(We now haz our own version of MMA: Trollfiend and Amorphis going head-to-head in a cage match from which only one will walk away. Ladies and germs, place your bets!)
There’s been a lot of talk around the NCS chambers lately about whether or not an artist has the right to radically change everything about their music (they do) and whether or not we as fans should support them or heap massive amounts of hatred and ridicule upon them (we should – ideally, both). This kind of talk inevitably leads (in my tiny, pea-sized Trollbrain) to the band Amorphis.
I fucking loved Amorphis when they first came on the scene way back in 1992 (that’s 19 years for those of you keeping track) with their wacky, zany, combination of folk-scented melodeath. In that nearly two decades they have released 2 demos, 3 EPs, 10 studio albums, 11 singles, 11 videos, 3 compilation albums and a DVD. But somewhere around the third album the love affair ended, and I felt betrayed and abused because they went off in a completely different direction than I was expecting. They grew and changed and went through a dozen lineups and did some weird jazz fusion thing and lost their growled vocals and kind of came back halfway and then… I don’t know. All I do know is that I was left at the prom in my robin’s-egg-blue silk tux holding a bouquet of wilted roses and a used condom while they roared off in their Trans Am and never called me again.
But I’m starting to think that maybe I didn’t give them a fair shake. In my defense, this was right around the time I was getting into black metal, so their artistic meanderings were that much more jarring in contrast. And several NCS contributors have lately made me question my rigid stance on just how much the artists owe to their audience. So there is really only one solution, which is how I solve all major and minor conflicts in my daily life: gladiatorial bloodsport.
That’s right. I, Trollfiend, will go head-to head with Amorphis’ complete studio discography in a bloody, no holds (or holes) barred, teeth-and-nails combat that will only end when one of us is lying bleeding on the sand frantically trying to stuff our intestines back into a gaping gut-wound. Continue reading »