Fictional Album Art

[Azas]

POLITICAL ANALYSIS​

"Renaissance at the Edge of Ruin" and the Implosion of Comfortable Myths
By Dr. Eero Talvik, Baltic Institute for Strategic Resonance (BISR)
Published: March 2025

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Abstract:​

The third studio album by Letovian heavy metal group Ivory Tower should not be read merely as an artistic statement. It is a sonic doctrine — a declaration of ideological war against moral inertia, elite pacifism, and the postmodern detachment that has characterized much of Western Europe’s political attitude toward rising authoritarian aggression. The album's subsequent tour, "When Knowing Is Not Enough," did not just provoke critical discourse — it provoked a knife.

This report explores the album’s philosophical framework, its geopolitical provocations, and the stabbing of guitarist Jonas Vėdrynas in a dimly lit alley behind a cultural center in the fictional but disturbingly plausible Western European city of Alt-Heidelburg — an incident that, as we shall see, was not without ideological context.

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I. Context:​

Letovia is a fictional Baltic state. But only technically. Culturally and historically, it is Lithuania with the brakes cut. A country with deep wounds, older neighbors with longer knives, and a population raised on history books, border anxiety, and questionable sausage.

The members of Ivory Tower — Matas, Jonas, Pranas and Vytas — emerged from this context not as musicians per se, but as messengers. Their medium just happened to be a hybrid of thrash metal, baroque lamentation, and geopolitical screaming.

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II. Album as Political Thesis​

“Renaissance at the Edge of Ruin” is what happens when a civilization’s children stop trusting their inheritance. The lyrics, structure, and instrumentation form a cohesive worldview:

• Track titles like “Luxury of Ignorance” and “Arrogance of the Enlightened” are not accidental. They are indictments of Western institutions whose ideals have fossilized into rituals of inaction.
• “Empire in Amber” metaphorically positions the European project as a once-beautiful insect trapped in the fossilized sap of its own bureaucracy.
• “Towers Die First” is less about architecture, more about elites whose walls cannot hold back tanks or truth.

The band argued — relentlessly, and with 7-string guitars — that peace without power is privilege, and diplomacy without steel is merely delay.

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III. Tour as Geopolitical Trigger​

Their 2025 European tour was not your typical musical affair. In Berlin, they handed out copies of Clausewitz and The Road to Serfdom alongside lyric sheets. In Amsterdam, they invited Ukrainian refugees onstage to scream the chorus of “Blind to the Pyre.” In Paris, they opened their set with audio recordings of EU debates played over blast beats.

Naturally, not everyone clapped.

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IV. The Alt-Heidelburg Incident​

On February 17, 2025, following a sold-out performance in the industrially regretful city of Alt-Heidelburg, guitarist Jonas Vėdrynas (surname literally means 'buttercup') was stabbed outside a venue known for its vegan beer and ideological confusion.

The assailant, a 22-year-old art school dropout affiliated with the radical left collective “Hands of Mutual Disarmament,” claimed the band was “inciting violence through anti-pacifist propaganda.”

In his own words, recorded during arrest:

“They make force sound noble. They make strength sound like ethics. That’s dangerous.”

Which, ironically, was almost verbatim the message of Track 11: “Arrogance of the Enlightened.”

Jonas survived. The knife did not.

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V. Political Fallout​

The stabbing triggered a diplomatic kerfuffle. Letovia demanded an apology. Alt-Heidelburg’s mayor offered a bouquet and a statement about “the importance of plurality.” EU spokespeople mumbled. French intellectuals debated whether the band constituted “soft fascism in drop D.”

The band responded by canceling the remaining tour dates and releasing a statement that read, in full:

“We’ve been warning you since album one. Your silence has a body count.”

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VI. Strategic Analysis​

Ivory Tower’s third album did what think tanks have failed to do for two decades:
It made the hypocrisy of Western strategic culture emotionally unbearable. Their music argues that decay does not ask permission, and virtue without vigilance is vanity.

In an age where far-right movements storm parliaments while far-left ones burn flags and libraries, Ivory Tower refuses the false binary. They identify tyranny wherever it flowers — in uniforms, in utopias, or in the smug smile of a statesman sipping gas-funded champagne.

They also, incidentally, rock.

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VII. Conclusion​

The stabbing of a guitarist should not be a political moment. But here we are. Renaissance at the Edge of Ruin was not simply an album. It was a warning — the sound of four Baltic men standing at the cultural gates of Europe, ringing the bells, and yelling:

“Get off the couch. The barbarians are already inside. And they’re holding workshops.”

****

UNITED NATIONS GENERAL ASSEMBLY – EMERGENCY CULTURAL SESSION​

Transcript Excerpt: March 12, 2025 – UN Headquarters, New York
Topic: Global Response to the Escalation of Musical Militancy and Ideological Disruption Caused by the Baltic Heavy Metal Band “Ivory Tower”
Session Code: UNGA/CULT/2555(b)/IVT

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Chairperson (Norway):
The floor recognizes the delegate from Letovia.

Letovia (Ambassador Dainius Strukis):
Thank you, Madam Chair. To be clear, we did not come here to apologize for our loud sons. We came to remind the assembly that while your cultural commissions were busy funding interpretive dance about late-stage capitalism’s feelings, our band was warning you — through amplified poetry and righteous guitar solos — that the bear at your door was not there for hugs.

Germany:
With all due respect to our Baltic colleagues, the stabbing of a guitarist cannot be blamed on a system. It was the act of an unwell individual with access to a butter knife and too many Derrida lectures.

France:
If I may — and I always may — the real issue here is tone. The band Ivory Tower seems to suggest, rather provocatively, that pacifism is cowardice in disguise. We in France prefer resistance to be symbolic, ideally accompanied by red wine and no consequences.

United Kingdom (looking mildly hungover):
We actually quite liked the record. "Empire in Amber"? Cracking stuff. Hits a bit close to home, what with the… [glances at Northern Ireland delegate, clears throat]... historical inconveniences. But surely no one actually takes heavy metal seriously anymore?

Ukraine:
We take it seriously. We played “Blind to the Pyre” on loop during a drone strike. Morale was never higher. Please send more albums. And more drones.

Russia (with passive-aggressive smile):
It is clear that this so-called “band” is a NATO-backed disinformation operation using music as a psychological weapon. We are preparing a rebuttal album titled “Harmony Through Spheres of Influence.” It will feature traditional balalaika and forced optimism.

Estonia:
Letovia is right. Russia sells gas. Europe buys it. Ukraine burns. Repeat chorus. The West fiddles while the East tunes their guitars.

Sweden:
We abstain. But we’ve added "Renaissance at the Edge of Ruin" to our national curriculum on “Culture and the Crisis of Courage.”

Spain:
Are we certain this wasn’t just performance art? The stabbing, the lyrics, the allegations of Merkel’s disappearance? It all sounds like something Pedro Almodóvar might direct.

