Introduction

ANCIENT DREAMS (1988)
1) Mirror Mirror; 2) A Cry From The Crypt; 3) Darkness In Paradise; 4) Incarnation Of Evil; 5) Bearer Of Pain; 6) Ancient Dreams; 7) The Bells Of Acheron; 8) Epistle No. 81; 9) Black Sabbath Medley.
My reaction to this album will probably show how deeply out of touch I am with professional Metal Mentality. According to most of the metal critics and metal fans, Ancient Dreams is where Candlemass took their first faltering step — in fact, even the band members themselves were allegedly not very happy about it, particularly with the mix of Rex Gisslén, calling it a rushed job and all; meanwhile, fans typically complain of recycled riffs, overcooked vocals, and needlessly stretched out song lengths. A few dissenters here and there, but overall, the consensus seems to be that this is where the Candlemass formula gets a bit «stale».
I even took the trouble to relisten to this back-to-back with Epicus (partially), and all I can say is, well, wasn't the Candlemass formula seriously «stale» from the very beginning? Let's face it, all they did was surgically extract one side of Black Sabbath's personality, zoom it 250%, add opera­tic vocals and flashy solos, and repeat the same principle on every song. So how come it took them three albums for fans to start taking notice? If anything, I see a slight improvement in pro­duction values here — for instance, the drums do not sound quite as cardboardishly-tinny as they did on the first two albums — and perhaps even a few improvements in terms of riffage.
After a brief Gothic-Gregorian introduction, ʽMirror Mirrorʼ opens the album at a slightly faster tempo than usual — and with an attractive alternation of a Sabbath-style roaring riff with a chug­gier pattern, trying to marry classic school metal values with the thrash paradigm in a meticulous­ly calculated manner that, in my view, succeeds better than any such attempts on Nightfall. The same principle is then applied to ʽA Cry From The Cryptʼ, except that the chuggy pattern there is quite similar to ʽChildren Of The Graveʼ, while the slow brutal riff shares common chords with ʽSweet Leafʼ, making this one of the most blatant Master Of Reality rip-offs ever — with the exception of the flashy trills of the guitar solo, all Van Halen and Judas Priest in nature.
The rest of the songs are even more non-descript, differing in between themselves only in terms of including faster parts (ʽDarkness In Paradiseʼ) or concentrating exclusively on slowness (ʽAn­cient Dreamsʼ); by the time the record nears the end, the band begins sounding more and more like contemporary Black Sabbath — the riffage on ʽThe Bells Of Acheronʼ is similar to the kind of sound Iommi had on The Eternal Idol, but I guess you have to catch up with your idols if you are really set on idolizing them. To remedy that, the CD edition adds a sycophantic ʽBlack Sabbath Medleyʼ — consisting of minute-long clips of classic Sabbath covers, converted to the Candlemass sound (with only minor amendments); an intriguing recording, actually, since some­how they manage to make even the classic Sabbath songs sound less exciting — making me wonder if I'd actually be capable of loving an album of Sabbath classics, were I to first hear them all played by Candlemass? Does it really depend that much on the barely noticeable subtleties of the guitar tone? Or is it all because of the unbearably crass operatic singer of theirs?
Anyway, perhaps the real flaw of Ancient Dreams is a total lack of diversity — devoid of brief acoustic interludes, and very monotonous, to the point that, for instance, ʽDarkness In Paradiseʼ opens on pretty much the same looping riff on which the previous song, ʽCry From The Cryptʼ, had only just faded away. But taken individually, each song is still a perfect realization of the Candlemass schtick — you have the big fat doomy riff, the massive sonic attack, the screaming operatic guy, the wailing lead guitar, and the rest is, after all, just subjective judgement.

TALES OF CREATION (1989)
1) The Prophecy; 2) Dark Reflections; 3) Voices In The Wind; 4) Under The Oak; 5) Tears; 6) Into The Unfathomed Tower; 7) The Edge Of Heaven; 8) Somewhere In Nowhere; 9) Through The Infinitive Halls Of Death; 10) Dawn; 11) A Tale Of Creation.
I have just skimmed through the All-Music Guide review for this album, which, under the pres­sure of some very simple logical analysis, reads as follows: «Every original idea on this album (of which there are two) sucks; most of the non-original ideas on this album rule, but since they are non-original, we have no idea whatsoever about what it is we could say about them, so we will simply say that they are good». That is, actually, quite a respectable attitude; I only wish it were stated more explicitly, so I'm more than happy to re-state it for them.
