The Black Angel Zine

Salty Dog Lost Treasure + 3 Golden Jewels FNA Records 2025 Gather around, followers of Hard Rock, Blues Rock, and down-and-dirty Sleaze, we're finally going to talk about one of the great "what if?" albums of the early '90s: Salty Dog's long-lost recordings. After the band's outstanding debut, “Every Dog Has Its Day”, Salty Dog more or less disappeared from the radar for anyone who wasn't haunting the clubs around Southern California. Behind the scenes, though, there was plenty happening. Frontman Jimmi Bleacher, one of my all-time favorite vocalists, was replaced because of his escalating drug problems. Looking back, it was probably the best thing that could've happened for him personally, even if it proved devastating for the band. His replacement was Texas native Darrel Beach. Rather than folding up shop, Salty Dog kept moving forward. They played shows, wrote new material, and recorded demos, but Geffen Records had already made up its mind. The label wasn't interested, the band was dropped, and another great Hard Rock act became collateral damage in an era that seemed determined to abandon everything that made the late '80s great. For years, these Beach-era recordings lived more as legend than reality. They were discussed endlessly on message boards by fans who knew they existed but had never actually heard them. Eventually, somebody leaked a copy, and I wore that thing out. I burned it to CD almost immediately and played it into the ground. Sure, Bleacher was gone, but the soul of Salty Dog wasn't. The songwriting hadn't changed. The swagger was still there. The Blues still bled through every riff, and Darrel Beach proved he was far more than "the new guy." He shared some of Bleacher's grit, but his Texas drawl gave the music an authenticity that felt completely natural. I've always thought there were moments where his voice sounded like Dave Brooks from Slammin' Gladys, and I mean that as a compliment. Escape Music eventually issued these demos under the title “Lost Treasure”, although "release" might be giving it too much credit. It arrived quietly, disappeared almost as quickly, and felt more like someone dumped the demos onto a CD rather than give them the presentation they deserved. I missed grabbing a copy before it vanished, but thankfully a good friend shipped me his after deciding it wasn't for him. My worn-out CD-Rs were finally retired. In 2025 FNA Records stepped in and finally gave these recordings the treatment they'd deserved packaging it as “Lost Treasures + 3 Golden Jewels”. The packaging is miles ahead of the Escape release, the artwork looks fantastic, and, more importantly, the audio has been given the attention it deserves. This isn't some brickwalled modern remaster, it's cleaner, fuller, and a bit more alive. After spending years listening to fuzzy bootleg-quality MP3s, the improvements jump out of the speakers. More importantly, this release finally gives Darrel Beach the recognition he earned over thirty years ago. No, he isn't Jimmi Bleacher. He doesn't have to be. Beach brought his own personality to Salty Dog, and his Southern roots only strengthened the band's already blues-soaked identity. The formula remained the same as “Every Dog Has Its Day”, big riffs, gritty vocals, soulful melodies, and enough Blues swagger to fill every dive bar on the Sunset Strip. The songs themselves are loaded with missed opportunities. "Damned If I Do" wastes no time announcing Beach's arrival, delivering powerhouse vocals backed by everything that made Salty Dog such a killer band to begin with. "Opensezme" leans heavily into the Blues with gorgeous slide guitar work from Pete Reveen. It's also one of Beach's strongest vocal performances on the disc. I honestly believe this could've been a legitimate MTV single had the timing been different. The same goes for "All That Glitters," which slows things down without sacrificing any punch. Then there's "When Fools Rush In." This isn't your typical over-polished power ballad stuffed with clichés. It's mature, heartfelt, and emotionally honest. Beach absolutely earns his keep here, delivering a performance that stands proudly alongside Bleacher's unforgettable "Sacrifice Me." One of my favorite moments on the entire album remains "Honeysuckle Wind." Driven by Pete Reveen's fantastic banjo and slide guitar playing, it embraces the band's Southern influences with both arms while throwing in enough tongue-in-cheek humor to keep a smile on your face. The line, "If you were barefoot and pregnant, you'd make my life complete," still cracks me up every single time. Then we get to the Three Golden Jewels... "Losin'" is the heavyweight of the bunch. The sound quality isn't quite as polished as the rest of the album, but who cares? It's Salty Fuckin' Dog, and this thing flat-out rocks. Next comes "Strong Medication," featuring Jimmi Bleacher behind the microphone. For years, the only legitimate place to find it