Witchery – I Am Legion


Formed in Linköping, Sweden twenty years ago, Witchery were born from the ashes of cult metal act Satanic Slaughter and have spent the last two decades writing joyful little (de)compositions about all things evil and dead. Or both… After a change in personnel for previous release, In His Infernal Majesty’s Service, the Blackened Thrash act are back with the same line-up to unleash their seventh full-length album, I Am Legion (both Century Media), and to absolutely no-one’s surprise, evil and death remain high on the list of subjects covered.

Kicking off with short but predictably heavy instrumental, ‘Legion’, the album takes a brief breather with an Exorcist- style intro to first proper cut, ‘True North’ before launching into an irresistible mid-paced groove led by the familiar, rasping voice of vocalist Angus Norder. If you don’t find yourself immediately bobbing your head or playing air drums to this one then you may already be dead.

‘Welcome, Night’ is another mid-paced monster driven by a very simple, but effectively dramatic riff. ‘Of Blackened Wing’ begins by evoking the spirit of Black Sabbath before recalling Celtic Frost at their fastest by launching into the first bonafide thrasher of the album. After an atmospheric start, ‘Dry Bones’ changes and mutates into something not too dissimilar to Satyricon, the doublet of ‘Amun-Ra’ and ‘Seraphic Terror’ are pure thrashing rage, grabbing you by the throat from the second they start, before tossing you into a corner, discarded and limp, like a worn out rag-doll when they’re finished with you.

‘A Faustian Deal’ and ‘An Unexpected Guest’ are another couple of Satyricon-esque mid-paced stormers, ‘The Great Northern Plague’ is a short but dark instrumental, and the album signs off in some style with arguably the record’s fiercest and fastest track, ‘The Alchemist’.

Blackened and bleakly oppressive, I Am Legion is the dirt under the splintered fingernails of something foul crawling slowly up from beneath the damp, mildewy earth. The musty aroma of a desiccated, rotted corpse that has escaped its wooden confines and is intent only on devouring the first living thing it sees. Oh, and that’s a good thing by the way.

8.5/10

GARY ALCOCK