Death Metal Grows Up

AMORPHIS
Am Universum (Relapse)
KATATONIA
Last Fair Deal Gone Down (Peaceville)
OPETH
Blackwater Park (Music For Nations/KOCH)

For an articulation of the lawless extremity of nature, death metal is the only genre which can bond science to emotion in depth enough to describe the confrontation. As civilization became simultaneously more decadent and valueless, a revolution against not only values but the aesthetic moralization of value systems began: the nihilistic and deconstructionist genre of death metal.

The previous quote, taken from the charmingly nomenclatured site Anus.com, is an attempt to explain the inexplicable: the rise to prominence, indeed, the very existence of death metal. An exceptionally brutal form of heavy metal, death metal uses depiction of destruction, mutilation, putrefaction, indeed, every aspect of death imaginable (from the cause to the effects) as metaphors (presumably) for society's numerous ills (or the songwriter's various dysfunctions). Terms like decay, grave, annihilation, corpse, evisceration and leper pepper the lyrics and song titles as if the wordsmiths sat down with H.P. Lovecraft's thesaurus before going into the studio. Whether or not this imagery succeeds in its purpose is often beside the point, due to the genre's most famous attribute: the harsh, shredded, nearly unintelligible growls conveying the message. Death metal vocalists sing (and the term is used loosely) as if they're starving beasts setting to a wounded animal, with full lung power, a ground glass tone and no subtlety whatsoever. Bemused outsiders often refer the feral screaming as that of a werewolf, while detractors usually refer to Cookie Monster as a point of reference. Joined by angrily distorted guitars, ribcage-rattling double bass drumming and riffs that sound like steel being ripped apart, the vocals and gruesome imagery create a claustrophobic world robbed of anything that makes life bearable. There's no justice, no joy, no beauty in the death metal universe—it's the ultimate form of artistic nihilism. That its practitioners and proponents claim that they're just reflecting the world around them as they see it just makes it even more disturbing. That hordes of (mostly male, mostly young) fans around the globe take to the stuff with the same enthusiasm as a feline to catnip causes countless moral guardians and authority figures to lose sleep. (Whether or not we should truly be worried about such things is another matter entirely.)

The interesting thing about death metal is that despite its air of ambivalence and hostility to pretty much anything positive, it takes a reasonable amount of musical skill to play. The riffs fly fast and furious, frequently interlocking with each other in surprisingly complex ways, and the rhythm section often indulges in neck-snapping time shifts with the precision of a crack military formation. While death metal bands take at least some inspiration in the 70s wave of metal represented by Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden and Judas Priest, as well as the more extreme exponents of early 80s hardcore thrash, they've pretty much created their own musical planet. Some of the inhabitants of that planet, as their technical skills improve and ambition increases, feel confined within its boundaries and bring in new, non-headbanger elements into the sound. Folk, progressive rock, jazz, funk, industrial, blues and Goth have all found their way into the allegedly hermetically sealed universe of death metal over the years, and such former heresies as keyboards, strings and (gasp!) clean (i.e. clearly sung) vocals have become fixtures of the more adventurous bands. Fanatics remain divided as to whether or not this is a good thing, of course, but like all true artists, the bands interested in expanding their horizons worry more about satisfying their own creative impulses than about placating their audience. Three excellent examples of artists who are altering or even shaking off the trappings of the genre are Amorphis, Katatonia and Opeth, Scandinavian bands* with roots in death metal but branches that reach elsewhere.

