Candlemass: Psalms For The Dead

CANDLEMASS: PSALMS FOR THE DEAD (2012)

1) Prophet; 2) The Sound Of Dying Demons; 3) Dancing In The Temple (Of The Mad Queen Bee); 4) Waterwitch; 5) The Lights Of Thebe; 6) Psalms For The Dead; 7) The Killing Of The Sun; 8) Siren Song; 9) Black As Time.

Apparently, this album was intended to be the last one for Candlemass: not only did Robert Lowe quit the band six days before it was released, but Edling had explicitly stated that from then on, Candlemass would refrain from making more music (but not from playing it) — the wisest of all possible wise choices for a formulaic heavy metal outfit. That said, I got to give them their due: Psalms For The Dead came out as a much more memorable and enjoyable piece of corny art than Death Magic Doom. It does not happen on every song here, but for at least about half of them I can almost hear the cogs grinding as they try to grope for everything that made their music snappy, and stay away from boring sludge.

The big difference is in the tone: much of the time, they tune their instruments precisely the same way that Iommi did on Master Of Reality, and this provides the riffs with extra earthy buzz, making them writhe and wriggle like hellish serpents. This is not seen on ʽProphetʼ, the some­what misguided opener that is more stoner rock than doom metal; but already ʽThe Sound Of Dying Demonsʼ has that dark psychedelic tonal attack, inherited from ʽIron Manʼ and ʽInto The Voidʼ and supported by otherworldly sound effects. To be honest, I am not at all sure if it is within the capacity of a demon to actually die, but if it is, they make a cool sound when they die: the keyboard accompaniment to Lowe's chanting of the song title sounds like some spooky theme from a Vincent Price movie, and this is exactly what we've been missing last time around — a little bit of Satanic theatricality to return the band to being fun.

Altogether, the record has a lot more occult and magical atmosphere — among its various characters we have The Mad Queen Bee (surrounded by trolls, fays, and even Cyclops!), Rusal­kas (ʽWaterwitchʼ), Sirens, and did I mention the dying demons? They aren't all that different from each other in spirit — ultimately, they all want to feed on your flesh or your soul or both, and the music perfectly reflects that attitude, once again looking back to their early 1970s inspi­rations for support. Sometimes they go way too overboard with this: ʽSiren Songʼ, for what it is worth, is really a musical re-write of Uriah Heep's ʽGypsyʼ, based on the same three-chord riff and even combining it with the same «prog guy going unreasonably insane on the organ» trick, as the band's honored guest, Per Wiberg of Opeth, delivers a lengthy organ solo after you have learned that "the sirens will suck on your soul" (the sirens like to do this to the swirling sounds of the Hammond, you see).

But on ʽWaterwitchʼ, bringing back to life the wah-wah tones of ʽElectric Funeralʼ, they hit it just about right — the riff is adequately fleshed out, and Johansson's soloing is hystrionic without being too complex and flashy; and ʽThe Killing Of The Sunʼ gives us a nice variation on the ʽIron Manʼ riff, while Lowe chants a simple singalong melody as if this were 1970 all over again, and Tony and Ozzy were back here with us, mulling over more crazy ideas of how to combine nursery rhyme-level catchiness with extreme musical brutality. And then there's ʽThe Lights Of Thebeʼ, where the central part, of course, is Robert Lowe screeching "there's evil... evil... EVIL IN MY MIND!" like a diplomated Sith Lord. And then they top it off with ʽBlack As Timeʼ, introduced by a Vincent Price-style narration about how "time frankly doesn't give a shit, and above all... time is BLACK!", and it's... awesome.

I mean, Candlemass are a cheesy band by definition, yes, but Psalms For The Dead, I think, is the first time when they deliberately attempted to spoof their own image a bit, willingly turning into Spinal Tap and just concocting a spooky set of fairy tales for us — and they do this with interesting riffs, cool guitar tones, and catchy refrains, so I have no problem dealing out one last thumbs up here. Again, hardcore old school fans might not see it that way at all, but as far as I see it, the less seriously you are supposed to take a band like this, the more effective it becomes, and I am glad that their last album came out that way — provided it is really their last album, and old boy Messiah Marcolin is not still lurking somewhere out there in the gallery, waiting for a chance to once more saddle this band with his way-too-sincere Mad Monk impersonations.

Candlemass: Death Magic Doom

CANDLEMASS: DEATH MAGIC DOOM (2009)

1) If I Ever Die; 2) Hammer Of Doom; 3) The Bleeding Baroness; 4) Demon Of The Deep; 5) House Of 1000 Voices; 6) Dead Angel; 7) Clouds Of Dementia; 8) My Funeral Dreams.

Death! Magic! Doom! Is there anybody out there who could resist? I mean, you have death and magic and doom, three in one — not just death, you know, which is too brutal, and not just magic, which is too infantile, and not just doom, which is kinda corny, but all three going on at the same time. And no punctuation signs, either, meaning that you can have a lot of fun with your syntactic analysis. Is it "The Doom of Death Magic"? Or "The Magic Doom of Death"? This album is nothing but a living enigma.

The song titles are awesome in their own rights. ʽIf I Ever Dieʼ, for instance, presupposes that for the protagonist, death is only one of several remote possibilities, implying the supernatural trans-essence of his being. On the other hand, ʽDead Angelʼ signifies that supernatural trans-essent beings may indeed go through the procedure of dying, analogous to mortal beings. In fact, the supernatural trans-essent protagonist does seem to be entertaining morbid thoughts of death far more often than a layman could suppose — ʽMy Funeral Dreamsʼ shows that he is not above making plans and arrangements for the potential scenario of his demise. And what about ʽThe Bleeding Baronessʼ? In describing mysterious female entities of the necrotic persuasion, our protagonist shows himself a true master of poetic alliteration — and if you were not stunned enough, this is immediately followed by ʽDemon Of The Deepʼ, just so you know that this is no boring act of coincidence. Death! Magic! Doom!

Now if only the songs themselves happened to be at least as entertaining and fun as the ones on King Of The Grey Islands, we could all go back happy and relaxed. Unfortunately, they are not. Most of this material is really slow, really tedious, really predictable, and while I still insist that Robert Lowe is the single best vocalist that Candlemass ever had, not even Lowe is able to pull the album out of the mire. ʽIf I Ever Dieʼ does start the record on a promising note, with a set of fast-paced riffs and crazy solos, but when ʽHammer Of Doomʼ comes along and it is ʽBlack Sabbathʼ time all over again (come on, just how many times can one exploit the same Devil's Chord in the exact same way?), they simply crash into a wall, and spend the rest of the album wandering aimlessly among the rubble.

