Heaven forbid — sorry, hell forbid — Cradle of Filth ever stop making music. How would metal’s legions of try-too-hardists ever survive if their greatest champions were to call it a day? Mercifully, that’s not something they need to think about just yet, as the UK vets have returned with album number eleven, Hammer of the Witches. All told, it’s a relatively safe set, and while it’s not likely to win them any new fans, it also shouldn’t have much trouble appeasing their existing base.
Hammer takes full advantage of the band’s completely nondescript “extreme metal” categorization, showing off occasional flourishes of all manner of different subgenres without becoming beholden to any one. They’ll channel their symphonic black metal glory days on one song (“Yours Immortally…”) only to abandon it for more of a melo-death vibe—complete with harmonized, twin guitar licks!—on the next (“Enshrined in Crematoria”). The title track is even, for a minute of its six-and-a-half, a bit of a foot-stomper!
And to the band’s credit, this “all-things-to-all-people” approach to song-craft is mostly listenable, if not all that likely to position the band as masters of any particular one of the styles they explore. It may be tough to take Hammer’s shameless over-use of the band’s clichés—synthetic strings; a haunting, female voice to counter Dani Filth’s dulcet, dying animal tones; etc.—too seriously, but at times, it can be just as tough to resist singing along with the band’s chaotic refrains.
What really drags things south, though, is the album’s seemingly interminable length. Hammer‘s eight non-instrumental interludes clock in at nearly 51 minutes—or an average of more than 6:20 per song. That’s far, far too much to sustain, particularly for a band that’s both so far along in its career and so close to home in its sonic evolution. We’ve heard better, more streamlined versions of these songs many, many times before, so on trip number eleven down Cradle of Filth lane, it’s tough not to lose interest.
In the end, Hammer‘s neither great nor terrible. It’ll have its audience, and it’ll help the band continue to tread water for at least another tour cycle. But asking anyone outside their most ardent of fans to weed through their treasury of theatrical schtick and remember it, say, this time next year, will be a tall order. After this, it’s hard not to keep an eye on your watch and wonder when Cradle of Filth will doff their caps, straighten their blouses. take their final bows, and force the try-too-hardists to find a new king.
Keep it heavy,
Dan
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