Nevermore - The progressive side of thrash

Why is this happening to me?

Why have I been forsaken?

Nothing numbs the pain any longer

Please… I’m slipping away

On December 13, 2017, at the age of 56, Warrel Dane, leader of Nevermore, died of a heart attack. He had founded the band in 1992 together with bassist Jim Sheppard. A natural baritone with a charismatic, versatile voice more often than not pushed into searing high notes, with his band he marked an entire decade of activity thanks to some of the most expressive and distinctive metal albums of all time. We remember him with this monograph, which will retrace the chapters of his creative, if troubled, musical creature.

Talking about Nevermore means talking about a unique band that defined the second half of the '90s and the turn of the millennium. To fully grasp their importance and scope, we need to frame the context they came from, namely so-called thrash-metal. The term refers to a metal genre born in the early '80s as a harder, leaner, faster and more pummeling evolution of heavy-metal ("to thrash" means to beat). Over the years the genre evolved in various directions, becoming one of the most influential and versatile metal styles, underpinning the musical background of countless bands and directly laying the groundwork for the birth of other genres such as death-metal or groove-metal.

We won't dwell now on the details of thrash's history, except to recall that in the '90s the genre was, for various reasons, in crisis except for a few niche substyles. The music market had undergone several shifts, and in particular the metal scene in 1995 was leaning toward other forms of expression, some more melodic and with greater commercial appeal. Most thrash bands were struggling, or simply rehashing the clichés of the past. It's in this situation that Nevermore emerged, going beyond the genre's conventions (part of the press coined the term post-thrash for bands rooted in thrash but playing something different) and breathing new life into it by infusing it with the compositional cerebrality of progressive.

Their contribution was a renewed sonic expressiveness that few bands have managed to match, culminating above all in anguished lyrics of touching depth. This shouldn't be misunderstood as a band that begins and ends with thrash alone: the Americans' roots do lie there, but thrash itself is one of Nevermore's means, not the end goal of their music, which brings to full synthesis the evolution of various parallel metal branches throughout the '90s. Nevermore's early albums are essential classics for the development of the most genuine strain of metal.

Their style is distinctive and personal. As mentioned, it certainly starts from the heavy, pounding riffs of thrash-metal, influenced in particular by Metallica, but also by lesser-known bands such as Exodus and Overkill. But they do so within complex structures that touch on progressive-metal, with the rhythm section of Jim Sheppard (bass) and Van Williams (drums) providing a major contribution. The guitar parts, handled by Jeff Loomis, also brush up against the aggressive yet virtuosic influences of the more technical strains of thrash (Watchtower; Coroner) and death-metal (Death first and foremost), occasionally letting themselves be colored by slow, measured phrasing, alternating with faster, sharper passages used to build unique atmospheres of oppression, inner drama and epic scope. Nevermore's explosive force is never gratuitous, but always deliberate, and here you can sense progressive's influence. At a certain point the alienating, devastating style of Meshuggah also emerges as an influence, personally reworked by Loomis to forge unique sounds. Even more fascinating is the influence of psychedelia, which shapes above all the most decadent, hallucinogenic atmospheres of Nevermore's albums, besides being cited more explicitly in scattered covers and tributes.

The vocal lines, on the other hand, are closer to heavy-metal classics, with Dane explicitly citing Rob Halford, Bruce Dickinson and Ronnie James Dio as models (to which we'd add a clear influence from Geoff Tate), and his talented vocal range is astonishing, being a natural baritone who reaches high notes that together span a 5-octave vocal range.

The atmospheres of Nevermore's albums are always very dark, reflecting Dane's pessimistic lyrics, which generally take strong aim at religion and the US government, and above all take on autobiographical tones, describing losses, personal dramas and suffering endured, combining an aching spontaneity with a never-banal introspective capacity. Dane also reflects on the technological dimension of society and on humanity's ambivalent relationship with progress: in the wake of Sepultura's "Biotech Is Godzilla" and partly of Fear Factory's "Demanufacture", his lyrics often address the risks that the misuse of technology can bring, dehumanizing society and harming people.