As usual, it all boils down to the question of whether the record has its share of impressive riffs or not. Opinions may differ, but I vote a firm «no» on this particular occasion. They seem to have slipped back into their «classic Candlemass» skin instead of directly aping Sabbath, and so it all sounds like a better produced, but even less inspired Nightfall. Sludgy, unmemorable riffs; pon­derous verses; non-catchy choruses; and, above all, the incomprehensibility of whether we should take this shit seriously (for which it is way too cartoonish) or continue to treat it, as we always did, with a good helping of popcorn — for which it is, frankly speaking, just way too lethargic. If early Candlemass was third-rate Sabbath, then Death Magic Doom is essentially second-rate early Candlemass. And on the whole, King Of The Grey Islands had more tricks up its sleeve than this album, where almost every song sounds the same. Even ʽThe Bleeding Baronessʼ, instead of trying to sound at least a little bit spooky and lascivious, just ends up like everything else — a slow warning of impending doom, whose efficiency, now that it finds itself in the context of seven other same-sounding warnings, is now comparable to the efficiency of spam messages in your mailbox. Thumbs down.

Candlemass: Lucifer Rising

CANDLEMASS: LUCIFER RISING (2008)

1) Lucifer Rising; 2) White God; 3) Demons Gate; 4) At The Gallows End; 5) Solitude; 6) Emperor Of The Void; 7) Devil Seed; 8) Mirror Mirror; 9) Under The Oak; 10) Of Stars And Smoke; 11) Black Dwarf; 12) Samarithan.

This three-song EP, with two new compositions and one re-recording of a classic (ʽDemons Gateʼ), would probably not even deserve a specific mention, had it not been for the decision to expand it with nine extra tracks culled from a 2007 live performance in Athens — which essen­tially transforms a tiny EP into a lengthy live album, their third one overall and the first with Robert Lowe as the lead vocalist. In fact, it can be suspected that the only purpose of the release was to somehow legitimize Lowe's standing with the band in the eyes of all the veteran fans still continuing to deplore the second break with Marcolin.

If you have no specific bones to pick with Lowe in the first place, though, then this is just another quality live recording from the band. Lowe himself introduces a distinctly American flavor to Candlemass: instead of playing the theatrical role of God's / Satan's pawn à la Marcolin, he takes the time in between songs to adress the audience with the friendliness and nonchalance of your next door neighbor or barroom companion — with a sweet mix of politeness and familiarity; and somehow, this attitude even rubs off on the songs, which come off as more natural and earthy than operatic and pretentious. This may or may not be to one's tastes: if you believe that Candle­mass classics only work when they function in 100% «metal theater» mode, I am not going to argue with you. The doom-laden guitar power is fully preserved, anyway.

As for the new songs, I guess they're okay. ʽLucifer Risingʼ itself continues to abuse the ʽChil­dren Of The Graveʼ pattern, but at least they speed up the tempo to mask that, so the main problem with the song is that the chorus is way too repetitive — just how many times do we need to hear that Lucifer is rising before we get the urge to shut off the track in disgusted disbelief? And ʽWhite Godʼ seems to be a musical variation on the theme of ʽDemons Gateʼ, which makes it all the more strange that ʽDemons Gateʼ is the one song from their old catalog that they decided to re-record in the studio and place immediately after ʽWhite Godʼ. Maybe it's one of those «what do you like more, the old shit or the new shit?» moments — personally, I don't care all that much, because the old shit was not all that inspiring in the first place.

Anyway, bottomline is, I can only recommend this for huge supporters of Robert Lowe as the new face of Candlemass — or for those who collect everything and anything with the name of Lucifer on it. Oh, and ʽLucifer Risingʼ is actually available now as a bonus track on the digipak edition of Death Magic Doom, so there's one more argument to skip

Candlemass: King Of The Grey Islands

CANDLEMASS: KING OF THE GREY ISLANDS (2007)

1) Prologue; 2) Emperor Of The Void; 3) Devil Seed; 4) Of Stars And Smoke; 5) Demonia 6; 6) Destroyer; 7) Man Of Shadows; 8) Clearsight; 9) The Opal City; 10) Embracing The Styx.

Arguably, this album introduces the best thing that has happened to Candlemass since they learned to produce their albums outside of the figurative toilet — lead vocalist Robert Lowe, the former frontman of Solitude Aeturnus, an epic doom metal band from the heart of American Texas (yes, apparently such a thing as Texan doom metal does exist, although it's probably heavily influenced by ZZ Top, I'd imagine). This guy has got all the power of Marcolin without his operatic wailing: style-wise, he is more reminiscent of Dio, balancing the pomp and pretense with an angry snarl that brings the performance closer to earth and agrees far better with the aggressive kick of the music. In fact, sacrilegious as it seems, I actually enjoy the re-recorded versions of ʽSolitudeʼ and ʽAt The Gallows Endʼ, appended as bonus tracks to the digipak edition of the album, far more than the originals!

Add to this that Edling continues to be relatively inspired, with the songwriting level not drop­ping down from the standard of Candlemass even one bit, and you get an album that is just as enjoyable as its predecessor — more so, in fact, if you agree with me on the vocalist (but I think that even big fans of Marcolin grudgingly had to acknowledge Lowe's worthiness; not that Edling ever made any truly big mistakes hiring lead vocalists for the band). Production standards have stabilized, and there are even a few tracks that feature awesome riffs — the best of these probably being in ʽClearsightʼ, which mixes the chugging gallop style with Iommi-like «deep-heavy» bending, creating the impression of a speedy Satanic roller coaster; but stuff like ʽEmperor Of The Voidʼ, with its double-tracked metal / wah-wah guitars spiralling around at frisky tempos, or ʽMan Of Shadowsʼ, does not lag too far behind.

Non-metalheads should not get any false illusions: King Of The Grey Islands is still as stereo­typically formulaic as they come, with each song following more or less the same formula. If your attention span is strong enough to follow the nuances, somewhere in the middle of these songs you might fall upon elements of diversity — for instance, the odd acoustic interlude in the middle of ʽMan Of Shadowsʼ that comes in for only a few seconds to introduce a brief moment of tender sentimentality before the flames of Hell re-ignite once again; or the echoey, near-industrial bass solo in the middle of ʽEmbracing The Styxʼ (a title I keep hearing as "embracing the stiff", which would probably make the song acceptable for Cannibal Corpse's repertoire).

