Heavy Metal Diaries

a music-related blog

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

On biking

Did something today that I haven’t done in a while: rode my bike and biked around the city. I figured I needed the exercise, late-afternoon heat and pollution be damned.

And I also needed to blow off steam. Work had been rough.

Lots of media talk about biking these days, what with public transportation still limited because of quarantine measures. It’s apparently working: some people I know seemed to have caught the biking bug. On Facebook, pictures of them grinning beside their newly bought mountain bikes. Boys with new toys -- it’s kinda amusing.

Years ago -- 2013-2015, I think -- I was so into biking that it was all I could think of. Weekend mornings were the best. Would wake up early and be out on the road even before sunrise. It was the best me-time I could afford in those days, and it brought me as far as UP Diliman in Quezon City. I’ve nothing but fond memories, even when I had an accident and went home bloodied and limping.

Can’t really remember when and why my interest waned, but it did, and I’m not proud of it. Still, I’ve no plans of selling my bike, because I know there’d be days when nothing can clear my head more than traveling around the city with my two-wheeled friend. 

Like today.

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

A very metal Saturday

Late Saturday night I did a Katon W. De Pena: I put something on the turntable, popped open a cold one, put my feet up, and just let my mind drift away carried by the notes floating from the speakers. It was awesome. It didn’t take long for the buzz to kick in...

That something was Ghost’s Meliora album. It arrived in the mail earlier in the day together with Spinal Tap’s This is Spinal Tap. The two had been among the items I ordered before the lockdown in March that only got delivered recently following the loosening of quarantine protocols. 

Listening to Ghost while chugging beer was the perfect way to cap a day that started with me reading Albert Mudrian’s Choosing Death: The Improbable History of Death Metal & Grindcore while sipping my first cup of coffee for the day. In the sunny hours that ensued I listened to Danzig, Motorhead, Deafheaven, Dangerous Toys, a Ronnie James Dio tribute album, and Accept. 

Indeed, it was a Saturday of consuming metal and feeling good.

NP: Accept -- Breaker (1981)

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

First time with Lala

By the time it was over, I was perspiring profusely and catching my breath. But it felt good, all things considered. After all, I’ve been thinking about it since March.

I’m referring to my first time with Lalamove, a same-day delivery service company that has become a household name in this wretched season of lockdowns and forced quarantine.

It didn’t start nice. The first driver was a jerk who didn’t seem to have the requisite patience for the job (the bastard even had the gall to call Filbar’s “bogus”). But the second one was okay. The only bummer was he wasn’t allowed to enter our subdivision as the items he was delivering (a bunch of comics and a Kerry King Funko that had been stranded at Filbar’s since March) were not considered “essentials.” I had to meet him at the guardhouse, which meant a five-minute noontime walk under a blazing sun on my part (hence: the perspiration). Brutal as the experience was, I still got my package, and in the end it’s what matters.

And now, the customary playlist: Richie Sambora’s Undiscovered Soul (1998), Foghat’s In the Mood for Something Rude (1982), Malice’s In the Beginning (1985), Def Leppard’s Adrenalize (1992), The Cure’s Bloodflowers (2000), Lizzy Borden’s Love You to Pieces (1985), Mercyful Fate’s Melissa (1983), and Morgana Lefay’s Maleficium (1996). 

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

Weekend with Katon

Hirax vocalist Katon W. De Pena figured big during my weekend. Sunday noon, bored out of my skull, I checked out his Facebook livestream for the first time. I know he’s been doing this livestream thing for awhile -- or ever since the pandemic locked us in our homes and forced us to find ways to keep our sanity -- but it was only on Sunday that I got to tune in, and man did I enjoy it! The dude eats, breathes and shits metal (just check out his vinyl collection). You had to admire someone as passionate as that.

So, did Katon won a new listener last weekend? Hell yes! And this weekend I intend to tune in again hopefully with several cans of ice-cold Tiger brew nearby. Why not? Our local government has just lifted the liquor ban...

Sounds like a plan. Already looking forward to it.

NP: Hirax -- El Rostro De La Muerte (2009)

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

Guts over dragons

I’m not really big on fantasy stories. My exposure to the genre has so far been limited to Game of Thrones and Neil Gaiman books. I’ve no opinion on Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings trilogy (both the books and the films), and I can’t remember the last time I listened to bands like Avantasia, Blind Guardian and Kamelot. Though these groups can come up with the catchiest of melodies, I just can’t bring myself to include them in my daily playlist. For me it’s weirdos and warmongers over warriors and wizards anytime, man. Sue me.

