Black Math Horseman
Wyllt

There are days that should be forgotten but have a sound of their own, a sound that sometimes brings grace and torment to those who hear it, to those who are so sensitive as to perceive the refractions of light where there should be nothing but shadow, even if the light takes on shades of gray that tend to absorb feelings, a sponge that will soon be full of something it wished to leave out.

Black Math Horseman is one of these reflections, which mirrors in our eyes and translates into vibrations that, little by little, create a crack in the heart. "Wyllt" is this, a satellite escaped from the orbit of a desert planet, that tends to travel through wide and empty spaces. As sounds emerge from the craters, a magical guru, who lived for years under the influence of the scorching sand of the Kyuss system, is there to witness the event, Scott Reeder, who, observing the four creatures inhabiting the cramped niches of the satellite, decided to donate some of the body from the place he came from. Mission accomplished abundantly. The absolute splendor of the sounds has something mystical, extremely retro, extremely full. The creature spreads its wings with "Tyrant", a powerful march and spectral echoes, then the two guitars intertwine melodies that complement each other, on one side almost indie, on the other very texmex, then the gray carpet is laid out for the entrance of the vocal breath of Sera Timms, which accompanies it all with a bass of boiling lava, which from the second verse perfectly intertwines the six strings, until the electric explosion, a heap of debris that collapses on the head of those who were waiting.

The telluric "Deerslayer" takes us back to the origins, to the feral trinity, BlacksabbathKyussMelvins, the piece opens with a spade of distorted and relentless, measured guitars that pave the way for the ethereal body of a verse made of melodies in distant echoes, choruses, caressed voices, a black mass at the nadir, crescendos left halfway that fade out only to implode. There is a touch of nervousness in "Origin Of Savagery" that speeds up the rhythms, the melodies always suspended in air assume oblique and obsessive tempos. The almost twelve minutes of the finale "Bird Of All Faiths And None/Bell From Madrone" are a concentrate of pain in arpeggios that owe much to the dirtiness of shoegaze choruses, mud in sound waves that raise the voice to a higher level of ethereal hatred, the register shifts to hatred expressed without disrespecting Sera's sweet vocal cords, which however stretch until they become sharp, the black liquid that drips is corrosive and hysterical, and when it returns melodic it is again a harbinger of frightening mental diseases that lead to the end of the journey in a desperate tail, pulled by the hair by guitars that leave a frightening trace in closing.

And as the sun sets on these terrifying days, the sounds fade away leaving only a sense of perpetual unease.