"Era of Threnody'

By Octopi Mills

Here we have what many might see as a legendary German black metal entity. There are outright, black lies that have been told in the past by the one once known as Kanwulf, and other dramatic, painfully idiotic  moments of the legacy of Nargaroth that we will not dwell upon at this time. What we must do however, is now take into account his attempt at personal redemption without bearing too much thought on his old or new attitudes and this album itself will be viewed without such prejudices as might be a heavy curse for such outright juvenile behavior. The black fish netting of the past- can it be ever be truly escaped?

Can one ever truly redeem themselves from themselves- as one who is wiser than Solomon often says: "Let's find out"....

Reading into the man's own words elsewhere, I find he has presumably taken up the profession of psychology and adopted a nomadic lifestyle when the notion takes him. Reading into the inner gut work of the album I find he mentions some deep things about traveling places in a nomadic type scenario, searching within, and perhaps with the unshaven, hampster in the arse look of an old actor that went through an alleged transformation, whose name or work isn't important. As I think of this, I understand the engram and how it sticks in a man's mind...

The first of Nargaroth's album to be released since eight years opens with a woman talking of asteroids and humans in an overtly intellectual sense, and the album begins on this. Also spoken of was the interest in flamenco guitar and rural cultures, in the album description notes, and on track number four it scuttles around like a scorpion or similar arachnid as the man, once Kanwulf and now calling himself Ash, looks to build these sandy themes somehow on top of the old Scandinavian cold of the black metal build. This makes for a traveling, necro-politan turnover full of lonesome meanderings through personal things the man called Ash has found for himself since he originally wrote  and claimed many ridiculous things in the past that were not  his own...

Sounding more interested in his music than a lot or even most of his peers, the fellow messes around here and there with his guitar arrangements with the help of another fellow he has highly esteemed in print, and succeeds in not overdoing all this in the way some big shots many certainly have done; burdening many others on their way.Gone seem to be moments that are as damning and as embarrassing to his credentials as "The Day Burzum killed Mayhem". Album artwork, for those interested, is nothing interesting, and promo photos are tattoos and lip piercings. The flamenco guitars are built up in the album statement as to have you believe he could possibly not have executed them without help, and this sounds curious yet authentic, perhaps, as he puts them in places here and there without going guitar instructional or phallic in it's overall delivery. As it gets closer to expiration, one will not find the same feel one will ever get from black metal upon first hearing old classics, or upon unearthing orthodox treasures of those who often outdo the same with much less. It is worlds better than much other useless worship of the same belabored themes that are rehashed over and over. As the man must now shave his beard and return to a hot shower in some city, he too must walk back to the world of men and return to his peers where he now will be condemned to some half-caste, iconic status somewhere abroad and back home. And I myself must turn in, and give up such foolish notions of a young man's game, whilst somewhere another man will pick up a guitar and walk a similar path now overgrown and gone to thorn.