Akercocke
Words That Go Unspoken, Deeds That Go Undone

It's easy to blame Christ. Sometimes it happens to me too, even though I'm ordinary and without studs and face painting. Here, however, certain superficialities are not present. I mean, they do bring him up a bit, but not from the title like it used to happen in the past, for example in the chaste Rape Of The Bastard Nazarene.

In conclusion, when it comes to Akercocke, you should only listen to this album here. Before this, there was the journey,  the sketched ideas,  a avalanche of insults towards the main characters of the Christian calendar, and an evil spirit summoned a bit haphazardly, with calbonian ways of a parvenu. In short, old stuff that couldn't compare with Norway and Florida. But in this album, there's the beast for real.

Many have tried to give an elegant and aristocratic tone to an orgy of faddish and fetishist genres. Names like Truzgulaggdrasjiijijsijsisxxxll tagged as extrasatanicpornogrindsuperblackmetalbandchefapuredarkebmetuttelecosescure never attracted me. Instead, this band from the sunny land of punks, with a frontman of hybrid denomination (Jason MendoÇa), part Ribeiro part Benton, I wanted to try. And I had fun with it.

The proposed genre is a blackened death metal, if one wants to be a depennator of improbabilities. I mean, it would fit a super-definition that I'd like to spare you from: it wouldn't be appropriate, it would risk making them more ridiculous than they already do themselves, dressed as nouveau riche and parasatanic (for example here), always with a half-naked boar next to them and not even of good quality (at this point, let's say it all).

The cover introduces to a sort of Greenwich's sibyl cave where a bit of everything happens. Compared to Choronzon, there are two fewer buttocks in the booklet but a bit more sex appeal. You enter into this story and finally find some order. The unexpressed potential of the past is taken one by one and arranged according to a rational solution that properly fits the band's aspirations and ambitions (really?): growls of various types are no longer shouted with blunt and ignorant fury, ideas of Gothic countertimes here don't go against themselves, not stuck with fingers intertwined in an indissoluble nervousness, but divide creating callbacks to prog times and properly styled Gothic phrases. In short, in this album, there is a band that finds control of itself and stops mirroring itself in proclamations and musical declamations with many unmet promises.

And therefore a great command of language and songs that change within themselves in a sudden and unexpected manner, fertilizing classic death metal with brutal passages from blastbeat that strikes you inside, with the most malicious black metal and really well-structured gothic/vagueprog connecting points. The vocal styles alternate according to the genre being played: bear, angry bear, skinned bear, furious bear, possessed bear. All jokes aside, MendoÇa goes all out (!) to succeed. And he succeeds.

There are references to other bands of the genre, but for their age, one could say that here there's an own idea of how to make this type of music, which emerged from a journey that justifies all of it.

I rediscovered them while going through some heavy metal. I would suggest them to anyone willing to listen to some good roughness that comes from anonymity.

Ah, this review was already there. But, anyway, like all the others about the band, it tends to magnify a form that, really, doesn't coincide with the (good) substance. Let's take it lightly.