THE DUKE ON
THE MEGADETH REISSUES
THE MEGADETH REISSUES
When Pete Best got kicked out of The Beatles, he saw it as an
opportunity for to scratch his arse for a few decades, giving an
interview to Mojo every now and again.
When Dave Mustaine got kicked out of Metallica, he went ahead
and formed one of the most consistently innovative metal bands
ever to stand at the front of a stage making scary faces and
thrusting guitars suggestively.
One of the “Big Four” thrash metal bands of the 1980’s,
alongside Slayer, Anthrax and Metallica, Megadeth produced among
the best examples of the genre. They also produced some shit,
but most of that came later.
EMI have just reissued seven of the band’s albums, alongside
side-project MD-45’s underrated The Craving. These releases are
complimented by a handful (rather than the “sackful” claimed by
the label) of bonus tracks, and each record has been personally
remastered by Dave Mustaine himself. Mustaine also provides the
liner notes and so on, and Risk has even been blessed with a
decent cover.
So, then, allow The Duke to run through each of the records in
question, in chronological order, and to relate the tale of
Megadeth On Record, a tale what begins with furious intent and
eventually dips dramatically in the direction of generic wank.
Peace Sells… But Who’s Buying? (1986)
Peace Sells, the bands second record, arriving a year after the
Killing Is My Business… And Business Is Good debut, opens with a
howl of raging, screeching guitars and sneering, bitter vocals,
and the pace rarely lets up for much of the ensuing 35 minutes
or so. It’s as indebted to Motorhead as it is to anything what
might be termed “Thrash”, and remains an idiosyncratic, unique
work.
The number of bands who owe their careers to Peace Sells is
unfathomable, and yet, whilst it may be nothing but a
motherfucking act of cliché-slinging abandon for to suggest, it
has rarely been equalled. Anyone can play shit quickly. Where
Megadeth earn the extra points, ratings, stars, accolades, is
with regards how memorable these eight tracks are, how much of
an impression they make, even now.
As is the trend for this kind of re-issue carry-on, it’s the
earlier material what benefits most. Peace Sells sounds crystal
clear, every saliva-drenched, sarcastic remark and gut-rumbling
chord arriving with a rejuvenated sparkle which enhances the
material without taking away the ruggedness on display.
The title track is a prime example of the cynical wit Mustaine
has nurtured for much of the last two decades. “What do you mean
I don’t support your system?”, he scowls. “I go to court when I
have to.”
It’s an intelligent number, is what, a protest anthem with an
articulated anger beyond most of their peers.
“If there’s a new way, I’ll be the first in line.
But it better work this time.”
Listening back to this stuff now, with the benefit of hindsight
and the standards adopted since the shift towards a more
introspective, more openly emotive rock template, it’s amazing
how little one has to work for to appreciate this. There’s no
need for irony, or to go along the lines of “Well, it was good
for its day” or that kinda shit. This is a staggeringly
confident, often breathtaking record.
The notion of Megadeth as nothing more than a “dumb metal band”
is one what needs to be addressed right the fuck now. Even if
the lyrical concerns weren’t as incisive, as piercingly
satirical, even then the musical tomfoolery is far from the work
of a simpleton.
The breathtaking intro to My Last Words sounds like Djangho
Reinhardt gone electric, and it’s just one of a whole
continent's worth of examples what illustrate how sophisticated
this stuff really is.
Peace Sells… But Who’s Buying is among the best examples of
punk/metal crossover that anyone has ever flung together. It’s
focused, intense, and if the excessive soloing to be found here
and there seems a tad out of time nowadays, the nihilistic bile,
the aggression, the disdain for hypocritical cultural and
societal values certainly doesn’t.
The bonus stuff is fairly perfunctory. A few alternate mixes
that are little more than poorly-recorded versions of four album-
tracks. The sound, though, on the album-proper, is incredible,
musical nuances once battered senseless by technological
limitations now granted the immediacy and the revelatory
potential they deserve.
So Far, So Good… So What (1988)
The 1988 album, So Far, So Good… So What? Expands on the punk-
metal experiments what proved so breathtaking on the earlier
outings, and adds to the mix a hitherto fairly muted melodic
invention. Mary Jane, for instance, takes a stab at the
potentially diabolical prospect of psychedelic speed-metal, and
emerges as among the best thing on the record, a record what has
no real shortage of the “classics”.
The cover of Anarchy In The UK is, it has to be said, a tad
embarrassing, saved from utter hopelessness by Mustaine’s venom-
laced sneer. Recorded ten years after the Sex Pistols original,
it has, ironically, if predictably, dated like a slab of rancid
meat left baking in the august sun, whilst the track roaring
from Never Mind The Bollocks still has the aura of something
just ten minutes ago thrust onto wax.
If this backwards-bouncing into the catalogues of others proves
ill-judged, the band’s own dalliances with the spirit of those
tunes, if not the sound, results in more than a few genuinely
brilliant moments. 502 sounds like something Guns N Roses might
have concocted had they been even more aggressive and a lot more
paranoid, being a tale of the “cops”, “filth” and so on what
acts as a fine companion piece to Axl Rose’s rants about
“They're out ta get me!”
The centrepiece is the structurally astounding, relentlessly
bleak six-and-a-half minute In My Darkest Hour. The intro alone,
awash with descending scales and ridiculously catchy riff-type
malarkey, has enough ideas for most albums, let alone the
opening thirty seconds of one track.
It manages to wring something truly powerful, fiercely defiant,
from what could have been a crushingly indulgent slab of poor-me
whining. The ever-increasing sense of impending catastrophe,
kicked along the way by sundry time-shifts and what not,
culminates in a bout of screaming and spitting before things
calm down a tad for the final 20-second stretch.
Folks laugh at this kind of stuff, and to be honest, The Duke
has been as guilty as anyone at times, but In My Darkest Hour,
like much of this whole damn record, is nothing if not a work of
musical genius. It’s just shy of the seven-minute mark, and yet
it feels half the length, being so consistently inventive that
The Duke hadn’t a chance for to get fed the fuck up, since you
never get a moments peace before some other melodic device
arrives for to shake you out of such lethargy, melodic devices
what are ever-more pertinent in this digitally cleansed version.