Which brings me to the graphic novel Die Volume 1: Fantasy Heartbreaker. Though it is so beautifully written to the point where I sometimes forgot I’m reading a fantasy story (author Kieron Gillen describes it as “a pure midlife crisis scream of a book,” and I get that), I think if only I’m into D&D or any other of those tabletop RPGs then I’d probably hail it as a masterpiece. But I’m not. I’m this dork who digs Pungent Stench. And when Gillen starts elaborating on D20 and D6, and Godbinders and Clerics and all that, man, I got lost. He may as well have been yammering about astrophysics. 

Still, finishing Die Volume 1: Fantasy Heartbreaker has been the highlight of my day. Stephanie Hans’ painted art, for one, is just awesome.

NP: Pungent Stench -- Dirty Rhymes & Psychotronic Beats (1993)

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

I, devourer

Weekend, I devoured pop culture like I’d starve to death if I didn’t. I watched three movies, binged on Stumptown, finished reading a Thor graphic novel, made significant progress on Carl Hiaasen’s Native Tongue, and floated through the hours listening to H.E.A.T., Badlands, Black Sabbath, Y&T, Iron Maiden, Buffalo Tom and Megadeth.

Reading and watching and listening to stuff. With or without lockdown, this is how I usually spend my weekend. Deprive me of these, and I wake up cranky on Monday morning. Like any sad junkie who couldn’t get his fix... 

And so much for that. As I pound this dusk is quietly falling outside, and I am strangely feeling good despite this killer humidity. Today’s jamz: Tripping Daisy’s Tripping Daisy (2000), Def Leppard’s High ‘N’ Dry (1981), Great White’s Psycho City (1992), Savatage’s The Wake of Magellan (2010), Obituary’s Frozen in Time (2005), and Hate Eternal’s I, Monarch (2005).

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

Midweek surprises

The internet spat out a few surprises for me today. First, there was that thing about Opeth mainman Mikael Akerfeldt being picked to score Jonas Akerlund’s upcoming Netflix series, Clark. Now, I dig Opeth (particularly their early works), and I also dig Akerlund’s Lords of Chaos movie (pictured above), so these two dark forces joining together, plus the fact that the miniseries will be about a notorious Swedish gangster, has totally piqued my interest. Metal collabs and gangsters, man. What’s not to like?

Then, around evening, Neil Gaiman, an author I hold in high regard, unmasked the cast for the upcoming Sandman audio. The fact that there will be a Sandman audio thrilled me as much as learning that James McAvoy, Andy Serkis, Riz Ahmed, Taron Egerton and Kat Dennings will be part of the ensemble. Though I’m not really big on audiobooks and podcasts and the likes (my shifty attention span can’t handle them), I will gladly make an exemption for Gaiman and his Sandman. Who knows what kind of wonders await me there?

And then, finally, it was announced that season 2 of Doom Patrol -- in my book one of last year’s best new series -- will drop on June 25 on HBO Max. So that’s something to look forward to, especially since by all indications we’re all gonna be locked in our homes for a long time, and will need all the boob tube entertainment we can get. Anything to make us forget, even for a limited period, how crazy and nasty and deadly the outside world is these days.

NP: Van Halen -- A Different Kind of Truth (2012)

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

Confession of a serial reader

So typical of me: moments after I finish a book, I start a new one. Absolutely no breather, like I’m in a hurry to meet a target number or something. (I actually have a 20-book target every year, but am not killing myself to beat it. In fact, I couldn’t really care less if I beat it or not. I just set it for the heck of it. Sue me.) Nevermind if I’m still in the middle of another book, or a magazine, or a graphic novel. I just love reading and the quiet time books and the likes afford me. 

Yesterday, Sunday, with nothing to do because of the lockdown, I finished Nick Hornby’s 31 Songs and immediately picked up Carl Hiaasen’s Native Tongue afterward. Why Hiaasen? I realized the last fiction I read, John Niven’s misanthropic Kill Your Friends, was back in March which, because of the quarantine and all, feels like three years ago. After that it’s all non-fiction related to music -- Twisting My Melon by Shaun Ryder, AC/DC: The Definitive History by Kerrang!, the aforementioned 31 Songs, and, the one I’m still currently reading, The Beatle Who Vanished, by Jim Berkenstadt, a book about Jimmie Nicol, the drummer who sat in for Ringo Starr during the Fab Four’s first world tour but lived in relative obscurity and poverty afterward. I figured I needed a breath of fresh air, so to speak, and I’ve been a fan of Carl Hiaasen since I read Skinny Dip years ago, find him one of the funniest and wittiest authors out there, so why not? With the world outside so depressing these days, I surely need my Hiaasen fix.

