Fast, angry, and proud to sound exactly the same.
By now, Kreator has wormed its way into my heart as one of my absolute favourites from this metal odyssey. And when you talk Kreator, the rest of the Teutonic Big Four kick the door in right behind them: Destruction, Sodom, and Tankard.
Destruction: 40 Years of Screaming and Line-up Mayhem
Destruction have been around since 1982, which means they’ve been shouting about Satan longer than I’ve been alive. That’s—weirdly comforting.
Across their 40+ year lifespan, they’ve cranked out 15 studio albums, most of them self-produced, and their line-up history is a soap opera of thrash drama. Guitarist and founding member Mike Sifringer stuck around until 2021 (nearly four decades of riffs is nothing to sneeze at), but eventually left and was replaced by Martin Furia.
Frontman and bassist Marcel "Schmier" Schirmer is a force of nature. He handled vocals and bass from the beginning, got booted in 1989 mid-album (Cracked Brain), disappeared for a bit, then came back swinging in 1999 like a man possessed. And honestly? The band hasn’t looked back since.
In Schmier’s absence, Sifringer released some groove metal under "Neo-Destruction," which the band now politely pretends never happened. Honestly, same.
Musically? Just Faster. Louder. Meaner.
Destruction formed with a very clear mission: take NWOBHM and make it more extreme. Inspired by Exciter, Angel Witch, Venom, Iron Maiden and co., they wanted speed, chaos, and volume.
And for the most part, they’ve stuck to that blueprint. No frills. No weird genre detours (aside from the briefly exiled groove years). Just pure, unapologetic thrash—aggressive, relentless, and the musical equivalent of a brick to the teeth.
The Antichrist (2001): Neck-Breaking Intensity
My first real dive into Destruction was their 2001 release The Antichrist—and oh boy, what an introduction.
It opens with Days of Confusion, a short, ominous spoken-word piece that lasts just long enough to make you uneasy—then 49 seconds in, Thrash till Death hits and suddenly you’re in a blender.
The riff? Frantic. The drums? Raging. Schmier? Sounds like he’s about to bite the mic in half. It’s everything thrash is supposed to be: fast, pissed off, and just unhinged enough to make you check your pulse.
And it doesn’t let up. The whole album is a barrage—speed, riffs, double bass, breakdowns, gang shouts. It’s chaos, but tightly controlled. A sonic battering ram.
No Variety, No Problem
Look—The Antichrist doesn’t reinvent the genre. It doesn’t want to. Every track sounds vaguely like the one before it, and that’s kind of the point.
This is thrash stripped down to its bones. It’s meant to be played loud, fast, and in your face.
If you’re looking for subtlety, you took a wrong turn.
Thrash till Death is the clear standout—fast, filthy, and aggressive in all the right ways. The rest of the album doesn’t stray far from that blueprint. No real variety. Just riff after riff, blast after blast, until you’re left blinking in silence wondering what just hit you.
It’s not something I’ll replay often. But if you ever need a straight-up, no-frills thrash fix? The Antichrist delivers.