The shockingly foul-mouthed Liar flies along at a fair old pelt,
ranting about fuck and then fuck you and a bit about fucking
liar, before the breathless Hook In Mouth brings the album
proper to a close. It’s as relentless as most anything else,
with only the opening instrumental Into The Lungs Of Hell (what
even flaunts a horn or two on occasion) or the aforementioned In
My Darkest Hour offering even the slightest of breathers.
Thankfully, there are a few seconds of silence for to separate
the climax of Hook In Mouth with the bonus material, material
consisting of alternate mixes of a couple tracks. These Paul
Lani mixes are no-doubt a valuable addition for folks what haven’
t got the album already, but if you do, in fact, own the record,
then unless you feel like upgrading on account of improved
sound, the bonus stuff doesn’t hold much incentive. Bar the fact
that these alternate mixes sound a little more spacious than the
album versions, there isn’t much to set them apart, aside from
the occasional moment when the guitar is lower in the mix than
you might be accustomed to. Still, it’s hardly earth shattering,
is what The Duke would suggest.
Rust In Peace (1990)
Rust In Peace is a more rounded, professional affair than So
Far, So Good…, and a more conventional one also, being fond of
the old extended guitar workouts and what not, Dave Mustaine and
Marty Freedman getting all indulgent with the solos. It may have
been ridiculously good fun to play, but it’s not always so
captivating on the ears of the listener, especially if the
listener is The Duke, who was thinking about shit, man, hurry
the hell up.
Lyrically, the record is as disturbingly schizophrenic, as
paranoid in its worldview as ever.
Most uncomfortable is the dark, claustrophobic Poison Was The
Cure. “Serpents swim free in my blood”, spits Mustaine, “Dragons
sleeping in my veins”. This kind of yacking coming from a heroin
addict is all the unpleasant in the world, more so when one
notes how decidedly unconvincing the claim about “Never knowing
if I’d wake up in a whirlpool got redundant” really sounds.
Rust In Peace is hailed by most fans as the pinnacle of the
Megadeth canon, but for The Duke, it lacks the urgency of Peace
Sells or the melodic invention of Countdown To Extinction. It’s
certainly astounding so far as the technical malarkey is
concerned, but following an incredible opening trio, it adopts a
patience-testing more-is-more stance, meaning fans of fret-
gymnastics will be all the happy in the world, but for folks
what care about stuff like genuine invention, surprise, all that
jazz, then it’s a little frustrating.
Having said that, when it soars it soars like a motherfucker is
what. Tornado Of Souls showcases an especially deranged high-
pitched vocal performance by Mustaine, and manages to be more
inventive in its first two minutes than the proceeding three
tracks manage in their entirety.
As with the other reissues, the remastering is fairly near
perfect, and the smattering of demo takes at the tail-end
provide interesting, rougher takes on the material. The demo of
Take No Prisoners, for instance, illustrates just how incredible
the drumming on this thing is. Plucked out of the studio sheen
of the finished product, these tracks appear much more angry,
more engrossing even.
There’s an outtake by the name of My Creation what sounds,
believe it or not, like Bleach-era Nirvana for the first few
lines. A squealing solo does away with the notion that Cobain
might have been responsible, though. It’s the first genuine
“find” of the reissue series, being a previously unreleased
track, and concerns itself with being a daft but entertaining
minute-and-a-half romp through a Frankenstein narrative,
complete with deranged “It’s Alive!” at the beginning.
It does detract a tad from the original ending, though, the near-
six-minute juggernaut of Rust In Peace… Polaris, a track what
paves the way for the sound explored on the next record, the
mega-selling Countdown To Extinction. The lyrics concern
themselves with the nuclear war and the vile puppet-masters who
would ultimately be responsible for such, anti-war pondering
what also crops up in the albums terrific opener, Holy Wars… The
Punishment Due.
Despite the presence of distasteful filler here and there, Rust
In Peace certainly deserves the reverence it receives from
critics, at least ones what can review a “metal” record without
smirking.
For The Duke’s money, though, Peace Sells is still the
masterpiece of the bands eighties output, perhaps because I
found the punk-thrash tomfoolery more consistently captivating
than the endless soloing etc. Make of that what you will. If the
virtuoso guitar carry-ons are what get you all wet around the
gums, then this, being also incredibly witty and certainly
progressive in the arrangements and what not, will most likely
make you as happy as The Duke the time he discovered that Santa
was not only real, but selling pornography from the back of a
pick-up truck in Dublin.
Countdown To Extinction (1992)
Some folks detest this record, seeing it as the death-knell for
the Megadeth of old, and the birth of a new, commercial, radio-
friendly mutant.
As far as The Duke is concerned, though, Countdown To Extinction
is the second must-have in the band’s discography. Mustaine’s
voice is as laced with bile as it ever was; a commanding,
startling, threatening snarl.
It’s a more straight-ahead affair than the sprawling Rust In
Peace, but what it loses in scope it more than compensates for
in melodic glory. Symphony Of Destruction is one of the best
things the band have put their name to, and opener Skin O’ My
Teeth is a return to the focused, punk-infused antics of old.
The lyrical concerns rarely stray far from the paranoid,
politically conscious, war-is-hell musings of old, but
stylistically they surpass most anything Mustaine wrote
hitherto. Symphony Of Destruction equates military action as
something akin to how “The Pied Piper led rats through the
street”. The schizophrenic narrative of Sweating Bullets is
inspired, and also a tad disturbing. “Hello me, meet the real
me…”
Of all the remasters in this batch, Countdown To Extinction
perhaps surprised The Duke most of all. I expected the likes of
So Far, So Good… So What? to sound cleaner, sharper, but I
didn't expect much improvement on this 1992 opus, simply because
it sounded pretty perfect in the first place.
Colour The Duke shocked as all fuck, though, on account of a
clarity hitherto undetected rains from the speakers.
The title-track is a masterpiece, The Duke feels compelled to
relate, the ascending melody of the verses giving way to one of
the most memorable choruses in an album busting with anthemic
dementia.
Countdown To Extinction is that rarest of things, a metal
protest-record, and rarer-still, one what is fantastic
throughout. The band as a whole sound much more energised than
on the similarly themed Rust In Peace, and the songwriting is
light years ahead so far as melody and tunes and stuff are
concerned. There’s still plenty of the guitar-solos and so on,
but here they actually add to the songs, as opposed to the
fretboard antics on Rust In Peace which actually knackered the
momentum on occasion.
