Ravaged by the Yeti is the latest album churned out by the riff factory that is Rogga Johansson. By my count, this is his 234th project (I was told there would be no fact-checking), and I simply don’t know how the man does it. He seriously has nearly fifty bands listed as active on Metal Archives. It’s inscrutable to even imagine he gets rest. If he does, I’m sure it’s with his guitar in his hands, literally writing riffs as he sleeps. I don’t even have the time to listen to all of his output, so I can’t even fathom writing it. When it comes to death metal, though, the man knows his craft.
Snowbound Horror is for fans of bands who spend their off time throwing bolts. For the most part, and I mean perhaps all but 1% of the album, it’s full speed ahead, sack to the sand, death fucking metal. However, if you take the first track, “Vengeance in Fur”, as an example, it’s difficult not to think of Dying Fetus in the stomp. The guitars have heft, and the production is cleaner than I anticipated, but it doesn’t take away from the blistering beatdown that enters your earholes mostly uninvited.
A few tracks further lies another example, “As Fangs Go Deep,” which is the fantasy of every alternative person, or so I’ve heard. The riffs are of that signature churning variety. This one’s not going to win any awards for originality, but at just over three minutes, much like the rest of the album, it doesn’t stay around long enough for you to consider such an abominable opinion.
To end the album is the “Land of the Ice and Snow,” which is unfortunately not a cover of “Immigrant Song” by Led Zeppelin. The riff immediately howls from the speakers and buries your face in the frozen tundra. While it’s heavy and played with a sense of urgency, it perfectly encapsulates the entire album. All the tracks indeed sound mostly the same, despite slight deviations that are barely noticeable.
Before you discard Ravaged by the Yeti as nothing more than a clone, Snowbound Horror is a fun time, drive with your windows down, a rollicking, shit-kicking romp through snow-capped mountains. It’s short, snappy, and doesn’t reinvent the genre. It doesn’t have to, though.
There is a substantial amount more happening here than your typical, run-of-the-mill Bolt Thrower ripoff, which is what those who have likely barely listened to the album believe. The blast beats and components of slam help it stand above many of their peers. It’s a fine example of modern old-school death metal, and while I never wanted to get ravaged by a yeti, at this point, fuck it, I’ll give it a go.
