Just like politicians, who so often misjudge their audiences these days, bands miss-step. Who can say why? A spurt of creativity too far or a complete lack of it? Imperfect lives; band or relationship breakdown, or other life changing circumstances, perhaps. Or maybe just a desire to try something new. Which we should laud given that so many of the most successful bands regularly release the same album over and over again – Iron Maiden, Amon Amarth, Sabaton to name but a few – to mounting commercial success, which is hardly a deterrent to endless repetition. So a part of me was glad when Necrophobic, after a string of verifiable underground classics, greeted their rising success and arrival on Season of Mist with Womb Of Lilithu – the album that seemed to leave some fans and critics inexplicably disappointed. Overlong, maybe, but you don’t have to listen to the whole bloody thing at once do you? As time has passed, it’s harder and harder to see why that slab of conceptual underground metal pounded together with the band’s newfound production values with some richly dark riffs was received with such mixed feelings. Womb of Lilithu, in my humble opinion, appears to be standing the test of time: an album that increasingly feels almost like a refreshing departure – adventurous – and looking back feels much more in keeping with the way things were, particularly as the band throws itself headlong into its evolving, gleaming, blistering speed metal attack.
I will admit that, as others felt with Womb of Lilithu, I felt with Mark of the Necrogram. It seemed to me that the band was now trying to please its critics: that in writing Mark of the Necrogram, the band was trying to produce the blackened death metal album the world was missing. Like they were thinking that someone needed to do it, and they just decided that they had to fully occupy their rightful niche in the metal sphere before someone else knocked them aside into an eternal support slot. Not that that is necessarily a criticism of where we are now – I’m happy to say Necrophobic have managed to keep tight hold of the band’s eerie signature riffs right through and (if this latest album is anything to go by) the song writing talents of various band members remain keenly wrought as ever. It’s more that the band now appears to be doubling down in a direction that’s bound to have wider appeal alongside their spanking production values. It’s not a criticism because, I have to say, that most of my reservations about Mark of the Necrogram have been bludgeoned by Dawn of the Damned. Yes, the album cover is virtually identical, the album title not a million miles away, leading me to think this is a band coming back with another crack at the title for world’s best, fastest, Swedish blackened death metal band. And it has worked. This is a real step up in delivery. The band continues in its mission to assert itself as blackened death metal masters but, this time, in a much more free-spirited and rabid manner. While MOTN felt like the work of a band under pressure – hurried, perhaps, definitely too much of a crowd pleaser, but with some tracks that didn’t feel to me like they made the cut – DOTD feels like a well-organised assault.
Gone are the occasional lacklustre tracks (mainly on the first half of MOTN) and replaced by a strafing bombardment (courtesy of lead guitarist and chief songwriter Sebastian Ramstedt) that will undoubtedly serve to propel Necrophobic into a different sphere altogether. The intro and opener alone manage to sum up modern day Necrophobic perfectly: a face-melting storm of sinister guitar riffs, spiralling solos, Anders Strokirk’s gravel-toned growls and more hooks in the first seven minutes than many bands manage in an entire career. Why stop there? The frenzied pace barely let’s up even in (comparatively) mid-paced tracks like single Mirror Black and The Infernal Depths of Eternity where the pressure built in the first track could easily have dissipated but Dawn of the Damned feels like a band on the front foot – absorbing all its history, exhibiting the unfettered black-vomiting joy of being a bunch of Swedish blokes in charge of an underground band threatening to burst into the light, basking in its melodic, spectral charm and an attention to detail that makes it feel like the band has poured every ounce of its potential into each track.
Let’s be honest, it’s all there for Necrophobic – like someone said: ‘You’ve got one job guys, don’t fuck it up’. Well here they’ve done the job with fangs salivating and with technical efficiency that will hopefully allow them to grace the higher ranks of festival stages when we can all finally go to one. Tracks like The Shadows and Mirror Black ooze crowd appeal while the band can turn it up whenever they please with the likes of Darkness Be My Guide and the insane As The Fire Burns. There’s an entire set list here before you’ve even gone back to plunder the back catalogue. Has anything been lost from this transition from ‘legends’ of the underground to slick, would-be modern day giants? Well, I did prefer (dare I say) Tobias Sidegård’s ragged rants – still one of my favourite vocalists; the more overtly black metal miasma of tracks like Revelation 666; and the dark, gleeful humour I always felt were hidden in tracks like For Those Who Stayed Satanic.
But it’s time to let go. There’s nothing new here but what you get instead is everything at least as good as before and chiselled to a sharp point. If you can live with the crisp production, this is going to appeal to fans of the band old and new in a way the last two albums didn’t always do. The shiny new Necrophobic have become a real force again – here with renewed vigour, focused but without sacrificing too much of the band’s trademark sound. Necrophobic is back once more with feeling so let’s all jump on board for the ride.
(8.5/10 Reverend Darkstanley)
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