Angra: Ømni

ANGRA: ØMNI (2018)

1) Light Of Transcendence; 2) Travelers Of Time; 3) Black Widow's Web; 4) Insania; 5) The Bottom Of My Soul; 6) War Horns; 7) Caveman; 8) Magic Mirror; 9) Always More; 10) Ømni: Silence Inside; 11) Ømni: Infinite Nothing.

General verdict: The usual post-Matos Angra delivery — impeccably forgettable power metal whose modest catchiness is no match for its deadpan seriousness.

Before embarking upon this review, I carefully re-read everything I had to say about Angra's previous album, Secret Garden, and now I have a good pretext for keeping this one short and sweet — because nearly everything I wrote about that one applies to this one. There is a serious difference concerning the line-up: founding father Kiko Loureiro finally had enough (and, as they say, went to joing Megadeth, which should probably be counted as a significant upgrade for the man). His replacement is Marcelo Barbosa, a viciously melodic shredder but, as far as I can tell, not much of a songwriter or trend-setter. But that's okay, since most of the songs on the previous record were written by Bittencourt anyway — nowadays, the sole surviving member from the classic original line-up.

Other than that, what we have here is yet another fairly generic — and, as far as generic goes, fairly consistent — power metal opus, this time apparently based on the familiar concept of AI overtaking human intelligence in the near future; the last time I gave a damn about Angra lyrics, though, was on Holy Land, and I see no reason to get involved now. The songs are mostly one speed-riff-fest after another, with plenty of symphonic guitar posturing and ecstatic singing from Fabio — loud and robust, but who is really going to go crazy over Beethoven influences in the main melody of ʽLight Of Transcendenceʼ in 2018?

Occasional oddities begin to attract attention around the third track, which features guest vocals from Brazilian pop star Sandy in the intro and outro, and then, in a startling twist, Arch Enemy's Alissa White-Gluz and her gurgly growling vocals in a call-and-response duet with Fabio — I think this is the first time we encounter growling on an Angra album, and I am not sure it should count as anything more than a novelty; but then, what is really to distinguish one late-period Angra album from another other than novelties? (And, for that matter, a few bars of Alissa's growling are arguably more fun than having to sit through an entire album of Arch Enemy).

Another eyebrow-raising track is ʽCavemanʼ, which starts out with an unusually gruff industrial / math-rock riff punch — but then segues into a bunch of tribal percussion and (presumably) indigenous Brazilian chanting, which clearly brings to mind the style of Holy Land, which the band was indeed eager to invoke. Unfortunately and predictably, the song never lives up to the level of Holy Land, but at least it is an effort to break out of the rut — as is ʽMagic Mirrorʼ with its romantic piano interlude, and ʽAlways Moreʼ, a jazz-folk ballad that completely dispenses with metallic formalities and shows that this band is capable of colorful pop riffs as well.

But all of these elements are still relatively minor: there can be no doubt that, in general, Angra are still happy as heck to work within a safely established formula, and that formula is still not enough to convince me that power metal (or, at least, this particular brand of power metal) could ever be taken seriously — that is, to the point of invoking a cathartic state. If you are already a fan of Angra, Ømni delivers the goods with all the efficiency of a truly loyal customer service; but that's about all the album does. Well, that and it also replaces O with a more difficult Unicode, merely to make things look a bit more Scandinavian... haven't those guys always been from Brazil, though? Took them quite a while to graphically acknowledge their debt to the land of ice and snow, I must say. 

Angra: Secret Garden

ANGRA: SECRET GARDEN (2014)

1) Newborn Me; 2) Black Hearted Soul; 3) Final Light; 4) Storm Of Emotions; 5) Violet Sky; 6) Secret Garden; 7) Upper Levels; 8) Crushing Room; 9) Perfect Symmetry; 10) Silent Call.

Another four years, another «Angra» album, and again, the only remaining original members are the guitar duo of Loureiro and Bettencourt, and now they have even gone as far as to change the lead vocalist again — instead of Edu Falaschi, welcome Fabio Lione, a native of the fair town of Pisa who now shares lead vocalist duties in no less than three different prog-metal bands, in­cluding the Italian outfits Rhapsody Of Fire and Vision Divine, though, of course, Angra must be his biggest gambit so far. The guy must be in serious demand — frankly, however, I do not notice any crucial difference between his and Falaschi's singing. His pitch is a little shriller and higher, perhaps bringing the style a bit closer to the original Matos «lyricism», but do not take this as a nostalgic sing — Secret Garden ain't no Holy Land and never will be.