United States (via video link, 14 minutes late):
Hey folks, sorry — had to deal with a Montana county trying to secede over wind turbine conspiracies. Anyway, about the album: We believe in freedom of speech and the right to shred. The band's critique of European appeasement mirrors what half of our think tanks have been yelling into voids for a decade. The other half is still trying to define “imperialism.” Carry on.

Canada:
We’d just like to apologize to everyone involved. Even the attacker. It’s what we do.

Iran:
This entire debate is evidence of Western decadence. You summon the world to argue over a band? We don’t even allow… [mic cuts out mysteriously]

Chairperson (Norway):
Please refrain from using the phrase “we don’t allow” in this chamber. This is the UN, not Tinder for tyrants.

Letovia:
Our position stands. Ivory Tower screamed truths that diplomats whispered only after retreats, resignations, or reality made them inevitable. If peace means cowardice, we’ll take noise and resistance. You should too.

Chairperson:
Very well. The resolution has been submitted:

A/RES/2025/IVT
“On Recognizing the Validity of Artistic Alarm Bells in Times of Democratic Decay.”

It passed with 93 in favor, 56 against, 31 abstaining, and one delegate caught asleep wearing headphones labeled “Gilded Dust.”

Session adjourned. God help us all.

***

CONFIDENTIAL — EU COMMISSION INTERNAL MEMO​

From: Directorate-General for Cultural Affairs and Strategic Communications (DG-CASC)
To: European Commission Executive Board
Subject: The “Ivory Tower” Situation — Cultural Disruption and Political Implications
Date: February 25, 2025
Classification: Highly Sensitive (Please do not share with anyone outside the Brussels bubble)

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Summary:
Following the release of Ivory Tower’s latest album, Renaissance at the Edge of Ruin, and the unfortunate stabbing incident involving guitarist Jonas Vėdrynas in Alt-Heidelburg, several Member States have expressed concerns about potential destabilizing effects on the cultural cohesion and image of the European project.

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Key Points:

1. Background:
   Ivory Tower, a band originating from the Baltic member state of Letovia (see attached geopolitically sensitive footnote), has increasingly positioned itself as a loud and inconvenient reminder of Eastern Europe's “historical sensitivities.” Their music blends heavy metal with political critique aimed squarely at European elites, particularly targeting perceived naiveté and appeasement policies regarding Russia.
2. Political Ramifications:
   The stabbing incident has galvanized sympathy for the band in Letovia and beyond, complicating the Commission’s carefully curated narrative of “Europe as a harmonious, pluralistic, and tolerant cultural union.” Member States in the Baltics and Eastern Europe view the band as freedom fighters with electric guitars, whereas Western counterparts largely view them as… noisy troublemakers.
3. Public Perception:
   Social media sentiment analysis indicates a spike in anti-elite rhetoric coinciding with the album release and stabbing incident. Hashtags such as #IvoryTowerTruths and #EuropeWakeUp are trending in certain online circles, mostly those with suspiciously low numbers of verified users and high degrees of geopolitical unrest.
4. Merkel’s Disappearance:
   Coincidence or conspiracy, the former Chancellor Merkel’s sudden retreat from public life happened around the same time the band’s activism ramped up. No causal connection has been established, but the timing fuels speculation among conspiracy theorists and certain political operatives.

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Recommended Actions:

• Damage Control:
  Commission cultural programs should temporarily increase funding for “peace and unity” themed classical music festivals and digital art projects emphasizing European solidarity, preferably with no aggressive guitars involved.
• Engagement Strategy:
  Initiate discreet dialogue with Letovian cultural authorities to encourage a “softer” public posture from Ivory Tower. Possibly offer band members EU cultural ambassador roles — but only if they tone down the geopolitical screaming.
• Counter-Disinformation:
  Commission media units should prepare to counter narratives that portray Europe as weak or complicit in Russian aggression. Messaging should emphasize “constructive engagement,” “economic interdependence,” and “diversity of viewpoints” while quietly sidelining inconvenient voices.
• Security Advisory:
  Heighten awareness for potential extremist activity, both far-left and far-right, especially in cultural venues. Coordinate with local law enforcement in Alt-Heidelburg and other hotspot cities.

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Conclusion:
The Ivory Tower phenomenon underscores an uncomfortable truth: art and politics are still messy, unpredictable business. While the Commission’s preferred narrative emphasizes a calm, united Europe, reality is that voices from the edges—particularly those with loud guitars and sharper knives—are not so easily silenced. How we manage this dissonance will shape Europe’s cultural landscape for years to come.

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Footnote:
Letovia is a fictional Baltic state used here as a geopolitical cipher. Any resemblance to actual countries, living or dead, is purely intentional and mildly inconvenient.

***
This is political satire.

 

[Azas]

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IVORY TOWER – Appeasement Tactics (June 2026)
Reviewed by August Dirksen for Hammer of Harmony Magazine

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Let’s start with the basics: Ivory Tower are from Letovia, a country that exists somewhere between Kafka’s coat pocket and NATO’s guilt complex. Their previous albums thrashed against the machinery of European inertia, Western softness, and strategic ambiguity, all delivered with blast beats, baroque fury, and lyrics that read like declassified intelligence briefings.

So when their fourth album arrives titled "Appeasement Tactics," you’d be forgiven for assuming we’re in for another 45-minute flamethrower session about Brussels, Berlin, and betrayal.

But dear reader… surprise. Enormous surprise.

This album is about love.

Not in the sappy ballad sense, but in the “we fight, we sleep back-to-back, and we might actually make it” kind of love. The kind where diplomacy is real, and so is the war. It’s about man and woman, or woman and woman, depending on your orientation — the band is aggressive, not conservative.

But don’t mistake tenderness for weakness. Musically, Appeasement Tactics is a monster. It hits like a freight train but lands like a string quartet—warm, full-bodied, and gloriously harmonized. Think Powerslave's grandeur, Rust in Peace's surgical precision, ...And Justice for All's complexity (but with actual bass), and Seasons in the Abyss's sinister beauty. Yes. That good.

The riffs? Plentiful. The solos? Soaring. The harmonized guitar parts? So many you’ll weep into your denim vest.

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Track-by-Track Disarmament:​

1. "Ceasefire (But She’s Still Mad)" – 4:47
Drop D chugging with twin harmonized leads straight out of the Adrian Smith/Dave Murray handbook. Riff is a full-frontal assault, but then—bam!—a melodic bridge in E Phrygian that gives you just enough hope before launching back into the chorus like a slammed door.


2. "Diplomatic Immunity Doesn’t Work at Home" – 6:02
Begins mid-tempo, almost like a negotiation. But by minute three, the drums start galloping and it turns into a speed-thrash standoff. Uses chromatic climbs and pentatonic pull-offs to depict folding towels in defeat. The solo? Think Marty Friedman trapped in a relationship talk.


3. "Pillow Fortress Doctrine" – 4:21
An all-out banger. A tight, fast cruncher in E minor. No ballads here, just pick slides, machine-gun palm mutes, and a two-guitar duel in thirds that would make Andy LaRocque grin. Ends with a breakdown so tight it could hold a marriage together.