Every now and then, the record creeps up a little too close for comfort to the standards of grunge-metal and nu-metal — and Lowe's delivery may have something to do with this, since, after all, he doth come from the home country of Korn and Limp Bizkit rather than the homeland of the Vikings. But I try to brush those associations away and just keep myself convinced that this is every bit as good as Candlemass, only a little bit better because the vocalist is trying to position himself in the middle of a spooky B-movie rather than that of a Shakesperian tragedy, raising the adequacy level to acceptable heights. This is a healthy, crunchy popcorn formula that they have settled upon here, even if I would personally prefer more numbers like the infectious ʽClearsightʼ and fewer like the draggy ʽOf Stars And Smokeʼ. But they are still formally a «doom» band, aren't they? Thumbs up for making me forget about that for a moment.

Candlemass: Candlemass

CANDLEMASS: CANDLEMASS (2005)

1) Black Dwarf; 2) Seven Silver Keys; 3) Assassin Of The Light; 4) Copernicus; 5) The Man Who Fell From The Sky; 6) Witches; 7) Born In A Tank; 8) Spellbreaker; 9) The Day And The Night; 10) Mars And Volcanos.

Apparently, this album almost did not happen due to old tensions quickly reignited between the original band members as they gathered in the studio; in the end, though, they managed to over­ride them for at least this one LP, before the Messiah re-ascended into the void once again, this time for good. They did make the album self-titled, though, which usually symbolizes a «reboot», in this case, a new Candlemass for a new millennium — a fairly complicated task, considering all the difficulties of getting the Nightfall lineup in the studio and not making another (inferior copy of) Nightfall in the process.

Surprisingly, the result is quite satisfactory. Of course, this is not too different from «classic» Candlemass, but in some ways, I think it actually improves upon it. If you are a purist, deeply in love with this band and treasuring its first years of output as the most inspired and innovative ones (although «innovative» is really a strange word to use in relation to these Sabbath adepts), you will not share this opinion; I, however, think that Candlemass, above and beyond everything else, are professional deliverers of «Sabbath-brand product», and that, as «product», their first albums suffered from too much pomp and too little technical care. By the mid-2000s, after twenty years of soaking and steeping, they seem to have learnt to deal with that problem: Candlemass is their first album that (a) features awesome production standards and (b) avoids sounding too ridiculous or annoying, most of the time.

Taking ʽBlack Dwarfʼ, the album's kick-ass opening song, as a good example, what do we see? The opening riff, decidedly unoriginal as usual, finally sounds thick, deep, crushing, and massive, and is propelled forward by a great drum sound — also thick, bass-heavy, without any electronic echoes or general tinny overlays that so plagued their Eighties albums. The lead guitar part is fluent, melodic, and perfectly audible over everything else (not to mention quite expressive and actually reminiscent of some cataclysmic astral processes). And, finally, Marcolin adds a layer of angry beastliness to his vocals, still relying on his operatic potential but sounding much better in the capacity of a threatening Old Testament prophet of the apocalypse than in his typical Free­shooter / Dr. Faustus image from the classic records. (And by «much better» I mean that I don't have to go "oh no, gimme a break already" every time he hits a high note).

After ʽBlack Dwarfʼ, the record predictably slows down (we know by now that Candlemass can handle fast tempos, but they have no desire to turn into Accept, after all), and the songs become more and more interchangeable. However, the corrected problems remain corrected — the pro­duction never turns to shit, and all the riffs on all the songs retain that «massive» effect, even if there is still hardly a single riff here that I would judge as immediately efficient on the classic Iommi level (more like decent/acceptable on the post-1980 Iommi level). The usual copycat prob­lems persist: the lengthy ʽCopernicusʼ features clear echoes of ʽBlack Sabbathʼ in its slower parts, while ʽBorn In A Tankʼ presents yet another variation on ʽChildren Of The Graveʼ (just how many millions of times has that song been ripped off in the world of heavy metal?). But as long as you are not forced to memorize this stuff note-by-note, I like the overall sound: seems as if Edling's direct emulation of Sabbath on that previous album left some traces behind, and now, by injecting better produced Sabbath overtones into the classic Candlemass formula, he is able to achieve somewhat more credible results.

Special mention must be made of the lyrics, which are slightly less ridiculous than they used to be (this, at least, is an area in which they seem to have made some genuine progress: I actually catch myself pondering over the message of stuff like ʽSeven Silver Keysʼ and ʽAssassin Of The Lightʼ, and even if it is the same old devil-gonna-get-me stuff, it is at least presented in a vaguely veiled manner). On the down side, the song lengths... well, that's what you get for choosing «slow» as your default tempo — something that, given the success of ʽBlack Dwarfʼ as the lead-in track, they could have easily changed, but doom metal is doom metal. Still, a modest thumbs up. If you can only coax yourself into listening to one Candlemass album, you should probably pick up something from the Eighties, but if you want something that is actually listenable (if not neces­sarily enjoyable), this reunion gig is a better choice.

Candlemass: Doomed For Live

CANDLEMASS: DOOMED FOR LIVE (2002)

1) Mirror Mirror; 2) Bewitched; 3) Dark Are The Veils Of Death; 4) Demon's Gate; 5) Under The Oak; 6) At The Gallows End; 7) Samarithan; 8) Dark Reflections; 9) Mourner's Lament; 10) Black Stone Wielder; 11) The Well Of Souls; 12) A Sorcerer's Pledge; 13) Bearer Of Pain; 14) Ancient Dreams; 15) Somewhere In Nowhere; 16) Solitude; 17) Crystal Ball.

Har har har, it's 2002 and the world still has not run out of lame puns for live album titles. More than that, the world still has a place for good old Candlemass — as Edling's interesting, but some­what atypical fiddlings with the name of the band come to a close, the classic Nightfall lineup finally reunites as Messiah Marcolin realizes that no other metal project brings so much fame to his name as Candlemass.

The first result of this reunion is more of symbolic than genuine importance: a live record (and video), to show the world that the old school of 1987 is still around and that it kick any of those metallic youngsters' asses at a moment's notice. But that's about all it does, really. Eleven out of seventeen tracks are the same songs that already were present on the Live album — apparently, the band does not care much about hunting for dark horses, or, perhaps, in this case they thought that it was far more important to whip up the classics, for any potential new fans. Thus, we have all of Epicus Doomicus reproduced here (although ʽBlack Stone Wielderʼ is seriously shortened and serves mostly to illustrate the cheese-opera powers of Marcolin's voice in the acappella ope­ning); predictable selections from the next three albums; and nothing whatsoever from Chapter VI onwards, because... no Messiah.

Scrutinizing the actual performances is a task / delight for radical Candlemass fans only; as far as I'm concerned, the record is completely expendable — the lead vocalist and the instrumentalists remain technically irreproachable, so that it is almost impossible to tell the difference between the versions here and on Live. If you disliked the studio production on Ancient Dreams and Tales Of Creation, you have a chance to hear a couple more of those tunes, like ʽBearer Of Painʼ, with a rawer, heavier guitar tone, and that's that. It might be more fun to catch a glimpse of some of these songs performed live — Marcolin tries to cut a dramatic figure, dressed in a Benedictine monk robe, and the entire performance is sort of structured like a multi-part exorcism ceremony; but even that, I'd say, becomes rather boring after a while. Doomed for, indeed.

