some hip drum shit

there comes a time when you want to be older

there comes a time when you want to be bolder

I love you more when it's over

there comes a time when your helpful
there comes a time when your doubtful
I love you more when your spiteful 

there comes a time to wake up to whats happening
there comes a time to get out of whats happening
I love you more than whats happening

there comes a time when you are near me

there comes a time when you are near me 

a time that captures what we're after
a time: 
https://rapidshare.com/#!download|693p5|260283246|Ego.rar|100547|0|0

Canadian Black Coffee and Italian Black Metal

Raise the unholy libation, present the sacrifice. This Italian black mass of traditional occult black metal is a mystikal ritual for all to indulge in. Every unearthed corpse has a morbid tale to connect us through seance to our dark master. Black clouds of delirious ceremonial chant and sacremental song augment the dark storms of irratic violence this horde pervertedly procreate. Satan is primordially invoked with riffing orthodoxy and vomitted summonings as the band enact their malevolent musical witchcraft. Meanwhile witches dance in shroud around the offering spilling chalices of blood. Unlike the more dejected, depressive graveyard contemplation of their contemporary Italian sects MonumentuM and Cult of Blood, The 13 Drape deliver their bleak visions of funereality with pumelling grimness and evil. Just look at the dead guy on the cover's reaction.

13th Way

Be flung into this emotional stew of blackest thoughts and demonic impulses. Embrace the left hand and debase the natural. Follow your black mass intuition to the extreior circle of existence. Leave behind this unified and barren universe for chaos eternal. The morbidly opaque spectral veil that is Necromass evoke psychic images of this carnival of blasphemy we call mortality from the abysmal obscurity beyond. Mysteria Mystica Zofiriana is a downwards spiral of bestial adrenaline and Satanic reflection that will leave you dizzily disillusioned. A must at sodomatic orgies of hate.

Into an Image of Left

Going Blind

Been stuck in the 70s lately. At least on wax that is. Anyways, KISS hardly gets lauded enough in metal circles for how heavy they really were for their time. Or maybe they get lauded too much by nerds on the fringe of those circles. Who knows? Who cares? "I don't really know what to do" but enjoy this album as much as I do, on vinyl. After all, it produced probably the best Melvins cover of all time and could be considered a visual precursor to black metal (as KISS clearly were) and innovator of the band shots back cover aesthetic of much BM.

Who's your baby?

How BM is THAT???

Strike Extremes

Sorry readers. Sorry month of May. with all the end of semester BS, the coming of spring and all that other good stuff like seeing family, I've been a neglectful blogfather. Forgive me. I return to the fold with both a warning for the Montreal and Quebec police forces and the Jean Charest government as well as the magnum opus of these grind gods I'm lucky enough to be seeing on Monday: EXTREME CONDITIONS DEMAND EXTREME RESPONSES. I'm sure the current police state mentality of our provincial government towards the striking majority of infuriated and insulted students and citizens of the greater Quebec area would gladly adopt this album's slogan to justify their unconstitutional and power abusing attempts at anti-democratic law-making, but they would miss the point. The 'extreme conditions' to which I refer are the militantly oppressive and socially repressive measures this current joke of an administration are actively taking and proposing in their fear of this convicted and powerful mobilization of a politically disenchanted society. The 'extreme responses' to come are from the natural escalation of radical activity on the part of a population who's government refuses to hear or negotiate with them. Police brutality and trigger happy policy making have immediately damaging physical and social, but easily reparable, repercussions for the state of the province. Widespread dissent among the provincial body - the people with the real power - means change. We're fed up with the bullshit, and Charest and law enforcement are only delaying the inevitable. The power of the masses will crush this heinous disregard for the culturally interested political reforms of Quebec.

Fuck the Police

Oh yeah so I had an amazing time seeing these guys live at Sala Rossa with Nasum, who of course were totally fucking insane as well. What struck me hard with Truth's set was that I couldn't possibly imagine a band sounding at their tightest 20 years after a seminal release like this one. Also they were hilarious. 

