Nachtmystium
The World We Left Behind

“The World We Left Behind” will not be the swan song of Nachtmystium. This is what the leader Blake Judd tells us, contradicting himself, as he, entangled in drugs and some minor legal problems, and increasingly unmotivated to deal with the growing commitments required by the prodigious "machine" he set in motion, had announced the band's dissolution even before the album's actual release, only to retract everything immediately afterward.

It is unclear in what form and with what methods the path of the American combo will continue, but “The World We Left Behind” was written and completed by a band that was thought to be defunct. It doesn't provide significant clues about the future, representing an interlocutory phase that continues in the wake of a trajectory that, after peaking with the two “Black Meddle” albums (with which Nachtmystium secured a prominent spot in the “hall of fame” of star-spangled black metal), began to decline with the disappointing “Silencing Machine” (from 2012).

“The World We Left Behind” confirms on one hand the undisputed value of Judd as an author and performer, but certifies on the other hand the lack of substance of today's Nachtmystium as an ensemble, and probably this is one of the points that more than others will need to be revisited in the project's reconstruction: the presence of unmotivated musicians with little personality is indeed the true weak point of an album that still shows, despite this, more than one positive aspect.

Judd's inspired vocal performance is one of these aspects, also aided by a production that places his infernal howl at the center of everything. A production, however, that does not highlight the band's work, ending up being too clean and lacking bite, and thus not very relevant to a context of this type (it should be explained to the person behind the mixer – one Chris Wisco – that a black metal album shouldn’t sound like this, unless you're dealing with luminaries like Steinar Sverd Johnsen, Jan Axel “Hellhammer” Blomberg, and Kristoffer Rygg - in short, unless there are Arcturus in the studio and you're recording an album like “Aspera Hiems Symfonia”!)

Almost negligible, then, are the performances of bassist John Porada (practically nonexistent, even if his are the few contributions in terms of writing outside Judd’s dominion) and keyboardist Dustin Drenk (present here and there, but without ever really imposing himself); and if with the six strings Scare Crow pays the price of having to play the role of the sidekick (thus enjoying little autonomy to express himself and make a truly significant contribution), behind the drums Sam Shroyer, though technically skilled, delivers a decidedly predictable performance. Beyond this dullness (the last works of Shining come to mind), the charisma of mastermind Blake Judd stands out, expressive behind the microphone, creative on the guitar: an inexhaustible source of catchy riffs and melodies (with the amount of riffs on this record other bands could have built entire careers), a bit like his friend Wrest (Leviathan), another evil genius brimming with ideas, already a fellow sufferer in the Twilight project (excellent, by the way).

And so the nine tracks that make up “The World We Left Behind” are a succession of winning insights alternated with assorted banalities, an aspect that makes the listening experience fluid and at times engrossing, but at the same time devoid of the incisiveness, compactness, and continuity that we've found elsewhere in the discography of the five Americans. For the rest, we are faced with the typical stadium black in Nachtmystium style, a kind of black’n’roll with strong seventies hues (a mood that perfectly reflects the cover illustration), generous with catchy refrains and choruses, without neglecting the ferocity and/or chill typical of Scandinavian bands that ours continually look to (Burzum and Dissection above all, but also Katatonia and Carpathian Forest), nor renouncing the measured use of certain more refined solutions drawn from psychedelic rock and even electronics.

If the introductory track, the instrumental “Intrusion”, already showcases the strengths and weaknesses that will characterize the record (a nice sizzling riff soon weighed down by the weak entrance of bass and drums, which eventually turns into a rather predictable metallic trot), “Fireheart” carries forward this duality between embarrassing rock phrases where the five seem to mimic Placebo or the Strokes (!!!), electro-acoustic openings of a doom nature, and inspired real black metal riffs (one of these, the main one, perhaps swiped from compatriots Wolves in the Throne Room - see the finale of “Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog”, the compelling opening track of “Black Cascade”).

So, what to save? Many scattered hints here and there, “Voyager” in its entirety (a track with a depressive cadence, interwoven with poignant guitar phrases and illuminated by a beautiful solo at the end), the overwhelming tempo changes and guitar interplay on “Into the Endless Abyss” (the most driven track, which starts at light speed only to progressively decelerate and stabilize on driving rhythms, enriched by a harsh filtered voice); or the intense finale of the title track, entrusted to clear Floydian solos (or, better put, evoking certain sublime sound blends heard in proximity to the Silent Enigma of the unsurpassable Anathema). Also worth saving are the bitterness, the desire for revenge, that sense of liberating outburst with which the lyrics are filled, of evident autobiographical matrix, a matrix that reaches its peak in the last track on the lineup, “Epitaph for a Dying Star,” where a female voice even makes an appearance: a sort of “black-ballad”, in which everything wants to be/sound “definitive & categorical” (tempos are medium, the pace majestic, the mood melodramatic), but which will nonetheless end up paying the price of an excessively predictable development.

If it really had been a posthumous album, all this would have made more sense, and our evaluation would have been more lenient, highlighting on one hand the undeniable sincerity that permeates many passages, forgiving on the other the flaws/dispersions that characterize, for better or worse, every posthumous album. But since Nachtmystium's story does not end here, it would be best for Blake Judd (who evidently can't hold the whole show on his own shoulders) to regain his strength, carefully reflect on the direction to take, and surround himself especially with motivated musicians who are up to the task.