Destination

A sense of direction is all fine, when you know where you want to go. It should help you to prepare provisions, plan strategies and ploys, think of the future and talk of continuity, of legacy. 

So now that we know we are all heading to the cold, damp graveyards, we should know what to prepare, plan, and talk about, shouldn’t we?

Or is it easier just to forget?

Beauty

They say beauty is in the eyes of the beholder…

I’d say the same can be applied for music, particularly extreme ones, breeding in the hateful; depressed; frustrated caverns of the underground…

…where beauty is as foul as the bloodied excrement that painted a pentacle on the wooden altar of my choosing…

Nightmare Coaster

Watching troubled minds at sleep is always an intriguing pleasure. The way they twitch and turn and moan and scream, in reaction to the deepest recesses of their subconscious, makes one wonder what wonderful nightmare they might be roller coasting through.

It also makes one wonder, whether everyone share and recycle the same nightmare scenarios, like some generic typology or something?

Even more importantly, does everyone meet the same bloodied and white-dressed dame in the bathroom and dark corners? Does everybody then also proceeded into that sinister and fun coaster of chasing the bloody dame and running her to the ground with a steel hammer?

Chase that bloody dame

Late and Cold

It’s late, wet and cold, and the blood under these nails just sticks like a bitch to a rich pig.

What a night indeed.

I’ll be damned if this should all lead to a defeat.

I scorn fucking defeat.

Darkness, undisputed

What was it that many in the good ole “snail-mail and no-internet” underground said about Sigh and Master’s Hammer? Avantgarde? Heck no.

The way I remembered it, they were just admired for being truthful to their lyrics and image and for creating music like no other fucker does to top it all off.

It’s good to know that they are still doing exactly the same thing throughout the years. Even with all those theatrical trumpets, timpani, violins, cellos and samplings galore, I can still feel the darkness of the musicians oozing through every track.

As experience has always shown, real ‘darkness’ can never be limited by stupid categories. And this is darkness, undisputed.

Trumpets from Hell

Hell’s opera