I'd wager. Maybe it's the sheer excitement of breaking a social barrier even within the confines of art, the licentious all-consuming fervor of committing sacrilege against a moral absolute, or maybe it's just the sudden, exhilarating realization that all this nasty, fucked-up shit sloshing around in your mind can finally have an outlet. Whatever the source, the product is unmistakably recognizable and that's all that matters.
the basic mantra of the DIY attitude (sans the political baggage) which drove irate teenagers to the guitar shop and spawned countless bands. It's no wonder that two of the main suspects which inspired the black metal style - Motörhead and Venom - commanded high respect from both punk audiences as well as within metal circles. With this attitude in place underground musical units started sprouting up all over the globe with fans cluttering up in damp basements to take part in these unholy rituals. The fan / musician dichotomy became dissolved even further with most belonging to both categories. It wasn't long before Celtic Frost / Hellhammer (who incidentally cite famed crust punksters Discharge as a major influence), Bathory and early Sodom formed the sacred pillars or the aesthetical compass, if you will, to which every band since and henceforth turns to for inspiration. The common thread through the first-wave was unchecked aggression, ostentatiously outrageous attire and a strong tendency towards the Occult (I bet if you were to somehow compute the rate at which the word 'Satan' occurs in either track titles or band names it would register at once every 6-7 words). The prime ingredients however were two: primal energy and a dark atmosphere. These are in effect what decidedly pulled these proto-black metal units away from the technically oriented orbit which death metal ensembles were entering head-first. It's important to mention of course that back then there was no Internet and
only
limited technological capacities were available to the masses. Hard to imagine since a good portion of us were still swimming in our father's balls but despite these less than favourable
conditions there was a definite tangible fervour, a creative geist so to speak, driving the whole
scene which meant merely rehashing old formulas wouldn’t cut the mustard. Every band willing to gain respect within this limited yet fanatically devoted
fan-base had to carve its own distinctive sound and aura. Rather appropriately in their 1984 demo Triumph of Death, Tom G. Warrior of Hellhammer infamously wrote "If Venom are killing music, Hellhammer are killing Venom". It's exactly this continuous process of negating your past but at the same time creating something new, pushing the envelope - as was the case with the aforementioned demo - which defined these ever-unfolding dynamics of the extreme metal underground. At the same time, the mail service was absolutely fundamental in
sustaining the international underground arteries winding and branching between
countries through dubbed chromium tapes, zines, short-lived distros and xerox'd
flyers. Within this Darwinian
selection process few bands made it past the demo stage either for lack of
talent or resources. It was a survival game definitely but not of the strongest
necessarily, but the most passionate, the most hungry. Just drop the needle on Sepultura's first LP and you can almost feel the sweat, the heat and the sheer drive to play their instruments with as much conviction as possible. Romantic drivel you might say? Perhaps. But there is a certain something which sets the puppies (who think they're wolves) from the actual wolves. No matter how technical you play, no matter your fine production, your radio play time there is a requisite energy you can't fake. And where did this energy stem from? A force as intangible to describe verbally as it is audially palpable when you actually sit down and listen to these truculent pieces of ungodly noise. Maybe we could put it down to a misplaced spurt of pubescent rebellion, a couple of sexually frustrated teenagers having their kicks until one day they get married, have kids and look back at their exploits with a mixed sense of nostalgia and matured dismissal. Or maybe it's something more than that I'd wager. Maybe it's the sheer excitement of breaking a social barrier even within the confines of art, the licentious all-consuming fervor of committing sacrilege against a moral absolute, or maybe it's just the sudden, exhilarating realization that all this nasty, fucked-up shit sloshing around in your mind can finally have an outlet. Whatever the source, the product is unmistakably recognizable and that's all that matters.
So then, after a lot of frustration and abject deliberation, here we have 11 of my favourite pieces of 100% unadulterated metal straight from the darkest recesses of the underground. More could be added, some could be omitted - to each his own. Some are well known, some others not as much. I deliberately chose the 'black / death' moniker for two reasons. Firstly, because I wanted to avoid the inevitable semantic association stuck in the consciousness of most fans between black metal, snow-covered forests, smoldering church ruins and ill-advised photo-shoots. An association accounted primarily by the disportionate amount of media attention received by the Scandinavians back in the early hay-days of the genre. It's because of this very clear degree of under-exposure that other scenes with their own aesthetics and ways in which they approached the extremity of the first wave were cast to the margins. Secondly, back in those early formative years of the extreme metal underground (mid-to-late 80s) these nominal denotations (death, black, speed, thrash) didn't carry much weight. It wasn't until the early 90s with the advent of bands such as Darkthrone, Master's Hammer and Emperor that the genre decidedly differentiated itself from the offshoot that death metal was following. At the time all the musicians wanted was to set themselves apart from the utterly soulless milieu of the arena bands which pervaded the hard rock/metal scene at the time (upon seeing Michael Jackson featured in the heavy metal charts Cronos of Venom fame once exhorted "We're not heavy metal! We're black metal, thrash metal, power metal, speed metal, death metal - anything but heavy metal!"). So spare me the pigeon-holing - what we're after here is simply some good ol' fashioned filth and ugliness.
