Death in June
But, What Ends When The Symbols Shatter?

Costing three years of wandering through Rome, London, Paris, Adelaide, and Sydney, "But, What Ends When The Symbols Shatter?" marks the beginning of a new phase in the career of Death in June.
A second youth that testifies to the vitality and honesty, both intellectual and artistic, of a dynamic, mutable project that increasingly expresses the spiritual turmoil of its leader, Douglas Pearce, a restless and tormented soul.

The 1992 Death in June delivers a mature artist who is aware of himself, his means, and the reality surrounding him, who seems to have left behind the deep depressive and existential crisis evidenced by the painful notes of the torn (and tearing) "Wall of Sacrifice".
Perhaps aided by the acquisition of a new sense of identity through constant wandering, which characterized the gestation of this album, the confusion and dismay that distinguished the previous chapter are now mitigated and overcome by a new attitude of mocking disenchantment and cold detachment. The detachment and disenchantment of one who has lost all hope and can only become an impotent witness to the decline and emptiness—the emptiness and decay that follow the inevitable crumbling of spirituality in man. And it is precisely this overwhelming sense of loss that tinges the pages of this tormented chapter of Death in June.

The terrible sound of the fractures and internal lacerations in the artist's soul is no longer heard: what was once a frightening and not entirely conscious intuition is today a certainty, understood in all its disconcerting evidence, a devastating truth, but finally accepted.
It is precisely on this that Douglas Pearce appears to have worked for three long years, who, from his status of a stateless person, now seems to speak to us from another world, with a wisdom and firmness that borders on the prophetic, yet at the same time descends from the pain and loneliness of one who holds annihilating truths. And it is precisely this latent tension given by frustration, by an unexploded anger, by a discomfort that cannot be vented (as there is no way out), precisely this tension, rarely found elsewhere, makes this work unique, certainly one of the most mature in the entire "dark" scene, which has always shown difficulty in freeing itself from certain strictly adolescent themes.

From the musical content perspective, while sounding 1000% Death in June, the album reveals atmospheres and moods that are new to the group: the sound appears incredibly clean, stripped of any industrial contamination and any blatant references to the Second World War and the Third Reich (which may delight all those who, despite appreciating Death in June's music, have never managed to digest its most right-wing aspects). What remains are twelve acoustic gems of extreme beauty, enhanced by crystal-clear production and a meticulous attention to arrangements (which nevertheless remain extremely minimal).

A formula that draws deeply from English folk, from which the artist has always drawn inspiration, but also from the apocalyptic songwriting of authors like Leonard Cohen and Nick Drake. While the bulk of the work is still entrusted to Douglas' deep and monolithic voice and his very simple yet effective guitar loops, now a true trademark of his music, the contribution of airy keyboards, courtesy of Douglas himself, is fundamental, giving the tracks a dreamy and surreal atmosphere, almost immaterial.
The pieces, all of short duration, succeed one another with smoothness and homogeneity, embellished by delicate synth touches, unobtrusive percussion, some sporadic trumpet solos, and small noise contaminations that certainly do not disrupt the predominantly melodic component.

There is no need to point out the various episodes: though very similar to each other, one rarely gets bored or perceives drops in tension. Just the first notes of the melancholic opener "Death is the Martyr of Beauty", a new programmatic manifesto of 1992's Death in June, are enough to give us an insight into the general coordinates of the album and to make us realize that we are in front of a mature and elegant sound, capable of carrying within itself, despite its extreme simplicity, a majestic depth and inspiration, something that has always distinguished Death in June's sound.
Even though the ingredients remain the same, it is possible to discern an extreme range and variety of moods and sensations, a whole world of nuances and accents that must be captured and that could escape uncareful listening: there is the bitter and at the same time mocking irony of "He's Disabled" and "Ku Ku Ku"; the poetry of the incredible pair "Daedalus Rising" and "This is not Paradise" (enhanced by verses in French), both interpreted by the ever-excellent David Tibet of Current 93.
There is the ethereal and dreamy atmosphere of "The Golden Wedding of Sorrow" and "The Giddy Edge of Light". More lively and pressing pieces like the folk-sounding "Little Black Angel", which over time has become a true classic, and others more meditative and severe, like "The Mourner's Bench", pierced by a trumpet solo (and which reiterates the theme of impotent contemplation), and the devastating (lyrically speaking, of course) title track.
This track, placed at the end, constitutes the true peak of the album, a song of resignation and perdition that carries the unbearable weight of the void of "a life without God, of an end without Love".
Phrases that may seem obvious and banal but that constitute heavy sentences for a sensitive and fragile soul that has decided, with courage and coherence, contrary to all hypocrisy and compromise, to take its solitary journey to its extreme consequences in search of a purity that elevates it and leads it to understanding, of itself, of things, of existence itself.

Definitely recommended for those approaching Death in June's music for the first time. An album for everyone, and one that everyone should jealously guard in their collection.