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SORDID BLADE
Every Battle Has Its Glory

Gates Of Hell (2022)
Rating: 8/10

The album cover artwork is full of atmosphere and lyrically there’s a match too as this Swedish twosome channels the spirit of Manilla Road on what is a gem of a debut platter.

Sordid Blade emerges from the mists of time with a steady, fluid and mystical outing that was always going to work when one considers that members Niklas Holm and Micael Zetterberg are also behind the impressive Wanton Attack. What you get here is the sort of metal that forces you to sit down and listen and then caresses you with a rustic charm, and yet you always remain on edge, watching the trees for shadows.

Clearly inspired by 80s metal, Sordid Blade provide rather understated yet ethereal vocal qualities which waft in silky smooth fashion across the fens of equally pleasurable guitar tones as the stirring ‘Unbreakable Bonds’ oozes with timeless fashion. ‘Mighty Old Star’ creaks like a dusty old coffin being disturbed for the first time in centuries as a swift gallop ensues and we are bounding across country like a clan of black riders.

Sordid Blade effortlessly revives mid-80s Euro metal, bringing a stuffiness and muddiness and yet somehow remaining clear and ghostly within the framework of worship. The guitars, bass and percussion are all crisp but they also thud and clank to the whiff of sweaty armour. Yet under the cloak of midnight, flickering fires are sparked to life by such metallic sprigs as ‘Hidden Enthronement’ whereby a speed metal riff butts heads with a more traditional metal styling, while ‘Halfway To Heaven’ sizzles briskly, mid-paced yet energetic. And the same can be said for the sparkling title track and the brooding trickle of ‘Lonesome Rider’.

Every Battle Has Its Glory is a record that may not appeal to everyone, particularly the interesting vocal style of Niklas Holm who rolls his tongue around certain words like a shadowy tempter beckoning you from the browned pages of an adventure game book, but this is still an organic and wistful opus that sends up images of bewitching nocturnal campfires stroked by the wings of spectral barn owls. I may waffle, but it’s just how I hear it.

Neil Arnold

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