Way back in the fall of ‘99, I had a hardcore straight-edge vegetarian friend who would relentlessly try to turn me on to dozens of mediocre, garden-variety hardcore bands to little avail. It wasn’t that I didn’t respect the energy of the music or frowned upon the close-knit devotion to the community and the “scene,” but it was too predictable, too monotonous, and ultimately left me feeling empty. Like ska and punk, it just wasn’t my bag. (Correction: on second thought, I loathe ska.) So one can only imagine the kneejerk eye-rolling and sigh of mild annoyance as my well-intentioned companion proceeded to tell me about a band that he “guaranteed” I would like - no, love - while he casually sauntered over to the stereo to insert the disc. Within minutes I was sitting dumbfounded, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as Zao’s Liberate Te Ex Inferis (1999) blasted out of the speakers.

Never before had I been exposed to such blazing, unrestrained evil (this was shortly before I discovered black metal), and when my friend told me they were a Christian metalcore group, the irony was not lost on me. Zao was formed in 1993 in Parkersburg, West Virginia by drummer Jesse Smith, and during the mid-’90s they released a handful of demos, EP’s, and two full-lengths on Steadfast before disbanding in 1997. Smith wanted to continue, however, and it wasn’t until the addition of vocalist Daniel Weyandt for 1998’s Where Blood and Fire Bring Rest that a new lineup solidified. With a new-found sense of purpose and a discordant, crushingly heavy approach to songwriting, Weyandt was the icing on the cake: a troubled, enigmatic kid with a flair for thoughtful (albeit incredibly grim) lyrics and, most critically, the voice of Satan incarnate.

Liberate Te Ex Inferis remains the band’s masterwork to date, a concept album loosely based on Dante’s Inferno and the five circles of Hell. The song titles themselves offer insight into the music, abandoning subtlety for downright creepiness: “Dark Cold Sound,” “The Ghost Psalm,” “Skin Like Winter.” Anchored by Smith’s violent drum work are the dual guitars of Scott Mellinger and Russ Cogdell, churning simple but brutally heavy riffs into the mix. At the eye of the storm is Weyandt, his voice alternating between a chilling whisper and a demonic rasp. His lyrical content transcends the usual death-and-despair approach to reveal poignant, intelligent expositions on topics such as attaining immortality (“So close to separation, a ghost without a grave”), the vicious rape of a close friend (“Her petals are slowly torn away; scarlet adorns the snow”), and the unexpected death of a younger sibling (“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, beautiful child turning into stone”).

The band welcomes the listener into their cold, barren sound-world with “Intro,” a funereal dirge that slowly builds in intensity and volume to culminate in the blood-curdling scream that opens “Savannah” at 3:37. The guitars, nearly suffocating under their own weight, transform into piercing air raid sirens at 5:13, mimicking Weyandt’s apocalyptic warning: We saw it bleed! At 5:39 the guitars drop out for Rob Horner’s contorted, stomach-churning bassline while Weyandt writhes in agony: The machine bleeds, the machine bleeds. Lovely stuff, isn’t it?

“Intro / Savannah” – Zao 6:23 (Liberate Te Ex Inferis, Solid State 1999)

“If These Scars Could Speak” begins with acoustic guitar strumming atop Smith’s nervous drum pattern, loosening his hi-hats to anticipate the fury of sound at 0:36. Note the punishing 6/4 groove he creates out of the guitarists’ knotty chords at 1:32 with a cleverly placed hi-hat accent as he whips the bell on the ride cymbal. The storm briefly subsides at 2:53 for the most beautiful moment on the record, as bell-like harmonics caress a wonderfully neutral guitar chord and Weyandt double-tracks his naked voice: “Cradled by a cold floor, isolation reveals his true motivation.” The solace is brief as the band suddenly erupts into a stomping death march custom-made for mosh pits, the guitarists tearing through riffs with the ferocity of a rabid pack of wolves.

“If These Scars Could Speak” – Zao 4:43 (Liberate Te Ex Inferis, Solid State 1999)

With Hallow’s Eve looming in the near future, I was tossing around the idea of a Most Evil Records post, but few albums can lurk in the shadow of Liberate Te Ex Inferis: powerful, passionate, and scary as all hell.