Nevermore's core dates back to 1985, when Sanctuary formed in Seattle. Their debut came with Refuge Denied in 1987, a compendium of power-metal, speed-metal and thrash-metal riding the wave of the leading American bands of those years, such as Metallica, Savatage, Testament, Manowar, Metal Church and Megadeth (whose frontman Dave Mustaine acted as mentor, producer and special studio guest), with influences also from European bands like Accept and Judas Priest and from the early progressive-metal acts. Stylistically it doesn't stray far from the bands that inspired it, borrowing their best elements: an alternation of more "thrashy" pounding riffs and sharper ones closer to the American style of power-metal (which is quite different from the better-known European variety and is in itself closer to thrash and speed-metal), obsessive rhythms, elegant guitar duels, and extremely high-pitched vocals close (perhaps too close) to Rob Halford's. The result is engaging in its own way and, considering the band's later troubles, has become a cult favorite among metal fans. It also features an interesting cover of "White Rabbit" by Jefferson Airplane.

With the follow-up Into The Mirror Black, in 1990, the sound grows a bit darker and more dramatic, with violent sections torn open by Warrel Dane's raw high notes, which take on a more personal edge. Although not especially original, this work showcases Sanctuary thanks to their compelling drive and a compositional talent that already hints at something of the future Nevermore sound, though for the moment it results in a potent, corrosive power/thrash.

This, however, wasn't enough at the time for label Epic Records, which instead sensed the rising phenomenon of grunge and asked the band to change style, moving closer to the other bands from their hometown. This caused friction among the band members, divided over which direction to take, and Sanctuary broke up in 1992.

Singer Warrel Dane and bassist Jim Sheppard decided to carry on together, forming a new band that would expand on what Sanctuary had started, paying close attention to more ambitious forms of metal (Fates Warning, Psychotic Waltz, but above all that of fellow Seattle act Queensryche) while also opening up to thrash's most recent evolutions (groove-metal in particular).

Thus Nevermore were officially born in 1992.

In 1995 the self-titled debut comes out under the new moniker and with major metal label Century Media: Nevermore is a record that we can ideally place at a crossroads between “… And Justice For All” by Metallica for its complexity, “Rust in Peace” by Megadeth and “Control and Resistance” by Watchtower for its virtuosity, “Souls Of Black” by Testament and “Horrorscope” by Overkill for its saturated, obsessive sound, and “Burn My Eyes” by Machine Head in its chunkier, more searing riffs, though without pushing to the same levels of distortion. But the whole thing is expanded beyond thrash with a contribution from “Parallels” by Fates Warning and “Rage For Order” by Queensryche, traceable in the progressive attitude and refined songwriting. The record has a pessimistic atmosphere, which proves savage in its heaviest passages, but carries a particular melancholic power when the band slows the instrumentation down or even opens up to melodic arpeggios and aching digressions (in particular “The Hurting Words” is built entirely like a hallucinated, hallucinatory power-ballad). There's still some power-metal element in a few riffs (those of “Godmoney” stand out) and in the falsettos, but they're just part of an amalgam that sounds genuinely sui generis. It's tempting to draw a comparison with fellow countrymen Iced Earth, who that same year release “Burnt Offerings”: the dark atmospheres are similar, as is the combination of heavy distorted parts and more melodic releases, but the ingredients are reversed, with a power-metal base that incorporates thrash-metal elements, favoring blistering fast runs over scorching mid-tempos.

The tracks are all of a fairly substantial length, averaging 5 minutes. Dane's vocals have by now evolved into a pained yet powerful litany, especially expressive in the songs most explicit in their social and political critique. The theme of drug abuse is also present, but cast in a pessimistic light that fits well with the dark, oppressive atmospheres of the record.

Guitar duties are handled by his friend Jeff Loomis, with his own personal flair. His riffing is heavy, low-tuned and full-bodied, yet without neglecting a catchier side, which doesn't dilute but actually heightens both the power of the sound and its atmosphere (above all thanks to the well-judged use of clean arpeggios and melodic phrasing). The solos are heart-stopping and don't shy away from virtuosity — if anything, it almost feels like he's holding back at times so as not to upset the balance of the songs. But it's above all the hard work of the bass and drums (the latter handled by Mark Arrington for this record only) that impresses for its precision and relentlessness. Nevermore's debut is a bolt out of the blue, in a market that was starting to be flooded with far less genuine clones of other, less personal metal genres (and beyond) that lingered too much in stereotypes. Unfortunately, the record sells very poorly.

On the following EP, In Memory, released in 1996, the Nevermore sound grows ever more personal, bolstered by the arrival of two new musicians: Pat O'Brien on rhythm guitar and the formidable Van Williams as the band's definitive drummer. The sounds are harrowing and violent, and the compositional results are remarkable. It's a notable appetizer for the second album, which comes out just two months later.

