HOTDI have to admit to initially not being too sure how to deal with this debut by Head Of The Demon. Lovecraft themed (there’s a lot of it about this year already). Swedish band with unknown members from name bands (a pet hate, though I guess the argument of wanting the music to do the talking holds some weight). And signed to a very serious label in the Ajna Offensive. The press release makes reference to a black/death sound with raw hypnotic riffs repeated cyclically and chanted vocals and it is a fair place to start, I guess. The odd thing here is that most of the problems come on the initial listening.

Perhaps I have been listening to too much modern stuff recently but on the first couple of plays I was totally nonplussed by Head Of The Demon. It sounded basic in the same way that a floor is a basic bed. There appeared to be nothing to it and with the involvement of the names above I was thinking of a severe case of the emperor’s new clothes. However sticking with it, as is the job, eventually something in my dim brain clicked and the album slowly slotted into the gears and began to seep and to pollute my senses.

This is for a start black/death in a severe old school way. So old school that Bathory haven’t discovered Vikings yet and Celtic Frost still have a leather and stud fetish. It also is doom levels of ponderous. And sparse. Skeletal sparse. Each note and chord has a cavern of insidious space behind it echoing back the sharp, plodding guitar. The repetiton of the theme of each song coils and almost sets up loops in this dark space, gnawing away to leave a brittle structure that somehow suggests the huge weight above. The vocals are half spoken, half chanted, echoed to the point where they overlap and obscure what should be simple to comprehend. Songs such as Fifth House Of The Mausoleum have musical themes like a fever induced recurrent dream that ebbs and flows leaving you queasy, tugging you deeper into that place usually reserved for the foolish nights when you drink too much, lie on your bed and feel as though you are continuously falling as the room spirals slowly about you. It is disconcerting and off centre stuff and superbly done. The production too is nicely judged; it has given the guitar a truly shrill high edge which is perfectly discomforting when used but otherwise simply separates the instruments and keeps things plain, basic.

Each track begins with the guitar theme, finds a simple slow riff and builds the spell by repetition, not layering. The touch is deft, precise but never sterile. It is black, glistening crust. If Winter were Celtic Frost slowed to a crawl this is Winter without dense riffs. Or Teitanblood playing occult rock. It grows in a black, beautifully malignant manner and in the end is a totally rewarding experience for those times when… when the soul just wants to stare into the abyss, hoping to be seen.

(9/10 Gizmo)

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