by Octopi Mills

Here we see a more typical album cover which is standard in the pagan "black" metal genre these days, and this can be something to be sometimes welcomed. Much as country music is all about the same thing, so too you have with most good pagan metal or black metal in that one sings of themes like moon frost and winter wood. This is something elemental, and must not be tampered with too much, as it is pure as the salmon who goes upstream to the hot jaws of the bear or to great oblivion in victory of specie. So can be said of many formulas and structure; and the intro piece can be seen as such. Here we have the vocals, which don the cloak of an atmospheric quality, as does the music; perhaps evoking melodic and melancholic moods as one might here in something like The first Ulver or all of Agalloch, maybe even Wyrd, when one cheapens himself to use such comparisons as I have on this misty morn. There is an ambient feel in the first track, and some clean vocals. 

"Weltenwanderer" would translate to something like "World wanderer" for those reviewers who actually translate lyrics. And as it goes on I liken it to how sharp ice gently stripes the backside of a horse's arse; the chill sting in a bitter climb to nowhere. The music is thick, sad molasses; a cold syrup for those who are embittered with a penchant for narcotic sickness, and reaches for greater things, and I do not reach myself for a winter ale that would taste the same with sweet oat overtones parring with thin disdain. Acoustic, or clean strings meddle around with this and that at times and ring thinly and bright in values of those who use proper mic placement and other safe techniques that often work for those who like these values, but it will not work for those who like the heavy fumes of old low-fi pagan metal. This is not meant to say it does not work for me at times though.These men reach for epic moments, and I feel the aforementioned sting on the horse's ass of my mind, where the shiny sound keeps striping me onward in review and posture. Like bitter cough syrup with a strong horehound like aftertaste, I maintain my vision in the swirl through all the weather of the sound, and find certain forecast therein; as if the cabin of thought is somehow reached and the stamp of their sound is apparent. There are a few fleeting moments of percussive, or even ambient arranging of certain instrumentation that are amusing and keep the thing afloat.

The music seems inked with the sepia of the common cold fought in the medicine cabinet of an obscure grandmother of the genre, who has many natural flavors mixed with more chemical blends while somewhere grandfather sits and awaits the finsternis of a sound like hornet's nest. Shoe gazing is more applied at times than the old  scrying attempt into an icy pool, and I think these men will find favor with fans who like a mixture of their metal to be more pagan but would rather keep more of the dark sound of some other elements too, which I fail to mention due to the mental exhaustion of the album play. I must now depart and take strength tonics to not catch this obscure virus or spread it to further climes.