4. "Hearts, Minds, and Passive Aggression" – 5:53
The intro is soft—almost whispered vocals over minor arpeggios. But soon we’re in Metal Church territory: double-bass barrages, 9/8 time shifts, and a chorus in A minor that sounds like someone losing an argument with honor. Massive pre-chorus harmony. Dio would be proud.


5. "No-Fly Zone (Unless It's Your Mother)" – 7:09
Five-part suite. E Dorian mode dominates. One section is pure Steve Harris-style galloping bass—yes, the bass is loud and beautiful. Pranas “The Boss” Blinda makes his case as a top-tier player. The fourth section is a clean guitar interlude, almost folky, then back into a barrage of dive bombs and pinch harmonics like fireworks during a passive-aggressive brunch.


6. "Strategic Retreat (Into the Couch)" – 3:28
Short, punchy, no filler. The kind of thrash track you want to play while fleeing an argument with a blanket and TV remote. Fast palm-muted E string, dive bombs, Slayer-esque breaks, and the best backing vocals this side of Ride the Lightning.


7. "NATO (No Agreement, Totally Over)" – 4:50
Time signature chaos. Feels like trying to pick a restaurant via committee. The chorus is a masterpiece: heavy open chords, dueling leads in harmony, and the sort of halftime breakdown that could end a marriage or save it.


8. "Appeasement Tactics" – 7:22
The manifesto. Vocals channel a cocktail of Bruce Dickinson’s heroic force, Ronnie James Dio’s mystic clarity, Eric Adams’ operatic bravado, and just a pinch of Hetfield’s bite. The harmonies are massive — think Iron Maiden if they'd grown up during civil unrest and tuned to heartbreak instead of galloping horses. The middle section is a throwback to Powerslave’s sepulchral grandeur: E Phrygian leads echo over tom-heavy dirges, then explode back into synchronized tremolo runs like a regret delivered in surround sound. It’s six riffs, three key changes, and zero apologies.


9. "Lovers on the Beach During Limited Nuclear Exchange" – 13:46
This is it. The magnum opus. Nearly 14 minutes of guitars weaving, dueling, and caressing. The first 4 minutes? All harmonized glory. Then: tremolo-picked technical tornadoes. A classical acoustic interlude (Phrygian Dominant, if you must know) in the middle gives way to the most soaring lead they’ve ever written—three guitars in layered counterpoint, followed by a whispered confession: “I never meant to say that in 2019.” You’ll cry. You’ll headbang. You’ll propose to someone.

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A Few Final Missiles:

• This is not a political album, but it remains a revolutionary one.
• The guitars? Absolutely soaked in harmonized twin leads. Think Thin Lizzy, Iron Maiden and Judas Priest if they grew up under martial law.
• The bass is not only audible, it’s epic. Steve Harris levels of fingered ferocity.
• Drumming is thunderous, precise, and constantly shifting like your partner’s mood at IKEA.
• Matas has finally been unchained. The man can sing. Heroic range, zero posturing. A warlord in love. In some songs he sings like a man who’s both leading a cavalry charge and asking if you’re still mad about last Tuesday.

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Verdict:

“Appeasement Tactics” is a perfect storm of muscle and melody, war and warmth. It thrashes hard, loves harder, and harmonizes like the gates of Valhalla just opened for couples therapy. It might be about love, but it’s still Ivory Tower — heavy as a tank and twice as clever.

At a time when most bands are still stuck writing about dragons or their latest gym workout, Ivory Tower wrote an album about what it’s really like to cohabitate during late-stage capitalism — and they did a good chunk of it in drop D, just to make sure you feel it in your ribcage.

This isn’t just music — it’s emotional espionage wrapped in fretboard diplomacy.
You’ll headbang. You’ll overthink. You’ll say “same” aloud during track six and then quietly reflect on your life choices.
Somewhere between the third harmony and the seventh accusation, you realize this album understands you better than your therapist ever will.

Ivory Tower is back, baby. This time they’re not furious with Europe.
They’re in love — with their girls, and with the eternal art of screaming about it in key.
Oh, and yes — the guitar harmonies? They will ruin you in the best way.

Goosebumps. Tears. Horns up.

********************************************

Review: Appeasement Tactics – When the Watchmen Start Cuddling
By Domas Grinčaitis for Letovian Metal Digest (LMD), July 2026

First, let me be clear: the album sounds amazing. Like an armored train crashing through a cathedral made of Marshall stacks. The guitar harmonies shimmer like NATO reports no one reads. The bass is finally audible — rich, articulate, heroic — like a Letovian grandfather telling you how many Soviet tanks he once flipped with a screwdriver and willpower.

But let me also be clear: Appeasement Tactics is a betrayal. A betrayal not just of Europe, but of rage itself.

This was the band that once screamed at Brussels like it was a corrupted stepfather. That once played riffs so sharp they could cut through peace treaties. And now? Now they write songs about folding towels and being emotionally available. It’s impressive, yes. It’s even moving. But listen — we didn’t storm the art academies and re-legalize distortion pedals in '94 just to hear our metal heroes discuss conflict resolution and deep breathing.

This album is about love. They say that proudly. As if love were not the most imperialist emotion of them all. As if love hasn’t been used to justify entire wars — or worse, marriage.

I listened to “Lovers on the Beach During Limited Nuclear Exchange” while staring at the broken NATO defense plans on my wall. I wept. But not for the romance. I wept because these were the same men who once rhymed “soft power” with “mass graves,” and now they harmonize over feelings.

Matas’s voice now soars like Dio’s ghost trying to apologize for World War I. And I hate how much I love it. I hate how “Hearts, Minds, and Passive Aggression” made me call my ex to apologize. I hate that this is still a top-five metal album of the decade.

But I wanted rage. I wanted satire. I wanted a sonic Molotov cocktail hurled through the stained-glass window of European diplomacy. What I got was empathy in E minor.

Ivory Tower used to be the last honest metal band in a Europe held together by PowerPoint presentations and gas discounts. Now they’re just… brilliant. And it hurts.

In conclusion:
10/10 musically.
0/10 for waking the sleeping West.
They used to warn us. Now they woo us.
And maybe that’s more dangerous than silence.

******************************************************

[Thread: IVORY TOWER – “Appeasement Tactics” (2026) – What the Hell Happened?]
MetalUnionForum.net → Section: Global Thrash Surveillance

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BrutalistDream_77
Posted 14:03 CET
What the actual hell is this album? “Appeasement Tactics”? Seriously? This band used to shred the bones of European hypocrisy and salt the soil. Now they're doing concept albums about their girlfriends? What’s next, Ballads for Brussels? I didn’t fight through Clausewitz and the Road to Serfdom for this.

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LordVonDoom69
Posted 14:07 CET
They just released their Black Album. I said it. Glossy, tight, emotionally vulnerable. It’s like they walked into a UN couples therapy session and plugged into Mesa Boogies. R.I.P. political fury.

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CrisisCoreFan420
Posted 14:12 CET
Haven’t heard it yet, but I'm still disgusted. You don’t need to eat the meat to know the cow died screaming.

