After a case of diminishing returns during the Owens era -- a time when it was starting to appear Schaffer might regress into a bloated caricature of his former glory -- the first impression _The Crucible of Man_ imparts is that it seems as if those Owens years never happened. Starting off with a familiar Wagneresque preamble choir voiced in Latin ("In Sacred Flames"), the chugging triplets and plangent wailing of "Behold the Wicked Child" is absolute vintage Iced Earth. A thousand comparisons could be made with any of the pre-_Burden_ albums; so many that a sort of pointless irrelevance precludes the very bother of it. If you've heard an Iced Earth album prior to 2004, you'd be forgiven for thinking this might in fact be one of them. That said, this is hardly been there, done that material.

I couldn't tell you the first thing about the story's plot, a continuation of the _Something Wicked..._ storyline if the album's subtitle didn't tip you off, because god forbid record companies send journalists lyrics booklets these days, but like any concept record worth its pillar of salt, a familiarity with the narrative is not essential to enjoying the results. Like many as such, _Crucible_ starts off almost ridiculously strong before gradually fading to a mere mortal level of achievement. I'm on record as "A Gift or a Curse" being the best Iced Earth ballad as of yet extant, an almost disembodied Greek tragedy of a tune posthumous in delivery, monolithic in reserved intensity. It's the longest track on the first half of the album, _Crucible_ succeeding early on by trading primarily in short, sharp blasts of mournful, barely reserved outbursts of power, "A Gift or a Curse" carving a swath through the bookending anthems like an engorged river of dry ice.

Pre-album single "I Walk Alone" unofficially kicks off side two, a more conservative (if that even makes sense in this context) foray into trad thrash riffery and bombastic, multitracked vocalizing. Largely familiar yet always satisfying, this latter half is quality-dominated by the Maidenesque "Harbinger of Fate", thereafter dipping deep into familiar territory before finally regrouping with the faux symphonic metal of "Divide and Devour" and penultimate closer "Come What May", a single worthy beast easily eclipsing "I Walk Alone" but perhaps hampered by its 7.5 minute running time... nonetheless a colossal night cap to the band's crowning achievement. By focusing in and expanding on the band's essence, Schaffer and Barlow have not only recaptured the prestige of Iced Earth, but irreversibly enhanced it.