The heyday of thrash existed during a time when metal bands still had an outside chance of making a meager living off their talents. This moderate level of success, or rather the possibility of that success, cut thrash’s throat. It’s tough to throw shade, though – dangle the carrot of living a rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle via Atlantic or Warner Bros records to a stack of 20-something ragers and it should be no surprise that more than a handful of groups agreed to soften the edges in an effort to widen their appeal. Unsurprisingly, the tempered, more commercial brand of thrash was a nauseating abomination that was easy to leave in the dirt. In the end, what is speed without the crucial inclusion of raw fire and hostility? A shit sandwich, mostly. A tame, sad, mildly serviceable sandwich that’s delivered fast. A Jimmy John’s roast beef sub, basically.
But hey, thank God metal bands can no longer fall victim to financial prosperity’s appalling temptation, right? And thank the Man Downstairs that plenty of bands still managed to kick out heaps of vicious records within the relatively small window that thrash exploded. And finally, thank whoever’s left that the Chilean homies behind Ripper decided to only target thrash’s righteousness when it came time to toss Experiment of Existence down the conveyor belt.
It’s clear right off the bat that these dudes have done their homework. They skipped the crossover stuff, totally escaped the goofier side of the fence, and basically went full throttle with regard to three of thrash’s more covetable canons: energy, cruelty and proficiency. Experiment of Existence nails these axioms to a point that all one really need do is close the ol’ peepers and ‘86, ‘87 and ‘88 will waft/circle-pit into the room and hand you your ass on a Face Fate platter. Great news for the regressionists, possibly grim news for them pesky progressives out there.
Pleasure to Kill
Darkness Descends
Forward to Termination
Schizophrenia
The Ultra-Violence
Eternal Nightmare
Those six albums were natural choices for companions during a steady 3-week diet of this record, and I’d say they’re a fair indication of the sort of material the band scrutinized when developing the overall Ripper sound. The advantage, however, is that these guys sleeve their influences while avoiding the dilemma of sounding like a photocopy of a photocopy of a photocopy. As such, you’ll hear the harsh turbulence and savagery of early Kreator, Dark Angel, Sacrifice and Sepultura, and every cut adds the sort of shredding dexterity and bits of melody that made primal Death Angel and Vio-Lence essential, but the songs don’t really sound like any one of those bands for long enough to qualify as an outright xerox.
The proof is in the stinkin’ pudding, though, so here’s a Molotov cocktail tossed at your ears:
If that don’t raise the hackles, your hackles might be too hacked to ever rise again. And hopefully you let it tear through your ears via a nice set of headphones, too, because that’s the ideal method for picking up on Ripper’s not-at-all secret weapon that I’m sure you’ll read about in every Experiment of Existence review to come: the stellar bass playing of Pablo “Wait a minute, am I Steve DiGiorgio?” Cortés. This dude crushes the bass. CRUSHES the bass. And fittingly enough, he gets an entire (admittedly short) song to himself, “Chromatic Fantasy.”
But really, all the guys conquer their instruments like they might spill out some sort of treasure if they hammer them hard enough. The most rigid salute, however, goes to the instrumental “Anatomy of the Galaxies” (Wow… Lost outtake from The Ultra-Violence, for certain) and the way it jumps into the stupidly heavy “Stellar Evolution.”
The sole fault some might weep into their tall cans over: Guitarist Venus Torment has a one-dimensional vocal delivery from start to finish. It’s an admirable amalgam of the early versions of Jeff Becerra, Mille and Max Cavalera, which is fitting, but considering the dynamic tornado that’s constantly whipping around behind him, a little more variation in his barking would go a long way.
Ultimately, Experiment of Existence doesn’t do much to push the boundaries of thrash, but evolution ain’t always the mission, and this record does a hell of a job of summoning the joy many of us experienced when we were first killed by a fix of power thrashing death. While “summoning the old-school essence” is something that’s been all-too familiar within metal’s other branches of late, a sizable portion of the current thrash revival has failed miserably to deliver in that regard. Not the case with Ripper.
If you’re a fan of thrash, you’d be a chump to pass this up.
