Woods of Ypres - Woods 5: Grey Skies & Electric Light review

Year : 2012
Genre : Intense Funeral Doom
Label : Earache
Origin : United States
Rating : 9.3 / 10

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On December 21, 2011, founding member, lead vocalist, guitarist of funeral doom band Woods of Ypres, David Gold, 31, dies in a car accident near Barrie, Ontario. I personally hope Gold's spirit remains active in a dimension the consensus percept of reality has no immediate access to without a turbo pineal gland, yet, one thing is for sure : Gold's spirit also is projected to this plane of (meta)physical existence, as necessary result of the latest Woods of Ypres LP, titled Woods 5: Grey Skies & Electric Light. My first experience with this band was/is their official video of their song Mount Pleasant Cemetery, and I remember how I found it both intriguing and hilarious that the narrator sings about his own funeral, but, as viewer/listener of his uncompromisingly bitter musical report, here I am, being subjected to an elegiac meatspace-rant filmed in full HDRI gloom-glory, despite how the physical shell of the singer was "burieeeeeeed in Mount Pleasant Cemeteeeeryyyy" already. (And "the sadness was overwhelming." [and not little, you know?]).

The song probably is a ghost song of some sorts, necessarily resonated by a meatspace human while performed. The meatspace-narrator, one is invited to assume, attempts to channel the sentiments of the wannabe-narrator-ghost, which is bending to the will of the commanding spiritual system that demands a status report of its infinite suffering. Moral of the s(t)o(r)ry is frightening enough : suffering demands talent. Not surprisingly, this Woods of Ypres album is a fresh collection of attempts at exhibiting noteworthy spiritual suffering for your semi-perverted joy of continuous self reference, and you will need to read on to find out how it all turns out/in for this band in 2012.


I generally am not too big of a fan of music comparison, when you attempt to describe what you hear by enthusiastically naming earlier inputs of similar sonic character, thereby wanting to smuggle immediate merit to your argument. This almost always is the easy way out. Luckily, consensus reality does not give a nickelfuck with two lost holes in it about my sentiments regarding this issue, because, quite frankly, this album renders a huge amount of tasteful tributes to its numerous inspirators.

Opening track "Career Suicide" is a surprising build without any doubt. The song and David Gold both seek to dial in a mood-, a modal behavior reminiscent to Type O Negative and Rammstein, and you can add a little bit of early Anathema - think "Sleepless" era - on top, too. As the release lets you know hastily, the early Anathema feeling is one of the most important dispositions of this full length, one that consorts with the Type O Negative soulset amidst a natural flow of beneficiary chemical reactions. The delivery is more mid-tempo peacefulness and morose meandering than hefty rampage with ballsy grit, and, even when it IS hefty, it conveys its intensity along the elegantly risky register of the Anathemian "killing me softly" tenderness. The album is not at all on steroids, nor is in the need to be in order to come through as evidently relevant sonic data. The relatively fragile, yet absolutely tasteful production values all give a slick underground club feeling to the LP, which lets it communicate the messages along that special "You got me burning" emotional field of the first Terminator movie. Subtract the disco from "You got me burning", and worship the pure toast blackened leftovers, as that is what this album is about, lover.

In essence, the darkest charms of the '80s is here, fueled by contemporary emotion, realized in full comic book sonic glory, and the only minor caveat I care to mention is David Gold's notable urge to mime a variety of performers. He mainly seeks to imitate the sub-bass vocal style of Peter Steele, which is a real risky thing to do unless you sport the unquestionably near-divine charisma of Steele, at minimum. The results are quite frightening, but hilarious, too : David Gold's rendition of Peter Steele sounds more like the fronter of Crash Test Dummies, and I have nothing further to add to this.

Mind you that this pseudo-negative aspect I have just been telling you about, is not an excruciatingly daunting percept to endure, - it is fun, in a puzzling kind of way, instead - and it would be unjust to regard this trait of the release as a true annoyance of it. There really is nothing at all to dislike about this record in my opinion, as it is nothing short of inventive, honest sorrowful music, top to bottom. No filler songs, no alibis. The commanding mood of the disc seeks and tolerates no self-indulgent cultivation of stock-joy or instant, cheap comfort-hope. The music of this slitherer contribution drops on your skin as black velvet, yet this black velvet brings the elegance of sporting calming guarantees of the lack of a danger with venom hidden above it. Woods of Ypres is not out there to bestow cuts on you, thank God & Co. Woods of Ypres' latest studio album is out there to convey a special kind of underground retro gloom, one Peter Steele silently approves of. Steele did not object. This record is a truly pleasant surprise with no blemishes or notably weaker segments I care to mention, and I recommend it with a poker face and great satisfaction. Once again, if you are a fan of Type O Negative and early Anathema - even better : both - then this baby is immediate ear-treasure for you.