To note that Countdown To Extinction is probably the best place
for beginners to start may well be fairly accurate, but it also
does it a disservice, creating the impression that it is somehow
safe, not especially challenging, something relatively harmless
to acquaint oneself with before bounding into the waters of more
complex shenanigans.
The reason, however, what The Duke would give for suggesting
Countdown as the perfect starting point, is that it is most
likely the best album Megadeth recorded. It has as strong a run
of standout tracks as any other great record you care to
mention, like Rubber Soul or To Hell With The Devil, and remains
inventive, rewarding, intelligent and bleakly humorous.
As far as bonus stuff is concerned, it follows the Rust In Peace
template of an unreleased (in the US anyroad) outtake, coupled
with three demo versions. The alternate version of the title
track is fascinating with regards how much Mustaine sounds like
Kurt Cobain throughout the verse, but it’s nothing to get overly
orgasmic about.
Crown Of Worms, the unreleased number, is fairly unremarkable,
notable mostly for the outstanding drumming on display. Mostly,
it’s a pretty generic bout of the thrashing-about what sadly
dilutes some of the impact of proper-album-closer Ashes In Your
Mouth.
Youthanasia (1994)
Opening with a riff half-inched from Metallica’s Master Of
Puppets, Youthanasia has the reputation of being the first
genuine misstep in Megadeth’s discography.
What folks should be yacking about, of course, is the ridiculous
pun in the title, or the cover what has an old woman hanging
infants from a washing line, just in case you didn’t get all
the, y’know, messages and stuff what are dripping from the music.
The thing is, see, as far as the actual stuff on the record is
concerned, there are a few numbers what are pretty easy for to
love. Train Of Consequences is glorious, flaunting a skull-
shaggingly catchy melody, and following the truly awful Addicted
To Chaos, there’s a stretch of songs approaching the consistency
of the first half of Rust In Peace.
Blood Of Heroes starts well, then pinches its chorus from
Symphony Of Destruction and soon loses its way. It’s fairly
representative of the album as a whole. Moments of genius
coupled with a whole heap of the toss, wank, shit and so on.
Some of it sounds uncomfortably close to the kind of AOR pish
that Megadeth once offered a respite from. Most of this,
granted, is down to the horribly conservative production. If you
thought that maybe it would sound better now, what with all the
remixing and what have you, then, sadly, you’d be mistaken. A
lot of it sounds just as cheesy, as dated and as embarrassing as
it ever did.
There are a handful of tracks here that make the record worth
hearing, though, and in addition to those mentioned above,
there's I Thought I Knew It All, one of a number of tracks on
the album what reflect on post-rehab Mustaine’s state of mind.
Victory references sundry points in the band's back-catalogue,
and it’s another highlight. Overall though, the album is
disappointingly weak, sounding uninspired and by-the-numbers for
the most part. It’s really not that much to get excited about,
is what The Duke would suggest, barring Train Of Consequences
and Victory which, if I’m being totally honest, are the only
real, genuinely brilliant songs out of the whole damn lot.
And wouldn’t you know it, what is easily the weakest of the
albums thus far has the most interesting bonus material.
Alongside a rehearsal demo of Tout Le Monde, there are three
rare or unreleased tracks; Millennium Of The Blind, New World
Order and Absolution. Millennium and Absolution are
instrumentals, and New World Order sounds like a belated sequel
to Mary Jane from So Far, So Good… So What?
The Tout Le Monde demo is two minutes longer than the studio
version, and has a much more impassioned vocal. Whether or not
it makes buying the album again worthwhile is up to your own
good selves.
Cryptic Writings (1997)
Trust, the first track on this 1997 effort, is so much better
than most of Youthanasia that one could feasibly bend the thing
out of all proportion, so potent is the sense of relief. Don’t
get too excited, is what The Duke would advise, since it is
immediately followed by a hair-metal power-ballad masquerading
as something all the ferocious in Cuba. No amount of growling
can hide the fact that this is MOR radio-rock middle-of-the-road
pish.
What the fuck were these folks thinking? How about throw on a
putrid, embarrassing load of horse-shit for to screw the
momentum to blazes, would seem to be the crux of the ponderings.
Use The Man is infinitely preferable, playing host to one of the
most genuinely bizarre vocals Mustaine has ever recorded. It
sounds almost like Facelift-era Alice In Chains for a time, and
although it’s a rather restrained affair, it’s much more
impassioned than much of the toss hanging to the sheets of
Youthanasia.
Mastermind opens with a southern-rock inspired riff what sounds
a tad like Aerosmith at their scuzzier, ie, when not singing
about “I love you, motherfucker” for to get on the soundtrack of
a blockbuster or two. The track then proceeds to incorporate any
number of vocal effects and what not, possibly in an attempt to
cast an air of innovation over a track what is, basically,
little more than a generic rock song.
There’s a danger that a fella can be too harsh, but there’s also
a danger that a fella can be soft on this stuff. I have to be a
million percent honest, if I paid fifteen quid for this record I
would be all the pissed off in the world. There’s none of the
immediacy, or the wit, or the invention what propelled
everything up to and including Countdown To Extinction. I sat
down with these reissues hoping to go some way towards debunking
the notion that Youthanasia and all that came after sucked like
a hooker the week before Christmas, but there’s no escaping the
fact that when Ashes In Your Mouth comes to a head, there’s a
serious dip in the quality.
A man could get vertigo, is what.
I’ll Get Even is another thin, clichéd exercise in mainstream
rock, and although Sin has some inventive drumming and the odd
memorable line, what the fuck use is a decent drum pattern at
the end of the damn day? What kind of nonsense is that to be
talking, that it’s worth buying because the drums are good here
and there.
Fuck the drums, man. The Duke doesn’t care for all the technical
proficiency in the former soviet union, if the songs are drab,
uninspired shadows of the kinda shit once deemed too lame for a
b-side. Some of this stuff sounds like W.A.S.P for Gods sakes.
Fuck Like A Beast, Motherfucker.
It seems unfair to be so harsh on Cryptic Writings after giving
Youthanasia a relatively easy ride, since the latter isn’t all
that much better. It’s just kinda distressing, is all, how a
band so obviously awash with talent are resorting to this kind
of balls.
Have Cool, Will Travel has a ridiculous title, but comes closest
to replicating the spirit of past glories, not least in the form
of Mustaine’s vocal, probably the best on the album.