The Politics Of Ecstasy takes its title from the book of the same name by Timothy Leary. It's a ruthless work, dripping with desolation and social disillusionment. The backbone holding the record together is a furious thrash-metal (with little commercial appeal), which the band personalizes with nods to groove-metal, cerebral solos inspired by the technical death-metal of Atheist and Chuck Schuldiner's Death (who will return the favor by drawing inspiration from Nevermore in turn for his own Control Denied), and a very faint psychedelic sprinkle in the atmospheres. A key influence also comes from Sweden's Meshuggah, whose dark, down-tuned, syncopated style is metabolized by Nevermore to forge an unprecedented riffing style (the band, in particular, is especially enamored with “Destroy, Erase, Improve”).

Frantic tracks like “The Seven Tongues Of God” or “The Tiananmen Man”, but also the brief acoustic interlude of “The Premonition” or the arpeggiated chiaroscuro of the closing suite “The Learning”, rank among the band's finest 90-yard stretches.

The album sells only about 9,000 copies in the United States, but earns the praise of critics and fans alike. Before the ensuing tour, Pat O'Brien leaves the band to join Cannibal Corpse and is replaced by Curran Murphy for live shows, and later (for the duration of the recording of a single album) by Tim Calvert.

Please God why can't you hear us?

Please God why aren't you listening?

Please God why must we fear you?

Please God why did you take her away?

The third album, Dreaming Neon Black, is deeply lived-in and anguished, setting aside the harshest political critique in favor of emotional introspection. The atmospheres are oppressive, solemn and acidic, almost gothic in their funereal pace, to the point that in the slower moments it edges close to doom-metal. These traits find expression both in the heavier, more violent tracks, which show a greater openness to dark melodies, and in some heavy, pained ballads, stylistically derived from those on Metallica's black album, but far more anguished and sorrowful.

From the semi-acoustic title track to the funereal “Cenotaph”, the album is a masterpiece of grief. The concept (which Dane describes as “Shakespearean… with a tragic ending”) is partly inspired by the breakup of his relationship with his then-girlfriend, who fled into a religious cult (which Dane calls a group of “lotus eaters” to describe the way people are lured in) and was never heard from again. The subject is addressed above all in the heavy, profound, lysergic ballad “The Lotus Eaters”, marked by excruciatingly slow, hyper-distorted riffs and dramatic vocals set to a devastating lyric. The cover art, meanwhile, depicts a dream of Dane's in which he sees the girl drowning without being able to help her (a metaphor similar to “Saw You Drown” by Katatonia). The closing “Forever” references this dream: one last dramatic “release,” consisting of just two minimalist, moving minutes, with the faintest guitar toll accompanying a heartbroken Warrel Dane. This funereal march ends with a further 7 minutes of pure silence, making room for a melancholic mourning for which no words are needed.

The record sells nearly double that of its predecessor in the US and sees Nevermore enter the charts for the first time, with a modest 80th position in Germany. The specialist press praises its inventiveness and expressive depth.

The definitive “coronation” arrives in 2000 with Dead Heart, In A Dead World. It's a progressive-groove-metal record that doesn't give up its technical flourishes, but manages to expand its melodic side and incorporate heavy-metal and American-power-metal elements without compromising the balance of the songs or the granite-solid, lethal nature of the rhythm section. The result, despite the title, is less anguished and melancholic in its atmospheres and sounds compared to the previous records, which in a sense makes it seem less “deep” (though that's only an apparent impression, since in terms of lyrical sophistication and arrangement care the band actually outdoes itself). It's also one of Nevermore's most immediate and gripping records and, perhaps, the most personal of all in stylistic terms, with Loomis (once again sole guitarist, and tackling a 7-string for the first time) in dazzling form.

The recording is clean and crisp thanks to Andy Sneap's production work, which also lends a low, heavy sound to the tracks, nailing exactly the best way to bring out the Nevermore sound. It's hard not to consider it one of the best metal albums of the decade, because every track is a solid synthesis of extremity, melody, sonic sophistication and technique. The closer is also an atypical reworking of "The Sound Of Silence" by Simon & Garfunkel; but while the original was a sweet, delicate acoustic piece reflecting on human loneliness, this version transfigures the song into a tormented, violent and chilling elegy. The very same lyrics, roared as they tower over jackhammer riffing and avalanche-like drumming, express a ferocious inner torment.