Rating : 9.3 / 10

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Mournful Congregation - The Book of Kings review

Year : 2011
Genre : Funeral Doom
Label : Weird Truth Productions (JAP), Osmose Productions (FRA), 20 Buck Spin (US), Independent
Origin : Loxton, South Australia
Rating : 9.0 / 10

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Mournful Congregation's The Book of Kings ruthlessly emerges as the proper antidote for the most comfortably cultivated stock-hopes, giving your psyche 76 minutes to spend directly under the weight of a world that exhibits no hurries whatsoever to offer you direct comfort. The standard crawling protocol of the robust genre of funeral doom is in full effect, and now comes to you with especially crushing melodies of monstrous harmonic overpower via a fabric that can only be regarded as such a serious and relevant sonic contribution as that of the latest of genre-brethren Esoteric. Read a review of Esoteric's current to date, Paragon of Dissonance, here.

The temper of the game herein is eloquent, sober, and doubtless faithful to the consensus cause of the territory it wants to offer compliments to. As it usually - if not always - is with all funeral doom with the sacred common agenda, this LP insatiably seeks to devour the heart without any intent to mime otherwise, and this constant artistic behavior to fold a galore of efficient melancholy unto you, always comes with a dainty set of hands and a sober mind to command them, putting such crystal clear musical ideas into the nervous system that the inevitable emotional reaction you give to them is not necessarily of misery, - would be a terrible waste of that - as you are free to appreciate their musical cunning with a soul seeking no self-harm, too. Up to you. The record, - and me, too - we are both ready to see you suffer if suffering is your thing.

The release, of course, is slow like a half-eaten sloth that crawls to the ledge to end its torment, and the sound equally is super-similar to the metaface drawn by the relentless analog traditions of this sub-genre. The guitars are deep deep down and monumentally anti-reign like battle cruiser derelicts imprisoned by infinite wild space, - indeed, metaphors are sucking Magilla Gorilla's ass off - and the lead vocalist has all kinds of trouble in the throat and is not afraid to address them utterly and completely, and generally a healthy amount of this release comes to you as a truly robust testament of relentless harmonic soulcrushing. The Animal is in the harmony, bitches. The top of the heat this piece offers always comes through the most relevant harmonic constructs it is able to deliver, and, fortunately, they are working superbly. For the most part. This sentence demands explanation, and that should be given. Read on to find out more about the elaborate methods this piece seeks to silhouette your now-shapeless set of favorite pains with.


Melodically, this release has quite a strong marathon run demonstrated, and I personally feel it always has a superb grasp of its mere suction power, and administers the stimuli for optimum soulswallow effect thorough. Though the compositions are long on "paper" - the titular track clocks in at 33 minutes - the mere stance and agendas they communicate themselves with, are truly capable to bend time to their capricious will, so you are transported to a universe that has an entirely different concept of the flow of time than the one you are likely arrive there with. In other words : this release is not ridiculously long-, nor overwrought.

The melodies herein are oftentimes quite clever, - sometimes alibi, yes, like some folkish sequence I feel no reason to revisit - partnering up with gut-wrenching relentlessness to demand a reaction via the mesmerizing combination of deliciously dangerous harmonic passages and the tormented sonic timber of the monster-guitar that would rather lose its existence than its dignity, and if you manage to remain unaffected, chances are that you lack a heart or a set of ears, or all of those. As noted, the keen sense for simplistic-, but robust harmonic structures is the primer key element amidst the best tendencies of this delivery, and the absence of it - whenever it is absent - signifies the relatively weaker parts of this spin, in my opinion.

Mournful Congregation's latest is an eventful funeral with capacities to adjust your mood calibration through the set of top-form melodic patterns the album brings to the table, and, though I personally feel that the record has its fair share of less dangerous moments than I would prefer it to immerse me in all the way through, it still registers as a thorough-, pleasantly exhausting ride with a set of memorable peak moments. Do not forget, your mood is what you can end up with, and life does not give a shit. The proper album to silhouette your depression with, - if you have any - so you have a better grasp on the stuff. Kill or comfort your depression.

