Hades Almighty
...Again Shall Be

In years when Norwegian black metal was reaching its peak popularity (the year was 1994), after the turmoil of burned churches, headshots, and throat stabbings, it was time to detox from gossip and look at the essence of things. It was time to rediscover tradition, focus on the genuine, uncover people out of the spotlight like Hades and Forgotten Woods (strange that on Debaser there is no review of "The Curse of Mankind"... I'm just putting it out there... maybe someone...).

But not only that: in years when the term Depressive Black Metal didn't yet exist, Hades and the newly reclusive Burzumello certainly constituted the most painful front of Norwegian black metal. And if over time that superb puddle of green and putrescent vomit that is "Filosofem" will receive the rightful tribute from the new waves, who will find in it those seeds of sonic and psychic rarefaction that will become standards in Depressive, the gloomy Hades will dissolve into silence, leaving no indelible marks on the evolution of black metal to come. A pity, because in their small way they left something good too, and I'm talking about the demo "Alone Walking" from 1993, while this "...Again Shall Be", the band's first full-length, is truly something remarkable. Perhaps stylistically anachronistic, but of undeniable charm.

I say anachronistic because for our friends Hades, cutting-edge albums like "A Blaze in the Northern Sky" or "Under a Funeral Moon" seem never to have been released: our heroes prefer to draw heavily from Bathory's proto-black, and in particular from solemn and evocative works like "Hammerheart" and "Twilight of the Gods". The mustache, to be clear, is mandatory. But not only that. Slow and powerful passages, acoustic inserts, contained accelerations: in every way, they inherit the epic vein of the Scandinavian one-man band, naturally reviving it with a nice coat of black paint. What makes the difference is the suffering (sorry for the pun), the sub-human croak of Janto, a sort of Quorthon who seems to be having his balls squeezed, equipped with an ever-inspired and over-the-top screaming that brings us back to beloved Norway.

It's a sort of slow-motion viking, that of Hades, where the belligerent moods of their compatriots Enslaved don't prevail as they intend to narrate the bloodthirsty fury of lone warriors thirsty for revenge: instead, Hades focus on atmosphere, the individual I dissolves into a collective I that goes on to represent a resentful Norway seeking redemption. Hades celebrate their beloved land by exposing its rotten and contemplative side: nighttime forests, icy winter landscapes, moods of revenge mixing with the threatening tones of an imminent wave of violence and barbarity. Hades' music echoes the slow and ruthless advance of drakkars carried by the waves. It's the approach to the end, the looming threat, the imminent death. And indeed, you will think you hear the splashes of icy water against your face, or feel in direct contact with the shiny muscles in tension of burly Vikings worthy of an ante litteram gay pride intent on pushing the logs into the sea and taking the waves in their teeth.

The opener "Pagan Triumph" is all this: martial chimes, mighty strokes of distorted bass, obsessive and threatening chants that embody the horrible sensations preceding a battle or a long sea voyage to unknown places. It's the firmness of purpose, the thrill of anticipation, the inevitability of events, and this gloomy march, like marine currents, slowly drags us towards our Destiny. It's the mental funeral we celebrate in our heads, knowing full well we're going to suffer and then die. However, where I would tremble on those crappy boats and frantically search for the first way to desert, Hades seem to take particular pleasure in rushing toward martyrdom because come what may, they will fight with honor (I'd prefer to watch them from the safety of the hold!). "How beautiful it is to slit the enemy's throat and die for Odin," the obsessive loops of cadence guitars, the rusted bass hits, seem to say, "but if dying becomes necessary, die we must," because individual death is canceled out in the greatness of the heroic gesture, in the celebration of a delirious North at the pinnacle of its megalomania.

"Hecate (Queen of Hades)", "The Astral of an Astral Journey", "An Oath Sworn in Biorgvin": the journey continues, amid barrages of black quorthorian guitar, elementary drumming, and the usual agonizing and solemn progression. It's the salt on the wounds, the taste of whale steaks, preparing us for the final assault. To get us moving a bit, we have to wait for the powerful title track, which seems to come straight out of Bathory's "Blood Fire Death," and "The Spirit of Ancient Past", perhaps the most intense episode. And then away, now out at sea, in deep trouble, towards the Enemy. Visions of the imminent End, flashbacks of the beloved land, echoes of a distant victory: "Unholy Congregation", a walk in the forest with questionable company, "Glorious Again the Northland Shall Become", the majestic banner of Norway waving in the sky, "Be-Witched", just to underscore the fantasy extraction of the lyrics. And this is the part of the album that is most engaging, because the mighty advance of Hades becomes cloaked in dreamlike visions, acoustic phrasing, folkloristic inserts.

"In the Moonless Sky": the journey ends with the sound of the wind, dark keyboards, and the distant squawk of crows. Are we all dead? What is certain is that we've taken a beating. However, we've also given it. And a bit, it comforts us. And I must say the truth: this album manages to be so decadent and at the same time epic, that I end up liking it almost as much as an apocalyptic folk CD. It's like a long slow-motion sequence that describes the irresistible fall of the warrior: the gasp in the dust, the lump of blood choking you, the weight of the useless armor, the noise of weapons fading away, the sight slowly dimming, the delirium of the End.

With honor and without hesitation, if you please, we remain dead.

"...Again Shall Be" is the blade that slowly sinks into your belly, but with the awareness that your sword is penetrating your enemy's ass. And that's no small satisfaction, especially for those business-minded Vikings!*

*Yes, because it has long been established: the Vikings, skilled sailors indeed, weren't really that great fighters, and if historiography tells us of heroic deeds and atrocious cruelties, it's precisely because Our heroes were notorious for attacking the most vulnerable places, like convents and abbeys, where clerics and literati resided, thanks to whose testimonies we mostly received the most ferocious episodes. But I'll tell you more: whatever the proud nineties descendants say, the conversion to the much-maligned Christianity occurred for vile mercantile reasons (by the end of the 10th century, to trade in certain areas, one had to be a Christian, and certainly, our folks didn't waste time getting baptized!).

I don't know: back then it seemed so mature and original to draw inspiration from national pride and Norse mythologies; today, at the twilight of my existence, I find myself rooting for Satan, who is more global and never disappoints. Ratzinger, after all, consoles us: Hell exists. So we can rest easy.