Crystallion
Hattin

THE REVIEW

Crystallion is a German band. They play power metal like Gamma Ray, Stratovarius, Rhapsody Of Fire, and Angra. If I forgot someone, it doesn't matter, because now I'm going to say the fundamental thing, that is, Crystallion, even under the hegemony of Dockyard 1, the label of the prestigious Virgin Steel, have not changed one iota of the sound presented in this album, which should be a concept about the myth of the Crusaders.

Essentially, for those interested in the story, it narrates the deeds of the Crusaders and the Battle of Hattin which took place on July 4, 1187. A battle that decreed the end of the empire of the Templar dominion of Jerusalem, which definitively passed under the claws of Saladin and his legions.

That's enough. Now let's analyze the songs that make up the batch.

I've already said they play power metal and they play it in the most predictable way possible. However, I haven't said that the songs on the album are really awful, and, that they are terribly flat, predictable, and derivative enough to make a family of canned soles packed in oil envious.

Where the hell is the dignity? Where is the desire to try to do something new, to attempt to break out of the shell of déjà vu? Why can some bands enjoy a contract while others scratching around in the underground have to work their asses off like crazy before snagging a contract with a label that, perhaps, won't even promote them deservedly, and they'll have to continue busting their tails in live performances and so on to escape anonymity? Why do Crystallion exist? What is the cause of so much trouble? Why, again, isn't power metal dead? What the hell drives German, Italian, Swedish, and worldwide bands to constantly imitate the same bands that were the flagbearers of what once was?

There's not one song, not a single one, that has particularly struck me for any different or beautiful, charismatic, fascinating something. Nothingness.

8 tracks (seven, if we skip a useless intro) that say absolutely nothing and are stuffed with the usual riffs, the usual solos, the usual choruses, the usual orchestrations (even poorly recorded) of the usual fluffy and catchy refrains, and the usual singer who, forgive me, truly makes me sick! A truly crappy voice! Now delicate, now terribly gay, something an eunuch would sing much better, especially during the high notes where your balls feel squeezed.

Alright, enough expressing myself. I linger too much on a work that might come in handy as a coaster for guests (given the nice cover... Pretty, to stay in the power theme, so let your imagination run wild) or, better yet, as a frisbee on the beaches now that it's still possible to do so. The production is also lacking, so, I reiterate, it's of no damned hyper-studded use.

Do yourselves a favor and don't even approach the letter "C" on the shelves of record stores.

Shittacular.......