Swordsmith of Dark Ages by Evil Arts: A Thrashy Trip Down Memory’s Mosh Pit
Alright, buckle up, headbangers. We’re diving into Swordsmith of Dark Ages, the gloriously gritty 1993 thrash rock masterpiece from Canada’s own Evil Arts. Released on some random indie label (Not On Label—how metal is that?), this album feels like a forgotten treasure buried under decades of grunge and nu-metal noise. And let me tell you, it deserves way more love than it got.
First off, let’s talk vibes. This isn’t your polished, radio-friendly rock; nope, this is raw, unfiltered chaos with riffs sharp enough to cut steel. Imagine sitting in a dingy basement lit by blacklights while someone screams about warlords and sorcery over power chords loud enough to wake the dead. Yeah, it’s kinda like that.
Now onto the tracks because who doesn’t want specifics? I’ll narrow it down to two bangers that stuck with me harder than a hangover after a kegger.
Track one: “Fear The Sorcery.” Holy crap, where do I even start? It opens with these eerie guitar harmonics that sound like they were recorded inside a haunted castle—or maybe just an abandoned warehouse in rural Ontario. Then BAM! The drums kick in like Thor smacking his hammer against Loki’s face. Lyrically, it’s all about dark magic and paranoia, which honestly makes perfect sense for anyone who's ever had too much coffee at midnight. You know exactly what I mean. It’s catchy as hell but also weirdly unsettling, like watching a horror movie where everyone dies except the creepy doll.
And then there’s “Ares The Warlord.” Oh man, this song could soundtrack a Viking raid if Vikings had electric guitars instead of longships. The main riff hits so hard it should come with a warning label: “Caution: May cause involuntary fist-pumping and sudden urges to conquer small nations.” There’s something primal about how the vocals roar over the relentless double bass pedal work—it’s not singing, it’s screaming straight into your soul. By the time the solo kicks in, you’re either air-guitaring wildly or questioning every life choice that led you here. Either way, mission accomplished.
The rest of the album delivers plenty of gems too—like “Forgotten Gods” and “Black Thorne”—but those first couple punches are what really knock you out cold. Seriously, listening to this feels like being pummeled by a barbarian wielding both a battle axe AND a chainsaw. In the best possible way.
So yeah, Swordsmith of Dark Ages might not have set the charts ablaze back in ’93, but damn if it didn’t carve its own niche in the underground scene. It’s messy, chaotic, and utterly unforgettable—a true testament to DIY thrash spirit.
Final thought? If aliens landed tomorrow and demanded proof that humans can create art fueled purely by adrenaline and testosterone, we’d hand them this album. Or maybe a chainsaw. Probably both.
