Death In June
Brown Book

Death In June, the creation of guitarist Douglas Pierce, represents a fairly controversial case within the '80s dark wave scene. Their war iconography, the political references in their lyrics, and the almost obsessive presence of eschatological cult themes have alienated many, narrowing their fan base to true "followers." As a result, the "musical fact" has taken a back seat, as skeptics, starting from a negative bias, have never felt the urge to closely examine their music, while the "adepts" have referenced mainly their ideology, regardless of the quality of the offering.
And it's a real shame, because Pierce, although a controversial and debated figure, has reached truly high peaks with this album.

"Brown Book" dates back to 1987. Pierce, now alone at the helm of the group, decided to fully unleash his ego by surrounding himself with "dark" guests, the first of whom was David Tibet, prophet of darkness who created some of the most somber music in rock history with Current 93.
The album is a journey into his psyche obsessed with the cult of death as beauty, the heroic tragedy of humanity. It results in a work among the most evocative of the entire dark wave saga, although this term for the Brown Book is not entirely fitting.

Many dark wave albums use horror as a pretext, concealing musical gaps, mimicking grotesque ceremonies that sometimes lapse into the ridiculous. Often the dark attitude is a meandering tied to aesthetics, lacking a solid and well-structured foundation. In this case, despite facing an extreme ideological choice, the discourse is different.
Pierce is more aware of his lyrics, his way of being, his line of conduct is well-defined, right or wrong as it may be, and with this album, he reaches the pinnacle of formality. His solid and unwavering conviction is evident from two factors: the singing and the music. The first is never screamed or beastly but is often a whisper almost timid, a hypnotic declamation, or even an autistic recital in his deep baritone voice, punctuated by paradisiacal female warbles. It almost seems like Pierce wants to implode on himself, swallowed by his own hunger for solemnity.
The music is meticulously arranged, very elegant, with a beautiful use of folk guitar, adorned with apocalyptic electronics at times. It's so true that it's with this album that most critics agree in defining the birth of "apocalyptic folk," elevated to a true genre.

Ultimately, it can be asserted that its melodic textures are evocative in themselves, as a "natural" fact of their being, but not suggestive, meaning they are not crafted to evoke suggestion. This is a tremendous merit of Pierce, who thereby stands out distinctly in terms of quality from the entire gothic wave of those years, at least on this album.

The martial drum beats that mark "Helige Tod" perfectly outline the atmosphere, an intro of a few seconds for angelic female voices, leading to the first real track, "Touch Defiles," where a cascading drum machine and folk guitar dominate, the cornerstone elements of the entire album. And here comes Pierce's monotone voice, a steadfast advocate of unsettling declamations.
The epic "Hail! The White Grain" speaks of horses, war heroes, pain, and darkness, among biblical crescendos of female singing and metronomic electronic beats.
A military fanfare at a charging pace opens "Runes And Men," one of the masterpieces of the album. An almost sweet and caressing sickly psalm in its progression, with Pierce almost whispering between the veils of a shy guitar. The rhythm promptly enters, as do the usual angelic choruses, while in the background, a man speaks confusedly into a poorly tuned radio microphone. A eulogy to tears, to death seen as perfection, to humanity's valley of sorrow, where the ethereal beauty of pure and childlike voices contrasts with the funereal progression of the drum machine.
Also noteworthy is the sad litany of the following "To Drown A Rose," a piece of ecstatic brilliance, with guitar chords floating lightly in the air, almost luminescent, exalted by a trumpet blowing epic behind them. "Red Dog-Black Dog" is a story recited by Pierce's echo-laden distant voice, made unrecognizable by the lament of a funereal women's chorus in the foreground. Another peak of the album is the beautiful and touching "The Fog Of The World," a milestone in "black folk," opened by crying infants and immediately scourged by the usual memorable guitar, truly marble-like in its silhouette, haughty and painful, accompanied by minimal apocalyptic piano interventions. "Here, in the fog of the world, what can be born?" Pierce questions, fully highlighting his pessimistic awareness. Another peak of absolute beauty, perhaps the true masterpiece of the album, is "Punishment Initiation," a gloomy and exhausting nocturnal ritual, where Spanish hand claps are brutally doubled by an almost slashed guitar, so intense is the violence with which it intervenes. Pierce remains impassive in his recital while hypnotic keyboard notes rise majestically, all under a powerful distorting base. Truly remarkable.
The title track is nothing more than a solemn military anthem, another brazen warlike evocation. It concludes with the pseudo-Latin chords of "Burn Again," a piece for voice and guitar only, brief and concise, the last testament of his eschatological manual.

Not many have managed to achieve such results at an artistic level, even fewer capable of creating a language later taken as a model by many. This album remains, along with "Children Of God" by Swans, a genuine masterpiece of the genre, a milestone too often omitted, obscured by the smoke of a priori and superficial arguments.