Review: Flotsam And Jetsam – Rats In The Temple
It’s been a wild auld ride for Flotsam And Jetsam. 2016’s self-titled Flotsam And Jetsam was, in many ways, a reset for the band. After all, it followed a string of largely forgettable albums that served mostly as a reminder of a once mighty musical force reaching its natural conclusion. Three decades in, consistent recording, constant touring, content to circle the sound that they helped pioneer in the 1980s. Their first two records, 1986’s Doomsday For The Deceiver and 1988’s No Place For Disgrace aren’t as widely discussed as their contemporaries but the Arizona band are a wildly important band in the development of the genre. With their incorporation of USPM flair, rather than the overt hardcore integration of many of the rawer thrash bands, Flotsam & Jetsam created a style wholly their own, wholly identifiable, and, for a while, wholly ignored in the lineage of thrash. This was because as the metal fossil record extended, their style of frill-less, punk-starved thrash infused with the histrionics of power metal and classic British heavy metal was most definitely not in vogue. And even for as revered as those first two records were, I’ve always thought that they’d be held in even higher regard if it wasn’t for the records that followed them.
The ’90s were about as kind a decade to classic thrash bands as the ’80s were to classic prog bands, and although 1990’s When The Storm Comes is, in hindsight, a grand album for what it is, it was seen as a disappointment at the time and completed nerfed their pursuit of popular crossover. So although their ’90s had some underrated material—both Cuatro and Drift are pretty solid compromises between thrash and nascent alt-metal miscellanea—it was mostly defined by the albums that bookmarked it, the disappointment of When The Storm Comes and the disaster that was 1999’s Unnatural Selection. The band would trundle through the new millennium, retaining a cult following but always marked with a sense of what could have been.
But beginning in 2016, following the misfire that was the 2014 re-recording of No Place For Disgrace, they would release the first in a string of records, beginning with the self-titled Flotsam And Jetsam album. For the next decade the band would prioritize a darker fusion of their classic sound with contemporary production sensibilities that managed to strike a strong, tasteful balance between speedy thrash and USPM, falling into neither the pitfalls of retro-revivalist landfill neo-thrash nor contemporary, festival-friendly power-anthem compost power metal. Against all odds, Flotsam and Jetsam were 30 years deep and making really solid records. And they’d continue to do so! 2021’s Blood In The Water is, to me (blasphemy incoming) their best record, not just of their current run of form, but of their entire career. And I say that as someone who likes Flotsam And Jetsam more than most. Hell, full-stop, I think Flotsam And Jetsam are one of the best bands in the genre, and they are the rarest of classic thrash bands whose quality as a group to me is not defined by a couple of records they did 40 years ago. Pound-for-pound, song-for-song, I think few thrash bands have matched them at their peak. So understandably, I was quite excited for their newest record; 40 years after Doomsday For The Deceiver, the band seemed just as driven as they’d been at their peak.
Kicking the record off is “Harvesting The Hate,” which generously incorporates keyboards in an attempt to evoke the whole “temple” motif of the record. The title drop that ends the first chorus could, in the hands of a lesser band, feel quite corny and forced; could feel like it was very consciously trying to become that sort of live staple call-and-response fodder that euro metal festivals love, but here it’s too cool to deny. The chorus is strong, even if the guitar leads are buried in the mix—the first glimpse at the production woes that will be a continual thorn in the side of the album. The solo is naturally excellent, and the biting rhythm of the final pre-chorus is sick. The vocals continues to hit that nice in-between of soaring power and staccato venom, and whatever strains of age that have affected Eric AK’s vocals only aid in his gritty delivery here.
Meanwhile, the relative softness of “Damnation” ‘s intro belies its focus on dense rhythms and the maximalist vocal overdubbing of its chorus. It is perhaps the most clear statement of the albums sound: effective and hard-hitting but also very clean, compressed and unmoving in its flatness. It leads to moments on the track that should have me leaping out my seat—like the dynamite guitar solo and these fierce triplet percussive blasts—instead feeling decidedly muted. It doesn’t help that “Damnation” also relies a bit too much on these awkward, millennial-whoop vocal acrobatics but it’s still a catchy and worthwhile inclusion.