Rating : 9.0 / 10

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Esoteric - Paragon of Dissonance review

Year : 2011
Genre : Funeral Doom
Label : Season of Mist
Origin : United Kingdom
Rating : 9.2 / 10

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Esoteric - Paragon of Dissonance is spaceship-delerict doom metal with its focus exclusively directed on the incapacitated states a human is in and constructs its assumed reality by. This band is out to rip your face off to help you see better with the heart, but, according to the music contained on this double barreled, it is not at all guaranteed that what the heart sees, will be to its liking, either.

If you want to go mad-, or, at the very least, would prefer to suck on the tongue of good old fashioned existential dread as result of you lacking the capacity to consciously and radically adjust those at any time, - which is indeed not something we possess the capacity for, but we are permitted to accept this state and do our best to improve this capacity in the future, [- by improving our current ones, for example?? -] then this CD is your immediate premiere choice to move in for the ancient, saggy tits of existential anxiety.

I bet she is a much more adept kisser than you, and no, I do not want to try. This review will include a superb nervous system trick as well, if you need one. If you don't, then I apologize. Yet, as for now, read on to find out how the latest Esoteric delivery to date crashes into your concept of reality.


Esoteric seems to be a critic, and one with a troll temper at that, and this double CD set is openly out there to rip your face off, so the access to your third eye is realized, at last. Esoteric expects you to give thorough face time - oops - to your dire companion Mr. Unbeknownst, the guy who is equally open about his agenda to bury a part of you every single day.

Esoteric is crawling, crushing doom metal reigning evident-rampant, primarily realized by analog instruments. Big, tidal-wave drums, guitars tuned to the depths of hell, and bass wide enough to make your subwooffer reconstruct your DNA, what irony! Esoteric also utilizes some rather elegantly and meticulously realized digital atmospherics to spice a build up here and there with little vile vibes of much greater significance. Yet, mind us that this solution is not ever present on the release, so its occurrence always is a very efficient-, and, paradoxically enough, gracing feat to behold.

As for the main attraction of the music herein, that is none other than a superb sense for strong, albeit tormented harmonic structures and odd - in a good way - rhythms. One would be quite curious of the lyrics, as well, - though I imagine there is not much manlove in them - because what you can get away with without the textual description of those, is nothing less, nor nothing more than decent vocal delivery via traditional death metal growling.

The songs are long like a round under a banshee, and thank God & Co. for that, because Esoteric's music absolutely demands these thorough investigations. The listener can not be criticized if she/he dismisses the stimuli she/he hears if to think of it as being unsuccessful. This is not the case herein at all. Esoteric, as hinted, comes up with harmonies that are sewn out of a highly psychedelic nature, and they are so well researched-, so "well felt" and smartly sculpted indeed that listening to their progression - various basic intensity and background to them, etc - remains utterly efficient and highly enjoyable for the multitude of minutes they tend to address their autonomous, exquisite deviancies. It seems to be quite true that once a harmony is strong enough, you are not sure you want it to go away too soon. A funny thing to witness : the ending track of this double CD shows emotional/modal similarities to Epitome XII from Blut Aus Nord, in my opinion

Paragon of Dissonance is a - seemingly - robust fabric in which full musculature sonic monstrosities are handling the door knob to each other, but, to be honest the record does not even sound to be too lengthy to me, despite the program time of 1 hour 33 minutes of both discs combined. The reason for this is simple : the record investigates places time comes to a still in. Time. Is. Not. A. Factor. Herein.

You, I think, are depriving yourself from a significant musical experience if you listen to this album amidst submitting to your daily activities. Give this tightly realized mindhack attempt the decency to listen to it with your eyes closed and your hideous body being comfy, so there is only the music and you, and the experience that connects the two. Which is all it is about.

Here is the nervous system trick, which I have read in a book by Rudolf Steiner : if you want to tap into the higher worlds, then - among 23423423423 other things - you need to focus on the energy that connects your physical body with the soul. That energy is beyond your physical body, it's been around since the days of cavemen and Cleopatra, and still it is here, as a part of your being. This thought has hacked my existence for the better superbly, and I hope you find it beneficiary, too.

now BE FUCKING HORRIFIED and check back soon.

Rating : 9.2 / 10

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