Instead, it continues the modest revival of Aqua, drifting a bit closer to «symphonic» and «progressive» metal, as is evident by the band's choice of producer (Jens Bogren, who has previously worked with everyone from Opeth to Symphony X) and additional guest vocalists. Excellent production values, inspired playing, serious care for melody and harmony, an emphasis on sheer power, as every second riff strives to imitate a minor earthquake — technically, Secret Garden is beyond reproach. Substan­tially, I have long since given up on Angra's possibility to amaze and delight anyone outside the regular heavy metal legion of fans, but as long as they keep up this level of energy and this high quality of sound, it will not make any sense whatsoever to condemn this music.

Once again, it seems as if there exists some sort of concept here — perhaps having to do with «the other world» and the passing from one plane of existence into the other, judging by the song titles and some of the lyrics — but do not waste your time trying to ascertain the details, it's not as if Bittencourt, who wrote most of the songs, could really enlighten you in this respect with any fascinating new insights. (The bonus track on some of the editions, by the way, is the band's cover of ʽSynchronicity IIʼ, which sort of upholds this idea of different worlds). More important is the fact that the heavy metal core of the album is now heavily interspersed with everything from flamenco to dark folk to progressive balladry (the title track, written by Finnish keyboardist Maria Ilmoniemi, is here sung by guest vocalist Simone Simons, normally with Dutch symph-metal band Epica — and it is sort of pretty, actually).

There is a jazzy touch every now and then, too — for instance, ʽUpper Levelsʼ starts out with some heavily busy basslines and scattered piano improvisations, before eventually gorging itself on these sounds so as to grow up into another power metal outing, and then, midway through, some of the guitar solos are played in a decidedly «fusion» manner, invoking memories of John McLaughlin and Allan Holdsworth more than any regular power metal stylistics. In brief, when Loureiro said that the new album «would be different», he wasn't merely bullshitting us like they all tend to do — they are really trying to explore different side alleys, though without losing the classic Angra flavor, of course.

I give the album a thumbs up without any second thoughts. Angra's attempts at scaring the day­lights out of us with horrific sonic pictures (ʽCrushing Roomʼ, with Doro Pesch of Warlock featured as yet another guest star) or at inspiring me with optimistic power choruses (ʽStorm Of Emotionsʼ) do not work too well, relying as they do on well-tested musical methods, but they are handled with enough restraint, technicality, and respectable work ethics that even at its worst, Secret Garden may be tolerated, and at its best, shows that the pool of power metal ideas, even if you can now clearly see all the way to the bottom, is not yet com­pletely exhausted. Well, something like that. Big thank you to producer Jens Bogren, too, for bringing out the best in these guys' guitar sound.

Angra: Aqua

ANGRA: AQUA (2010)

1) Viderunt Te Aquae; 2) Arising Thunder; 3) Awake From Darkness; 4) Lease Of Life; 5) The Rage Of The Waters; 6) Spirit Of The Air; 7) Hollow; 8) A Monster In Her Eyes; 9) Weakness Of A Man; 10) Ashes; 11*) Lease Of Life (remixed version).

Hmm. Either I am finally getting used to this, or Aqua is an improvement over the band's last trio of power slabs — or, at least, reflects some changes that appeal to me, the non-power-metalhead who, nevertheless, has managed to enjoy large parts of the record.

So let us see what's new and what's old. The fact that Angra have adopted the Asia-style gimmick of naming their albums is new (unless you disregard the word Consurgens from their previous offering) — but certainly not encouraging. More encouraging is having their old drummer, Ricar­do Confessori, make his prodigal son return after his co-project with Matos, Shaaman, had pretty much burnt down to the ground.

But the absolute best thing that has happened to this band on an objective scale is, I think, their saying goodbye to Dennis Ward, the producer behind all of their 2001-2006 output. Why? Just make yourself a random playlist from these three albums, throw in Aqua, and admire the diffe­rence. In comparison, the old sound is simply awful. The drums are drowned in hiss, the guitar riffs glue the notes together in a noisy roar, and the singer is almost reduced to the painful task of outshouting both. For Aqua, the band, instead of the hotly credited Ward, turned to lesser names (I have no idea who Branden Duffy and Adriano Daga are) and co-produced themselves — and the result is their best sound in ages, maybe ever (even Holy Land had its production problems, which were, of course, compensated by the amazing quality of the material).

