The words are barely discernible, thin, fragile
shapes formed out of the hoarse yet bellicose raging of a desiccated,
cadaverous throat, leprous, shredded; its death-rattled breath conveyed by the
thundering vibrations of drums breathlessly pummelled without pause. There is
no rock ‘n’ roll backbeat here, just a furious cacophony. Voice smashed and sliced open by explosions
of percussion challenging the darkness, buzzing guitar chords rising and
falling up the scale, lurching, striving like a swarm of ravenous insects
dipping and swerving in the frozen, airless void, defying gravity, seeking the
taste of death ...
From Scott Wilson (ed) Melancology: Black Metal and Ecology, Zero Books, forthcoming in 2013.