Candlemass: From The 13th Sun

CANDLEMASS: FROM THE 13TH SUN (1999)

1) Droid; 2) Tot; 3) Elephant Star; 4) Blumma Apt; 5) ARX/NG 891; 6) Zog; 7) Galatea; 8) Cyclo-F; 9) Mythos.

«This album is dedicated to the greatest band of all time — Black Sabbath». YOU DON'T SAY! And here I was honestly expecting Candlemass, after all these years of undercover worship, to pay tribute to their one true favorite act — Tiny Tim. Goodbye, nurtured expectations, hello, crushingly disappointing surprise. Who would have guessed?..

Seriously, though, From The 13th Sun is indeed a record that is more than just directly influen­ced by Black Sabbath — it is a straightforward attempt to make a new Black Sabbath album, be­fore the recently gathered imposter band that included such wannabe Sabbath members as Tony Iommi, Ozzy Osbourne, Geezer Butler, and Bill Ward and had the gall to release a live record called Reunion, would have a chance to put out their own product under the sacred name of Black Sabbath. (Fortunately, this cowardly and sacrilegious act would not take place until 2013, giving Candlemass ample time to savor the fruit of their own labors).

With Michael Amott out of the band, replaced by a largely unknown guitarist by the name of Mats Ståhl, the remaining line­up of Dactylis Glomerata get to business like there was no tomor­row. Trying to write riffs like Iommi's, trying (not always, but often) to sing like Ozzy, trying to fully mimick the guitar and bass tones of the classic Sabbath, trying to go for the same loud vs. quiet dynamics — probably the only thing that is stylistically divergent from classic Sabbath is the heavy (but not obnoxious) presence of synthesizers, and even that is not altogether a problem, since Sabbath used keyboards as an essential part of the sound at least since 1973.

Direct references to Sabbath moments can be spotted on almost every track. ʽTotʼ, for instance, begins with the same rain, thunder, and church bells that we know from ʽBlack Sabbathʼ, and has the same alternation of quiet, ominous, tritone-dependent parts and loud, heavy, devilish resolu­tions with evil-grinning guitar trills (also punctuated by the bell toll). ʽElephant Starʼ chugs along at a beastly pace, alternating choppy riffage with power chords the same way as you have it on ʽSymptom Of The Universeʼ. ʽBlumma Aptʼ is a crude variation on ʽElectric Funeralʼ, and the first part of ʽCyc­lo-Fʼ is close to the sound of quietly sarcastic blues workouts on the second side of Black Sabbath, like ʽWarningʼ. Or maybe ʽHand Of Doomʼ. There's even a brief drum solo somewhere in there, like ʽRat Saladʼ. Basically, you get the picture.

The most astonishing thing about it all is that somehow, it works — not always, but this is the first time ever when I feel that Edling and his people have really managed to tap into something a bit deeper than their usual theatrical cornball stuff. In fact, I actually enjoy this record quite a bit more than Sabbath's 13, and that is saying something. The key track for me is the next to last one, ʽCyclo-Fʼ, where Flodkvist really gets into the sneery early Ozzy vibe, and then the last four mi­nutes are given over to a slow, almost acid jam with ghostly feedback howls flying back and forth over the slow-trudging dragon monster riff — and then there's a cool, genuinely Sabbath-y moment when the dragon monster eats up all the feedback and emerges loud, fattened up, trium­phant, all-encompassing. This is the moment where I have to admit that these guys really get it.

But even apart from that, the overall vibe of the album is successful. Utterly and unashamedly derivative — and, in a way, far more honest than all those «classic» Candlemass albums that pretended to do their own thing while still trapped in the shadow of their superiors. Apparently, all that Edling had to do was abandon his attempts to convince us that he had been doing his own thing, and admit that he had always simply wanted to do exactly the same thing as Tony Iommi. And then there will be ʽElephant Starʼ, which rocks with almost the same power as ʽSymptom Of The Universeʼ, and there will be ʽGalateaʼ, which has some of the most evil guitar tones ever used by mortal man, and there will be ʽARX/NG 891ʼ, which infuses just a tiny bit of Hawkwind and their heavy sci-fi sound into classic Sabbath to good effect, and...

...okay, I do not want to create the impression that From The 13th Sun is some sort of metal masterpiece: its official status as that of an imitative tribute to somebody else objectively prevents it from being hailed as Candlemass' finest hour. But not from getting a thumbs up, because, after all, the main rating criterion is how much I enjoyed the experience, and this experience, honestly, was more fun to me than any previous Candlemass studio album. I think Tony and Ozzy should be proud of this one, even if they had no hand in making it... then again, who knows?

Candlemass: Dactylis Glomerata

CANDLEMASS: DACTYLIS GLOMERATA (1998)

1) Wiz; 2) I Still See The Black; 3) Dustflow; 4) Cylinder; 5) Karthago; 6) Abstrakt Sun; 7) Apathy; 8) Lidocain God; 9) Molotov.

I have no idea why Edling would want to name an album after cock's-foot grass (last I heard, it did not have any Satanic associations, so maybe he just accidentally mixed it up with Cannabis sativa), but as long as a bit of refreshing change is introduced, he can call it anything he likes. In fact, the record was not even supposed to be issued in the name of Candlemass — the band had been inactive since 1994, leaving Edling busy with his new project, called Abstrakt Algebra and featuring a seriously different metal brand, one that combined doom and thrash influences with elements of heavy prog and even math-rock (before it was called math-rock). They'd already re­corded their second album when, suddenly, Edling decided to fire all of the band members except for the drummer, recruit new ones, call the revamped band Candlemass, and re-record most of the songs. Because commercial thinking and all that.

This all sounds like a recipe for disaster, but, strange enough, it isn't. Most everywhere you go, you will find a sharp decline in interest on the part of the fans, for obvious reasons. There's a new lead singer (Björn Flodkvist), there's a fully paid keyboard player (Carl Westholm), and the guitar work on the album is handled by none other than Michael Amott, of Carcass and Arch Enemy fame — a solid metal warrior in his own rights, but hardly a great match for the classic slow, dreary, stoned-out Candlemass vibe. (Not sure how well Candlemass and Arch Enemy fans see eye-to-eye, but I wouldn't be surprised to find the two groups largely non-intersecting and accu­sing each other of hyper-ridiculous drama and cheesiness). Anyway, for those interested in doub­ling, tripling, and quadrupling their stocks of Epicus Doomicus clones, none of these elements should look inviting, so people are perfectly within their rights to brand Dactylis Glomerata with a decisive «this is not Candlemass! this is sellout crap!» judgement and walk away.