Case in point: 'Arising Thunder', which bursts out of your speakers much like the title suggests, with a magnificent, juicy guitar sound in which the heavy rhythm work never overshadows the finger-flashing melodic scale playing, the insanely fast drums feel refreshingly humanoid, and Fa­laschi's pompous singing feels like singing, not shouting. It kicks ass, it's melodic, it's complex, and it never for once ruins the ears — what more is there to ask?

So the band, conceptually, is still deeply mired in their mystical shit. This particular concept is centered around — three guesses! — water and its, uh, general influence on the life of man. Not in the issue of sewer maintenance, of course, but rather the way it is hinted at in Shakespeare's Tempest, which, so we are told, forms the loose (very loose) basis of the album. Simply put, Aqua tells you that Water Is Important — in more ways than you normally imagine it to be. If you got that, we can now move on to the music.

Much of which is fine, although I still cannot always tell whether it is merely due to a combina­tion of their refined production and my improved imagination, or if the band really sat down with a firm decision to write a bunch of better power metal tunes than usual. But I'll be damned if that opening one-two punch of 'Arising Thunder' and 'Awake From Darkness' is not recognized as the band's killing-est consecutive blast since the good old days of 'Nothing To Say'. Even when, mid­way through 'Awake', they cut out the metal and indulge in a brief piano-and-strings mid-section, it feels like an interesting gesture rather than a conventional gimmick. And I even get a chance to be amazed at some particular riffs — such as the awesome descending bumble-bee thing that cuts in around 2:32 into the song.

Third good song in a row, the piano epic 'Lease Of Life' threatens to become a rotten power ballad from time to time, but never capitalizes on that promise — instead, they just bring in den­ser layers of sound, such as dreamy female background vocals, diversify it with a rocking mid-section, and, overall, go for a more progressive stance of things than cheap-operatic. It works! Not on any tear-jerking level, of course, but there is a feel of overall solidity that never goes away.

For sure, once you get past the mid-album mark, they cannot help but start repeating themselves — the same speed-metal and prog-metal elements cast in only slightly changing ways. But with this crystal clear production and refined sense of taste, this is not a big problem. Even Falaschi's singing is not such a big bother: he is, after all, merely respecting the genre's conventions, and it is always easy to pass him by and just concentrate on the guitar melodies, or even on the monster rhythm section if you feel more like it.

As tempting as it would be to end this on a «Welcome back, Angra!» note, I would still refrain from too much excitement. For one thing, this constant insistance on Big Concept Statements is not a wise thing — it just keeps on interfering with concentrating on writing the riffs. For another thing, if the band's sound depends so much on the guy behind the mixing controls, it puts them in­to a state of constant jeopardy. For a third thing, it's frickin' power metal — Wagner for the 21st Century Lunk­head Man. Nevertheless, my internal lunkhead is still influential enough to lobby out a secure thumbs up for Aqua. Is yours influential enough to join in the fun?

Check "Aqua" (CD) on Amazon

Angra: Aurora Consurgens

ANGRA: AURORA CONSURGENS (2006)

1) The Course Of Nature; 2) The Voice Commanding You; 4) Ego Painted Grey; 5) Breaking Ties; 6) Salvation Sui­cide; 7) Window To Nowhere; 8) So Near So Far; 9) Passing By; 10) Scream Your Heart Out; 11) Abandoned Fate; 12*) Out Of This World.

One encouraging thing about all those Angra albums is that the further they go, the more esoteric subjects they choose for the underlying concept — right to the point that it becomes far more in­teresting and productive to talk about the genesis of those albums than it is to actually talk about the music they contain.

Aurora Consurgens, in particular, draws its title from a late Medieval alchemical treatise, pre­served in the form of an illuminated manuscript with all sorts of bizarre, proto-Bosch, pre-proto-psychedelic watercolour miniatures. But it goes somewhat beyond the predictable obsession that metal bands have with mystical medieval subjects — here, the middleman between the treatise and the album is Carl Jung, one of whose interests was finding the relations between alchemy and psychology; among other things, he used the imagery of Aurora to explore the «dreams : mental states» connection. And it is really Herr Jung to whom the album owes its existence, rather than the «pseudo-Aquinas» responsible for the original writing.

