Desiderii Marginis
Strife

Look at the cover. Look at it. What do you see?
Two naked mannequins. They are faceless. Behind them, flames. Ruins. A godless sky.
Who are the two mannequins?
They are everyone and they are no one. Once they smiled. Now they no longer have eyes to look at the world they destroyed. They cannot cry. They no longer have mouths to ask for forgiveness. They no longer have arms to embrace each other as they once did. They no longer have ears to hear the anguish surrounding them. For them, there is no tomorrow: they have buried the past and burned the present.

There is a profound silence in the conflict, but it is not a silence of peace, sadness, or wonder. It is a silence of hatred.

There is a bruised and deafening silence in this “Strife.” I listen and realize that a tangled mess of decadent sounds can be more eloquent than the roar of a war. “Strife” converts hatred and rage into a musical landscape that highlights the true, authentic nature of these two emotions: emptiness. Not a trace of passion, not a hint of transparency nor the will to convey anything; conflict never speaks, because it is a tremendous bastard. It prefers to leave words to the trail of smoking ruins in its wake.

Conflict is mute, anger is blind, hatred is deaf: but we feel them only when we harm someone, even (and especially) ourselves. And that's why “Strife” seems so senseless and cold at first listen. The echoing gusts of “Blackout,” supported only momentarily by desolation turned melody, the martial avant-garde of “From Glory into Where,” and the convulsive, ruthlessly noisy drone buzzes of “Deceit” truly hit us when they leave us with a bitter aftertaste, in the end. When everything falls silent, suffocating in the dust, and the only ones left to speak will be us.

But there is always room for some flashes of emotion barely granted to us: we owe such generosity to “Forlorn pt.2,” if it’s really emotion we’re talking about. I would prefer to define it as a fresco of a post-apocalyptic scenario, in which the two mannequins on the cover wouldn’t look out of place. Another trace of barely concealed gray sentimentality is “The Sweet Hereafter,” the B-side of “Forlorn,” the more moving one, colored by the chimes of a piano. Yet, the rest of “Strife” grinds the same formula: an abstract, enigmatic, and confused form, contents to be unraveled and, why not, shaped with imagination. What is it ultimately? An intricate work deeply closed within itself, and perhaps it's better this way, because it would risk losing its true purpose: to crack the silence of discord and remind us how senseless and sick it is.

And maybe, maybe the day will come when everyone will have the courage to ask for forgiveness.

“Weapons advance silently only to discover that nothing has truly been achieved. Ancient injustices remain, recent conflicts add to those of the past. Does this sound depressing? I think so.”