In Flames
Whoracle

While browsing the net, I realized that among the albums listed on DeBaser, this “Whoracle” was missing. Given the hyper-activity in publishing by the unyielding metal phalanx present in this space, I couldn't help but widen my eyes and rub my hands (thinking about how much fun I would have filling this gap personally). Those who approach these lines already know these five Scandinavians associated with the “Gothenburg school,” proudly carrying the banner alongside a handful of other bands.

This work is perhaps more noteworthy than the others because it presents us with a mature band, albeit in a genre that has never been known for maturity. Without wanting to belittle the innovative acoustic experiments of the previous “The Jester Race” (1995), in “Whoracle” (1997) it is immediately evident that the evolutionary process has reached its peak, at least from a compositional standpoint. An unwitting witness to this is the subsequent “Colony” (1999), which openly aspires (without succeeding) to the balance achieved in this album. Fortunately, the production is not detrimental, being sufficiently compact, and one can also detect a slight hard rock edge upon listening. In particular, one can appreciate some Les Paul-like sound tones that, in certain riffs, leave heavy scratches on our eardrums. It is no coincidence that Bjorn Gelotte, who also dons the sacred vestments of a drummer here, is anything but a death fixation.

Opens with “Jotun”, a perfectly crafted piece, arranged in the most classic “in flames style”: between tight riffs and guitar jingles, where Gelotte and Stromblad switch roles, stands the scream of the indomitable Friden (here almost effect-driven growl, but capable of an even more enviable scream). Following in the same vein is “Food For The Gods”, even more driven and more “Swedish.” We are then enveloped by the powerful sounds of “Gyroscope”, whose guitar cycles pay dues to Tony Iommi's doom (yes indeed). Once inside the eye of this sonic cyclone, we're granted some moments to breathe. Those of the instrumental “Dialogue with The Stars” and “Jester Script Transfigured”, pieces with which the band once and for all consecrates its raw inclinations, but rich in melodic tendencies. I skip over “Episode 666” (one of their classics), and conclude with the verses of “Words Within The Margin”, a suffocating carpet of sounds where Anders Friden warbles about his darkest nightmares.

A work rich in influences then, though fortunately, it doesn't end up being a mishmash. A temptation that the exponents of the genre tend to fall into too easily, peddling the “more the merrier” for originality. “Whoracle”, however, is truly superior caste death metal, not only because of its unmistakable style but also for its genuinely personal connotations. E accattatevill'...