Oh-keey, let's rumble.
- - -
The Singaporean scene has two great names to be proud of: one is Impiety (who infamously denounced the Norwegian scene on a liner note inscribed on their 1994 7"), the other is Abhorer. For those at the time who were already familiar with their 7" (Upheaval of Blasphemy) and of course their 1992 demo (Rumpus of the Undead), their debut album Zygotical Sabbatory Anabapt (Shivadarshana Records, 1996) came as no big surprise. Although ostentatiously more death metal oriented the rhythmical variation here is appropriately confined within high-octane tempos and syncopated passages of measured aggression. Having said that of course there's no denying the Celtic Frost homages that sporadically crop up. It's descriptive ambiguity notwithstanding - a bit too 'bulky' sound-wise for your standard modern black metal fare or even a bit too monolithic compositionally-speaking for your death metal techie - it still remains one of the gems of old-school black / death without a doubt.
As mentioned earlier there are two fundamental coordinates within which the old-school generally operated: energy and atmosphere. Beherit's Drawning Down the Moon (Spinefarm, 1993) stands steadfastly at the far end of the latter axis almost alone and unimpeachable. Granted, it didn't initiate a movement in terms of aesthetic like the Norwegian or Swedish schools of thought but this only stands testament to the fact that their style on this particular album was largely inimitable. When others of their ilk were hammering away at their drum kits these guys opted for a mid-paced strategy and a noisy, claustrophobic primitivism as supremely evidenced in pieces such as the creepily trudging 'Gates of Nanna' and the ritualistic 'Nocturnal Evil'. There's nothing that has touched this album's jet-black, occult aura since.
As a general rule I only feature releases which I actually own on a physical copy and secondly that it's a first press. I'm afraid that for this particular band I had to make a most painful exception and instead contend myself with this humble little re-release from Madman Records (2005). This alone says quite a bit in itself: it's nigh-impossible to trace these releases in their original format and for those that do they have to pay up a considerable amount in 'kvlt tax' which effectively translates to paying three-digit prices for no more than 10-15 minutes of music. Be that as it may, the music here is quite clearly on a different level of intensity and unrefined pathos that what your average fan is normally accustomed to. Recorded somewhere in the tropical suburbs of Medellin, Colombia, Blasfemia's 1988 demo Guerra Total was part of a wider musical microcosm (along with the legendary Parabellum) which dubbed itself Metal-Medallo or 'Ultra Metal'. This meant zero-fidelity recording sessions and an absolute fiasco when it comes to instrumental dexterity. But what they lacked in musical talent they more than made up in vigor and soul with their thorough absorbing of Venom-inspired hooliganism and bare-bones thrash metal. I'm willing to bet that if these guys had nothing but a fork and a pair of pliers they'd still be able to muster enough adrenaline to put something out that makes most of your black metal albums sound like castrated kittens. And that takes cojones, big cojones. 
I could've went for Pentagram as my Chilean delegates but that would've been too obvious. So instead I did some digging and came up with this delightful little obscurity. Death Yell is one of those names you find intermixed in a long line of band references when a particular musician of that era is asked about his favourite band. It's a name that back in their hey day commanded a lot of respect but faded irrevocably into the charnel vault of extreme metal history. Musically, 1987's Vengeance from Darkness, blurs the line between black, death and thrash metal effectively commingling different influences into one big pile of vertiginous noise set loose in frenetic abandon. As is the case with the South American brand of extreme metal madness there is a very high degree of unrestrained energy which threatens whatever subtle sense of order and cohesion holding the compositions together. Of course this is more than just an exercise in stamina; there are measured passages of dread and gloom which efficiently set up a nice build up to whatever outburst might ensue. A fine signature release of the then burgeoning South American black/death metal scene. 
