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Rating: With great regret, I arrive at the presence of Gorguts with the set almost finished: from what I gather from the piece and a half I enjoyed (including an engaging rendition of “Obscura”), I get the impression that I missed the best death-metal band that ever set foot on stage: the band’s execution is impeccable, precise, I would dare to say surgical (with a surprising attention to detail), respectful of the band’s absurdly complex sound, despite the high rate of brutality. Amidst this hell: the imposing charisma of the giant and bespectacled front-man Luc Lemay, a mythical and paradoxical figure, capable of embodying both an intellectual aura and apocalyptic beastliness. It’s a pity to have missed them.
I'll have to console myself with Death To All, a questionable reincarnation of the historic lineup led by the divine Chuck Schuldiner. An operation, it seems, approved by the family of the late musician, with the noble intent of raising funds for medical research financing. Approval that allows the band to adopt the historic logo (which looms large behind the stage) and appear in the posters (possibly with a hint of bad faith from the tour organizers) under the moniker Death (without that “To All” which is actually of great significance, considering that it’s blasphemous to think of Death without their founder and main composer).
But my concerns don’t stem from this (although 25€ is frankly too much for what can ultimately be considered little more than a cover band – true that there were also Gorguts, and before them Exence and Carved, making it possible to see the event as a sort of mini-festival), my concerns, as I said, are not linked to the sense of the operation, also because I am convinced that Chuck’s former adventure companions are bound to their deceased friend by a deep bond of affection that dispels any suspicion regarding any intentions of exploiting the Death name for profit. My concerns are solely linked to the fact that for me, as for everyone, the live dimension acquires a superior valence (even in terms of emotions) if the artist who conceived, wrote, arranged, and performed that music I’m hearing is the one on stage.
Anyway, taking the field is the “Human” lineup, no kidding: the immense Steve DiGiorgio on bass (surely the best bassist extreme music has ever hosted), Paul Masvidal and Sean Reinert, respectively guitar and drums of Cynic, who before revolutionizing the death metal world towards jazz-fusion directions, had the privilege of taking notes from the Master himself. The Master replaced in this tour by the young and unknown Max Phelps, who besides handling guitar and vocal duties, also physically resembles the good Chuck (complete with “Leprosy” era long hair), which obviously gives the event eerie undertones. But aside from this, and the modest stage presence (after all, Death were not Kiss and Schuldiner wasn’t Gene Simmons), the youngster ends up interpreting the uncomfortable role with modesty and honesty, without overdoing it and (rightly) avoiding a personal path, understandably struggling during the solo parts, but defending himself well behind the microphone (a dimension that, notoriously, was neglected live by Chuck himself, generally more focused on the intricate guitar parts).
The honor of opening the dances lies with the drum intro of “Flattening of Emotions,” and for me, it’s already goosebumps: in my case, attending this show will be the occasion to retrace with closed eyes the artistic sense of that great musician Chuck Schuldiner’s appearance on earth, grasp its spirit under a different light, at a different age, an affectionate tribute to that figure that captivated my attention as a young metalhead from 1991 to 2001. And (aside from “Evil Dead,” which I had the opportunity to listen to in a “mix” on a cassette recorded by a knowledgeable friend of mine from the time) “Flattening of Emotions” is precisely the first Death song I knowingly listened to in my life. I am moved at every step of this historic piece, at the cerebral mounting of guitars in the initial phase, the tremulous continuation, up to the dramatic refrain, brimming with that lucidity, that desperate, fragile, and brutal melancholy that were the foundational part of Chuck Schuldiner’s artistic vision: a vision often diminished and misunderstood because it was rendered through that “profane” medium that was death metal, which was anyway his invention and codification.
I also realize that the Death songs do not lend themselves to the wildest moshing: too many time changes, too many pauses to allow the wild crowd to fully unleash their instincts. As for me, I stay with my eyes closed reflecting on Schuldiner’s work and my nineties shaped by his albums.
It’s time for “Leprosy,” and the leap back in time is abrupt (even though there’s only one album difference between “Leprosy” and “Human”), but despite Chuck writing a milestone of classic death metal in 1988 (perhaps the death metal album par excellence) and only three years later making that qualitative leap with “Human” towards hypertechnical shores, which would open the path to a new branch of the genre, the continuity between the two universes is tangible. It’s Chuck’s pen that prevails over stylistic choices, although these choices were later adopted and developed by successive generations of extreme metal bands. “Left to Die,” also from “Leprosy,” is reprised as the tail of the title track in a sort of medley, a formula that will be reused on other occasions during the performance.
Max Phelps roams the stage with his guitar played just below his chin, also trying to mimic in moves the legendary Chuck’s stage presence, a shy character not inclined to excess. The true protagonist of the evening will thus be Steve DiGiorgio, a giant almost two meters tall, very long hair, significant goatee, continually seeking interaction with the audience, often interjecting between songs to introduce the tracks and when necessary the people accompanying him on this time travel. Divided between two basses (including the unmissable fretless six-string bass), which he changes continuously according to the sound required by the pieces (a subtlety that only he truly understands), he is nonetheless more theatrical than substantial for the final outcome of the pieces: if his jazz background emerges strongly and his high technical level is decidedly indisputable, the many precious details of his bass that were appreciated on record get lost in the executive chaos of the live dimension. Conversely, Masvidal, a dwarf in comparison, is a positive presence on stage, moving and bouncing around with a smile that continually betrays the new-age spirit that has totally possessed his Cynic. Behind the drums, the stout Sean Reinert (another youth myth) doesn’t fully convince me, but I tend to forget that a record like “Human” is now over twenty years old, and so are the musicians who participated in its creation. It’s true that the drummer replacing him for a couple of pieces during the set will appear decidedly more energetic (did I mishear, or was it even Richard Christy?).
