Album Review: Hangfire - Burn
Reviewed by Eric Clifford
Faster than a bullet! - Terrifying Scream! - Enraged and full of anger, he’s half man and half machine!
I wouldn’t consider “Painkiller” to be the best Judas Priest release but it is the one that is most emblematic of metal as a whole, the one to which I would point to if asked to define what the genre is. It sits at the head of the table within a league of other similarly outstanding metallic blessings, luminescent paragons of the genre like Powerslave by Iron Maiden or Abigail by King Diamond - true icons, the impact of which stretches beyond their ample worth as musical statements to their value as avatars of metal itself. I’m happy to bandy back and forth in debates about what the best metal albums of all time are in a subjective field with space for all of us, but my initial premise is of something different – it’s about representing the very soul of the genre. It’s broader than a basic assessment of an album’s quality and it goes into that ineffable something that makes an album speak to people in a way that other albums don’t. Whatever that numinous spirit may be, spoken once more it has, this time to a quartet of intergenerational Washingtonians going by the nom de guerre Hangfire.
They waste no time, tearing into “Hunger” with atomic aplomb; the gentle lure of an acoustic introduction slams breakneck into a gold-standard classic metal riff accompanied by vocalist Jenea Fiore (henceforth to be referred to as “Roberta Halford”) howling like a werewolf taking a nipple twister; the drums crash in a moment later, the kick registering on the Richter scale with city-threatening force. I didn’t need much more than that to realise that Hangfire understood the assignment; their mission statement, so far as the promo sheet makes clear, was to create a band with a “Classic Sound” – and while they’ve certainly accomplished that, the band’s influences aren’t always as stridently retro as might be assumed; sure, the Saxon-on-speed strains of “Warhawk” speak to an indelible love for the greats of the 80’s, but other tracks (the title track for one) wield an arsenal of more contemporary weaponry, with it’s mirthless groove, syncopated palm mutes and tight, technical verse riffs. At times the album seems hell-bent, not just for leather, but also to show it’s versatility – vacillating towards speed metal (“Headspin”) on the one hand to sultry balladry (“Cold”) on the other; but regardless of the merits of the rest of the tracklist – ample though they may be – the song that really lit a fire under my ass was “The Hunter”. It’s a superlative piece of golden-age thrash worship that would sit with queenly bearing alongside the cream of 80’s Testament output, and while the dabblings with myriad subgenres don’t always do the most for the album’s cohesion, when so many of them are nailed so convincingly it’s difficult to complain all that bitterly about it.
Where the album impresses broadly, some selections from it are a tad less triumphant – “SOS” and it’s harmonic-laden groove riffs played like a cut track from one of Machine Head’s less inspired offerings, very basic, like the beginnings of good riffs without any of the necessary development to lift them from a stock standard rehash of riffs without number from the 90’s. Also, the reliance on acoustic introductions does grate after a time. It’s a fine technique used sparingly, but when over half the songs on the album lead in with it, the intended juxtaposition between a softer start to highlight the ensuing heaviness gets blunted somewhat. The bass is audible, though I’d have much preferred more prominence to it. I need a bass capable of hurling a man through a wall, a bass that feels like it could dropkick a kidney loose, especially considering that promotional photography of the band indicates that they have Gandalf playing it. Heavy metal should sound audacious, and a big part of that is a bass tone that sounds as though it could tell Saruman to get fucked.
When their bassist isn’t shepherding hobbits through Moria, perhaps he has time to reflect on the grotesquely unjust dismissal with which the rhythm section of bands throughout time has often been burdened. But even bearing in mind how unfair it is that drums and bass are often sidelined in terms of their importance, it’s hard to argue that the stars of the show here aren’t Jenea and Sean on vocals and guitar. Jenea is a powerhouse of a vocalist, who does stick mostly to the midrange but within it is able to absolutely belt out her lines, demolishing everything from the most irascible of choruses to more delicate crooning whenever the album decides a softer side is in order. Sean meanwhile solos as if his wife told him she wanted some good licks tonight and he misunderstood what she meant. The man can shred with panache and fervour, and armed with a trusty but much-abused wah pedal he cannons through solos that straddle that thin yet enticing line betwixt melody and amorphous fretboard fondling as though born for naught else. When everything coalesces – which it does very frequently – “Burn” is an incendiary experience, a two-fisted “fuck yeah” of a debut hurtling through your speakers on a surfboard wrapped in faded Accept patches and ticket stubs.
Passion for your material is endearing in even the worst musical misadventures. I’ve heard plenty of bedroom black metal projects that were, if I’m honest, a bit shit. But if the joy was there, the genuine enthusiasm and zeal to play, then it elevated the music far beyond a dry technical assessment of it’s shortcomings. I hear that passion in Hangfire. It drips from each tendon-threatening solo, each scream, each game attempt to beat a snare drum to death. It winds around the album, granting even it’s missteps a loveable sheen. We’re not into classic territory yet BUT I do think Hangfire have it in them to release some deified rendition of utter badassery down the line, the type of shit that would have you throwing horns up on your feet as well. So then, does “Burn” come recommended? 100% with fireworks. There is excellent chrome-plated classic metal here with enough modern-day affectations to effortlessly roundhouse kick any accusations of throwback redundancy out the window. Metal in 2025 is in a supremely healthy place, with each and every subsection of it firing out a litany of magnificent releases. On the strength of “Burn” – hell, on the strength of “The Hunter” alone – it’s good to be able to promulgate the ascension of yet more mighty defenders of the faith.
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