I have to admit the boys pulled a sly one on us here: without sacrificing the medievalistic candy-wrapper (album title and sleeve), they still managed to put out a record whose lyrics and general atmosphere cannot at all be called «laughable». The cliché-ridden, chaotic, fantasy-land concept of Temple Of Shadows does not really invite the jaded listener to scrutinize its inner depths; in the case of Aurora, however, I was at least intrigued enough to take a look at the lyrics — and, what do you know, they are quite tolerable.

As is much of the music, actually. Third album in a row shows this band will never surpass the level of Holy Land (unless a miracle brings Matos back), but, regardless, there is at least an ever so slight increase in the quality of brutal riffs on the rocking numbers and vocal hooks on the po­wer ballads. Perhaps this has something to do with the fact that they are exploring more under­standable and more relatable topics: as exciting as it may have been to record a whole album about the mysterious «Shadow Hunter», did Falaschi, Loureiro, and Bittencourt actually feel their character, or was he just another cardboard figurine? But here, on 'Salvation Suicide', as they sing about a real guy contemplating this particular measure as a possible solution to all his problems, they definitely hit closer to home.

Some fans view Aurora as some sort of a minor sell-out after the stark conceptuality of Temple, quoting, among other things, a «softer» approach — there are, overall, more ballads and acoustic parts — and little things like the sudden outburst of completely non-metallic flamenco in the middle of 'So Near So Far'. I would view this, instead, as signs of hope, showing that the band at least give some thought, occasionally, to the idea of overthrowing the formula, even if, at this point, it has enslaved them on Ancient Rome level. This is still a thumbs down; but at least it is an album whose initial premise may prompt the non-hardcore metal fan to give it a second listen, and who knows what may happen then. Plus, I now know something about Aurora Consurgens — so far be it from me to say that Angra have no educational value. Do check out those minia­tures, by the way; Frank Miller sure got nothing on them.

Angra: Temple Of Shadows

ANGRA: TEMPLE OF SHADOWS (2004)

1) Deus Le Volt!; 2) Spread Your Fire; 3) Angels And Demons; 4) Waiting Silence; 5) Wishing Well; 6) The Temple Of Hate; 7) The Shadow Hunter; 8) No Pain For The Dead; 9) Winds Of Destination; 10) Sprouts Of Time; 11) Mor­ning Star; 12) Late Redemption; 13) Gate XIII.

Sometimes the simple bigness of the banality can transcend its flaws and turn certified crap into dubitable art. Of course, it is hard to imagine that the Falaschi-led Angra ever understood its own production as certified crap — but not at all hard to hypothesize that they were not too satisfied with their Rebirth, and thought that, just like Holy Land, with its pretense and mighty sway, was able to blow away the mild results of Angels Cry, so would the «rebirth» only be complete with yet another pretentious, monumental concept album.

All I can say, however, is that the concept blows — completely — and, by blowing, places Tem­ple Of Shadows squarely into the group of medieval-crazed metal albums that continues to feed the genre's poor reputation. I will not waste space on a detailed description, easily attainable elsewhere; instead, here is just a list of key­words. Spot the odd one out.

Crusades. Crusaders. Catholic Church. Atrocities. Genocide. Jerusalem. The Dead Sea. The Tem­ple of Solomon. Lost scrolls of wisdom. Jews. Muslims. Tits. Past, present, and future. Body and soul. Redemption. The Morning Star (not the newspaper). The Angel of Death.

The protagonist, notably, is called «The Shadow Hunter», which, along with all the references to the Temple of Solomon, seriously makes me wonder whether someone in the Angra camp had been previously indulging in Gabriel Knight 3: Blood Of The Sacred, Blood Of The Damned. But, regardless of whether this is just a coincidence, for me as a listener the concept goes nowhere, because, in order to figure out if it goes anywhere, I'd have to spend time analyzing it, and I have lots of better things to do.

As for the music, again, it is probably okay as far as generic power metal goes. They inject a little diversity — apart from the obligatory classical influences, there is some flamenco guitar (e. g. on 'Sprouts Of Time') and some mainstreamish balladeering ('Wishing Well'). There is plenty of the expected violent thrashing, and quite a few multi-part epics. But never once could I get rid of the feeling that all of this has been made on order. The fans want loud guitars, screeching singers, pathos, fist-pumping, mystical medieval imagery, and long songs that create the illusion of seri­ous art. That is exactly what they get. You a fan? You'll love this. I prefer to replay my Gabriel Knight — at least that experience allows for immersion, whereas the gates of Temple Of Sha­dows do not even give a hint of the possibility of opening. Thumbs (yawn) down.

