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❝ listening to it is like crossing the stratosphere washed by the purity of a waxen dawn; it is like surrendering to the vision of an angelic, pale, and watercolor-painted valley, and it is like a fairytale-like nocturnal wandering through silent woods in search of a pale, enchanted glimmer of hope.
❝ “Raspail” freezes anyone who wants to venture into its rocky and secret crevices, is imprisoned in its mysteries inaccessible to us and its hidden emotions, leaves no room to breathe precisely because it seems to have none given its unnatural, soulless systematic nature, if not for the intervention of singers who make the scene more “human” with their druidic and arcane vocals, unfortunately distant and disinterested as well.
❝ The alluring dark ambient of the first albums, with their rarefied atmospheres, is a faint memory of the past, but the charm remains unchanged.
❝ twelve gloomy liturgies that insinuate themselves hypnotically into our minds, like dense drops of putrid water filtering through the cracks of a dilapidated roof, tapping, one after another, on our heads. Profaning it, piercing it, penetrating deep into the soul.
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