Origen: Noruega, Kristiansand
Formados: 2012
Estilo: Black, doom
Temática: Cristianismo, filosofía y religión
Enlaces: Facebook
Miembros:
- Cato Gulaker Batería
- Jon Ivar Larsen Guitarra
- Stein Vorhaug Bajo
- By Jury of Peers Demo 2012
- Cloth EP 2014
- Axis Mundi EP 2020
AXIS MUNDI (2020)
Regreso de los noruegos casi seis años después de su último EP, esta vez con cuatro nuevas canciones también en formato Ep. Un trabajo que se ha destapado como toda una sorpresa desde el inicio por lo digamos técnico de su sonido. Desde el comienzo con el tema "Ghost Town" el oyente es golpeado por una ola de violentos riffs de corte melódico y frío, pero destacando una melodía que sirve de conductora de todo el tema. Aquí podemos apreciar por un lado en excelente trabajo de guitarra, que cuando se funde con el sonido de batería, el cual se muestra soberbio, logra traer a la mente sonidos black de finales de los noventa de la escuela noruega en clara referencia a bandas como Satyricon. Pero Cloth va mucho más allá con su propuesta, no se corta en ofrecer algunos arreglos que logran enfatizar el aspecto melódico de su música, al mismo tiempo que le añaden una carga de profundidad para incorporar influencias doom, groove en algunas intros y por que no decirlo también, ciertas influencias experimentales. Con lo cual nos queda un trabajo que por un lado suena clásico, cuando la velocidad viene de batería y guitarra al unisono, acompañadas por unas voces agresivas y frías; pero que también a medida que avanza se adentra por otros terrenos y añade a la propuesta otros estilos que enriquecen el resultado final, sin perder de vista la faceta melódica del black, pero también capaces de sonar fríos y oscuros. Solo no queda esperar que este trabajo tenga una pronta continuidad. (7,6).
1. Ghost Town 06:44
This cold and barren place
dead soil where nothing grows
where sand and rock they flourish
and moth and rust destroy
our abandoned palace
with its crumbling walls and rotten beams
lingering ghosts of good intentions
That haunts its empty rooms
ours were the future
a fiery cascade of colors
a leap of faith and promise
that failed to outrun its shadows
at the end of the noose
we tiptoe to postpone
the inevitable kiss
from the palest of lips
no one is left to mourn our loved ones
no tombstone raised to honor the dead
left is but the aching void of nothingness
betraying the loss of what we would become
no effort can salvage the broken
no cure can revive the dead
no deed can redeem us
from the sins of old
yet the strength to confront what we have become
stems from acknowledging the pain within
while staring at the desert sun
and face the unknown
Ghost town!
your streets once carried the sound of laughter
of children playing, of festivals and parades
your markets flourished with precious goods
and temples enjoyed the presence of the gods
now at the end of the noose
we tiptoe to postpone
embrace the inevitable kiss
from the palest of lips
The dreams and hopes you spawned were dead
Unable to carry the life that you gave
Their restless spirits haunting your streets
Grieving their fate and cursing the light
2. Signifiant 04:33
I converse in syllables of fire, the ancient prose of mortal tongue
I soar across the continents, of time and space
Heed to my arguments the gentle touch of tone and rhyme
I invoke the transcendent forces to carry me above and below
In dreams untold to any man I thrive
With which the ancient sages did wrestle
Amidst elegies and eulogies, and doxologies of forgotten gods
I speak across any language bound to human lips
I provide and speak for you
I stain the canvas white
I purge and corrupt
The shadow within
Amidst elegies and eulogies, and doxologies of forgotten gods
I speak across any language bound to human lips
Enter the portal and embrace the grace of staggering emotions
Come with me into the floating dreams of the beyond
The language of the gods, the gentle touch of lovers,
The surging of the masses, and the swirling engines of hate
The fingertips of eloquence, the whispers of the hidden
Esoteric fields of resurgence, the whispers of heavens
I calm the storms of your horizon
And soothe the pain of your loss
I weave the face of your tomorrow
Flesh, pain, desire, spirit, fire and catharsis
I console the dust of your muse
The bitter tears of neglected love
And curse the coils of your boredom
And ignite the fires of your nightmares
3. Ad Baculum 07:17
Like a swarm of ruthless thieves at night
searching the earth to and fro
for those lost and forsaken sheep
that couldn’t find their way back home
What numerous multitude watches from afar
the aching bodies of the numerous victims of life?
wages are doubled and doubled yet again
through the burning of flesh that will never end
To what end does one crown such a purpose?
To what dreams to compare such a nightmare?
Compassion made of sticks and stones, whips and bones
And virtues made of clay
Lacrimosa dies illa,
qua resurget ex favilla
judicandus homo reus
Huic ergo parce, Deus
4. Ouroboros 06:44
The joke were on us
And the lies and distrust
Betrayal and disgust
the joke were on us
We sing his praise, and curse in silence
kiss his lips with swollen tongues
I appeal to your wisdom
Unfathomable trust
At the hand of your mercy
I corrode and corrupt
The earth is but a wasteland
in the wake of the serpent
its armies devouring
the fat of the land
in the shadow of the mountains,
the crushing waves of the sea,
beneath a burning sun of malice,
the ouroboros is revealed
fingers clasping through water
to reach the surface for air
hope ground slowly to dust
between hearts made of stone
crippled, maimed and utterly broken
we face the unknown severely at a loss
its courtyard make a beautiful garden
in its midst the fountain of truth
As we bend our knees to quench our thirst
Our gaze is fixed to a mirage of gloom
Who will be the fool in the mouth of the serpent’s court?
Who shall persuade him to go up
and fall at the hands of his own seed?
Who will make failure the path of the righteous?
And the voice of treason his bitter comfort?
Who will wield the scepter of malice and divine wrath
wrought from the womb of his own mother?
In the court of the serpent, we all play the jester
In the court of the usurper, we’re all kings
And in our presence all mourn and anger halter,
to give way to the sound of the jokes of a fool
The joke were on us
And the lies and distrust
Betrayal and disgust
the joke were on us
25:18
Bronze vinyl LP limited to 100 copies.
Comes with a 3mm spine jacket with flood gold printing inside pocket, a 24″x24″ poster and an A4 size 12 page booklet.
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