was the Deadline Records “Hollywood Rocks” box set. I'll admit it, I bought that entire box just to own this one song. That's how deep my obsession with this band runs. If you don't already own "Strong Medication," it's worth the price of admission all by itself. Finally, there's "Blue Prayer." It's exactly what the title suggests, a smoky, Blues-drenched slow burner featuring Darrel Beach. The pace is glacial, the organ adds incredible atmosphere, and the whole thing feels like closing time at the last bar still serving whiskey somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon. If you've made it this far and still haven't ordered this release, I honestly don't know what you're waiting for. It's Salty Fuckin' Dog. It's finally a legitimate official release that celebrates this era of the band properly. And after waiting over thirty years, these songs have finally been given the respect they always deserved. The only real tragedy is that Lost Treasures wasn't allowed to become a proper studio album back when it was recorded. Had Geffen shown a little more patience, respect and a little less corporate short-sightedness, I truly believe this record would've found an audience. Every old-school Hard Rock kid I know would've eaten this thing alive. Here's hoping the suit who pulled the plug has spent the last three decades wondering what might've been and cleaning slaughterhouse floors…

Salty Dog Raw Doggin’ Live FNA Records 2026 Keeping the Salty Dog celebration rolling, it's time to dig into another treasure unearthed by FNA Records. This time we're talking about “Raw Doggin' Live”, released in 2026. Yes, it's a live album. Yes, it's vintage. And yes, it absolutely rips. The performance was captured back in 1992 at Bananas in Santa Ana, California, taking us straight back to one of the band's final chapters. Outside of grainy YouTube clips, I'd never really had the opportunity to hear Salty Dog in a live setting like this, so you can imagine how excited I was to finally crank this thing. Since the recording comes from 1992, Darrel Beach is handling vocal duties, and if anyone still questions whether he was the right man to replace Jimmi Bleacher, this album should put that debate to bed once and for all. Beach is a fucking beast. Studio recordings proved he belonged. “Raw Doggin' Live” proves he owned the stage. He doesn't imitate Bleacher, nor should he. Instead, he attacks every song with confidence, and enough Southern swagger to make you forget there was ever a lineup change in the first place. I know live albums get a bad rap. The '80s gave us plenty of "live" records that were polished within an inch of their lives, loaded with overdubs until they barely resembled an actual concert. That's not what you're getting here. This is a genuine soundboard recording from March 1992. The show was captured directly through the house mixing console, so you're getting excellent clarity without sacrificing the raw energy of a real performance. Is it flawless? No. You hear the little imperfections, the grit, the sweat, and the electricity that only happens when a band is firing on all cylinders in front of a crowd. As someone who's accumulated thousands of soundboard recordings over the years, this is exactly the kind of release I love seeing become official. By 1992, Salty Dog was still operating with plenty left in the tank, and it shows. Fans who picked up “Lost Treasures + 3 Golden Jewels” will be especially happy to hear several of those songs brought to life on stage. It's one thing to hear the demos, it's another to hear them explode through a live PA. "Losin'" and "Damned If I Do" hit like freight trains, while "When Fools Rush In" delivers every ounce of heartbreak the studio version promised. You can practically feel the sweat dripping off the stage. Then there's "Bring It On." For long-time fans, this is the real prize. The song never received proper studio treatment, making this live performance the only glimpse we have of it. It's heavier, nastier, and meaner than anything else in the Salty Dog catalog. I'd give just about anything to hear a finished studio version, but until that day comes, this performance more than scratches my itch. Of course, everyone wants to know how Beach handles the classic material. The answer? Like a total professional. He never tries to become Jimmi Bleacher. Instead, he respects the songs while making them his own, and the transition feels remarkably natural. "Where The Sun Don't Shine," "Cat's Got Nine," "Ring My Bell," and my personal favorite, "Heave Hard (She Comes Easy)," all sound fantastic. Just as importantly, the rest of the band is absolutely locked in. You can tell these guys had been living these songs night after night. Nobody's phoning it in. Everybody is playing like they have something to prove, and that chemistry elevates every performance. There's even a short drum solo from Khurt Maier leading into "Ring My Bell." I know