I like quite a bit of it, though. The vibe on the opening track, ʽWizʼ, and many that follow it, is somewhat less Sabbath-ish, leaning more towards sludgy stoner metal (the kind that would enjoy a luxurious revival in the 21st century) and featuring, in my opinion, more memorable riffs on the whole than any of the «classic» Candlemass records. The new lead singer is as far away from the operatic pomp of Marcolin as possible — belonging rather to the grunge / nu-metal school of ragged-raspy warriors of the light; combined with awful music, it only helps to emphasize its awfulness (Nickelback, etc.), but combined with decent riffs, it is preferable to bullshit pathos. And the keyboard player — I was afraid that the album would be swamped in ugly synth tones, but the keyboard work here is actually cool! Instead of synthesizers, Westholm generally uses the organ, well heard in the mix but never drowning out the guitars; and sometimes, as in the quiet interludes on ʽI Still See The Blackʼ, he thinks up little music-box melodies with spooky over­tones, giving the whole thing a sort of Stephen King-like atmosphere. (The brief instrumental ʽCylinderʼ, made to sound as if it were really recorded on a wax cylinder, is an autonomous example of the same approach). And on ʽDustflowʼ, they even bring in an extra keyboardist to contribute a Theremin part for the intro.

All of these changes, in my mind, are very welcome, even if the final results do not sound like classic Candlemass at all. The average tempo of the record is «mid» rather than «slow», and some of the songs are tremendously tempestuous compared to how it used to be — ʽDustflowʼ, for in­stance, culminates in a sea of guitar overdubs, creating an angry psychedelic spectrum that is more Bardo Pond than Candlemass, with Michael Amott showing off his talents in a way that, for some reason, he could never allow himself in Arch Enemy. Another highlight is ʽAbstrakt Sunʼ, fluctuating from guitar-based walls-of-sound with a martial flair to slower, atmospheric passages where Westholm does shift to synthesizer, but uses it in a pensively Gothic manner, generating dark melancholy rather than plastic synth bliss favored by various average power metal teams. And it all ends with ʽMolotovʼ, a short instrumental based on a thunderous ʽFor Whom The Bell Tollsʼ-style riff adorned with minimalistic lead vibrato lightning bolts — brief and efficient.

Naturally, we're not talking about a masterpiece of music making, but we are talking about an album that has more diversity to it than anything previously issued under the name of Candle­mass, and also one as thoroughly purged of straightforward cheese elements as is technically possible on a heavy metal album (which means there's still plenty of cheese, but nothing as directly embarrassing as the mock-Teutonic bombast of ʽWhere The Runes Still Speakʼ). It's too bad this version of the band did not last, what with Amott going back to his duties with Arch Enemy and the fans' irritating, but predictable displeasure with the new twists — I think the new style had some future to it, if only they'd managed to find a proper fanbase in its time. Anyway, I do give the album a thumbs up in retrospect; hope that helps.

Candlemass: Chapter VI

CANDLEMASS: CHAPTER VI (1992)

1) Dying Illusion; 2) Julie Laughs No More; 3) Where The Runes Still Speak; 4) Ebony Throne; 5) Temple Of The Dead; 6) Aftermath; 7) Black Eyes; 8) End Of Pain.

It seems to me that standard critical reaction to Candlemass albums follows a pretty simple block diagram, consisting of just one question — «Was there any bad shit going on with the band at the time of recording?» — and, depending on yes or no, the album is judged as good or bad. With Chapter VI, there was most definitely some bad shit going on: after some dispute with Marcolin whose details I am not interested in, Messiah left the band (or should the correct phrasing be «ascended away from the band», in this case?) and was replaced by Thomas Vikström, another relative newcomer to the world of metal — who lasted for only this one album. And since this was not perceived as an obvious change for the better, many people bypassed alternate logical choices and declared this as an obvious change for the worst.

As in the case of Ancient Dreams, I desperately fail to see what is so clearly wrong with Chap­ter VI. First, the new vocalist is in no way inferior to Marcolin. Technically, he can hit all the right notes, he can growl and scream, and his overtones fit right in with the band's music. Sub­stantially, it's all just overblown metal theater, and it's not like either of them are expected to genuinely awaken your sleeping emotions and bring out your undercover instincts — but here, too, I will say that at least Vikström has a bit of that snarly rasp in his voice that brings him closer to «metal punk» Dio or Bruce Dickinson territory: at his best, he is less of a pompous operatic screamer than Marco­lin and more of a brutal warrior type, even though you'd probably expect the opposite, given his origins (apparently, he is the son of a real Swedish opera singer).

More importantly, Chapter VI is generally faster than all previous Candlemass albums. There is a bit more thrash and power metal vibe here than usual, which is one reason why it might not appeal to serious doom metal aficionados. ʽDying Illusionʼ, after a brief atmospheric intro, opens with the same flying punch as Sabbath's ʽNeon Knightsʼ (perhaps, given the arrival of a new lead singer, they also felt the need to switch from an Ozzy-like Master Of Reality vibe to a Dio-like Heaven And Hell vibe?), and is a pretty impressive song on the whole, with numerous time and tempo changes, going from speed metal madness to funeral march and back in a surprisingly smooth and credible manner. It definitely does not sound like an Epicus-style track — but so much for the better, I'd say.

Elsewhere, there are quite a few decent riffs as well, such as the ones that open ʽEbony Throneʼ, ʽBlack Eyesʼ, and ʽEnd Of Painʼ — a bit more complex than usual, a bit less crazy about soun­ding like the Hand Of Doom closing in on you, more intent on simply sounding menacing and foreboding in a somewhat more abstract manner. Actually, I would say that it is the most tradi­tional Candlemass-style songs that suck the most on here, a particular nadir being ʽWhere The Runes Still Speakʼ — now that is one truly miserable ode to the magical mysteries of their mythical Teutonic past; nothing but a leaden guitar tone churning out the same repetitive slow chords over and over, and tons and tons of overblown mock-Wagnerian sentimentality. ʽTemple Of The Deadʼ, another lengthy epic, is at least marginally better due to a faster tempo and a more agile and complex riff; however, the overall rule of thumb here is that the shorter the song is, the more chances it has at being successful.

It's not as if I insist that the album deserves a thumbs up, but I think it will appeal to all those who really really really love their metal riffage, and I certainly disagree with all those who accuse Chapter VI of low energy or lack of inspiration (one could certainly accuse Candlemass in toto of a lack of inspiration — or, at least, originality — but not of low energy). Certainly not the worst chapter in their history, even if, at the time, so many people believed this, apparently, that the band had no choice but to break up soon afterwards.