Angra: Rebirth

ANGRA: REBIRTH (2001)

1) In Excelsis; 2) Nova Era; 3) Millennium Sun; 4) Acid Rain; 5) Heroes Of Sand; 6) Unholy Wars; 7) Rebirth; 8) Judgement Day; 9) Running Alone; 10) Visions Prelude.

Conflicts of egos suck, but where there are egos, eventually unavoidable. And it so turned out that the ego of frontman, vocalist, and keyboardist André Matos lost to the egos of guitar players Rafael Bittencourt and Kiko Loureiro. The rhythm section, apparently, sided with Matos, since they jumped ship together to form Shaaman; but three non-guitarists are a poor match for two guitarists, and the name of Angra remained with Rafael and Kiko.

Quickly recruiting a batch of new members — Felipe Andreoli on bass, Aquiles Priester on drums, and Eduardo Falaschi on vocals (whose principal prior claim to fame was that he almost became Iron Maiden's lead singer in 1994) — the mighty guitarists finally achieved their goal: transforming the once adventurous and experimental band into a thoroughly generic, stereotypical power metal outfit. Hooray for living by the rules.

As a generic power metal album, Rebirth would probably be decent enough if it did not call it­self Rebirth. Struck by the Three-Zeroes-Curse, the band decided that they were, in fact, among the chosen ones to whom God has personally entrusted the musical celebration of the upcoming new era; and thus, while there is no easily-defined «concept» to the album, its main vibe is a con­secrative one. Metal fans all over the world are invited to join Angra in a metal mass for the well-being of humanity. The basic idea is easily understood just by glancing at the song titles.

Usually, generic power metal consists of ripping off classical melodies, translating them into the language of metal guitars, and passing them for your own, only occasionally crediting the source in order for the average fan to accumulate some respect. Rebirth behaves suspiciously close to this model: 'Visions Prelude' is acknowledged to be «adapted from Chopin's Op. 24 in C minor» (actually, Chopin's Op. 24 is a set of mazurkas; what is meant is probably Prelude No. 20 in C minor, of the 24 Preludes), but God only knows how many of these other melodies have been pil­fered from Beethoven or Brahms or whatever lesser composer these guys must have studied. Re­gardless, some of these melodies might sound pleasant in a true symphonic arrangement — but set to an endless barrage of machine-gun chords and same-tone-using solo guitars, they make no impression whatsoever.

The new vocalist, unfortunately, fares even worse. Falaschi belongs to the old school of hard rock belters — his idols must have, at best, been Lou Gramm and Graham Bonnet, at worst, David Coverdale or Glenn Hughes. Or maybe not, but his vocal range and manner of using it falls in the same camp. Where Matos' shrill, thin, vulnerable, and at the same time loud and piercing delivery had lots of individual character, Falaschi is just big, fat, and flat. He does not particularly spoil the tunes he is assigned, but he could never hope to salvage a bad or mediocre tune by adding his own parts to it.

Predictably loud, thoroughly professional, inadequately pompous, Rebirth does not have one single song that I could write something useful about. If you like the simple waves of power me­tal, if you like them the same way that someone likes the vibes of classic symphonic music with­out being able to keep its themes in his head afterwards, Rebirth is for you. But if we insist that power metal, like any other metal or pop music in general, has its share of standouts and its share of flops, then Rebirth is, by all means, a flop. Thumbs down, says the brain; and I haven't even mentioned the lyrics — flatter than the flattest offerings from Matos. "New day shines, fallen an­gels will arise, Nova Era brings the ashes back to life; all over now, all the pain and awful lies, angels will arise back to life!" I am pretty sure I have even heard characters from Heroes Of Might And Magic speak lines with less clichéd wordings.

Angra: Fireworks

ANGRA: FIREWORKS (1998)

1) Wings Of Reality; 2) Petrified Eyes; 3) Lisbon; 4) Metal Icarus; 5) Paradise; 6) Mystery Machine; 7) Fireworks; 8) Extreme Dream; 9) Gentle Change; 10) Speed; 11*) Rainy Nights.

Anyone who hears Fireworks directly after Holy Land is bound to be disappointed — it is quite clearly a regressive album, abandoning the conceptual and extraneous elements in favour of a more straightforward all-out metal attack. No one has ever been able to explain why this happen­ed: no sooner had these guys opened up the doors of power metal to outside influences than some mystical force made them step back inside and bar the gates once and for all. Why?..