NP: Iron Maiden -- Powerslave (1984)

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

The system

With over a hundred CDs in my collection, not to mention the couple of vinyl I managed to score weeks before the lockdown, and with Spotify offering literally countless albums under various musical genres, I find picking the day’s playlist to be a daunting task. There were times I’d find myself standing infront of my collection, seemingly transfixed, my mind wracked by indecision, just too fucking overwhelmed to pick the jam that could best provide soundtrack for the moment. I don’t know if others also experience this, but it has happened to me more times than I could remember, and it was such a bummer every freaking time.

So I devised a system, and it involves Instagram -- a social media playground more for unapologetic narcissists than for music geeks seeking sonic treats. It’s simple, my system: I’d browse Instagram, and the first album I’d see posted by any of the dozens of CD/vinyl collectors I follow would be my jam for the hour. Easy peasy, and what a thrill: through this I could discover new music, or get reacquainted with old favorites. Best of all, it definitely solves a problem.

For today, my Instagram system has spat out the following: XYZ’s XYZ (1989), King Diamond’s Fatal Portrait (1986), Testament’s Practice What You Preach (1989), Nirvana’s Nevermind (1991), and Counting Crows’ Films About Ghosts (2003). Absolute rocking picks, all.

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

Why I think Spotify rocks

I spent a significant portion of my weekend discovering new music. By new I mean albums I haven’t heard of before, regardless of release date, by bands and artists I am unfamiliar with. I found it exciting -- like entering a new realm that could either be full of magic and wonders, or teeming with garbage. Thankfully, it was the former more than the latter. Among the bands whose music I checked out were unabashed Helmet worshipers Wrong (pictured above), Ghastly, Glorior Belli, King Goat, Bolder Damn, and the Dead Daisies, most of them brought to my attention by an old Metal Hammer magazine that I was reading.

Thank god for Spotify, accessing unheard-of artists these days is just a couple of finger taps away. This was unimaginable in the 90s, when the only way to discover new music and new bands was through bootlegs. Sometimes an album from an obscure group would pop up at a record store, but that didn’t happen often, and if you wanted to experiment then you had to spend. Indeed, it required money to be sonically adventurous back then.

NP: Wolfmother -- Victorious (2016)

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

Talking music w/ friends

How nice it is that on the night of the cancelled Dream Theater gig, a night that was supposed to be on all levels of suck, I found myself having a fun online conversation about music with friends. It started when a college pal posted his 10 Album Challenge on Facebook. I posted a comment, he replied, two other college pals chipped in. Next thing we knew we were in a conversation. We enjoyed the exchanges so much that none of us thought of migrating to our private chat group. We talked about our old cassette tapes, recalled past record store experiences, discussed the whole albums vs. singles thing. We agreed that Wolfgang’s self-titled debut album (pictured above) is a masterpiece, and that their sophomore effort, Semenelin, is a good follow-up albeit bogged down by poor guitar sound. The last topic was beer, not surprisingly; a plan to hook up when this coronavirus madness is over was hatched.

NP: Dream Theater -- Live at Budokan (2004)

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

The live experience

Listening to Kings Among Scotland is making me miss the live Anthrax experience. I had the chance to catch them back in 2011, when they headlined that year’s Pulp Summer Slam together with Hellyeah and Death Angel. It was an eventful day. My wife was able to have her photo taken with Death Angel drummer Will Carroll, and, attending a hotel press conference a day prior, I had a chance to share a short elevator ride with the hulking members of Hellyeah (minus Vinnie Paul, sadly). I remember one of them complaining about the “clusterfuck heat” outside. Welcome to the Philippines, boys.

With the current global health crisis, I wonder when our next live experience will be. We were supposed to see Dream Theater this April and Iron Maiden, Death Angel and Dragonforce in May. But thanks to the coronavirus, those were nixed (as our Taiwan trip supposedly this week). It was such a big bummer and we could only shake our heads. 

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

Death on a Saturday

We used to call him Papa Shango, after the WWE wrestler. I’ve no idea who started it and why, but the name stuck. And though he didn’t like it, he’d learned to live with it. After all we were all just crazy kids back then, in those innocent summers of the early 90s. Nothing was serious.