Candlemass: Live

CANDLEMASS: LIVE (1990)

1) The Well Of Souls; 2) Dark Are The Veils Of Death; 3) Bewitched; 4) Solitude; 5) Dark Reflections; 6) Under The Oak; 7) Demon's Gate; 8) The Bells Of Acheron; 9) Through The Infinitive Halls Of Death; 10) Samarithan; 11) Mirror, Mirror; 12) At The Gallows End; 13) The Sorcerer's Pledge.

Live heavy metal albums are usually a waste of time, with two exceptions: (a) metal bands that still preserve a lot of that old kick-ass rock'n'spirit, like Judas Priest, may follow the old principle of compensating for studio slickness with raw live energy; (b) mediocre metal bands that sound way too monotonous from album to album may have live albums that simply work as decent introductions / summaries of their overall sound, usually concentrating on the better stuff and leaving out the crap. Candlemass Live is a typical representative of group (b) — if you are interested in the band, but not enough to explore them in detail, this is a really good place to start... and, perhaps, to end.

Recorded on their native ground (in Stockholm), the album finds the classic lineup in as good a form as possible, with fine production (better than on the early studio records, actually), a rather tepid reception from the audience (which is okay, since it only helps the songs to sound better) and, most importantly, a near-perfect setlist — at least, all of my favorite Candlemass songs are here, and the energy level leaves me with nothing to complain about. ʽDemon's Gateʼ, ʽSolitudeʼ, ʽSorcerer's Pledgeʼ — these live versions totally correct all the original studio murkiness, with normally sounding drums and real deep rumble-crunch from the guitars, as compared to the almost lo-fi production quality of Epicus; honestly, even if you are a certified metalhead, I can't see how you'd like to go back to the 1986 values after hearing these versions.

Other than these two important details — great sound quality and intelligent setlist — there is really not much to say. Marcolin live is just as obnoxious as he is in the studio, but not that much more obnoxious: the obligatory audience-baiting is kept to a relative minimum (a few oi-oi-oi's here and there to get them a-clappin' and a-stompin', but nothing even close to Ozzy's trademark "let me fuckin' see your fuckin' hands, come on!"), and his treatment of Längqvist's material would probably have completely satisfied Längqvist himself (but not me). Johansson's leads are as fluent and technically perfect as they are in the studio, sometimes with a bit of extra flash. And structurally, the songs are played as close to the originals as possible.

I understand that there are several different versions of the album floating around — for instance, my version adds ʽThe Bells Of Acheronʼ, and then there's a 2-CD version with a separate show from 1988 as a bonus — but this is already in the sphere of trivia, useless for casual fans, so let's just top this off with a thumbs up and close the book on this first stage in the life of Candlemass, ending with the departure of Marcolin, and bringing on an image renovation for the new decade.

Candlemass: Tales Of Creation

CANDLEMASS: TALES OF CREATION (1989)

1) The Prophecy; 2) Dark Reflections; 3) Voices In The Wind; 4) Under The Oak; 5) Tears; 6) Into The Unfathomed Tower; 7) The Edge Of Heaven; 8) Somewhere In Nowhere; 9) Through The Infinitive Halls Of Death; 10) Dawn; 11) A Tale Of Creation.

I have just skimmed through the All-Music Guide review for this album, which, under the pres­sure of some very simple logical analysis, reads as follows: «Every original idea on this album (of which there are two) sucks; most of the non-original ideas on this album rule, but since they are non-original, we have no idea whatsoever about what it is we could say about them, so we will simply say that they are good». That is, actually, quite a respectable attitude; I only wish it were stated more explicitly, so I'm more than happy to re-state it for them.

I will, however, object that the three-minute speed metal instrumental ʽInto The Unfathomed Towerʼ — indeed, the most surprising discovery about the Candlemass catalog so far — is no­where near as awful as that review would have you believe, comparing it to Yngwie Malmsteen and all. Wedged in between all the slow doom epics, it has a bit of a cocky and tongue-in-cheek attitude to it: «Oh, so maybe you think we only play it slow and sludgy because we can't play it fast and furious? Well, take that, non-believer!» It wouldn't work at all by itself, but here, it gives you a jolt, and anything that gives you a jolt in the middle of a Candlemass album is welcome. Well, okay, not everything. A Celine Dion-style ballad probably wouldn't be welcome. But a kick-ass speed metal interlude — why not?

Formally, the album is a conceptual suite about one human soul's journey through Earth, Heaven, and Hell, which is why we have all those short spoken interludes (ʽThe Prophecyʼ, ʽVoices In The Windʼ, ʽDawnʼ) that are too short anyway to cause any major trouble; also, apparently some of the songs were dug out from the band's very early vaults, including a re-recorded version of ʽUnder The Oakʼ from Epicus (with an even crisper guitar tone, though not necessarily impro­ving on the original as a whole). Overall, though, our appreciation of Candlemass stands in direct proportion to the amount of kick-ass doom riffs on their songs, so here goes:

ʽDark Reflectionsʼ — kick-ass gallop tempo doom riff; ʽUnder The Oakʼ — one of their best songs altogether, but a re-recording all the same; ʽTearsʼ — too slow, too plodding, too operatic, too Marcolin-filled, no kick-ass riff; ʽInto The Unfathomed Towerʼ — see above; ʽThe Edge Of Heavenʼ — kick-ass riff, but comes in too late and goes on for too long (Iommi would never have let a great Sabbath song ride on a single folk-based riff for five minutes); ʽSomewhere In No­whereʼ — seems like they took the verse riff of ʽElectric Funeralʼ and extended it for the entire duration of the song, bo-o-o-o-o-oring; ʽThrough The Infinitive (sic!) Halls Of Deathʼ — finally, some nice, fast tempo zooping and chugging, gotta love the old ʽChildren Of The Graveʼ vibe; ʽA Tale Of Creationʼ — back to slow, plodding, uninteresting riffage.

Overall, this is not better and not worse than any other «classic period» Candlemass album, I guess, and I do believe that it has a generally strong reputation among metal fans, who like to talk about it as a strong comeback after the relative failure of Ancient Dreams (I see no substantial difference whatsoever, but hey, somebody has to create the illusion that some doom metal albums are notably better than others).

Candlemass: Ancient Dreams

CANDLEMASS: ANCIENT DREAMS (1988)

1) Mirror Mirror; 2) A Cry From The Crypt; 3) Darkness In Paradise; 4) Incarnation Of Evil; 5) Bearer Of Pain; 6) Ancient Dreams; 7) The Bells Of Acheron; 8) Epistle No. 81; 9) Black Sabbath Medley.

