Melvins - 2013 - A Tribute to Venom

 

Amphetamine Reptile Records – Scale 143

The Melvins’ tribute to Venom works because nobody involved mistakes primitive music for simple music. “Warhead” and “In League with Satan” were never technically elaborate songs, but Venom’s power came from how rhythm, distortion, arrogance, and bad intentions were forced into one unstable object. The Melvins preserve that instability while making both tracks feel substantially heavier, slower, and more physically dangerous.
“Warhead” opens with the original song’s unmistakable martial riff, but Buzz Osborne gives every chord more mass. Venom’s 1984 version moved like a homemade armored vehicle bouncing down a damaged road, fast enough to feel threatening and crude enough to suggest that pieces might fly off. The Melvins version turns the same vehicle into a tank attempting to crawl through wet concrete.
Dale Crover’s drums are central to that transformation. He does not treat the song as a historical speed-metal exercise or imitate Abaddon’s loose attack. His playing gives the riff a broader, harder impact, emphasizing the spaces between strikes and allowing each repetition to gather weight. “Warhead” becomes less a warning shouted from the horizon than the sound of the weapon already parked outside.
Scott Kelly is an inspired choice for vocals. His rough, commanding voice possesses none of Cronos’ gleeful theatrical sneer, but replacing that personality with Kelly’s exhausted severity reveals another possibility inside the song. The chorus no longer sounds like delinquent celebration. It sounds like an order issued by somebody who has watched the world repeatedly choose destruction.
“In League with Satan” is even more important because it contains so much of Venom’s legacy in miniature. The backward opening voice, filthy central riff, crude satanic declaration, and complete refusal of tasteful presentation provided an early blueprint for black metal before the genre had established its borders.
The Melvins do not polish that blueprint. They enlarge its ugliness. Buzz’s guitar and bass make the riff feel swollen and diseased, while Crover turns the rhythm into a slow ceremonial stomp. Kelly’s vocal removes the adolescent thrill from the lyric and replaces it with something older and grimmer. Being “in league with Satan” no longer resembles a shocking slogan painted on a school desk. It sounds like a contract whose terms have finally become visible.
The pairing also reveals the deep connection between Venom and the Melvins. Both bands understand that repetition becomes heavier when played past the point of politeness. Both use humor without weakening the force of the music. Both have survived partly because they never depended upon technical perfection or one approved genre identity.
Venom gave extreme metal permission to be dirty, loud, ridiculous, and completely convinced of itself. The Melvins took that permission into slower territory, discovering that one damaged riff could become an entire environment if the band remained inside it long enough.
The seven-inch format keeps the tribute properly blunt. Two songs, one splattered piece of vinyl, clown artwork, and no attempt to explain Venom’s historical importance through reverent packaging. The respect is audible in the refusal to make the songs respectable.
The Melvins do not restore Venom. They place the old machine under heavier pressure and listen as the bolts begin pulling through the metal.