Montague John Druitt was an ordinary British citizen, who came to be – for some time –, a primary suspect in the infamous Jack the Ripper case. 

An individual of stable origins and moderately opulent background, Montague John Druitt was born in Dorset, England, on August 15, 1857. Son of a notable physician, called William Druitt – well known as an active and respected member of the community – he had a normal childhood, and was a devoted student, revealing his diverse talents in sports like cricket, upon which he would be an ardent player throughout his short life, and disciplines like debate. 

In the beginning of the 1880’s, Druitt acquired a law degree, and qualified as a barrister –a specific category of layer –, beginning his professional career in 1885.  To earn an extra income, Druitt worked as the principal’s assistant in a school in Blackheath.  Until this point, everything in his life was normal as usual, and he was an applied young man, with a future ahead of him, as well as terrific personal and professional perspectives.  

Everything in his adult life went perfectly normal, until he took a turn for the worst in late November, 1888, when Druitt was dismissed from his activities at the school, for reasons that never came to be known.  Soon after, he was reported missing. 

Ultimately, his body was found floating in the river Thames, more precisely in the last day of the year, December 31. With no hard evidence directly relating to his death – or pointing to a culprit –, speculations would run wild from the moment the investigations began, until the modern times. Suicide has long been a favorite prevalent option among scholars of the Jack the Ripper case. His family had an extensive and troubled background on issues like psychiatric illnesses and suicide. In a letter found in his room, addressed to his brother, Montague John Druitt expressed concerns that he was becoming ill like their mother, who long suffered from mental illness, and was institutionalized, dying in 1890, only more than a year later than Druitt himself. Eventually, his official cause of death was ruled as intentional drowning. 

After some time, Montague John Druitt was connected to the Jack the Ripper cases, as a consequence of a rumor spread, affirming that the Ripper’s body was found on the Thames. By this time, however, several other men were considered suspects, a lot of them with consistently more preferable evidence than Montague John Druitt. 

Only in 1894 – almost six years after his death – Druitt became an official suspect into the case, when Chief Constable Melville Macnaghten, who would later become Assistant Commissioner, and a legendary figure in the history of London Metropolitan Police Force, named him so. Apparently, he found suspicious that, by the time Druitt had died, the assassination spree of Jack the Ripper had stopped, although murders in the exceedingly impoverished area of the Whitechapel district of London – where the ripper murders took place – continued well long into the 1890’s.  

Apparently, everything that implicated Druitt in the case as the murderer was unbiased and unsubstantiated information, related solely to his time of death coinciding with the abrupt end of the Ripper murders, that took place between August and November, 1888. Absolutely anything beyond that was found, leaving Montague John Druitt as anything, but circumstantial; an “option” that had no feuds, register or any contrivances concerning law violations whatsoever, below expectations when compared to more preferable contemporary suspects, like  Michael Ostrog or Seweryn Kłosowski, who were inveterate criminals, with a disturbed record history of law violations.  

Despite the fact that the death of Montague John Druitt was an unsolved mystery, he had no history in breaking the law, and everything that attached him to the case was based on the coincidence of his death occurring nearly a month after the last murder related to the Jack the Ripper case took place. Nevertheless, for some time, Druitt was seriously considered as a suspect for at least some scholars, who elaborated theories concerning on how he could have committed the murders. Although he lived too distant from Whitechapel, he could have traveled by train – as he was a regular – and had places to stay in the city. But this theory is usually dismissed, as it is widely believed that Jack the Ripper was more possibly a local resident, with a great degree of knowledge into the area. And with no solid evidence implicating him in the murders besides the time of his death, Montague John Druitt became an improbable consideration. 

As more than a century had passed, it is now practically impossible for the Jack the Ripper case to find a definite resolution. Nevertheless, it became a fascinating subject to a lot of researchers and scholars, who find stimulating to find evidence, crossing information and elaborating speculations that, more or less, create new perspectives and directions inside this more than a century old dark mystery.   
 


 
Wagner

Forgive me for saying this, but Anthony Fantano is the coolest dude in the realm of independent music criticism nowadays (especially on YouTube, setting aside completely written reviews, and concentrating on video [although he has done written reviews in the past]). I don’t really see his videos very often – I would be lying if I said the contrary –, and sometimes, when I do, it’s more out of curiosity about his preferences and his descriptive devices. Nevertheless, I think he is intelligent, quite enthusiastic, he really understands music, mainstream and underground, has a vast degree of knowledge about the subject – his descriptions and interesting evaluations about music proves that – and, c’mon, he’s the coolest guy ever, “the internet’s busiest music nerd”. I really don’t know the vast majority of the bands and albums he analyzes, but I really like his style, his “post-erudite” vocabulary, his overall analysis are exceedingly eccentric, but competent and skilled, his process of rationalization when talking about music are inadvertently curious, and he seems to be primarily a self-taught dude. Definitely, I’m curious about his personal tastes, why he does what he does, his personal choices in what concerns albums to review and artists to evaluate, and his general positions about certain genres, groups and bands. I think he is way more clever than what it seems, and he definitely has a natural authority for talking about music. He has enough, correct knowledge, derived from study and practice. You may not like, you may not agree with everything he says, but you definitely has to give this guy a credit: his YouTube channel keeps growing, he definitely has some interesting points and The Needle Drop has become a reference in music criticism. 

Of course, he’s not a musical version of Roger Ebert, but he is definitely capable of doing direct, pungent and intelligent analysis on various musical subjects and topics, with interesting density, precision, cohesion and consistence. And I don’t even will debate about his musical eruditeness, he has a formidable degree of knowledge about several distinct genres of music, and he proves that by delivering with mordacity and sagacity intelligent commentaries, concerning the vast majority of the musical subjects he evaluates.  But at this point you may ask “why the hell do we need musical critics, anyway”? I agree with you. Why? Music wouldn’t be the same without them? It probably would. But since this job exists, why not give to it its fullest appreciation? After all, there are some very good, talented music critics out there, that knows how to capture precisely and translate into words the technical and artistic features of an album, an EP, a song or a single. And I sincerely think Anthony Fantano do this work with a formidable amount of competence. So – contrary to “popular opinion” (who cares, anyway) – I think Anthony Fantano really deserves the success he has been achieving so far, and I wish his channel to grow more and more as the years pass by. I will also try to accompany his work more frequently, despite the fact that every review he does has something to be appreciated. Like I wrote some lines above, I don’t know a certain amount of the artists he covers, so I cannot really agree nor disagree with most of the reviews I watch, but I really like his style, which I think is very personal, fluid, spontaneous and delivered with a natural glamour.  

Fantano has a bonus: he’s also a very irreverent and funny guy! He has developed a character who appears sometimes, called Cal Chuchesta, which is, basically, a retarded version of himself. 

The reviews of Fantano are delivered with humor, soul, sagacity and commitment. He really knows what he is talking about. Look at this awesome review he has done about the album New Levels New Devils, by Polyphia: he describes the sound as “ultrasanitized” and “elevator music for metalheads”. 

The review he has done on Idol, the latest album on American death metal act Horrendous, was absolutely sensational. It leaves anyone curious enough to listen to this album. 

I have never been a fan of Muse, – although they have their share of relatively decent songs – and I wasn’t aware that they have released a new album this year. Fantano already reviewed the record. The result was something I already expected. Just a more flavored, hyperbolic and high-tech version of their past albums. Of course, the correct move would be verifying this personally, but like I’ve mentioned, I never liked Muse anyway. I always found their sound to be predictable, commercial and conventional pop rock for teenagers. After the review, evidently, I haven’t became excited to personally check it out.  

A review I personally really liked was Random Access Memories, by French electronic legendary act Daft Punk, which was simply a lucid, proverbial and terrific analysis, proportional to the monumental status the duo still enjoys on the house, retro, electronica and disco scenes.  

I personally have a preference to see reviews he does on artists, musicians and bands that I somehow follow the career, more or less. I have seen practically all the reviews Fantano has done for albums of infamous Atlanta rapper Gucci Mane, probably the most prolific rapper in history.  

El Gato: The Human Glacier is an album Gucci Mane – whose real name is Radric Davis – has released last year, and has achieved a high score among music critics and the musical mainstream media in general, and proved he’s still relevant in the hip hop scene. For some time, Gucci Mane hasn’t had the respectable amount of attention he gained, when he released this album, which is very concise. Only thirty minutes long, it is definitely a more moderate effort, compared to other Gucci Mane’s releases, that are generally hour-long albums, sometimes being much more extensive than that.  

