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Rating: In a Marshy Shore in Search of The Master
The waders were starting to weigh heavy. The foul smell that I initially thought emanated from this swollen land, once a tourist resort, most likely rose from my socks compressed in the black leather. Distracted by the pervasive stench, I hadn’t noticed a frail figure intent on digging into the sand with a shovel on a Dantean dune. Was it him, was it really The Master Of Heavy Metal? (now just the master...) I would soon find out.
me: “Hello you!”
the figure continues to dig and shows no sign of wanting to pay attention. His long black hair waving in the air.
me: “Romeo is back.”
the figure's glasses fix on me for a moment, time stops. The Master, turning his head towards me, begins to stare at me. It’s done.
me: “I knew you would unde…”
the Master turns around, dragging the shovel laboriously, heading toward the marshy shack
I follow him, truthfully with little difficulty…
The Master: “you know I’ve quit”
me: “give it a chance, a listen, I have a limited edition Burmese vinyl autographed by the shopkeeper still pristine in its sleeve, just the way you like it...then decide, but you know, this time I feel it, it’s like it’s ‘98 again”
The Master: “you said the same when Barlow returned to Iced Earth... it makes me nauseous. A band that was already over without Shawver. You know I shouldn't talk about it or I’ll feel sick. I’m here in complete solitude to forget classic metal... it’s all over.”
me: “a listen. I’m asking you in honor of the Sect of the Extinct Bards, you’re still part of it...if you like it, write a review for the magazine, with just one word from you, you could revive our fortunes…”
Review “War of the Worlds - Pt.1”
My dear readers, I don’t want to delude you with these few and useless lines. Classic metal has been dead for a long time. Some trace the tragic event back to 1998, but in your subconscious, you know well how things went. No, it’s not just about aging, but the spirit of the times has deprived us of any remaining possibility of being extreme, in one word, metal. When you let go of the band members to exploit the brand (Iced Earth), when you exploit the brand and forget who you are (In Flames), when you think you’re Mozart in a fanboy version (Blind Guardian) and when a Finnish opera singer sings about the little fish Nemo (ok it’s not exactly like that, but I really can’t stand them) and everyone imitates them, you know things aren’t going to end well. The Iron Maiden? Good for a couple of albums, then they became a rock band disguised as a metal band (but not even that much). I feel a spasm rising from deep within. Let’s move on. I had believed in Symphony X. Never a lineup change since 1995. Solid people, prepared. They had even managed to do well until 2002, then they started quoting themselves like those from San Francisco, even in the album title. Yet, in my heart, I felt Michael Romeo’s guitar still had something to say. Don’t be confused by the ambitious solo debut ‘The Dark Chapter’, an instrumental tailored to the Ego. Once the conflict with the realm’s mirror was settled, he showed in X what he’s capable of. Yet the title of this new solo effort reeks like my friend’s rotten amphibians, I mean, “War of the Worlds - Pt.1”, did we really need another serious work in times when streaming ominously dominates your weak souls? This time it’s not an instrumental, but Romeo pulled out musicians with the balls from the best of America (not the blonde duck one). When you read the musicians’ names and realize they even reek of mixed Italian origin or whatever...There wouldn’t be much more to add. But this is my testament, and you haven’t been that lucky. Let’s keep it short. This Rick Castellano on vocals? Only the gods know how good he is, with that voice he does what he wants without being a pain, but quite the opposite. For the rest, they remind of Symphony X without Pinella (the keyboardist), but where his keyboards created poetry, Romeo’s solo creates a powerful symphony in balance with Macaluso’s drumming (ex Ark, ex Yngwie Malmsteen, and ex TNT) and DeServio’s bass (Black Label Society). I won’t deny that while listening to a track like ‘Black’, I was moved, sure for a brief moment that title reminded me of my beloved Jag Panzer, but more, how much strength! how much darkness in Romeo’s night. My fingertips, moist from the warmth and my weak heart, tremble writing about ‘F*cking Robots’, robotic dreams in a hypnotic and delightful progression, delightful as a Donut at dawn. I fear I must stop. I’m too old for these things. Maybe before I suggest you ‘Differences’, but I have to go, I feel I might convince myself that the zombies aren’t really dead and classic metal has risen like a pink donut in the desert.
written by: The Master (in his full visionary faculties)
Heartbreaking Epilogue in FB Minor
I confess. I did all this for a couple of likes. I knew The Master still had a good following, I was sure that the hype for Romeo’s new album and the return of the extinct reviewer could have saved the magazine ‘Il Martello Metal’ from oblivion...Actually, I know nothing. Once posted online, it totaled three likes, a rather ambiguous laughing face, and just one surprised, along with a couple of comments:
Gaetano Sorensen: you’re not doing well, my friend, I mean the Maiden, no not ever the Maiden I say!??!?? (he got 10 likes)
Max Mastrangelo: ahah...you’re confusing him with Romero, that one is really dead.
Amphibious Epilogue
Fortunately, The Master lived reclusively without the internet, without a shred of contact with the outside world. I went to visit him.
The Master: “can’t you avoid the waders when you come here?”
Me: “they’re orthopedic, you know I have a back problem…”
The Master: “how did it go?”
Me: “great! We got a million li…”
The Master: “yeah. You’ll tell me the bullshit after a couple of beers.”
Me: “yeah.”
p.s. dedicated to those who still want to believe.
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