Sepultura - Machine Messiah

Angry Metal Guy

For some reason, I seem to be the go-to reviewer for anything Sepultura-related here at AMG. This is a pretty unrewarding “honor,” given that the band has been releasing underwhelming albums for many years now (and don’t even get me started on Max Cavalera’s various projects). The band’s latest record Machine Messiah is their fourteenth overall, and marks their first collaboration with celebrated Swedish producer Jens Bogren (Opeth, Katatonia, Fates Warning).

Title track “Machine Messiah” opens the record with an almost trad-metal clean guitar intro, reminiscent of something Metallica or Testament would’ve done back in the day. This leads into some plodding groove riffery and, eventually, some baritone clean vocals from frontman Derrick Green. While not terrible, the song is pretty low-energy and sounds nothing like any iteration of Sepultura, making it an odd choice for an opener. This is quickly rectified by the speedy hardcore of “I Am The Enemy,” which sounds like one of the fast songs from Roots or Chaos A.D., but with a few blastbeats thrown in courtesy of recently-added drummer Eloy Casagrande.

The post Sepultura – Machine Messiah Review appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

Pitchfork 62

When their endearingly amateurish debut EP Bestial Devastation came out in 1985, you'd have been out of your mind to think that Sepultura would make any kind of splash in their home country of Brazil, let alone go on to become an internationally recognized act. But within five years or so, that's exactly what happened. Originally focused on taking cues from their European and American idols like Metallica, Hellhammer/Celtic Frost, and Kreator, Sepultura left an indelible mark on metal with 1993’s Chaos AD, a then-unprecedented fusion of heaviness with the native Latin rhythms the band had consciously avoided up to that point.

Sepultura plunged even further into unexplored realms with 1996’s Roots, a dense mish-mosh of thrash/groove/progressive/nu metal and hardcore loaded with Brazilian percussion and intercut with field recordings of the indigenous Xavante people of Brazil’s western interior. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, with the band's popularity at an all-time high, frontman Max Cavalera quit, leaving bad blood on both sides. In the 20 years since, Cavalera has basically stayed in a holding pattern, endlessly duplicating Roots’ mix of “exotic” flavors and brutish nu-metal riffs with his solo vehicle Soulfly. Meanwhile, Sepultura—who managed to keep Max’s brother Igor on drums for another 10 years—have never tired in their pursuit of new sounds.

While Max Cavalera’s departure made more headlines, Igor’s absence has arguably hurt the band more. For the last two Sepultura albums, the drum chair has been occupied by the far more technically proficient Eloy Casagrande. A fellow Brazilian, Casagrande fits right in with the unique, swaying cadence of Sepultura”s riffing. But his prodigious chops also tend to highlight the absence of Igor Cavalera’s intangible chemistry with guitarist Andreas Kisser. That said, Casagrande—a child prodigy who joined the band at the ripe old age of 20, when his bandmates were twice his age—gives the band a much-needed shot in the arm. and certainly isn't to blame for the spots where Machine Messiah’s energy lags.

From its inception, Sepultura’s career has traversed myriad sub-strains of metal, mostly with ease. Where some albums (1989’s Beneath the Remains, 2009’s A-Lex) stick to a uniform approach, others (Roots, 2001’s Nation) switch gears constantly. Machine Messiah falls in the latter category, but also skirts the line between metal and conventional “hard rock” more than anything in the Sepultura catalog. The band has downshifted to slower tempos and incorporated melodies before, but it’s typically been limber enough to accommodate them. This time, the variety sounds more confused than exploratory.

The instrumental “Iceberg Dances,” for example, starts off with a fairly stock thrash-core riff before morphing into a guitar-shredding workout that might have been better suited for an instructional video. It’s probably the first time in the band's history that Kisser, who is generally peerless when it comes to taste and feel, allows the music to take a backseat to the guitar. And in its noodly classical-influenced sections, you half-expect a cameo from gunslingers like Yngwie Malmsteen or Paul Gilbert of Racer X/Mr. Big. The song careens forward aimlessly, with a sped-up boogie-rock organ section clearly intended as a nod to late Deep Purple keyboardist Jon Lord. Kisser then flashes some of his (admittedly untouchable) classical guitar chops while Casagrande throws-in some Latin percussion. Fun as an exercise, “Iceberg Dances” might even be a marvel to watch the band play in person but it doesn’t gel and, worse, actually disrupts the album’s dystopian mood. It’s as if Sepultura hadn’t decided quite what kind of band they want to sound like. 

Not all of the songs re-tread old ground: on "Phantom Self," a violin ensemble weaves a Tunisian scale through a northeastern Brazilian maracatu-style rhythm. Ironically, though, Machine Messiah proves that Sepultura don’t even have to be inventive to be rousing. On “I Am the Enemy,” the band still sounds vital playing in the straight-ahead hardcore style it’s employed a dozen times since 1993. Meanwhile, the simplistic snaking main riff of “Resistant Parasites” could have been made up by Beavis and Butt-Head, but it's arguably the most convincingly ominous tune on the record.

Like 2013’s relentlessly hard-charging The Mediator Between Head and Hands Must Be the Heart, the lyrics on Machine Messiah lament the accelerating pace of technological innovation and the many threats it poses. When longtime frontman Derrick Green sings “You are human” at the conclusion of “I Am the Enemy,” it carries the weight of a plea even though he’s grunting. To his credit, Green delivers his most textured performance to date on Machine Messiah, stretching past his arsenal of barks, shrieks and growls to reach melodic heights worthy of the music's philosophical underpinnings. Throughout much of Machine Messiah, in fact, the band's anxiety is palpable. As we fast approach the point where machines might actually usurp us, it’s refreshing—even necessary—to hear Sepultura implore us to retain our humanity at all costs. Machine Messiah, though, is the rare Sepultura album where the vibe of the music doesn’t consistently match its central themes. Let’s hope they aren’t out of creative juice just yet; metal is better when this veteran, trailblazing band is operating at or near the peak of its powers.