The verses of “Absolution” are the most overtly and stereotypically thrash moments on the album so far; while the choruses explode into soaring, miscellaneous USPM fodder, it winds up making the song sound a little less than the sum of its parts as a result, with both sides of the band’s sound being split up and feeling a bit anemic in isolation. The staccato up-stroked guitars found in the chorus are probably the most notable bits of the song to me. Then, the sinister creep of “Blame The Knife” ironically gives way to maybe the poppiest song on the record. In hindsight, it’s surprising that it wasn’t a single; its chorus is very hooky, and the vocal harmonies are about as sickly sweet a band like this gets without losing AK’s vocal grit. The mosh-friendly bridge is a nice change of pace too.
Lead single and title track “Rats In The Temple” has quite an ostentatious orchestral introduction that goes from being pretty corny to pretty classy with the way the blast beats and chugging riffs cut through the mix. Even when the keys come back later on in the verses, accenting these frantic, muted guitar runs, they sound decidedly less measured and more frenetic and unhinged. The chorus is great, which leads into some tremendously indulgent sweeping. “The Ghost Behind My Door” meanwhile is an incredibly confused song, stuffed to overflowing with unresolved progressions and uneven melodies; it’s a song that’s brimming with potential but has no idea what it wants to me. Whenever it attempts to lean epic and evocative, it undercuts it with unremarkable menace. Whenever it attempts to get heavy, it undercuts it with awkward theatrical flair.
The traces of groove metal (although perhaps it’s just a reflection of the bands long-time latent debt to blues rock) throughout “First On The Spike” are a nice change of pace. It makes for a moment of reflection, an image of an outstretched hand reaching back through the sub-genre fossil record that a lot of the modern Flotsam And Jetsam records have done, incorporating elements of the genre that have evolved alongside the band. “The Edge Of Nowhere” feels like a more tempered version of what felt rushed on “The Ghost Behind My Door,” where the tenacious and overwhelming riffing threatens to come off the rails and crash, brought down to earth only by the soaring vocal line that grounds the tempo.
“Last Rites” is underwhelming with its chug-happy, muddy guitars and a lousy tone that gets lost in the low-end, further highlighting the production woes of what should be a slam dunk sound. Instrumentally it’s a bit reminiscent of Death Magnetic-era Metallica, not awful but the tedium of its writing makes it tiresome. When the guitars drop out for the second-to-last chorus, and you hear how muted the bass sounds, how weak the vocal layering sounds, you get a sense of how much more powerful an album like this could have sounded. “Last Rites” represents the sound of a great album being muted by the production of a merely decent one.
The drum and bass interplay that introduces “A Taste For War” is one of my highlights on the album, and the general, relative softness of its opening should have ideally enhanced the distorted bark of the vocals and guitars. Unfortunately it’s a tremendously underwritten song; its chorus is weak and nasal, the guitars are at their flattest and whatever interest that was piqued by the rhythm section in its introduction is left undeveloped and tame. “Her Blood Your Pain” is much better, thankfully, with probably the best melodic riffing on the album. The main lead arpeggio is a wonderful mix of a lot of classic USPM, and the chugging heaviness of the chorus helps further contextualize its melody.
With “Anthem For The Broken” we have more upbeat festival fodder, spiritually in-line with euro-fest folk metal favourites while never actually crossing over to pagan metal territory. The swirling little ostinato riff makes the verses hard to grip immediately, which aids the soaring chorus in feeling like a release of tension. It’s a nice little trick of song-writing that aids both the verse and chorus by giving them distinct emotional planes but making them still work holistically.
“Not Going Down That Way” is more stiff in its delivery, with a tough, rugged opening that gives way to a verse incorporating acoustic guitars. The chorus is a little flat instrumentally but is saved by the vocal performance. For a band 40 years into their career to end their 40th anniversary album with what is—on some meta-textual level at least—a testament to their survival and continued flourishing as a band, it’s a nice, appropriate send off.
Rats In The Temple is not only far more than you’d expect from a bands almost-20th record, it’s honestly just a cut-and-dry damn good album in its own right. Its inconsistent liturgical theming, occasional tonal disparity and muddy production harm it a little, sure, robbing it of its status as an instant classic in the bands discography, but it’s another in a line of really fucking solid albums from Flotsam & Jetsam, contributing to their status as one of the best bands in the history of the genre, period.
3.5/5 Flaming Toilets ov Hell
Rats In The Temple is out now through Napalm Records.
