Diamonds & Rust: Sabbat – Dreamweaver, 35 Years Of Reflecting On Our Yesterdays

[Album artwork: Tim Beer]

Metal freaks have and indeed always will burn infinite hours debating what should be considered “The All Time Greatest Year for Heavy Metal.” If you’re like me, a prehistoric beast perilously scraping through the Hallowed Halls of Glory wearing a threadbare Abigail tour shirt, then you’re likely to hold some blessed year on the early-ish side of the ‘80s (signs point to ’84) as the true Big Kahuna. However! Based purely on how the year of our Lard 1989 managed to vault extreme metal to the next level, I bet most of us wouldn’t bat an eye if someone chose it as their preference. Beneath the Remains, Severed Survival, Altars of Madness, Slowly We Rot, Horrified, Realm of Chaos, Symphonies of Sickness and Streetcleaner all inside a span of 365 days? That is a lot of holy shitting, my friends.

As for my personal journey, having come into the scene seven or so years prior, by 1989 I felt like a seasoned vet. I was a very enthusiastic and starved fan, so there wasn’t much rumbling down the conveyer that didn’t spark my interest, be it pure heavy metal, doom, thrash, progressive or otherwise. Much like my peers, though, it was the more intense face of metal that summoned the most consideration, something that was certainly nurtured by the fact that every week there seemed to be a new gaggle of dirtbags testing the limits of speed, intensity and heaviness. And, as luck would have it, much of what that endless procession of new bands delivered was available to myself and a small circle of metal-minded friends, thanks entirely to the services of a number of new & used record stores scattered throughout the city, plus the very necessary presence of a place called Shattered, a shop run by a dildo that fully understood how to take every advantage of anyone who walked through the front door.

Dildo-ish ownership aside, it was Shattered Records that was responsible for one of the more significant days in my life as an extreme metal fan, supplying both Beneath the Remains and Slowly We Rot as impulse buys on the same day back in the Summer of ’89. I had already familiarized myself with the roots of death metal via bands such as Death (duh), Celtic Frost and Possessed, but those two records in particular felt like… some sort of portal into a new dimension of extremity. “VOLLEYBALL! JOIN ME! SLOWLY WE DWELLLLLLL.” ~ John Tardy.

Prior to having my head caved in by that year’s ample smorgasbord of EXTREME MUSIC FOR EXTREME PEOPLE, however, I happened across a cassette copy of Sabbat’s seminal sophomore effort Dreamweaver, an album that, with the benefit of hindsight, served as an ideal bridge between thrash and the invading death metal upsurge. Not that this was necessarily a new thing, but with Dreamweaver we got a truly unique, buttery-smooth heaviness that was stout enough to serve as some sort of monad for Swedeath. Were bands such as Nihilist, Entombed, Carnage and Dismember aware of Dreamweaver prior to the eminent buzzsaw movement? Seems like a very reasonable assumption.

When I first came across that Dreamweaver cassette, I was familiar with Sabbat by name only. A local shop had a copy of 1988’s History of a Time to Come, and I was terrifically interested in everything concerning its overall look, but it was an LP version during a time when I had no turntable, so the thought of spending what little money I had on something I couldn’t immediately spin always ended up eclipsing the record’s esoteric charm. But Cheee-rist almighty, as a (now lifelong) sword & sorcery obsessive equally fascinated in all things pagan, that History artwork tattooed itself onto my brain, so happening across the Dreamweaver tape some months later in the same shop was an immediate thrill. The horned hunter from History was still incorporated into the new artwork, but the rest of the visuals upped the ante in terms of all things alluringly fantastical and… cauldroned.

A fellow named Tim Beer was responsible for the Dreamweaver artwork, and what makes the piece even more remarkable is owed to the fact that: 1) His portfolio is notably limited, certainly in terms of metal album covers, and 2) it was considered a bit of a rush job because the original submission for the record to Noise—done by the same artist from History of a Time to Come—was nixed for being… well, a bit shit.

