Immortal
Pure Holocaust

THE REVIEW

A deep wound, tormenting, inflicting excruciating pain, icy premonitions of damnation and solitude.

A "presence", reminiscent of ruthless ice deserts, ancient mountains eroded by sharp gusts, barren lifeless forests, and still souls lost in the memories of an untamable past, desolate wanderers with tattered clothes, whose gazes drown in the void of nostalgia.
Symphonies of barbaric terror, cursed screams, incomprehensible howls of unleashed beasts, shrieks like whispers of ghosts hooked by unbearable despair, souls dancing among the flakes of endless snowfalls, souls awaiting furious revenge. And such they are, represented by a single, thundering guttural sound, a deadly noise that uproots carefreeness, smiles, enveloping in an embrace of Viking rage, merciless, inhuman!

The Bergen duo composes the definitive black metal work, unleashes an animal born of the wind and the Norwegian night, ready to devour the ears of the unfortunate listeners, dragging them on a journey through shadows, among the statues of ruin, along paths of lands abandoned to total darkness. There is no hope, one feels alone, stunned by these furious, uncontrollably graceless gallops, sowing delirium and hidden fears. It is all generated by the murderous guitars of Demonaz, the rhythm section paired with the schizoid screaming of Abbath and sporadic keys that, in a couple of tracks, fuel the apocalyptic soul of this infernal brand named "Pure Holocaust."

No pause, no slowdown, the race is insane, dramatic and oozes an unspeakable ire making it very difficult to listen to this half-hour of screaming paganism. "A sign for the Norse hordes to ride" compresses with riffs that evoke horrible litanies, the singer roars alone, mad while the rhythm section leaves one stunned by its fury and ruggedness. "The sun no longer rises" lashes brutally before stretching into a venomous mid-tempo with a marble-like guitar sound, granitic, clinging to the emptiness generated by the infernal grunts. The false slowness of "Frozen by icewinds" barely loosens its grip, generates arctic visions of black solitude, unfolds in four minutes of howling wind among rocks of mountains as old as the world.

The pinnacle comes with the deadly notes of "As the eternity opens", an anthem marked by thundering drum beats, sad melodies filtered by a glacial riffing, a crazy fresco of sonic curse. And there is no respite with a tremendous finale, launched at the mad speed of the closing track "Pure Holocaust" where repetitive harmonies rise towards the void from the beast living in the demonically possessed throat of the singer.

Seven screeching hymns to the pagan fire that burns in the veins of these lords of darkness dominating the hills of Bergen during the endless winter full moon. This is black metal.