Parisian quartet Dirge can surely be termed a veteran of the post-Metal scene, now nearing a quarter of a century of active service. A new album is always hotly anticipated and seventh long-player Lost Empyrean (Debemur Morti Productions) is no different.Continue reading
The word yatra is a Himalayan term referring to a spiritual journey or pilgrimage. Locking themselves in a primitive forest cabin for a three-month creative process, it’s a term that seems pretty apt for Maryland’s Yatra, a Doom trio formed by Dana Helmuth of Blood Raven fame. Death Ritual (Grimoire Records) is the band’s debut album and is as harsh, gloomy yet stimulating as that process must have been.Continue reading
It’s taken eight years for US tortured Doom activists Amarok to create an album but, finally, here it is. With four tracks clocking in at almost 70 minutes you know that Devoured (Translation Loss) is going to be a long ride, but the news here is that it’s an emotionally draining one also.Continue reading
Formed by guitarist Morgan “Evil” Steinmeyer Håkansson in Norrköping, Sweden in 1990, Black Metal act Marduk took their name from an ancient Babylonian sky god and immediately attempted to become “the most blasphemous band in the world”. And, to be fair, releasing a demo called Fuck Me Jesus was a pretty good way of getting that message across.Continue reading
In 2015, Liverpool-Manchester hybrid Bodies on Everest produced The Burning (self-release), a ferocious slab of ultra-heavy, underproduced despair which its creators christened ‘Dungeon Wave’ and which tragically glided under the radar. Three years later that Blackened Doom crash has been reinvented on follow-up A National Day of Mourning (Cruel Nature Records / Third I Rex): the minimalist production accompanied by a more pensive, Drone-led violence, offering up a suffocating dystopian nightmare.Continue reading
Not that they can be easily discerned of course; but the lyrics within Nihil Unbound (Independent Release), the second EP from New York State terrorizers Hush are graphic, harrowing and affecting, yet possess a haunting beauty. The enveloping, suffocating music is difficult but immensely rewarding: initially a seeping torture yet, as with opener ‘…Gazes into You’, often given a tribal quickening and the slightest lift with a low-pitched chord sequence.
The employment of two basses will surprise no-one daring to venture inside, the oppressive riff of ‘Oror’ as deep and dark as the Marianas Trench yet moved forward by Mark O’Brien’s controlled but brutal drums. The portentous centrepiece and three-quarter section of this hideous track send shivers down the spine but it’s the guttural roars and screams of Charles Cure and Jeff Andrews that tear the soul apart.
The tension here is not merely physical, but a diseased parasite sucking life from the listener in a delicious fashion. The crawling pace of ‘Shinda nu No Shashin’ is given feverish attitude by the leashes restraining each instrument: the sound of the strain almost detectable, the sparing chords and murderous roars placing every nerve-end on edge with the aid of a quickened, buzzing riff. Even the tuneful, Post-like air moving through the intro of ‘A Permanent Echo Through the Dream’ carries a sense of foreboding, the lead flurries lightening the sound and tempo but not the feeling of disgusting horror: this is only heightened by the pauses and ensuing dulled explosions as the track slows to its awful coda.
The verbalised pain emanating from closer ‘Shattering the Great Chain of Being’ reaches horrific proportions; whilst the relentless pounding, carrying the maleficent weight of Roman galleon ‘pacers’, is accompanied by more spiking leadplay and howling, whistling bass notes which reverberate through the mind and don’t release their grip. Those who have not yet experienced Hush must prepare themselves for an extremely uncomfortable journey, one that at times verges on the unbearable. For those of us who like music to take us to the very edge of sanity, however, this is a phenomenal experience.
8.5/10.0
PAUL QUINN
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Let’s clear one thing up straight away, shall we? Momenta Quintae Essentiae (Prophecy Productions), the fourth album from Herefordshire one-man outfit Nhor, is in no way a Metal album. There’s nothing in the way of Rock either. This is ‘Funeral Classical’ delivered by an occasional Blackened Doom dabbler, and is utterly stunning.
In the right hands the piano is a marvellous instrument. When played sparingly or with the accent firmly set on piquing the emotions, its every strike is ice cold and chills the soul. In Nhor’s grasp it is caressed and relieved of its pain in the most memorable, haunting fashion: opener ‘Luna Oritur’ tugging at every heartstring, not with sickly sentiment but with stark reality. It’s the first surprise of an album mistakenly expected to provide an element of brutal malevolence.