This very brief review – only four minutes long, which is something unusual for Fantano – was a more unfavorable evaluation on Gucci Mane’s album Mr. Davis, which was also released last year, in October, two months before El Gato. Mr. Davis is, indeed, a more ordinary, generic and formulaic record. 

The review he has done on Gemini, the second solo album released by American rapper Macklemore – whose real name is Benjamin Haggerty – is also very enlightening, and tells a lot about the musical direction the artist is going to, which is, unfortunately, pretty much common ground, simplistic and predictable. Macklemore is best known for his partnership with record producer and DJ Ryan Lewis, under the label Macklemore & Ryan Lewis. 

This is one of his most recent reviews, The Sunset Tapes: A Cool Tape Story, by Jaden Smith. Besides the awesome analysis Fantano does describing the album, this work draws attention by the terrible evaluation: light 2 (Oh, yes, I forgot to mention; Fantano has a score he applies to each album, in the end of a review). This one, though, was somewhat predictable.  Everybody knows that Jaden Smith is not a real singer or actor. He is just following the steps of his famous parents, actor Will Smith and actress Jada Pinkett Smith.  

Will Smith was a rapper before he ventured into acting. He continued his career well long into the 2000’s, releasing his last album in 2005. Nevertheless, while he became famous as an actor, his career as a rapper never really launched, and eventually went into a permanently dormant state. His son Jaden, on the contrary, seems incapable of doing both. He just achieved celebrity status because of his parents, and works occasionally as an “actor” and “singer” because he is rich enough – and has the influence of his deservingly famous and hard working parents – to buy all the connections, logistic and support one must have, in order to pretend to be an artist.    

The last review I will highlight here is What Happens When I Try to Relax, by American rapper Open Mike Eagle, an underground artist from Chicago, who is growing in the taste of the rap-consuming public. 

I really don’t know what the future has reserved for our guy and most clever musical analyst Anthony Fantano, though I must say that I wish him the best. He certainly deserves success, and he has the intelligence and the knowledge to describe in words the gracious magnificence or the mediocre insignificance of an album. He does the cleverest, intense, meticulous, acerbic, punctual and detailed evaluations one can possibly imagine, and his competent work is proportional to the growth of his channel, that has new subscribers every day. In a few months, he will definitely achieve two million followers, and all of this is the result of a solid and cohesive work, from someone who understands profoundly almost everything from all musical genres and categories, and not only has acquired a personal taste for doing what he does, but has elaborated an inimitable personal style. Spontaneous, genuine, sarcastic and comic enough to please the audience, and yet, coherent compromised, technical and consistent enough for being taken seriously. 

So, Anthony Fantano is on the crest of the wave, surfing on the victories of his audacity working as a professional music critic, as well as the success of his channel. He certainly deserves, and I wish his success to keep growing, more and more, as the years pass by.  


​Wagner

So, now you decided that you want to become a writer? Do you really want to? Are you sure about that? Well, let me say that this is the path to a very, very solitary existence. To sit on your personal table, and write articles all day long, is a very solitary task (and normally, doesn’t pay very well). Nevertheless, it can be exceedingly useful, if you have the opportunity to write about subjects that you really love – like I have – and this fantastic chance becomes the most grateful reward you will ever receive on being a writer, believe me.   

I am a writer – almost full time – for a few years now, so I can definitely teach some lessons by personal experience. Beforehand, let me tell you that If you really want to pursue this occupation, you have the following options: you can be a professional writer, and do this full time (which is hardest), or you can be an amateur writer, and do this part-time (which is easiest). Alternatively, you can start as an amateur writer, and, when you feel completely prepared, try to become professional. 

However, there is also another option: to purse writing exclusively as a hobby. This option has the advantage that, by following it, you will not have any expectations concerning the results. Something that – as a professional writer – will eventually befall over you, at least on an occasional basis. Nevertheless, even if you want to be a professional writer, you cannot be too worried about results, at least in what relates to the repercussion of your work, because, as you might guess, most of the time, they would not achieve any relevance in the literary community whatsoever.     

Being an amateur writer is more secure and downplayed, because going this way, you can have a main job – a full time job – by which means you earn a living, and then you write on your vacant time (mostly weekends and holydays). The bad part is that, if you want to pursue ambitious literary projects – like writing books, literary essays or philosophic articles – you will probably not have enough time to dedicate yourself into it. The good part is that, by earning a salary, you will have financial stability, so you will not starve to death (like some professional writers almost did, like Charles Bukowski). Like everything else in life, you will find advantages and disadvantages, wherever option you decide to follow.    

The hardest way, though, is definitely going on to write full time. This is more risky, but can work too. On this way, you will probably not spend all the time writing what you want, but writing commercial stuff to earn a living. Of course, this will largely depend on luck and flexibility. You, being able to find somehow related work – that also reserves for you enough time to be a writer practically full time. Sometimes you will work for you, writing what you want (generally, without payment [logically, because you will not pay yourself to write]), and sometimes writing what people expect you to write (with a payment). Unless you don’t have that ambition, and are happy enough being an amateur writer, that wants to pursue the experience more as hobby. And this is also highly recommended, because you will be motivated by an amusement that will drive off any expectations concerning potential results, and will feel more free to write wherever you want to write. With the additional benefit that you will not depend on writing to earn a living. Nevertheless, even if you want to pursue writing as a hobby, you will have to absolutely love writing, and to be ardently passionate about the subjects you will write about. Primarily, writing cannot be a burden. When writing transforms itself into a burden, be sure it’s time to stop. At least, to give a time off. A sabbatical year, perhaps – like many famous writers have done, for whatever reasons, like writer’s block, as famous Jewish-American author Henry Roth, or exhaustion, like James Joyce, after he finished his masterpiece, the epic novel Ulysses – until you feel yourself inspired to write again. 

So, here, I’ve selected six advices that I think are positive and necessary for someone who is willing to – or, at least, thinking about the possibility of – become a writer. 

This is relatively easy, when you write about subjects that you love – like I’ve pointed out above – and that you are really passionate about. When you have a lot of passion and enthusiasm about the subject of your text or dissertation, it will be very, very easy to write about it. There is literally no secret here. Just expose all your love about the subject, assuring that fits the natural context of what you are or will describe. And, of course, have a great amount of knowledge about it. This is what the next topic is all about.  

In my case, I write about politics, economics, music, world literature and cultural topics in general – amongst other stuff – and I read everything useful that I can about these subjects. You really have to understand profoundly the things you will write about. First, read and research everything you can about the subject you are going to write. Do not rush yourself into it. Be calm and wise, try to assimilate everything that you find interesting, or whose core elements will be major auxiliary components to your study. Of course, you don’t need to have a Ph.D. or a master’s degree on the subject you’re about to write. But you have to have at least a decent knowledge about it. Otherwise, you will risk yourself on the composition of a precarious work, and this can have a disastrous implication, if the work achieves a decent degree of repercussion (and this is applicable to online texts too, not just printed material, if you want to pursue serious writing).     

This is not difficult – on the contrary –, especially when you feel motivated. Writing requires knowledge, but also passion, enthusiasm and energy. Therefore, it’s imperative that you can reunite all these elements, when you’re about to write a text. The more all of them are reunited, the more formidable, exhilarating and competent will be the text. However, do not exaggerate. Be careful not to write anything exclusively grounded on emotion. You want to be a serious writer, so you don’t want to write material that looks like a letter a sixteen year old college student wrote to her boyfriend. And this is serious advice. Professional humorist David Cross in the past frequently made funny jokes about the lyrics singer Scott Stapp wrote for his band Creed, as their level of maturity and sentimentality were, basically, of fourteen-year-old girls. 

This is a thoroughly important topic. Tell your stories, your experiences, from your own point of view. You will sound true and genuine. The veracity in your text will greatly overflow the strength of your words and the authenticity of your narrative. Be true, be the only person in this world no other person can be, and this is yourself. The things only you can think and only you can write departing directly from your own personal point of view is a priceless thing. Be sincere, be true, be honest. But be careful: this doesn’t mean that you are absolutely free to produce mediocre texts. Revise, analyze, rewrite, revise and analyze again, until you are certain that the piece is finished, and no longer needs to be reworked. Of course, you don’t have to be a perfectionist martyr, but be certain that a decent work on revising the text before publishing it is a mandatory and necessary task. 

