Lycanthropic fantasies and solace in death - IN SEARCH OF SPACE #171

It seems appropriate at this time in my life to dedicate myself even more wholeheartedly to the study of black metal. Just as my gaming experiences have continued a slow spiral down into reflexively exploring the less wholesome parts of my own psyche, with dispiriting and dehumanising violence from Spec Ops: the Line and Hotline Miami and joblessness still enduring, anything less than pitch-black iss immediately discarded. I can only sit and read William Blake and Nietzsche in spurts, intercut with restless sleep, horrible headaches and real heavy things.


The only solace I have found is in the skeletal arms and barked assaults of the bleakest beauty, found in the flawless and deeply useful Master, We Perish, by the Body. Dear sweet Jesus if the nihilistic choral lead or the shotgun-cock decibel-hike isn’t enough to send a warm glow up from your feet and a cold chill down your spine simultaneously then I don’t think you should be reading this blog. The Body are so inherently opposed to all positive feeling that I had a disturbing emotional fight with my girlfriend to which they provided unknowing accompaniment. They just kept playing as it all fell apart, as well they might. Stunning drone doom dirge depression from start to finish, the best 12” of this year so far.


It’s by Nails, it’s called Abandon All Life, it’s their third album, it’s their longest at 17 minutes, and you should go and get it. Don’t second guess me punk, you’ll look real funny smiling back at me with no fucking teeth.


Now take the collective human loathing produced by hours of reality TV and condense it into the spectacular seismic 2013 DEMO #2 by AntikytherA, DEMO #1 is excellent also but for 25 minutes of Megaton Leviathan-bashing in one of the most monosyllabic doomy mediatations of the year. Beginning as individual solipsistic chords queuing patiently to sound off like a tuning fork one by one, and rising into a vicious and apocalypticly bleak corryvreckan of swirling dark guitar sound and relentless wah-inspired amplifier abuse.


Oh and son of this parish Tommy Concrete tried his hand at some honest-to-god black metal, it’s pay as ya please so do check him oot, there’s a good nondescript blog-viewing blob.


Written under duress by Steven.

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