Generally
speaking, American black metal is a hard sell, because Americans just
aren’t that weird. Yeah, I’ve seen the clips on the internet of perfectly
American fools chopping off their fingers or fucking dogs or whatever, but
I mean that ethereal, shadowy, sinister sort of weird that forest dwelling
Euro-black bands pull off so well. Most American black metal bands just
sound like a meaner, uglier Venom. Not these freaks, though. Wolves in
the Throne Room are a trio of graveyard creeps from Olympia,
Washington who, if the press releases are to be trusted, live off the land
like flannel gypsies, affording the luxuries of recording studios only
when the mood for depressive blackdoom hits ‘em. It hits them for a solid
60 minutes here, stretched out over four dense tracks that are as opaque
as the fog-choked forest on the CD cover. It’s a total wall of gloom here,
broken up only for the occasional ghostly wail from guest “Sorceress”
Jamie. Lemme tell ya, if the intention is despair, then they achieved it.
By the time the 14 minute long second half of witchy blizzard-blast “Face
in the Night Time Mirror” kicked in, I was rummaging around in the
medicine cabinet, taking handfuls of pills from every bottle. As soon as I
am done writing this review, I am gonna call the paramedics. And an
exorcist. This bitch is black as hell, Jack.
________________________________________________________
Generally
speaking, American black metal is a hard sell, because Americans just
aren’t that weird. Yeah, I’ve seen the clips on the internet of perfectly
American fools chopping off their fingers or fucking dogs or whatever, but
I mean that ethereal, shadowy, sinister sort of weird that forest dwelling
Euro-black bands pull off so well. Most American black metal bands just
sound like a meaner, uglier Venom. Not these freaks, though. Wolves in
the Throne Room are a trio of graveyard creeps from Olympia,
Washington who, if the press releases are to be trusted, live off the land
like flannel gypsies, affording the luxuries of recording studios only
when the mood for depressive blackdoom hits ‘em. It hits them for a solid
60 minutes here, stretched out over four dense tracks that are as opaque
as the fog-choked forest on the CD cover. It’s a total wall of gloom here,
broken up only for the occasional ghostly wail from guest “Sorceress”
Jamie. Lemme tell ya, if the intention is despair, then they achieved it.
By the time the 14 minute long second half of witchy blizzard-blast “Face
in the Night Time Mirror” kicked in, I was rummaging around in the
medicine cabinet, taking handfuls of pills from every bottle. As soon as I
am done writing this review, I am gonna call the paramedics. And an
exorcist. This bitch is black as hell, Jack.