Not saying I would have outright skipped Dreamweaver had they elected to weld a cover to it that featured a half-man / half… mechanical bull staring daggers into the shiny pate of a monk (also: How is it that the most repellant part of that piece is the blue-skied background?), but it probably would’ve made me think twice or ten times before actually shelling out cash to have that under-baked imagery sit on my shelf. Luckily, Beer saved the day, as is befitting of his surname.

I shit my pants.

No, not just now whilst typing these words, but back when that Dreamweaver cassette had its inaugural run in my beater car after splitting from the record store. First and foremost, the album kicked off with knelling bells, and as I have often said, if a metal record finds a way to incorporate steeple bells or especially gongs, you officially have my attention. Then, following a brief but intriguing spoken word intro and quick drum prep, “The Clerical Conspiracy” ROARED into the car, nearly igniting my hair. The sheer thrust of the song’s opening was one thing, as was the immediacy of Martin Walkyier’s rabid vocals, but what really blew up that first encounter was how heavy the guitars felt—flattening from the get-go, but then doubled down by just the 30-second mark when Dreamweaver settles into its first insanely buttery groove.

Obviously I’d experienced H-E-A-V-Y before that moment (Hello, operator? Please connect me to “Procreation of the Wicked”), but this was something that felt larger than Godzilla galumphing along the ocean floor on his way to mow down a metropolis. Still clearly thrash, but as if Sabbat had discovered the secret formula for achieving The Heaviest Thrash Band on the Planet award. Point of fact: England wasn’t exactly considered a thrash hotbed back then—outside of the very enjoyable and equally underrated Deathwish (Demon Preacher: unggggh!), no other British thrash band really managed to fully stick to my ribs. The timing was interesting because, while I wouldn’t say I was done with thrash moving into 1989, it felt as if the writing was on the wall after experiencing a stack of disappointing follow-ups from stalwarts in the form of …And Justice for All, So Far, So Good… So What!, and the bloated slogfest that was State of Euphoria. Thrash’s prime movers were getting cleaner and more commercial, and Dreamweaver was the sort of record that made you feel okay with Metallica, Megadeth and Anthrax falling into the hands of the greater public.

So, yes, “The Clerical Conspiracy” totally bulldozed me with its insistent relentlessness across the opening 6 minute volley of the album, and electing to follow it with something as mellow and pensive as “Advent of Insanity?” Mad fucking genius. I was always a fan of thrash and speed bands that knew how to be mellow without it feeling like an outright ballad (the outset of “Behind the Mirror,” or “Traveler,” for example), but “Advent of Insanity” set the bar to impossible heights in terms of dark, alluring magic. I don’t recall if I’d heard cello in metal before that moment—perhaps somewhere inside Frost’s Into the Pandemonium—but the guest spot from cellist Jan Tilman Schade here just felt… most crucial. This was also the point where I began to realize just how important the lyrics were to Dreamweaver, and Walkyier’s singing throughout “Advent” was so diametrically opposed to the boorish (boarish?) snarl of the opener that I assumed it was someone else entirely.

“There are things far more sinister that haunt the midnight air,” lilts Walkyier, with the hint of a wicked spirit echoing the sentiment just over his shoulder. The tune’s second half felt ever so slightly deranged, and its delicate close left me totally offgua…“STANDING ON A STRANGE SHORE!!!” [airbag unexpectedly detonates]. (Just kidding; we didn’t have airbags back then. I simply flew through the windshield and died a miserable death on the hood of my car.)

