Many moons ago, whilst we were drinking beer in the parking lot before a Suffocation concert, my buddy absentmindedly posed the question, “Is Suffocation the best-ever death metal band?”
And of course, the discussion of “all-time best [insert metal sub-genre] band” is one I’ve been a part of… oh, about four billion times here at Last Rites HQ, so I was prepared to answer that question with a resounding, “Oh, hell, man, I don’t know. Possibly.”
Because, of course, there’s a number of incredible death metal bands, your Morbid Angels, your Immolations, your Cannibal Corpses, and so on and on and on. Obviously, whether or not Suffocation exceeds, equals, or falls just shy of any of them in your ears is a subjective take on their undeniable overall quality. But it’s very much an objective truth that any conversation centered around “the best-ever death metal” band that DOESN’T include Suffocation is flawed from the start. For over three decades now, these Long Island-based brutes have been standard-bearers for a very specific type of heaviness, one that has inspired new sub-sub-genres and countless imitators, one oft-copied and yet never quite replicated.
That’s not to say that Frank isn’t missed – the man is as much a death metal icon as just about anyone, and his departure leaves Suffocation’s other icon, guitarist Terrance Hobbs, as the last man standing. Backed up by longtime bassist Derek Boyer, and relative newcomers Charlie Errigo on second guitar and drummer Eric Moretti, Hobbs holds down the fort with the same bone-crunching, skull-bashing brutality that Suffocation has always brought to the table. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it and all…
Given that Suffocation has an established record of releasing quality tunes, the overall musical approach – and Hobbs’ part in that – was never in doubt, of course. So, for those of us who’ve been keeping tabs on Suffocation for however long now, the true wild card here is new vocalist Ricky Myers, formerly of (the US) Disgorge. Anyone who’s seen Suffo on stage in the years since Ricky came aboard knows that this band still brings it live, and he’s as good a substitute as anyone could possibly be up there. Still, the stage is not the studio, and this is the first time a Suffocation album has borne his name, so let it be further said that Hymns From The Apocrypha should unequivocally lay to rest any doubts about Ricky’s ability to grunt and growl with the same panache as his predecessor.
From the opening swell and subsequent crush, the title track throws down the gauntlet, powering through that sweet, sweet Suffocation brutality. Moretti’s drumming blasts and drives, shifting tempos constantly; Hobbs and Errigo run through a seemingly random series of perfectly placed riffs, jumping between tremolo-picked sawing, dashes of what almost passes for melody, and the chunky, crushing chops that define their sound, winding and twisting and yet landing every punch. Atop it all sits Ricky’s flamethrower growl, perhaps a hair more guttural than Frank’s, but nevertheless potent, punchy, powerful. The three-song run that follows is the meat of Hymns’ madness, from the blistering “Perpetual Deception,” with its brief-but-brutal bass-dropping breakdown at about the 1:40 mark (and another at the end) through to the inhumanly heavy “Immortal Execration,” which opens with a seriously crushing groove and maintains that level of destruction as it bulldozers along.
Throughout all of Hymns’ forty-one minutes, there’s nary a bad track, not a misplaced riff, not a lackluster second – it’s all killer, no filler, as the saying goes. Hard-hitting and stout without being overly shiny or sacrificing an ounce of fury, Hymns sounds like a monstrous beast, sounds exactly like it should, like what it is, which is a great band that still has plenty of fire left displaying every bit of it.
Lineup changes be damned; Suffocation’s still here; and Hymns From The Apocrypha is another knockout punch from (at least, one of) the all-time greatest.