It’s time for “Suicide Machine” (of course, the pieces from “Human” are the predominant ones, with four excerpts being played tonight) and then another medley that sees the underrated “Spiritual Healing” (a great piece, particularly for that tapping section where the title of the track/album is vomited out in one of the most ferocious screams ever) and “Within the Mind,” another strong piece from “Spiritual Healing.” It must be said that even though all Death songs are of high quality, the setlist is really good and draws with extreme balance from the entire band’s discography, except for (it’s unclear why) a crucial album like “Individual Thought Patterns” (well, at least “Philosopher,” with which the real Death loved to open their acts, they could’ve played it). We’ll have to deal with it anyway: the fact is I know everything, I know all the songs, I often remember the lyrics by heart, and I do not deny that probably tonight I am among the most prepared in the audience (a large and varied audience that counts at least twenty/twenty-five years/if not thirty between the youngest and oldest member).
It’s time for a well-deserved rest for Phelps’ voice: preceded by the unmistakable ambient intro, the sumptuous guitar scales of the instrumental “Cosmic Sea” attack, a pinnacle of Death’s experimental flair. Hearing it again is probably one of the most exciting moments of the evening, even though I expected more from DiGiorgio’s bass solo: excessively drawn out, often indulgent in Middle Eastern atmospheres, it breaks the original sci-fi climax of the piece, resumed in the massive coda, where feral death metal and heart-racing solos find a happy conjunction. It’s in these moments that emerges not only Chuck Schuldiner the excellent musician and experimenter, but also Chuck Schuldiner the visionary, the first champion of that “Schuldinerian music” (I can’t give any other definitions) that ceases to be simple death metal, enveloping in that burning existentialism that would permeate the mature Death, that death metal/non-death metal existential, adult, suffering, cynical, finally disconnected from the horror themes of the early records.
The experimental mood experienced in this piece finds a connection in the next one, the splendid “Crystal Mountain,” one of the brightest moments of the later Death, even if the band tonight, solid and cohesive for the older tracks, will find some difficulty in the faithful reproduction of the complexity that animated the final works of the impeccable artistic trajectory of the infallible Chuck Schuldiner. Too many smudges lined up for a track that shone precisely for the crystalline perfection of its electroacoustic interweaving and for the dynamism of its numerous time changes. The solo then, in my opinion one of the best of Schuldiner, appears empty and academic, devoid of that inner light (that harrowing and vivid world vision) that its author was able to confer on it.
Then Masvidal exits and a youngster enters who, besides taking up the second guitar, will position himself behind the microphone, allowing soldier Phelps to catch his breath. To this one falls the task of reinvigorating the ranks of the band (which by now sees as the only point of contact with the past the unsinkable Di Giorgio, considering that in the meantime Reinert had also temporarily left his instrument) for two other maturity tracks: the anthemic “Symbolic” and the articulated “Spirit Crusher” (the only testimony of the last, obviously beautiful and no longer death metal – but who cares – “The Sounds of Perseverance”). If the pieces enjoy the fresh execution of the two musicians who took the stage for the occasion, it’s also true that the sensation of a fake cover band emerges more than ever. Yes, it emerges more than ever, considering that, if the older Death tracks are death-metal history and have more or less become clichés appropriated by anyone who faced the genre, the late-career compositions are a now indefinable music that fits only and exclusively to the characteristics of its author and interpreter, constituting therefore a sort of “metallic songwriting” that is difficult to reproduce and render unless one is Chuck Schuldiner in person.
Concert-end vibes are in the air: comrades Masvidal and Reinert climb back on stage and it’s time for the classics from the debut “Scream Bloody Gore,” here worthily represented by a lethal double: the unmissable “Zombie Ritual” and (for me a surprise, obviously pleasant) “Baptized in Blood,” played one after the other with fearsome ruthlessness (although the numerous time changes and various stop&go will once again prevent the front rows from indulging in an uninhibited frenzy that has been strongly desired since the start of the performance). The good Masvidal (with his usual smile and his slightly graying short hair – of all, he is the least retaining that irreducibly-old-school aspect that seems to go for the most tonight) improvises some fusion phrases, which is nothing more than the prelude to “Lake of Comprehension,” another heavy hitter from that timeless masterpiece that is “Human,” rendered overwhelmingly by a band that now has no more energy to conserve and can finally give everything in view of the grand finale.
Indeed, it was the last track in the setlist, but before Steve, Paul & Sean succumb to final greetings amid the warm applause of the festive audience, there’s still room for the inevitable encore, which unsurprisingly is embodied by the historic “Pull the Plug,” classic of classics, tonight resurrected under the sign of absolute violence and ferocity (here the crowd does get animated).
What to say, the aspect that struck me the most is how Death’s music sounded so old and modern at the same time. Sure, in the last fifteen years metal has changed, but probably it’s only been contaminated, it's mixed with other genres: stylistically it hasn’t evolved. Schuldiner was instead someone who “built” music, conducted research (and to him indeed goes the parenthood of many riffs and harmonic solutions that later became the ABC of death-metal), honed his style, studied his instrument, and improved technically from album to album, but above all, he managed to increasingly master his art in order to better express what he had inside. If this doesn’t mean being an artist….
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