Forgotten Tomb
Songs To Leave

As I write these ramblings, I realize that never before have I felt the need to invoke what I would call the relativism of opinions as much as in this review, poisoned as it will be by the germ of personal thought: in short, I realize that despite receiving waves of approval, this album has not really captured my interest, despite the fact that the premises were far from inconspicuous, rather they were exceedingly encouraging. The cover with a male figure lying in a bathtub in a sea of blood (let me clear the air of any wordplay) inexorably pouring from cut veins, the presence of Herr Morbid behind the 'Forgotten Tomb' monicker (a fact far from ignorable seeing his entry into the lineup of the magnificent Bethlehem, a sign that he enjoys a significant position on the European scene and beyond), the phrases inside the digipack (the one in my possession is the reprint by Adipocere in the aforementioned format) depicting the blade as the sole friend ("My Only Friend Remains This Knife"), in a life apparently drained of any trace of joy, turned into a continuous static march towards the suicidal apathy of depression, constantly followed by the specter of memories.

Having said these nonsense, to be honest, thinking it through, I find points one and three of the premises unappreciable, unless resorting to an infantilism that, for the shrewd and always-green irony of fate, belongs to every blackster worthy of the name; concerning Morbid, I recognize his indisputable role within the development of a genre today overused and trendy like depressive, and he has all my respect; however, as the saying goes, we are here to judge the facts.

And the facts are an album that passively flows, that slips away without jolts, without stirring much emotion, due to problems of various kinds: firstly the production, overly clean and plastic, yet another product of that abortion disguised as a recording studio represented by the Abyss Studios (what can you do, recording there is evidently "cool"); a drum machine that gives the whole a worrying sense of impersonality, proving to be an almost harmful component as it proceeds without impact, compressing what is the raped dynamics of the album; Morbid's voice, filtered, effected, distorted, almost to the point of not sounding human, thereby making it impossible to transmit the psychopathy, mental illness, existential discomfort, sadness, depression that every singer of the genre should possess; songwriting at times excessively minimalistic almost to the point of hopelessly falling into the banal, indebted until bankruptcy to Katatonia's "Dance of December Souls" and "Brave Murder Day" (certain riffs verge on plagiarism). Some arpeggios are worth saving, a few riffs from "Disheartenment", but nothing more, everything else is a subdued flowing of apathy, so much so that the album in question is intangible and listless. Paradoxically, the track that slightly caught my attention is the bonus track "Desolated Funeral", with a main riff that, although a Katatonia clone and repeated to excess, manages to stir something emotionally, EVERYTHING ELSE IS BORING.

P.S.: before hordes of manic depressives demand my head (or my veins) on a steel platter, I reiterate that what I've written so far simply reflects my personal opinions, which hold no claim to be elevated to the bible of the universe or similar, bearing in mind that, even if I have expressed them negatively, I have a decent respect for Morbid. I have expressed my judgment, now I return to sit back and admire in religious silence.