Constant practice is the only way to get always better and better. After some time – especially after some years – you will find that practice is the best way of improvement in this art. You will naturally become better and better as time passes, as long as you keep writing (this is a golden rule, though all the rules have exceptions – along the history of the literary art, some authors have proved to be quite the opposite: they have started out marvelously, but declined severely in quality, as their careers progressed). 

Never forget the coffee, it certainly will become your best friend in your working hours. You will have the cup of coffee permanently on your worktable. In my case, tonic water, and more sporadically now, beer – from several different brands – is also helpful to feel enthusiastic, renovated and with energy, especially if you will write for extensive periods. Nevertheless, do not exaggerate, in the beer, nor in the coffee. Notorious French novelist Honoré de Balzac may have died from an overdose of caffeine. He drank approximately thirty cups of coffee every day, in the course of his daily work journey. Of course, Balzac had an imperatively precarious lifestyle. He worked eighteen hours a day – from midnight to six pm –, and his exacerbated schedule, combined with the excessive coffee drinking, may have contributed to his premature death, at 50 years old. Another writer that may have been plagued by this problem was Finnish literary icon Timo Kustaa Mukka, which also suffered an early demise, having died at 29 years old, in 1973. He smoked heavily, and drank approximately three liters of coffee per day.  

And since we have arrived altogether to this point, let me give you a final – but totally free – advice, regardless of the way you want to pursue writing, whether it would be amateur, professional, or as a hobby: write always as if you’re writing for yourself, and for yourself only. Forget all expectations about it. It’s a magnificent form of freedom, that you can only enjoy at the fullest, if you dismantle all illusions concerning this activity.       

So, what do you think about these six guidelines for aspiring writers? Are you feeling motivated? Of course, these steps are only the beginning. As you become an experienced writer, the rest of the challenges you will discover for yourself.  


​Wagner

Over the course of Dunk! history Zottegem has seen and heard some mesmerizing post rock bands. Inspired by forerunners like Godspeed, Explosions and Mogwai a wide array of acts have pushed the "typical" sound over the meadow. Yet, in my personal opinion, Dunk is no place for smashers like that, not only because they're too expensive for an intimate festival but also because the tickets will sell-out in no time to people who don't really care about the other bands, thus leaving the loyal Dunk! audience in the cold. No, Dunk is the place for Russian Circles, God Is An Astronaut, Mono and This Will Destroy You. Everything bigger than that can go do Cactus Festival or Werchter. 

Besides, what makes Dunk! such a stand-out is the vast amount of overall quality which turns a young, nervous band like The End Of The Ocean, Radare or Spoiwo into a world class performance act, let's not forget about that. Undoubtedly, in 2019 there will be plenty of bands with that classic post rock sound. Perhaps one or two of the previously mentioned bands will make a glorious return, since I read that they're both working on new material. Same goes for Cecilia::Eyes and Astodan. With those last two, we remain on Belgian territory and since Amenra climbed the Dunk! stage we all know what Belgians are capable of. 

Should Amenra return? That question has been on a lot of people's lips in the past few years. If that means that CHVE and Syndrome do solo performances at the forest stage I'm all in. Besides, an acoustic full-band set at the forest stage would also be wonderful. I'd actually rather see that: their version of 'Het Dorp' in the forest. The goosebumps would be tremendous, no doubt. 

Since we moved to the forest stage really early in this article, I see some neat possibilities there. Calm, soothing ambient sounds at night, not too loud but loud enough for everybody in the area to dream away on meandering soundscapes. People spread out on the forest floor, sailing on the drones of Biosphere, Eluvium or Helios. In fact, you don't even have to go abroad to find some decent ambient acts. Just ask Ashtoreth or Stratosphere to host one evening in the forest and it will be magical, I swear to whatever you believe in. Or have Dave Grohl play a thirty minutes drones set, that would also be fucking sweet.

It doesn't always have to be calm and soothing. A while ago I read that there's something new from I Am Waiting For You Last Summer. They were a fun surprise a few years back. Dance music and post rock can go pretty well together. With that, acts like Tycho, Yppah, Jon Hopkins and Nicolas Jaar/Darkside could bring a state of ecstasy to the big tent. So can Worriedaboutsatan who have proved that in the past. And why not, back in the woods, invite a mindbending psychedelic rock band like Ozric Tentacles and dance the night away. It's rock and it's instrumental, that counts. Dutch proggers Kong also answer to those conditions and their career is far from over. I really really really really really like to see that happen, preferable of course in their quadrophonic set up, which will bring them back on the pedestal I've placed them on all those years ago.

​And since we're on the subject of being instrumental and rocking, why not let the inventor of the forest stage make a glorious return to Dunk!. Some years ago, Eric occupied the woods and with that Thisquietarmy changed the whole atmosphere of the festival. I recently witnessed his full-band performance at Antwerp Music City. If anyone can outperform the seismic shock of Telepathy last year, it's Thisquietarmy The Band. In his turn, Eric could invite Aidan Baker over and have an evening-filling program with Hypnodrone Ensemble, Caudal and Nadja. Of course, Telepathy is also very welcome to return, so I'd say: "who not both?". 

Heaviness. Are we ready for post black metal yet? Deafhaven? Sólstafir? Alcest? Drawn Into Descent? Little by little blast-beats and screams have been infiltrating the line-up, so who knows. Then again, I'm not sure if that's what the Dunk audience is waiting for. Perhaps they like their heaviness a bit slower but still crushing like a steamroller. That takes me to Melvins or Neurosis or Cult Of Luna or something by former Isis members. Here in Belgium that would open the door for Charnia, Hæster or Angakok. Crushing riffs that smash skulls to pieces. Or why not go wild with some sludgy stoner grunge rock. There too is plenty to choose from, with Belgian nutcrackers Tangled Horns being the first one that comes to mind. Perhaps they could take over where Steak Number Eight left.

Throughout the years, Dunk Festival evolved from a post rock festival to an allround atmospheric music event. There is plenty of variation to be found. Even (dark) jazz has a place there, with Dirk Serries and Tomas Jarmyr paving the way for bands like Radare and Bolt to shine and charm. That brings me to Dale Cooper Quartet and the Dictaphones, Bohren Und Der Club Of Gore, A Sun Amissa or The Thing With Five Eyes. I have no idea who is when available to be where but some jazz would be neat indeed. 

Yet, as we all know, Dunk's solid core is still post rock. I guess their own label will be represented with bands like Coastlands, Tides Of Man, Stories From The Lost and that mysterious Girih entity. Perhaps Celestial Wolves or Doomina will make a comeback, having a new album and all. That's all perfectly fine by me, but if I could make some suggestions, invite The Evpatoria Report, Glasgow Coma Scale, Toundra and Jet Plane. Plus, perhaps give Wanheda a shot. They're getting somewhere and with the vintage Dunk sound, all of these would be pure bliss.
​
​There are truckloads of decent post rock band to be found, more than enough to fill a thousand stages at a thousand Dunk festivals. I'm sure that the organisation will come up with some classics, some surprises and a lot of excellence. But, do you know what I'd secretly like, even more than seeing someone finally propose to his girlfriend on stage: a guided tour through the pressing plant. I think it takes guts and a massive pair of testicles to throw an idea like that into motion, especially in these rough financial times. Building a pressing plant was a serious risk and a tremendous undertaking and I'd like to see it in action. Don't you?

So anyway, before I crawl my tired ass to bed: there can and probably will be some amazing bands appearing on the line-up in the next months. I can't wait to go back to the fields of Zottegem and watch the splendor of music turn everyday strangers into close friends. Because that's pretty much what Dunk is all about: they true spirit of the festivals, as Woodstock or Jazz Bilzen initially were intended. Sweet get-togethers with sweet people and sweet music in one of Belgium's greenest environments. I'm looking forward to that. 


Serge

Kammarheit is an ambient music project by Swedish sound artist Pär Boström, active for almost twenty years now, since the year 2000. A superb master in profoundly sculpting tense and dreadful, but very discreet and subtle afflictive dark sounds, his music is simple, but is able to conceive the most fearful, macabre and sinister atmospheres, that keeps the sense of an everlasting darkness lurking over you indefinitely, as if an impeding fatalist doom will inevitably take you over with sardonic horror. 