It seems to ignite a spark of some kind, being followed by the
chugging She-Wolf which, whilst being lyrically ridiculous,
yacking on about “mother of all that is evil” and such nonsense,
is better than anything in the proceeding ten tracks, even going
so far as to be memorable.
You better calm the hell down, man, is what you might be
thinking, but no, they go ahead and lunge into Vortex what has a
strained, guttural vocal and a stuttering riff, all of which go
some way to ensuring that Cryptic Writings can be described as a
record that starts well and ends well but has nothing but the
most wretched of shit for the duration of the in-between.
Final track FFF, a speedy punk affair, is the best of the lot,
and one what only causes a fella to wish the record had featured
more of the same.
The bonus tracks consist of two previously unreleased or rare
numbers, and two alternate takes of album tracks, one of which
is a version of Trust with the chorus sung in Spanish. It sounds
like someone has played the vocals backwards, but is at least
more interesting than most of the alternate takes on offer
throughout the series. Of the unreleased duo, Evil That’s Within
could probably have sat on the record with greater ease than
much of what actually made it, and the same applies to
Bullprick, a thrash effort which was at one time supposed to
appear on Hidden Treasures, the 1997 odds n’ sods collection.
Risk (1999)
What in the hell to make of Risk? The most recent of the batch,
it’s also the most experimental. Does this commendable attempt
at trying something a little removed from the norm mean the
record is any good? Not especially, is the disheartening truth
of the matter.
Some experiments just suck, man. Like when they stuck that ear
onto the mouse. What the hell good did that do?
It’s easy to fool oneself into thinking more of the first four
tracks than they deserve. Crush ‘Em, for instance, is nothing if
not a purpose-built stadium anthem, but it’s also shamefully
clichéd, a world away from the likes of Skin O My Teeth or even
Train Of Consequences.
How come Andrew W.K can do this exact same nonsense and make it
sound like some sort of profound transcendental message plucked
by God’s own plectrum?
Breadline is a radio ballad, pure and simple, complete with
cheesy guitar licks plastered about the place.
How can it be that this material, released in 1999, sounds more
embarrassing, more dated than the stuff from 86?
The Doctor Is Calling is the first memorable song on the record,
and considering it’s the sixth track, that right there is a
fairly poor hit-rate. The Duke has no problem with the branching
out and all, but when it’s in the direction of shit like Prince
Of Darkness, you have to question the thinking behind it.
Much-maligned ballad I’ll Be There is actually among the more
pleasing numbers, if one can for a second forget that the
producers of this cheesy, incredibly conservative tomfoolery
once crafted the likes of Hangar 18.
The record plays around with cod-industrial effects for the
duration, flinging in a load of the distorted vocals and
repeating the same synth-line for what seems like every other
song.
Wanderlust, however, is a genuinely great song, even if the
recurring guitar melody sounds like Bon Jovi’s Wanted Dead Or
Alive.
I’m A Cowboy, Motherfucker.
If the rest of the record reached such heights, The Duke would
have been all the supportive in the world of this new direction.
Sadly, for the most part, “new-direction” translates as “old-
directions what were sensibly avoided”. This may have seemed
cutting-edge in 89, but for a 99 release, it’s nowhere near as
innovative as it thinks.
“Lost in no-mans land”, Mustaine growls. It would appear that
the thought is more pertinent than he may have envisioned.
A lot of Risk’s problems lie in the production, and if you hoped
this might have been remedied on this release, you’d be
mistaken. Ecstasy, for instance, with a fuller sound may have
been thoroughly wonderful. As it is, it’s just a highlight of a
mostly mediocre, occasionally bloody awful record. The same
applies to Seven, which could have been saved by flinging the
guitars a lot higher in the mix, and accentuating the bass.
Technical Talk From The Duke, Is What.
The second half of the record is infinitely preferable to the
first, but it’s still far from great. The final two tracks,
Time: The Beginning and Time: The End amount to a fair
conclusion, being an acoustic, melancholic affair and an
electric, solo-driven follow-up respectively. Neither are
particularly wonderful, but nor are they as dreadful as a lot of
what has come before.
The bonus tracks are three alternate takes which offer slightly
different approaches to the album versions, with the Jeff
Balding mix of Insomnia boasting a much preferable guitar sound.
The song’s still two and a half minutes too long, though.
To recommend this would be an outrage, and The Duke just can’t
bring himself to indulge such outrageous motherfucking behaviour.
MD-45 – The Craving (1996)
This 1996 album was a side-project type deal teaming Mustaine
with Fear frontman Lee Ving. I’d never heard this record before,
and didn’t know an awful lot about what to expect. The press
release thingy explains how Mustaine discovered that Ving’s
vocals had gone missing as he was preparing the remaster, and
so, rather than shelve the project, he simply re-recorded them
himself.
What this means is that folks what have the original album can
be confident that they are being offered a drastically different
record. It also means that, following the batch of mediocre,
depressing nonsense, The Duke's ears lit up once I realised that
this right here is a wonderful album.
It represents a return to the punk shenanigans of pre-Rust In
Peace Megadeth, and boasts a thrilling vocal performance from
Mustaine. His voice is all over the place at times, but for some
unknown, possibly satanic reason, it all gels magnificently.
There are more fantastic, stand-out moments on The Craving than
on anything since Countdown To Extinction. Hell’s Motel, The Day
The Music Died, the surreal Designer Behaviour what transforms
the names of beloved American sitcoms into a bile-drenched
chorus, all are marvellous.
Some will be understandably disappointed at the absence of the
original vocals, but it would be a shame to pass up the chance
for to hear what may well be the last truly great record
Mustaine lends his larynx to.
The bonus material consists of a track by the name of Chutney,
(a chug-along affair with the vocals so low in the mix as to be
verging on undetectable), a bizarre instrumental by the name of
Segue that is a minute and a half of old-school riff-malarkey
and charming carnival-music type carry-ons, and the Megadeth
demo for The Creed.
And now, friends, a handy overview.
The Must-Haves – Countdown To Extinction, Peace Sells… But Who’s
Buying?
The Highly Recommended – Rust In Peace, So Far, So Good… So
What?, MD 45 - The Craving
The “Avoid Like A Fella What Tries To Offer Sweeties For To Get
You In An Unregistered Vauxhall” –Youthanasia, Cryptic Writings,
Risk
Thanks folks.