The album sells far more than its predecessors (30,000 copies in the United States), though still at fairly modest levels. Unfortunately, by this point the metal market has been overrun by an explosion of various trends: the new generation of European melodic and symphonic power-metal, the second and third waves of nu-metal, the explosion of melodic-death-metal derivatives and of new-wave-of-american-metalcore, and the trivialization and commercialization of gothic-metal. All of these currents saturated the scene with clones and bands that rarely had anything artistic to say. The result was not only to dilute the most creative founders of these very genres in a sea of mediocre derivatives, but also to squeeze out space for many more niche phenomena. And yet, in hindsight, Nevermore's artistic stature has proven inversely proportional to their commercial success.

In 2002 Enemies Of Reality is released, featuring more aggressive and abrasive compositions that converge into irresistible choruses and almost psychedelic flourishes. Overall it's much more "thrashy" than its predecessor, at times bordering on death-metal (both technical, with nods to Cynic and Death, and melodic, recalling Carcass's "Heartwork"). Dane unleashes a screamed vocal style close to hardcore-punk. Unfortunately the production is, to put it mildly, poor by the band's standards, and it undercuts not only the impact and melodic reach of the songs but also the individual musicians' performances (the bass, in particular, comes out drowned and ruined in the mix). The blame lies with Century Media, which pushes the band to sign a new contract before even releasing the last album owed under the existing one, then cuts the recording budget when Nevermore insist on properly finishing out their scheduled releases before evaluating any new offers. As a result, the Americans can't bring back Andy Sneap, who had done so much to shape the fluid, deep sound of Dead Heart, and have to settle for Kelly Gray (ex-Queensryche), who in theory tries to add a warm "grunge" touch but is hamstrung by technical constraints, resulting in a work that sounds roughly finished, closer to a demo. Even so, the songs still give off enormous magnetic charm, including some of the band's finest tracks (standouts include the thrilling, powerful and hypnotic title track; the hard-rock/groove-metal ballad "Tomorrow Turned Into Yesterday"; the Meshuggah-style riff tanks of "I, Voyager"; and the melancholy phrasing combined with alienating, Tool-like dissonances of "Noumenon").

There's a real sense of regret, then, for the potential wasted by such a poor production job on the album's original release; fortunately, a few years later it's reissued in a new edition remastered and remixed by Sneap, restoring some of the tracks' heft (though not quite reaching the level of the previous album, since he limits himself to a clean production without giving the sound any real distinctive character). The album is dedicated to Chuck Schuldiner, leader of metal bands Death and Control Denied, who had died prematurely the year before from a brain tumour. The lyrics are among the most reflective and profound Dane has ever written, venturing into philosophical territory and showing some affinity with Schuldiner.

There is no stronger drug than reality

Twist and change, time is nothing, regret everything

There is no stronger drug than reality

We are the enemy

In 2006 This Godless Endeavour is released, a maximalist triumph of technique and melody. An album with a long and troubled gestation, it sums up Nevermore's career while squaring their music to the power of two. At the heart of it all is Jeff Loomis's workaholic effort, joined by new recruit Steve Smyth (and, on a few occasions, guest James Franklin Murphy, previously of Death, Obituary and Testament). Their synergy blossoms into an imposing, intricate guitar architecture that pushes technicality and virtuosity to their peak, long and irresistible, before giving way to acoustic or melodic passages that build into whole breathtaking melancholic digressions, while sweeping harmonies tie everything together. There are faint traces of Meshuggah and of At The Gates's melodic-death-metal, but the resulting style is unique and stands as the summa of Nevermore's evolutionary journey across the three pillars that have always defined them: melody, technique and power/violence. Tracks like opener "Born" or "The Psalm Of Lydia" are among the most gripping the band has ever written.

Once again the album is produced by Andy Sneap, whose clean touch brings out powerful, precise sounds, giving them force and weight while also making them sound more modern than ever. The main beneficiaries are Sheppard's basslines, which return to make themselves felt with their pulsing rhythm, and Williams's drums, which no longer sound like a stack of muffled pots but like the rightful instrument of a worthy drummer, precise in execution, powerful in its hits, solid in its blast beats. The vocal parts are spine-chilling, with intertwined double vocals, often filtered, creating an inhuman atmosphere (the whole album is a whirlwind of nihilistic moods and almost post-apocalyptic atmospheres, also fuelled by Dane's grim personal situation, as he pours all his pain into the music).

After so many high-level albums, Nevermore can now rightfully be considered one of the greatest metal bands of all time. The only real flaw of this record, if it can even be called one, is the lack of any genuine surprises: the Americans recap everything they've already said and push it further, drawing on their newfound maturity and experience.

