miércoles, 9 de septiembre de 2020



Origen: Noruega, Kristiansand

Formados: 2012

Estilo: Black, doom

Temática: Cristianismo, filosofía y religión

Enlaces: Facebook


  • Cato Gulaker Batería
  • Jon Ivar Larsen Guitarra
  • Stein Vorhaug Bajo

  • By Jury of Peers Demo 2012  
  • Cloth EP 2014  
  • Axis Mundi EP 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

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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