drum solos aren't everyone's thing, but I've always loved them, and Maier's playing has been legendary in my circles for years. Consider it another bonus. Closing out the disc are two live recordings featuring original vocalist Jimmi Bleacher, captured at Peabody's in Ohio during 1990. "Sacrifice Me" and "Ring My Bell" serve as the perfect snapshot of Salty Dog during its original lineup, and the sound quality is downright ridiculous. When that snare cracks during "Ring My Bell," you'll swear you're standing five feet from the stage. Listening to these performances reminds you exactly why Geffen signed this band in the first place. They weren't just good. They were fuckin’ dangerous, confident and absolutely on fire. Honestly, I'd kill to hear the rest of that Peabody's show. Here's hoping FNA has the tapes tucked away somewhere because I'd buy that release before I even finished reading the announcement. If you're a Salty Dog fan, “Raw Doggin' Live” isn't a recommendation, it's a necessity. After all these years, it's incredible to still be discovering new pieces of the band's story. These aren't throwaway archival recordings. They're proof that Salty Dog remained a powerhouse right up until the music business pulled the rug out from under them. FNA Records has also put together autographed bundles, shirts, guitar picks, and plenty of other goodies to go along with the release, so don't drag your feet. Grab it, crank it loud and let’s raise some hell!  https://fnarecords.net/salty-dog-1.html

Black Odyssey Self-Titled Self-Released 2026 Athens, Greece is home to Traditional Heavy Metal newcomers Black Odyssey, who have finally unleashed their self-titled debut. According to the press sheet, the band formed sometime around 2010, making this a long time coming. There's not much information beyond that, but I'd wager those years were spent doing exactly what a proper Metal band should be doing - playing local stages, sharpening their songwriting, and forging their sound through sweat and volume. Sixteen years may seem like forever before releasing a debut album, but if the result is this good, who's complaining? Black Odyssey proudly wears its influences on its battle vest, and for us old-school Rock Warriors, that's a beautiful thing. The first thing you'll notice is vocalist Kostas Chomontozlis. There's an undeniable Ronnie James Dio spirit in his performance, not because he's trying to imitate the man, but because he possesses that same commanding, operatic power and rich vibrato that instantly grabs your attention. Fortunately, the rest of the band is more than up to the task. The musicians build a rock-solid foundation of Traditional Heavy Metal that lands somewhere between Candlemass, Black Sabbath, Savatage, and Trouble. There's a healthy dose of classic Doom woven throughout, along with occasional Progressive flourishes, but don't mistake that for slow-motion dirges. These are muscular, mid-tempo bruisers loaded with melody, crushing riffs, and enough atmosphere to keep you locked in from beginning to end. At nine songs and roughly fifty-four minutes, there's plenty to sink your teeth into. The material is dense without ever becoming exhausting. Every track carries a strong melodic identity, and the album never falls into the trap of overstaying its welcome, a problem that plagues plenty of longer releases. If you're looking for three-minute adrenaline shots, this isn't your record. Black Odyssey prefers taking you on a journey through towering riffs, soaring guitar solos, and dynamic songwriting that rises and falls naturally while never sacrificing its weight. It's heavy without becoming inaccessible, the kind of album made by Metal lifers for Metal lifers. The production deserves praise as well. Everything has that warm, organic, analog character that recalls the glory days of the mid-'80s. It doesn't sound sterile or over-processed; it sounds alive, and that's exactly what Traditional Heavy Metal like this needs. I've had Black Odyssey spinning for several weeks now, and it's found its way into my daily rotation, not because I felt obligated to study it, but because I genuinely didn't want to stop listening. If I had to sum this album up in one word, it'd be home. For someone who's lived and breathed Heavy Metal since 1980, this record taps directly into everything that made me fall in love with the genre in the first place. It feels familiar without feeling stale, respectful of its influences without becoming a nostalgia act. Black Odyssey has delivered one hell of a debut. It's available on vinyl, CD, and the usual streaming services, but trust me on this one, streaming is only scratching the surface. This album deserves to be cranked through a real stereo, preferably on vinyl, loud enough to shake the neighbors and summon every denim-and-leather-clad Rock Warrior within a five-mile radius. Standouts – “Black Mamba”, “Cathruria”, “The End Of A Rainbow” and “Resurrect”.

