I’ve mentioned it here on numerous occasions, but not only am I routinely amazed that people are reading this stuff, but that they come back for more. As a largely vanity-driven endeavor — designed almost exclusively for my own enjoyment — I would compose this silly blog whether people were reading it or not. Beyond that, though, I am similarly amazed by the stuff that they retain. This is the story of one of those instances, and — be warned — it could not possibly be more trivial.
Back in 2009, when the world was young, I posted an epic-poem-lengthed entry about my enduring love of an endearingly silly British heavy metal band called Venom. Having first discovered them in the early throes of my tenure as a Jesuit high school student on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, their strenuously blasphemous brand finesse-free bombast suited my adolescently irritable nature to a tee. Messily spot-welding the breakneck stealth of hardcore punk with the Marshall-stacked heft of the weightiest metal, Venom followed their forebears Motorhead into that breach between the then-combative genres, icing their cake with an espousal of Satan that made previous bands’ attempts seem laughably timid. In that respect, Venom were absolutely perfect.
In the process of that meandering post, however, I mentioned that in the twenty-something years since their hellfire-singed heyday, I was suddenly harboring a hankering to hear certain bits of their music again, but was having a devil of a time — pardon the pun — finding a particular album. First offered on an e.p. ludicrously entitled Canadian Assault from 1985 (see above), live versions of unhallowed Venom chestnuts like “Welcome to Hell” and “In Nomine Satanus” recorded a year earlier at London’s legendary Hammersmith Odeon, were huge favorites of mine. Venom saw fit to release a recording of that entire show a year later in the form of their unimaginatively titled Official Bootleg. Essentially, this album was simply the audio portion of a live video the band had also released from the concert. As such, the fidelity of that recording wasn’t exactly what anyone would consider sterling. By the same token, absolutely no one — self-included — was listening to Venom for their pithy sonic nuance, so a shitty recording didn’t bother me.
For whatever reason, I never owned a copy of Official Bootleg on vinyl, and even if I had, it would have been locked, at the time, in a crate in a ludicrously expensive storage space I was renting on Vandam Street in the West Village. Determined to track down the compact disc of Official Bootleg, as detailed in that earlier post, I hit the dwindling few shops in New York City still selling compact discs in 2009 like a hammer, but continually came up empty. I remember getting fully exasperated in Hospital Productions, a short-lived boutique in the East Village (now long gone …since replaced by a taco joint) singularly devoted to all things black metal by their ABJECT FAILURE to stock albums by the band that they owed their VERY LIVELIHOOD to (this is not hyperbole — without Venom, the entire genre of black metal would not have existed). But, they didn’t have it. As with so many albums I’d become preoccupied with finding, Venom’s Official Bootleg was simply not to be found in New York City.
In terms of this blog, that weepy saga kinda ended there. I don’t believe I ever posted a follow-up, but shortly afterwards, I regretfully bit the bullet and bought a copy of the disc on eBay, and Venom’s Official Bootleg — complete with those versions of “In Nomine Satanus” and “Welcome to Hell” I’d been craving — was mine at last. I crossed that particular (un)Holy Grail of my list, and got on with my life. Again, that was 2009
Twelve years later,…..
A longtime reader and frequent commenter named Sebastian, not knowing that I’d finally put my hand to Official Bootleg, wrote in last week to tell me that the very same Hammersmith Odeon show by Venom had been newly re-released on compact disc and re-titled The 7th Date of Hell by a little enterprise called Mental Metal. Now, despite the fact that I’d already sated that particular desire, my curiosity was newly piqued by the prospect of a possible re-mastering or re-mixing of the original recording. Finding no evidence to back up that hope, however, I threw caution to the four winds, ponied up the twenty bucks or so for 7th Date of Hell and ordered it online. I knew I wasn't going to find it in any New York City shops, so spared myself that effort.
For this new version, gone was the cyclopian hellhound that graced the sleeve of Official Bootleg, replaced by a portrait of the band looking suitably ridiculous, festooned with whips, weapons, bullet belts and bondage gear. Also unlike Official Bootleg, the liner notes of this disc came with a rapturous account of the tour that culminated with this show, written by one John Tucker, author of a larger book on Venom’s first record label, Neat Records. The liner notes did not, however, make any mention of a re-mixing or a re-mastering of the original recording. The proof was ultimately going to have to be in the playing.
But before I get to that, …
In anticipation of the arrival of this new disc, I went back and listened to Official Bootleg it its entirety while running a few errands. While, yes, I do still quite enjoy my favorites songs featured on it from Canadian Assault— I have to confess that absorbing the recording of the concert in its entirety left a bit to be desired. Yes, the sound is still periodically patchy and muddled, but beyond that, I just don’t know that I care that much anymore, apart from my associations with it to my now-very-distant youth. There are certain selections of my favorite music that sound as fresh today as when I first heard them as a much younger man, but as much as I’d love to include Venom in that august grouping, I am afraid I just cannot. Venom is no longer a band I’d be ready to get into beery fisticuffs over. I am fully aware of their limitations and their inherent silliness (although both have always been fairly obvious). But re-listening to these particular recordings that —however idiotic — meant so much to the teenaged iteration of myself failed to turn me back into that teenager. I mean, it’s still good, loud, fun and giddily profane rock n’ roll, but as the saying goes, sometimes you can’t go home — or in this case TO HELL — again.
But, like I said, the new disc arrived, so feeling the obligation to see it through to fruition, I dutifully ripped its contents onto my long-suffering iPod, and took it out for the requisite infernal test-drive.
As it turns out, the sound quality on The 7th Date of Hell is technically augmented, but still kind of botched. The guitars sound more prominent in the mix, but along with that tweak comes a level of distortion that renders the enhancement sort of moot because the clarity is compromised. As a result, some of Cronos’ legendary stage banter (definitely a highlight of the original recording) is obscured to the point that if – unlike me – you hadn’t dutifully memorized it for full comedic effect as a macabre teen – you might have a harder time making out what he’s actually saying.
Then came the dealbreaker…
For whatever reason, The 7th Date of Hell completely omits one of the songs I bought the thing for in the first place. Put simply, the uproariously silly “In Nomine Satanus” and its accompanying segue into “Welcome To Hell,” … a brief pause in the program wherein Cronos blabs ludicrously about his Hell-spawned bandmates while Mantas plays a chugging portion of the familiar refrain of Grieg’s “In the Hall of the Mountain King” … is entirely absent from proceedings. The reminded me a bit of U2’s Under a Blood Red Sky wherein later copies of the album were released with a shorter version of “Electric Co.” that excised Bono’s crooning of lyrics from Stephen Sondheim’s “Send in The Clowns.” Perhaps the estate of the late Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg slapped Venom with a cease-&-desist over the “Mountain King” refrain? I’m sure I’ll never learn why.
In any case, this crucial failure immediately made me lose all interest in the rest of The 7th Date of Hell, and found me returning to Original Bootleg to slake my rekindled thirst to hear the missing track in its full, demonic bloom.
In the end, as I probably should have surmised, I already had everything I’d needed, but I bow my horns to Sebastian for thinking of me. And, for what it’s worth, as inarguably juvenile as Venom were, are and will invariably continue to be, it’s not just me that still takes them seriously. Check out this recent interview with Cronos in The Quietus.
Anyway, cheers & Hail Satan.
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