This amazing artist gracefully conceives sonorous labyrinths of impious malevolence, that feels reminiscent of a hostile and unknown force, as you feel yourself trapped in an endless place where everything that is evil and potentially harmful is waiting for you somewhere, and you feel you will be taken by this impious force when you least expect – a terrible and sadistic dark force from the underworld, disposed to inflict such a tremendous amount of atrocities over you that you will wish you had never been born. So, in other words, Kammarheit is the perfect soundtrack for reading authors like H.P. Lovecraft, or for playing macabre games like Quake. 

The first of his albums that I want to highlight is The Northern Hymn, released in 2002; an apparently unofficial record, that doesn’t feature on his discography. Forty-four minutes long, here you have the following tracks: Absconding the Physical (The Inner Hymn), Crystalline, Dreaming of the Forgotten Land, Semblance, Overview and Presence Within the Park. 

On this album, you will notice the formidable layouts that punctuate his music: a very tense paradigm of monumental afflictions, that gets over its superficial graveyard of emotions, doesn’t matter how or where you feel the corrosion invading the autonomy of your struggling imperative senses. You feel yourself being slowly dragged to a parallel dimension of ambiguous vertigos, as a latent and virulent sinister melody imprisons the conscience of your soul inside a lugubrious journey of fading realities, beyond an infinite realm of darkness that will sadistically arrest the universe in a somnolent and sensitive lethargic existence. 

As you sink in the nightmare, the delusions dispersed throughout the everlasting disparities of your weak sensibilities gets heavier and heavier, and you eventually fall desperately apathetic into a perpetual dark abyss, to a tragically unknown fate.  

Another album that deserves to be highlighted is the beautiful and equally sinister Somewhere Concealed. Apparently, this almost one hour long record was also released in 2002, like The Northern Hymn, and it’s also an unofficial album. Somewhere Concealed has the following tracks: Arriving, Making The First Flower, Underneath The Ravine, Frigid, The Fossilised Structures, Back To Where The Trees Spoke, In Silence Of The Plague and The Renewal. Like the previous album, this record also features afflictive, dense and heavy atmospheres, that make you feel yourself suffocated, imprisoned, lost in a very dreadful, large and empty dark house, all alone by yourself, without being able to find an exit.  

The claustrophobic feeling here is very latent. You feel yourself trapped – somewhere in the vastness of a darkness that never ends –, without being able to find a decent closure to a desperate situation. The tension, despite the fact that it is softer to a degree, is also afflictive and permanent. You feel a grizzly darkness consuming your soul slowly, cynically; as you drown in desperation completely surrounded by a devouring emptiness, your life easily disappears, as a brutal nothingness surrounds you, and you eventually feel entirely dematerialized, forever lost in a vacuum continuum, that will extend itself infinitely, over a lugubrious perpetual darkness, destined to never fade, but to seek new victims. 

As the album approaches the end, you can hear the sound of crows croaking – which is a remote fear grounded in the lore of human folklore and superstition –, and adds to the sinister element of a hostile and unknown place, that is inherently aggressive to the human presence. 

The third album that I want to comment here is the fantastic and splendorous The Starwheel, released in 2005. With a more calm and serene atmosphere – a little less deprived of elements of anguish and sardonic doom –, though featuring invasive ecstatic components of nefarious apathy more prominently, that inserts its sinister qualities very subtlety, this album is also a major starlight for the genre of dark ambient. An eminently ardent and spectral world that is subdued by a sensitive, but tense serenity, this formidable masterpiece is abundant in peripheral and abstract densities, that discreetly and vaguely corrode your sense of reality, to allow you to enter into a depressive dimension of lunar gravity, as the floatingly favorable ascendant harmonies present on this album make you feel a little more confident, knowing that you have to expect the unexpected on this journey of pervasively unprecedented darkness.  

The Starwheel definitely make you undergo a nefarious journey, though with a more cautious and clear conscience, despite the fact that, after some time, it’s impossible not to fall in the elusive dark precipice, upon which you have been inadvertently walking. Not as frightening as The Northern Hymn – at least in my opinion –, nevertheless, on this album, the image that comes to my mind is a man walking in an endless journey throughout a snowy landscape. The sky is gray, there is no clouds, and nobody can be seen nearby. Your solitude is absolute, and you feel yourself compelled to keep walking towards the horizon, never to finally arrive anywhere. And you walk endlessly, but the journey never ends. The landscape is always the same, the wind is hostile and whistles a mysterious horrendous sound, that will eventually resort to a perpetual darkness, falling over the superficial placidity of your delusional dreams.  

On this album, we can hear the characteristic style of the artist. The atmosphere resonates a fatalist doom that will eventually come, but it’s impossible to know precisely when. As this sensation of imminent demise gets near, but never comes – although you know it’s just a matter of time – you become more and more tense, anxious and afflicted. The landscape seems frozen, you are lost in the middle of a white desert, with some dry dead trees around you. You feel death is near, but there is nothing you can do to stop this horrendous sensation of misery, despair insecurity and nervousness. So you just sit and wait for the fatalist doom to befall over you, as you can’t do anything to avoid it, anyway. 

Of course, I don’t want you to think that the music of Kammarheit is destitute of calmer or serene qualities, that would be positively untrue. On the contrary, some tracks are full of those, and it’s impossible not to feel marvelously ecstatic and relaxed while listening to it, at least in certain passages. There are different graduations and textures in his music that definitely allows a varied scale of suggestive perceptions to be felt throughout its infinite expansion of sonorous horizons. The music of Kammarheit has definitely a vivacious and distinctive versatility, that is mostly varnished by discreet and somber tonalities, which makes the music in a general basis intrinsically able to explore in each layer of sound a movable variation of possibilities, that reaches high standards on the human sensibility. 

The final album that I want to comment here is a more recent one. Kollektionen was released in 2016. Seventy-seven minutes long, this record is a selection of Kammarheit tracks, featured in other albums and compilations. They are the following:  The Hierophant, Tundra, Kosmos, The Excavation Site, I Found It Weeping In The Field, Landfall, Dreams And Seracs, Adrift, Ruina, Provenience and Arch. 

Featuring prominently all the qualities described above, although with a more dreadful virulence, the sound on this album is undoubtedly more homogeneous, but also appears to be more clean and sober, which makes me think that it was better produced. With nefarious sounds, a dispersive tension and a lugubrious layout – graciously defined by a cohesive sense of abrasive, drastic and pungent continuity, more prominent than his other albums – that genuinely inspires fear and despair, the unknown element is very latent here. You definitely feel yourself trapped in a world of permanent darkness; severely impotent, you feel there is nothing you can do to escape the terrible and drastic fate that will eventually befall over you.

Last, but not least, I should point it out the marvelous video of a live performance by Kammarheit, recorded in 2015. Concealed in the darkness with amazingly suggestive images in the background, on this performance, you can see with a more surreal prominence the strongest aspects of Pär Boström’s musicianship. He is very technical and methodical – a skilled engineer of sound –, that knows exactly how silence, quietness and calmness can work beautifully as marvelous extensions of sound. He definitely has conscience about where and when to integrate the most precise elements and the most fundamental vitalities of his creative intuition, to perfectly work altogether, to create the sinister soundscapes he masterfully exposes on this ecstatic performance.    

 While there isn’t any movements – and he is tiny at the center of the stage – you can definitely perceive the cinematic and sensitive elements of the genre, as dark ambient really is about suggestive sounds and atmospheric perceptions. You can listen to his dense and somber tunes while accompanying the slow, but ever changing images, that definitely captures marvelously all the fantastic and ominous sensibilities driven by the sound.    

Kammarheit is simply one of the most fantastic, splendorous and formidable dark ambient acts ever conceived. Exploring wisely the possibilities, working altogether marvelously all the fundamental qualities of the genre – a sinister musical layout, anxious and afflictive harmonies, agonizing fearful undulations, lugubrious atmospheres, horrendous suggestive tonalities, gradual fatalist uprisings, dark discreet melodies, indefinite macabre resonances, nefarious unexpected disturbances – the artist definitely has proved himself quintessential to the development of the genre. With a sensible discretion and a proverbially dense subtlety that aggregates tension and fear to fatalist sonorous dissonances that evolve gradually, the atmosphere of his songs are pervasively sinister and morbidly tense. Certainly, your nightmares will be suggestively fuelled by these gruesome sounds, that concomitantly serves as the best soundtracks ever created to nightmarish sensations. 