Suffice to say, Walkyier’s thundering howl of “Standing on a strange shore!!!” that very abruptly kicked off “Do Dark Horses Dream of Nightmares?” hit me like a war mace right to the face, and about 30 seconds into the song I realized I needed to stop the tape and save the rest of the album for home because my brain was going full tilt. Once in the comfort of my room, “Dark Horses” deepened the spell, weaving densely fierce riffs and Walkyier’s singular snarl with flashes of ominous whispering, inhuman barks, and even a brief moment where a guitar perfectly emulated a horse (3:20—man, I just love that part). And once Andy Sneap’s (yes, that Andy Sneap) acoustic guitar whipped in, eventually leading to a series of absolutely wild leads and a sudden return to serious HEFT, I knew I had to call someone to yell about what I was experiencing. “HELLO? I DON’T KNOW WHO YOU ARE, BUT 4 MINUTES AND 33 SECONDS INTO THE SONG DO DARK HORSES DREAM OF NIGHTMARES IS THE HEAVIEST FRICKEN MOMENT OF 1989.”

Okay… Concept albums. Some gilded pud somewhere out there in the universe decided that concept albums were a form of “career suicide” for bands, but having my head blown off by Abigail (11/10 album) and Operation: Mindcrime (10/10 album) the year prior made me realize I was a pretty easy mark. Paganism was 100% in my wheelhouse, too—so much so that I spent years trying to track down Brian Bates’ The Way of the Wyrd, the impetus behind the Dreamweaver concept. Walkyier’s lyrical interpretation of Bates’ novel is out-fucking-standing—some of the finest and most gripping lyrics to grace a metal record—and the fact that my version of the cassette elected to omit the lyrics made me angrier than the Macho Man after railing a 10lb bag of Bolivian marching powder.

…

[Quiet interlude that may or may not include a bit of prancing]

…

Supervisor: “Okay, once this unit comes down the conveyor belt, you line things up just so and use this handle to fill the bag with the appropriate amount of styrofoam. Any questions?”

Me: “Yes. Who are you that walks across the graves of giants at this late hour?”

That summer I worked a series of terrifically shitty jobs via a temp agency, and the above conversation—which was real—occurred very close to my last day at a factory that paid me decent money to be one of several Lords of Styrofoam. Needless to say, I was not a very fit Lord of Styrofoam, and my supervisor had never heard “The Best of Enemies,” so she did not appreciate my nod to the way the song kicks off. By this point in the record, Dreamweaver really needed no further proof of its position as the heaviest album of 1989 to date, but this song delivered yet another illustration regardless. “Enemies” transitions seamlessly into a mellow measure right around its 6-minute mark that includes the brilliant lyric, “When living your life like an arrow in flight / you must always accept that end is in sight / be grateful at least for the fact that you knew / you came to death; he did not come to you…” Then BOOM: The molten heaviness hits right alongside Walkyier’s howls of: “YOU ARE LIKE TARGETS, WHO SIT AND AWAIT / PATIENTLY SUFFER THE ARROWS OF FATE!”

Moving forward: Are you fucking shitting me with the outset of “How Have the Mighty Fallen?” To this day I remain blown away by the launch of this mighty song. The sharp urgency of the wonderfully melodic riffing that marches in perfect step to Walkyier’s manic burbling continues to crescendo across the first minute, then all hell breaks loose the moment Martin howls “FREE MY SOUL!!” I have never had the pleasure of seeing Sabbat live, very unfortunately, but I have to believe this was the part of the show where the pit detonated into absolute bedlam. Also take note of the terrific set of leads by both Simon Jones and Sneap in the song’s back half, as they provide the perfect backdrop for a song centered on having one’s soul swiped and dragged into the spirit world.

Was “Wildfire” the album’s radio hit? Sure, why not. Play this fiery rager immediately after… oh, I dunno… Bad English’s “When I See You Smile” and watch your program director’s blood vessels paint the office walls. Outside of the album’s interludes, “Wildfire” was certainly the most straightforward belter of the lot, but as much as the song’s blunt heaviness served to keep the listener pinned to the speakers, the star of this particular show was Sneap’s totally chaotic lead towards the close, and the way that lead shifted back into such a crushing riff in the cut’s final moments.

