I’m not trying to sound like a gatekeeper here, or like I’m invalidating anyone’s opinions about whatever, but I will give some serious side-eye to any list of the best all-time doom or metal records that doesn’t have a reverential place reserved for Candlemass‘ debut album, Epicus Doomicus Metallicus. Released through Black Dragon and Leviathan Records in 1986 — arguably a pinnacle year for metal with landmarks from Slayer, Megadeth, Metallica, Voivod, Iron Maiden, and Saint Vitus, among others — it set in motion one of doom’s most essential, genre-defining progressions and became a model that, more than 35 years after its arrival, continues to inform the aesthetic in mood and sound. It is a blueprint for doom metal even as it captures a band who never really existed.

The story is famous by now that Candlemass were set to record their first long-player and founding bassist, principal-songwriter and bandleader Leif Edling brought in Johan Längquist to fill the role of lead singer. Candlemass had been around for a couple years at that point, operating under the moniker of Nemesis since 1982 with guitarist Mappe Björkman joining in 1985 — lead guitarist Lars Johansson and drummer Jan Lindh joined in ’87; the band’s second album, Nightfall (discussed here), came out that year and was their first with frontman Messiah Marcolin — and Längquist wasn’t so much in the band as on the songs. Difficult to imagine anyone involved thought they were making a heavy metal landmark when it came out, but there continues to be magic in the six-song/43-minute run of Epicus Doomicus Metallicus. Opening track “Solitude” is morose in its beginning in a way that feels like it’s speaking to what would’ve been a nascent goth culture in 1986, and the riff that takes hold is a clarion to worshipers of Black Sabbath: “Come in and be among your own.”

“Solitude,” “Demon’s Gate,” “Crystal Ball,” “Black Stone Wielder,” “Under the Oak,” “A Sorcerer’s Pledge” — the immediacy of side A gives over to more of a storytelling feel for side B, and therein lies the heart of doom. Because Candlemass are rightly credited with crafting a style tagged as “epic doom,” and a lot of the bands working under their influence in the last, oh, 35-plus years are tagged the same. Fair enough. But that’s really more about Nightfall and its own follow-ups, 1988’s Ancient Dreams (discussed here) and 1989’s Tales of Creation, and the Messiah Marcolin era that hadn’t begun yet when Epicus Doomicus Metallicus was recorded, even if the band themselves are telling you how to consider their work right there in the title: “epicus.” Certainly what they would become and the path they’d take over the course of the rest of the 1980s — which is inarguably the root of the influence they’ve had on two-plus generations of doomers subsequent to their earliest output; Candlemass share another commonality with Sabbath in that their 1990s work is undervalued in light of what they’d done prior — were hinted toward in “Under the Oak,” “Black Stone Wielder,” and the narrative “A Sorcerer’s Pledge,” but their doom hadn’t yet earned its patience or poise, and Epicus Doomicus Metallicus is rougher than nearly everything Candlemass would do after in terms of its basic sound. This becomes a great strength throughout the album.

The version streaming above is a 2007 remaster from Peaceville Records. It came with a bonus disc of live material recorded in the UK in 1988 that’s also part of the Bandcamp stream. You can hear in its sound a little more separation between the instruments — that may just be a result of raising the volume for what was then a 2CD/LP edition; a 3LP version came out in 2022 — and maybe that’s imaginary or power of suggestion, but it feels just slightly different from the original. Consider Längquist in the open space at the end of “Solitude.” That’s a brief moment, but so pivotal, and in this edition he seems just a little more isolated. I’m not saying it’s an enhancement to the material — it’s neither pro or con — just something you should be aware of if you listen. The original version I’m sure is on YouTube or whathaveyou if you feel like you want to chase it down, I just went with an official release.

One way or the other, I believe strongly in a Canon of Heavy, which is to say a league of records no home should be without. A level of performance, songwriting, aesthetic or craft that’s so essential to understanding what heavy is, was, or can be, that it can and should not be ignored. I’m talking about universality within a heavy subculture. Some shit everybody can and should get on board with. Epicus Doomicus Metallicus stands among the ultimate examples in my mind of this, and is a release that should be celebrated for its own accomplishments in innovating and helping to shape the style of doom metal, as well as for how cognizant it seems to be of what it’s doing. That is, Candlemass probably didn’t know they’d still be putting out records in the 2020s, but they are, and as on 2022’s Sweet Evil Sun (review here) and on 2019’s The Door to Doom (review here) that earned them wide accolades and a Grammy nomination, it’s Längquist on vocals — a part of the band at last, in addition to being an essential component of their history and thus that of doom at large.

