Massacre, and why they don’t exist

Musicians are organic entities subject to the laws of nature. Bands are abstract concepts theoretically capable of immortality. Musicians get old. Retire. Die. Bands often endure in Trigger’s Broom form, limping on, replacing discarded limbs. Until we are forced to ask: what even is a band? In the case of Cradle of Filth, Asphyx, or Varathron, it usually means a charismatic frontman, desperately clinging to a fading continuity with the past, the entire instrumental picture irreversibly shifting beneath their feet over time.

But many bands can’t even boast this degree of solidity.

Maybe bands are more like a banner (or brand?). They call forth chosen individuals, absorbing their contributions for a designated period, before discharging them of their duties. As the brand continues to move through a pool of new recruits, a rump of loyal bannermen remain in place, stewards of a reputation, the meaning of which is slowly lost. I was going to list some examples here, but honestly, in terms of vintage death metal, take your pick, it’s a process almost universal at the greying end. A fact of aging. The effects of this process are not distributed equally. Many have left their mark on Immolation, but it is ultimately Rob Vigna’s vision. Ditto Morbid Angel and Trey. Suffocation will always be Terrance Hobbs’s baby.

Or maybe bands are more like a petri dish. A place to grow and blend cultures, leaving us, the loyal listenership, to study their interactions. The entity we refer to as Death was actually an ever shifting drum circle, featuring a rolling cast of interesting characters, coordinated and administered by a consummate zeitgeist watcher known only as Chuck.

And then we have Massacre. In the words of Kam Lee, “Massacre’s a weird band”. Can I shock you Kam? I don’t think Massacre’s a band. Even Kam himself, as their most prominent member, has taken a few spins round the revolving door.

Many artists quit the stage leaving only a tantalising footprint in their wake (Demilich, Timeghoul, Gorement off the top of my head). But Massacre’s ‘From Beyond’, their most beloved (and let’s be honest, only) work, was itself cobbled together from spare parts and various unemployed characters in the Tampa scene. Listening back, it was hardly an anomylous fluke.

Given the mid-80s vintage of early Massacre material, they should have been first out of the gate, beating Death, Necrophagia, and Morbid Angel to that holy grail of being the “originator”. Taking their rightful place in the analy retentive minds of fans across the globe as the founding document. The Rosetta Stone. The Magna Carta. The Ten Commandments.

It wasn’t to be. History is rarely so neat. Instead, the dark thrash of ‘Seven Churches’ had its tie straightened, was sent to hair and makeup, and wheeled out as the unmoved mover of death metal because of that eponymous song they did. We have thus been subjected to endless and very necessary debates on the origins of this infernal genre ever since. Debates only rivalled in their persistance by the also very necessary dialogue continuing to swirl around the awkward existence of Venom.

History is reliably obtuse in that way. Lineup trouble and ill luck consigned the material that appeared on ‘From Beyond’ to demo format until the late hour of 1991. The hastily assembled personnel, the fact that the tracks were a few years old at that point (back when time still had meaning), and the fact that by 1991 death metal was levitating into the aether of unknown delights known as prog, all made the modest fruit basket Massacre offered up look twee, dated, kitsch. 

But its status has been salvaged as both a missing link between death metal and thrash, and a solid go-to option, the Greggs meal deal of the classic canon. But the lineup and scene quickly dissolved around Massacre (if they in fact existed at all) by the mid-90s. If ‘From Beyond’ was the cliff notes of death metal, 1996’s ‘Promise’ provides an efficient summation of how far death metal sank by the mid-90s. Ideas, it seems, can also die. Massacre promptly disappeared.

But never underestimate the pull of the bandwagon. The dream that was Massacre was resurrected in the 2010s in time to catch the old school revival train. Kamless and unburdening itself of the need for trivialities such as ideas, inspiration, or creativity, this decluttered entity labouring under the Massacre banner offered up the self-referent ‘Back From Beyond’ in 2014.

It should be noted that by this point, metal’s fanbase had entirely reconfigured itself. Underground music had been repurposed as a content trough. Metal’s fandom happily adapted, like those giant tube worms living on the edge of deep sea volcanoes, they evolved into organisms uniquely suited to life in the oppressive, stuff saturated environment emerging in the 2010s. A happy – and growing – population of guzzling, swivel eyed absorption nodes. But this iteration of Massacre failed to meet even their low bar for consumption. The trough dwellers smelt rats all over ‘Back From Beyond’. The effort was too mediocre. The title, cover art, and intent too on the nose. Another hiatus followed.

