Veterans of the conflict infamously painted it as “months of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror”. There’s little of that kind of dynamism here, with even ostensibly ‘understated’ passages overflowing with bombast. It’s an immoderation that occasionally veers into the farcical. A Ghost In The Trenches, for instance – chronicling the deadly heroism of Canadian Aboriginal sniper Francis Pegahmagabow – eschews anything like the stealth of its subject in favour of full-frontal attack, a roof-raising key-change and pyrotechnic guitar solos. But then, when they do tone it down, such as on the choral closing rendition of John McCrae’s heartbreaking In Flanders Fields, although reassuringly reverent, fits awkwardly with the earlier extravagance on display.
When Sabaton hit their mark, however, there are arterial sprays of cheesy joy. The Attack Of The Dead Men – based on the gas-wreathed last defence of the Osowiec Fortress – pulsates with doomed purpose to a cataclysmic marching beat; the title-track is machine-tooled for arena-sized sing-alongs; The Red Baron overloads on sheer exuberant chutzpah, like an unhinged cousin to Maiden’s Aces High. And yes, rhyming ‘Russia’ with ‘Prussia’ is crap, but when they pair ‘Squadron leader’ to ‘Rote Kampfflieger’ a couple of lines later, it would take the most dour history geek not to crack a grin.
The Great War isn’t just a commemoration of the centenary of the armistice (albeit a year late), but of Sabaton’s own 20th year. There’s something perversely fitting about this subject matter as a benchmark of the Swedish meatballs’ iron-willed, do-or-die stylistic entrenchment. They remain a laughing stock to some, but there’s much to be said for not getting stuck in the beige mediocrity of musical no man’s land. And, having outmanoeuvred even their most vociferous haters to the pinnacle of the European festival circuit, the triumphalism beating through these songs can be forgiven.
No guts, no glory, indeed.
Verdict: KKKK