Drop The Duke A Line
opportunity for to scratch his arse for a few decades, giving an
interview to Mojo every now and again.
When Dave Mustaine got kicked out of Metallica, he went ahead
and formed one of the most consistently innovative metal bands
ever to stand at the front of a stage making scary faces and
thrusting guitars suggestively.
One of the “Big Four” thrash metal bands of the 1980’s,
alongside Slayer, Anthrax and Metallica, Megadeth produced among
the best examples of the genre. They also produced some shit,
but most of that came later.
EMI have just reissued seven of the band’s albums, alongside
side-project MD-45’s underrated The Craving. These releases are
complimented by a handful (rather than the “sackful” claimed by
the label) of bonus tracks, and each record has been personally
remastered by Dave Mustaine himself. Mustaine also provides the
liner notes and so on, and Risk has even been blessed with a
decent cover.
So, then, allow The Duke to run through each of the records in
question, in chronological order, and to relate the tale of
Megadeth On Record, a tale what begins with furious intent and
eventually dips dramatically in the direction of generic wank.
Peace Sells… But Who’s Buying? (1986)
Peace Sells, the bands second record, arriving a year after the
Killing Is My Business… And Business Is Good debut, opens with a
howl of raging, screeching guitars and sneering, bitter vocals,
and the pace rarely lets up for much of the ensuing 35 minutes
or so. It’s as indebted to Motorhead as it is to anything what
might be termed “Thrash”, and remains an idiosyncratic, unique
work.
The number of bands who owe their careers to Peace Sells is
unfathomable, and yet, whilst it may be nothing but a
motherfucking act of cliché-slinging abandon for to suggest, it
has rarely been equalled. Anyone can play shit quickly. Where
Megadeth earn the extra points, ratings, stars, accolades, is
with regards how memorable these eight tracks are, how much of
an impression they make, even now.
As is the trend for this kind of re-issue carry-on, it’s the
earlier material what benefits most. Peace Sells sounds crystal
clear, every saliva-drenched, sarcastic remark and gut-rumbling
chord arriving with a rejuvenated sparkle which enhances the
material without taking away the ruggedness on display.
The title track is a prime example of the cynical wit Mustaine
has nurtured for much of the last two decades. “What do you mean
I don’t support your system?”, he scowls. “I go to court when I
have to.”
It’s an intelligent number, is what, a protest anthem with an
articulated anger beyond most of their peers.
“If there’s a new way, I’ll be the first in line.
But it better work this time.”
Listening back to this stuff now, with the benefit of hindsight
and the standards adopted since the shift towards a more
introspective, more openly emotive rock template, it’s amazing
how little one has to work for to appreciate this. There’s no
need for irony, or to go along the lines of “Well, it was good
for its day” or that kinda shit. This is a staggeringly
confident, often breathtaking record.
The notion of Megadeth as nothing more than a “dumb metal band”
is one what needs to be addressed right the fuck now. Even if
the lyrical concerns weren’t as incisive, as piercingly
satirical, even then the musical tomfoolery is far from the work
of a simpleton.
The breathtaking intro to My Last Words sounds like Djangho
Reinhardt gone electric, and it’s just one of a whole
continent's worth of examples what illustrate how sophisticated
this stuff really is.
Peace Sells… But Who’s Buying is among the best examples of
punk/metal crossover that anyone has ever flung together. It’s
focused, intense, and if the excessive soloing to be found here
and there seems a tad out of time nowadays, the nihilistic bile,
the aggression, the disdain for hypocritical cultural and
societal values certainly doesn’t.
The bonus stuff is fairly perfunctory. A few alternate mixes
that are little more than poorly-recorded versions of four album-
tracks. The sound, though, on the album-proper, is incredible,
musical nuances once battered senseless by technological
limitations now granted the immediacy and the revelatory
potential they deserve.
So Far, So Good… So What (1988)
The 1988 album, So Far, So Good… So What? Expands on the punk-
metal experiments what proved so breathtaking on the earlier
outings, and adds to the mix a hitherto fairly muted melodic
invention. Mary Jane, for instance, takes a stab at the
potentially diabolical prospect of psychedelic speed-metal, and
emerges as among the best thing on the record, a record what has
no real shortage of the “classics”.
The cover of Anarchy In The UK is, it has to be said, a tad
embarrassing, saved from utter hopelessness by Mustaine’s venom-
laced sneer. Recorded ten years after the Sex Pistols original,
it has, ironically, if predictably, dated like a slab of rancid
meat left baking in the august sun, whilst the track roaring
from Never Mind The Bollocks still has the aura of something
just ten minutes ago thrust onto wax.
If this backwards-bouncing into the catalogues of others proves
ill-judged, the band’s own dalliances with the spirit of those
tunes, if not the sound, results in more than a few genuinely
brilliant moments. 502 sounds like something Guns N Roses might
have concocted had they been even more aggressive and a lot more
paranoid, being a tale of the “cops”, “filth” and so on what
acts as a fine companion piece to Axl Rose’s rants about
“They're out ta get me!”
The centrepiece is the structurally astounding, relentlessly
bleak six-and-a-half minute In My Darkest Hour. The intro alone,
awash with descending scales and ridiculously catchy riff-type
malarkey, has enough ideas for most albums, let alone the
opening thirty seconds of one track.
It manages to wring something truly powerful, fiercely defiant,
from what could have been a crushingly indulgent slab of poor-me
whining. The ever-increasing sense of impending catastrophe,
kicked along the way by sundry time-shifts and what not,
culminates in a bout of screaming and spitting before things
calm down a tad for the final 20-second stretch.
Folks laugh at this kind of stuff, and to be honest, The Duke
has been as guilty as anyone at times, but In My Darkest Hour,
like much of this whole damn record, is nothing if not a work of
musical genius. It’s just shy of the seven-minute mark, and yet
it feels half the length, being so consistently inventive that
The Duke hadn’t a chance for to get fed the fuck up, since you
never get a moments peace before some other melodic device
arrives for to shake you out of such lethargy, melodic devices
what are ever-more pertinent in this digitally cleansed version.
The shockingly foul-mouthed Liar flies along at a fair old pelt,
ranting about fuck and then fuck you and a bit about fucking
liar, before the breathless Hook In Mouth brings the album
proper to a close. It’s as relentless as most anything else,
with only the opening instrumental Into The Lungs Of Hell (what
even flaunts a horn or two on occasion) or the aforementioned In
My Darkest Hour offering even the slightest of breathers.
