Reality - larger than mans illusions
or is it me? (DHG)
or is it me? (DHG)
FIRST LISTENING SESSION:
You just know when something belongs to the exceptional
category.
How exactly exceptional is this release? Is it an album
capable to transcend all temporal parameters? The instant goose-bumps and the
uncomfortable sweet heartache are normally an unmistakable sign, but I shall
sleep on this for a while…
SECOND LISTENING SESSION:
The bass hurts me.
The keyboards haunt me.
The guitar scalds my skin.
The harsh drumming bruises me.
The vocals unsettle me.
FURTHER LISTENING SESSIONS:
Aldrig Döden Minnas..
is the best track I have heard in decades. The keyboards are insanely eerie yet
right in your face: never a ghostly entity has felt so tangible… But the throne is equally shared by all the
elements of this architectural masterpiece of quintessential Nordic black
metal. In turns, one moment I am blown away by a memorable guitar riff rising
from the choral blaze to shred the soul into flakes of icy snow flakes; but
then the feral iron fist of the contorted bass lines jumps out to grab me by
the hair, dragging me deeper still in a silvery aural blizzard where the drums
blast off imperviously like thunder. I feel lost… And alas, the powerful,
unforgiving harshness in the voice seems to proclaim that even northern gods do
not exist: death swallows all…
Allt är Åter ominously
unravels, slowly and proudly, giving me a sense of stoicism borne out of trial
and tragedy: to be at the mercy of Nature is as frightening as awe-inspiring.
Askormen: doomingly
deranged, stabbed by grimly frightening blasts, its ghoulish melody stirs deep
into the guts with snake-like regurgitations from that astounding bass; ominous
spells spew from the mouth of the cursed… then a sudden (genius) solitary clean
verse thrown in towards the end displaces me completely. Masterpiece.
Hinsides Dagen keeps pressing the
fingers around my neck, bruising the already cyanotic skin. The erratic aural
movements are arranged to perfection, from a glowing acoustic guitar passage
that takes me to high-medieval times to the solemnly tormented Viking choir;
but wait, the ghostly gathering stumbles into a schizophrenic jazzy break,
suddenly sucked in into a crazy, fathomless dimension for a few instants of
brain short
circuit...
Then it all reappears and the track spirals vertically into a jagged vortex;
the vox is like that of a delirious prophet; the keyboards are frighteningly
supernatural, while the titanic bass boulders through in the effort to keep a
world swirling out of control anchored firmly to the ground, in vain: the whirlwind
of otherworldliness eventually takes us away…
Tidlösa Vindar,
gloriously juxtaposing acoustic depth to scalding blasts, takes you close to
what it must be like to stand in the midst of a spectral storm - take these
words literally. As the ominous spell descends upon me, the room transforms
into an intricate white icy forest. I am beginning to wonder if this is
actually real… A lesson on how to do powerful shuddersome epicness without a mere hint of redundancy! Grim despondency,
realism and sobriety, as opposed to suicidal whining, provide a tremendous shot
of testosterone, a rare thing in much of today’s weakling/fake (delete as
appropriate) black metal.
Till Stilla Falla. The title track alone has enough ideas to
fill up the entire discography of some uninspired bands that manage to get
deals with aggressive labels churning out useless albums every two weeks. The
musical story is bewitching: far more atmospheric than the previous tracks,
Mr’s Pettersson’s melancholy mood prevails in the songwriting, bridging towards
his De Arma’s sorrowful debut. Aside
this track, overall the album has a Bergraven imprint that will excite many, albeit
rewritten with a more spartan attitude, taming the ravenous beast of the
avantgarde experimentation for the recuperation of the authentic spirit of
black metal proudly howling from the Swedish shores…
OPEN CONCLUSION TO MY OWN TALE:
My early impressions are fully confirmed: this is a work
of rare force, integrity and intellectual honesty and intelligence. One of the
best black metal albums I have come across in recent times, one which refuses
to play the trump cards of extreme lo-fi and overwhelming, decadent drama, choosing
instead the higher path of balancing bleak despondency with stark sobriety. It reflects
a smart, down-to-earth vikingness that
rejects the lure of tempestuously romantic Wagnerian scenarios, digging deep in
the face of a harsh environment, always a metaphor for death and the void
beyond it. In spite of its unsettling
ghostly eeriness, what captivates me about Stilla’s sound is a fierce sense of
resolve and practical creativity stemming implicitly and inevitably from the constant
fight against the elements, always on the edge of madness, always on the edge
of survival... Ultimately the Swedes, throughout this bleak, honest, old-school
approach imbued with an unmistakable avant feeling that pushes the work above
the rest, stare at the ineluctable with a level of self-respect that,
lamentably, is rarely encountered.
Till Stilla Falla will keep growing in time, eventually
taking its full form when the lyrics will hopefully come forth to me: I am convinced
it will be one of the few recent albums I shall go back to whenever I need to
restore my faith in music!
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.