Story Time
Fuck yeah, I'll conclude with a story. I've already listened to this album four times today, so I have a pretty good grasp of it's contents. After preparing the technical review and critique, I will listen again. But this time, I will write a short story during the duration of the album. So, if you're not interested, just skip the whole end area and go eat a ham sandwich or something.
Early Man - Closing In
http://www.discogs.com/Early-Man-Closing-In/release/1575184
Matador released this album in 2005. More recently Early Man split with Matador records and signed with The End Records. The End Records is a small label but they offer a really good line-up of thrash and do the music justice with quality pressings. This album, Closing In, should still be available at your local record store (though they likely will have to order it special for you).
The front jacket displays the name of the band stenciled in yellow over an image of a neanderthal. One sticker on the shrink extols Matador's Low Price (get it, LP) guarantee, another notes the 150 gram vinyl.
The back of the jacket displays the track listing, credits, and a photo of the two formative members of Early Man. They now perform as a four piece, adding another guitar and a bass.
Best of all, FUCKING INSERTS. Love inserts, every album should have inserts. In this copy, you get a poster and a stencil lettered Early Man. The sleeve is plain white paper, and the vinyl has custom labels. I can tell it was hand packed due to a full set of fingerprints on the vinyl itself. Kinda lame but looks defect free otherwise.
Alright, so I just opened this today and after cleaning off the fingerprints the vinyl looks perfect. It feels nice and heavy and shines like a mirror. I listened to the CD four times or so today, so I'll come back here after listening and note any sound differences. (After listening, there is almost no discernible difference between the two. The source tape is pretty raw so I believe the sound issues are not medium specific.)
Musically, this album is fucking awesome. Half way between Black Sabbath and Metallica, it rocks your fucking balls off for the duration. It's minimal, only guitar and drums. Nasal, Ozzy style vocals soar over fuzzy distorted guitar and cymbal laden percussion. The lyrics seems to tell a story, I'll let you interpret when you listen to it because...
YOU SHOULD BUY THIS ALBUM. Seriously, it is ten bucks. Ten bucks for 150 gram vinyl, two inserts, and excellent content. Better yet, you should be able to mosey on over to your local record store and have it there in a week or so. It's just worth it. Do you like Black Sabbath? Do you like Metallica? I thought so. Go buy the record.
Okay, so we've arrived at the end of the "review." Time for a little story for your ear brains. You can stop reading now if you are a bitch.
The Early Man
The early man stooped low in the ravine. His calloused feet bit deep into the muddy riverbed as he peered at his trail of footsteps behind him. Wind gusted across his dirt caked face between the follicles of his matted beard, yet it carried no scent. No scent of them.
They were close now, he knew. Close enough at times to taste Them on the wind, foreign yet still human. But They were different, he had seen Them. Tall, skinny and weak, he had killed the first four that hunted them. They were cunning though, and their numbers were strong.
He hefted his obsidian axe, the lashing showing signs of wear around where it met the worn wooden shaft. That could be fixed, the real problem lied where the shaft met his hand. Pus seeped where the last of the four had maimed him. The white of tendon and bone showed through his rent flesh. Though he could use all but the last two fingers of his strong hand, the infection had taken root in the deep gash. His face now flushed beneath the shadow of his prominent brow, he knew his time was measured.
Alone against Them, he stood no chance. Though he was close to home, four days in flight had caused exhaustion and sickness to shadow him like specters. He knew there was great strength in need, but even the determination to live had its limits. There was only one choice left to him now, he made his decision. He peered behind him once again, he had become sloppy.
The fever's delirium had clouded his judgment, his instincts as well. His large footsteps mocked him from the soggy mud. The ravine had seemed at the time a good choice: easy going, sheltered from view and with an ending point he knew. Home lied at the trickling rivers mouth, almost within sight. The realization of his error had stopped him in his tracks, sick not only with infection. He had led Them straight to his family, his clan.
It was then he heard the crunch above him. A single stick cracked, then nothing. His muddy brown eyes searched the banks of the deep ravine. Twilight's fingers illuminated very little, but he knew They were there. The wind shifted slightly and his broad nose twinged at their foul smell. He saw Them, seven or eight all bunched together at the top of the ravine's steep bank. Another crack sounded from across the ravine. Four more scrawny figures crouched opposite. He glanced behind him again, two dozen figures ambled quickly in the basin of the ravine not more than a short run's distance away.
They were closing in.
He clenched his jaw and sucked in a large breath. He path was clear now and he followed it; Forward, and fast. His thick thighs tensed as he sprang out of his crouch. Letting his axe swing low behind him, he sprinted toward the last bend before the mouth of the river. The sandy damp soil kicking up behind him, he heard the Others shout and holler as they quickened their pursuit. His weight shifted as he leaned into the shallow curve of the last bend. As the fires of camp entered his vision a few pebbles cascades down the side of the crumbling ravine.
Three more of Them slid down the banks just ahead of him. He saw his brothers stirring from their fire side seats and he cried out. They were too far to hear, though he could sense their urgency as they scrambled to gather weapons. He stopped then, and exhaled slowly. The thin arms of the Others grasped short nimble flint daggers. He gripped the smooth grain of his axe's handle and tipped his head back, expelling a guttural roar.
The Others hooted in response and began to encircle him. His long hair dropping down over his eyes, he bent over and tensed his muscles. Exploding furiously at the nearest of Them, the air whistled around his razor blade axe. It bit deeply into the thin cranium of the first, pink matter spattering his already filthy chest. He felt a hot slash across the back of his corded neck, the blood flowed quickly down his back. Reeling as he spun to face his attacker, he slipped slightly on the slick mud. Bracing himself with one hand he dropped his axe as he caught the second dagger with his injured hand. He drew it to the ground as he felt his palm split apart. Catching the second under the jaw with an open fist, the bone crumbled under the immense force. He cradled his now useless hand as the second attacker fell to his feet unconscious.
There was a split second as he saw the third's dagger enter his side. With a twist, the dagger came out and entered again, just below his left ribcage. His vision began to dim to red as the blade punctured his heart. His brothers were upon them then, their axes hewed off the Other's arm. Grabbing the last of Them at the back of its neck, the blood of his heart seeping out, their eyes met. Early Man's time was ending, the realization shared in that short look.
The Ends
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