Once the initial disappointment fades away, though, it becomes possible to set out a different per­spective. So Holy Land seemed progressive and, on the limited scale of heavy metal, revolutio­nary, but it was mainly because of occasional sprinklings of elements that we do not expect to meet in heavy metal — such as the «tribal pecussion» of 'Carolina IV' — not because this was some radically groundbreaking synthesis of hugely different styles. Take these occasional sprink­lings out, and the distance from Holy Land to Fireworks is easily crossed.

And Fireworks isn't a bad metal album. Yes, the band does feel a bit stalled and confused, but definitely not washed up, and not giving up on their artistic influences, either. The opening thun­der of 'Wings Of Reality' cannot compete with the memorability of 'Carry On', but its symphonic vibe, with a nod or two to Beethoven, is still believable, and capable of taking the listener to all the required heights. The anthemic chorus of 'Lisbon' ("Oh, skies are falling down...") possesses the quintessential Angra stateliness; the seven-minute epic 'Paradise' could have used a little trim­ming, but otherwise its evilly distorted guitars and Matos' ironic delivery make up for a delightful Alice Cooper-ish sendup of fake morality.

It is also fun to find out that the fastest song on the album is, in fact, called 'Speed', and that its ly­rics justify the use of speed of searching for enlightenment, because "faster than light we will find a way out of the conscience" — so now we know the precious secret of speed metal, and why these guys are so fond of it. Play fast enough, and, in time, this will get you places you've never even suspected of existing. Of course, in this particular case, the insanely velocious 'Speed' only gets you to the end of the record (is that irony?), but who knows what you're getting next time?

I do believe that Fireworks deserves a thumbs up on the rational plane, and may even become a metal favourite on repeated listens — although, unlike Holy Land, it is hard to recommend it to anyone suspicious of power metal. It is unfortunate that it became the swan song of the original band, ending their union in a downward rather than upward movement; but, in the end, it is sort of nice to know it exists, because it is not a total waste of effort.

Angra: Holy Live

ANGRA: HOLY LIVE (1997)

1) Crossing; 2) Nothing To Say; 3) Z.I.T.O.; 4) Carolina IV; 5) Unfinished Allegro; 6) Carry On.

Live, recorded at some Paris venue in 1996 — easy to tell if you know enough French to at least under­stand Matos' exploding "BONSOIR PARIS!" in between tracks. His French is not entirely accent-free, by the way, but quite extraordinary for the average level of a foreign musical perfor­mer; if there is anything that may bug a sensitive ear, it is the arena-rock intonations of his stage banter that, in my opinion, do not fit the elegance of Angra's music. Yes, it is heavy, but it is still «progressive» rather than «party» music, and Angra's anthems do not need any additional goa­ding to drive the listeners crazy.

Other than that, Holy Live is an excellent snap of Angra at their peak, and a very fortunate one considering just how short that peak turned out to be. The songs are not at all different from their studio incarnations, but the band members still manage to insert just a wee touch of extra live po­wer that makes the experience individually worthwhile. Thus, they have no way of replicating all the complex percussion parts of the «tribal» part of 'Carolina IV', but they compensate for it by making the underlying guitar riffage more loud and crunchy (and hats off to Matos for carrying over the chill-sending effect of "So, won't you come with me my friend..." to perfection).

We can only regret that the album is so shamefully short — it is, in fact, in EP format, barely run­ning over 35 minutes, and, in all honesty, containing only four actual songs ('Crossing' and 'Un­finished Allegro' are intros rather than full-bodied independent entities). Apparently, there were certain technical difficulties in recording more material, and these precious shards are all we're left with (at least the sound quality is untouchable). The band would remedy this five years later, with Rebirth World Tour, but, alas, by that time its creative engine would already be spent.

Angra: Holy Land

ANGRA: HOLY LAND (1996)

1) Crossing; 2) Nothing To Say; 3) Silence And Distance; 4) Carolina IV; 5) Holy Land; 6) The Shaman; 7) Make Believe; 8) Z.I.T.O.; 9) Deep Blue; 10) Lullaby For Lucifer.

Angra's masterpiece — the album they are going to be remembered by if they are to be remem­bered at all — Holy Land is a conceptual creation, dedicated to the lives and fates of people in the Holy Land (which, for these Brazilian guys, has nothing to do with the one in the Torah) be­fore the latter became defiled by European invaders; think Neil Young's 'Cortez The Killer' ex­panded to the form of a symphonic metal opera.

