Xasthur
To Violate the Oblivious

Considering the stir caused by the review on Xasthur alias Malefic alias Scott Corner (from the series "American names that don't mean a damn thing, just to paraphrase the vast array of Tarantino aphorisms), I decided to tackle the analysis of one of our Californian misanthrope's most recent works (as Lino Banfi would say, he's truly KVLT). But first, a brief sociological preface: once upon a time, MTV made us believe that the stars and stripes lands were inhabited only by super tattooed machos or cocaine-addicted surfers, but in this period, something especially observed by black metal listeners, a stunning discovery has been made, namely that for many years, hidden in damp basements, a new breed of sub-humanoids has developed: hordes of pseudo-depressed and satanists from public toilets have arisen, blending their humiliations from various rejections from beach parties and their adolescent sorrows because their schoolmates just didn't want to go to the woods with them, and they have transposed everything into optical disc format, until record labels probably run by other similar human cases (who said Moribound?) spread their 'black' word around the world. Of course, a small smile spontaneously comes to my face when thinking of Californians getting into black metal, but I try not to get drunk on the exquisite wine of prejudice. So, we were talking about Xasthur: the first time I came across one of Scott's works, I was quite curious, as well as hopeful, to seize with both hands his alleged baggage of decadent emotions and very sad notes, and so, with all these premises going to my head, I inserted "To Violate the Oblivious" into the player and gave it a listen. This is what I deduced:

"The intro impresses with its peculiar symphonic flow and is entirely instrumental: I confess that in all subsequent listens, I skipped it altogether. Then comes "Xasthur Within": I give credit to the good Jawbreaker that, indeed, the song form does not represent a frequent feature in Xasthur's compositions, but in this song, there are well-recognizable parts that quickly imprint on your mind. That said, I want to share with you how much this song enchanted and obsessed me in the following days: its rarefied and intensely tragic atmospheres forcefully threw me into a mental plane where oblivion towards what surrounded me was total and inviolable, contrary to the title; the alienating effect was unusually powerful and something I have rarely explored in my previous listens. Due to this song, the rest of the album remained unknown to me for quite some time. Picking up the record again, I was already licking my proverbial whiskers, expecting a continuation that would follow the emotional groove traced by the opener, and it is here that the real tragedy enters: after a few minutes, the songs dress in impalpable and inconsistent garments, betraying me precisely at the moment when my morbid march towards reaching the painful peak was going strong; seduced and abandoned by the psychedelic scenarios painted by Malefic's brush, always teetering between the most composed roughness and the most squalid refinement. I had the only start during the instrumental chants of "Apparitional Void of Failure", where the vocals, having overcome the initial contrast between the psychopathic whisper and desperate screams, join to form a realization of mal de vivre that hits hard and leaves no hope. In the end, not even the bonus track of "Reflecting Hateful Energy" manages to quell my disappointment."

Well, having shed the guise of the faux-depressed girl with silly aspirations as a cursed poetess, I can express my overall judgment on the album: it is definitely not to be discarded, but if at first, its inorganicity can be taken as a positive point, in the continuation it becomes a noose in which Malefic thrusts his entire head, and in my opinion, it negatively influences the handful of works I heard afterward ("The Funeral of Being" and "Suicide in Dark Serenity", the latter a decidedly wasted title). If I have to be honest, I do not understand, and much less approve of these groups of jokers who spew dozens of releases over a couple of years, but far be it from me to underestimate a record for this reason. If I have to express my opinion on black metal, I think it is ridiculous to stand here debating a type of music that attitudinally speaking has no sense in existing, as it advocates values of anti-commercialism and misanthropy that most musicians, misled as they are by their mania for exhibitionism and the intoxicating fumes arising from their filthy whorish vanities, uphold as their creed only as a pose, and then, how can you give credit to a genre 'born' from the bored minds of four Norwegian drug-drenched brats playing bad guys? On the other hand, one can appeal to music, and then stop wasting time discussing the attitude or lack thereof of a band: as far as I'm concerned, if they're black, they're false from the outset (with the required albeit rare exceptions). How can you give credit to those clowns who declare themselves satanists and misanthropes and then in normal life are extremely ordinary and amorphous people and maybe spend hours jerking off on Myspace? At least they should do it with a bit of healthy absurdity!

That's all folks! Buon pasto nudo a tutti.