Originally written by Matt Longo
I don’t hate fun.
Part of the reason why so many of us curious, despondent, introverted, angry, energetic loons love the metal is its inherent emotional release.
That being said, part of me certainly thinks that the whole “pirate metal” discussion begins and ends with Running Wild. From themes to imagery, they traversed largely uncharted waters for decades, but when our world crossed into this millennium, scores of bands followed in the Germans’ wake. It’s difficult to say whether Disney or Somalia or Digital Playground factored most greatly into this sudden rekindled interest, but I think there was an air of FALSE that permeated the palpable goofiness riddling the entire suggested subgenre …and ‘heads have a nose for rats, briny or otherwise.
Origins of Cauldron Black Ram stretch back to the mid-’90s, but they only managed as many full-length albums as band members (three). The ugliest of unlikely hybrids, this trio of adventurous Adelaideans concocts a crude goulash of salty swagger with singed edges and a chewy center of gooey doom. Not only does each scalawag helm an instrument, everyone lends a unique throat to the mix; murky growls, ghastly hisses, and bottomless bellows all float to the surface. Often they show up in the same song, as in the trade-offs throughout opener “Fork Through Pitch.”
Cauldron Black Ram incorporates a wide gamut of styles into their bellicose bastard of a band. Take the blast beats to the D-beats in a track like “Cavern Fever” — the shortest here. Vocals never emerge, but a well-placed yowling solo muscles its way in around the bend of minute two.
Then a clinking clanking collection of chains marks “From Whence the Old Skull Came” (one of many song title wins), which all the while plods along with a sickening, compelling lurch. Depending on your history, any number of bands should rise to the fore based on those descriptions, as if decorated from the collective plunder of sailing the seven seas for roughly a Saturn cycle.
If there’s any issue to take, it’s that some songs are hard to love. Even the best-intentioned weathered old sea dogs need to find their legs occasionally, and CBR does have a tendency to come off the rails now and again. Wait, that’s the wrong metaphor… howzabout “gets lost in the maelstrom” instead? Point being—in an ocean of chaos, it helps to find anchoring buoy.
I don’t know what a “stalagmire” is, but it sounds like it ought to fit right in with previous efforts Skulduggery (befitting of nefarious pirate behavior) and Slubberdegullion (befitting of the booze-soaked wretches shanghaied into servitude). I say take the “mire” to start, imagine formidable formations of pointy rocks jutting up, and portmanteauify the proper definition into a near-inextricable situation in which there are frequent opportunities to impale oneself. Boom: Stalagmire, delightful.
And I bet more than one slubberdegullion found themselves in a stalagmire due to skulduggery back in the day.
