Wild Dogs
Reign Of Terror

Nobody would have expected in 1987 from a band like Wild Dogs an album like "Reign Of Terror," which in fact will represent a true unicum in the band's history, never again able to replicate at these levels in the future.

The legendary yet obscure and unfortunate band had been active for years in Portland, Oregon, and was devoted to a powerful, impactful Heavy Metal, but with unmistakably classic coordinates, much closer to Hard Rock and blended with those melodic lines so dear to U.S.-made Metal in the '80s. Yet in that year, perhaps due to the departure of the heavily spiked frontman Matt McCourt (also responsible for the 1998 reunion with a completely renewed line-up), perhaps also thanks to the influences of other West Coast bands such as the fantastic, destructive Metal Church or the Bay Area music scene, they delivered to history one of the best yet most overlooked chapters of American Metal.

But "Reign Of Terror" is not just the aseptic intersection of classic Heavy and Speed-Thrash rhythms; it's a work that goes beyond these simplistic classifications to live on its own thanks to an immensely inspired songwriting and the class of these four musicians, capable of infusing the nine tracks of the platter with grit and passion in abundance, mediated by their impressive technical skills, which are never put forward for mere virtuosic display, but to serve, with calibrated and fine dosing, as a mere instrument for the evocation of apocalyptic and futuristic atmospheres that nonetheless have the flavor of the traditional (and somewhat tacky) American frontier imagery, between legend and ignorance, between dusty straight roads traveled by roaring motorcycles and endless desert expanses, the smell of gasoline and sweat, abandoned motels, and truck stops populated by truckers served by inevitably blonde and buxom waitresses.

What to say about the formation? Singer Michael Furlong does not make one miss the good old Matt, putting forward a high, raspy voice with a heavily alcoholic timbre, capable of producing vitriolic highs as well as passionate leaps without batting an eye, while guitarist Jeff Mark embarks on wild gallops and guitar hero solos with disarming skill and enviable class; he is echoed by the rock-solid performance of Rick Bartel on bass, while absolutely over the top is the work, bordering on miraculous and paranormal, of a then very young Deen Castronovo (is it really necessary to recall his future collaborations with Steve Vai, Ozzy Osbourne, Ted Nugent, or the Journey?).

Impossible to choose, among the tracks offered, the best or even just the most representative: "Metal Fuel (In The Blood)," which opens, is a true declaration of intent, a solid track that does not lose ferocity and punch even in the central break, "Man Against Machine" stands out for its dark and futuristic epicness, while "Call Of The Dark" is a song that, relentlessly driven by the relentless double bass and cymbal play of an insane Castronovo, hits the listener like a train hurtling at terrifying speed. What to say then of "Siberian Vacation," a true standout track, marked by massive and structured rhythms that seem to anticipate, especially in the central break, where an overdubbed guitar chisels a dark melody with psychedelic overtones, even the Groove of Pantera? Or the pervasive but not resigned nor depressed melancholy of the beautiful and heartfelt "Streets Of Berlin," squeezed like in a vice between those two sonic monsters of speed and ferocity like the fierce "Psychoradio" and "Spellshock"? Not to mention the title track, "Reign Of Terror," still proposed today in concert by the resurrected lineup, even if unsuited for McCourt's voice, a majestic, epic, and overwhelming song, with a dark and apocalyptic pace clearly indebted to the sickest Thrash, but where the rhythm slows down to create an atmosphere of impotent awaiting the end. Finally, it's impossible not to mention the anthemic "We Rule The Night," dark and in its way threatening, a true anthem to Heavy Metal sung by the hoarse voice ravaged by thousands of glasses of bourbon of a fantastic Michael Furlong, which closes this forgotten masterpiece more than worthily.

It therefore seems like an unpleasant twist of fate that an album of the caliber of "Reign Of Terror" has fallen into oblivion and that the Wild Dogs disbanded shortly after its release: from then on there would be a series of reunions, split-ups, and parallel formations that would relegated the good name of the band to a third-tier role they certainly did not deserve. Those who particularly love American Heavy and Power (I'm talking about serious people like Omen, Armored Saint, and Savatage) will find in this album a cohesive and high-quality work, free from banality, rigidity, or ridiculous clichés, full of brilliantly composed and superbly played material, certainly on par with much more renowned U.S. and European bands of the same years.