Artist: Bretwaldas of Heathen Doom
Title: Battle Staff in the Heathen Woods
Type: Album
Label: King Penda

Blimey...where to start ? Firstly, much respect to King Penda records for supporting the true British underground. Secondly, this is a not all-too often registered emotion from my neck of the reviewing tunnels that sprawl beneath the terrible onyx towers of the Metal Team UK citadel: something that actually feels new. I mean, the feeling that this is a work that somehow manages to transcend the conventions of heavy metal genre, and is instead a platter of fresh, invigorating delights. The fact that this is a re-re-release, (apologies for the slightly Jive Bunny delivery) of an originally-limited-to 200 copies album makes it all the sweeter a listen. Finally, you too can listen to what I think may be one of the true maverick releases from Britain in the last ten years.

Battle Staff is an engrossing, addictive listen; conversely, it is also a bit of a bastard to adequately explain given my stunted turn of phrase and limited vocabulary. I was expecting this to be some kind of latter-period Bathory-fellating pagan doom effort, not unlike, say, Ereb Altor. It isn't like that at all. Indeed, while they are described as a doom band, I can find little about them that commends that particular genre description to me. This is a heavy metal album, of that there is no doubt, though the other influences are perhaps less typical. I detect the acrid influence of some mid-1980's crust-punk, with the frazzled guitar tones and the tinny but urgent production. I can almost taste the psychadelia in the frequently oblique turns of melody and drumming. Some tracks do have a backbone of doom in the leaden pace, in particular the brooding “Iron Skies”, but the whole package is much more like the deranged marriage of The Meads of Asphodel and Primordial, albeit more inventive and engrossing than either.

Lyrically, this has some of the most poetic and pastoral words I've seen set to heavy metal in a long, long time. The exploration of mortality and culture in “Hwicce Fif Ans” lingers perhaps longer than the music, though that is only due to the particularly memorable turn of phrase and metaphor in the song. So sure, the voice of Wartooth is bound to a bit atonally shouty for some listeners, (he also provides bass, while Sceot Acwealde – nice middle English pun – manages drums, guitars and effects, though presumably not simultaneously), but at least he sings in a decipherable, clear and English accented voice. I've seen (and heard) some frankly terrible English bands in the last few years, most of them clambering over each other to hop onto a new fad or trend. Yes, this is pagan metal, but you won't find a trace of a fiddle, tin whistle or by-the-numbers hey-nonny-nonny jig here. The English invented heavy metal. I'm glad to see that we can still innovate and excel. In one word: essential. In two words: fucking essential.

http://www.myspace.com/bretwaldasofheathendoom