On the heels of missing the Iron Maiden documentary “Burning Ambition”, I was fortunate enough to get my hands on a screener for another upcoming documentary, “Di’Anno: Iron Maiden’s Lost Singer”. I honestly had no idea either of these documentaries were coming out, but that’s not unusual. Thankfully, I’m lucky enough to have access to some great people and labels, one of my favorites being Cleopatra Records, the label responsible for bringing this documentary to audiences. The film will be released on VOD, DVD/Blu-ray, and in a limited theatrical run. The U.S. run will be brief, including a showing at the San Francisco Documentary Festival on June 3rd. It will also receive its North American theatrical premiere for public audiences at the Lumiere Music Hall Theater on June 9th, 2026. If you don’t know who Paul Di'Anno is, then you either haven’t lived or your Metal Maniac credentials may need to be reviewed. Di’Anno was the original voice of Maiden - or more accurately, the voice behind the first two albums: the self-titled debut and “Killers”. Fans have debated Paul versus Dickinson for decades, and many have planted their flags firmly in one camp or the other. Personally, I’ve never looked at it that way. I heard the self-titled album first. It was dirtier, rougher around the edges - Punk attitude colliding headfirst with the spirit of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal. It felt alive. It still does. I suppose I’m a Paul guy at heart, though I love them both. I can still smell the leather and remember being a kid staring at Eddie on that album cover while hearing Paul’s voice roar through the speakers. Some memories stay with you forever. Few bands, past or present, can touch what Maiden became. The title “Iron Maiden’s Lost Singer” is painfully appropriate because Paul truly was lost - lost to himself as much as anyone else. Lost to poor decisions, to addiction, to attitude, to the endless war between self-destruction and self-preservation. Sadly, stories like that aren’t uncommon among gifted artists. Talent and torment often seem to arrive hand in hand, especially when nobody is there to pull someone back from the edge. There are always three sides to every story: yours, theirs, and the truth somewhere in the middle. This documentary feels brutally committed to finding that truth. It follows Paul through the final years of his life with almost uncomfortable honesty. I followed Paul’s career casually over the years. I’d buy a CD whenever I stumbled across one or heard something new coming, but I never followed him personally. You simply can’t keep up with everyone. What I didn’t know was how much he had deteriorated physically – he was confined to a wheelchair, battling failing knees, enduring endless pain after years of wear, abuse, accidents, and neglect. Watching him struggle is heartbreaking. There are moments where he cries. Moments where he’s scared. Moments where he looks tired in a way that goes beyond physical exhaustion - the exhaustion of someone who spent decades carrying his own demons on his back. Watching medics move him around, seeing him vulnerable and uncertain, was difficult to sit through. I found myself tearing up several times. Normally, I’m not someone who easily gets swept up by emotion, but this hit differently. Maybe it’s because I’ve admired him since I was a kid. Maybe it’s because beneath the bravado and rough exterior there was still a lonely human being fighting through pain. Paul was often his own worst enemy, but I still felt a strange connection watching him. It felt like watching someone stand against the world with nothing but stubbornness and pride left in the tank. He kept his circle small and often lived like a loner - and that’s a feeling some of us know all too well. (I’m some of us). Thankfully, the documentary isn’t all darkness. There are brighter moments where friends and peers speak about Paul with admiration and affection. James Hetfield, Dave Ellefson, Bobby Blitz and Gary Holt all discuss Paul’s importance and influence. You can hear those early Maiden fingerprints all over the records that followed. There’s even a cameo from Gene Simmons where he tells Paul he always preferred his voice. Whether Gene was being completely honest or just being kind is up for debate, but it was still a genuinely nice moment. The film also digs into what ultimately pushed Paul out of Maiden and why Bruce Dickinson came in to replace him. Again, much of it circles back to Paul himself. Throughout the documentary you witness a cycle of rise and fall, hope and regret, strength and collapse. That’s what keeps you invested. Then again, how could you not be? It’s Paul Di’Anno. There’s footage of him performing in his later years and some of it is hard to watch, but some of it is absolutely electric. Even sitting in a wheelchair, Paul still had IT. That presence. That fire. That thing some people spend their entire lives chasing and never find. Because Paul required constant