Otep

By now we can all agree on this much: nu-metal was responsible for an unthinkable amount of garbage. But if there's one band extreme music fans should thank Fred Durst and his goateed cronies for, it's Los Angeles' OTEP. Counting metal's most imposing frontwoman (not in Arch Enemy) among its ranks, and pretty much ignoring drop-D sportsmetal conventions, the quartet crafted a pair of meaty releases (and one lean EP) that derived "grooves" from Cali stoner metal thickness, as opposed to the hip-hop its peers so clumsily approximated. On album three, as with past releases, what keeps OTEP in "nu-" territory are their guitars, which hang out somewhere between those of scene grampas Coal Chamber and Fear Factory and never miss a chance to make use of detuned flat-fingered riffs. Hardly groundbreaking.

But what keeps the record fresh is frontwoman Otep Shamaya's dynamic vocals, thrashing from full-bore scream to whisper in less than seconds. To wit, The Ascension begins with a gnarled lullaby, "Eet the Children"—Shamaya coos, "hush little baby, don't make a move, this is gonna hurt me more than you," but moments later the sky is falling and we're off to the races with snare rolls and palm-muted chug. Elsewhere, the alloy intro of "Crooked Spoons" launches with a demented, breathy tut, only to shift into full-volume blood curdle as soon as the guitars come crashing in. It's a tactic the band returns to repeatedly on The Ascension, but it works, making for one of nu-metal's most rewarding offerings of the year.

—Robbie Mackey
11.26.07