As the eternal night advances, you can be certain that Kammarheit will continue to create and to produce the best frightening sounds and the most sinister albums ever created in the history of dark ambient music. This is a splendid, creative and very lucid artist, certainly one of the greatest in the annals of the genre. 



​Wagner

Kort daarna kwam ons landje in de greep van gemeenteraadsverkiezingen en leek de hele episode rond Consouling Sounds te verwateren. Maar ondertussen, in een stevige uiting van "kust onze kloten", ging er een eindje verderop een spiksplinternieuwe vinylpersfabriek open. De mannen van Dunk! hadden eerder ook al een mooie som centen aan hun neus voorbij zien gaan onder het motto "niet relevant", "geen geld meer voor". Toch hielden ze er niet mee op, integendeel. Als volleerde F35's schoten ze uit de startblokken en vlamden ze alle twijfels aan flarden. Zotte shit, ik weet het, maar uiteraard totaal niet relevant.

Het nieuws kwam eigenlijk niet eens als een verrassing maar het trof ergens wel het hart van de Belgische "underground". Er worden immers overal subsidies ingetrokken. Het geld is op, de put is te diep. "Het spijt ons maar na weloverwogen blabla hebben wij besloten blabla want u bent niet blabla." Zoiets. Vooral de melding "U levert geen kwaliteit" kwam als een tsunami over. Daarmee werd plots iedereen beledigd die van rock, metal, sludge, doom, post-rock, post-metal, ambient, dark ambient, dark jazz, drones, industrial, krautrock, alternative rock, indie pop, hardcore, punk, black metal, death metal, noise, gothic rock, modern classical,  post-hardcore, neofolk, downtempo, trip hop, electronic, crossover, progressive, noise, nu metal en grunge houdt. En dat zijn er wel wat.

Als er iets relevant is in deze maatschappij, dan is het toch wel de muziekwereld, niet? De frustratie, de pijn en de woede in onze metalscene, die gevoelens gaan over u, dames en heren politici, veel relevanter kan het toch niet zijn?  U zou verplicht moeten worden om al die songteksten eens goed te lezen, maar ik weet dat u het bos door het beton niet meer ziet dus daar zullen we u al niet mee lastig vallen. Niet relevant. Wie zijn dan wel relevant? K3? Kapitein Winokio? De Romeo's? Niks tegen die mensen maar het cognitieve niveau van hun doelgroep is net iets te laag om mijn volle vertrouwen te kunnen genieten.

Niet relevant. Er staan files omdat er optredens in het Sportpaleis zijn. Files zijn het meest voorkomende gespreksonderwerp in heel België.​ Als u touren zou afschaffen, zouden er minder files zijn, maar ik wil u niet op ideeën brengen. Als u latere treinen zou inleggen, zouden er ook minder files zijn, om u maar op een idee te brengen. Niks leuker dan na een avondje headbangen in Brussel in de trein te zitten mijmeren. Nagenietend van een fantastisch concert veilig naar huis gebracht worden door een betrouwbare trein- of busmaatschappij, dat is tof. Maar ik heb dan ook geen chauffeur.

Laten we gewoon lekker eerlijk zijn, dames en heren politici. U houdt gewoon niet zo van de muziekwereld. U interesseert zich geen moer voor wat de rockers, de metalheads en de alternatievelingen uitkramen, nietwaar? Al die gore onderwereldrotzooi is een ranzige ver-van-uw-bed-show waar u het bestaan liever van ontkent.  U vertrouwt hen niet, omdat zij u de indruk geven dat zij u eigenlijk nergens voor nodig hebben. En dat is ook zo. Daar in die concertzaal bent ù niet relevant, brengt ù geen kwaliteit, heeft ù geen geschiedenis. Daar spuwen jonge, meestal vrij intelligente en vrij aardige mensen, hun gal en daar delen zij de lakens uit. 

Nog zoiets. Geen geschiedenis. Consouling Sounds zet al tien jaar Belgische topacts op de kaart. Amenra trekt in Amerika meer volk dan eender welke politieke conferentie hier. Ook hier weer straalt het uit naar de hele underground. Antwerp Music City doet al vijfentwintig jaar zijn ding, tussen de door u o zo gevreesde vreemdelingen. Dat is langer dan de gemiddelde politieke carrière. Jazz Bilzen heeft iets losgemaakt hier, niet te schatten. Geen geschiedenis, wat een wereldvreemde nonsens. Toegegeven, de gemiddelde muzikant in België heeft geen handjes afgehakt omdat zijn roadies te traag waren, maar om ons nu geschiedenisloos te noemen vind ik wel een beetje ver gaan.

Lang geleden bouwden enkele Limburgse jongeren een podium. Ze wilden wel eens iets anders dan een vaandelzwaaifestival. Hun festivalletje werd een succes. Doorheen de jaren kwamen er grote namen op af, namen die geschiedenis zijn. Armand, Boudewijn de Groot, Wannes Van de Velde, Roland, Moody Blues, Taste, Rory Gallagher, Cat Stevens, Small Faces, The Move, Deep Purple, Black Sabbath, The Kinks, The Troggs, Procol Harum, Golden Earring, The Bonzo Dog Band, Rod Stewart, Status Quo, Lou Reed, Aerosmith, AC/DC, The Cure, The Kids, Van Morrison, James Brown, Elvis Costello, The Police, Thin Lizzy, The Clash, Blondie en Nils Lofgren. Jazz Bilzen werd de "moeder aller festivals". Dàt hoort in de geschiedenisboeken want dàt heeft generaties geïnspireerd. 

België is het epicentrum van de Europese muziekindustrie. Elk dorp heeft zijn concertzaal, of tenminste een plek waar al eens een concertje kan doorgaan. Ik heb honderden artiesten ontmoet die maar al te graag in dit land willen spelen. Onze know-how is wereldberoemd. Ons publiek is geliefd tot in Maleisië. Ze zeggen wel eens, "hoe slechter het land draait, hoe beter de muziek wordt", enne, ik heb de laatste maanden en jaren toch een bende fantastische concerten van Belgische acts gezien. Gisteren vlamde Astodan door een lekker smeuïge set post-rock. Astodan ja, zegt u als politicus waarschijnlijk niets maar het is kwaliteit van Belgische makelij.

Het is allemaal wel waar wat ik hier neerschrijf, maar ik betwijfel of het ooit een zak uithaalt. Al sinds de jaren tachtig, toen ik mijn eerste schamele stapjes in de muziekwereld zette, merkte ik dat we liever doodgezwegen worden. Al eerder riepen punkers dat de kernraketten weg moesten, dat was toen relevant. Al eerder riepen musici op om het milieu te sparen, dat was toen relevant. Al eerder organiseerden rockers benefietconcerten tegen kanker, voor verdraagzaamheid, voor elkaar, dat was voor hen relevant. Maar dat is allemaal maar geneuzel van een bende marginalen, niet?

Als we dan toch een positieve noot aan onze geschiedenis willen geven, waarom dan onze muziekwereld niet erkennen en steunen? 


Serge

A selection by Wagner Hertzog 

There are a lot of albums, in several distinct genres, from several different categories, periods and places, that are enormously underrated and overtly unappreciated, never achieving the level of recognition and fame they certainly deserve. This mainly occurs for one reason: most of them come from underground bands and artists, that are – in the vast majority of the cases –, virtually unknown, being appreciated only by a handful of enthusiasts or by a loyal cult following. Other artists, like some Japanese musicians that integrate this list, are relatively well-known, but only in their country of origin, being strange to audiences abroad. 

Regardless of the motives about why these albums haven’t achieved the degree of notoriety they deserve, I’ve selected here twelve records in no particular order or genre whatsoever – on the contrary, here you will find a good diversity, from atmospheric black metal and dark ambient, to neo-folk and new age symbolic symphonies, to minimalist piano pieces and post-classic Japanese music – that, at least in my opinion, deserves a higher level of evaluation and appreciation from the critical musical establishment, and mostly, from the general public; at least, a lot more appreciation of what they initially had amassed, giving them the opportunity to reach audiences that aren’t familiar or haven’t being introduced to their respective works. I hope you enjoy at least some of them, and spread the ones you like the most to your musical friends. Let’s make music – these albums included – to be dispersed, publicized and heard everywhere!

