Fields of Nephilim
Downrazor

The Fields of Nephilim is a band from the English Gothic scene of the late 80s, still active today although over the years it has increasingly become the personal project of leader Carl McCoy, a restless individual following in the footsteps of Rozz Williams. The band owes much of its sound to Christian Death, especially their more dreamlike work like "Catastrophe Ballet", although in my opinion, McCoy's true point of reference were the contemporary Sisters of Mercy. The vocals are desperate and theatrical like Andrew Eldritch's, and the rhythms obsessive and dark as never before. From the Californian group, they borrowed more the guitar attitude, more celestial than robotic like that of the Sisters of Mercy, obviously removing the feedback abuses of Rikk Agnew. Despite the band not being the most original, I feel I can say that Fields of Nephilim in "Downrazor" and also in the later "Eluzium" produced some of the most evocative gloomy rides of the decade. In this album, released in 1987, the wilder and esoteric side of the Goth - Death Rock movement is exacerbated into violent delusions that would make the (relative) fortune of groups like Red Temple Spirits.

The greatest impression is made by the sudden changes of direction of the tracks, as often one moves from oppressive situations to lysergic and crystalline arpeggios ("Mask" docet), which lend a sparkling gloom to tracks that might otherwise be mere sterile derivatives. After a two-minute intro alternating clean phrases and disturbing noises interspersed with the ominous keyboards, the album bursts into the violence of "Slow Kill". A desperate arpeggio clashes yet enchants with a pounding and gloomy bass, the resigned and theatrical vocals halfway between Eldritch and Peter Murphy in its exaggerated emphasis is simply perfect. The track flows smoothly and ends with a sinister distorted riff. The following "Laura II" boasts one of the most hallucinatory rhythm changes ever, as although more than half of the track is a sustained pow-wow à la "Into the Flat Field", still pleasant, a couple of minutes from the end everything fades out and a remarkable arpeggio as great as Johnny Marr's in his golden days kicks in, always and inevitably propelled by tribal and vibrant drumming to a fade-out that leaves a sweet aftertaste. If the next "Preacher Man" is pure exercise on theme, "Volcane" is notable for its dreamy keyboards and the Victorian horror novel-like feel. "Vet for The Insane" finally slows down the tones until now exhausting in a medium-long lament saturated with proto-Peter Steele vocal reverbs, and is one of the most significant tracks of the lot, surely the most filled with Spleen, and enhanced by a gruesome interlude with a children’s choir. "Secrets" and "Dust" are still vehement outbursts against everything and everyone (in a vein à la Fall on a gloomy day), "Reanimator" is a gripping voodoo and draws on a voice this time more wicked than emphatic. "Power" is a hallucinatory variation on the vampiric theme, introduced by strong screeches and reinforced by a spectacular bass line, while "The Tower" is one of the masterpieces of the album, as despite relying on a rhythm living on continuous starts, the subtle guitar chimes manage to create a nightmare atmosphere masterfully interpreted by McCoy and his excruciating howl counterpointed by a suggestive sax lying in a psychoanalytical background. A sort of ballad, calling it sick is an understatement, the title track "Downrazor" is yet another macabre swoon, relying on a chilling arpeggio progression and an exceptionally flexible rhythm section. The singing becomes a demonic rasp, in a crescendo of Walpurgisnacht noises that ends in a finale embellished with beastly grunts. In the vein of the entire work, the final "The Sequel" churns out the umpteenth brilliant chime that fades after exactly a minute suffocated by the desperate screams of a girl, followed by moments of sharp noise.

"Downrazor" and the work of Fields of Nephilim, have the merit of exasperating the tribal bacchanals of Sisters of Mercy and Bauhaus by marrying them with the demonic attitude of "Christian Death", and injecting into it all a far from banal guitarism founded on hypnotic chimes and sudden outbursts.

Their compositions here are fresh even if sometimes within the same album there is the risk of self-citation. However, some songs shine with an evil and fascinating aura, such that any repetitiveness is secondary and perhaps constitutes a common thread for this exhausting esoteric rite.