The ensuing ‘Nosce Te Ipsum’ continues under the ivory influence, yet is accompanied by mournful cello and a Folk-style acoustic guitar to provide a truly affecting space. ‘Contra Ventum’ is even more moving, the brittle keys played at that funereal pace and, at this high pitch, shattering the cocooning silence like a shooting star across a night sky. Here a vocal line from the artist, brief yet sweetly harmonic, is so subtly delivered yet, such is its effect, it screams sporadically through the pulsing strings for six minutes of crushing, delicate beauty. The minutely quicker ‘Hedera’ and poignant closer ‘Ante Primam Lucem’ maintain that emotive feel with a heartfelt and perfectly arranged duel between the piano and returning guitar: the former painting pastel Latin pictures; the latter seeing a return of those faint, brief yet telling intonations.
The man himself regards this as the “Purest Nhor album to date” and a true reflection of nature. Incredibly evocative, lip-trembling yet conversely soothing, it will be insultingly referred to in certain quarters as a chillout album, when it is very far from that. An exercise in empathy, catharsis and expression of pain, it is a challenging listen yet one of the most beautiful, affecting things you’re likely to hear.
Metal?
Bollocks to that. At least for a little while…
8.5/10
PAUL QUINN
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From highly-rated Belfast quartet War Iron comes a morose, ponderous noise infected by the pure evil of Andrew ‘Baggy’ Bagwell‘s nefarious, slurring rasp. Dual leads pluck the heartstrings at intervals through the crushing riff and crawling, titanic rhythms of ‘Bludgeon Lord’, the opening track of third album Precession of the Equinoxes (Independent). A warm, crackling production heightens the sinister feel and prevents the quickening bridges from exploding into a full-on Death assault; instead applying the reins enough to make one marvel at how such a precariously-balanced pace is kept.
The desolate peal of ‘Summon Demon Scream the Abyss’ is initially accompanied by a penitent chorus before that terrible lascivity seeps over the body; a funeral groove, twisting with the slowing power and weight of a dying anaconda. Baggy’s repetitive early vocal has the sneering perversity of ex-Lord Mantis‘ screamer Charlie Fell, the track fizzing and swelling with all manner of sadistic sorrow. The introductory bass notes of the title track cause concussion, some unsettling low growls whispering around the floor before the most fetid scream tightens the sphincter: whilst colossal, almost Blackened riffs make the tension nigh-on unbearable. Oddly-pulsing leads at the mid-section combine with bone-crunching rhythmic gymnastics and brutal chops to the coda, all the while staying close to the Doom template. Closer ‘From Napalm Altar’ sees a return to that funereal hostility: the intermittent quiet moments filled with eerie language, setting the teeth on edge for the forthcoming bludgeon; every chord, note and single beat flung from Thor’s Hammer; the accompanying roars and rasps the embodiment of despair and terror.
Finally, the UK has a contender in the Blackened Doom market. Although the winding noise of an Indian or Coffinworm is absent, it’s replaced by an Ophis-style mournful tolling which adds to the ominous feel rather than detracting attention from it. The resonant, single-kick sequence closing this fine, startling album chills the spine, and leaves the feeling that nothing good will ever happen again. To Serpentine Path: if you want to scare the shit out of people at a snail’s pace, this is how you do it.
8.5/10
PAUL QUINN
I was hugely into Grunge in the 90s. I’ll never forget when a mate of mine came back from visiting its home and decreed it “the most miserable place on earth”. I was gutted. Maybe, however, it is such surroundings that fuel Seattle duo Bell Witch, whose blend of crushing Sludge, funereal melancholy and occasional Americana first bewitched the senses three years ago. Interest is high in Four Phantoms (Profound Lore), the band’s sophomore album, and yours truly is frothing at the mouth…
The emotions of a suppurating soul, in the moments before Experience kills it and undiluted cynicism sets in, are unbelievably raw; that capacity to feel true longing, joy and pain fighting with its dying breath. I’m not quite there…yet. There’s a feeling that these guys have really lived the anger and misery that exudes from every pore here and, when the almighty chord, drumbeat and roar combination explodes through the bassline of opener ‘Suffocation, A Burial:…’, accompanied by some sorrowful chimes, it creates simultaneously a feeling of euphoria, and a fearful despair of nothingness. Each note sparing, heightening the impact and more fully conveying the acuity of bitterness and sadness.