With “Mythistory” the story came to a magnificent close. The priest’s goal of converting the heathens at long last deviates to a passage of brooding and self-reflection, with the principal protagonist encountering a female form of his own soul as he continues his search for the true significance of the Wyrd. He submits to nature, welcoming “the fruits that my tonsure forbade,” and eventually elects to abandon the pulpit to his past. The music is fittingly melodic and epic, particularly at the outset, but also brutal and wild, with Sabbat once again integrating a terrifically unique swagger and groove (around 2 minutes in) that’s as enticing and toothsome as braided Lughnasadh piled high with butter. Sneap’s leads in the closing half are wild and flighty, like nature itself, spurring the final determinations of Wat Brand as he reflects, “Yet why pay the cost of a paradise lost when here is an Eden of nature’s creation?”

“Come walk with me,” responds his soul, “through the vale of eternity / For you must know, ere you go, I go with thee.

“I… GO… WITH… THEE!!”

Dreamweaver should have yanked Sabbat under a much larger spotlight, but that wasn’t meant to be. Not to say the needle didn’t move at all, mind you, especially in smaller pockets, but the fact that Dreamweaver failed to launch Sabbat into long and prolific career has remained one of the more disappointing narratives to ever be attached to thrash’s long and storied timeline. The record made a hell of a splash in my sphere, though, where a small faction of enthusiastic metal acolytes spent a glorious summer fully obsessing over its lyrics and the unbridled energy packed into the full 40-plus minutes. Accordingly, I could not hustle back to that record store fast enough to scoop up the neglected used LP copy of History of a Time to Come. And while that record certainly reinforced my Sabbat infatuation, it was clear that Dreamweaver marked a significant uptick in the band’s songwriting and overall chops.

So, what was to blame for the kibosh? The all too familiar story of neglect from Noise Records, for one thing, leaving the members of Sabbat to mostly fend for themselves amidst a roiling sea of worthy contenders likewise fighting for attention. They were a young band, too, which of course hauls with it a slew of plausible challenges that likely didn’t help. Additionally, Sabbat eventually condemned the production choices made at the time, which I find curious because to me the cassette version sounded absolutely top notch. I can, however, confirm that Noise dropped the fricken ball on the CD variant, which somehow managed to sound as if it fell out of someone’s ass. Back then so many people were hyper-focused on digital enhancement: dragging the warm analog sounds of LPs and cassettes into the future with CDs proudly designated “ADD” (analog recorded, digitally mixed, digitally mastered) or “DDD,” both of which seemed to miss the mark fairly often in them early days. At least with regard to heavy metal. To this day I’m still angry that Noise ignored the loud *POP* of distortion that jumped out in the middle of “Do Dark Horses Dream of Nightmares” on the CD version. But hey, at least it finally put a lyric sheet in my lap. It’s the small victories.

Also frustrating is the fact that, despite the obvious quality of the music behind Dreamweaver AND History of a Time to Come (news flash: I’m also that guy who enjoys the oft-maligned Walkyier-less third album, Mourning Has Broken), Sabbat’s discography has spent the better part of the last 35 years being largely neglected in terms of fancy re-releases / remasters. To a certain extent I understand the predicament: Sabbat’s was a unique and notably selective style that opted to fuse raw, brutal thrash with a strong pagan glint that encouraged the band to fully embrace a medieval flare that included gear and puffy shirts—never really the apple of the general public’s eye. In the end, you had to be the sort of metal fan who’d buy into most anything, because Dreamweaver sounded as if it foretold everything from Unleashed to Ensiferum to, say, Mystic Storm, and did so with equal measure—a formula that calls for a target audience as unique as the band itself.

Thankfully, in 2023 Noise Records finally woke up and smelled the coffee, releasing a deluxe box set titled Mad Gods and Englishmen that includes History of a Time to Come and Dreamweaver, plus a bunch of live stuff and a radio appearance circa 1987. The LP version of said set is superbly done, and very much worth it just for the first two records.

May 15th, 2024 marked the 35th anniversary of this wonderful album, and even after all these years my spirit continues to be invigorated every time I listen to it. Valid proof that… Ere I go, Dreamweaver still goes with me.

«»