Funeral Mist - Maranatha
March 16 2009 at 10:28:06 PM
It’s the blood. Circumscription of the topic prolongs the inevitable: A scam predictably broken, deftly courting failure at the outset. What essence? What
ousia? What feelings and acts and experiences insofar as one apprehends oneself to stand in relation to what one considers the Divine? Only reality itself offers sanctuary in the face of theories worn thin and hallow by the very vermin that hawk them. And so God discorporates –
dificere ab essentia – blends into the everywhere and nowhere as espoused by Emersonian Idealism – an abstraction always already the closest to and farthest from itself. Whether universal “divine” and “moral soul,” or all-seeing eye winking from Arioch’s labial gates…Whether Bataille’s
l’oeil, Eros and Thanatos bound inextricably and yet entrusted to maintain balance over what the New England Transcendentalist sought for both “man and mote, star and sun, lest they be pulverized in recoil.” Here we have eschatological herald, from seraphim trumpets to thine ear. “Now let my blood speaketh unto the Lord. I speaketh wounds and my blood is the tune of Death. And my words shall devour flesh…”
Maranatha… A world wailed but once. Protestants grown comfortable with the term remain oblivious to those truths inconvenient kept ‘neath the soles of their feet, brought out at parties as hackneyed parlor tricks and choked with laughter ‘til lifeless and forgotten. The theology is the same brand boomed from pulpit to pews one reckoned with, grew up amidst, around. Its is of a wrathful – but O’, so loving God – accessorized by St. Aquinas in all its thorny contradictory bliss, problems of evil and omnipotence amplified by spawning His own nemesis, a slave to freedom’s will He alone authored, and thereby uncomfortably complicit in goods larger and greater rising in evil’s pestilent wake: If He chooses a path bereft of morality and standard, then He is not most perfectly good… “Lord, if we are deceived, it is by Thee!”
Maranatha. O’ our Lord is come.
In utrumque paratus…
“Immaculate, flawless pride, the accuser of their brethren has accused again…” We are immeasurably far from
Salvation’s convincingly manufactured dystopia. Evangelical sampling grounds the program within an epoch and Arioch’s music is rendered “worldly,” “common.” The defense is predictable: His determined and necessary metastasis. His arms wide, opened. They come from near and far. So the tent must grow. And yet the problems deliquesce. Odd amplifier hum, uneven intros and outros; songs snuffed far before their time (criminally so in “Anti-Flesh Nimbus” where the chorus should have been exhorted at cane tip ‘til exhaustion); Necromorbus’ much missed presence; distracting electronic treatments and unorthodox vocal presentation: All criticisms selfishly petty. Those prone to “critique” far more histrionic and encapsulating fail to notice the argument’s limiting preoccupations with the very same hubris it claims of the object it attacks. “Revenge! the blood of Abel cries.”
Riffs are feral, befouled. They are unruly, unbound; often sprinting past structures they serve to erect and yet empowering the song’s stability even as they continually mock and threaten to wreck their own creation. Breakdowns at half-speed hearken back to Vikernes’
Det Som Engang Var, as “Sword of Faith,” and particularly “Blessed Curse” lope terrifically in place, emboldened and beaten, proud, bloodied, beatific. Experimental, we can suppose, but truly no different than what DePalma rightly connects with
Monotheist-era Celtic Frost, is “White Stone,” a bona fides funeral march reluctantly fitted with vocal tinkering of confounding allsorts. Arioch’s voice writhes, contracts, expels, pukes and shits itself into the lycanthrope’s Tuvan vocal thrall, a bone-thin melody rank and file with snare and cymbal. “Restoring the years that the locust have eaten/again clean it off to speak His name/O’ happy of a kneeling knee…” Like the strongest of offerings, “White Stone” embellishes the old with maniacal, often obtrusive and enigmatic process. The death knell augmented by annoyingly buzzing amplifiers. The end a beginning, a slate cleaned, a stone bleached bone white. Therein San Juan de la Cruz’ wondrous love, which consists not in privations great and joyous but in detached and acute suffering for the Beloved. “Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin… thou refusedst to be ashamed.”
When Arioch prompts, the music moves. “Spill forth!” And then comes “Living Temples,” a scraping riff clanged repeatedly, beaten against the drums’ incessant blast. The sampling works fantastically here, as folk melody rendered ontic and palpable comes from throat broken and mouth toothless, a yelp flaring wildly amidst the din. “If any man love not the Lord Jesus Christ, so let him be Anathema Maranatha.” A de facto title-track, the curse conspicuously present in its absence and amended in kind. “Yes. He shall burn in the fires of rejection, for he hath gone a whoring for the Lord our God!” Arioch’s vocal is scorched, plastic, pulled into shapes unnatural, impossible. Closure comes melodic: “Neither yesterday nor tomorrow. Only now. As it was a thousand years ago. And as it shall be a thousand years hence.”
Our Lord is Come. Lo! Vengeance is His.
[Stewart Voegtlin]
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I'd like to talk with the folks who are calling this "half-hearted" and find out just what the fuck they are listening to. Maranatha is flawed, perhaps greatly. But it's a powerful and compelling recording from an artist who welcomes breaking with tradition. Fortes fortuna iuvat...
Looking forward to the new Marduk...
Oh... and White Stone rules.
I am writing about something that I love and enjoy and I am doing so in a way that anticipates a highly specific audience that will appreciate it. I'm OK with that.
That said, I did enjoy the surprises the new album had to offer. "White Stone" is probably one of my favorite tracks from Maranatha. I wasn't expecting anything like that from the band.
also, agree with deathbearddd... the relentless barrage often requires a lot of attention to truly hear what's going on, although the occasional half-speed breakdowns are a good counterpoint to that constant chaos.
maybe the biggest weaknesses here are the atmospheric interludes... didn't really feel like they added much to this release. kinda felt tacked in for effect rather than integrated parts of the compositions. As opposed to Teitenblood's Seven Chalices... those interludes carry that album above and beyond.
overall, really enjoy this album. appreciate this write up, wouldn't have picked it up otherwise.
But when you chose "Rape & Honey" as your sole interview outlet to discuss your latest record, one's only recourse is to throw fish guts. And I don't give a fuck if the guy knows how to use a sectional staff or sai daggers.
Didn't know R&H had an interview w/ them. Should be an interesting read.
Too bad LHP never got a stab...