Thankfully, there are a few seconds of silence for to separate
the climax of Hook In Mouth with the bonus material, material
consisting of alternate mixes of a couple tracks. These Paul
Lani mixes are no-doubt a valuable addition for folks what haven’
t got the album already, but if you do, in fact, own the record,
then unless you feel like upgrading on account of improved
sound, the bonus stuff doesn’t hold much incentive. Bar the fact
that these alternate mixes sound a little more spacious than the
album versions, there isn’t much to set them apart, aside from
the occasional moment when the guitar is lower in the mix than
you might be accustomed to. Still, it’s hardly earth shattering,
is what The Duke would suggest.
Rust In Peace (1990)
Rust In Peace is a more rounded, professional affair than So
Far, So Good…, and a more conventional one also, being fond of
the old extended guitar workouts and what not, Dave Mustaine and
Marty Freedman getting all indulgent with the solos. It may have
been ridiculously good fun to play, but it’s not always so
captivating on the ears of the listener, especially if the
listener is The Duke, who was thinking about shit, man, hurry
the hell up.
Lyrically, the record is as disturbingly schizophrenic, as
paranoid in its worldview as ever.
Most uncomfortable is the dark, claustrophobic Poison Was The
Cure. “Serpents swim free in my blood”, spits Mustaine, “Dragons
sleeping in my veins”. This kind of yacking coming from a heroin
addict is all the unpleasant in the world, more so when one
notes how decidedly unconvincing the claim about “Never knowing
if I’d wake up in a whirlpool got redundant” really sounds.
Rust In Peace is hailed by most fans as the pinnacle of the
Megadeth canon, but for The Duke, it lacks the urgency of Peace
Sells or the melodic invention of Countdown To Extinction. It’s
certainly astounding so far as the technical malarkey is
concerned, but following an incredible opening trio, it adopts a
patience-testing more-is-more stance, meaning fans of fret-
gymnastics will be all the happy in the world, but for folks
what care about stuff like genuine invention, surprise, all that
jazz, then it’s a little frustrating.
Having said that, when it soars it soars like a motherfucker is
what. Tornado Of Souls showcases an especially deranged high-
pitched vocal performance by Mustaine, and manages to be more
inventive in its first two minutes than the proceeding three
tracks manage in their entirety.
As with the other reissues, the remastering is fairly near
perfect, and the smattering of demo takes at the tail-end
provide interesting, rougher takes on the material. The demo of
Take No Prisoners, for instance, illustrates just how incredible
the drumming on this thing is. Plucked out of the studio sheen
of the finished product, these tracks appear much more angry,
more engrossing even.
There’s an outtake by the name of My Creation what sounds,
believe it or not, like Bleach-era Nirvana for the first few
lines. A squealing solo does away with the notion that Cobain
might have been responsible, though. It’s the first genuine
“find” of the reissue series, being a previously unreleased
track, and concerns itself with being a daft but entertaining
minute-and-a-half romp through a Frankenstein narrative,
complete with deranged “It’s Alive!” at the beginning.
It does detract a tad from the original ending, though, the near-
six-minute juggernaut of Rust In Peace… Polaris, a track what
paves the way for the sound explored on the next record, the
mega-selling Countdown To Extinction. The lyrics concern
themselves with the nuclear war and the vile puppet-masters who
would ultimately be responsible for such, anti-war pondering
what also crops up in the albums terrific opener, Holy Wars… The
Punishment Due.
Despite the presence of distasteful filler here and there, Rust
In Peace certainly deserves the reverence it receives from
critics, at least ones what can review a “metal” record without
smirking.
For The Duke’s money, though, Peace Sells is still the
masterpiece of the bands eighties output, perhaps because I
found the punk-thrash tomfoolery more consistently captivating
than the endless soloing etc. Make of that what you will. If the
virtuoso guitar carry-ons are what get you all wet around the
gums, then this, being also incredibly witty and certainly
progressive in the arrangements and what not, will most likely
make you as happy as The Duke the time he discovered that Santa
was not only real, but selling pornography from the back of a
pick-up truck in Dublin.
Countdown To Extinction (1992)
Some folks detest this record, seeing it as the death-knell for
the Megadeth of old, and the birth of a new, commercial, radio-
friendly mutant.
As far as The Duke is concerned, though, Countdown To Extinction
is the second must-have in the band’s discography. Mustaine’s
voice is as laced with bile as it ever was; a commanding,
startling, threatening snarl.
It’s a more straight-ahead affair than the sprawling Rust In
Peace, but what it loses in scope it more than compensates for
in melodic glory. Symphony Of Destruction is one of the best
things the band have put their name to, and opener Skin O’ My
Teeth is a return to the focused, punk-infused antics of old.
The lyrical concerns rarely stray far from the paranoid,
politically conscious, war-is-hell musings of old, but
stylistically they surpass most anything Mustaine wrote
hitherto. Symphony Of Destruction equates military action as
something akin to how “The Pied Piper led rats through the
street”. The schizophrenic narrative of Sweating Bullets is
inspired, and also a tad disturbing. “Hello me, meet the real
me…”
Of all the remasters in this batch, Countdown To Extinction
perhaps surprised The Duke most of all. I expected the likes of
So Far, So Good… So What? to sound cleaner, sharper, but I
didn't expect much improvement on this 1992 opus, simply because
it sounded pretty perfect in the first place.
Colour The Duke shocked as all fuck, though, on account of a
clarity hitherto undetected rains from the speakers.
The title-track is a masterpiece, The Duke feels compelled to
relate, the ascending melody of the verses giving way to one of
the most memorable choruses in an album busting with anthemic
dementia.
Countdown To Extinction is that rarest of things, a metal
protest-record, and rarer-still, one what is fantastic
throughout. The band as a whole sound much more energised than
on the similarly themed Rust In Peace, and the songwriting is
light years ahead so far as melody and tunes and stuff are
concerned. There’s still plenty of the guitar-solos and so on,
but here they actually add to the songs, as opposed to the
fretboard antics on Rust In Peace which actually knackered the
momentum on occasion.