My reaction to this album will probably show how deeply out of touch I am with professional Metal Mentality. According to most of the metal critics and metal fans, Ancient Dreams is where Candlemass took their first faltering step — in fact, even the band members themselves were allegedly not very happy about it, particularly with the mix of Rex Gisslén, calling it a rushed job and all; meanwhile, fans typically complain of recycled riffs, overcooked vocals, and needlessly stretched out song lengths. A few dissenters here and there, but overall, the consensus seems to be that this is where the Candlemass formula gets a bit «stale».

I even took the trouble to relisten to this back-to-back with Epicus (partially), and all I can say is, well, wasn't the Candlemass formula seriously «stale» from the very beginning? Let's face it, all they did was surgically extract one side of Black Sabbath's personality, zoom it 250%, add opera­tic vocals and flashy solos, and repeat the same principle on every song. So how come it took them three albums for fans to start taking notice? If anything, I see a slight improvement in pro­duction values here — for instance, the drums do not sound quite as cardboardishly-tinny as they did on the first two albums — and perhaps even a few improvements in terms of riffage.

After a brief Gothic-Gregorian introduction, ʽMirror Mirrorʼ opens the album at a slightly faster tempo than usual — and with an attractive alternation of a Sabbath-style roaring riff with a chug­gier pattern, trying to marry classic school metal values with the thrash paradigm in a meticulous­ly calculated manner that, in my view, succeeds better than any such attempts on Nightfall. The same principle is then applied to ʽA Cry From The Cryptʼ, except that the chuggy pattern there is quite similar to ʽChildren Of The Graveʼ, while the slow brutal riff shares common chords with ʽSweet Leafʼ, making this one of the most blatant Master Of Reality rip-offs ever — with the exception of the flashy trills of the guitar solo, all Van Halen and Judas Priest in nature.

The rest of the songs are even more non-descript, differing in between themselves only in terms of including faster parts (ʽDarkness In Paradiseʼ) or concentrating exclusively on slowness (ʽAn­cient Dreamsʼ); by the time the record nears the end, the band begins sounding more and more like contemporary Black Sabbath — the riffage on ʽThe Bells Of Acheronʼ is similar to the kind of sound Iommi had on The Eternal Idol, but I guess you have to catch up with your idols if you are really set on idolizing them. To remedy that, the CD edition adds a sycophantic ʽBlack Sabbath Medleyʼ — consisting of minute-long clips of classic Sabbath covers, converted to the Candlemass sound (with only minor amendments); an intriguing recording, actually, since some­how they manage to make even the classic Sabbath songs sound less exciting — making me wonder if I'd actually be capable of loving an album of Sabbath classics, were I to first hear them all played by Candlemass? Does it really depend that much on the barely noticeable subtleties of the guitar tone? Or is it all because of the unbearably crass operatic singer of theirs?

Anyway, perhaps the real flaw of Ancient Dreams is a total lack of diversity — devoid of brief acoustic interludes, and very monotonous, to the point that, for instance, ʽDarkness In Paradiseʼ opens on pretty much the same looping riff on which the previous song, ʽCry From The Cryptʼ, had only just faded away. But taken individually, each song is still a perfect realization of the Candlemass schtick — you have the big fat doomy riff, the massive sonic attack, the screaming operatic guy, the wailing lead guitar, and the rest is, after all, just subjective judgement.

Candlemass: Nightfall

CANDLEMASS: NIGHTFALL (1987)

1) Gothic Stone; 2) The Well Of Souls; 3) Codex Gigas; 4) At The Gallows End; 5) Samarithan; 6) March Funebre; 7) Dark Are The Veils Of Death; 8) Mourner's Lament; 9) Bewitched; 10) Black Candles.

Only their second album, and already they have a new record label (Axis Records), a new drum­mer (Jan Lindh), a new lead guitarist (Lars Johansson), and a new vocalist (Messiah Marcolin; and no, "Messiah" is not his real name, just a sacrilegious substitute for the much more difficult to pronounce Bror Jan Alfredo). And has this changed anything? Heck no! This is still Leif Ed­ling's band, and its primary purpose is still to craft an atmosphere of theatrical doom, because there's no better way to distract yourself from the mundane apocalypse of your own universe than to immerse yourself in a magical mystery apocalypse of a universe where old men in crypts of despair form circles of magic and prayers, where your life will be put to the test as you drink the chalice of divine ambrosia, where the Devil's fingers dance upon the strings like fire, where only the vultures will come to see you hang... well, you get the picture.

As far as the technical and personnel changes are concerned, I would not define these as drastic. The new vocalist is rather a change for the worse — Marcolin is a higher-pitched quasi-operatic screamer without the tiniest speck of grit to his voice; Längqvist was cheesy enough, but at least the man could shoot out a good growl or bark, whereas Marcolin seems dedicated to the idea that Candlemass are producing a doom metal version of Tristan, and that his task is to get into charac­ter. On the other hand, the new lead guitarist is a good acquisition: they are still quite parsimo­nious with their solos, but Johansson, coming from the Van Halen school of thought, has a good way of combining first-rate technique with melodicity, and on those rare occasions when he is given full rein, I like what he is doing (for instance, the solo on ʽDark Are The Veils Of Deathʼ). However, the production still largely sucks: the new drummer gets the same tinny tone as the old one, and the guitars still have a «lo-fi» feel to them that does not allow to fully appreciate the good old Crunch worked out by Björkman.

The riffs, as usual, alternate between leaden-slow doom and thunderous mid-tempo doom, of which I far prefer the latter (ʽDark Are The Veils Of Deathʼ, which sometimes develops into chuggin' thrash) and am somewhat indifferent towards the former (ʽWell Of Soulsʼ, ʽMourner's Lamentʼ, whatever). The overall number of tracks here is higher due to the presence of short instrumental interludes, sometimes decent (ʽCodex Gigasʼ, where they seem to try to recreate the atmosphere of a Gregorian chant with heavy metal guitars) and sometimes not (ʽMarch Funebreʼ: whoever said it was a good idea to make a doom metal arrangement of Chopin?), but the overall makeup of a Candlemass song remains the same — five to seven minutes of a leaden riff, a tale of medieval woe, a couple of short solos, and maybe a nice key change or two in the middle. And again, Eidling and Björkman demonstrate that they are no Tony Iommi when it comes to crafting a nicely thunderous doom metal riff — they have the tone right, they have learned their Devil's interval, but it does not work nearly as well. I believe one reason for this might be that they are too influenced by classical music: some of these melodies, if you mentally transpose them to orchestration, almost seem like Wagnerian leitmotifs, and it never does anybody any good to play Wagnerian leitmotifs with heavy metal guitars.