I will, however, object that the three-minute speed metal instrumental ʽInto The Unfathomed Towerʼ — indeed, the most surprising discovery about the Candlemass catalog so far — is no­where near as awful as that review would have you believe, comparing it to Yngwie Malmsteen and all. Wedged in between all the slow doom epics, it has a bit of a cocky and tongue-in-cheek attitude to it: «Oh, so maybe you think we only play it slow and sludgy because we can't play it fast and furious? Well, take that, non-believer!» It wouldn't work at all by itself, but here, it gives you a jolt, and anything that gives you a jolt in the middle of a Candlemass album is welcome. Well, okay, not everything. A Celine Dion-style ballad probably wouldn't be welcome. But a kick-ass speed metal interlude — why not?
Formally, the album is a conceptual suite about one human soul's journey through Earth, Heaven, and Hell, which is why we have all those short spoken interludes (ʽThe Prophecyʼ, ʽVoices In The Windʼ, ʽDawnʼ) that are too short anyway to cause any major trouble; also, apparently some of the songs were dug out from the band's very early vaults, including a re-recorded version of ʽUnder The Oakʼ from Epicus (with an even crisper guitar tone, though not necessarily impro­ving on the original as a whole). Overall, though, our appreciation of Candlemass stands in direct proportion to the amount of kick-ass doom riffs on their songs, so here goes:
ʽDark Reflectionsʼ — kick-ass gallop tempo doom riff; ʽUnder The Oakʼ — one of their best songs altogether, but a re-recording all the same; ʽTearsʼ — too slow, too plodding, too operatic, too Marcolin-filled, no kick-ass riff; ʽInto The Unfathomed Towerʼ — see above; ʽThe Edge Of Heavenʼ — kick-ass riff, but comes in too late and goes on for too long (Iommi would never have let a great Sabbath song ride on a single folk-based riff for five minutes); ʽSomewhere In No­whereʼ — seems like they took the verse riff of ʽElectric Funeralʼ and extended it for the entire duration of the song, bo-o-o-o-o-oring; ʽThrough The Infinitive (sic!) Halls Of Deathʼ — finally, some nice, fast tempo zooping and chugging, gotta love the old ʽChildren Of The Graveʼ vibe; ʽA Tale Of Creationʼ — back to slow, plodding, uninteresting riffage.
Overall, this is not better and not worse than any other «classic period» Candlemass album, I guess, and I do believe that it has a generally strong reputation among metal fans, who like to talk about it as a strong comeback after the relative failure of Ancient Dreams (I see no substantial difference whatsoever, but hey, somebody has to create the illusion that some doom metal albums are notably better than others).

LIVE (1990)
1) The Well Of Souls; 2) Dark Are The Veils Of Death; 3) Bewitched; 4) Solitude; 5) Dark Reflections; 6) Under The Oak; 7) Demon's Gate; 8) The Bells Of Acheron; 9) Through The Infinitive Halls Of Death; 10) Samarithan; 11) Mirror, Mirror; 12) At The Gallows End; 13) The Sorcerer's Pledge.
Live heavy metal albums are usually a waste of time, with two exceptions: (a) metal bands that still preserve a lot of that old kick-ass rock'n'spirit, like Judas Priest, may follow the old principle of compensating for studio slickness with raw live energy; (b) mediocre metal bands that sound way too monotonous from album to album may have live albums that simply work as decent introductions / summaries of their overall sound, usually concentrating on the better stuff and leaving out the crap. Candlemass Live is a typical representative of group (b) — if you are interested in the band, but not enough to explore them in detail, this is a really good place to start... and, perhaps, to end.
Recorded on their native ground (in Stockholm), the album finds the classic lineup in as good a form as possible, with fine production (better than on the early studio records, actually), a rather tepid reception from the audience (which is okay, since it only helps the songs to sound better) and, most importantly, a near-perfect setlist — at least, all of my favorite Candlemass songs are here, and the energy level leaves me with nothing to complain about. ʽDemon's Gateʼ, ʽSolitudeʼ, ʽSorcerer's Pledgeʼ — these live versions totally correct all the original studio murkiness, with normally sounding drums and real deep rumble-crunch from the guitars, as compared to the almost lo-fi production quality of Epicus; honestly, even if you are a certified metalhead, I can't see how you'd like to go back to the 1986 values after hearing these versions.
Other than these two important details — great sound quality and intelligent setlist — there is really not much to say. Marcolin live is just as obnoxious as he is in the studio, but not that much more obnoxious: the obligatory audience-baiting is kept to a relative minimum (a few oi-oi-oi's here and there to get them a-clappin' and a-stompin', but nothing even close to Ozzy's trademark "let me fuckin' see your fuckin' hands, come on!"), and his treatment of Längqvist's material would probably have completely satisfied Längqvist himself (but not me). Johansson's leads are as fluent and technically perfect as they are in the studio, sometimes with a bit of extra flash. And structurally, the songs are played as close to the originals as possible.