Despite the critical acclaim, 2006 is, more or less, an unhappy year for Nevermore: first Jim Sheppard undergoes emergency surgery after being diagnosed with Crohn's disease, then Steve Smyth has to undergo an emergency kidney transplant, and finally Warrel Dane faints before a show and is rushed to hospital, where he's diagnosed with type 2 diabetes.

The years just summed up, but above all the ones immediately ahead that we'll now cover, are the hardest the band will face. The friction stems above all from problems tied to alcoholism, from the differing professional attitudes among the band's members, and especially from growing internal disputes. Smyth leaves, citing personal commitments and diverging interests; Loomis finds it disrespectful to his guitar craftsmanship the way the others tease him by comparing him to Yngwie Malmsteen (the famously arrogant virtuoso guitarist); Sheppard and Dane, for their part, consider him egocentric. More generally, every time some setback or problem arises (particularly when shows go badly or a promoter gets upset about something), the band members unload the blame onto one another, ratcheting up the tension. In interviews, Andy Sneap laconically remarks that one of the reasons Nevermore never broke through in terms of popularity is that the band members are "their own worst enemies," often clashing furiously, especially Dane and Sheppard, whose party-friendly attitude on tour irritates Loomis and Williams, who are more devoted to professional discipline.

Finally, disagreements over the distribution of music earnings and financial management (which mostly pass through Dane and Sheppard's hands, leaving Loomis and Williams having to constantly chase them down for statements and information) split the band in two. For much of their career, Nevermore's approach was essentially "let's see how things go, time will sort it out"; partly because, despite everything, the Americans had actually always been very close-knit from the start, bound by a fraternal friendship even in the hardest moments. For a long time, the four Seattle musicians count on that bond to carry them through whatever comes. From 2006 onward, though, a palpable weariness starts creeping in among them, sharpened by Dane and Sheppard's worsening health problems. So the four try to take a temporary breather elsewhere before heading back into the studio.

In 2008, Jeff Loomis and Warrel Dane each release solo albums. Loomis puts out Zero Order Phase. It's an entirely instrumental work, packed with thrash, prog-metal and hard-rock ideas, overflowing with the kind of virtuosity the American guitarist now lets loose without restraint, and in which the Nevermore sound is still very much palpable.

The tracks are all gripping, but rather than a guitar hero album it feels more like a collection of ordinary songs, just missing a vocal part. On a few occasions, in fact, you can feel the absence of a singer. But the star of the show is—and was meant to be—Loomis alone. There's perhaps a grain of truth in the jokes the band used to make about his guitar-related self-confidence, but this isn't garish showing-off so much as a strong belief in his own abilities and a total dedication to the guitar, which finally find full freedom of expression on this record. Dane somewhat downplays Loomis's solo work (while Loomis, in his own statements, shows respect and admiration for his friend's release), which only deepens the rift within the band.

Dane releases Praises To The War Machine. Here, by contrast, the instrumental side is simplified and more accessible (which doesn't rule out some notably relentless outbursts), while the spotlight is entirely on Dane. There are also two covers, neither especially striking: "Lucretia My Reflection" by Sisters of Mercy and "Patterns" by Simon & Garfunkel. In truth, it isn't entirely a solo work, since it was co-written with Peter Wichers, former founding guitarist of Swedish band Soilwork, who also serves as producer here. Much of the style and atmosphere, in fact, comes down to his contribution, as he tries to emphasize immediacy, "melodic extremity" and catchier, more minimal riffs, synthesizing a hybrid with Nevermore's denser, darker sound.

The experiment works, but only partly: Dane seems at ease in this role, and the chemistry between the two flows well, but not every track is truly memorable, and there are one too many filler cuts. Still, it can be seen as a promising appetizer ahead of a potential second album, in which the two, having gained a deeper artistic awareness of what their differing backgrounds could offer together, might craft a sturdier, more focused record; but the opportunity never comes, and with hindsight it never will, due to Dane's commitments and his growing pull back toward recording with Nevermore.

On top of that, an unexpected reunion of Sanctuary with the classic line-up is announced.

