Language is a key to the way we think. After all, fluency is more than being able to simply translate and recite, it’s only truly achieved when one begins thinking in that language. It can, in subtle ways, rewire the thought process and therefore one’s perception of the world around them.
The same could be said for music in terms of how it both reflects and shapes the way in which we think. In terms of thrash metal, Chile so often does a fantastic job of taking a style of music not native to the land, twisting and bending the steel until it becomes something of the land, a tool or weapon reforged by the way in which they think and operate. As Sun Tzu said, “…what kills the enemy is anger, what gets the enemy’s good is reward.” And, as we’ll get to shortly, in the case of Demoniac’s latest arsenal–the weapon is a fucking grenade launcher.
Coming off of 2020’s thrashterpiece sophomore effort So It Goes must have been a daunting effort indeed. It was one of the most exciting thrash metal albums I’ve heard in years, a flawless ripper from front to back that wielded the blade of true thrash metal with such skill that it became an art form. The unconventional song structures, the use of unorthodox instrumentation, and the unique and exotic guitar melodies swirled together in a beautiful maelstrom of rage and violence that peaked with its epic 20 minute closer.
Unsurprisingly, such a band aren’t exactly shooting to cover the same ground twice. Their third full length, Nube Negra, eschews the tighter, more straightforward attack of So It Goes, this time allowing each track to develop its own identity and explore its potential apart from the whole rather than using them as movements to construct an overarching goal. Perhaps there’s a clue in the band’s cover homage to Peter Gabriel’s oft-underappreciated Peter Gabriel II, a record that gained little traction with singles despite being an individual song-focused album. Peter Gabriel II is littered with pop sensibilities and elements of New Wave going on at the time, but Gabriel consciously went out of his way to distance himself as separate from his contemporaries. Instead, he used that musical language and twisted it to his own progressive art-rock dialect to create something that felt more personal and true to his soul. The result was something darker–even the “happier” tunes on the album feel muted by a haze of melancholy, as though a shadow had been cast over them. Or perhaps a black cloud…
In a similar manner, with Nube Negra, Demoniac again reveal that thrash is merely a tool for their artistic expression–they don’t feel in any way chained to its conventions, yet they find potency in its use as a weapon for channeling anger and frustration at the world around them. It translates as a darker, more introspective record that still manages to whip heads into a furious frenzy while digging its fingers into subconscious imagination.
The eponymous opening of “Nube Negra” serves as a statement of intent–the rolling thunder and wash of gentle showers sets a cloudy backdrop, the acoustic guitar building an anticipation for the arrival of the black cloud. It looms overhead for a spell before erupting in a storm of acid rain. Almost instantly the bass takes on a heavier role, holding melodic duties under the furious rhythmic riffage until the lead guitars scream solos across the landscape like flaming buzzards diving in for a bite of fresh meat. The lyrics spew forth vile curses: “¡Y odio, tu odio, que me hace odiar! (“I hate, your hate, what makes me hate!”) with ferocious enunciation. The riffs are rapid-fire and boiling over with spiteful energy: fast, aggressive, and scorching. As soon as it feels grounded, there’s a whiplash change following the psychotic howl of “¡Nube Negra!” the bass yanks the melodic spotlight for a run, twisting it around a second bass line–either there are two basses at play here or Vicente Pereira is secretly an octopus in a human costume. The lead guitar ignites like a spark to gasoline, carrying the section into a tumbling avalanche of percussive fills to find its way back to the main riff. There’s still some semblance of verse/chorus/verse repetition, but Demoniac find ways to make each visit to a familiar part a little different every time–the bass leads feel spontaneous, the guitar leads rudely take on a life of their own as if born in a moment of live inspiration.
In a bold move, the second slot on the record–traditionally one of the spots reserved for a lead single–is an instrumental number. The only vocal presence on “Marchageddon” is in the form of rhythmic grunts that work in service to the percussive blasts of the drums and the Voivodian Piggy Chords that smash the strings beneath a lead guitar foray. However, when its not isolated, it doesn’t feel awkward or out-of-place at all–quite the contrary the song smoothly keeps the flame of the opener alight following the promising “Nube Negra.”