Actually, my description is somewhat off, influenced by what is usually written about the album. Upon close inspection, it turns out that the record is not so much about the native people of Ame­rica as it is about the people arriving there — dealing with their own dreams, hopes, impressions and conclusions. This also explains why the Indian folk motives, whose incorporation into the record has been so much lauded by critics, are, in practice, limited to at most a couple songs, most notably the «tribal drumming» of 'Carolina IV': what else should one expect from an album about Europeans? After all, there is a reason why it does not begin with an Indian folk chant, but rather with a rearrangement of one of Palestrina's mass pieces ('Crossing' — quite likely, some­thing that a bunch of conquistadores may have actually been listening to on the eve of their jour­ney). It is not about Indians.

Nor is it about cruel, heartless, racist European guys slaughtering innocent, peaceful Children of Nature. That side of the business is altogether left alone. Instead, we have a dense musical land­scape trying to accompany, if not represent the mixed, bewildered feelings one experiences when clashing with a new, unpredictable, virginal world. This can be done in many different ways, and from an apriori position, I would think that power metal is hardly the best one. When you try to convey a complex, constantly shifting emotional state through speedy distorted guitars and a strong-throated guy per­manently screaming his lungs off, results are almost certainly bound to be catastrophic. Yet Holy Land somehow manages to make it.

On their own, the individual songs are decent; just as before, some of the riffs are memorable, some of the choruses are easy to sing along, and there is plenty of punch as the guitarists and the vocalist compete for your attention. But it is the concept that strings them together and brings a unifying meaning to the thrash patterns and ear-bursting wailing; the pathos and ecstasy are given a good reason, and the medieval and baroque classical influences are no longer there just because someone happened to like baroque music. A mystical journey, but grounded in reality, and justi­fied by well-handled musical planning.

The centerpiece is 'Carolina IV', a ten-minute epic illustrating the ships' majestic sailing through uncharted waters and their eventual arrival (or, perhaps, imaginary arrival; or, perhaps, no arrival, since there are also vague references to shipwreck throughout). In condensed form, it has it all: folk-influenced percussion beats, gorgeous dreamy vocal parts (the "So, won't you come with me my friend?.." bit is, as far as I can tell, the most beautiful moment in the band's entire catalog), the insane speed-metal part with catchy choruses, the keyboard-orchestral interlude, a finger-fla­shing solo that takes the dexterity of Iron Maiden for granted and proceeds to improve upon it, and a long pompous coda. One can hate each, or all, of these moments, but I feel a vision here — a brave, pretentious message from people who truly have something original to say.

In the overall context of the album, even songs that I would otherwise hate — the «power ballads» 'Make Believe' and 'Deep Blue' — play an integral part, and contribute to the overtly tra­gic feeling of it all. Why tragic? Because Matos leaves no space whatsoever for joy. There is fru­stration caused by a beautiful dream gone horrendously wrong ('Nothing To Say'); there is quiet amazement, mixed with fear and uncertainty, at realizing one's own role in changing history ('Ho­ly Land'); there is spiritual confusion brought on by an encounter with pagan religion ('The Sha­man') — but no joy. The closest thing to joy is the speed-rocker 'Z.I.T.O.', because the chorus says "Mother nature brings to me in fantastic purity everything I need... like a teenage discovery what's more delightful than this?", but coming as it does towards the end of the album, and loaded with hard-to-decipher ironic subtexts, it is not enough to shift the mood upwards.

In many ways, Holy Land is still a puzzle, which is terrific since there are few things more bor­ing and less adequate than «easily read» art-metal conceptual albums. It helps to swallow it toge­ther with its concept, but even if we knew nothing about the subject idea behind it, its somber tra­velog style could still come through. A perfectly constructed masterpiece of 1990s metal, and the only Angra album with the capacity of inflaming my usually metalproof heart — thumbs up by any possible account.

Angra: Angels Cry

ANGRA: ANGELS CRY (1993)

1) Unfinished Allegro; 2) Carry On; 3) Time; 4) Angels Cry; 5) Stand Away; 6) Never Understand; 7) Wuthering Heights; 8) Streets Of Tomorrow; 9) Evil Warning; 10) Lasting Child.

Getting into symphonic metal is comparable to adopting a ferret: there is little doubt that it can be done, but what exactly is to be gained, except for a vague feel of self-importance, and wouldn't you be easier off with a pussycat? Likewise, we are cool when it comes to symphonic music, and we are hot when it comes to metal, but can we be sure that putting them together will not throw the temperature off balance, for good?

