The Sign of the Jackal

Imagine the situation in 1986. In a polarized scene where thrashers and posers mocked each other, a band like Damien Thorne was stuck between a rock and a hard place. “Sign of the Jackal” does not deliver hairspray “metal”. It relies on a profound heaviness. But it fails to worship the gods of thrash too. Thus, the German metal media created the term “US metal” for album from the United States that could not be classified easily. I never understood this crude category. From my point of view, Damien Thorne play powerful heavy metal, often comparable with Savage Grace or Omen, sometimes not too far away from early Overkill.

Once, however, there is no stopping. The undisputed highlight of the album is its only impeccable speed / thrahs metal number. “Fear of the Dark” takes the shortest route between two points. It’s a simple, straight high speed song with a conventional arrangement, a catchy chorus and no signs of clemency. The further tracks march forward to mid- or up-tempo rhythms, sometimes driven by a pretty swift double bass drum. Too bad that they do not reach the quality level of the aforementioned neckbreaker. “Siren’s Call”, for example, does not lack velocity, but it spreads rather early Riot than speed / thrash metal vibes. Despite the pretty muffled production, the song’s riffing is too airy and somehow too happy to create an aggressive mood.

Indeed, the mix does not make my day. Everything sounds as if the musicians were standing in the studio behind a curtain that separated them from the recording microphones. Perhaps the cause for this sound was a small recording budget, anyway, the mix does not help the songs to reveal their full potential. At least the balance is right between the vocals and the instruments. Alas, Justin Fate is no gifted singer. His normal voice is more or less ordinary and whenever he shifts into a high pitch, he rather seems to satisfy the zeitgeist of 1986 than choosing the high notes with full conviction. However, honestly speaking, his comrades also deliver an ordinary performance.

Surprising twists and turns do not show up. The riffs are okay, but never outstanding and in a time when so many curious formations were searching for the most extreme sound, “Sign of the Jackal” looked like an old man, dusty and unspectacular. It’s an honest album, no doubt about it, and at no point does it aim for commercial success for its own sake. But that was not enough to make a great impact in 1986 and it is all the more true that you cannot stand the test of time with such an unadorned release.

“…the pain and the glory, the fight and the shame, sinners beware of the night…”

Apparently enamored with the The Omen flicks released from ’76-’81, Chicago’s Damien Thorne are easily more speed than thrash, more traditional than speed, and visually more prissy than portentous even while wearing all the leather they own (and are more cream puff yet in the back cover shot), but that doesn’t stop them from concocting a musical script that’s both uncommon and unorthodox, yet powerfully engineered. Simply, the band is unambiguously underestimated – at the least a sideshow band in the eyes of the scene, in the weeds near the road well traveled, and is a consummate sleeper of ‘80s metal. An undeserved grave, but Sign of the Jackal finds resurrection with each spin in newbie presence.

With a dusky, nearing night demeanor, the quintet animates its tunes with a songwriting prestige and intrigue that in other bands sometimes sounds forced or coerced. With Thorne, all seems natural and instinctive, even when brow-raising structures and epic hooks are located as if found abandoned on metal’s battleground of creativity, gathered up by the group, and then sewn together after torturing themselves with whatever albums in their lives have bored them to tears. In roaming the field, they seldom come in contact with the progressive or technical planes and skirt confrontations with thrash’s unshaven barbarians. While this sounds about as multi-dimensional as a game of Steal the Bacon, what the band does best, unequivocally, is brandish the traditional metal sword often enough that everyone around knows where their flag of preference flaps.

As a single entity, The Sign of the Jackal is strangely classy, possibly more so than, say, Omen’s wonderful first, yet only in the sense that Thorne’s debut is gifted with a few more layers of daring and obtrusive songwriting. In fact, forget Omen. A contrast much more fitting falls on Tyrant (US), right around the time their hardly humble Too Late to Pray lp bent its knees to the scene. Though less caliginous and more melodic than the California four-piece, the atmosphere these two bands billow are similarly shaped and consistent, sharing a cocksure style that’s unafraid to tattoo that battleship on its chest. Rhythms melodic, devious, and stand off-ish churn with elegant might and are hardly ever erroneous as they’re hatched and placed. Even voxman Justin Fate foams with heresy somewhere between diabolic Glen May and scarlet ’84-‘85 Jon Oliva, and like that pair is capable of sending notes into cloud cover, summoning ghostly King Diamond/Don’t Break the Oath-era paint-peelers as echoed in “The Ritual”, “Hell’s Reign”, and the doom-shadowed title cut.

Hair trigger tracks like “Siren’s Call” and “Fear of the Dark” live closest to the progressive realm, their gait and style charging beyond the steady medium pace of the other tracks, yet are far enough away to still be considered on its outskirts. A top draw like “Escape or Die” throws a bit of drama into the ring; unusual timing shifts while it jogs in the median, stable and standard, then pounces with a glory-hammered chorus. In the meantime, “Damien’s Procession (March of the Undead)”, the album’s ‘epic’, strides under a long canopy of tempo and timing changes, interacting with structures that rise and fall, bloat and dilute, but never lose sight of the ball that’s being traditionally thrown around.

In order for albums like these to tread water in the river of superior recordings, musicianship can never be bare bones and by and large should transcend mere competency. Guitarists Ken Starr and Michael Monroe (no, not the dip from Hanoi Rocks) are wholly capable talents that perform in such low-key pizzazz it’s not hard to lose sight of them amidst their unconventionally conventional voice. And despite being in the back cover shot, B. Hurak, not Pete Pagonis, mans the drums on this album, and does so with exceptional strength of arm.

Unfortunately, the production is as flat as a bus driver’s ass.

With only the mix being a sore spot to be had, The Sign of the Jackal is one of those albums I can uncommonly sit entirely through without reaching for another. Damien Thorne. I still think it’s a pretty cool name, even if some fictional devil’s child got tagged with it first.