Finland's Amorphis, who recently celebrated their tenth anniversary, began moving away from death metal formalities with their ambitious—and ultimately influential—Tales From a Thousand Lakes, a 1994 song cycle about Nordic mythology that took much of its melodic inspiration from folk music. Having since incorporated psychedelia and progressive rock into their tuneful metallica, the band brings it all home to their fifth full-length Am Universum. Streamlining their sound, the sextet channels their myriad influences into a collection of rock anthems brimming with power, fury and emotion. Singer Pasi Koskinen is front and center in the mix (guitarist Tomi Koivusaari having retired his unholy growl for now), which is as it should be, as his gritty vocals are the band's best asset. Songs like "Forever More," "Alone" and "Grieve Stricken Heart" represent the kind of catchy metal that used to get radio play back in another age, though their mix of crunchy guitars, a loping rhythm section, tastefully employed keyboards and singalong choruses would probably offend most death metal diehards. In addition, guest Sakari Kukko's fluid saxophone, unusual even by these standards, is featured prominently on a number of tracks, further provoking the faithful. The key track here is "Goddess (of the Sad Man)," an ultra-catchy, graceful anthem that may be the quintessential Amorphis tune. While the album's lyrics maintain some connection to the past, there's also an undeniable strain of hope: "Forever More" begins with the lines "I walk down to the seashore/To bury my hate." With Am Universum, Amorphis has fully evolved beyond any simplistic heavy metal subgenre.

On their sixth album Last Fair Deal Gone Down, Swedish quintet Katatonia severs its ties with death metal pretty much completely. While their lyrical imagery still wallows in morbidity and darkness, it leaves overwrought poetics behind for a more contemporary, almost singer/songwriter approach to inner turmoil—after all, this is a band that admits to being influenced by painfully self-absorbed artists like Nick Drake and Red House Painters. The music supports the lyrics by being much more straightforward than typical death metal, leaving behind the time signature jumping and crosshatched riffery for a cleaner, less complicated attack. While often anthemic in structure, the songs emphasize melody over pounding rhythms and texture over volume, not unlike another primary inspiration, Tool. A tastefully deployed Mellotron adds a Gothic air, giving the guitars a lush bed on which to rest. Singer Jonas Renske has a delicate, pretty croon (which might be a clue as to why the band moved away from death metal in the first place), singing the lyrics of pain and confusion in a manner far more convincing that a lycanthropic growl. "Dispossession," "Tonight's Music" and the overtly Tool-like "Clean Today" strike a near-perfect balance between gloomy atmosphere and edgy melodicism, and the catchy (if morose) "Teargas" would be a hit in a fair universe. While Katatonia is still a bit too dependent on its diverse non-metal influences (note the Robert Johnson quote of the album title) to be called original, by bringing that diversity to bear on a strong set of songs the band outstrips any notions of what kind of death metal band they should be and simply expresses itself.

Of the three bands, Katatonia's fellow Swedes and frequent tourmates Opeth most prevalently sustain the attributes of death metal. Their fifth album Blackwater Park contains werewolf vocals, double bass drumming, pulverizing riffage, songs with titles like "Bleak," "The Leper Affinity" and "The Funeral Patrol"—it's all here. But the band, led by singer/guitarist Mikael Åkerfeldt, skillfully weaves the violence into a tapestry of acoustic guitars, folky minor key melodies and arrangements that owe more to symphonic prog than metal. Beautiful passages of harmony guitars and clean, comely vocals alternate with skullcrushing six-string licks and startlingly articulate growling with a smoothness that belies the abrupt shifts in tone. This mixture is nothing new, of course, but few do it as well as Opeth, a band with clear intentions to defy any genre classification whatsoever. One clue to the band's aesthetic is the album title, named for an obscure German prog band from the 70s, but even more telling is the band's choice of producer: Steven Wilson, whose great psychedelic/prog band Porcupine Tree is a clear influence. Their lyrics, which betray the usual preoccupations with death, use the imagery to illustrate a profound sense of romantic loss rather than disgust with the universe. While it's unclear exactly to what Åkerfeldt has lost his love, another person or the Grim Reaper, it's pretty clear that he considers the loss a bad thing and is upset about it. It's an unusual stance to take in a genre that considers loss an unavoidable fact of life to be celebrated rather than mourned. The band's biggest triumph is "The Drapery Falls," in which they wrap every stylistic approach in their trick bag into an epic of surprising, savage beauty. By integrating death metal traditions into their ambitious, melodic music, Opeth proves itself to be one of the most adventurous bands not just in metal, but in rock itself. Michael Toland

For fans of:
Amorphis: Dream Theater, Rush, Metallica
Katatonia: Tool, Paradise Lost, Alice in Chains
Opeth: Voivod, Porcupine Tree, Anekdoten