All The More Hardcore

In hope that he will see this tribute before he departs into the woods for the next several months, I am posting the latest Nick Persons album now. I apologize for interrupting my occult Italian trilogy but one must Goethe with the floweth. With the terminal defunctness of his group Fucked Butter, rap antagonist Nick Persons has had to keep busy creating his own brand of fucked hop. 2012 has so far seen the release of his primarily instrumental debut 66 Cents and more recently his return to the mic in Depart. Produced largely in bed in the wee hours of dusks and dawns, Depart captures the various altered states which occupy the mind at such times. "My House In Compton Is Off Limits" sounds like Prince on crack at 5AM after a wild house party in the 80s that Foreigner showed up to with some bad blow that gave everyone bloody nostrils. A hit to be sure. "Popular Kids" coins the proverb "we all know how to party, just clap" and makes one believe they do so much so that they will. "Yellow Drink" sounds like a stoned and tense philosophical conversation between Nick himself and Pizza the Hutt. "All the Hardcore" closes off the strange trip with the only sample Dilla was not lucky enough to pick up. All in all, Depart is an incredibly strong effort from a frighteningly deranged mind and deserves to be lauded as the truly innovative take on the hip hop idiom it is. Word up Persons.

Agony Ecstasy Discipline Harmony    

Cult of Blood

As promised (tweeted, that is) here is another tome from Italy's cobwebbed and shrouded vault of occult rites. Released the same year as In Absentia Christi and featuring Agua Regis (Roberto Mammarella, vox + gtr with MonumentuM) on guitar and bass, Cultus Sanguine's epononymous EP is a morose ritual of Lombardian anguish. This is a good soundtrack for the type of party where no one shows because there is a thunderstorm and you drink all the bottles of high percentage table vino you bought and then wander through the darkness and rain into the cemetery only to leave a white rose at the wrong grave and remember that you left candles burning in your appartment. Since those don't happen every weekend (or so I'm told; for me they do) you could just listen now and feel sad.

Ride the winds of hate

In The Absence of Christ

Friends, devoted followers, trash collectors, forgive me for not posting in so long. I have been in a dark place, I am still there. It is a place of text, quotes, indents and of ancient philosophies. It's kind of like the scene in Hackers where they get into that secret folder and E=MC2 is floating around, but more monocrhome and monotonous. Don't fear for me, though, I can see a light at the end of this bleak tunnel of intellectual purgatory. But for now, I barrel on. However, I felt I must share with you the music that both best reflects the interior of my mind at the moment and makes the best soundtrack for this taxing journey I am embarked on.

Very special thanks to Aesop over at the Hearse for dropping yet another forgotten classic quickly become personal fave on my miserable earholes. MonumentuM's In Absentia Christi is just what I've been craving, some good old fashione Italian occultitude. Not easily described using metal terminology (because it sounds like little other metal I've heard) I will attempt to give an experiential equivalent to what I feel listening to this album. Imagine you are at an Italian Catholic funeral in a huge church, everyone is dressed in black and sobbing as the incense burns and the sound of murmured prayer gets louder and louder. The procession starts and you shoulder through the crowd to the son of the deceased to voice your condolences. This sends his long, dark-haired, pale, lanky frame into convulsions of bellowed balling. His tears soon turn to morbid reflection and he begins expounding to you his every thought of dejected agony, in Rozz Williams-like oration, while the chorus of chants and bells behind you rises and falls. He becomes more and more animated as the unusually long walk to the graveyard grows longer and stranger. Daylight turns to unsettling twilight and shadowy cobblestone streets stretch on into infinity. You feel very odd. You realize that the libation someone gave you at the church seems to have had hallucinatory effects. You want this depressing journey to end and yet with his every word you become more sympathetic for your host's bleak revery. Suddenly, the buildings fall away and you look out in front of the crowd to see an expansive cemetery, tombstone upon tombstone, crypt upon crypt, restful and still in the soft hues of the setting sun.

fade to grey...