With the Dead
Love from With the Dead

Doom, Doom, Doom.

Ten, a hundred, a thousand times Doom.

When talking about Lee Dorrian and his With the Dead, the first word that comes to mind is the one just written.

The black priest is back; with an army of faithful disciples ready to accompany his demonic sermons.

Two years after the eponymous debut that was already a dark, dense and macabre boulder; but which left a glimmer of hope, a faint light at the end of the tunnel.

Now, however, there is no grip, no way of escape.

Nothingness in Music.

An infernal ocean saturated with heavy and grave electricity. Slow, convulsive, pressing; songs that develop in a beastly manner. Eternally enclosed in a sound of guitars on low frequencies; heavy and insistent in their apocalyptic journey. Allowing no return; burying and tearing apart.

That destroys you.

Sounds that smell of old, sick, rotten.

Only seven tracks for over an hour of incessant cerebral pounding.

You reach the end with a pervasive malaise; pale-faced, lifeless.

Sadistic minutes; with no variation, no slightest concession. No breathing, in perpetual shortness of breath.

Only and only skinned Doom.

The best or the worst you can listen to today...EGYPTIAN TOMB...

Merry Christmas debaserian colleagues...COCAINE PHANTOMS...

Ad Maiora.