Truth be told, it's quite obvious to any old-school cognoscenti that the then nascent Norwegian scene were relative latecomers compared to their counterparts in South America, Sweden and other parts. Back in 1987 when the Deathcrush EP was released bands like Vulcano, Bulldozer and Poison were already stretching their spidery tentacles into the dark reaches of the underground creating waves and setting up their own sound. Mayhem from their part had only just started and their debut EP exploded like a rusty bombshell in those bustling early days employing a primitive, suffocating aura in their sound. Of particular note is that already the unique style of Euronymous' strumming reared its ugly head within the angular, harsh compositions. Aside of that however there is very little audial, as well as member, overlap between the paroxysmic viscerality of 1987's Mayhem and the black metal juggernaut they would become with De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas. Messiah's energetic groove would be henceforth replaced with Hellhammer's machine-like precision and Maniac's appropriately manic delivery would be replaced with the haunting performance of one Attila Csihar. Incidentally, Varg Vikernes denounced the whole affair as nothing more than "funcore". And of course ol' Vargie is not the only one to trash this particular EP; over the years it has received almost as much criticism as it has praise. But hidden in this ominous cacophony lay that undeniable drive to push the then testosterone-fuelled world of thrash/speed metal to a more tenebrous trajectory into the forbidding corridors of the soul. And with Euronymous' untimely death a part of Mayhem's incipient energy died with him as well.
The underground carries within itself the necessary resources to constantly re-engineer itself so that the essence of yesteryear remains unadulterated and avoids the staleness of time and trite regurgitation. Mortuary Drape from their part rode confidently on the cusps of black metal's second wave and created their own testament to that old occult spirit. Their debut album All the Witches Dance is quite reminiscent of their neighbouring Greek scene in that they utilise the instruments (which are not necessarily limited to the conventional setup) at hand to create atmosphere and mystic aura without necessarily resorting to neck-breaking speeds and impenetrable noisy guitar layers. Necromantia's warm bassy undertones find their most apt advocates on this album in particular. As was the case with the great bands of the era they created a sound uniquely their own out of the tapestry of the first wave mixed with their own temperament. There's also a dispute that arose regarding the album's release since a number of "un-official" re-releases surfaced from time to time on account of the notorious, and now defunct, Unisound Records. Nevertheless, it's a definite black metal tome.
There's no denying that I.N.R.I. blew like a gust of lead across the underground scene of the time leaving in its wake the burning embers of whatever innocence there was left. I actually remember listening to signature-song 'Satanas' for the first time a good number of years ago. Although I was well into the more extreme stuff of metal I was immediately struck by the unremitting vitriol oozing with every note after distorted note. That fortuitous happenstance has still remained the yardstick by which I measure the authentic shock-value of any newly found release since. And only a few listening experiences have come close. Sarcófago were the natural next step with fellow countrymates Vulcano being the connective link between them and the early thrash-onslaught of Venom and Sodom. Just about everything about this album reeks of unmitigated extremity - the photos, the bestial vocal delivery, that ungodly cavernous sound. In my estimation this album, along with Bathory's second and third spell, stands as one of the most important (I won't say best because how do you define 'best' anyway?) releases of the 80s black metal scene. By way of trivia the now middle-aged vocalist / guitarist Wagner 'Antichrist' Lamounier is now a successful academic at one of Brazil's major universities. But of course that didn't prevent him from climbing onstage recently and screaming his lungs out for a rendition of 'Nightmare' with fellow countrymates Mystifier and even doing a stagedive at the end of the show. Cult to the bone.
I was driven to this album solely because of the sheer ball-busting from pundits and musicians alike. And I'll be honest in that it took me a while before I actually understood what the fuck they were on about. Be that as it may, there's an unmistakable gravitas on Anno Domini that's for sure. I think the main thing that strikes me is the intriguing approach on how they composed riffs. Although clearly bred on the bog-standard diet of the era these guys found a fresh way to add a certain urgency to the songs. The rapid and sharp guitar phrases and solos being the case in point here are tell-tale signs of well-executed no-holds-barred extremity. However, although the compositions can be chaotic where they need to be there is enough dexterity here to always give off a sense of purpose and vision - they never really lose control. 'Countess Bathory' single-handedly became the Bible on which Swedish black/deathsters Dissection learned to combine bared-teeth aggression with melodious poignancy. And on top of all that they offered one of the most distinct throats to the black metal scene and not only. So my hat, finally, goes off to these Hungarian meisters - better late than never I say.
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