If it so happens that I would do a "top" billed list of what material I've come by and how it stands among the other moose-heads displayed proudly and protectively on the wall from my collection, this would be imprinted on it. Without question, or even hasty removal as tentative as some of these lists go. Every collector has a catalog from the goods to the greats, or even complementary to the personal. This release is a combination of musical ability and just hitting right at home for me in a cozy type of extreme metal way, and after a number of years rotting my brain cells to it, I think it is only justifiable that I finally lay down some words for it.
'From the Shadows' suffers, it holds its head low, it purposely spits in the face of the wind so it will return with scorn, it's superimposed in your head each time it's spun and leaks out of the speakers. The band is the doomsayer of shifting downbeat symbolism. By reason of insanity, or even crystal-clear sanity that the normal life-breathing 'sapien would scratch his warm-blooded head at.
'What in the great hell is this non-sense?'
This is slow music, pondering music. Though nails won't grow visibly and ears will stay put till you're an old-timer. The pace is more or less dreary, though not consistently undulating, like an easy-flowing wave, there are instead sharp and piercing shifts at times. Things that don't line up in some textile-like, knitted fashion. And that is where their creativity lays: In the threshold of uncertainty; ready to pull you in, but as each track expands, unsure where they are going to pull you to this time around.
'Nine steps taken, are nine steps that can't be given back.'
Being separate and 'Alone,' yeah we've all thought to have traveled down that solitary way; though just merely whistlin' the blues with unshined shoes. Unholy sets up their single lane highway, a lane with no returning traffic. Noises travel by your ears resembling guitars that are fuzzy and are characteristic to a medium tone. Slowly strummed chords and palm mutes battle for the lead. Simple chords are the necessity, though hammer-ons and trills find their way to include more gray scenery to the bleak surrounding landscape. Acoustic guitar harmonizes a transition of group music, enchanting keyboards do as well during the span and are as subtle as they are sprinkled. 'That voice! What is it?' A higher toned wail comes from not only the front but all sides and the dimming rear. A nervous feeling that says, "Hurry up," as the music purposely ignores pleas and does all but ease the pain.
A 'Gray Blow' dared tangle my hair, creased my jacket, and then numbed my thoughts into cold, unstoppable, one-dimensional creations. Keyboard organs momentarily chill the wind, acoustic guitars throw the next stone, and clean, almost chanting vocals bring out the beginning trio of sounds. Rupturing, give-me-a-tourniquet-I'm-dying-here screams break the harmonious male melancholy for a minority of the song this time around. And strange, abstract sounds give entrance for the band to join together. The guitars play, though the drums and bass play around it as it paves forward with simplicity. The snare has a snap, a higher toned projection. The bass rattles and is periodically slapped. A certain build raises the volume and gives the bass unique showing of its normally underlying talent. The third phase has begun and you realize there's no chance of doing a 180 after testing the air and getting a whiff of 'Creative Lunacy.' Essentially trapped to more screams, agony and pestering sores as your body unwillingly moves forward. The pace is as alive as it is deadly with super slow motion, to surprisingly even a short faster piece with the drums galloping as the guitars strum casually along side. These strings also bring out some higher tones in a lead-like fashion, only to further escalate abstrate notes on occasion, more than likely so your limbs are always at a nervous 'ready' positioning. The final climax utilizes a too-spooky-for-its-own-good keyboard line with the drums initially moving along in a ritual-like fashion, only to have the other instruments join in and create this on-going medium pace.
'Autumn' never looked as chilly as winter where you come from. Though a short incarnation, it is as tall with feeling and has an atmosphere that is impossible to shake. A mangy dog that can never get free of all of the caked mud, soiling your clean surroundings and upsetting your mood when it enters your home. That same tortured "voice," and where is it coming from? It seems to come straight from the gut and forced all the way up its throat. There is a break with lightly played acoustic guitars and whispered vocals, only to magnify its return when those same vocals and slowly escalating guitars re-enter the oppressive picture.
On a trip and you forgot your anti-perspiration for you or anyone else. Damnation, man! the 'Stench of Ishtar' is unbearable. Containing whispered vocals that sound like they are played backwards as they inhale every haunting syllable. Pronounced bass that pounces between guitar strums. Guitar lines that become dark hymns; a proclamation to spiraling thoughts. Vocals that become deep and (down)lifting as well as piercing and pleading.
While walking with my 'Colossal Vision' in my head, I was able to stimulate my neck muscles more fluidly with a medium-on-the-side-of-slow trot. Music streamed from all sides that gave way to higher picked guitar notes, just as well as more continuous palm muted sections. There is a medium movement that is more of a breather from being pulled under with one giant over-bearing hand; trying to save yourself from drowning can have its own moments of hopelessness, but then again giving you some light at the end of the tunnel is just another way of giving you more rope to hang yourself with.
When all things are bleak and 'Time Has Gone,' then the world might just get up and walk away from its own axis or crumble into a zillion unmendable pieces. There is a voice that mutates from lows to exasperated wails and deeper snarling growls. Drums that complete a well-rounded assortment for such a slithering band; the beat begins as hypnotic with galloping double bass and continuous dual poundings as well. The end of its life is already drained of its vocals, though a horn-like emulation encloses from all sides as it paces forward in death-like procession with the rest of the solemn instruments.
Walking in a forest where everything is a danger, especially don't eat the leaves because if you did: 'The Trip Was Infra Green.' The bass tests the water and the vocals poke the body to see if it's still alive with an opening howl. Deep toned chugging grabs your neck and forces it back and forth, back and forth; forgetting comfort and sure enough to come with its share of hurt. A middle piece brings about dream-like images with guitars that have had its sound ripped apart, stretched and distorted, drums with sub-atomic reverb enclosed, and vocals that never fail to deliver a chill surging up and down your spinal column.
Will this continue forever, or will 'Passe Tiermes' be the final nail in the coffin? Opening with choppy waves from the guitars that sound like burning distortion; flames licking and scratching dry paper. The vocals giving their last soap-box speech, except with surrounding patrons at it with their little nose blankets and normally contended women with running outer masks; a revolutionary speaker in the middle of lethargic droves. A clear voice ends the oppression with a calm understanding that this is your final trip and new-found discovery.
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