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RustInTeeth
Posted 14:16 CET
Okay, listen. I hate the word “love.” I only use it when talking about vintage Ibanez pickups. But I’ve listened to this album three times now, and it’s pure thrash excellence. It's just about love. It still sounds like war.

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Tereza_MetalSkald
Posted 14:18 CET
They betrayed nothing. You people are just allergic to growth. “Pillow Fortress Doctrine” has more riffage than five German defense ministers combined. And “Hearts, Minds, and Passive Aggression”? Those harmonized leads? That's not romance. That's artillery foreplay.

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CrisisCoreFan420
Posted 14:20 CET
Wait… artillery foreplay?

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VasilisThrash
Posted 14:23 CET
You want betrayal? Try betraying your expectations in 7/8 time. That’s what “NATO (No Agreement, Totally Over)” does. I had to stop the track and scream. Felt like Megadeth's Rust in Peace collided with a divorce court transcript.

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RustInTeeth
Posted 14:27 CET
That middle section in “Appeasement Tactics” (title track)? Sounds like Powerslave weeping softly into its sword. The harmony there made my eyeballs moist. My eyeballs, gentlemen.

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BASSGOD_KNUTZ
Posted 14:30 CET
Can we talk about the bass though? I can finally hear it. And it’s not just there — it’s guiding. It's like Steve Harris walked out of a fog, holding a Letovian passport and slapping his way through diplomacy.

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MaidenTillMorgue
Posted 14:32 CET
The scales are pure 80s worship. Track 1 is all drop D madness. “No-Fly Zone (Unless It’s Your Mother)” switches into an Egyptian-sounding E Phrygian thing around the second movement. My jaw hit the floor around “Why Didn’t You Warn Me?”

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Tereza_MetalSkald
Posted 14:35 CET
I’ve cried through half the album. Not because of the lyrics — those are just battlefield reports in couple’s therapy — but because the guitar harmonies are emotionally irresponsible. “Lovers on the Beach During Limited Nuclear Exchange” made me forget I was mortal.

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BrutalistDream_77
Posted 14:37 CET
Okay, I’m relistening. That solo in “Ceasefire (But She’s Still Mad)” walks in like Dio with a map of your weak points. I don’t even care anymore. This is And Justice For All with actual human feelings. This is Rust in Peace after it fell in love with its enemy. This is a monster.

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KalashnikovsAndKeyboards
Posted 14:40 CET
“Strategic Retreat (Into the Couch)” might be under 4 minutes but it’s the hardest I’ve banged my head since 2011. It’s like Anthrax wrote a song about domestic compromise. Beautiful.

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MaidenTillMorgue
Posted 14:44 CET
You know that harmonized section in The Duellists — the one everyone likes but no one includes in their top five? Yeah, imagine that, but longer, meaner, and emotionally radioactive. “Lovers on the Beach During Limited Nuclear Exchange” doesn’t just have harmonies — it lives in them. Harmonies so tight, they violate international space law. Multiple sections, layered like fallout clouds, building into these melodic walls that make you feel like history’s ending in E minor. And the tremolo-picked apocalypse under those steel drums? Chef’s kiss of doom. Honestly, it’s like the band hollowed out your chest and replaced it with twin guitars tuned to your regret.

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Tereza_MetalSkald
Posted 14:46 CET
Let me say it again for those in the back: this album is a love letter to the 80s metal scene written in blood and eyeliner. You don’t have to believe in romance. Just believe in scales.

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CrisisCoreFan420
Posted 15:49 CET
OKAY I’M BACK. Courier just dropped off the CD. Just finished it. OH MY GOD. THIS IS THE BEST METAL ALBUM SINCE… MUSIC. I AM REBORN. I AM BASS. I AM DIVORCE. I AM THE EMOTIONAL COUCH AND THE STRATEGIC RETREAT. I WANT TO MARRY THIS ALBUM’S PARENTS.

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BrutalistDream_77
Posted 15:56 CET
Welcome home, soldier. Ivory Tower is back. They’re in love. And it’s nuclear.

******************************************************************************

Damn, the guys just released a masterpiece of an album. And it’s actually friendly toward Europe. Can you believe it?

 

[Azas]

Interview: Ivory Tower and the Harmony Offensive
Conducted by Elze Rimša for RockSpiral Monthly, July 2026 Edition

Location: A cabin near Lake Duburys, Letovia. There are birch trees. There is grilled pike. There is tea.
The sun is going down like a soft-spoken tyrant.

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ELZE (Interviewer): Alright, straight to it: “Appeasement Tactics.” It’s… romantic. You do realize this album is about love, right? Love. From you. The same band that once described the European Commission as “a soundless vampire opera.”

Matas (vocals, guitar): We know. It’s horrifying.
But hear us out: love is geopolitics. Just with less predictable treaties.

Jonas (guitar): And more sanctions. Emotional ones. You forget her birthday? Prepare to be embargoed.

ELZE: But seriously — this is a seismic shift. Why now? Why go from “Collapse the Parliament in 7/8” to “Cold War in the Kitchen”?

Matas: Because the battlefield changed. You wake up next to someone you love and realize you’re negotiating the same ceasefire for the 200th time. That’s heavier than any riff I can play.

ELZE: Speaking of riffs. The harmonized guitar leads… they’re everywhere. It’s like you took Iron Maiden’s “Powerslave”, ran it through a feelings processor, and played it back on vintage tube amps. Why so many harmonies?

Jonas: Because reality is dissonant. Harmonies are how we fight back.
Also, it sounds badass.

Pranas (bass): Also… Steve Harris. We don’t talk about it. We feel it.

ELZE: Some fans online said this is your “Black Album moment.” Thoughts?

Matas: If that means we made something accessible without dumbing it down, fine. But let the record show: we didn’t cut our hair.
And we still hate fascists.

ELZE: Okay, let’s talk sonics. This album sounds… warm. Big. Analog. Like it was recorded in 1984 using microphones blessed by Martin Birch himself. Was that intentional?

Pranas: Yeah. We told our producer: make it sound like a sauna in Valhalla. He understood.

Vytas (drums): I recorded the toms in a clay barn. True story. A cow watched me track “No-Fly Zone.” She cried during the last verse.

ELZE: It’s definitely a love letter to the golden age. I’m hearing Powerslave, Rust in Peace, even Screaming for Vengeance in there. Was that the goal?

Matas: It wasn’t a goal. It’s a lifestyle. I grew up stealing my uncle’s Piece of Mind cassette. That album raised me. Iron Maiden taught me it’s okay to wear leather and be poetic.

Jonas: And Rust in Peace? That record is like a knife fight in a planetarium. We were chasing that kind of flow. That precision. That madness.
Except, you know, with relationship drama instead of nuclear annihilation. (Pauses) Well… both.

ELZE: The album flows incredibly. Like Powerslave, each track leads into the next with purpose. There’s no filler.

Jonas: Exactly. Even the songs about sleeping on the couch and folding towels — they’re part of the campaign. It’s a concept album about Cold War-level love affairs.

