Of course you knew him from Murderdolls, in which he was “one of the other guys” in that aforenamed band created by Joey Jordison, the former drummer of a little nonet known as Slipknot. Perhaps you’re older school and remember him in Frankenstein Drag Queens from Planet 13, or even older school than that as some dude named Joseph Poole. But forget everything you knew about Wednesday 13, because, for the intents and purposes of these Condolences (Nuclear Blast), the Wednesday 13 you thought you knew is dead.

Or undead. Or back from the dead.

Okay. Actually, Mr. 13 hasn’t changed that much. He’s still obsessed with open graves and open wounds. But when it comes to musical sensibilities and styles, make no mistake, Condolences is a metal record through and through to its bloody, black heart.

Now, having read all that, I wouldn’t fault you if you expected this album to sound like White Zombie. However, barring a very Rob-iniscent chorus in “Omen Amen” (complete with a tasty “Ohhh babyyyyy” inserted in all the right places), Condolences sounds nothing like anything with Zombie in its moniker. In fact, it sounds more like Hellyeah meets The Misfits in some dark cemetery where Alice Cooper is gleefully digging up Alexi Laiho’s dead relatives.

And while Señor Trece’s attempts to go full-on metal are certainly heartfelt, they don’t always work. ‘Cadaverous’ summons a bit of Prong here, a bit of Testament there, but misses the mark just a bit. ‘What the Night Brings’ comes closer, even channeling some of those deliciously slow and grinding elements from Alien-era Strapping Young Lad and the scathing spit of Devin Townsend.

But Condolences really finds itself stride with tracks like the Static-X infused ‘Prey for Me’, and ‘Cruel to You’, the latter an easy highlight that is the closest thing on this album to anything 13 has done before. Punky melodies and eighties hair metal vibes, but with heavy doses of chunky, downtuned riffing, and a catchy-as-catch-can chorus you won’t be able to resist singing along to. You’ll be dancing around your front yard to this one, gleefully singing lyrics that put both the S and the M in S&M, while the neighbors stare and wonder precisely when they should make that first call to 911 (or 999, for you UK Ghost Culters).

Dance like no one is watching. Don’t worry, the dead won’t tell.

7.0/10

JASON KOROLENKO