Manowar - Our Daily Epic

"Conan, what is best in life?".

"This is good!".

Tacky, gaudy, crude, childish, reactionary and, in short, utterly devoid of even the slightest artistic value. This is what eight critics out of ten think of Manowar: but, of course, the other two who adore them are the ones who are right, because they love starting their day pumped up on the notes of "Kings Of Metal" or "Black Wind, Fire And Steel". And at that point, there's no mortgage payment that can dent your faith in the future. Bring on the everyday problems: we're ready to defend the breach, weapons in hand, to the last drop of blood, and then rejoice in Valhalla with a mug of ice-cold beer and a buxom blonde slave on our knees ready to satisfy our every manly whim!

Snobbery aside, an enduring myth like that of these four New Yorkers, now thirty years strong, can't be explained solely by the cluelessness of the average metalhead - a cluelessness that, incidentally, the band itself seems to have started counting on, at least over the last decade, given the sheer number of pointless releases thrown to the fans. So perhaps it's worth looking past the embarrassing (if undeniably effective) lyrics that extol some vaguely defined "heavy metal way of life" or sketch out fantasy scenarios lifted wholesale from "Conan the Barbarian" comics, and past the campy, grotesque posturing (not without its own irony), to focus instead on mastermind Joey DeMaio's ability to write songs with instant impact, true endorphin-boosters, delivered with great effectiveness by Eric Adams's voice and, originally at least, by Ross The Boss's six strings. It's a gift the Italian-American bassist hasn't lost over the years: even at their worst, even on their ugliest records, there are always a couple of memorable songs. Nor is it true, as is often written about them, that their thematic rigidity has been matched by an equally fixed style - from beginnings squarely rooted in the epic metal movement that defined the American scene in the early '80s (whose standard-bearers, alongside Manowar, included veterans Manilla Road, Virgin Steele and Cirith Ungol), the second half of the decade was marked by an almost obsessive pursuit of "pure heavy metal sound", one that disregarded styles, evolutions, subcategories and other loser-ish softness. What's both wonderful and tragic is that they reached that goal all too soon, losing their bearings and spending the last quarter century fumbling between brave (though not always praiseworthy) attempts at evolution and predictable retreats into the past (almost always disappointing, though never as hypocritical as the recent one by Metallica).

As for the ridiculous accusation of fascist or even Nazi sympathies, based on such weighty evidence as DeMaio's love of Wagner or the imperial eagle on the cover of their first album (go figure: I always took it for a tribute to the Habsburgs!), these are leftover residue of a post-'68 cultural mindset (still deeply rooted here in Italy in the '80s) that considered "right-wing" anything that couldn't be filed under "left-wing" - Lucio Battisti just like hard rock and metal as a whole. Go ahead and ask Conan the Barbarian who he's planning to vote for in the next regional elections, while he's busy counting the severed heads of the followers of Thulsa Grillo Doom! Until the "Sun with Studs" party foretold by Atroci is actually founded (at this point, why not), I don't think the political leanings of Manowar will ever be clear or relevant. And that's setting aside any reasonable discussion of the distinction between an artist and their persona. If we really want to split hairs, one could point out that their Nietzschean übermensch posturing is tempered by an unmistakably internationalist streak and respect for any minority capable of fighting hard, knife between the teeth (Native Americans first and foremost).

And if you happen to belong to the category of people who turn up their nose at leather trousers, motorcycles on stage, displays of machismo (so over-the-top it loops back around and sails well past the border into bromance territory, as their cheeky disciples Nanowar of Steel have never failed to point out) and amplifiers permanently cranked to the max (they hold the Guinness World Record for "loudest concert in history" - 139 decibels on the 2008 tour), then evidently Manowar just isn't for you...

In 1980 Joey DeMaio was on the road with Black Sabbath as a sound technician. It's probably no coincidence that we're talking about the Heaven And Hell line-up with Ronnie James Dio on vocals - the most epic of all the incarnations of the Birmingham band. The support act was a group called Shakin' Street, whose ranks included guitarist Ross "The Boss" Friedman, already a member of the revolutionary and underrated Dictators under the stage name Ross Funicello. Legend has it that, on one of the English legs of the tour, the two of them got to talking about their respective passions: besides the shared desire to play the heaviest music around, they were both obsessed with comics and fantasy literature, Norse sagas and epic tales in general.

Back in America (and with Shakin' Street disbanded), DeMaio and Friedman decided to put together a "pure heavy metal" band. In the UK, the NWOBHM movement was reaching its peak, placing new names like Iron Maiden, Def Leppard and Saxon alongside acts already established for years, such as Judas Priest and Motorhead. The US, by comparison, was a bit behind: there were individual bands, some even notable like Riot or Manilla Road, but no real scene to speak of. Among the lone wolves of American metal, one act in particular must have caught DeMaio and Friedman's attention: Legend, authors of a single seminal LP in 1979, evocatively titled "From The Fjords", with a dark, epic sound.