Forty minutes long, with seven tracks – Ecstasy, Calmness At Stress, Confounded,Pt.1, Confounded,Pt.2, Prowl In Reverie, Life Era and Regret –, this acoustic neo-folk ambient work is strongly suggestive of calmer abysses, low temperatures and digressive disdains over the painful, but sincere vicissitudes of life. It’s easy to imagine a reflexive and distant existence terraforming over the planetary solitude of infinite eras, while you dream peacefully over the sonorous contemplative ordeal that will come to your mind. A salutary nostalgia flirts with the end of a melancholic afternoon, that anticipates in a soft rain all the inspiring timeless sagacity of an energy that slowly dissipates itself from within. Certainly, you will find this album relaxing, tranquil and overtly peaceful. Impossible not to like it!  

A curiously efficient and dense black metal work – with predominantly slow harmonies – that instills in the listener an efficiently intrusive, but patient emotional exhilaration, this group from Sweden to this day is vastly unknown. This album is apparently from 2009, and I sincerely don’t know if the band is still in activity. Nevertheless, their music is amazingly skilled, their exceedingly powerful creativity ostensibly breaks the ordinary standards of the genre, and their harmonies are well-crafted and original, but at the same time loyal to the most profound references of underground black metal. With vastly lugubrious intonations and a sinister sonority that drives the melodies to a dark horizon of distinctive frivolities, I think you can say Into the Darkness of My Soul is an excellent contemporary exemplar of true-to-the-roots black metal, with no imperfections at all to be highlighted.  

Melodic black metal that seems to flirt with the epic and atmospheric subgenres at some extent. Vibrant, dense and conspicuously sinister – although at the same time kind, familiar and gentle –, the sound of Dying Stars’ Walking Across The World is a superb, indefinite and infinite stream of ghostly demise, spreading its monumental, serene, minimalized and diverse artistry throughout a panorama of primordial lancinating beauty. Forty four minutes long, the record has nine tracks: Madness Of Nuclear World, Where Eternal Silence, Dying Star, In Captive Oblivion, Ghost Of Karpaty, From Endless Space, Downpour and The Mist. Its fantastic harmonies flows directly into the eventful kingdoms of an imaginary existence, where eternity waits for the shadows of your soul to merge into the twilights of a magnificent horizon, that has on the conscience of an everlasting splendor the fatalist answer for all enigmas of life. Its poetic and reflexive undertones gives a glorious philosophic color to this beautiful record.  

Amazingly sinister, unexpected and anxiously dark ambient from Norway, Svartsinn – a relatively well-known name in this vastly infamous underground genre, with several albums released – is the creative vehicle for Jan Roger Pettersen. Fifty-one minutes long, Traces of Nothingness has eight tracks: Traces Of Nothingness, No Passage to the Innermost..., Lost in Reveries, Misanthropic Odyssey, Through Apathetic Eyes, All The Colours Are Fading, ...But The Fire Burns No More and Emptiness Is Form. Empirically dwelling throughout the dark vastness of a very personal universe of agonizing emptiness, this album, despite having the sonority somewhat typical for the genre, has a lucid degree of creativity, that displays an excellent degree of originality. With an exceedingly somber atmosphere, and a nervous placidity that anticipates the everlasting shadows of something unknown lurking in the density of lugubrious immortal fears, Traces of Nothingness is a delightful, but dreadful work of art, that masterly exhibits in impeccable form the most fundamental and extraordinary qualities of the genre, elevated in an exponential scale. 

Effervescent, delirious, glamorous, poetically rapturous and violently conspicuous black metal with exceedingly perfect harmonies, Dråpsnatt is a group from Sweden that it’s difficult to know if it’s still active or not. Hymner till undergången was apparently released in 2014, and has nine tracks: En Ensam Sol Går ner, Arvssynd, Dråpsnatt, Mannen I Min Spegel, Somna In, Ve Er, Tonerna De Klinga, En Besvuren Plats and Gästen. With a sinister, but splendorous sound that comes from the shadows, spectral guitar lines resounds the fury of an eternity of tormented wrath and suffering. The virulent creative and energetic sagacity of this marvelous BM act certainly eviscerates a sonorous compendium of miraculous artistry, whose sensitive level of originality deserves to be highlighted as a fundamental cornerstone of the genre. Undoubtedly, this will be one of the best BM albums that you will ever have the pleasure to hear in your life. 

Drinking Songs, by Matt Elliot, is a simple, but beautiful album. Calm, serene, relaxing, circumspect – eager to understand the introspective subtleties upon which its harmonies devour the plenitude of an intrusive conscience – with melodies that drives the sentimental gravities of the abundant frivolities of the heart to a distant, but definite melancholic paradise, this graceful album reiterates its deceptive quest for a silent anxiety, reverberating the latitudes of its own quietness. While a little slow, the album definitely has a charming, dense and proverbial quintessential mood, that invites the listener to dive deep into the creative elements of its own sorrow; with a finishing hour cabaret vibe that converges to a distinctive nostalgia, where you remember everything you want to forget, Drinking Songs is an album that has an atmosphere of its own, comparable to the fragrant alcoholic vapors of an early Sunday morning, that will never end until someone bargains his own soul to be able to buy more drinks. 

With all its versatile virtuosity, but deeply concentrated style, Scenery is an album of lucid piano sonatas and quasi-ballads, strongly conceived with solid improvisations and magical short notes, designed to inspire happiness. With six tracks – It Could Happen To You, I Want To Talk About You, Early Summer, Willow Weep For Me, Autumn Leaves and Scenery – the album is reminiscent of piano bars with a lot of cigarette smoke, fulfilled from top to bottom by an atmosphere immersed in sweet nostalgia, and ingratiates itself in the jazz and blues aura upon which its music was seemingly influenced.

A very melodic, delicate and serene album, Mist, by Thom Brennan, is a very dispersive atmospheric piece, whose sound seems shrouded in mist and secrecy: an imponderable and enigmatic sonorous journey towards the graveyard of a restless conscience, this record is an elegant and dense ambient accomplishment, that delivers an enthusiastic, but smoothly diluted calmness to the embrace of existence. A very consistent and dramatic album, with long interludes and vast dynamic sequences whose discreet expansion resonates over the cosmic infinity of its gracious and lucid, but somewhat solitary sensibilities, Mist, by Thom Brennan, is a deep dive into the horizon of an everlasting wakefulness, whose proverbial grace elaborates in the density of its sensational premises the resolution for a symphony that contains a majestic element of eternity at the core of its notes.  

Another album that envisions and delivers a formidable sense of splendorous calmness, Sunday Morning Peace, by Jonn Serrie, is a virtuous and systematic dive into the infinity of a glorious and affable eternity, involved by a dense and sober sonorous tenacity. With a serenity that seems spectacularly vivid, but at the same time crystallized by the sensibilities of its flexible atmosphere of melodic profoundness, this almost one hour long album has only five very extensive tracks: the title track Sunday Morning Peace, Maiden Voyage, The Enlightened Path,
Breath of the Valley and Sea Mist. While its laborious virtuosity really encapsulates the surreal world that ingratiates itself in the vicinities of an harmonious realm of marvelous relaxation, the expansive dimensional tones that disperse its atoms through the vastness of its musical cadences are astonishingly effective. With a gracious mobility that enables its gradual rhythmic flow to surpass its own extemporal fluidity, Sunday Morning Peace, by Jonn Serrie, is definitely a wonderful artistic ordeal, that anticipates in the genuine possibilities of its own intrinsic elements the glorious musical narrative of the conception of a personal, but familiar universe.    

A discreet, minimalist and very organic new age album, whose main vitality relies on the happier, fluid and vivid tonalities of its sensible and gracious sonorous anatomy, the simple, yet reverberating sense of continuity present on this record – filled with nature-inspired sounds and overflowing colorful melodies delivered in waves of subtle harmonious fragrances, Green is one of those very distinct and peculiar authorial works, whose creative audacities really conceive a somewhat experimental, eccentric and original set of standards. At the highlight of its imperative synergy, Green certainly can be considered a proverbial piece of lucid and insightful grace, whose slow, but symmetric balance definitely conceives a dense, introspective and carefully elaborated universe of its own.   