care, the film also repeatedly touches on the financial realities surrounding his health. He eventually had to go to Croatia to receive surgeries and treatment that he desperately needed. There’s something strangely poetic about that - a man who spent much of his life feeling disconnected ending up as a stranger in a strange land searching for healing. What I didn’t know was how much fans had stepped in to help him over the years through fundraising efforts. Even Maiden themselves contributed, paying for surgeries and offering support. There’s a genuinely touching moment where Paul briefly reconnects with Steve Harris backstage at a Maiden show. That scene hit hard. No matter what happened between them, history has a way of binding people together. Some connections never fully disappear. Director Wes Orshoski, who also worked on documentaries involving Lemmy Kilmister and The Damned, does an incredible job here. The film looks beautiful. The sound design is excellent. The cinematography often creates an eerie contrast between Paul’s physical decline and the giant shadow of the legend he once was.  But make no mistake: this isn’t an easy watch. It’s raw, uncomfortable, honest, and dark. That honesty is what I appreciated most. Paul deserved this documentary because his story deserved to be told. Not by rumors, headlines, or secondhand narratives, but by Paul himself while he was still here. The only thing I found myself wanting was more involvement from the Maiden camp. Even difficult conversations would have added another layer of closure. Still, this is Paul’s story before, during, and after Iron Maiden. And despite everything, it somehow ends on a note that feels uplifting, even though we already know how it ends. Paul would eventually pass away from heart failure at age 66. He never fully got out of the wheelchair. He never walked freely again. But he kept touring. He kept playing music. He kept showing up for the people who loved him. And maybe that’s enough. Money never meant much to Paul. He famously sold his Maiden publishing rights for pennies compared to what they would eventually become worth and burned through much of it in the chaos of living hard and fast. Yet through all of it, Paul Di’Anno remained exactly who he always was - loud, stubborn, damaged, charismatic, and unforgettable. The ultimate Wrathchild... A huge reason Iron Maiden became what they are today. If you’re in California when this hits theaters, or in the UK, don’t miss the chance to see this on the big screen. Paul may no longer be with us, but this documentary feels necessary. And somewhere beyond the noise, beyond the stage lights and amplifiers, beyond this world entirely, maybe Paul Di’Anno is smiling... Finally Running Free once again.

Metal giants Iron Maiden have come out with a documentary spanning their 50-year career. From dive bars to stadiums. The ups and downs and feeling like they’ve had to start again. I grew up with Iron Maiden. My mom had always been infatuated with them and by proxy, so was I. I got up and out of bed and always saw this amazing photo of Steve Harris on the wall. One that my mom took when she was in her early twenties. She would always say how the picture came to be anytime she caught anyone looking at it. She was on the barrier, got tossed and hurt and the band pulled her on stage and let her sit there for the show. I mean, could you imagine? I’d tell everyone too. She would often joke saying I was Bruce’s kid because of my pin straight brown hair and uncanny ability to scream. So, obviously, when I heard there was an Iron Maiden movie I had to take my mom. What better Mother’s Day gift could I give? She donned her best Iron Maiden apparel and grabbed her Eddie mask and away we went. From this point forward there may be some spoilers for the movie. So, if you haven’t seen and want to or have been living under a rock and don’t know much about the band, I’d suggest not reading on. The movie starts at the bare bones beginning. Steve’s ambition to start a musical career and bringing his mates along. Most fans know that Paul Di’Anno started out as the singer of Iron Maiden. He was an absolute powerhouse that gave Maiden the push they needed to become incredibly popular in the dive bar scene. We actually get to hear from Paul on how he declined while performing. Cancelled shows and drug use, he knew he couldn’t continue and the rest of the band knew as well. Ron, one of their managers, called up Bruce Dickinson. Bruce was in another band at the time, following a similar path of Maiden. Bruce came to a meeting, they had a chat and boom goes the dynamite. He was in the band. This is exactly the mix that was needed. Bruce was and is just as driven as Steve. At first, they’re very much like an oil and water mix. Both wanting to be center stage. Both wanting the attention. Both full of energy. Of course this led to a bumping of heads. We watch how they grow. How Eddie became the massive image head of the band. The