Papa Shango died today. He was found unconscious inside their home by a neighbor who was alerted by his wife, then on her way home from work and alarmed why he wasn’t answering her calls and text messages. He was rushed to a nearby hospital but the doctors failed to revive him. He was pronounced dead before sunrise. It was not COVID-19, but what comfort does it give? Death is death and a wife is now grieving and wondering how to spend the rest of her life without him. 

And it’s sad that because we are on lockdown where public gatherings are not allowed, we could not even pay our respects to him, at least physically. I guess we’ll just have to see him on the other side, as Ozzy Osbourne sang in 1995.

Meanwhile, life goes on, as they say. And in my little rathole the music continues to play. Today’s jams: April Wine’s Stand Back (1975), Uriah Heep’s Abominog (1982), Alice Cooper’s Raise Your Fist and Yell (1987), WASP’s The Last Command (1985), Metallica’s Hardwired...to Self-Destruct (2016), Persuader’s Evolution Purgatory (2004), and Soundgarden’s Live from the Artists Den (2019). 

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

Horror and metal

Horror and metal go hand in hand. It’s said that Black Sabbath got the idea for their music when they saw a bunch of kids lining up in front of a theater that was showing a horror flick. People paying good money to be scared shitless? It was a lightbulb moment for the four scruffy lads from Birmingham. Thank god for them and the like-minded freaks who followed their footsteps, we now have this thing called metal to get us through this insane freakshow called life. 

Speaking of horror, I just finished watching the first two episodes of Into the Dark, Hulu’s horror anthology, and I think I’m signing on for the trip. It’s campy, gory, weird -- exactly my kind of entertainment.

NP: Bullet -- Storm of Blades (2014)

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

Mondays, melons and Britpop

Just finished reading Shaun Ryder’s autobiography, Twisting My Melon. I knew ziltch about Ryder and his band Happy Mondays (pictured above) when I snatched this book from my to-read pile, but I just came from John Niven’s Kill Your Friends, which gave me a somewhat nasty glimpse of Britpop and the UK music industry, and I figured I could go for a non-fiction take on the scene. Hence: Twisting My Melon. Also, the book is a gift from a friend during one of our once-in-a-blue-moon meetups years ago. She didn’t know I wasn’t particularly hot on Britpop, but she knew I like reading books, especially rock ‘n’ roll biographies. Anyway, her giving me a book was such a sweet gesture that the least I could do was read it, regardless of what I think of Britpop.

NP:  Judas Priest -- British Steel (1980)

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

4:20

Today’s a special day for fans of a certain psychoactive plant, and we in our household is joining the celebration, albeit for a different reason, and in a vastly different way. It’s the wife’s 40th name day, and though there’s no party (illegal in the season of social distancing), there’s still food, warm conversation, and good vibes all around.

Before that I clocked in my nine hours, put up with the usual crap, and listened to music when I could. The playlist: Autograph’s Sign In Please (1984), Asia’s Asia (1982), Ratt’s Ratt (1999), Foo Fighters’ Wasting Light (2011), Metallica’s ...And Justice for All (1988), Sacred Reich’s Independent (1993), and Amon Amarth’s Twilight of the Thunder God (2008).

And now, sipping post-dinner tea, I cap the day’s sonic adventure with an album from the group of Dutch motherfuckers who introduced me to death metal back in the early 90s. 

NP: Asphyx -- Last One on Earth (1992)

[heavymetaldiariesphl]

Victory Sunday Service

On the fourth Sunday of lockdown I listened to a lot of music. Started off with a bunch of new wave songs over breakfast, and now, after watching a nasty zombie film called Overlord, I am closing the day with Bolt Thrower’s epic ... For Victory (1994). Because that’s exactly how I’m feeling right now: victorious. 

In between: Ozzy Osbourne’s Bark at the Moon (1983), Deep Purple’s Perfect Strangers (1984), Agent Steel’s Skeptics Apocalypse (1985), Angel Dust’s Border of Reality (2001), Rush’s A Farewell to Kings (1977), Stryper’s Against the Law (1990), Harem Scarem’s Mood Swings (1993), and Girlschool’s Take a Bite (1988). You learn something every day, and today I learned that Girlschool has a version of Sweet’s “Fox on the Run,” a nugget I find, well, sweet.

Also read a couple of pages of Shaun Ryder’s autobiography, Twisting My Melon, and an old Metal Hammer interview with Maynard James Keenan and article on Dimmu Borgir. Except for the humidity, it was my kind of lazy Sunday. 

Tomorrow I face another workweek. It’s still work from home, but Monday is Monday -- still my least favorite day of the week.