"Tunnel of No Light"

by Octopi Mills

This project was formed years ago by once Katatonia members, as some of you might already know. Something perhaps remains from the old sound and era, something that could betraced in the near death state of the growling vocals, and of course, the melody heard in the string work of the guitars. There is a syrupy, weeping found in the strings, something sad and bleak, though this should come as no surprise to anyone who knows the style. Of the style itself, which might be argued to profanely border the same waters as some of the most terrible newer rock/metal music, I feel I should state this is by far better executed and felt out than almost all American bands who tread similar styles. Depressing music that is surely a downer, and not uplifting, sometimes one might wonder what good can come out of such an affair, or if these fellows are paid by the government to hold down the race of man.

 Words like "drown", "wounds", "emptiness", and "silence" are thrown around in the titles to seal the deal you have made to make yourself feel terrible when you enter upon such a contract that comes with owning this album. In the promo press,  I have just read "SweDepression" and now wonder more about the affair, and if there is a conspiracy. I also ponder what a stone age man might have thought if he had heard this, and if it would have lead to the hopeless,sulking destruction of his crude tools, or to a leap from a high place to his death. More likely, I think it would have led to the destruction of this album and its player by way of a spear or maybe, a stone axe. In like manner, I symbolically do the same. But forced I am, to wind through the compositions, and it does have the power to make one lose his half-hearted good lose hope itself, somewhat. These swirling chords that call forth a mute gray world destroyed by consumerism and industry, they could change me if I had to ride somewhere with someone on a long trip to the city. Ah, the power of music, and the lure of self defeat. If these men set out to do these things, then they have reached a certain level of success- one  to be found in the waiting room at the local psychiatrist's lounge. If only the two could somehow meet on certain medicated grounds, we would all be doomed. It is of my opinion that they have, or someday will. Beware...