Darkspace
Darkspace III

Cold, distant, superhuman, overwhelming, compact, and sidereal.

I could continue like this, feverishly churning out the most suitable attributes to describe every detail of the portrait of this Swiss group: an undefined and undefinable portrait, a black hole with abyssal echoes, an unhealthy equation as much as the pitch black void that infects it but as glacial as the immutable perfection that governs it, that animates it, that hurls it beyond the boundaries of reality.

"Darkspace III" is nothing other than the black virginity that resides in the immeasurable dimension beyond creation, where the human mind cannot reach physically or mentally, where words lose their meaning and where antithesis is the immanent principle of anti-reality. "Darkspace III" is an evil birth made of distorted echoes, of madly convulsive rhythms and expanded cosmogonic melodies; perhaps they are just the result of guitars and synths supported by an alienating drum machine, or perhaps they are the ancestral delusions coming from the perpetual celestial motions that silently make the galaxy speak.

This birth assumes no name nor titles, only cold numbers. It is not a fierce nihilistic outburst, because it already presupposes the nonexistence of any reality, of any value. It does not destroy, as it plows the fields of the inconceivable. It does not address anything: it is an equational monologue dispersed in the dark ocean of space, but it is up to us to capture and interpret it.

"Darkspace III" will never give respite, both in grinding the air with immovable and granitic power and in moments of claustrophobic electronic suffocation: the language assumes an inhuman uniformity, yet behind such a ruthless structure one can still perceive a gigantic tsunami of images, emotions, cryptic and incommunicable data. The mind falls silent, and lets the wild irrational instinct cry out.

Do not try to assign meaning to this creation; it's useless. The important thing is that it is received and embraced as an invaluable treasure sculpted by alien hands, like an amorphous shard of demiurgic truth; and perhaps, who knows, even our mind will be able to rise to the true meaning and value of this music.