Album Review: Blood Eagle by Conan (2014)
Conan’s Blood Eagle is a monolithic slab of heavy music that drags listeners through the sonic equivalent of a medieval battlefield. Released in 2014, this album straddles genres like Rock, Pop/Rock, and Metal while firmly planting its boots in styles such as Sludge Metal, Heavy Metal, and Doom Metal. With credits spread across Germany, the USA, Europe, the UK, and Austria, it's clear this record wasn’t just made—it was forged. Labels like Napalm Records and Spinning Goblin Productions helped bring this beast to life, but it’s the raw talent and vision of the band that truly make it unforgettable.
The artwork by Tony Roberts sets the tone immediately—dark, foreboding, and unapologetically brutal. And when you hit play, the music matches that vibe perfectly. Produced and mixed by Chris Fielding, with mastering handled by James Plotkin, the sound engineering here is top-notch, giving every crushing riff and thunderous drumbeat room to breathe—or rather, suffocate.
Now, let’s talk tracks. “Horns For Teeth” (or maybe it’s “Horns Of Teeth”—the repetition in the tracklist has me second-guessing) stands out because it feels like getting hit by a freight train… repeatedly. The guitar work from Jon Davis is absolutely punishing, layered with enough distortion to peel paint off walls. Meanwhile, Phil Coumbe’s vocals growl and snarl like some ancient beast awoken from its slumber. This track sticks with you not because it’s catchy, but because it’s relentless. It’s the kind of song that makes you want to punch something—or at least nod your head so hard it hurts.
Then there’s “Altar Of Grief,” which slows things down just enough to let the weight of the music sink in. The basslines from Coumbe rumble beneath the surface, adding an almost hypnotic quality to the doom-laden atmosphere. Paul O’Neil’s drumming is deliberate and thunderous, creating a sense of impending dread that lingers long after the final note fades. If “Horns For Teeth” is about brute force, then “Altar Of Grief” is about emotional devastation. Both are equally powerful, but they showcase different sides of Conan’s musical arsenal.
What strikes me most about Blood Eagle is how cohesive it feels despite its sheer heaviness. There’s no filler here; each track contributes to the overall experience of being crushed under the weight of despair and power. Even the slightly confusing duplicate track titles don’t detract from the impact—it almost feels intentional, like the band is daring you to keep up.
In the end, Blood Eagle isn’t just an album; it’s an endurance test. Listening to it feels like surviving something monumental. You walk away feeling battered but oddly triumphant, like you’ve faced down a monster and lived to tell the tale. Oddly enough, though, what stays with me isn’t the riffs or the growls—it’s the thought of Tony Roberts sitting somewhere sketching that cover art, probably thinking, “Yeah, this’ll do.” And honestly? He was right.