I understand that there are several different versions of the album floating around — for instance, my version adds ʽThe Bells Of Acheronʼ, and then there's a 2-CD version with a separate show from 1988 as a bonus — but this is already in the sphere of trivia, useless for casual fans, so let's just top this off with a thumbs up and close the book on this first stage in the life of Candlemass, ending with the departure of Marcolin, and bringing on an image renovation for the new decade.
CHAPTER VI (1992)
1) Dying Illusion; 2) Julie Laughs No More; 3) Where The Runes Still Speak; 4) Ebony Throne; 5) Temple Of The Dead; 6) Aftermath; 7) Black Eyes; 8) End Of Pain.
It seems to me that standard critical reaction to Candlemass albums follows a pretty simple block diagram, consisting of just one question — «Was there any bad shit going on with the band at the time of recording?» — and, depending on yes or no, the album is judged as good or bad. With Chapter VI, there was most definitely some bad shit going on: after some dispute with Marcolin whose details I am not interested in, Messiah left the band (or should the correct phrasing be «ascended away from the band», in this case?) and was replaced by Thomas Vikström, another relative newcomer to the world of metal — who lasted for only this one album. And since this was not perceived as an obvious change for the better, many people bypassed alternate logical choices and declared this as an obvious change for the worst.
As in the case of Ancient Dreams, I desperately fail to see what is so clearly wrong with Chap­ter VI. First, the new vocalist is in no way inferior to Marcolin. Technically, he can hit all the right notes, he can growl and scream, and his overtones fit right in with the band's music. Sub­stantially, it's all just overblown metal theater, and it's not like either of them are expected to genuinely awaken your sleeping emotions and bring out your undercover instincts — but here, too, I will say that at least Vikström has a bit of that snarly rasp in his voice that brings him closer to «metal punk» Dio or Bruce Dickinson territory: at his best, he is less of a pompous operatic screamer than Marco­lin and more of a brutal warrior type, even though you'd probably expect the opposite, given his origins (apparently, he is the son of a real Swedish opera singer).
More importantly, Chapter VI is generally faster than all previous Candlemass albums. There is a bit more thrash and power metal vibe here than usual, which is one reason why it might not appeal to serious doom metal aficionados. ʽDying Illusionʼ, after a brief atmospheric intro, opens with the same flying punch as Sabbath's ʽNeon Knightsʼ (perhaps, given the arrival of a new lead singer, they also felt the need to switch from an Ozzy-like Master Of Reality vibe to a Dio-like Heaven And Hell vibe?), and is a pretty impressive song on the whole, with numerous time and tempo changes, going from speed metal madness to funeral march and back in a surprisingly smooth and credible manner. It definitely does not sound like an Epicus-style track — but so much for the better, I'd say.
Elsewhere, there are quite a few decent riffs as well, such as the ones that open ʽEbony Throneʼ, ʽBlack Eyesʼ, and ʽEnd Of Painʼ — a bit more complex than usual, a bit less crazy about soun­ding like the Hand Of Doom closing in on you, more intent on simply sounding menacing and foreboding in a somewhat more abstract manner. Actually, I would say that it is the most tradi­tional Candlemass-style songs that suck the most on here, a particular nadir being ʽWhere The Runes Still Speakʼ — now that is one truly miserable ode to the magical mysteries of their mythical Teutonic past; nothing but a leaden guitar tone churning out the same repetitive slow chords over and over, and tons and tons of overblown mock-Wagnerian sentimentality. ʽTemple Of The Deadʼ, another lengthy epic, is at least marginally better due to a faster tempo and a more agile and complex riff; however, the overall rule of thumb here is that the shorter the song is, the more chances it has at being successful.
It's not as if I insist that the album deserves a thumbs up, but I think it will appeal to all those who really really really love their metal riffage, and I certainly disagree with all those who accuse Chapter VI of low energy or lack of inspiration (one could certainly accuse Candlemass in toto of a lack of inspiration — or, at least, originality — but not of low energy). Certainly not the worst chapter in their history, even if, at the time, so many people believed this, apparently, that the band had no choice but to break up soon afterwards.

DACTYLIS GLOMERATA (1998)
1) Wiz; 2) I Still See The Black; 3) Dustflow; 4) Cylinder; 5) Karthago; 6) Abstrakt Sun; 7) Apathy; 8) Lidocain God; 9) Molotov.