A more proverbial and melancholic sinister piece, Piano Nights, by Bohren & Der Club Of Gore, is a delightful minimalist experience, that recognizes in the lugubrious atmosphere of its slow monumental cadences the lucid and dramatic possibilities of its somber serenades. With the insightful cholera of despondency, the music seems to departure from a world of infinite midnight, eager to extend the agony of its melodies over all dimensional waves of existence. With a cohesive use of silence and space between notes, the style of Bohren & Der Club Of Gore reflects a solitary, erudite and sensible musical arrangement, that also impresses by the virtue of its simplicity. With the silent grace of its lurid, but somewhat hyperbolic notes, this album reinstates over the sagacity of its latent premise the slow acerbic rhythm of life, as the rain falls somewhere, inside the scenery of a conformist doom.  

With beautiful harmonies, restrained to a modest, but elegant layer of space and time, In the Mood for love already explains in the title the grandiosity of its purpose. This formidable, eloquent, suggestive and delicate masterpiece is a sentimental symphony that reads in the cosmogony of its own discreet expansive omniscience the iridescent structure of its ascendant patterns. A melancholic serenade that evades the request for a modest ocean of incisively tempestuous calmness, this album has a sophisticated and expressively dense musical ambition, whose strength lies objectively in the dense diagram of its passionately intricate serenity, projecting the anatomic balance of the sound towards a sensitive spectacle of marvelous infinity. 

Mandy is a 2018 action-horror movie, directed by Panos Cosmatos, starring Nicolas Cage, 
Andrea Riseborough, Bill Duke, Ned Dennehy, Linus Roache and Richard Brake. With its vintage visual style reminiscent of old school cinema, the movie has a colorful, but at the same time nostalgic mood, that certainly adds a dense element to its intricate and elaborate visual artistry.    

On this film, Nicolas Cage plays Red Miller, a woodman that is happily married with Mandy (Andrea Riseborough), a cashier in a shop on their nearby neighborhood, and a talented artist on her free time. They live a simple lifestyle in relative isolation in the Shadows Mountain region of California, where peace and quietness are part of daily life. On a certain occasion, Mandy crosses the road when an eccentric group of people in a van is passing by. They are members of a bizarre cult, called Children of the New Dawn. Unbeknownst to her, the leader of the cult, a man named Jeremiah (Linus Roache) asks his right-hand man, Brother Swan (Ned Dennehy) to capture her, as he wants to have her. 

Brother Swan, then, goes along with other cult member to fulfil his task. On arriving in a secret place, he makes a devilish arrangement with a nefarious horde of demonic motorcycle maniacs to kidnap Mandy. The group arrives when Mandy and Miller are sleeping, so Miller is easily subdued, and Mandy is successfully captured. On her captivity, she recognizes an old woman from before, who had earlier bought something on her work place, asking her something about the book she was reading. Mandy is then drugged with the venom of a giant wasp, and afterwards, completely hallucinating, is introduced to Jeremiah. In a delirious journey provoked by the substance administered to her, she begins to laugh hysterically, to Jeremiah’s disappointment.   

Miller is also held captive by the malevolent sect, tough outdoor. After her time with Mandy, Jeremiah goes outside with Brother Swan and one of his female servants, and begins to torment Miller psychologically, eventually stabbing him with a dagger. Then they excruciatingly torture him, by burning Mandy alive in front of him, tough she was involved in a giant fabric bag. On watching Mandy completely burn to death, Miller becomes severely distressed, and an irrepressible fury against the members of the sect strongly resonates on him. 

Strangely, after the event, the group goes away, leaving Miller alive. Completely tied in barbed wire, Miller frees himself with extreme difficulty, injuring himself deeply in the process. He then goes to the place where the ashes of Mindy are, and contemplates its remnants, as what has left of her is rapidly dispersed by the wind. Then he goes home, and sees the TV is still on. Miller goes to bed, and collapses on extreme fatigue. He then dreams of Mandy, shown in an animated sequence completely disfigured by the burns. 

He then wakes up, completely disrupted. He goes to the bathroom, and drinks an alcoholic beverage from a bottle he had hidden. He also starts to overflow all his fury. After recovering a little, Miller decides to visit a friend, Caruthers (Bill Duke), to pick up a weapon. He initially says he will go hunting, and tries to disguise his pain, but eventually he crumbles, and tell his friend what happened. Caruthers then tells him that a criminal gang called Black Skulls are the probable culprits behind the atrocity Miller and his wife have suffered, as they have terrorizing some nearby regions of the country for some time. They drive black motorcycles and can be seen only at night. Their main fuel is a very potent form of LSD they used to deliver, as a service to an independent drug lord. Caruthers tells Miller that he saw the gang once, at safe distance, and informs him the location they are most likely to be. 

Miller then displays all his ability as an ironsmith, to create a giant combat axe to fight his nemesis, and afterwards, drives along in search of the gang. In one occasion, Miller manages to shoot one of them with an arrow, after precisely capturing him through the lens of his gun. Rapidly, he stepped into his van, and drove on where his victim had felt on the road to run over him. Nevertheless, the assailant has managed to stay on his knees in the middle of the pavement, and with a gun shot Miller’s van several times, before a fatal collision between the two took place.  

Miller loses his conscience. When he wakes up, he finds himself imprisoned in a very claustrophobic deposit. His right hand is handcuffed to a pipe, while his left hand is nailed to the ground. Soon, he realizes he is being held captive by one of the Black Skulls. His assailant starts to beat him, talking to him in a very grotesque voice. But Miller manages to subdue his aggressor, breaking the pipe that was indeed a little loose, freeing his right hand, and spanking his antagonist with the pipe until he falls into a lateral pit.  

Miller then starts to explore the place where he is, and suddenly realizes it’s a very underground hideout. He sees an assassinated couple in a bed, and then confronts one of the Black Skulls, that was consuming large quantities of drug in a very dark living room. Miller is able to subdue him, but with great difficulty, as this Black Skull in particular is thoroughly truculent, aggressive and bestial. But Miller kills him by slashing his throat with a razor. The TV then is destroyed by a fire shoot, and Miller confronts again the assailant from before, the one he had thrown into the pit. But once again, Miller is successful in subjugating his attacker. Miller then “celebrates” his victory by consuming a large amount of cocaine that was over a table in the living room.  

On further exploration of the place, Miller encounters his axe. He also accidentally experiments the degraded version of LSD the Black Skulls are addicted to, and have a voraciously and intense delusional acid trip. When he leaves to proceed on his vengeance hunting, he shoots another Black Skull with one arrow, in front of a burning car. The Black Skull doesn’t die, though, and the two begin to fight. After some moments, this member of the gang tells Miller that his wife is still burning. This infuriates Miller, who throws his antagonist directly into the flames and then, in a vicious rampage, decapitates him with his axe. Miller then lights a cigar with the fire in the burning head of the assailant. 

He then drives in the dead of night to continue with his revenge plan, until he sees a tower. He then enters a vast laboratory, where a drug lord (Richard Brake) works. He threatens to catch a Luger pistol to defend himself, but hesitates. There is also in the precinct an enormous tiger named Lizzie in a cage. The drug lord pushes up a button, that opens the gate of the cage where Lizzie is confined, and the animal leaves. With his large pupils dilated, the drug lord also seems to be having a drug-related trip. Anticipating the feeling that Miller is desperate to get information about the Children of the New Dawn, the drug lord tells Miller that they may have gone towards the north. 

Miller then leaves his motor vehicle in a cave, and decides to sleep a little. He then have another dream with Mandy, which is a brief animated sequence, where she is naked, and pulling of the heart of a dead monster. Miller then finds the mountainous region that serves as the new headquarters for the members of the Children of the New Dawn.

Miller begins his irrational fury by viciously attacking Brother Swan, who was leaving his vehicle. Upon the aggression he brutally receives, he manages to say that Mandy has “burned brightly”, scorning Miller by asking him “don’t you think?” – Miller then introduces the sharp lower tip of his axe into the mouth of Brother Swan, breaking his jaw. He then pushes his axe more profoundly, brutally injuring and killing him. The younger woman, a member of the cult, was there, accompanying Brother Swan in the van. She silently cries, but Miller does nothing to her.    