And so we come to the most recent Massacre incarnation. The passable ‘Resurgence’ dropping in 2021, and now ‘Necrolution’. Confronting this material, I am again struck by the question. What is Massacre? To a far greater extent than their peers, also hobbling along with replacement limbs and a dangling thread of continuity with their past selves, I ask myself how and why we should care. The music certainly gives little reason to. And despite there being “names” behind this album, the lack of talking points makes Massacre unique even amongst the crop of old school reformists.

This is not simply a question of quality. ‘Surgical Steel’ piqued my interest, if for no other reason than a new Carcass album felt novel. The cynical mix of ‘Heartwork’ and ‘Necroticism…’ was worth commenting on if nothing else. ‘Torn Arteries’ broke records for how large the gulf between quality material and fan adoration now stretched. Autopsy’s ‘Macabre Eternal’ managed to generate hype and at least made a show of living up to it. ‘The Headless Ritual’ sustained the momentum, even if I weary of yet more new Autopsy albums at this late hour. ‘Death…the Brutal Way’ may just be one of Asphyx’s best, even as subsequent material leaves me cold. You’ve had your turn Asphyx, move out of the way, your contribution is noted but no longer required. Atheist, much as you are adored, no one asked for ‘Jupiter’, it’s painful to listen to and sounded painful to make. You didn’t have to put yourself through that. Thank you, at least, for knowing when to (finally) quit.

What’s striking about ‘Necrolution’ when compared to these earlier examples is the lack of vision. Massacre’s peers may have stumbled on success post reformation by accident, but even their failures articulated some kind of message, even if you have to squint to see it. Massacre, by contrast, offer us a mixtape. A cursory glance at the alarming track list demonstrates as much. Clocking in at a reasonable forty-six minutes, its sixteen tracks all sit at the two to four minute mark.

This is a survey. A sketch show. A variety act. A cabaret. I don’t know how many times I’ve listened to ‘Necrolution’ at this point. It has no beginning, no end. It’s a carousel. A showroom of off-the-shelf riffs. A buffet. All you can eat.

Massacre, much like their ambiguous reality (what is Massacre?), offer us stock footage of a death metal album. ‘Necrolution’ is “Siri play death metal”. Clips from a sound archive. Free to download and use.

But even this assessment doesn’t sit right. Such vitriol is usually reserved for a specific target. But once more with feeling, what is Massacre? Whom do I accuse? Kam? No, he’s a good time guy, talented vocalist, enthusiastic elder, consummate performer, hobbyist, all round nice bloke that just wants to carry that passion through to his autumnal years. Rogga Johnson? Jonny Pettersson? Possibly. But given that between them they play in all metal bands that have ever existed in all possible worlds, could we expect anything less than a death metal mixer from these guns for hire?

Just as it’s not always clear who to praise on the genre’s great masterstrokes (‘Legion’ the fluke of nature) or if we even should, the lynching mob’s services may not be required here. Unlike the two obvious figureheads that gave the world ‘Illud Divinum Insanus’, Massacre isn’t real. It’s a figment of death metal’s imagination. Every few years Kam Lee recites the abyssal spell, a lineup up is selected at random from the roster of active musicians. They are tasked with creating a death metal flatpack if they want to see the families again. The cycle repeats.

In 1987, another so called band released an album called ‘Scum’. Another sui generis creation formed not by a singular vision, but a shaky, barely coherent alliance. An accident? Certainly. But one that has shaped the history of extreme metal ever since. In 2024, such accidents are no longer possible. You’ll be lucky if anything happens at all. The best you can hope for is the overwrought highlights reel brought to you by Blood Incantation, and the ritual spraying of cum in celebration.

But still, seasoned musicians, acting under the assumption that they have free will, have somehow accidentally recreated the circumstances behind ‘Scum’. Conjuring a work with no attributable author. Thus we are left with no one to blame.

It’s unlikely this will spell the end of the past’s iron grip on our present and future. But the mask has once again slipped, I anticipate with thrilling terror the entity waiting to emerge from behind it.