I have no idea why Edling would want to name an album after cock's-foot grass (last I heard, it did not have any Satanic associations, so maybe he just accidentally mixed it up with Cannabis sativa), but as long as a bit of refreshing change is introduced, he can call it anything he likes. In fact, the record was not even supposed to be issued in the name of Candlemass — the band had been inactive since 1994, leaving Edling busy with his new project, called Abstrakt Algebra and featuring a seriously different metal brand, one that combined doom and thrash influences with elements of heavy prog and even math-rock (before it was called math-rock). They'd already re­corded their second album when, suddenly, Edling decided to fire all of the band members except for the drummer, recruit new ones, call the revamped band Candlemass, and re-record most of the songs. Because commercial thinking and all that.
This all sounds like a recipe for disaster, but, strange enough, it isn't. Most everywhere you go, you will find a sharp decline in interest on the part of the fans, for obvious reasons. There's a new lead singer (Björn Flodkvist), there's a fully paid keyboard player (Carl Westholm), and the guitar work on the album is handled by none other than Michael Amott, of Carcass and Arch Enemy fame — a solid metal warrior in his own rights, but hardly a great match for the classic slow, dreary, stoned-out Candlemass vibe. (Not sure how well Candlemass and Arch Enemy fans see eye-to-eye, but I wouldn't be surprised to find the two groups largely non-intersecting and accu­sing each other of hyper-ridiculous drama and cheesiness). Anyway, for those interested in doub­ling, tripling, and quadrupling their stocks of Epicus Doomicus clones, none of these elements should look inviting, so people are perfectly within their rights to brand Dactylis Glomerata with a decisive «this is not Candlemass! this is sellout crap!» judgement and walk away.
I like quite a bit of it, though. The vibe on the opening track, ʽWizʼ, and many that follow it, is somewhat less Sabbath-ish, leaning more towards sludgy stoner metal (the kind that would enjoy a luxurious revival in the 21st century) and featuring, in my opinion, more memorable riffs on the whole than any of the «classic» Candlemass records. The new lead singer is as far away from the operatic pomp of Marcolin as possible — belonging rather to the grunge / nu-metal school of ragged-raspy warriors of the light; combined with awful music, it only helps to emphasize its awfulness (Nickelback, etc.), but combined with decent riffs, it is preferable to bullshit pathos. And the keyboard player — I was afraid that the album would be swamped in ugly synth tones, but the keyboard work here is actually cool! Instead of synthesizers, Westholm generally uses the organ, well heard in the mix but never drowning out the guitars; and sometimes, as in the quiet interludes on ʽI Still See The Blackʼ, he thinks up little music-box melodies with spooky over­tones, giving the whole thing a sort of Stephen King-like atmosphere. (The brief instrumental ʽCylinderʼ, made to sound as if it were really recorded on a wax cylinder, is an autonomous example of the same approach). And on ʽDustflowʼ, they even bring in an extra keyboardist to contribute a Theremin part for the intro.
All of these changes, in my mind, are very welcome, even if the final results do not sound like classic Candlemass at all. The average tempo of the record is «mid» rather than «slow», and some of the songs are tremendously tempestuous compared to how it used to be — ʽDustflowʼ, for in­stance, culminates in a sea of guitar overdubs, creating an angry psychedelic spectrum that is more Bardo Pond than Candlemass, with Michael Amott showing off his talents in a way that, for some reason, he could never allow himself in Arch Enemy. Another highlight is ʽAbstrakt Sunʼ, fluctuating from guitar-based walls-of-sound with a martial flair to slower, atmospheric passages where Westholm does shift to synthesizer, but uses it in a pensively Gothic manner, generating dark melancholy rather than plastic synth bliss favored by various average power metal teams. And it all ends with ʽMolotovʼ, a short instrumental based on a thunderous ʽFor Whom The Bell Tollsʼ-style riff adorned with minimalistic lead vibrato lightning bolts — brief and efficient.
Naturally, we're not talking about a masterpiece of music making, but we are talking about an album that has more diversity to it than anything previously issued under the name of Candle­mass, and also one as thoroughly purged of straightforward cheese elements as is technically possible on a heavy metal album (which means there's still plenty of cheese, but nothing as directly embarrassing as the mock-Teutonic bombast of ʽWhere The Runes Still Speakʼ). It's too bad this version of the band did not last, what with Amott going back to his duties with Arch Enemy and the fans' irritating, but predictable displeasure with the new twists — I think the new style had some future to it, if only they'd managed to find a proper fanbase in its time. Anyway, I do give the album a thumbs up in retrospect; hope that helps.
