Lamb Of God: Sacrament

Lamb Of God
Sacrament
Epic/Prosthetic

Lamb of God's stage show has been diffuse the times I've seen them, the band performing like a basketball point guard who gets so wound up by the crowd that his passes find front-row fans instead of the hands of his teammates. The energy's there, but the focus isn't. In contrast, their records are damn near impeccable distillations of the best molar-grinding tropes the extreme end of metal has to offer. Randy Blythe's growled and near-belched vocals are highlighted and yet disarmed by exquisitely crafted guitar solos, pinpoint tempo turns, and even well-placed false endings. This new album's beef du jour is false gods, with sometimes-predictable lyrical swipes at war, drugs, and organized religion. Still, a choice turn of phrase, a Blythe bellow, or a fraction of silence lodged in just the right cranny of a song makes the bitter medicine more palatable.

The masterpiece and centerpiece of Sacrament, "Blacken the Cursed Sun," starts with grandiose waves of sound that can only be described by the hoary word "thrilling." As "Sun"'s energy ebbs and flows with the intertwined guitar breaks of Mark Morton and Willie Adler, Blythe wails like he's being swept away by a whirlpool. Soon, a dark, devilish chorus joins him in a gleeful anti-catechism: "Does your God hold a place for us?/Hell no!/Will we rise from the dead?/Hell no!"

I gotta say, with a little catch in my throat, that's the kind of good old-fashioned nihilism that's almost kind of heart-warming. Life-affirming in a perverted way, even.