Having recruited drummer Carl Canedy (simultaneously serving in The Rods) and, above all, singer Eric Adams (a sort of Rob Halford with an equally wide-ranging voice, but less acidic), the band christened itself Manowar (man of war - leaving no doubt as to their stance right from their name) and started grinding out shows in East Coast clubs. In 1981 they recorded a demo that earned them their first record deal with Liberty Records - by then Canedy had been replaced behind the kit by Donnie Hamzik. The result of this partnership is one of the foundational masterpieces of American heavy metal, captured just before the rise of the thrash movement, as well as one of the most acclaimed debuts in heavy music.

Battle Hymns, cocky right from the title, is ideally split into two halves: side one of the vinyl holds four biker anthems reeking of gasoline, leather and beer. "Death Tones" opens the proceedings at a steady march, making clear how American classic metal, unlike its British counterpart, spent the Seventies permanently tuned to the hard-rock stations, ignoring the punk wave entirely and with the utmost contempt. "Metal Daze" is the first hymn to the liberating power of heavy music, as well as the album's first masterpiece, while "Fast Taker" and "Shell Shock" let the bike loose at chase-scene speed down Route 66.

But the best is still to come: in the same year John Milius released "Conan the Barbarian", the quartet crafted a side B so epic and savage in tone that it drops the listener straight into the Hyborian Age. "Manowar" is pure, thrilling self-glorification, and would go on to become the mandatory opener of every one of their shows. The Sabbath-indebted "Dark Avenger" opens slow and bardic (almost doom before the term existed), before picking up speed in its final section, with the added treat of legendary director Orson Welles lending the track his deep narrating voice. After the pointless interlude "William's Tale" (the first of the self-indulgent, irritating solo-bass instrumentals played by DeMaio alone), comes the apotheosis of the title track, a genuine victory march of white-hot metal introduced by a cinematic-sounding arpeggio that still gives chills thirty years on, topped by one of the most exhilarating riffs ever written.

The album is received extremely well, even though Liberty fails to properly back it with promotion and coverage, a situation that will eventually lead to the contract being terminated. Manowar's live shows, meanwhile, begin to turn into pure legend: between police interventions over excessive volume and headliners like Ted Nugent forced to drop them from the bill because their support-slot performances were overshadowing the main act, their fanbase keeps swelling. Their relentless touring schedule is so punishing that even Donnie Hamzik throws in the towel, immediately replaced by newcomer Scott Columbus - a former foundry worker who reportedly played a stainless-steel drum kit because regular kits couldn't survive his powerful blows.

Given all this, Manowar have no trouble finding a new label, and their signing with Music for the Nations takes place in a stunt that has gone down in history: the four of them, dressed like extras from a fantasy film, show up at the label's offices and sign the contract in their own blood (ironic, considering that just two years later they would tear up that very same deal).

The outfit the band wore for the occasion is immortalized on the cover of their second album, Into Glory Ride, one of the ugliest and most ridiculous covers in history. Still, once you get past the laughter and actually spin the record, you realize you're in front of another masterpiece. Unlike the debut (and the records that followed), DeMaio refuses every easy option here: there are no arena-ready choruses or crowd-pleasing hard-rock riffs. Aside from the breezy opener "Warlord", the album's tone is dark, oppressive and almost monolithic. On tracks like "Secret Of Steel" or the crushing "Hatred", speed is entirely sacrificed in favor of a barbaric atmosphere, heightened by the record's raw production. The songs tend to run long, and in some cases ("Gates Of Valhalla" and "March For Revenge") are decidedly intricate. Even the single "Gloves Of Metal" is a midtempo number that grows on you after several listens, but has no immediate appeal. DeMaio, for once, resists showing off and focuses purely on the rhythm section, and thanks to the sound of his small bass (a sort of mandolin, often distorted, capable of producing arpeggios and chords) you never miss the presence of a second guitarist. Eric Adams delivers a performance that elevates him into the pantheon of the greatest metal singers of all time. But above all, Into Glory Ride proved to be a genuinely seminal work: one of the towering masterpieces of the epic-metal era, it's an essential prerequisite for Bathory from "Blood, Fire And Death" onward, and for all the pagan and Viking metal that followed.

The album is so strong that it leaves off the tracklist a gem like "Defender", a sublime heroic ballad that once again features Orson Welles as narrating voice. The track would be released as a single and later resurface on Fighting the World.