FROM THE 13TH SUN (1999)
1) Droid; 2) Tot; 3) Elephant Star; 4) Blumma Apt; 5) ARX/NG 891; 6) Zog; 7) Galatea; 8) Cyclo-F; 9) Mythos.
«This album is dedicated to the greatest band of all time — Black Sabbath». YOU DON'T SAY! And here I was honestly expecting Candlemass, after all these years of undercover worship, to pay tribute to their one true favorite act — Tiny Tim. Goodbye, nurtured expectations, hello, crushingly disappointing surprise. Who would have guessed?..
Seriously, though, From The 13th Sun is indeed a record that is more than just directly influen­ced by Black Sabbath — it is a straightforward attempt to make a new Black Sabbath album, be­fore the recently gathered imposter band that included such wannabe Sabbath members as Tony Iommi, Ozzy Osbourne, Geezer Butler, and Bill Ward and had the gall to release a live record called Reunion, would have a chance to put out their own product under the sacred name of Black Sabbath. (Fortunately, this cowardly and sacrilegious act would not take place until 2013, giving Candlemass ample time to savor the fruit of their own labors).
With Michael Amott out of the band, replaced by a largely unknown guitarist by the name of Mats Ståhl, the remaining line­up of Dactylis Glomerata get to business like there was no tomor­row. Trying to write riffs like Iommi's, trying (not always, but often) to sing like Ozzy, trying to fully mimick the guitar and bass tones of the classic Sabbath, trying to go for the same loud vs. quiet dynamics — probably the only thing that is stylistically divergent from classic Sabbath is the heavy (but not obnoxious) presence of synthesizers, and even that is not altogether a problem, since Sabbath used keyboards as an essential part of the sound at least since 1973.
Direct references to Sabbath moments can be spotted on almost every track. ʽTotʼ, for instance, begins with the same rain, thunder, and church bells that we know from ʽBlack Sabbathʼ, and has the same alternation of quiet, ominous, tritone-dependent parts and loud, heavy, devilish resolu­tions with evil-grinning guitar trills (also punctuated by the bell toll). ʽElephant Starʼ chugs along at a beastly pace, alternating choppy riffage with power chords the same way as you have it on ʽSymptom Of The Universeʼ. ʽBlumma Aptʼ is a crude variation on ʽElectric Funeralʼ, and the first part of ʽCyc­lo-Fʼ is close to the sound of quietly sarcastic blues workouts on the second side of Black Sabbath, like ʽWarningʼ. Or maybe ʽHand Of Doomʼ. There's even a brief drum solo somewhere in there, like ʽRat Saladʼ. Basically, you get the picture.
The most astonishing thing about it all is that somehow, it works — not always, but this is the first time ever when I feel that Edling and his people have really managed to tap into something a bit deeper than their usual theatrical cornball stuff. In fact, I actually enjoy this record quite a bit more than Sabbath's 13, and that is saying something. The key track for me is the next to last one, ʽCyclo-Fʼ, where Flodkvist really gets into the sneery early Ozzy vibe, and then the last four mi­nutes are given over to a slow, almost acid jam with ghostly feedback howls flying back and forth over the slow-trudging dragon monster riff — and then there's a cool, genuinely Sabbath-y moment when the dragon monster eats up all the feedback and emerges loud, fattened up, trium­phant, all-encompassing. This is the moment where I have to admit that these guys really get it.
But even apart from that, the overall vibe of the album is successful. Utterly and unashamedly derivative — and, in a way, far more honest than all those «classic» Candlemass albums that pretended to do their own thing while still trapped in the shadow of their superiors. Apparently, all that Edling had to do was abandon his attempts to convince us that he had been doing his own thing, and admit that he had always simply wanted to do exactly the same thing as Tony Iommi. And then there will be ʽElephant Starʼ, which rocks with almost the same power as ʽSymptom Of The Universeʼ, and there will be ʽGalateaʼ, which has some of the most evil guitar tones ever used by mortal man, and there will be ʽARX/NG 891ʼ, which infuses just a tiny bit of Hawkwind and their heavy sci-fi sound into classic Sabbath to good effect, and...
...okay, I do not want to create the impression that From The 13th Sun is some sort of metal masterpiece: its official status as that of an imitative tribute to somebody else objectively prevents it from being hailed as Candlemass' finest hour. But not from getting a thumbs up, because, after all, the main rating criterion is how much I enjoyed the experience, and this experience, honestly, was more fun to me than any previous Candlemass studio album. I think Tony and Ozzy should be proud of this one, even if they had no hand in making it... then again, who knows?