Mordred
The Next Room

There are remarkable and underrated albums, but there are also bands like Mordred, virtually unknown to the general public, marked by misfortune, misunderstood as riff-producing machines, without a precise identity yet recognizable like an old friend we haven't seen in years, whom we respect: at one time in our life they were close to us and we are forever grateful.

The album "The Next Room," released by Noise in 1994, the same year as the release of Machine Head's "Burn My Eyes," is their swan song, the exemplary farewell to their fans and the mass of indifference to their musical proposal. They started as a thrash metal band in 1989 with the album "Fool's Game" and reached complete musical maturity with this last release, featuring one of the worst covers I have ever seen, inversely proportional to the beauty of the songs contained within (with a few limping episodes). After the mini-LP "Vision," singer Scott Holderby left the scene and Paul Kimball entered, a singer with a hoarse and energetic voice, vaguely inspired by the rawer tones of Sepultura's vocalist Derrick Green. The game is set: the band rises again and unleashes new hard-thrash soundscapes, crude, simple, impactful riffs reminiscent of the Bay Area sound. Instead of following the Seattle bus or the post-metal motorcade, Mordred attaches to the hybrid metal truck, a sound above the fray. The wall of guitars and Kimball's voice create a single unit, the riffs appear more granular, and the sonic atmosphere oscillates and rises slowly, erasing the crescendo riffing of traditional thrash (like "Set The World Afire" by Megadeth, just as an example), while DJ Aaron "Pause" Vaugh is more restrained compared to previous albums, akin to a guest star, as in the debut, opposite to the guitar solos which are present in almost all songs and often submerged by the rhythm guitar ("Murray The Mover").

Producer Michael Rosen accompanies the band for the last time, but in this case, he does not enhance the bass lines of Art Liboon to the maximum in some songs, while in others the bassist shines on his own. Right from the opener "Loca-HI-FI BER," you can sense the new musical direction, aiming to simplify musical phrases by mixing AC/DC-like riffs with raw hard rock sound disguised as thrash, as if the authors of "T.N.T" decided to turn up the volume and compress the sound. Pause concocts a few tricks in the background while the singer warms up his vocal cords, shouting with a raw voice over a rocky metal carpet, proceeding at a slow, somewhat self-indulgent pace, concise, hyper-heavy slow-motion; the secret of the song is here: the combination of raw voice (like swallowed vinegar that keeps going wrong) with rough guitar. Blunt blow riffs with "Skid," which feels like trying to start a stalled engine: rolling drums, overloaded distributor, the engine starts, calmly Paul recites the verse and metropolitan whistles arrive, the refrain explodes with a dragged-out voice. Nothing exceptional, but enough to make a pumpkin sway.

Thirteen songs seem too many, but the triptych "Acrophobia"-"Murray The Mover"-"In Turn" makes you forget any complaints starting from the first track where the paths of hardened thrash are still beaten, with Paul Kimball’s warm and controlled voice (also the author of almost all the lyrics), providing the right seasoning in the heavy pasta, perfectly al dente and never overcooked, cooked on non-stick pots against pop with the right filament of hardcore gas to reach the boiling point of metallic pathos. "Murray The Mover" adjusts its aim ending up in the (urban) jungle with the monkey's howl that kicks the song's gear, while Kimball, the lead actor, transported by the roar of scratches and guitars, first sings with vigor and then lowers his tone in the pre-chorus, almost with a trembling, emotional, soulful tone, to release "Murray The Muvoooeeer": the charm materializes up to the splendid solo with hurricane rhythm. Poignant and sad "In Turn," but let’s leave the lyrics aside and focus on our emotions, what does this melody remember us? Do we lower our gaze towards the heart? Certainly yes, since the beginning is almost solemn: bass run, Sandokan-like tropical flute, and off goes the melodic guitar while Kimball, disheartened, recites the story. The voice barely rises in the refrain as the guitar follows its gentle pace, you shiver hearing Sanguinetti's poignant solo, you get lost in the hoarse scream, and the song ends like an old story of ours:

"...It’s a wonder/a wonder with eyes wide open/the way you walk away/You walk away from me"

Again tropical beach with the instrumental "The Trellis," where Pause-fakir plays the flute for the cobra-bamba to emerge from the basket, and other instruments slowly march, almost suspended in air: light strumming, pensive bass, relaxed drumming. Simple and effective.

We are therefore far from the rap-trash of Clawfinger's "Deaf Dumb & Blind" or the thrash-rap blasts of the German Gunjah, Mordred prefers to give space to Kimball's voice and the various rap-Indian-tropical shades of the instrumental "Rubber Crutch" and experimental pieces such as "Split" and "Pauper’s wine,” characterized by funk, brass, and Pause at the forefront, yet they seem like fillers out of place, certainly well-played and so on, but they break the eggs in the basket and make you wonder why they were included.

After this last convincing studio album, Mordred disbanded, ending their relationship with Noise Records amid general indifference. They reunited for some concerts in the new millennium, orphaned by guitarist James Sanguinetti, replaced by a certain Chris Powell, and with Scott Holderby on vocals, but without recording anything. A wise decision.