Despite being a far from easy listen, Into Glory Ride too meets with excellent audience response, and Manowar are able to embark on one of their first legendary world tours. The cancellation of some UK dates due to their manager's family issues gives the band the hook for another stunt somewhere between situationist prank and shameless pandering: to make amends, they title their third album Hail To England, and on the following "Spectacle Of Might Tour" they play quite a few UK shows to huge crowds. The funny thing is, some people still think they're not very bright...

Be that as it may, Hail To England, although it suffers somewhat by comparison with its two predecessors, is still a great record. With the darkness of Into Glory Ride dispelled, here the battle is fought under a blazing sun. Opener "Blood Of My Enemies" has the structure of a medieval battle chant that melts into a chorus as melodic as it is irresistible. The same classical flair appears on the following "Each Dawn I Die", while "Kill With Power" ("dedicated" to Manowar's enemies, namely those who play "false metal" - a category defined, depending on the season and the fashions of the day, by teased hair, flannel shirts or ethnic braids) is a mediocre little thrasher, despite having become a live staple. Far better is the title track, equally rock-solid and evocative, immediate and grandiose.

The album closes with the lengthy "Bridge Of Death", another landmark of dark, bardic metal.

The band is in tremendous form, and so, just ten months after Hail To England, recording wraps on their fourth album, titled Sign Of The Hammer. It's a record that, with a few tweaks, picks up where the second album left off: indeed, although there are instinctive, thoroughly unhinged tracks ("All Men Play On Ten" and "Animal"), the album's true masterpieces are its two more complex and evocative compositions, "Mountain" and "Guyana (The Cult Of The Dead)", both capable of shifting from melodic passages to ferocious charges with the same inspired touch. There's no shortage, either, of "sure bet" tracks, particularly the title track and "Thor (The Powerhead)", both permanent fixtures of their live sets.

Having paid their dues in the underground long enough, and believing that epic metal has run its course, the band seizes the opportunity offered by Atlantic to move to a major label, clean up their sound while keeping their attitude unchanged, and attempt to take things up a notch.

Fighting The World is the quintessential transitional record: it boasts a production light years ahead of their earlier work, strikingly crisp and clean. The pursuit of a more radio-friendly sound is obvious on the more hard-rock-oriented singles, "Fighting The World" and, especially, "Blow Your Speakers". The link to the past, meanwhile, is guaranteed by a new recording of the masterpiece "Defender", but it's clear that Manowar have set off down a somewhat different path. Although it's an enjoyable record (and although it lands another masterstroke with the thrilling closer "Black Wind, Fire And Steel"), album number five is weighed down by too much filler and stands as the weak link in a chain that had, until then, been rust-proof. Fortunately, it's just a brief detour.

Because two years later comes what is generally regarded as THE Manowar album. A pure torrent of molten metal, the kind only the greats manage to produce once they've reached full maturity: a work that stands alongside "The Number Of The Beast" or "Screaming For Vengeance" as an absolute classic (granted that "Iron Maiden" and "Sad Wings Of Destiny" are decidedly more important).

Insomma, Kings of Metal!

Let's be clear: it's not as groundbreaking a work as Into Glory Ride, nor does it have the freshness of Battle Hymns, but it's pure enjoyment from start to finish across all forty-eight minutes. When the engines fire up on the opening ode to supersonic speed, "Wheels Of Fire", the listener's neurons go gleefully haywire. From there on, it's the musical equivalent of an 80s Schwarzenegger movie: cocky, over-the-top, ridiculous... yet impossible to resist, no matter your academic credentials or the Pere Ubu discography proudly displayed next to your stereo. Not to mention the album hits compositional peaks that are hard to top: the chorus of the anthemic title track is the kind you'd sing until your vocal cords give out, "Hail And Kill" would get even your grandmother pogoing, the symphonic "The Crown And The Ring" brings back the wonder you felt as a kid watching a fantasy film, and listening to closer "Blood Of The Kings" you can't help but feel a sense of sheer omnipotence. You can even forgive the pointless "The Warrior's Prayer" or the kitschy "Sting Of The Bumblebee" (no forgiveness required, on the other hand, for the outrageous "Pleasure's Slave", which will send feminists into a rage).

To reiterate what's already been said: if the point of moving to a major label was for Manowar to forge a pure metal sound, the mission is accomplished on just their second attempt: Kings Of Metal sounds just as good today as it did twenty-five years ago, and will sound just as good twenty-five years from now.

One can therefore debate whether it's their masterpiece, but it's certainly their best-selling record, the one that cemented them as world leaders of the hard and heavy scene alongside the likes of Iron Maiden and Metallica, and earned them a lifelong right to headline the biggest metal festivals.

