Halloween Special: An eMusic Guide To Darkness
It's that time of year again, when the candy corn and the costumes and the cheesy movies litter invade our culture. But rather than highlight whatever is today's version of "The Monster Mash," we've decided to give you something truly frightening: Music that is as black as night, as dark as an abandoned highway, as bleak as a corpse. So below, check out our editors 'favorite songs that may scare up an emotion or two. Don't forget your nightlight.
J. Edward Keyes, Editor-in-Chief
-
Taking blasphemy to astonishing new heights, the second record from Funeral Mist essentially a solo project from Marduk lead vocalist Arioch (also called Mortuus, depending on, I guess, how Satanic he's feeling that day) laces snippets of a loony-bin Christian Pentecostal preacher throughout its 53 blood-freezing minutes, presumably to show how Christianity is, in some instances, as terrifying as Satanism. It succeeds: there is nothing quite as horrifying as hearing someone scream "It's the blood! It's the blood!" at the top of their lungs over and over and over again and that's the way this motherf---er starts. Does it even matter that he's talking about the blood of Jesus? Both Arioch and the preacher are men possessed, but through canny subversion of his source material and with some of the most forward-thinking, inventive, genre-busting metal of the last five years Arioch (or, again, occasionally Mortuus) executes a heart-stopping mockery of religion, letting it hang itself with its own crucifix. But enough about the subject matter: Maranatha! is a shape-shifting record, employing witch choirs and string sections and bleating brass and endless tempo changes, containing throughout a staggering reserve of ideas about the way songs should be put together. "Jesus Saves!" starts as traditional brain-blowing black metal then quickly applies the brakes, settling into a grunting, hardcore-style lurch. But the piece de resistance? The astonishing 12-minute "Blessed Curse," in which Arioch repeats a single, terrifying guitar lick over and over and over while the preacher rants and raves, red-faced and bug-eyed, on the stage in front of him. "Hell is forever!" he screeches, "Damnation is forever! It's not a day in hell! It's an eternity!" Eventually the horns come in, doubling the guitar and forcing open the floor to reveal the sickening chasm of hell, flames licking upward, its king, pitchfork in hand, peering upward and grinning. And there's Arioch or, you know, Mortuus grinning right back at him.
Sean Fennessey, Director of Merchandising
-
For their second album together, producer Steve Albini repainted Jesus Lizard as a lean, sinewy, cataclysmic hate machine — a huge step ahead of the muffled, closet-ranting blur of 1990's Head. David Yow's marble-mouthed caterwauls became perfectly intelligible fightin' words; Duane Denison's skronkabilly jazzcore fretwork moves from a chainsaw roar to intricate razor-chug; every one of drummer Mac McNeilly's snare drum smacks resonated like a door slamming on someone's fingers. Most importantly, bassist David Wm. Sims becomes the group's not-so-secret weapon, coolly leading the band with sludgy, heavily picked, stomach-churning runs on "Then Comes Dudley" and "Monkey Trick," providing the anchor-dragging foundation for Yow's manic screech 'n' gargle. And here, he's a degenerate poet, yawping out stories of depraved American underbelly with the shit-eating glee of a 15-year-old describing a John Waters film: an imperturbable killer ponders attacking a pregnant woman, a prison sex story is tainted with jealousy and razor bumps, a nurse with a sledgehammer turns a maternity ward into a slaughterhouse. On the brighter side, Goat does include their arena-ready bruiser "Seasick" and the hilarious "Mouth Breather," Yow's story about how Slint drummer Britt Walford did a particularly shitty job house-sitting for Albini.
-
"I've been wasted here and I sense movements of beauty," sings frontwoman Kim Krans on "Hatred," the opener of Family Band's debut LP Miller Path. It's hard to know exactly what she means, but there's no denying its chilling impact. Family Band's music is like that: dark, eerie and often cryptic, but also beautiful. It's not surprising to learn that guitarist Jonny Ollsin has been playing in metal bands for the better part of two decades; even though there are no thrashing powerchords or throat-shredding screams, metal's intense bleakness lurks in every corner of Miller Path, creating a sound the group has dubbed "heavy mellow."
more »Family Band's rage is a quiet one, best summed up by another line in "Hatred": "It is hatred that makes the horse run strong." That image of Krans internalizing her pent-up anger and channeling it into determination and power is grim, almost frightening. The songs have themes of death and nightmares, but the darkness is contained — it's tightly coiled in Krans's alto, and it's what fuels the strength in her voice. At times, she channels a Moon Pix-era Cat Power, most apparently on the soulful "Fantasy," one of the record's more stripped-down numbers, which finds Krans singing, "Open up your memory, let those floodgates spill/ Baby, I will get you home."
Family Band is Ollsin's first non-metal outing, and you can still hear echoes of his musical background in the spiraling, minor-key guitar arpeggios that decorate many songs. He originally made an agreement with Krans (who is also his wife) that major chords were out of the question, though he conceded a few times, for the better, not only in the chord structure, but also in the lilting guitars and blues-guitar march in "No Sound." Drummer Adam Cimino's atmospheric, non-intrusive technique reinforces the album's fluid feel: Sometimes all the song needs is a steady tambourine hit ("Hatred") or a cymbal- and rim-click-driven waltz ("Diamonds"). (Since this recording, Cimino has been replaced by former Yeasayer drummer Luke Fasano.) But even when the drums are more prominent, intertwining with Ollsin's guitar and Scott Hirsch's bass, they're still very much in tune with the rest of the album's calm-yet-foreboding soundscapes. For every spiraling, muted guitar run, spooky whistling effect, and dissonant hook, Miller Path has just as many moments of gorgeous resolution.
