2002-11-11
One of the most frustrating, tragic traits of Metal music is that by aspiring to reach the ultimate state of chaotic havoc, in order to climb the peak of utopic Blasphemia, trying to violate the idea of sheer heaven, grabbing the refined contemplations of holliness and brutally thrusting them towards our earthly hellish, relentless randomness, too frequently the tremendous effort leads to a nearly opposite state. By showering the listener with endless furious, raging, evil deconstructive Metalic features, they create a predictable, droning micro-world placing him, even if not in a Garden of Eden (as the perfection of the metaphor requires), than in a nursing sea of tranquility. Take Ravager, for instance.
Hailing from Mexico, they play Brutal Death Metal in the so-well-known veins of Morbid Angel, Angel Corpse, Kuisun and so on . First, at this point I would like to acknowledge Osmose Productions by complementing them for their worldwide scouting mechanism (or, perhaps, a more suitable term would be “actually listening to demo CD’s found in their mailbox”) and moreover, bearing the risk and technical difficulties of signing a band from an ocean-distant, third world country. Nevertheless, while petting one chick, I will definitely like to slap their other for investing their funds, probably allocated of a very limited total, in the development of an already-packed scene. Do you honestly believe we need yet another of-the-producion-line Death brutalists flooding our unorganized market?
Now, my criticism regarding Ravager’s uncreative banalic implementation of an overworn genre may be restrained a bit: the band does try to ornament their pieces with some differentiating elements: at times, they stray off the Brutal Death predestined disordered linearity, incorporaing peculiar Black Metal influences, mostly in the guitar riffing movements facet. This, while not altering the general concept of the music, does increase the chaotic factor of their music quite a bit. Indeed, Ravager excel in drawing a picture nearly impossible to withstand, phrasing a stenza unbearable to withhold. But alas! Here the sorrowful phenomena described above awakens to reveal itself in its full anesthetist circumference. Although this absolute mayhem will surely shock and repel any unexperienced, innocent musical bystander, the veteran extremist, after going through a mild headbanging transitional stage for a mere couple of seconds, will, as a bulk of stone in a sizzling furnace, will carelessly meditate, barely noting the so-bearable subjective Tophet. Furthermore, the quite average instrumental abilities (mostly affected by an occasional too mediocre coordance between the guitar players and the ultra fast drummer) will not melt his icely temperament and expose him to the heat. This album is not a bad one, but I’d claim: beginners only!
Tom Orgad
