Nightbringer - Death and the Black Work
June 11 2009 at 01:45:23 AM
Since the news item posted on this site for Nightbringer’s
Death and the Black Work has enjoyed more eyes than the Nick Berg beheading vid, this may be the most read “review” EVER. So let’s get down to it: Their first full-length is some spectacular music delivered in mostly unspectacular fashion. There’s no jaw-dropping prowess at work. Pace isn’t inhuman. The listener isn’t forced to endure Latinisms, or “brave” finger-in-the-dickhole production more suitable for those who take their tunes from a hand-held cassette player. What this band from Green Mountain Falls, Colorado does is deliberately work its way through a lengthy and intimidating program. Doesn’t sound difficult. But when I say, “work its way,” I fully mean it’s akin to watching an experienced butcher scrape, shave, saw, slice, chop, cut, and carve his way through a whole hog. There’s the physician’s stoicism, ritualistic manner, maybe the slightest outward manifestation hinting at something close to what you or I would call, “enjoyment.” Maybe.
Do I think Nightbringer enjoy what they do? Fuck yeah. Undoubtedly. The band is interested in large-frame ideas. Grand scales. Look at the fucking song titles: “Of Silence and Exsanguination;” “Beneath the Sands of Dudael…” They’re practically four- and five-word Mishima or Herbert novels. But their Gygaxian preciousness is not the point. It’s the atmosphere they bring. The words? That’s prima facie. You don’t even have to hear “The River Lethe” to know what its supposed to sound like, and it sounds exactly like what it’s supposed to sound like: Off-balance, meandering, overwhelming, encapsulating. The guitar is staggered and linear, thick and spindly, steeple high and beyond to the clouds above. Accompanying instrumentation – and vox – follows. “Feast of Manes,” the shortest song on the record, is probably the most successful. The intro is gorgeous – Bernhard Herrmann puppet-stringing Wagner’s “Liebestod” – and slowly finding guitar’s reciprocation. Figure repeated and dealt cogent extrapolation, and then repeated again and again and again. When the seven minutes plus expires, I still hear it between my ears. (There’s a lyrically macabre quid pro quo here, too, but that’s best enjoyed at home with headphones and accoutrement. Take my word for it.)
There was this Asian girl some friends and I met in Austria eons ago. We ran into her at Mozart’s grave and then decided we’d scrap the sightseeing and spend the rest of the bright day in a dark bar drinking dunkelweiss and doing Jagermeister shots. She had a fantastic accent, and really kind of lingered on syllables. She liked to say, “atmosphere.” But from her it was, “at-most-fear.” Ellipses at the breaks, too. When I listen to Nightbringer, I think of her, and I think of lingering and I think of at-mos-fear. Influence, surrounding, intangible quality – these are the trappings most bands have no choice but to construct falsely. Authenticity is second to none. And Nightbringer brings it.
[Stewart Voegtlin]
*Artwork by Naas
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The various intros are extremely effective ambient pieces, or at least they would be if they were to be inflated into full ambient pieces instead of used economically to build into the heavy onset of the huge black metal onslaught.
I like what was said about lingering. Thats a great description of what is going on here. Its not that they linger on the end of a song, but they linger on each tremolo picked chord before moving onto the next. I dont know if that is meant to create an indolence or anticipation. Id say it creates both, but really, one leads to the other.
One tune similarity I picked up was in Beneath the Sands of Dudael . I thought it strongly evoked Sunrise, Sunset from "The Fiddler on the Roof." At about the nine minute mark this song erupts into a blistering juggernaut (which never happens in Fiddler...). Here, the drums are much more prominent then in other parts. It just kills!
I love this album!
Can anyone recommend other Full Moon Productions bands?
My idea of "black sound" is the intro to "Diary of a Madman," not D&tBW. Tomatoe, tomahtow.
I'll have to check out Diary of a Madman. I've never been much of a solo Ozzy guy.
I forced myself to somnambulate through this one after reading the above. As I made my way through, tripping over the offal of your butcher's work, I occasionally gained consciousness of the fact that it wasn't Mishima's seppuka-removed innards I was slipping on, but the remains of a small dog that I ran over yesterday while sleep-driving to the tune of Drudkh's Microcosmos. In other words, this album seems to have the frightful capacity to activate sleep-state recollections of other yawn-inducing albums of even lesser note. I'll have to give it another listen after I wake up from this post.
Drudoo makes me want to pull the blinds and rest eternally. But N'bringer is like lookin' at a geode after smokin' banana peels. Slo-mo wonder.