Surpassing the boundaries of progressive / power / pylon-wilting metal with a mast-high cast-iron harness of the possibilities of positive thinking, this Brazilian quintet broadsword their way brazenly about your consciousness on this second album. Tis a soul-stirring voyage of spirituality and epicurean feast for the cerebral on great banqueting tables constructed from frantic riff rampages and strafes of sheet lightning vocals like a giant rodent swinging Bruce Dickinson around like the Union Jack on The Trooper, some of the most joyfully ludicrous guitar squalls - yes, like fire-breathing dragons providing air support for the squadrons of melodies ascending and swooping on soaring eagle flight paths - but also impish inquisitiveness (check the guitar solo on Surrender and tell me it doesn’t appriase you like the little raptor that kills the chunky computer nerd when he falls out of his car in Jurassic Park) that manages to be a whole armada of fun and upliftingment, firing broadside salvoes of hopeful armbands amidst it’s possible ponderous, chin-stroking topics. Swat away the lily-larynxed harbingers who carp at such escapades being colossal tapestries of misdirected testosterone, sub-Maiden nerdery or Ritchie Blackmore’s ham-fisted puppets, behind the dextrous duelling arcane scales that would bring deliverance to it’s flippers, back to front knees and assorted placing of ears is a real and genuine warmth clearly omnipresent on Spiritual Path, Leave Me Alone, Phoenix Tales and Cancer, which has a spiralling riff of such laser-intense density it surely should eradicate the disease, in both it’s actual form as well as it’s metaphorical mental malaise - but then you have to make the next album at least a double to spike the thorny issue of how then do you deplete the over-populating of the parlous planet? Skeletal Dominations is a glorious march, a purely beneficent dictatorship (on the rolletariat? Oh, come, now!) much deserving of a sprawling Alexandrian empire that never gets preachy or spreads a reek of patchouli through your speakers - even the insanely abysmal power bollock Bad Dreams is rescued, almost inevitably, by the adorably lovely vocals of Raquel Fortes - that visibly tightens yer trousers and may even stick patches on your back, whilst the closing brace of instrumental Regret and Forever And Ever shrink them to lederhosen with some additional spurges of Bavarian accordion spring dancing, as though they’re welcoming Keith Floyd in on his bicycle jaunt from some Etruscan hillside cooking expo. Spread the word, spread your wings, smell the corfee and fertilise your brain stems and combine to move mountains, even ones of your own creation.