Alda
:Tahoma:

He did not feel death coming, but only a terrifying roar. Louder than a hundred bear roars, as dreadful as only the wrath of a God can be, the avalanche moved suddenly from the seemingly distant peaks of the Sawatch mountains, and in an instant, Leotie felt the ground tremble beneath his feet. He began to run toward the valley, frantically searching with his keen eyes for a spot, a cave, a hiding place under which to shelter. As he ran, in his mind, clear and rational despite his feet sinking relentlessly into the snow and the rocks crumbling behind him, moments of his life slowly began to resurface.

Uncontrollable, like the current of the Great River that bathed the woods home to his tribe, the images crowded into his eyes, along with sensations, tastes, and smells he thought he had long forgotten. There he was, as a child, fishing for salmon with his grandfather, or playing war with his brother (who later became a victim of war, just a few years after); he saw himself again around the fire, sitting, he could still feel the warmth of the flames and the smell of the resin escaping from the logs as they crackled in the dancing flames. Warmth that then suddenly transformed into burning and then pain, from the wound inflicted just a few years earlier by the formidable bear he had to face when seeking his Spirit Guide. The claw of the terrible animal had left a mark on his arm, a scar that still, despite five years having passed, caused him a familiar pain at the change of seasons. Yet that pain had allowed him to enter into perfect harmony with himself and his surroundings, it had allowed him to materialize everything in the form of an animal, the Butterfly, which was said to protect him for a long time. He recalls his initial skepticism when he understood what his Totem would be: the Butterfly is frail, it has a short life, it is a minor animal, he would say... But now he understood everything: of course, a short life (in fact even Leotie was only 20 years old), but devoted to continuous transformation, to transcendence, to something more to which very few other Spirits could aspire.

Once he understood this, he slowed his run and turned toward the avalanche, which was now only a few hundred meters away from him. He looked around, only sparse sticks emerged from the white blanket of snow on the ground, and the valley was still very far away. He closed his eyes, arms open, a long breath: as mentioned, he did not feel death coming, but only an abysmal roar.

The shaman that evening sat by the fire, with the tribe arranged all around the flames. Tears had been shed, and even now the cheeks of many people, of all ages, continued to be furrowed by warm streams. The elder took a handful of powder from a leather pouch (only he knew its nature) and threw it onto the fire. From the tip of the highest flame, a wisp of smoke rose, whose shape, altered by a breath of East Wind, took on the appearance of a butterfly. It was something fleeting, but it brought a sweet and consoling smile to the mouth of the grieving tribe.

This has become the weight of all

This is the precipice, the breaking of the spirit

This is the weight of fate

Carried into the ocean of chaos

In the waning light we bloom

In the bitterness of mourning

We release this pain

Safe passage to you, our friend

Though where you've wandered we cannot follow

When the spring rises you shall be reborn.

Originally from the State of Washington, Alda is yet another band belonging to the so-called "Cascadian Black Metal," a genre, if we can define it as such, that owes its origins, like it or not, to Wolves In The Throne Room, but that includes bands of undeniable talent. And Alda, with this ":Tahoma:," fit excellently within it, in fact pushing aside other groups characterized by little consistency and originality. They do an impeccable job of weaving delicate folk harmonies with the scent of burning wood, harmonies that branch out and merge with typical black metal outbursts and screams, fierce yet in a way poetic and touching. Much like Agalloch did with "Pale Folklore" (and with the tracks before it), Alda knows how to touch the listener and involve them in their stories, even though they use a "tool" like black metal, which is only seemingly hostile, cold, and impenetrable (but which so many American groups are demonstrating to be most useful when combined with certain themes).

Undoubtedly a name to watch, as far as I'm concerned, an album to own (for now, it is only available in cassette and vinyl versions, but it seems a more common CD format is in the works).