Silentium
Altum

In 2006, with the release of "Seducia," we sadly lost them amidst the depths of dwindling originality, among mainstream temptations and various degradations; but Silentium, born in 1995 from the rib of Funeral, it's impossible to deny, were among the most valid representatives of a scene almost entirely extinct now, whose only remaining voices are (along with a few others) the Swedes Draconian, who cloak their gothic/doom music in a funereal veil that reveals no hope, no possibility of redemption.

What distinguishes Silentium of "Altum" from the many bands that are the offspring of the early My Dying Bride and 19th-century romantic literature is instead a fervent and angry vitality, which often manages to counter the ever-looming despair with sonic explosions full of lyricism, yet devoid of resignation. "Altum," the second release for the Finnish band, was released by Spikefarm Records in 2001, when new singer Riina Rinkinen had not yet joined its ranks. The original vocalist Tiina Lehvonen was present at the time, who in the next opus "Sufferion - Hamartia of Prudence" would be replaced by Tanya Kemppainen (formerly of Lullacry, Soulgrind).

In the nine tracks of this album, the group rekindles the discourse begun with the raw "Infinita plango vulnera," showing they have perfectly assimilated the lesson imparted by the masters (the My Dying Bride of "The Angel and the Dark River," the Theatre Of Tragedy of "Velvet Darkness They Fear"), blending the doom heritage of their inspiring bands with the mastery of an omnipresent and virtuosic violinist (Janne Ojala), the romantic intimacy of a Chopin-esque piano, velvety orchestral arrangements, and the wounded voice of bassist and leader Matti Aiko (considerably worsened in the last album), which rarely lets his anger out, remaining tormented and disenchanted (in the style of the best Vincent Cavanagh), occasionally giving space to the nightingale-like singing of his beautiful and doomed bandmate Tiina (it's truly a shame she only plays a supporting role). Exquisite work also comes from the rhythm section, which sometimes serves as a simple support on which to lay the uninterrupted symphonic wailing of classical instruments, sometimes turbulent and abrasive, as in the closing "The Sinful" and "The Propheter of the Unenthroned" (adorned with a lacerating growl and refined with sepulchral imagery and religious references), much like the lead guitar, which often duets with the violin creating a perfect timeless alchemy between the modernity of metal and the 19th-century vein of classical passages.

A "track by track" description would be useless and tedious; the emotions that permeate the various episodes are rather homogeneous, and Silentium are certainly not to be praised for any particular heterogeneity of musical solutions (although a more lyrical first part and a more aggressive and violent second part, especially at the end, are clearly recognizable). Each song is a tear running down a face, a wound that tears at the heart, but it takes sensitivity to grasp its depth. For this reason, all the romantic souls who have appreciated, loved, and made companions of their lives the incredible grace of the early albums of the aforementioned bands, will surely find in this work strong, sincere, and touching emotions, in which to cradle themselves for over fifty minutes of intense melancholy, to feel on their own skin the thrill of the eternal bond that binds Eros and Thanatos, love and death.

The fragile beauty of a swan gracefully cutting across the water's surface, a leaf falling to the ground lifeless in autumn, the blooming of a rose, a sunset seen from the shore of a mountain lake, the perpetual crashing of waves against the cliff during a starry night, the tears of a desolate lover, the last breath exhaled by their beloved… All this is encapsulated in the notes of this not yet recognized masterpiece.

"… Let me drown within this river, let me drown in this deep silence…
… Where I will be forever painless"