It was a long and tumultuous road, with breakups, reunions, Robert Lowe from Solitude Aeternus fronting them for three records after coming aboard in another need-a-singer situation following an apparently-final split with Marcolin ahead of 2007’s King of the Grey Islands, which I can’t believe hasn’t closed out a week here before. So it goes with a band whose discography is rich both with singularly righteous doom and historical back and forth. But the work stands, as ever, and in Epicus Doomicus Metallicus, in their very first album, Candlemass set forth a blueprint for themselves and for others of what doom could be, how it could engage with the likes of the NWOBHM or even thrash, and retain its signature melancholy. Also it’s great.

Thank you for reading. As always, I hope you enjoy.

—

Made it through the week, which feels impressive. Earlier this week sucked. Early every week sucks. The Patient Mrs.’ semester has started, so she’s in class on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. We were in Connecticut last Saturday and last Sunday had company for a brunch playdate. The Pecan threw up Monday morning so I kept her home and that killed Monday and Tuesday here. 15 years later and I’m still scrounging for seconds of the day to write. Feels great.

I turned on Zelda and let the kid play so I could at least bang out some text to go with the two premieres that happened on Tuesday, and that was basically the day. Tuesday she went back to school and I dug into the whatnot, have been trying to catchup ever since and have not yet succeeded. But the week’s over, so I’ll pick back up Monday and still be behind. This weekend? Oh, well, Saturday we’re having company for brunch and then Sunday is a playdate. I expect the usual amount of getting caught up to take place.

Apologies if you’ve sent me email and I haven’t answered. Or social media messages. Whatever. Sorry. I’m trying my best and can’t even slate reviews for stuff I want to write about, let alone stuff I haven’t heard yet.

My new laptop, which is smaller — and if you’d call me out for bitching about that when I’m typing on a brand new computer, I’ll kindly refer you to the 40-plus years of my fucking life I’ve spent engaging with materials designed for people smaller than I am, whether it’s clothes, cars, Nintendo controllers, laptop keyboards, socks, on and on, and I’m not even just talking about being fat and trying to squeeze my ass in somewhere; I’m talking about how I have to scrunch my shoulders in to properly position my wrists on the condensed keyboard and it fucking hurts now when shit doesn’t fit because I’m old — came with a bunch of obnoxious intrusive bundled crap that no one ever, ever, ever wants but that keeps one jackass employed at Microsoft, presumably whichever AI they’ve hired as the CEO. I should’ve stayed home from CT last Saturday and set it up. Instead, I did it over the course of Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday while also trying to do Obelisk stuff and blew my brains out like 70 times trying to perform what seem to be for most individuals basic functions and tasks and failing outright all the time, every day. Constantly.

Do you know what my wife has? My wife has a text chain. Okay. A text chain. This text chain was born out of a Facebook group. The Facebook group was splintered off another one. The original was called Academic Mamas, and it was/is a group for mothers who are in academia, who are college professors like my wife or researchers, etc. Then it was Academic Mamas of 2017s for those who had kids the same year we had The Pecan. Then she found Academic Mamas of Special Needs 2017s, and then that became a text chain. Madness, right? Stay with me.

Do you know what they do on this text chain? They support each other. They talk about their day, or something that was hard, something that was easy, and they’re just there for each other, with advice or encouragement, whatever it is. They’re supported. Women supporting each other. Sometimes I very much wish there wasn’t so much shame around masculinity. I feel like I’m so ashamed of being angry, sad, bitter, resentful, all of these things, that they just sit and fester and I lose out on so much because I’m still back there trying to lug my own bullshit baggage. See? I even just called it bullshit! I can’t even get through a sentence talking about it without undercutting myself. That’s how it feels to be a man.

And nobody gives a shit. Nobody. Ain’t no text chains here. You got a problem? Sort it out, man. Man up. Go watch some football or something. Go punch a wall, which I’ve definitely done. Go shoot up a grocery store, or your school, or anywhere. Jump off a bridge. If you’re me, eat compulsively. This is what men get as options, and I think it’s perhaps the only instance wherein the cultural privilege of being a man is a detriment — because usually that’s pretty good livin’ as regards cultural dominance; I’ll remind you I don’t have a job — because since everybody else is worse off between women and those who identify outside the cisgender binary who the hell is going to offer any sympathy when one of the conditions for being a man in the first place, along with your babykiller pickup truck and, I don’t know, being a cop?, is killing that sympathy within yourself? The word ‘toxic’ is overused, but not misused.

So I’m gonna go sort all that out over the next 48 hours or so. Then probably write a book and live off speaking fees for the rest of my life. You have a great and safe weekend. Have fun, watch your head, hydrate, kill the patriarchy for the betterment of all humanity. End war. End fossil fuel consumption today. End money. End guns. Start love.

FRM.

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Tags: Candlemass, Candlemass Epicus Doomicus Metallicus, Epicus Doomicus Metallicus, Peaceville Records, Stockholm, Sweden

This entry was posted on Friday, February 2nd, 2024 at 10:07 am and is filed under Bootleg Theater. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.