introduction of Nicko. How they started to take over the world by word of mouth only. I think that’s the most amazing thing. They had no radio play but grew millions of fans. Eddie is prominent in the film. While I love Eddie the big downside is it looks as if the animation was done via AI. I did look and it says it was done via CG modeling, but I’m still unsure about that. Anyway, back to the meat of the film. We see Bruce leave and why. How it impacted the band. Seeing Adrian leave and how that impacted the band. The joining of Janick and Blaze. We see the fans react, mostly poorly, to Blaze by spitting on him and how that immediately pissed off the band. Especially Steve. Then we see Ron get Bruce and Adrian back. There’s a touch of tear jerking in the film. Going in depth of Bruce’s throat cancer. Nicko having a stroke. Paul passing away. Honestly, I found myself crying. Again, this band has been in every aspect of my life. Fifty years…that’s such an amazing career and simply a lifetime to have for the band. Every new venture, every bump and bruise, every fight, argument, and tears that they shed. Iron Maiden has created a family of millions. United by music. That’s what this film delivers. A fan service for the family of millions who are connected by the band. If you’re a fan of them, this film will bring you to tears. If you’re not a fan, this film will give you insight and hopefully respect for them. If you’re new to the band, you’re absolutely in for a treat. There are no wasted years here.

Three decades after the original slasher classic changed the landscape of modern Horror, Scream 7 arrives with something fans have been asking for: a genuine return to the heart and spirit of the franchise. With Neve Campbell stepping back into the spotlight, the film leans heavily into the legacy of the original Scream, and honestly, that’s exactly what it needed to do. Right from the start, the film feels like a course correction. After the previous two installments pushed the story in a different direction, Scream 7 pulls things back toward the core identity of the franchise. That means sharp writing, a self-aware tone, and a heavy dose of the commentary that made the series iconic in the first place. Let’s talk about kills because a Scream film lives or dies by them. Here, they’re plentiful, creative, and absolutely glorious. The body count stacks up quickly, and the film clearly understands that audiences come to these movies expecting memorable slasher moments. It delivers them in spades. The brutality never loses the franchise’s signature style either; it’s violent, sure, but it’s also staged with that familiar theatrical flair that longtime fans appreciate. Of course, what truly defines Scream is its tongue-in-cheek humor and constant commentary on Horror itself. That tradition is alive and well here. The infamous “rules of horror movies” concept returns in a big way. The self-awareness isn’t subtle, and it shouldn’t be. This series practically invented that style of storytelling.  Another interesting touch is the film’s acknowledgment of modern technology, particularly the presence of AI in everyday life. Instead of treating it like some dystopian nightmare scenario, the movie simply recognizes it as part of the world we live in now. Technology evolves, culture evolves, and Horror has always adapted alongside it. In that sense, the film feels very contemporary without becoming gimmicky. For me personally, the biggest strength here is the return of Sidney Prescott. Sidney has always been the backbone of this franchise and seeing her reclaim that role is incredibly satisfying. The last two films introduced new blood and while Jenna Ortega was cute and she had a presence, it didn’t feel right – this isn’t a Disney Princess franchise, which is what Ortega feels like often. The actress Melissa Barrera who was written as Billy Loomis’s daughter never quite landed as a true scream queen and quite frankly, I didn’t find her believable at all. She simply couldn’t carry the role and story line, so her being gone is the best thing that could’ve happened at this point. And let’s be honest: there’s only one Sidney Fucking Prescott. And that’s part of why Scream 7 works so well. It understands the DNA of the franchise and leans into it rather than trying to reinvent the wheel. Which makes the poor reception from some fans a little puzzling. What more could fans realistically ask for? The film delivers the thrills, the humor, the legacy characters, and the clever commentary that defined the series. More importantly, it reminds us why this franchise matters in the first place. Back in 1996, Horror as a genre was struggling. The slasher boom of the 80’s had burned out. Then the original Scream arrived and flipped the entire genre on its head. It revived mainstream Horror almost overnight and ushered in a new era of self-aware film-making. Thirty years later, that legacy still carries weight. And that’s where I stand with Scream 7.