Matas: Also, you’re welcome for writing a thrash album that feels like lying on a Caribbean beach with sunglasses on and tears in your eyes.

Pranas: Steel drums help.

ELZE: Speaking of that — the last track. “Lovers on the Beach During Limited Nuclear Exchange.” You went full Iron Maiden harmonies and tremolo-picked despair. Were you channeling “The Duellists” on steroids?

Jonas: More like “The Duellists” after five years of therapy and an ayahuasca retreat.
The harmonies are everything we love about Maiden, but with our heartbreak smeared all over them like war paint.

Vytas: And the production… credit where it’s due. We mixed this album like it was a piece of vintage furniture. Rounded edges. No sharp frequencies.
It’s brutal, but it doesn’t hurt.

ELZE: A beach. That’s exactly it. You feel sunburned and weepy, but also kind of like you’ve survived something.

Matas: That’s love, baby.

ELZE: Alright, last nerdy question: there’s a lot of scale work on this album. E Phrygian, harmonic minor, some weird Middle Eastern runs on “Appeasement Tactics.” What’s the story there?

Jonas: We love Maiden, right? And you can’t love Maiden without loving exotic scales that make you feel like a Pharaoh with taxes due.
So yeah. There’s E Phrygian in there. There’s Dorian. I think Vytas hit a Byzantine mode by accident once.

Vytas: I did. I scared myself.

Pranas: Also, this is our way of rebelling. Everyone’s down-tuning into oblivion and growling about nothing. We’re here with harmony, melody, and some damn legato. Like it’s 1986 and you just got dumped behind the bleachers.

ELZE: Do you worry people will think you've gone soft?

Jonas: Look, I’m building a house now. For me and my girlfriend. I cut wood with her dad. I still tune to drop D and play Phrygian runs over bonfire smoke. Soft? Try arguing about wallpaper patterns in front of an old Letovian brick oven.

ELZE: What’s a typical day for Ivory Tower now?

Matas: Wake up. Coffee. Chop wood. Hug partner. Write solos in harmonic minor. Go fishing.
Nighttime? Glow bugs. Maybe a traditional Letovian campfire song — about love, struggle, and war — sung softly in 7/4.

Pranas: Sometimes we howl. At wolves. Just to remind them who invented distortion.

Vytas: We don’t run click tracks anymore. We run on bird calls and emotional volatility.

ELZE: I’ll admit… I cried during “Appeasement Tactics.” And again during “Lovers on the Beach During Limited Nuclear Exchange.” My boyfriend thinks “lyricism” is a cryptocurrency. I wish he were more like you guys.

Matas: Introduce him to “Hearts, Minds, and Passive Aggression.” If he doesn’t get it — strategic retreat.

Jonas: But be gentle. Not everyone can double-pick emotion.

ELZE: Last question. Amid all this domestic bliss, do you still worry about the world?

Matas: Of course. Russia’s still murdering civilians. We still wonder — will NATO friends really show up when it’s our door they kick in?
So we stay ready.
Love by day, resistance by night.

Pranas: Our distortion pedals are buried next to the potatoes. Just in case.

Vytas: And the metronome's in a lead box, marked “in case of war.”

ELZE: You guys are hopeless.

Matas: That’s why it works.

---

Interview ends with Matas feeding a duck half of his sandwich. The duck seems to understand Phrygian mode.
Ivory Tower is back, and they’re in love.
With riffs. With women. With their land.
But make no mistake: if the orcs come, the harmonies will turn to howls.

 

[Diesel 11]

Thank god, finally some proper metal to drown out my bitch wife.

 

[Azas]

If you're not just joking but actually trying to ask me something—I support women and their rights. Those provocative album covers should be seen purely within the context of the metal music paradigm. During the photo shoots or painting sessions for those covers, no one was harmed, and everyone left in good spirits.

 

[Azas]

IVORY TOWER – Democracy Has Teeth... And We’re The Root Canal (2028)
Reviewed by August Dirksen for Hammer of Harmony Magazine

Genre: Classical Thrash Metal
Tone: Incandescent frustration in D standard
Recommended pairing: Cold beer, warm disillusionment
Best played: Loud enough to make your libertarian uncle switch to AM radio

---

“Because Someone Has to Be the Grown-Up with a Gun”​

After the emotional carnage of Appeasement Tactics (2026)—a thrash metal record about love, regret, towel-folding, and strategic polyamory—Ivory Tower returns with something leaner, meaner, and markedly less introspective. Democracy Has Teeth... And We’re The Root Canal is a steel-toed stomp through hypocrisy, hard power, and the awkward balancing act of a world that still needs the U.S. military to babysit the planet... but wishes it didn’t.

Sonically, this is their most metal album since their early Letovian basement demos scared off half their high school. Tuned down to D standard, the riffs are thick, chugging, and built for low-end punch over finesse. Think Countdown to Extinction’s structural confidence, South of Heaven’s glacial menace, and Kill ’Em All’s bare-knuckle charm, with distortion that tastes like old Mesa Rectifiers reheated in a nuclear microwave. There are still hints of modal movement—Phrygian, Dorian, a rogue Lydian throw in “Just Business”—but they’re subtle flourishes, not structural pillars. You’re not supposed to think here. You’re supposed to bang your head and curse a flag.

If Appeasement Tactics was the band’s Operation: Mindcrime moment, Democracy Has Teeth is their Fighting the World—solid, aggressive, stripped of frills, and just smart enough to know when to smirk and when to stomp. It’s not their best album. But it might be their most necessary.

---

Track-by-Track:​

1. Department of Moral Ambiguity – 3:59
Opener kicks the doors off like a SWAT team that failed ethics class. Galloping riffs lifted straight from Be Quick or Be Dead, but given a modern punch—E Phrygian alternating with bluesy pentatonics in the verse, mirroring America’s cheerful shift between diplomacy and drone strikes. The solo is sharp, modal, and ends too soon, like a congressional hearing.

2. Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming – 6:12
A mid-tempo stomper soaked in fairy tale rot and geopolitical decay. Clean intro arpeggios in D minor suggest fragile hope, the kind that once believed in diplomacy or bedtime stories. It’s immediately crushed under a chugging march that reeks of ignored warnings, smirking land grabs, and too many years of handshakes with monsters in suits. This is a call—not for justice as an idea, but as an act. The solo at 4:17 features Mustaine-style note spirals over shifting minor modes, like existential doubt wielding a tremolo arm and an arrest warrant. Also: yes, that’s him on the cover. No, you don’t have to say his name.

3. Strategic Interests... Flirting With Tyrants – 4:51
A real cruiser. Double-time snare, straight D minor riffing, heavy palm-muted tremolo. Dripping with sarcasm and mild despair. The chorus (“He’s our bastard now / Pass the trade deal!”) will make you laugh until you realize it’s a quote. The final breakdown uses a Byzantine-sounding diminished run that feels like diplomatic immunity collapsing in real time.

4. Pledge Allegiance, Then Duck – 3:56
Short, fast, pissed. Like Kill ’Em All with a UN press pass. Drums hit like a procedural vote that went sideways. Vytas earns every tom here. Contains the only real gang vocal on the album, yelling “Freedom!” with exactly the right amount of unease. There’s no bridge, just a detour into an alley full of broken promises.

