Iron Angel
Hellish Crossfire

A Saucerful of Thrash - Episode III: "If you are the fierce angel, then this fierce I like"

Before proceeding with the historical-musical analysis of "Hellish Crossfire" (the debut album by Iron Angel, released back in 1985), I find it appropriate to focus on the role that this band currently plays in the world medal scene and, above all, on the relationship that binds them to the fans of the last hour.

Let's start immediately by saying that:

• about 70% of the under-20 thrash medal fans know them even just by name or, at least, have been smart enough to understand that it's always a good idea to pretend to know them. All the others have had their subscription to Medal Sciocc revoked and, as it stands, they are systematically chosen last when forming teams for a game of poisoned needleball.

The aforementioned 70% can be divided as follows:

• About 15% have bought or at least held in their hands at least once in their life a record by Iron (Angel). All the others preferred to get the latest Live by Iron (Maiden) on DVD (the one with the complimentary "Eddy Shower Gel" packaging, the first shower gel with the scent of sweat: "for the medal fan who should never ask for permission");
• About 75% downloaded it and saved it in a folder appropriately named "Roots of Evil '80s" (?!?). They burned it and keep it in the car, jealously guarded in a "CD holder" purchased for €30.00 from Media World. They rarely listen to it, usually to impress some fellow medal fan they want to impress, or on the way to a Slayer concert, before entering the parking lot of the Assago Forum (MI), to show other thrashers that they're not one of those who only listens to "new stuff, but also old '80s stuff";
• More than 60% don't particularly like this record, in fact, deep down they find it boring. Of these, about half left a comment on some forum like truemedal.it using mythological expressions such as: "milestone of extreme music", "cornerstone of the genre", "indispensable record". The remaining half doesn’t know what to do: they hesitate, waver, don't feel like risking their reputation for a record they don't care about... In the end, in doubt, they decide to abstain and move to the forum dedicated to Medallica, where they leave a comment asserting that "Reload" is even worse than "Load";

Personally, I've always been terrible at poisoned needleball. I've also always been sufficiently idiotic without having to spend money on Medal Sciocc. It is therefore with a light Heart of Steel that I can affirm that "Hellish Crossfire" is certainly an excellent album of archaic speed/thrash medal, but not the masterpiece many claim it to be.

It is an album of significant historical import, a gleaming and sharp example of mid-'80s Teutonic medal, but decidedly far from being considered perfect. It is the debut of a band that truly has its roots in the prehistory of extreme music (the earliest formation dates back to as far as 1980), which took its first steps alongside bands that later became internationally famous (especially label mates Destruction). A band formed by five former schoolmates from Hamburg, given the privilege to taste a bit of fame, before being more or less forgotten forever.

Musically speaking, "Hellish Crossfire" seems to play all its cards in the very first minutes of the splendid opener "The Metallian": an attack that closely recalls the early Slayer sound and a main riff that alone masterfully represents the concept of "guitar grater" (see also the very intense "Rush Of Power"). The rest are ten tracks of pure sonic intransigence in the form of pure vintage speed/thrash medal, only watered down in some episodes by a more adherence to "heavy oriented" standards reminiscent of priestian memory ("Hunters In Chains"). Thick distortions, raw and gritty sounds. A relentless and angry drum work that, while not miraculous for variety or technical rate, proves to be of rare effectiveness. The total absence of compromise seems to be the common denominator of every aspect of the album: sounds, lyrics, and above all, vocal performance. The good Dirk Schoroder is more or less the least pleasant singer to listen to that medal remembers. A croaking chimera formed by the sinful and unnatural union of Bon Scott and Rob Halford, offers a performance of rare intensity, completely uninterested in the technical profile. A hoarse, broken singing, solely devoted to forging its way through a fabric of sound that makes aggression its main characteristic.

But above all, "Hellish Crossfire" is an album of deadly compactness. The mid-up tempo of "Black Mass" is not enough to dent its rock-solid nature. The acoustic-melodic intro of the not particularly exceptional "Nightmare" (practically a collage of riffs à la "Show No Mercy") ends up being really insignificant. The debut of Iron Angel must be remembered as an album driven from start to finish, almost devoid of sonic frills that could alter or affect the musical offer, solid in sounds and solutions. An album that really risks being a challenge for the listener less accustomed to certain sounds, which can certainly prove boring, monotonous, and monochrome. A record that lost the battle against the passing of time from the start. It is the semi-forgotten manifesto of a certain way of making music, ignorant and minimalist, which feels a lot like a middle finger to many modern and glossy productions, played by folks with conditioner always at hand and the turtle of abs on their tummy.

So, I say: stop for a moment to reflect. Look into your heart, do some soul-searching... and answer sincerely...

Does anyone happen to feel like playing poisoned needleball with me?

Dedicated to Il Capo. Because even today he teaches us to sin.