Chimaira – Chimaira

American Karate. American Football. American Beauty. Ugh, the last one kind of doesn’t make sense.

What do those things have in common? What did you say? No, it’s not Bush and another gaffe but the fact that the word American is affixed to the front to describe a certain entity that is as American as to what anime is Japanese. When you say karate, you think of Japanese men with their long hair bundled neatly into a bun with their arms and legs poised to attack. When you say football, people around the world think of Manchester United (Yeah baby!), Brazil, Pele, and of course, David Beckham’s impeccable dress sense and girly voice. But when you see the American in American Karate is becomes a new beast. Instead of buns of hair you have mullets and a strong fondness for Rocky Mountain oysters. American Football is of course the only sport in the world celebrated in only one part of the world, America.

But what we have here ladies and rough-men is called American Metal. Quite simply put, American Metal is what Pantera is what Judas Priest is to metal. American Metal is a subgenre of metal characterised by its innate chugga-chugganess, harsh vocals (a cross between drunk and growling) and riffs reminiscent the Swedish Melodic Metal scene and of course, American sensibilities.

Chimaira, alongside Lamb of God and um, Trivium are the current leaders leading the American metal scene. What this means is that these bands have harsh vocals a teenage girl is capable of producing, melody lines that haven’t been cool for the last 10 years and generally disliked by more experienced, angrier-looking and truer metalheads. Yours truly, on the other hand, doesn’t give a flying shit about being true; if I hear something nice to my ears then I’ll say it’s nice.

Vocalist Mark Hunter has probably one of the most annoying voices in modern metal. Every time I hear his voice I am reminded of eunuchs before they became eunuchs. He’s a grown man, six-feet-tall, sports a mean-looking nose ring yet he sounds like a high school girl who took testosterone pills instead of those pills. The music is simple: growl here, growl there, somewhat catchy chorus, rehashed Metallica solos, end of song, NEXT! The biggest problem this album has is strangely their strongest element: the metalness. In their valiant attempt of trying to prove to the big boys that hey, we are metal godsdamnit! and we’re not like Slipknot! they’ve taken upon themselves to be as angry and tough as they can be. Sadly, those moments are few and unsatisfactory. Opener Nothing Remains merely hints as to what may from these Oakland natives. It is mid-pace, with the drummer initiating a tribal groove before the fade-in effects kick-in and there you have it, Chimaira’s transformation from pseudo metal punks to bona fide metal mongers. The rest of the album follows a strict formula that works occasionally.

Somewhat major gripe: When you have Kevin Talley, who in my opinion is the new drum god, you’re not supposed restrain him. He’s a hard-hitting, don’t give two shits, bloody fast drummer who in his previous stint as Dying Fetus’s skinbasher, pummelled the listener while at the same time executing highly technical chops with panache of a bear in a tutu. It’s like asking Jackie Chan to be careful when he jumps from a two-storey building. To him, it’s like skipping rope!

I think Chimaira hoped that this album would be their ticket to metal stardom. Wrong. While the direction they’re heading is the right one, they’ve got quite a long way to go before they can release their own Reign in Blood or Master of Puppets. Better luck next time guys.

Initial Review: 6/10

Current Review: 5/10