This Godless Endeavour could have been Nevermore's swan song, but in 2010 The Obsidian Conspiracy was released, a work that, despite some well-placed flashes of inspiration, is overall a letdown compared to its predecessors. It almost feels like a workmanlike record, one that restates the essential traits of the Nevermore trademark, but that also gives up the more complex and distinctive features of the band's sound, in favor of an overall simplification of their style. In truth, the result falling short of expectations isn't due to a loss of inspiration on Nevermore's part. The reason comes down to two factors:

1) internal friction within the band, who for the first time didn't attend pre-production in full, with resulting communication problems over arrangement decisions and recordings carried out separately;

2) interference during the production stage, entrusted to Peter Wichers, who first of all convinced Jeff Loomis to drop several more technical and cerebral compositions he had already recorded, in favor of a more catchy approach (Wichers himself cut entire riffs and solos, considerably reducing the overall length of the songs, trying to bring the style closer to that of Dane's solo album), only to then abandon the work before it was finished, causing organizational chaos in the effort to complete the recordings and mixing (handled, as usual, by Andy Sneap).

The arrangements and compositions suffer as a result and turn out generally more predictable, the riffs sound more ordinary, the solos are more restrained, and Dane's vocal performance is uneven (though in his defense, he had by then been singing at a high level for over twenty years). Still, it's not a bad album: the first half builds nicely, and it remains, for sure, a well-executed and excellently recorded work; it's simply the weakest and least vital, least creative record in their discography, an alternation of mundane tracks and others with convincing ideas that would have been worth developing further had the starting circumstances been different.

Facing the weakest chapter of their career, amid solo albums and the announced Sanctuary reunion, the very soul of Nevermore is going through a palpable period of fatigue, and the members themselves are aware of it, which is why they start looking for other outlets to focus on. So in 2011 Jeff Loomis and Van Williams leave the band, while Warrel Dane (who would like to record a new album, but not with other musicians) puts the work under the "Nevermore" name on an indefinite hold.

Focus then shifts to reviving the Sanctuary project. The Year The Sun Died is released in 2014 and turns out to be a solid, well-built groove-thrash-metal record, full of aggressive ideas without turning its back on melody. It's not a revolutionary album and is better suited to genre fans than to those looking for sonic innovation, but it has all the ingredients needed to make a good record.

Inception is also released, a collection of previously unreleased 1986 demos, ultimately negligible.

In the meantime, Loomis had released his second solo album, Plains Of Oblivion. The work is denser and more elaborate than its predecessor. Together with producer Aaron Smith, Loomis pours obsessive care into devising extremely elaborate arrangements, virtuosic outbursts, extreme-metal onslaughts and meticulous acoustic ballads. The attitude is maximalist, with tracks (like "Escape Velocity") that launch at full throttle, combining fury and technical prowess. There are also some sung parts, courtesy of Christine Rhoades (previously a guest on the track "Dreaming Neon Black"), who also attempts a not particularly successful growling performance. It's a well-written and well-performed work, but its stylistic character confines it to a niche audience of fans of this particular sound.

In 2014 Loomis also launched the project Conquering Dystopia together with Keith Merrow, with whom he released the self-titled album. It's a record inspired by the harshest kind of technical-death-metal, overflowing with intricate structures, avalanche-like blast-beat drumming, bone-crushing riffs and dominant displays of virtuosity, but once again it's a purely instrumental work (no typical death-metal growling vocals), and it leaves the impression of a result that's somewhat unfinished and a bit cold.

Loomis also joined the well-known female-fronted melodic-death-metal band Arch Enemy, who on more than one occasion had already drawn inspiration from Nevermore's sound, partly thanks to Andy Sneap's contribution.

Dane, too, was working on his second solo album, as well as on a new Sanctuary record, with whom he was committed to grueling tours. Although his thoughts always returned to Nevermore, he had no intention of recording new albums with different musicians. Unfortunately, his death on December 13, 2017, from a heart attack, left the work in progress with the first two unfinished and dashed any hope of a reunion with the third.

With the death of Warrel Dane, one of the most significant chapters in metal comes to a close. For all the bands that, in their own way, gathered the seeds scattered by Nevermore (we feel compelled to mention above all Control Denied and the French band Gojira), what will remain is the memory and the essential point of reference that this artist, together with the other talented members of the band, managed to provide. No less worthy of mention is the chapter represented by Sanctuary, which managed to carve out a sharp, engaging corner of metal despite its brevity.

Born we are the same, within the silence, indifference be Thy name

Torn we walk alone, we sleep in silent shades 

The grandeur fades, the meaning never known.

Some reference interviews:

Kronic 2000

Metallus 2000

Metallus 2003

Metalitalia 2003

Longliverockandroll 2009

Metalitalia 2011 

Truemetal 2015

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