To note that Countdown To Extinction is probably the best place
for beginners to start may well be fairly accurate, but it also
does it a disservice, creating the impression that it is somehow
safe, not especially challenging, something relatively harmless
to acquaint oneself with before bounding into the waters of more
complex shenanigans.
The reason, however, what The Duke would give for suggesting
Countdown as the perfect starting point, is that it is most
likely the best album Megadeth recorded. It has as strong a run
of standout tracks as any other great record you care to
mention, like Rubber Soul or To Hell With The Devil, and remains
inventive, rewarding, intelligent and bleakly humorous.
As far as bonus stuff is concerned, it follows the Rust In Peace
template of an unreleased (in the US anyroad) outtake, coupled
with three demo versions. The alternate version of the title
track is fascinating with regards how much Mustaine sounds like
Kurt Cobain throughout the verse, but it’s nothing to get overly
orgasmic about.
Crown Of Worms, the unreleased number, is fairly unremarkable,
notable mostly for the outstanding drumming on display. Mostly,
it’s a pretty generic bout of the thrashing-about what sadly
dilutes some of the impact of proper-album-closer Ashes In Your
Mouth.
Youthanasia (1994)
Opening with a riff half-inched from Metallica’s Master Of
Puppets, Youthanasia has the reputation of being the first
genuine misstep in Megadeth’s discography.
What folks should be yacking about, of course, is the ridiculous
pun in the title, or the cover what has an old woman hanging
infants from a washing line, just in case you didn’t get all
the, y’know, messages and stuff what are dripping from the music.
The thing is, see, as far as the actual stuff on the record is
concerned, there are a few numbers what are pretty easy for to
love. Train Of Consequences is glorious, flaunting a skull-
shaggingly catchy melody, and following the truly awful Addicted
To Chaos, there’s a stretch of songs approaching the consistency
of the first half of Rust In Peace.
Blood Of Heroes starts well, then pinches its chorus from
Symphony Of Destruction and soon loses its way. It’s fairly
representative of the album as a whole. Moments of genius
coupled with a whole heap of the toss, wank, shit and so on.
Some of it sounds uncomfortably close to the kind of AOR pish
that Megadeth once offered a respite from. Most of this,
granted, is down to the horribly conservative production. If you
thought that maybe it would sound better now, what with all the
remixing and what have you, then, sadly, you’d be mistaken. A
lot of it sounds just as cheesy, as dated and as embarrassing as
it ever did.
There are a handful of tracks here that make the record worth
hearing, though, and in addition to those mentioned above,
there's I Thought I Knew It All, one of a number of tracks on
the album what reflect on post-rehab Mustaine’s state of mind.
Victory references sundry points in the band's back-catalogue,
and it’s another highlight. Overall though, the album is
disappointingly weak, sounding uninspired and by-the-numbers for
the most part. It’s really not that much to get excited about,
is what The Duke would suggest, barring Train Of Consequences
and Victory which, if I’m being totally honest, are the only
real, genuinely brilliant songs out of the whole damn lot.
And wouldn’t you know it, what is easily the weakest of the
albums thus far has the most interesting bonus material.
Alongside a rehearsal demo of Tout Le Monde, there are three
rare or unreleased tracks; Millennium Of The Blind, New World
Order and Absolution. Millennium and Absolution are
instrumentals, and New World Order sounds like a belated sequel
to Mary Jane from So Far, So Good… So What?
The Tout Le Monde demo is two minutes longer than the studio
version, and has a much more impassioned vocal. Whether or not
it makes buying the album again worthwhile is up to your own
good selves.
Cryptic Writings (1997)
Trust, the first track on this 1997 effort, is so much better
than most of Youthanasia that one could feasibly bend the thing
out of all proportion, so potent is the sense of relief. Don’t
get too excited, is what The Duke would advise, since it is
immediately followed by a hair-metal power-ballad masquerading
as something all the ferocious in Cuba. No amount of growling
can hide the fact that this is MOR radio-rock middle-of-the-road
pish.
What the fuck were these folks thinking? How about throw on a
putrid, embarrassing load of horse-shit for to screw the
momentum to blazes, would seem to be the crux of the ponderings.
Use The Man is infinitely preferable, playing host to one of the
most genuinely bizarre vocals Mustaine has ever recorded. It
sounds almost like Facelift-era Alice In Chains for a time, and
although it’s a rather restrained affair, it’s much more
impassioned than much of the toss hanging to the sheets of
Youthanasia.
Mastermind opens with a southern-rock inspired riff what sounds
a tad like Aerosmith at their scuzzier, ie, when not singing
about “I love you, motherfucker” for to get on the soundtrack of
a blockbuster or two. The track then proceeds to incorporate any
number of vocal effects and what not, possibly in an attempt to
cast an air of innovation over a track what is, basically,
little more than a generic rock song.
There’s a danger that a fella can be too harsh, but there’s also
a danger that a fella can be soft on this stuff. I have to be a
million percent honest, if I paid fifteen quid for this record I
would be all the pissed off in the world. There’s none of the
immediacy, or the wit, or the invention what propelled
everything up to and including Countdown To Extinction. I sat
down with these reissues hoping to go some way towards debunking
the notion that Youthanasia and all that came after sucked like
a hooker the week before Christmas, but there’s no escaping the
fact that when Ashes In Your Mouth comes to a head, there’s a
serious dip in the quality.
A man could get vertigo, is what.
I’ll Get Even is another thin, clichéd exercise in mainstream
rock, and although Sin has some inventive drumming and the odd
memorable line, what the fuck use is a decent drum pattern at
the end of the damn day? What kind of nonsense is that to be
talking, that it’s worth buying because the drums are good here
and there.
Fuck the drums, man. The Duke doesn’t care for all the technical
proficiency in the former soviet union, if the songs are drab,
uninspired shadows of the kinda shit once deemed too lame for a
b-side. Some of this stuff sounds like W.A.S.P for Gods sakes.
Fuck Like A Beast, Motherfucker.
It seems unfair to be so harsh on Cryptic Writings after giving
Youthanasia a relatively easy ride, since the latter isn’t all
that much better. It’s just kinda distressing, is all, how a
band so obviously awash with talent are resorting to this kind
of balls.
Have Cool, Will Travel has a ridiculous title, but comes closest
to replicating the spirit of past glories, not least in the form
of Mustaine’s vocal, probably the best on the album.
