"Patriarchs of Evil"

By Octopi Mills

Greek black metal seasoning and flavoring that is said to be started in 1988, lending longevity and commitment to what they are doing. First thing I notice right away is the vocalist's personal style which makes it too much for me; the over passionate hollering rubs me the wrong way as does the whole style of the music, though I keep other tentacles doing other things like returning to a brief study of Greek cuisine as the play time goes on.

 I suddenly remember I like the foods, and have nothing against the Greeks themselves as a people. The music itself sounds Greek, even in a metallic sense, and it has melodic and epic attempts that some will like- and some instrumentation done to evoke an old folkish feeling of antiquity. When I look upon the band and their lyrics, however, it all seems big and dumb- juvenile and childish. The old occult hocus pocus is overwhelming and recalls the lie of the Necronomicon and caped nerds doing ridiculous things in basements or atop remote hillsides where herdsmen dwell; I could go on but the point is grown men ought to know better. This lowbrow feeling never leaves me as I listen to the hollering and ego of the guitarist and the promo photo speaks volumes to all the things that do me wrong as I contemplate the Greek word engram . I can smell cumin on the sardines that Aleister Crowley sat and ate while dying of stupidity at the old Netherwood old folks home, and I know it has nothing to do with all this and yet everything at the same time. 

There are copper sunsets, rich cultured cheeses made from the goat like teats like the same way guitars pinch off loaves of crafted bread. Their's is the wine of evening night's blood, and moments of visiting Greece by way of half arsed occult people who have, in the past ,tried to bring Solomon into your living room in the form of demons through speakers and gates left opened by those who came from that old era when we supposedly received the first translations of certain texts that would stunt the social mentality of men for the rest of known time and time known. Man rules where they once ruled, and these certain men who toy with the tinkerers are best observed as the men who open farm gates into other fields and leaves it open to pastoral invasion. It's a god-damned travesty and outright tomfoolery to good decent folk who wipe their boots and not their backsides on the floor rug of the local rural types who still ward signs and pull their hoods tight when the darkness rises.