Whilst a lot of modern acts ploughing the same kind of war metal inspired vein can sound almost comically thin and flimsy, Teitanblood have always stood out with a thick, imposing sound that has a real physical presence to it, like a towering, grotesque pillar constructed of human flesh, offal and the skin of some unknowable cosmic horror. It’s disorientating in the best way, and hypnotic whilst aggressively confrontational. The title tracks veers between the two approaches, constructing a similarly hellish soundscape to short lived Sunn O))) side-project Pentemple before unleashing an eviscerating rumble that sounds like every Blasphemy song playing simultaneously in a wind tunnel. It suits the duo’s sound though, simmering their usual fiery bluster into an almost unbearably tense crawl, before shit finally hits the fan with ‘Leprous Fire’ and the dense, resolutely furious whirlwind that is ‘Ungodly Others’, flying past in a blur of brutal blasts, terrifyingly fast clusters of mutated black/death riffery and NSK’s otherworldly growl, not so much speaking in tongues as howling, drenched in delay and a truly evil aura. Even first song proper ‘Black Vertebrae’ is curiously slow and reserved, with primordial doom licks wrapped in tar and warped into repulsive new shapes. Unlike Death however, which opened with the immediately explosive ‘Anteinfierno’, The Baneful Choir begins on a much more subdued note with the terrifying dark ambience of ‘Rapture Below’. It’s a testament to their quality over quantity approach that, without any extensive marketing campaigns or media hype, the release of The Baneful Choir this month has been greeted by the same rabid enthusiasm that met 2014’s impenetrable yet masterful second opus Death. (Norma Evangelium Diaboli) The Baneful Choir by Teitanbloodĭespite this only being their third full-length in the decade that’s passed since 2009 debut Seven Chalices, Spanish duo Teitanblood have come to be one of the most revered acts in that subterranean middle ground between cavernous death metal, esoteric black metal and feral war metal. Oh well, one step forwards, two steps back… Can we all just agree that any band that acknowledges the existence of internet memes in a song has not only jumped the shark, but catapulted their lifeless, flailing body so far over the aforementioned great white with such velocity that we should never speak of them again and just move on with our lives instead? Deal? OK, cool, now get this in your ears pronto… Then again, this month also saw Machine Head return with some of the most abysmal lyrics in the genre’s history, in which a 52 year old man somehow delivers lines like “I hear you motherfuckers talk, talk, talk/I’ll bless your body with some chalk, chalk, chalk” with not only a straight face, but an astonishingly misplaced sense of smug superiority. I haven’t delved into detail here due to covering it elsewhere, but rest assured it is essential, and its eloquent and moving lyrical takedowns of everything from corrupt leaders to inhuman immigration laws and even the inherent ridiculousness of black metal itself are incredibly refreshing, and an ample reminder that metal still has an important and articulate voice. To all those trying to argue this point to the non-believers out there, I say thrust ‘em a copy of this month’s new Dawn Ray’d album Behold Sedition Plainsong, one of the most lyrically astute black metal records ever recorded. Lyrics can often be an overlooked part of metal, with the genre often being unfairly painted as nothing more than a hive of mindless gore, fantasy clichés and macho bravado by those who have never taken the time to delve beneath the surface – not to mention that age-old response of “what, there are lyrics for this?!” when a listener unaccustomed to harsh vocals is suddenly introduced to the incomprehensible guttural burble of, say, Demilich, for example.Īnd whilst there’s nothing wrong with using vocals as a wordless, purely expressive textural instrument (and metal can often excel in this regard too), it’s a shame that so many of metal’s most accomplished wordsmiths often go unsung, drowned out by the din of their bands or, indeed, the intensity of their own delivery.
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