Now look, I don’t need to tell you that A LOT has gone on in the world since that humble little EP was released. You were there, you lived through it, we all have PTSD now. It’s fine. EVERYTHING IS FINE. But in case you maybe blacked out for the last 3 or so years (and who could blame you) all the proof you need that we’ve all been THROUGH IT is right here, in Battlemaster’s blistering, balls-to-the-wall new record. The madness has been taken to a whole new level.

If the scorching opener “The Gourmand’s Appetite” doesn’t immediately let you know where this band is coming from this time around, allow me to reiterate: Greedgripped & Spellspoilt sees Battlemaster in blitzkrieg-level offense. Not that you could ever call the band subtle in it’s approach, but holy shit did they stomp on the accelerator here. We’re talking hyper-blasted drums and breakneck thrash riffs that you can all but feel shredding the skin on guitarists Alex Psitos and Brady Cole’s fingers. It’s a tone-setter to end all tone-setters, like if Robin Hood and his merry men crushed a bunch of amphetamine, did a bunch of lines, then stormed a castle and merc’d the first 10 royal motherfuckers they saw just to make sure everyone knew how this robbery was gonna go down. And it’s just the start of an entire album that treats the brake pedal like a red-headed orphan on Christmas (that’s to say, all but ignored). Just take “Elite Spectral Attache” as a prime example, starting first with another finger-annihilating riff, and then properly introduced with the unhinged warbling of vocalist Andy Horn who seems to be screaming in utter contempt at some gremlin underlings. You may also know his work with Cannabis Corpse, Crossspitter and others, in which case you’re well aware of the kind of complete lunacy he’s capable of, but this is dialed up to “11,” with the knob removed so no one could dare put a stop to it.

But it’s those guitars and drums making the biggest impact throughout this album, both entities showcase not only a greater sense of urgency, but a whole new sense of creative genius. The riffs are ceaseless, with tracks like “Extradeath” (amazing title) and “Defortressing Winter Citadelia” putting on the kind of technical masterclasses I didn’t know these guys were necessarily interested in showcasing, despite having little doubt they were ever capable of it. And the way drummer Alex Tomlin doesn’t just keep pace, but gives the band a whole other gear, it’s little wonder he’s lent his talents to the likes of Arsis, Whithered and Inter Arma when called upon for live fill-ins. And yet, the delivery and overall packaging still has just enough grime and imperfection that keeps Battlemaster just as endearing as ever – this isn’t a sterile surgical theater, it’s just a group of really friggin’ talented musicians opening the taps and letting it fly. I defy anyone to experience the absolute burners “Search for Traps” and “The Trovelord’s Altarcall” and not get completely swept away by the ceaseless fury. Andy Horn even throws a rare falsetto into the mix on the latter just for some added lunacy, taking a track that was already bonkers and making it all the more satisfying.

I don’t ever want to go so far as to say Greedgripped & Spellspoilt shows a band “growing up” or “maturing,” it’s just a more balanced effort, like the band learned to throw some adderall into the mix before taking off on a bender, just to make sure they’re more aware of the destruction they’re leaving in their path. It is, far and away, their greatest achievement to date, and despite my insistence that this record be celebrated for it’s manic, unbridled madness – I do hope it helps the band get taken just a little more seriously, if only to get them the recognition they deserve. Battlemaster hasn’t exactly put down the sock and spray paint and gone straight, but they’re functioning at a level never before experienced. Get in on this twisted ride while it’s still on the rails.

For example, if the bulk of hiking and exploring you’ve done in your life has been done vicariously through hours spent playing Zelda or Red Dead Redemption, suddenly deciding to buy a bunch of expensive gear to hike the entire 2,000+ mile Appalachian trial probably seems a bit… lofty. And that’s fine! You do you, gamers! If you know what you like and it makes you happy, go nuts, my friend.

So when a band called Battlemaster comes on your radar, armed with a new album brandishing somewhat crude, but fucking AMAZING artwork depicting a depraved-looking wizard fellow, and song titles like “Chaotic Dwarven Mischiefism” and “Hectored Bugbearean Wrath,” I ain’t expecting some grandiose, uber-serious product here. Some down-and-dirty, tongue-in-cheek fuckery seems to be the better bet and frankly, that’s exactly the shit I’m looking for.

BERSERKER MODE: ENGAGED!

Richmond’s Battlemaster isn’t here to blow you away with a dizzying technical display or surprise you with layered, complex subtlety. These dudes don’t do subtle. It’s not in their vocabulary. What they DO do, is attack you with a super upbeat canon-blast of thrashy, blackened death metal akin to the likes of Skeletonwitch or Necropanther, but delivered with a gutter aesthetic that gives the whole package a grimy, depraved feeling that’s purpose-built for heathenistic fun. They take classic Heavy Metal fantasy themes and inject them with grotesque Fritz the Cat perversion. To make a shameless (but appropriate) Middle Earth reference, if a band like Revocation came from the Elven land of Rivendell, Battlemaster would be their filthy Orcish equivalent. They’re 3 Inches of Blood’s estranged, paint-huffing cousin. I promise, that’s a compliment.

Don’t mistake my focus on the band’s lo-fi attitude as a questioning of quality or talent, though. Ghastly, Graven, Grimoireless is filled to the brim with super-clever and catchy songwriting, along with some absolutely quality musicianship, it’s just that its impact is all in its attitude and delivery. The album comes out with battleaxes swinging freely and wildly; hitting you with blistering guitars layered over a relentless blast beat and the gravely, tortured war screams of vocalist Andy Horn, before settling into a dirty, thrashy onslaught that is gives me some really great This Is Hell-era The Crown vibes and gets me grinning ear-to-ear like a battle-hungry lunatic.

The whole experience feels like being at a basement show in some seedy tavern of drunken, raging gremlins. “Chaotic Dwarven Mischiefism” sounds every bit the part, calling in some almost early Dillinger Escape Plan-like elements that paint a free-for-all picture of pandemonium, while “Hectored Bugbearean Wrath,” with its depiction of some seriously pissed-off D&D monsters, is an absolute thrasher that moves like a whirlwind from one section to the next. The final two tracks continue to showcase the band’s adeptness at balancing the fun and unhinged lunacy with more than enough serious songwriting and playing to keep you coming back, the final title track especially providing some really catchy riffing and shout-along-inspiring lyrics, and another thrashy, headbanging, The Crown-inspired bridge that gets under your skin and crawls around for a bit and just makes you wanna move.

I’m ready for battle. I don’t care what we’re fighting, don’t care what odds are stacked against me. Owlbears? Manticore? FUCK ‘EM. I’ve got a 30 rack of Genessee Screamers and Battlemaster on repeat to help carry me through. This is a band who knows what they are, and they deliver the goods in spades. There’s more polished examples of this kind of thing out there, but few are delivered with this kind of tenacity, and this album is launching me into weekend warrior mode like a friggin’ freight train. BRING IT, CREEPS.