It seems to ignite a spark of some kind, being followed by the
chugging She-Wolf which, whilst being lyrically ridiculous,
yacking on about “mother of all that is evil” and such nonsense,
is better than anything in the proceeding ten tracks, even going
so far as to be memorable.
You better calm the hell down, man, is what you might be
thinking, but no, they go ahead and lunge into Vortex what has a
strained, guttural vocal and a stuttering riff, all of which go
some way to ensuring that Cryptic Writings can be described as a
record that starts well and ends well but has nothing but the
most wretched of shit for the duration of the in-between.
Final track FFF, a speedy punk affair, is the best of the lot,
and one what only causes a fella to wish the record had featured
more of the same.
The bonus tracks consist of two previously unreleased or rare
numbers, and two alternate takes of album tracks, one of which
is a version of Trust with the chorus sung in Spanish. It sounds
like someone has played the vocals backwards, but is at least
more interesting than most of the alternate takes on offer
throughout the series. Of the unreleased duo, Evil That’s Within
could probably have sat on the record with greater ease than
much of what actually made it, and the same applies to
Bullprick, a thrash effort which was at one time supposed to
appear on Hidden Treasures, the 1997 odds n’ sods collection.
Risk (1999)
What in the hell to make of Risk? The most recent of the batch,
it’s also the most experimental. Does this commendable attempt
at trying something a little removed from the norm mean the
record is any good? Not especially, is the disheartening truth
of the matter.
Some experiments just suck, man. Like when they stuck that ear
onto the mouse. What the hell good did that do?
It’s easy to fool oneself into thinking more of the first four
tracks than they deserve. Crush ‘Em, for instance, is nothing if
not a purpose-built stadium anthem, but it’s also shamefully
clichéd, a world away from the likes of Skin O My Teeth or even
Train Of Consequences.
How come Andrew W.K can do this exact same nonsense and make it
sound like some sort of profound transcendental message plucked
by God’s own plectrum?
Breadline is a radio ballad, pure and simple, complete with
cheesy guitar licks plastered about the place.
How can it be that this material, released in 1999, sounds more
embarrassing, more dated than the stuff from 86?
The Doctor Is Calling is the first memorable song on the record,
and considering it’s the sixth track, that right there is a
fairly poor hit-rate. The Duke has no problem with the branching
out and all, but when it’s in the direction of shit like Prince
Of Darkness, you have to question the thinking behind it.
Much-maligned ballad I’ll Be There is actually among the more
pleasing numbers, if one can for a second forget that the
producers of this cheesy, incredibly conservative tomfoolery
once crafted the likes of Hangar 18.
The record plays around with cod-industrial effects for the
duration, flinging in a load of the distorted vocals and
repeating the same synth-line for what seems like every other
song.
Wanderlust, however, is a genuinely great song, even if the
recurring guitar melody sounds like Bon Jovi’s Wanted Dead Or
Alive.
I’m A Cowboy, Motherfucker.
If the rest of the record reached such heights, The Duke would
have been all the supportive in the world of this new direction.
Sadly, for the most part, “new-direction” translates as “old-
directions what were sensibly avoided”. This may have seemed
cutting-edge in 89, but for a 99 release, it’s nowhere near as
innovative as it thinks.
“Lost in no-mans land”, Mustaine growls. It would appear that
the thought is more pertinent than he may have envisioned.
A lot of Risk’s problems lie in the production, and if you hoped
this might have been remedied on this release, you’d be
mistaken. Ecstasy, for instance, with a fuller sound may have
been thoroughly wonderful. As it is, it’s just a highlight of a
mostly mediocre, occasionally bloody awful record. The same
applies to Seven, which could have been saved by flinging the
guitars a lot higher in the mix, and accentuating the bass.
Technical Talk From The Duke, Is What.
The second half of the record is infinitely preferable to the
first, but it’s still far from great. The final two tracks,
Time: The Beginning and Time: The End amount to a fair
conclusion, being an acoustic, melancholic affair and an
electric, solo-driven follow-up respectively. Neither are
particularly wonderful, but nor are they as dreadful as a lot of
what has come before.
The bonus tracks are three alternate takes which offer slightly
different approaches to the album versions, with the Jeff
Balding mix of Insomnia boasting a much preferable guitar sound.
The song’s still two and a half minutes too long, though.
To recommend this would be an outrage, and The Duke just can’t
bring himself to indulge such outrageous motherfucking behaviour.
MD-45 – The Craving (1996)
This 1996 album was a side-project type deal teaming Mustaine
with Fear frontman Lee Ving. I’d never heard this record before,
and didn’t know an awful lot about what to expect. The press
release thingy explains how Mustaine discovered that Ving’s
vocals had gone missing as he was preparing the remaster, and
so, rather than shelve the project, he simply re-recorded them
himself.
What this means is that folks what have the original album can
be confident that they are being offered a drastically different
record. It also means that, following the batch of mediocre,
depressing nonsense, The Duke's ears lit up once I realised that
this right here is a wonderful album.
It represents a return to the punk shenanigans of pre-Rust In
Peace Megadeth, and boasts a thrilling vocal performance from
Mustaine. His voice is all over the place at times, but for some
unknown, possibly satanic reason, it all gels magnificently.
There are more fantastic, stand-out moments on The Craving than
on anything since Countdown To Extinction. Hell’s Motel, The Day
The Music Died, the surreal Designer Behaviour what transforms
the names of beloved American sitcoms into a bile-drenched
chorus, all are marvellous.
Some will be understandably disappointed at the absence of the
original vocals, but it would be a shame to pass up the chance
for to hear what may well be the last truly great record
Mustaine lends his larynx to.
The bonus material consists of a track by the name of Chutney,
(a chug-along affair with the vocals so low in the mix as to be
verging on undetectable), a bizarre instrumental by the name of
Segue that is a minute and a half of old-school riff-malarkey
and charming carnival-music type carry-ons, and the Megadeth
demo for The Creed.
And now, friends, a handy overview.
The Must-Haves – Countdown To Extinction, Peace Sells… But Who’s
Buying?
The Highly Recommended – Rust In Peace, So Far, So Good… So
What?, MD 45 - The Craving
The “Avoid Like A Fella What Tries To Offer Sweeties For To Get
You In An Unregistered Vauxhall” –Youthanasia, Cryptic Writings,
Risk
Thanks folks.
Drop The Duke A Line
