Review Summary: Reality exists no more...
While climate change sceptics are working so hard to sway the pendulum towards the end that says the transition is not a thing, the reality that everybody else is readily aware of, is that humans have always been at odds with the weather, to the point where lores of the sort have infiltrated the myths of diverse civilizations. During his tenth athlos, whereby he had to obtain the cattle of Geryon, a triple-body giant who lived at the westernmost part of the known world, Hercules had to travel through the arid North-African territory, currently known as Libya. Outraged by the heat of the desert, he started throwing arrows at the Sun god; One version of the myth has it that the god acknowledged the bravado of the demigod, and proffered to facilitate Hercules’ journey by offering the golden boat that took him through Uranus from the west to the east, during the night. In the Chinese mythology, during the reign of the mythical Chinese emperor Yao (帝*), the Earth and the ten suns which traversed the sky in daily turns, were at their infancy. Yao preemptively instructed them to adhere to the pattern, in order to protect the land from excessive heat. Mischievous as they were though, the young suns ignored the imperial prompt, and came out all at once for days in a row, scorching the crops and straining the imperial subjects. Then, Yao sent word to mythical hero Hou Yi (后羿), China’s best archer of all times, to take down all suns but one, and restore climatic order.
It’s hardly surprising that two of the oldest native civilizations on Earth have developed analogous myths about the interaction of man with the climate. Literally living and extending the myth, Chinese emperors in the 14th century were skyclad (sic) when they were entering the so-called “Altar of Heaven” in Beijing once a year, to pray for good crops, and well, predictable weather. On the other hand, ancient Hellenic folk trod the fine line between dealing with the idiosyncratic whims of the gods and their earthbound religious/political/familial proxies, and thinking/acting/thriving in spite; the mentality is summarised by the mantra “in principle, trust your gods/overlords to save you, but if they don’t deliver, you must move your hands and do the saving yourself” (συν Αθηνά, και χείρα κίνει). Judging from the song titles and some verses, the lyrics of
Arrows At The Sun, the sophomore album of formidable German tech thrashers White Mantis, form a concept that broadly builds on the aforementioned myths and maxim. As human civilizations are born through conflict, death and violence, they clumsily react to stimuli coming from their surrounding environments as they distance themselves from utter ignorance. Doing so, does not necessarily ensure inner and/or communal peace neither in the short nor the long run, whereas technological advancement tends to compromise the so-called social contract, as it warps perception of reality in unforeseen ways.
The dystopian storytelling of
Arrows At The Sun has been encountered time and again in diverse oeuvres of art; what keeps the interest of the listener alive here, is the multi-component alloy of tech thrash that shrouds it, designed to induce maximum cerebral activity, and complete wrecking of the body, neck and head. Being Bavarian-Germans, White Mantis almost have a fiduciary duty to draw inspiration from compatriot mainstream thrash, but mainly from the more obscure yet critical outfits and albums of kin, which are almost utterly forgotten by the majority of new releases, due to different visions and lack of skill. Impediments of the sort were never an issue for the band from the start of its journey (
Sacrifice Your Future deserves to be discovered), least so with the current lineup which used the intermediate time to become better individually, and as a team. In that light, White Mantis simply cannot help indulging themselves to thrash metal junctures like
Extreme Aggression-era Kreator, but they also lend themselves to unsung heroes such as Holy Moses, Depressive Age and Mekong Delta. However, the central clue of the band’s advancement, the element that says these guys have gone beyond and above their core directives, is the seamless and original incorporation of patterns from
Dimension Hatross-era Voivod, in terms of sound work, vocals and arrangements.
Regarding the sound production, a fuzzy sound has been bestowed to the guitars, which is hard to like at first, but the initial notion of discomfort ebbs as soon as the Voivod references come into mind and replay value starts to compound. The fuzziness is somewhat extended to the vocals and the rhythm section, but the final sound allows for the right amount of audibility. The musicianship of the rhythm section is way above average; on occasion, extremely proficient bassist Jan Strobl sounds as if Ralph Hubert from Mekong Delta is guesting (“Divide and Kill”), whereas the drumming of Thomas Taube is technical, intense and essential up until the very last beat. The band’s new lineup entry with respect to the debut album, is lead guitarist Enrico Peloso, whose black metal background is shy of his shredding abilities, whereas the brooding/dissonant rhythm riffing is expertly shared with guitarist/vocalist Matthias Pletz. Pletz’s vocals are the album’s most unexpected highlight; while he clearly retains a style of its own that would more than suffice, he sounds genuine and resourceful whenever he directly references his critical acclaimed influences, namely Mille Petrozza (“Pass The Torch”), Voivod’s Snake (“Arrows At The Sun”), and most surprisingly, Jan Lubitzki from Depressive Age (“Arrows At The Sun”, “Divide And Kill”).
The flow of the album is impeccable. As a whole,
Arrows At The Sun is never short of tech thrash mania, but the last three tracks literally drive the senses off the cliff, also because they are that part of the concept that paints the corrosive effect of unchecked technology, with the bleakest of colors. Time and again, sci-fi literature has storied the subject from diverse angles, but in the humble opinion of your reviewer, “Cyberiad”, the collection of short stories by Polish pioneer Stanislav Lem is probably the closest parallel, because the central theme of some stories is analogous; alien civilizations and their literally ridiculous state of mentally and physically numbing technological advancement, manipulated by their autocratic rulers and two extremely talented engineers who are commissioned to do the absurd bidding of the former, but sometimes beg to differ, if the undertaking is against their ideals. The previously described pattern increasingly feels awfully familiar in the real world, and not in a good way; White Mantis have captured its fine points without plagiarizing, whereas musically, they prove that interesting tech thrash is still possible, and that they deserve to enter the big league of the genre.