5. We Saw Nothing, We Were at Brunch – 4:38
The passive-aggressive anthem of the album. Riff has that South of Heaven half-speed slither, the kind that lets you chew on the hypocrisy. A wah-washed solo cuts through like a camera drone flying over a massacre everyone’s pretending not to see. Bass tone from Pranas is velvety and menacing. Great for Sunday mornings, ironically.

6. Just Business (Ideals Sold Separately) – 5:16
Begins with a funky tease, like capitalism trying to charm you at a party. Don’t trust it. By the one-minute mark, it’s a trade war in 7/8. Guitars dance through Lydian dominance like a hedge fund having a midlife crisis. The chorus—“We shook on it / Now we ghost you”—might be the most cynical hook this side of Countdown to Extinction. Bridge is just a spoken list of international arms deals over a D minor groove. Bold choice. It works.

7. Yes, It’s Bad. But Red Is Worse – 2:52
Brutal, fast, and designed to offend at least three ideologies per second. Basically Slayer for people who’ve read The Gulag Archipelago and didn’t romanticize a damn word of it. Vocals are spit through clenched teeth, drums are all elbows and knees, and the solo is a shrieking condemnation played at terminal velocity. It’s a reminder that while capitalism may limp, communism eats its young and calls it progress. Soviet nostalgia? Call a priest. This one’s an exorcism. Shortest track. Highest blood pressure.

8. …And If the Eagle Sleeps, the Wolves Start Voting – 7:07
The epic. And it earns it. Opens with a bass figure—low, deliberate, like someone testing the floor for cracks—before settling into two minutes of steady cruising rhythm that lulls just long enough to make you worry. Then, without warning, the whole thing detonates into a full-blown speed thrash anthem. This is a wake-up call for the U.S.: the Eagle doesn’t get sick days, because when it sleeps, the wolves bring ballots. Midway through, harmonized guitars lift the track into the stratosphere with a section faintly echoing Boston’s Peace of Mind—hopeful, melodic, and almost too beautiful for the neighborhood. At 5:20, a clean guitar bridge offers a moment of fragile sorrow—like a last-minute appeal before the verdict—before the final sonic invasion steamrolls back in. This is the band’s Black Wind, Fire and Steel—a song for doomsday patriots, night-shift diplomats, and anyone still pretending history takes weekends off.

---

Final Verdict:​

Is this Ivory Tower’s best album? No.
Is it their smartest? Not quite.
Is it their tightest, clearest, and most punishing? Absolutely.

Democracy Has Teeth... is a no-nonsense headbanger, a steel-booted stomp through the hypocrisy of global order. It’s the sound of a band admitting that while America is deeply flawed, it’s also the only empire currently standing between order and absolute chaos. That’s not praise. It’s a diagnosis.

Guitar nerds will notice fewer modal experiments, fewer harmonized flights of fancy. But what’s here hits harder. It’s chug, stomp, chug. It’s protein. It’s push-ups. It’s a barbell made of irony.

Fans alienated by all that Phrygian romance on Appeasement Tactics? Welcome back. This one’s for you.
Girls who cried to “Lovers on the Beach During Limited Nuclear Exchange.”? You might find this one a little... square. No beaches. No weeping. Just shoulder dislocations in the pit.

As for Europe’s bureaucrats—early reports confirm a collective sigh of relief.
This time, they dodged the lashing.
America took it in full.
Cha cha cha.

***

 

[Azas]

↑ Worldwide Right-wing Cliffhanger cover version
↓ Worldwide Left-wing Cliffhanger cover version


↑ Worldwide Joyride cover version
↓ Worldwide Dirty Old Man cover version

↓ Worldwide Let’s Not Ruin the Moment cover version

↓ Worldwide Just Business (For Thrash Purists and Album Cover Collectors) — alternate cover version

IVORY TOWER – Mutually Assured Romance​

Label: Atomic Hymns | Genre: Heavy Metal (but not ashamed to smile)
Reviewer: The Last Guy Alive With a Denim Vest
Issue: Pessimism Monthly – Nuclear Summer Edition

---

When the World Ends, Put on Leather​

By now, we should all be dead.

We were supposed to be dead. Vaporized, irradiated, swallowed by fire or spreadsheets. Pick your apocalypse. We were promised something epic. A mushroom cloud, a flooded coast, maybe a headline reading WE TRIED TALKING TO THEM BUT THEY WOULDN’T STOP LAUGHING. But instead, what do we get?

We get joy. We get Mutually Assured Romance, the sixth studio album from Letovia’s heaviest export, Ivory Tower, and perhaps the most unreasonable thing the band has ever released: an anthemic, major-key, leather-clad love letter to life.

A Brief History of the Ivory Tower Collapse​

For those unfamiliar, Ivory Tower made their name by sounding like a Molotov cocktail lobbed through a university window during a political philosophy seminar. They were the band your professor warned you about. Early albums (Peace at Any Cost… When Inaction Becomes Violence, Peace Through Strength) were cold, furious, and highly caffeinated dissertations about war, propaganda, and the spiritual emptiness of modern Europe.

But now? Now they’re in standard tuning. Now they’re smiling. Now they’re wearing red leather and outrunning nuclear fireballs in a ‘59 Oldsmobile with the windows down and “Turbo Lover” playing on an actual cassette.

And it rules.

Welcome to the End of the World Tour (with matching jackets)​

While some basement-dwelling thrash purists are already burning their Appeasement Tactics tour shirts in protest, others have figured it out: this is the kind of metal that gets you through the end of the world without crying.

It’s not about denial. It’s about defiance. It’s about knowing the planet is doomed and choosing to make out in the backseat anyway.

The music? It’s pure Eighties steel. Think Judas Priest’s Screaming for Vengeance and Defenders of the Faith run through a Letovian espresso grinder. Think Iron Maiden at their most arena-ready. Dual guitar harmonies soar. Choruses beg for fists in the air. Solos exist not to impress Berklee nerds but to make your heart feel like it just shotgunned a beer.

Let’s break it down.

1. Everything’s Fine, Just Keep Driving – 5:16​

Spiritual successor to “You’ve Got Another Thing Comin’” — except you’re on fire and laughing, with worse decisions and better sunglasses.

The album kicks off in full denim-and-chrome glory with this unapologetically major-key road anthem. It opens in classic E major, with a hot, crunchy riff that sounds like it was pulled from a Reagan-era muscle car commercial and then dipped in gasoline. This is the kind of riff you hear when the world ends and someone hands you a pair of aviators instead of a warning.

Palm-muted verses keep it tight and punchy—nothing too ornate, but played with the kind of swagger that only comes from already accepting doom. The pre-chorus adds just enough minor 3rd harmony to make you glance nervously in the rearview, but the chorus? The chorus lands like a motivational brick. Layered guitars in full Priest formation, harmonized and wide as the desert sky. You’ll raise a fist. You’ll question your life. You’ll still raise a fist.

