DEIPHAGO

I, The Devil

HELLS HEADBANGERS

Extreme metal’s most extreme band? Pretty much

Two seconds into the opening track on Deiphago’s fifth album, the only feasible response is to scream “Jesus shitting H fucking Christ, there goes my face!” and surrender to the most pulverising and insane metal blitzkrieg of the year so far. Or, perhaps, of any year. Because while this Philippino crew have long been renowned as one of the most twisted and violent bands in the underground, they have only previously hinted at I, The Devil’s frankly terrifying levels of abominable extremity. Superficially, Deiphago’s remorseless, claustrophobic approach shares certain DNA with Portal and their swirly, ill-defined ilk, but where those bands hide behind churning, ambient fug, these maniacs are always front and centre, breathing fire, gurning like Abbath and getting right in your ghostly, mortified face. Consumed in one sitting, I, The Devil could break you forever. But what a way to go. ■■■■■■■■■■

FOR FANS OF: Abominator, Hate Eternal, Tetragrammacide

mental health: subjects you will never hear on a Danko Jones album. Yet the cheeky, chugging trio from Canada, fronted by

Danko himself, have always been unapologetically consistent in their sentiment that revolves around rock clichés celebrating the simple pleasures of playing guitar, having fun and, err, shagging.

In 2002 they released the wilful – a bold slab of post-garage, desert-style rock hinting that there was a niche for them in the metal community, but successive albums have delivered a more polished version of their ebullient repertoire, lasting up to the here and now with

The first words uttered on their ninth album are

landing a mission statement for the ensuing course of lascivious rock’n’roll tuneage.

we’re informed but anyone who has heard Danko’s podcast or read his Huffington Post column will know that the real Danko is smart and self-aware.

Superficially, is a simple yet honed celebration of that life on the road, but second glances unearth earworms cropping up in the staccato chatter of the dancefloor invitation of and Danko’s Bon Scott vocal parallel on

is a song Danko would no doubt sing while salaciously eyeballing a chick in the front row. As we reach the finish line, shows no signs of winding down. and You are frantic listens, segueing from the lyric-stuffed punk attack of the former to the taught and chanty leg-shaker that closes the album.

In an age of uncertainty and growing restlessness, Danko Jones are the optimistic go-to band who don’t bother to make any proclamations other than enjoy yourself, and sometimes that’s all you need. ■■■■■■■■■■

FOR FANS OF: Backyard Babies, AC/DC, Thin Lizzy