Morte Macabre
Symphonic Holocaust

The end of daylight saving time, darkness at six in the evening, the first mists, and the first frosts... autumn is in full swing, and if an eerie spirit tried to scare you in the twilight fog, perhaps you wouldn't be so surprised. It's definitely time for a seasonal review, like roasted chestnuts and mulled wine, and an album comes to mind that, despite speaking of the bleak Nordic winter, serves as a delightful homage to Italian creativity. Specifically, the 'made in Italy' here takes the form of b-rated horror cinema, like that of Lucio Fulci, who is so loved beyond its borders that in Scandinavian countries he has achieved a true cult status (old metalheads will surely remember the pre-pomp Europe singing "Seven Doors Hotel," directly inspired by Fulci's "The Beyond").

Morte Macabre also originates from Sweden, as a one-off project involving members of Landberk (Stefan Dimle and Reine Fiske) and Anekdoten (Niklas Berg and Peter Nordins), united by their passion for Italian horror as well as their use of the mellotron, alongside their usual instruments. It might sound like a prelude to a dated and clumsily symphonic album, but those familiar with the bands from which Morte Macabre's members hail know well the use they make of vintage equipment, deriving a dramatically modern sound, tormented and edgy, deliberately imperfect, sometimes violent, somewhere between the King Crimson of "Red," dark and post-rock. This approach is applied, with truly enjoyable results, to the soundtracks of some of the most brutal horror "films of fear" released between the seventies and eighties.

The first to benefit is maestro Fabio Frizzi (yes, Fabrizio's brother, it happens in the best families...), a protégé of Lucio Fulci, from whom the group covers two splendid tracks. "Apoteosi del Mistero" (from "City of the Living Dead"), originally an electronic piece, is given a "vintage" treatment, rhythmically transforming it into a chilling waltz, with choirs and strings entrusted to the mellotron, enhancing the main melodic theme – arguably even better than the original version – up to a typically Crimson-like crescendo towards the finale, in which the piercing solo guitar also enters, all accompanied by a splendid rhythm section (especially the over-amplified bass). From the aforementioned "The Beyond..." Morte Macabre covers "Sequenza Ritmica e Tema," stripped of the funky temptations typical of the early eighties and transformed into a heavy and obsessive track, where the initial exposure of the original melody then leaves room for the band's furious improvisation. Goblin cannot be missed, here represented by "Quiet Drops," originally a spectral piano and atmospheric keyboard piece featured in Joe D'Amato's "Buio Omega" (a director usually better known for other cinematic genres); here the piano part is skillfully entrusted to the electric guitar, delicate at times, suffering and aggressive at others, in a track that might represent what would happen to a standard blues-rock after a winter spent beyond the Arctic Circle. The band plays it safe with "Opening Theme," the music of the opening titles of the notorious "Cannibal Holocaust" by Deodato. The original track by Riz Ortolani was already a small masterpiece, a decidedly moving melody; little changes in Morte Macabre's version, which accentuates the role played by the mellotron and gives it a vaguely hippy flavor.

Don't be fooled into thinking that everything in this album is at optimal levels: "The Photosession," taken from the film "Golden Girls" (and this urgently needs clarification because this title seems to belong only to a comedy from Hong Kong), is a beautiful relaxing track, with its subtle percussion, lovely guitar groove, the sound of waves in the background... too bad that in seven minutes the music doesn't evolve an inch. "Lullaby," then, from "Rosemary's Baby," feels slightly out of place and a bit garish, especially when compared to the other reinterpretations contained in this album.

But the band also brings some original material to the table, offering us two other gems of dark rock: "Threats of Stark Reality" is a piece of spectral ambient music placed between "Apoteosi del Mistero" and "Sequenza...," where the band moves in improvised and menacing territories somewhat Crimson-like, somewhat Tangerine Dream of "Electronic Meditation." The climax then is reached in the apocalyptic finale entrusted to the title track, seventeen minutes of menacing mellotron, desperate melodies, accelerations and abrupt breaks, perhaps somewhat challenging in the long run, but certainly fascinating.

Outside, the night now broods who knows what under the menacing crescent moon. The night of the witches demands its share once again: give it the right soundtrack!