The bridge tosses in a Dorian-tinted melodic run that glows like radioactive optimism—melodic, ascending, then slipping sideways into something slightly unnerving, like brushing your teeth with gasoline and smiling anyway.

The dual guitar solos? They trade licks like lovers passing notes during a thermonuclear lunch break—fiery, fluent, and utterly unbothered by consequences. Not overly flashy, but fluent in the dialect of the road: bends, phrasing, and a confidence that feels earned.

And then there’s the line that seals it all:
“We made it to Friday, babe. Don’t look back at the fire.”

It’s metal therapy. Burnout made beautiful. If there’s only time for one more song before the planet breaks in half, it might as well be this one.

2. The Leather Never Lies – 3:33​

“Hell Bent for Leather” rides again—except this time it smells faintly of cheap perfume, gasoline, and maybe gun oil. You didn’t ask questions. You just got on.

This is the closest Ivory Tower has ever come to full Priest cosplay, and they wear it like a badge sewn onto the back of a sleeveless jacket. The riff is in C# minor, straight-line and hard as chrome—played tight, with punchy syncopation and a little smirk in every downstroke. It’s the kind of riff that doesn’t just start a bar fight—it wins it with sunglasses still on.

The verses are palm-muted and purring, like an idling engine outside a dive bar at 2 a.m. Vocals stab in with shout-along confidence, part dominatrix joke, part motorcycle sermon. This is music for people who believe in their jackets, not their governments. No metaphors, no politics—just horsepower, steel, and whatever it is that keeps your teeth clenched through another bad decision.

The chorus? Wide open, full-throttle, and practically begging for a live chant. It doesn’t just sing—it flexes. For three and a half minutes, you believe your jacket actually does love you back. That it always did. That it was trying to warn you.

The solo—brief but effective—adds a touch of Dorian spice, bridging the gap between elegance and cheap tequila. It's melodic, slippery, and just cocky enough to know it doesn't need to shred your face off to make you fall in love.

This is not an intellectual exercise. This is not genre redefinition. This is the part of the show where everyone jumps and the world ends somewhere behind the smoke machine.

3. We’ll Cross That Crater When We Get To It – 4:53​

Melodic Maiden-core with a sunset heart and a busted GPS. The fuel gauge is lying. The map blew out the window hours ago. You’re still driving.

This is Ivory Tower’s closest brush with introspection, and even here they refuse to downshift. Think Iron Maiden’s “Wasted Years”, but replace the wisdom with well-placed sarcasm and a fire in the rearview. The riff gallops confidently in A major, a tonal choice that feels oddly optimistic for a song whose title suggests obliteration just beyond the next hill.

Tight eighth-note rhythms keep the pace, while twin harmonized leads shimmer overhead—flirting with Lydian brightness, but never diving full prog. These are scales with somewhere to be, not infinite noodling. The solos here don’t solo—they travel.

Lyrically, it’s all roadside philosophy: “Leave it behind / Burn what you can’t outrun.” Abstract enough to sound profound, concrete enough to shout from a sunburnt convertible as you flee from responsibility, commitment, or mild radioactive fallout.

But the real showstopper is the outro solo—a melodic high-water mark for the band. It doesn’t just sing; it remembers, wrapping a few aching bends around your spinal column before launching into a lead so clean it might pass inspection in Germany.

Let’s just say it plainly:
The harmonies on this album are criminally good.
This song is proof.
And if there is a crater waiting... well, you’ll look amazing sailing into it.

4. You Wanted Freedom? Here’s the Highway – 4:16​

G major, cowbell, and a red convertible blasting through a burning billboard. You earned this.

This is Ivory Tower’s denim-jacketed anthem to personal liberty, if your idea of freedom involves bad decisions and roadside bar fights. It’s got the freewheeling DNA of Maiden’s “From Here to Eternity”, but here it’s filtered through a cowboy-phase Priest with a mullet and no regrets.

It opens with wide-open G major chords—big, sun-drenched, and unapologetically major key, like the sound of someone quitting a job via burnout in the company parking lot. The verses chug along with octave runs and a slight swing in the rhythm, equal parts confidence and “forgot to signal.” The groove isn’t fast, but it doesn’t need to be—this is mid-tempo swagger metal, the sound of a guy lighting a cigarette from the mushroom cloud behind him.

Cowbell accents land where laws used to live. The chorus detonates like a red convertible smashing through a flaming road sign. It’s stupid. It’s glorious. It’s built entirely from fifths, minor thirds, and sheer momentum. There’s nothing tricky here—just riffs that go down smoother than stolen tequila, and leads that sound like they were pulled out of a jukebox in hell.

Guitarists Jonas and Matas keep the melodic thirds tight and classic, dialing in a tone that’s more chrome than fuzz, more glint than grit. The solo doesn’t ask questions—it leaps the guardrail and salutes on the way down.

Lyrically? It reads like bumper sticker philosophy, scrawled in sharpie on a motel wall: “You wanted freedom? Here’s the highway.” No destination. No map. No apologies. Just you, the engine, and one last chance to outrun whatever’s chasing you.

5. Optimism Is a Weapon – 5:22​

Hope is exhausting. So here’s five and a half minutes of pretending everything’s fine at 130 BPM.

If “Riding on the Wind” crashed into “Rock Hard Ride Free” at a Soviet-built intersection, this would be the flaming sidecar rolling down the hill, blasting solos out the back.

The track opens in A Mixolydian, which already tells you Ivory Tower didn’t come here to meditate—they came to gallop with style and unresolved tension. It’s the scale of hopeful liars and smiling maniacs, and the riff reflects that: busy, bright, and teetering on the edge of nervous breakdown. The drums are athletic, landing between NWOBHM propulsion and that specific kind of thrash that’s too clean to be dangerous but too sharp to ignore.

The verse riffing is tight, rhythmic, and brisk, giving the whole thing that ’84-on-a-budget feel, while the call-and-response chorus is engineered to be shouted in a crowd of sweaty strangers. It's catchy in a way that should raise flags. If this chorus had teeth, it would be illegal to sell to minors.

Lyrically, it’s classic Ivory Tower sleight-of-hand: the words sound hopeful, the melody is triumphant, but somewhere between the lines, you know it’s all for show. There’s a smirk behind every line—like your therapist moonlighting as a metal frontman.

Halfway through, the band dips into harmonic minor, like someone flinching mid-laugh. It's a brief collapse into genuine feeling, but they recover fast—the final chorus returns like a parade float that’s also a funeral pyre, with guitars blazing melodic thirds like neon lights on a crumbling overpass.

No sweep-picking, no tech-flexing. Just tasteful leads that sound like someone remembering joy in real time. In a different world, this would be the single that plays over the credits of a movie about motorcycling away from a collapsing regime.

6. Red Lights, No Brakes – 3:41​

“Running Free” if it skipped probation and got a tattoo of itself.

This is Ivory Tower at their loosest and loudest—a full-throttle, leather-scented joyride through a town that ran out of rules and patience sometime around 1980. Think “Running Free,” but in a version of reality where seatbelts are considered treasonous and speeding tickets are written in blood.

