Blut aus Nord
Memoria Vetusta III: Saturnian Poetry

A Blaze In The Northern Sky.
De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas.
Storm Of The Light's Bane.
In The Nightside Eclipse.
Hvis Lyset Tar Oss.
Nemesis Divina.
Stormblast.
Bergtatt.
Frost.

The "second wave" black metal, the icy, feral, pagan one, a product of its time, is now a distant memory. And what remains today of those cursed giants? There are those who have turned to ambient with dismal results; those who have genuinely experimented and embarked on paths completely detached from the scene; those who have even made a u-turn for the love of the '80s; those who no longer know what direction to take and drift by inertia; those who have chosen to embellish their music with dubiously tasteful orchestral frills; those who have passed on to a better (?) life; and finally, there are those who strive to raise the now poor average of a genre that, after more than twenty years, seems to be spiraling around itself. Many paths taken, but only one ghost looming over them.

Of all this, the Frenchman Vindsval cares little. Among the artists belonging to the scene, with his moniker Blut aus Nord, he has perhaps been the only one to have always had great mastery over his means, as well as a deep knowledge and personal interpretation of the genre. This is evidenced by the still raw but evocative debuts of Ultima Thulée (1996); and more importantly, by the atomic bombs dropped at the dawn of the millennium, a particularly (and ironically) dark moment for black metal: while The Mystical Beast Of Rebellion (2001), with all its flaws, already contained certain innovations in embryo, it was with The Work Which Transforms God (2003) that the decisive shock came, an uncontrollable regurgitation of industrial decay - mindful of the teachings of Swans, Godflesh, and Neurosis, true totems of the apocalypse. All this already before the "cult" of Deathspell Omega, if we think about it. And still with MoRT (2006), Blut aus Nord had the honor of further crushing the foundations of black metal, casting it into the dead oceans of nirvana: the hope of rebirth now seems useless, nonsense and chaos have taken over, no footholds or reference points are granted. It's the sound of the logos putrefying.

I will not dwell further on an examination of the recent 777 saga, another excellent example of how to rework and overturn the material to one's pleasure, nor on the possible extra-metallic derailments (trip-black? ID(B)M? bossanova?) that Vindsval himself has hypothesized. The fact remains that, amidst this mess of experimentation, dissonance, esotericism, sagas, and various nonsense, Blut aus Nord has always remained synonymous with Black Metal, capitalized, tout court. Epic, mystical, ultra-melodic, even celestial if you will, but damn if Vindsval has forgotten about the brazen beauty that a simple tremolo riff over a backdrop of blast beats and a supporting keyboard can evoke. The cycle of Memoria Vetusta is there to remind us, and what leaves us even more amazed is the fact that the three episodes (which, like the 777 albums and the What Once Was EPs, do not constitute a trilogy, and are therefore all destined to have a sequel!) appeared years apart from each other, interspersed with the aforementioned sonic explorations. Who could remain this prolific and consistent, never losing sight of origins and intents, and especially not catering to anyone? More than ever today, when artists are (legitimately) influenced by contracts, public compromises, long waits between releases, and the urgency to communicate takes a backseat.

But Vindsval is forward-thinking, very well aware that his impressive discography will not be seen as a mere succession of albums, and indeed, it is already acquiring a conceptual coherence that is ever more architectural. Heaven and earth, destruction and restitution, chaos and quiet, tradition and contamination, now alternate and now merge: thus we arrive, in the third decade of his career, at the third episode of Memoria Vetusta, subtitled Saturnian Poetry (2014), which marks a glorious peak and at the same time a return to origins. After the astral journey (as the title implies) of Memoria Vetusta II, Blut Aus Nord lands once again on mother earth's lap, primary source of inspiration, serenity, but also a dispenser of wonders and mysteries. The cover, by the same author of the historic In The Nightside Eclipse, perfectly captures the atmosphere breathed in these six tracks of vehement yet harmonious and refined black metal.

Saturnian Poetry sets aside all moments of introspective calm (and the Buddhist references) with which the previous chapter was filled and unleashes the force of the elements, without holding back and also without giving space to nihilism, the overused anti-Christian acrimony, or grim&frostbitten clowning. These six jewels are to be contemplated as if witnessing a sublime natural spectacle, abandoning oneself to the flow of the lush melodies. The sound is more organic and alive, I dare say earthly, this time also thanks to the recruitment of the creative Gionata Potenti on drums: let's forget about post-apocalyptic nightmares, and finally put an end to the drum machine, always a hallmark of BaN. The noble spirit of the author stands out even more, and it is this ability to play with one foot firmly planted in the past (raw, dark, primordial) and one foot in the present (educated, mature, aware) that consequently makes him a bit out of time, or rather, enclosed in a world of his own.

Saturnian Poetry is a pagan symphony for guitars: riffs, arpeggios, and solos intertwine, chase, and recapture elegantly; keyboards emerge as occasional backgrounds to highlight the most salient mo(ve)ments; the voice, both hoarse and in solemn clean, is a distant echo, perhaps coming from some remote valley of the cold north. Everything merges into a panicked ecstasy, an overdose of melody and epicity never cloying, impossible to follow on a first listen but destined to age and intoxicate like fine wine.

Dissecting each track or signaling the best one would in this case be useless and too cumbersome, partly due to the intrinsic homogeneity of the work, and partly because I'm tired of rambling on, but a special mention must be made for the last one. With all due respect, I would love to play it for the various black metal veterans and first-hour Satanists, who have clearly lost their way and perhaps haven't even noticed. I would like to see their reactions and, maybe, detect a note of emotion or annoyance, especially during the instrumental tail, for never having managed to reach these levels: in my opinion, without a doubt, the greatest, brightest, most triumphant composition of black metal ever created. Clarissima Mundi Lumina.