Still, once they get in a bit of speed and energy, the results are decent — ʽDark Are The Veils Of Deathʼ, for instance, is a really cool song as long as the wounded Tristan keeps his mouth shut (and he does not do it for too long), with a howling doom riff sliding into a funkier one and then into a chuggin' third (gotta love the mood shifts). And on the whole, I do appreciate the musician­ship — I just find it hard to get excited about it even on a cheap fantasy level. (Also, the lyrics are atrocious, but that kind of goes without saying; once again, I miss the deep poetic level of Geezer Butler).

Candlemass: Epicus Doomicus Metallicus

CANDLEMASS: EPICUS DOOMICUS METALLICUS (1986)

1) Solitude; 2) Demon's Gate; 3) Crystal Ball; 4) Black Stone Wielder; 5) Under The Oak; 6) A Sorcerer's Pledge.

I confess that I have never read any interviews with Leif Edling or any other members of Candle­mass, let alone any official or unofficial biography of the band — and therefore, I have no idea of how deeply serious they are themselves about their music. But whatever they have to say about it, it would be very hard for me to accept that anybody who names their first album Epicus Doo­micus Metallicus could do it without a tongue-in-cheek attitude. Really, this is within the same sphere as «Biggus Dickus» or something like that. And it makes me happy, too, because a solid healthy tongue-in-cheek attitude is the only thing that can save Candlemass from a massive face­palm, all of their historical importance notwithstanding.

Apparently, the entire genre of «doom metal» owes its formalization to the title of Candlemass' debut — and when it appeared, it did sound significantly different from earlier purveyors of the style, such as Saint Vitus and Pentagram. They were one of the first Scandinavian (in this case, Swedish) bands to open up the floodgates for Valhalla-Ragnarök-inspired heavy music, and, like every pioneering outfit, might sound a little crude, unpolished, and naïve in comparison with their followers — much like Black Sabbath, their chief source of inspiration, might also seem in com­parison with the general heavy metal scene that followed. But they have their advantages, too, a chief one being driven by the excitement that accompanies trying out a new formula.

A formula it is, of course, as bassist Leif Edling (who writes most of the music) and his pals capitalize on but one aspect of Sabbath — the slow, solemn, earth-shattering brutality of impen­ding doom — and expand it to forty-three minutes of dungeon-crawling music for your paganistic pleasure. Since the songs are slow, they are also long (just six tracks in all), and mood-wise, their goal is always exactly the same, making it understandably hard to come up with separate judge­ments for individual tracks. Differences include the presence/absence of acoustic intros and inter­ludes; the presence/absence of slightly sped up parts; increased/understated presence of lead guitar; increased/diminished function of the synthesizer (yes, a few tracks are marred by Queens­rychian keyboards, but, thankfully, not all of them, and I do believe that the credits do not even include a special listing for keyboards).

Typically, the weakest link in Candlemass is the vocalist: in their minds, the style calls for a pompous screamer rather than a vulnerable-street-guy like Ozzy, but they couldn't lay their hands on anybody of at least Ronnie James Dio caliber, either, so they had to settle for a Tony Martin look-alike instead and go along with Johan Längqvist, a large-piped loudmouth who is trying to deliver the apocalyptic / medievalistic lyrics with as much pathos as his pipes allow him, but also happens to be endowed with below-zero charisma and personality. Unfortunately, there's a lot of the lyrics on the album: were they to simply confine him to singing one opening and one closing verse and then devote the rest of the time to instrumental magic-making, things would get more tolerable and interesting — as it is, he happens to be all over the place, and it's bad.

What is good, then? The riffs. Edling's melodic skills are not directly comparable to Iommi in his prime — there is not a single passage here that would come close to the immediate visionary brilliance of an ʽElectric Funeralʼ or an ʽInto The Voidʼ — but he is still close to a perfect adept of the Iommi textbook, and rhythm guitarist Mats Björkman is able to reproduce that metal-melting, Hell-raising tone that, for some reason, had all but vanished off the Earth's surface after Sabbath's peak years. Meanwhile, lead guitarist Klas Bergwall, although kept amazingly quiet most of the time, occasionally erupts with new-generation metal solos that try to combine old school fluency and melodicity with a more technical, post-Van Halen attitude. The result is an interesting update on the Sabbath sound that is nowhere near as memorable as the original, but does not sound like mere slavish imitation, either.

If only one song needed to be singled out of the overall sludgy mass, I'd probably go for ʽUnder The Oakʼ, which is melodically as close to (slow) thrash metal as they ever get here and, because of that, gets an extra aggressive angle — most of these tunes just growl and grumble under your feet, but the opening riff of ʽUnder The Oakʼ actually snaps at your feet. If it weren't for the ne­ces­sity to somehow erase the vocal track from the corresponding channel in your brain ("MY HEART! BLEEDING FOR MY RACE!" — don't worry, they actually mean ʽmankindʼ under ʽraceʼ here, there are no traces of Aryan supremacy or anything like that, but it still sounds very, very ridiculous), this would be close to the perfect Candlemass song... unfortunately, since most of the vocals on Candlemass songs are dorky, there is no such thing as a perfect Candlemass song. As for the Iommi-style riffs, the best ones are probably on ʽSolitudeʼ (which is not a cover of the Sabbath tune, but the fact that they have a song by that name is probably not a coincidence) and ʽDemon's Gateʼ, but really, most of these slow sludgy monsters are interchangeable.

For all its alleged importance, still, Epicus is hardly the best possible Candlemass album. For one thing, even if the formula is established here 100%, it suffers from mediocre production values: the drums sound too tinny, and the guitars sound oddly distant, as if they had microphone prob­lems — worse, in fact, than those fifteen-year old Sabbath albums on which they were modeling themselves. Strangely, it may have something to do with the shittiness of Stockholm's studios at the time: Bathory's debut, recorded two years prior to this, suffered from the same problem. Even­tually, they'd get it straight, but for now, Epicus Domicus is more like Crapicus Sonicus in certain respects. Oh, and I can't really remember a single song, either, but for that one, I was fully prepared. Just as I was for brilliant lines like "The dawn was to come with the sunrise" and "Cursed be the sun / The women will weep for his fun / In the name of his magic so strong". What I was not prepared for was how oddly «homebrewn», in a way, this whole thing sounds: a problem that would not be overcome for quite some time yet. Still, I guess that the combination of an overall cool sound and historical importance should account for a mild thumbs up, despite production issues, lyrics that make Geezer Butler sound like Keats in comparison, and a vocalist whom I would very gladly "let die in solitude" if he'd only let me. Why shouldn't he? Death is his sanctuary, he seeks it with pleasure, his lifeblood is exhausted anyway...