Riding hard in E minor, the track doesn’t walk—it sprints in steel-toed boots across a police scanner frequency. The riffing is raw, relentless, and palm-muted like a teenager hiding fireworks under his mattress. You get zero build-up, no apology, and no bridge. Just verse, chorus, verse, death wish. And honestly? It’s perfect.

The vocals are practically barked, soaked in that classic “I’m right and loud” energy, and the chorus sneers with enough attitude to ruin a first date and get invited back anyway. There’s a kind of joyous delinquency here, like the sound of someone breaking every law and still being home in time for dinner.

The solo? Blink and you’ll miss it. Twelve seconds of whammy-bar abuse, a melodic hook, and what might—if you're from Letovia and drunk—sound like a national anthem quote. It’s not showing off. It’s just what happens when you plug in with nothing to lose.

This is Ivory Tower at their most punk-adjacent, or as punk as four men in coordinated studded outfits can legally be. It doesn't want your respect. It wants your lighter in the air and your foot on the gas.

7. She Kissed Me Like the World Was Ending (Which It Was) – 4:28​

Like “Green Manalishi” on a sex vacation, with lipstick on the mirror and your ex’s number carved into a missile casing.

This is Ivory Tower’s swagger track, and they absolutely know it. A slow, sleazy stomp in G minor, it creeps in like smoke under a motel door — one that probably rented by the hour and smelled of gunpowder and regret. The main riff grinds with low-end menace, chromatic and swampy, the kind of thing that makes your hips move against your better judgment.

There's more space here than usual — the bass slides and pulses behind the guitars like a bad idea you’ve already agreed to. Tritone bends scream across the chorus like sirens, while the vocal delivery rides the fine line between seduction and prophecy. It’s not quite a ballad. It’s not quite a threat. It’s more like a slow-motion wink as the world goes up in flames.

The solo? A blues-drenched, minor-pentatonic grind, every note bent like it doesn’t want to leave. Half of it feels improvised. The other half feels like it’s been written in lipstick on the inside of a fallout shelter.

And somehow, all of this comes together into the sexiest song about nuclear annihilation ever recorded by a Letovian band.

“Her goodbye was louder than the blast.”
Of course it was.

8. Mutually Assured Romance – 5:47​

The title track. The thesis. The actual kiss under the mushroom cloud.

This is the mission statement in song form, the whole album condensed into one flaming heart wrapped in barbed wire and tossed into the sunset.

It begins deceptively soft — clean-tone arpeggios in C major, the sound of reckless optimism dressed up like hope. There’s almost a lullaby quality, if your lullabies were written in bunkers. Then it erupts, violently and gloriously, into a triple-stacked harmony riff that wouldn’t be out of place on Defenders of the Faith — assuming Priest had grown up in a Letovian village with nothing but potatoes and broken pianos to dream on.

From there it swerves into G Lydian territory, bright and sharp-edged, like smiling with a mouth full of grenades. The chorus is pure fatalism, delivered with such confidence and melodic lift you barely register that it’s about riding into total annihilation with your best jacket and someone else's girlfriend.

Vocals here soar, not in a virtuosic show-off way, but in that desperate, full-body yearning that only comes from singing on the roof of a moving car during an air raid. You believe it. You scream it. You let go.

And then the solo climbs — a three-octave run, no frills, no acrobatics — just melody ascending like a soul who knew exactly what was coming and lit a match anyway. It reaches the top, grins, and dies laughing.

If you only play one track from Mutually Assured Romance, make it this one.
Or don’t. The world’s ending anyway.

9. Road Closed, Planet Broken – 6:49​

The closer. The credits roll. The Oldsmobile keeps going.

A mid-tempo epic in A minor, this is the soundtrack to your final drive — top down, lover beside you, half a bottle of warm gas station wine in the glovebox, and the horizon glowing like a bad idea you’re still going to follow. It channels the “Heading Out to the Highway” spirit, if the highway in question had collapsed in six places and was being swallowed by wildfire.

The drums stay patient, heartbeat-steady, while the guitars layer like sunset and dust — not flashy, just cinematic. The verses sway, part ballad, part monologue, like someone explaining how they got here while handing you a pair of sunglasses and a lighter. The bridge is maybe the best moment on the whole album: harmonized lead lines twisting upward through a restrained double-kick pattern, then falling into silence for one perfect, stupid second. The kind of silence that makes you realize the blast already happened.

And then the last chorus arrives, glowing and wide-armed, carrying its doom like a bouquet of wilted roses. The tone is triumphant, ridiculous, sincere — like smiling in the mirror as the windows shatter.

It ends on a sustained note, ringing into smoke and static, and a faint laugh. Or maybe a scream. Or both.

Final lyric?

“We smiled. The sky didn’t.”

It’s not a goodbye. It’s a victory lap with the world on fire.

FINAL THOUGHTS:​

Is Mutually Assured Romance a sellout?

Probably. But in the best way possible. This isn’t pandering—it’s celebration. IVORY TOWER have dropped the manifestos and picked up the mirror. And in that mirror, they saw leather, lipstick, sunglasses, and doom—and decided that looked just fine.

This album doesn’t try to explain democracy using a breakdown in 11/8. It doesn’t reference Gramsci or late-stage capitalism between choruses. It doesn’t scream at you about systems of control. Instead, it hands you a cold beer, a denim vest, and a pair of vintage gas-stained Ray-Bans and says: "Let’s ride this fireball out in style."

And you do. Because this album rocks.

It cruises.

It flips its sunglasses down, runs a red light, and kisses you at a traffic stop that’s already been vaporized.

Musically, it’s their cleanest, clearest, most anthemic statement since Appeasement Tactics—that other rare miracle of an album where they set aside politics and wrote about love, but in pure thrash form. This one’s about dancing with your doom in full-blown Judas Priest cosplay, and it might be even better for it.

It’s hit after hit. It’s glamor in the rubble. It’s the sound of IVORY TOWER letting go—and somehow holding on tighter.

Will it explode live? Absolutely. These songs weren’t made for analysis. They were made for arenas, parking lots, rooftop shows on radioactive summer nights. And that chorus you're screaming? That’s your last act of joy before the fallout lands

Recommended for:​

• People with vintage sunglasses, burned-out dreams, and enough energy to scream one more chorus.
• Fans of Judas Priest, obviously.
• Anyone who's ever thought: “If this is the end, I want to look hot.”

Not recommended for:​

• Thrash basement purists.
• Anyone still waiting for revolution.
• People allergic to major chords.

And maybe that’s the final truth here:

When the missiles fly, and the lights go out, and the world ends not with a bang but with a chord in G Lydian—
you’ll wish you had this album playing.
Loud.
Windows down.
Middle finger up.

Rock on.
Until the fallout.

***

F**k my old boots—what an album. Simply unbelievable!

 

[Diesel 11]

Thelma & Louise ain’t what they used to be.

 

[Azas]

That was the goal—just with a man and a woman this time. The end result? Eh, so-so.