After the release of their eighth album, the band embarked on a two-year world tour, during which Friedman and Columbus, perhaps worn out by the relentless live schedule (DeMaio would claim the drummer left for reasons connected to his son's health – a circumstance later denied by the man himself), decided to quit. As a result, it wasn't until 1992 that the follow-up to Kings Of Metal arrived, bearing the usual understated title The Triumph Of Steel, featuring David Shankle on guitar and Kenny Earl Edwards, aka "Rhino", on drums.

It's a record not particularly beloved by fans, yet a bold one: the opening eight-part, 28-minute suite "Achilles Agony And Ecstasy" alone is enough to show that the band wasn't (yet) content to coast on past glories, but was instead searching for new directions – in this case closer to progressive (curious to think that, in the same year, "Images And Words", the prog-metal manifesto, was released). That there are a few dull stretches and the odd yawn-inducing moment across that half hour comes with the territory. "Metal Warriors" brings the band back to more familiar ground (that is, a call to arms for their army of fans). Shankle lacks Ross The Boss's rock'n'roll swagger, but he's decidedly more imaginative, as shown by the noise textures of "Burnin'" and the creative solos on the epic masterpiece "The Power Of Thy Sword", the record's high point along with the murky "Demon's Whip", whose rhythm shifts from near-doom to a steady march and finally to a breakneck gallop. Also noteworthy is the tribal rhythm of "Spirit Horse Of Cherokee", dedicated to Native Americans.

Lacking, obviously, the appeal of Kings Of Metal, the album sells less than expected, and so Atlantic doesn't renew the contract. The band, by now constantly on tour, signs with Geffen and, after another four years and with a once again reshuffled lineup (Scott Columbus returns on drums and young Karl Logan takes David Shankle's place), release Louder Than Hell, which marks a return to more classic sounds. In truth, it's a step backward compared to earlier work: the songs are overly simple and, in many cases, rather dull (not to mention that Logan is a thoroughly mediocre guitarist, lacking both Ross the Boss's energy and Shankle's creativity). It scrapes by thanks to the usual three gems from DeMaio's pen – "Brothers Of Metal" above all, then the neck-snapping "Outlaw" and, most of all, the closing "The Power", a true summation of their art.

There is, however, cause for concern: in the six long years between the release of Louder Than Hell and the next album, the band put out no fewer than two double live albums (Hell On Wheels and Hell On Stage, thankfully without a single overlapping track), a new compilation, and a DVD. Still, we're not yet at the level of "shameless fan-fleecing" that would be reached in later years.

In 2002 came Warriors Of The World, and this time the failing grade is fully deserved, despite the wonderful title track and the enjoyable cover of the Elvis classic "An American Trilogy". The rest struggles between predictable songs and lapses into the most embarrassing kitsch (the reworking of Puccini's aria "Nessun Dorma" is only for stomachs immune to bad taste).

Perhaps because inspiration had deserted them, in the following years the band released no fewer than four live DVDs with the sole purpose of cashing in on their most fanatical supporters (though, to be fair, that's nothing different from what Pearl Jam did, putting out over thirty double live albums in a single year).

And yet the urge to take risks and to be regarded, in some way, as "an author" hadn't entirely deserted Joey DeMaio, who began working on his symphonic album. In 2005 the band released the EP The Sons Of Odin, an appetizer for the (attempted) stylistic shift to come, and performed with orchestral accompaniment at the Heatshaker Fest in Germany.

The result of this classical-leaning mess is the controversial Gods Of War, as praised as it was mocked. It is, in fact, a bombastic and at times tedious record: some indulgent metal critics got carried away calling DeMaio "a classical composer in every sense". In reality, Manowar's real "classics" lie elsewhere, and strings and keyboards certainly won't dignify this 73-minute slab. That said, compared to the dispiriting flatness of Warriors Of The World, even a gamble like this one stands out. Though not in absolute terms, of course: working from similar premises, their friends in Virgin Steele had done far better. At least here the band seems to genuinely believe in what it's doing, and manages to pull excellent tracks like "King Of Kings" and "Sleipnir" out of the hat.

Maybe not a glorious farewell, but one could have settled for it... Instead, the continuation of the story reaches extreme depths of sadness and ugliness. Not just musically (like the pointless and offensive re-recording of their debut album, or the release of a jaw-dropping disaster like The Lord Of Steel in 2012, not even worth wasting ink on) but also on a human level (the departure of Scott Columbus in 2008, who would die an alcoholic and, reportedly, by suicide three years later).

Even the band's live performances, once their true calling card, seem to have suffered a sheer collapse in quality.

So if the present lets us down, better to cast our minds back to a barbaric medieval age when the four "kings of metal" truly rode together, slaughtering posers and giving us some of the most thrilling and entertaining records that the history of heavy music can recall.

Ride the wave of great music

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