Brazilian band Angra were only one out of a thousand groups formed with the purpose of proving the worth of this synthesis — but they succeeded better than most, and came pretty close to ma­king «power metal» sound inspiring instead of ridiculous. At the very least, their debut album, Angels Cry, is a textbook example on how this thing should be done; I cannot imagine a power metal fan not being overwhelmed by its music, and, conversely, if you do not dig it, classically influenced heavy metal music will never be your spoonful of tea.

First, Angra's music is not emotionally heavy; no matter how fast, metallic, and crunchy their gui­tar riffs may seem, these guys are hopeless romantics, and it shows on every track. Their classical cues are taken from Beethoven rather than Bach or Wagner (spot the 9th Symphony echoes at the start of 'Evil Warning') — and what proper metal band would be bizarre enough to cover Kate Bush's 'Wuthering Heights' on its debut album? Add to this the endless catchy power pop melo­dies in the chorus, and «metal» will only remain as the rhythmic guitar/bass backbone to the pro­ceedings. After all, the album's title is Angels Cry, not Demons Howl.

Second, at this stage — first and best in the band's career — the driving force is Andre Coelho Matos, who is responsible for more than half of the songwriting, for the band's keyboard sound, and for the singing. The guy's talents are not to be denied: he is a solid songwriter, an accompli­shed, if not virtuoso, pianist, and a highly competitive screamer with a good range. At the same time, he gets equally professional help from guitarist Raphael Bettencourt, supporting the occasi­onally corny lyrics (well, if you are such a straight-faced romantic, you have no choice but to tolerate that epithet) with complex ass-kicking riffs that dissolve wordy banality whenever the need arises. Finally, Bettencourt, with his classical training (he even has a degree in conducting), is perfectly complemented by the more rock-oriented Kiko Loureiro on second guitar. (Yes, they do know how to play all these things in Brazil.)

In short, all conditions are met for proving the validity of symphonic metal. Technically, the only complaint is that, on quite a few of these tracks, Matos' synthesizers sound somewhat cheap, and the songs could definitely benefit from some real strings rather than tinny imitations — but, I guess, due to budget limitations that was out of the question at the time. Another nagging prob­lem is that the songs tend to blend with each other; but this is really only a problem if you consi­der them from a «pop» perspective — in reality, Angels Cry is structured more like a true sym­phony, consisting of several different, but similar movements, and from that perspective, when 'Wuthering Heights' comes along, it does not so much bring in an element of refreshing diversity as oddly disrupts the general flow of the album. (Not to mention that there will always be some­thing ridiculous about the idea of a guy singing 'Heathcliff, it's me, Kathy!', regardless of how high his pitch manages to be).

And, what is that flow? Essentially, it is fifty-five minutes of energetic prayer to some sort of su­pernatural force (no specific presence of the Christian god, rather a vague shamanistic spiritual vibe instead that would be increased tenfold on the next album). Sometimes it speeds up, with Matos delivering as many baroque flourishes on his keyboards as the guitarists are offering speed metal solos (the album, by the way, is not a finger-flashing solo-fest: such passages are highly re­stricted); sometimes it slows down, with acoustic interludes and power ballad simulations; but it never bogs down in sleepy melancholia. By the time the last song comes along, the listener may be exhausted, not just from the heaviness (which, as I said, is only technical and superficial), but from the never-ending punchiness of it all, as in «don't these guys ever feel the need to relax for a small moment?» They do not — relax and you will lose the link to the Supernatural. Once you have started, you have to go all the way.

Catchy pop choruses grace speedfreak songs such as 'Carry On' and 'Evil Warning', as well as multipart cre­ations such as 'Streets Of Tomorrow' and the title track (which also gives you a little Paganini in the middle). But it is not the kind of choruses that one is likely to hum in the shower; in the general context of the album, they hide behind the puffed-up atmosphere. The atmosphere is worth describing and analyzing; the individual hooks are not.

It is hard for me to imagine people loving Angra's music to the point of tear-shedding; I cannot help but regard sympho­nic metal as a musical curio, entertaining and thought-provoking at best, pompous and moronic at worst. But Angels Cry is certainly one of the staunchest examples of «at best» I have ever wit­nessed from the genre. And if its romantically-spiritual aspect does not «get to» me, its kick-ass aspect most certainly does. Pure mathematical interest in how they go around constructing this vibe + sincere toe-tapping reaction = thumbs up.