Demonoir Makes Its Case

Because I know you were concerned: Demonoir has proven to the pleasant experience I had been hoping for. If I were to summarize in a sentence: what I wrote about "Atomic Chamber" being a mix of "plenty of pounding...some (slightly) more atmospheric stuff, and...a decent amount of structure that keeps a six minute song sounding like a six minute song and not an endless assault" turns out to be Demonoir in microcosm. Each true (or tr00?) song is bookended by a minute or so of atmospherics, titled in a numerically-ascending sequence as a progression along the tunnel of Set (maybe this Set?), which makes the songs feel like a brutal set of way stations. The effect is similar to that used by Teitanblood used on Seven Chalices.

Those songs in turn are distinct enough that I'm starting to remember portions between listens, which is probably about as catchy as a black metal album can get without crossing over into that tricky melodic territory. Most of them even have a personality that's more black metal standard, too - which might be why they're starting to stick. "Psalm 777," for example, cribs some Ride the Lightning-era Metallica in both riffs and solos, which certainly catches the ear. A few listens in and I'm already pretty close to calling Demonoir my favorite 1349 release.

Again We Rise: Celtic Frost - Monotheist

True to Iron Maiden's promise at Madison Square Garden in 2000, the decade that followed has seen a resurgence of metal that not only obliterated the specter of death staking the genre in the 1990s, but makes previous heydays seem puny in comparison. Metal in the 2000s was all about proliferation: new styles emerged, old ones regenerated, and - thanks to the Internet - exposure spread like a virus. To highlight all of that success , we're launching Again We Rise, an occasional feature that will celebrate the releases that rose above the voluminous crowd to become classics. Today, Celtic Frost's Monotheist.

In the measurement of an album's brutality, there are a few key ways for a release to stand out: it can hit you physically, executing a convergence of riffs and mix that feel like a beating; mentally, dazzling you with vision-generating atmospherics; or psychologically, daring you to confront the true meaning of emptiness. Metal being such a masochistic art form, all three methods are enjoyable, but it's the psychologically brutal albums that are perhaps the most effective - and of the past decade's releases, none were more effective than Monotheist. Fourteen years in the waiting and six in the making, the swansong album for Celtic Frost takes its surface character from the bone-dry distortion of a single shambling guitar and the tuneless chant of Tom Warrior, working in tandem to drive the listener slowly down the road to the abyss.

There are many strange and wonderful sights along the way, however that keep Monotheist from becoming a simple plodder: the opening of "A Dying God Coming Into Human Flesh," where a few simple guitar counterpoints, the rumble of a bass, and a haunting melody sung by Martin Ain build to a crushing crescendo that they eliminate the potential cliché in the lyrics - "frozen is heaven/frozen is hell/and I am dying in this living human shell" - with mesmerizing ability.



The combination of feedback, analog keyboard pads, and a To Mega Therion-style female vocal in duet with Warrior's growl on "Drown in Ashes" becomes the aural equivalent of chasing will 'o the wisps through a swamp.

The sonic imagery of "Totengott," which might as well be the bedrock for the albums released by Teitanblood, Anaal Nathrakh, and 1349 last year.

"Winter," which sums up all of the emptiness Monotheist trumpets in spades with a simple 1:30 of droning, shifting strings.



If the contemplation of nothing and our insignificance in the face of that infinity that represents this contemplation at its truest had a soundtrack, it would be Monotheist.

Album Review: Teitanblood - Seven Chalices

I'm listening to Seven Chalices, the new-ish release by Teitanblood that Seth digs because they sound like they're riffing off of Celtic Frost. The album definitely has two presences: on the metal tracks, a majestic oppressiveness heightened by its low-fi production and the slap echo on the singer's voice. Very quickly, his shrieks and growls become like the cries of a demon-infested grotto, drawing you in to where horrors dance in the malevolent half light, crying for your tasty flesh. The non-metal tracks are atmospheric interludes, where drones and Eastern instruments meld to create soundscapes; drug-induced fantasies where Lovecraftian horror lurks at the edges, ready to turn dream into nightmare.

I'm in the process of re-reading The Name of the Rose, Umberto Eco's tribute to the Sherlock Holmes stories set in an abbey in northern Italy in the 1300s. It was a time when pretty much everyone believed that all of the stuff Teitanblood is trying to conjure up in Seven Chalices was out to get them on a regular basis and they made their art accordingly, so everyone would know what was what. At one point, the main character - an elderly monk chronicling his experiences as a young man - recounts the story of his younger self examining an entranceway into a church, where carvers had depicted scenes from the Book of Revelation. The carvings are vivid enough that his young mind is able to bring the details to life, thrilling in the promise of salvation and shrinking back in intense fear from the horrors spewed up from the bowels of Hell. When I listen to Seven Chalices, I get the feeling Teitanblood were trying their best to bring that same sort of demonic presence to life in auditory form.