“Ácaro” bleeds over from the prior track with that piercing lead wail that feels just a hair on the uncomfortably loud side of the mix. The production is crisp, but its focus on the guitar/bass/strings hides some details towards the end of the song. For instance, there are subdued vocal groans beneath the solo. Sure, it adds subtle dynamics, but it’s an element that would benefit from a more pronounced presence as the solo already demands enough attention with its fluid and technical prowess. However, it’s a minor complaint and it feels more like a humble underselling of Demoniac’s dynamic potential than anything a casual listener would pick up on amidst the tornado of thrash occurring above the surface.
Everything thus far feels like it has been leading up to the fourth track, “La Caída.” Shifting song structures over a breakneck tempo are interwoven with looming synth and Demoniac’s signature guitar licks in their distinctive linguistic modes as Javier Ortiz spews venomous verses across the epic descent of the track to sheer madness. Between some of the lyrical references and epic structure of the song, it feels a bit spiritually and thematically inspired by Mercyful Fate’s “Satan’s Fall” told from Demoniac’s personal style, reinterpreted through their musical tools and perspective. The monster of a solo that kicks off around the 1:52 mark becomes a lamplight through the cavernous layers of hell as the song shifts through progressive segments; the blistering, glowing tones flickering with neoclassical shred as it guides the protagonist deeper into the well of darkness.
“Synthèse d’accords” neatly divides the A and B sides of the record. While the clarinet played a surprising but welcome bit on So It Goes, Demoniac open their arsenal up a bit more, stirring accordion and Moog synthesizers into the cauldron over the bubbling backbone of wandering bass and fluid drums. It begins feeling a bit like French black metal before it cleverly transitions via a bit of psychedelic magic into something more in line with the debut from Chile’s own Massakre–a bit of an unsung gem in terms of bands that quickly picked up on what Celtic Frost’s Into The Pandemonium was putting down in the late 80s. Perhaps it’s just from wanting it to be true, but given Demoniac’s knack for playing outside of the sandbox I can’t help but think this was at least some sort of Jungian nod to Those Who Came Before.
The real carnage on the back half is lobbed with “Grenada.” While the acoustic guitar and reintroduction of the signature clarinet smoothly transitions the ear from “Synthèse,” the serpent coils with a looming reintroduction of the metal–doomish, head-bobbing riffs give way to blinging fury as Ortiz turns his lyrical venom on metal itself:
“¡Tu tonada no es nada!” (“Your tune is nothing!”)
“Comparado con las toneladas de metal” (“Compared to the tons of metal”)
¡Que escupe mi lanzagranadas! (“That my grenade launcher spits out!”)
What sells the conviction in these words so strongly is the fact that the music backs it up. It confidently carries a fiery torch for an era of true metal at its peak power–where the dark shadow and aggressive edge held communion with technical prowess and creativity unafraid to not only challenge norms at face value, but surpass them.
Appropriately, “El Final” rounds out the end of the record. In stark contrast to the epic 20 minute suite of their prior effort, the closer is simply a good old fashioned ripper, complete with Demoniac’s signature flair. No clarinet, no Moog, no second bass to be found. It’s stripped down, as if to prove the point that the band wield the unusual instruments for the genre carefully and artistically and not as a crutch to simply stand out from the pack. It’s their riffs, their chops, and their songwriting that are at the heart of the band. It’s a great way to close the record, with Ortiz’s lyrical poison attacking a sick, fucked up world he never asked to be a part of as though he were seeking revenge for his very birth. The martial drum rolls at the very end, coupled with the cries of “¡El Final!” feel like an apt conclusion to Nube Negra, as though the band are being swallowed by the black cloud itself.
While ultimately I can’t say I’m walking away from Nube Negra with the same wonderstruck awe I experienced with So It Goes, the latest album feels like the work of a band that not only understands the language, but have mastered fluency to the level of exploiting its subtitles to keep them operating at notch above their peers. It’s darker, heavier, and feels like the band are really stretching their creative muscles and avoiding the pitfalls of self-plagiarism following the international recognition of the sophomore effort. Of course, I could throw out a simple “for fans of the orgiatic offspring of Apostasy, Sadus, and Dark Angel” and hit it somewhere in the ballpark, but Demoniac’s path of evolution suggests a closer look beneath the microscope to appreciate just how hungry they are to bend their musical language to their will, twisting thrash into a weapon of artistic guerrilla warfare.
Maybe what’s truly great about Nube Negra is you can also disregard every bit of hyperbolic analysis and still acknowledge it’s one fucking sick thrash record and a fantastic experience to listen to–again and again.