There’s real songcraft here; everything having its place and arranged with both passion and precision. Another explosion follows a brief lull of forlorn incantation, the melodic chords piercing every leaden punch. You’re aware it’s coming yet, when it does, its unfathomable weight disembowels, with Dylan Desmond‘s terrifying Blackened scream increasing the chills and the emptiness. This colossal opening really embodies that sense of personal loss and implosive grief; the agonies of the harmonised tones which lead into the last five minutes of this 22-minute epic duelling with Adrian Guerra‘s harrowing roars; the tension, power and mournful ecstasy almost unbearable.
The sparing chords of ‘Suffocation, a Drowning:…’, heavy to the head as an opiate and to the heart as a sudden arrest, possess a staggering delicacy enhanced by the stark guest voice of Aerial Ruin‘s Erik Moggridge; an evocative dark-folk delivery not unlike Art Garfunkel‘s deeper moments. The first half of this gorgeous yet soul-rending track is a sequence of crushing bass riffs and single beats, disturbing yet emotive solos and devastating harmonies, contrasting the subject matter yet sounding completely organic. The change in tone to the second half is similarly begun, so subtly it’s almost unnoticed – a more sinister exclamation in the solo chords introducing a period of brutalised roars and screams which only briefly affects the melancholy allure; returning but wearing an hooded cloak, the crushing power now swirling around slightly piqued yet honeyed vocals. The serenely mellow bass notes closing this quite staggering track ensure an almost stifled epiphany; the depth of meaning, the finality, truly felt.
It’s in marked contrast to the horrifying blast of sound crawling from the opening atmospheric ambience of album closer ‘Judgement, In Air:…’: the death throes of an apocalypse, the deep roar still counteracted by lamenting chords, the drums titanic and deafening in their resonance, shrouded in hypnotic swells of sound, the whole seeps like a mix of honey and tar from the speakers, a dying body summoning one last effort to crawl to its desired resting place: a brief howl of anguish, a final, writhing squall…and it ends.
This won’t be for everyone. If slow, sad, oppressive, Sludgy Doom isn’t your thing then you’re unlikely to be attracted to this incredible piece of work. Those who are, however, captivated by the mix of Pallbearer, Profetus, and Primitive Man‘s fulminating bitterness and the invention and rare Blackened edges of Inter Arma, all wrapped up in a seething amalgam of horror and beauty, will appreciate the wonder of a band beyond superlative and for whom there is no peak. Bell Witch continue to confound, enthral, terrify and move in equal measure; and in creating a second album of such weight and emotion prove themselves peerless.
Stop the wondering. This is the album for our twisted, corrupt, hubristic times and, arguably, the album of this century.
10.0/10.0
PAUL QUINN
A side project of Mourning Beloveth, Abaddon Incarnate and Altar of Plagues members, only a demo has previously emerged in the three years of Malthusian‘s existence. A support slot on the recent Primordial UK tour raised a few surprised heads in appreciation, and this downright dank, evil EP, Below the Hengiform (Invictus) enhances that growing reputation.
Coated in a production dripping with rotting tendrils and assorted filth, a crushing Doom-like weight yields to a more technical, less chaos-infested version of infernal Portland duo Aevangelist, and when a production is deliberately engineered to augment the sound I’m all for it,
The rasping screams of opener ‘The Gasless Billows’ lead into an eerie, Blackened-Doom corridor of fear before the blastbeats and subdued, skewed riffs emit increased energy, yet remain utterly devoid of hope. The fetid atmospheres of the dark, possessed ‘Slouching Equinox’, it’s crashing roars subterranean, are positively rancid and reek of decaying life; the cavernous roar near unintelligible yet the mid-paced bridges, whilst steeped in swampwater, display elements of Classic Metal and the disgusting filth the crashing coda washes the ears in is as delicious as it is diseased. The full cacophony is utterly monstrous and, while the Doomy mid-section does occasionally feel a little empty, the omen of horror remains and is borne out by a chilling, screaming coda.
The weight of those riffs and pounding drums in closer ‘Forms Become Vapor’ is nauseating, yet not enough to prevent a return to Aevangelist’s swerving riffs and harrowing choruses. It’s a finale that continues the blend of twisted horror and monolithic power this band, with all its experience, seems destined to purvey to perfection.
8.0/10
PAUL QUINN