Hall of Fame

Slaughter of the Soul is arguably one of the best death metal records of the modern era. Genuine classics like “Suicide Nation,” “Slaughter of the Soul,” “Blinded by Fear” and “Under a Serpent Sun” call our neck and brain to action.

A six-year gap separates underground gem Animosity from its unlikely successor, Blind. True, the Technocracy EP—with Simon Bob on vocals—acts as a bridge, but few, not even Corrosion of Conformity themselves, could’ve predicted Blind.

The story of how Melvins ended up on Atlantic is one of the weirdest chapters in the band’s history. In the wake of Nevermind’s multi-platinum success, major labels scrambled to catch lightning in a bottle a second time by scooping up angular, but tuneful rock acts.

Though we have inducted numerous landmark thrash metal albums in the Decibel Hall of Fame over the years, very few of the earliest examples of the style have made it in there.

Any time we hear that Lord Worm is back it’s like the return of the coolest substitute teacher at your school; the shop class alternate who lets the kids have at it with the broken bandsaw. Worm is a legendary death metal vocalist, a Hall Of Fame inductee with Cryptopsy and one of the most…

For most Americans, the earliest Scorpions song we remember is “The Zoo,” “No One Like You” or mega-hit “Rock You Like a Hurricane.” But the Hannover-based hard rockers had a storied history well before they were MTV and rock radio darlings.

Next to Queensrÿche and Bad Religion… ah fuck, who are we kidding? This is by far the least extremely extreme inductee in the Decibel Hall of Fame, and probably will be until we honor Jesu’s Kittens Upon Pillows of Limitless Down Luxuriating in Sunbeam EP in 2024.

Conjuring all things autumnal, vast and sorrowful, Skepticism’s 1995 funeral doom touchstone Stormcrowfleet was the vortex where death metal, black metal and earlier strains of doom metal all came to die in the late summer of 1995.

Agnostic Front’s Cause for Alarm is an atypical Hall of Fame induction. Most of the previous 100-plus albums that have graced these pages were created by bands that had a solid core and had been playing together (if not recording together) for years.

For years, Opeth toiled in relative obscurity. Caged to Candlelight Records for three fantastic albums and Peaceville for one stupendous full-length, the Stockholmites’ import-only status could’ve continued had Opeth’s new home, Music for Nations, not been a label proper.

The stagnating late ’80s hardcore scene drifted toward its early ’90s reckoning nursing one hell of a posi-hangover: saris and turtlenecks replaced abandoned Champion sweatshirts; smashed soapboxes were repurposed into horn-rimmed frames; fade-specializing barbershops faced precipitous revenue declines; ex-Youth Crew boys traded Adidas high-tops for Doc Martens sturdy/fashionable enough to endure the journey into a post-hardcore promised land of milk, honey and more ambiguous lyrics/breakdowns.

One of the downsides of the staggering amount of album formats these days is finding all the extra tracks. Fortunately, our friends in Hall Of Fame certified Monster Magnet (Dopes for Infinity) are sharing some of the extra goodies on their new album Last Patrol. Here’s Dave Wyndorf on the bonus track “One Dead Moon,”…

Black Metal’s induction to the Decibel Hall of Fame was inevitable. There’s simply no getting around its influence.

If Bad Religion had never made another record after 1983’s sophomore prog experiment Into the Unknown, it’s doubtful those familiar with the band at the time would have been surprised.

Before High on Fire signed to Relapse, the Californians had plenty of buzz. The group’s debut, The Art of Self Defense, along with the cloyingly faddy label Man’s Ruin, sent waves of heshers yammering about the next big thing.

For five Texans, timing’s always been a cruel, heartless bitch. But that didn’t stop Solitude from transforming under threat of legal action into Solitude Aeturnus, landing a record deal with Roadrunner on the strength of a single demo and issuing two critical full-lengths for the ascendant international thereafter.

Floor’s history is fraught with turmoil, disappointment and what could have been. Yet, between three untimely breakups, countless empty-room performances, super-short stints on various record labels and a revolving cast of collaborators, Floor crafted the full-length of full-lengths, the heaviest of heavies, the mountain of mountains.

Contrary to popular belief, Carcass’s fourth full-length wasn’t the result of a bunch of product guys, A&R gurus and major label marketing geniuses.

Sometimes the circumstances surrounding an album are just as important to its status as a Hall of Fame inductee as the music itself. As you’ll read in the pages that follow, this is definitely one of those instances.

Before bastard sons begat cunting daughters, flyswatter stakes were driven through chests and pleasures thought unobtained fully experienced, California thrashers Slayer were hell-bent on leveling not just previous milestones, but any band with an inkling of heaviness.

Before there was death-thrash or thrashy death, there was Sepultura, lovingly pronounced either Seh-poll-tour-a or Sep-ull-trah by many a hesher. Contrary to popular opinion at the time, Sepultura were not from the deepest parts of the Amazon or Brazil’s most violent of favelas.

When Sarcófago sacrilegiously congealed in a plastic bowl of hate, frustration, rebellion, fermented sugarcane juice and fuck fluid, Phil Collins’ “Sussudio” and Tears for Fears’ “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” were number one hits on the Billboard chart.

Whether it’s the weather, the water, chowda or some other supernatural force at play, Massachusetts has struck again with venerated metalcore (a deprecated term replaced by the New Wave of American Heavy Metal) outfit Killswitch Engage.

After nearly a decade of European dominance of all things anti-Abrahamic metal—starting with Bathory’s Viking-themed classic Hammerheart—Agalloch issued debut album Pale Folklore.

Four fellow dragon aficionados ensconced in the upper reaches of a Chinatown rehearsal loft they sublet with Henry Rollins (and a particularly stouthearted mouse) summoned into being the 1994 hardcore magnum opus Scratch the Surface.

Formed out of teenage jitters, a can-/will-do work ethic and long-term (possibly unhealthy) exposure to Neurosis, Swans and the Melvins, Boston’s Isis were in many respects different from what the rest of New England had to offer in the late ’90s.

Nuclear death were one of those bands that you really had to be there for. Formed in the depths of the Arizona desert in 1986 and dragged kicking and screaming through metal’s collective consciousness until 2000, the original trio was still in high school when they concocted what was to become their most beloved and influential recording.

What started out as a hobby between friends—principally guitarist/vocalist John Gallagher and bassist/vocalist Jason Netherton—in ’93, eventually turned into a career- and genre-defining powerhouse six years later. Though at the time, the Maryland-based outfit would be hard-pressed to believe it.

The era surrounding the release of Total Destruction, the 1993 sophomore album by New York City noiseniks Unsane, took Chris Spencer’s life on the craziest of rollercoaster rides.

Rust in Peace, as you will learn, wasn’t written in a day. It wasn’t even written in the studio—well, Dave Ellefson’s “Dawn Patrol” was birthed there—over many months, like so many records of the day were.