Miller then proceeds to kill other members of the cult. He kills the next by throwing his axe directly into his head. Another one was fought in a battle of chainsaws, although Miller’s antagonist had one whose blade was much longer. Miller manages to inflict a profound wound in his opponent, but this fight proves to him thoroughly difficult to be won. Miller then picks up a chain, and manages to throw it out around the neck of his enemy, pushing it and forcing him to fall over one of the chainsaws – who was on –, that completely eviscerates Miller’s antagonist in the process. 

Miller then finally arrives at the satanic pyramid of the cult, and picks up out of curiosity their “holy” scripture. He then walks through the underground tunnels, finally arriving in an antechamber, where he meets the old matriarch of the cult. She begins to talk to him about Jeremiah. Miller’s only reaction is to stare at her coldly. 

Jeremiah is naked, alone with his egocentric godly delusions in a closed room, when the decapitated head of the matriarch is thrown at his direction. Jeremiah says to Miller that he can’t hurt him, as he continues to proclaim that he is a type of god. When Miller attacks him, Jeremiah starts to beg for his life. But after just a few moments, Jeremiah has a change of heart, and begins to insult Miller, saying that it’s him that should knee, and not the contrary. But Miller says to Jeremiah “I am your god now”, and starts to crush his head, until his eyes pops out, and his skull is brutally smashed. Miller then, feeling at least a little redeemed, sets the place on fire.  

Feeling at least partially relieved, Miller let the good memories related to Mandy flow back. He then drives away, with the sensation of mission accomplished. 

While this movie is good entertainment, it’s not a fantastic, exhilarating nor a superb work of art. More or less, it’s basically a typical revenge for love type of story.

The psychedelic features and the more exotic vibe present in the visual elements are an interesting feature, that certainly adds a genuine and interesting quality into the atmosphere of the movie. They are well developed, and used correctly, not overtly exaggerated throughout the whole production, but applied in precise and effective moments, to increase the effect and to transmit to the audience a correspondent sensation about what a specific character was feeling in a precise given moment. But this component, despite it’s cohesive usefulness on various passages of the movie, does not serve as a guarantee concerning the artistic efficiency of the film.  

Don’t get me wrong. Here there is beautiful cinematography, exceedingly dense and poetic visual scenes, artistic elegance, a consistent narrative, but in the end, Mandy is just a little above the average action flick. Like I wrote some lines above, it’s a very good entertainment. If you like generally reasonable action movies with somewhat generic storylines, you will certainly be pleased with this one. Just keep your expectations low. Don’t expect too much out of it. Yes, you will be thrilled by some really amazing, genuine and colorful exotic scenes. This will be your main reward for risking your time to see this really cool hipster piece. The scenes where Jeremiah delivers an esoteric monologue while his face is entirely red, and his facial features constantly shift to look like Mandy’s are certainly a good exemplar of the colorful unusual imagery that sets the tone of this somewhat relatively audacious vengeance story.

In the end, Mandy is not a bad movie. On the contrary, it’s a very good action flick. It serves to prove that, in the end, Hollywood still manages to do some decently good conventional action sequences. But don’t expect too much out of it. Despite decent visuals, and a plausible conjuncture of good ideas, Mandy will hardly exceed your expectations. In just a few weeks, it will be just another Nicolas Cage movie.           


Wagner

Skyggenes dal is a Norwegian mystery drama film, directed by Jonas Matzow Gulbrandsen. On this movie, the audience see the world by the eyes of Aslak (Adam Thornes Ekeli), an innocent and quiet, but sensible and introspective boy, who filters with his lugubrious, but vivid intelligence all the disturbed and restless occurrences around him. Aslak lives with his mother, Astrid (Kathrine Fagerland), and it’s not possible to discover anything about them, besides what becomes implicit in the storyline. For example, in the beginning of the movie, it’s possible to perceive that Aslak has an older brother that he doesn’t see for some time. Eventually, the police come to their home to talk to Astrid, and then Astrid begins to cry desperately. When the police enter their house asking to see the room of her older son, it becomes gradually implicit by the facts revealed that Astrid was forced to expel her oldest son from home, as he was probably addicted to drugs. Uncomfortable in having him around being a bad influence on Aslak, she may have expelled him. The circumstances unveil that he probably has died from a drug overdose, and so Astrid becomes severely distressed over her son’s death. 

Aslak is too young to perceive with all its lethal densities and implications the dramatic urges and the pungent complexities of the world around him; nevertheless, he easily assimilates all the conjuncture upon which pain and suffering are latent, as the movie slowly, but consistently captures the sensibilities of existence from the point of view of the vast innocence and puerility of the young boy, although his acute intelligence warns him against the unwanted frivolities of the adult universe, from which he becomes somewhat protected, doing his best to be cautious and guarded in the cozy refugee of a very personal world. His light blond hair and his profoundly questionable and vigilant green eyes gives an insight about the peculiarities of his relationship with the world around him, how he relates to it, how he understands it, in all the vicinities familiar to him.

Soon, a friend comes to play with him outside, and eventually shows him mutilated cattle, that were probably attacked by a wild, ferocious animal, that – as a local urban legend that probably originated from rumor explains –, lives in a great and desolated hazy mountain nearby, that grows to be a folklore of its own on Aslak’s fertile imagination. Nevertheless, the somewhat solitary existence of the boy makes him wander throughout the pale ocean of his own related fantasies, driven in the invisible storm of his inquisitive restlessness, that are in full juxtaposition of a monotonous life, where anything relevant happens.

In a certain occasion, when his dog escapes, Aslak goes after him. Eventually, he ventures into a vast forest, which is basically obscure unknown territory, and finds a man in a remote cabin. The man seems to be friendly, and both begin to talk. At this point, tough – as Aslak’s mind drives the omniscient grace of the narrative – it’s impossible to know what is real and what is not. Aslak could just be talking and interacting with a product of his own fertile imagination, his psychological device to deal with the pervasive, hostile and disgraceful monotony of reality.     

Any significant part of this movie, but especially from the second half onward, could be an extension of Aslak’s dream. He frequently runs down the lake in a boat, sometimes sleeping on it. In several passages, Skyggenes dal has reminded me of Andrei Tarkovsky’s Stalker, a movie where the delusional blur between fantasy and reality are projected as a matter of perspective; a sensible impression on the conscience of time, that touches the tissue of reality with such an imperial pragmatism, that existence itself is comprehended as a lucid dream. 

For me, the formidable degree of artistry applied to this work was simply fabulous, despite the fact that the story in itself is relatively simple, and absolutely anything too exuberant or significant ever happens. The movie seems to stand still over the lethargy of a frozen time, but this may be deliberate, to conceive a frame of opaque monotony that could give to the audience the dimension of the vast introspective world inhabited by Aslak. The contrast between the calmness of his whereabouts and the security of life in a remote secluded area – a small village in rural Norway – with the empty and unknown infinity that lies deeply behind  his expressive eyes, is also a major highlight in the movie, that definitely conceives the human existence as more than just a solitary shadow in the background: in the melancholic boundaries of the lugubrious, albeit vivacious dream world of Aslak, there is the frontier to the real world, a much more painful and sanguinary place, that makes him feel uncomfortable. So, fortunately, he has his own personal world to inhabit, that exists in a personal universe where absolutely anything bad could harm him, or inflict to him any type of injury. 

Despite the fact that the story is somewhat very simple – and is, to an extent, stricken with a modest degree of monotony –, the movie has a cohesive storyline, a decent and realistic premise and very decent interpretations. At one hour and twenty five minutes long, it is also very objective and direct to the point. The beauty of the cinematography makes the visual element definitely very elegant, and the intense, lucid, captivating and dense, yet discreet performance of Adam Thornes Ekeli as Aslak, definitely makes this film an extraordinary feature. You may not become extremely impressed by this movie, but certainly its poetic eloquence, its artistic imagery, its unorthodox premise and the profound philosophic virtuosity applied upon themes of loneliness, vagueness, imagination and a childish world of dreams conceived as a refugee against the pain of reality, certainly makes Skyggenes dal a marvelously sophisticated, gracious and poetic feature.   

​Wagner

Koan Sound is a British electronic music duo, composed of musicians Jim Bastow and Will Weeks (don’t confuse with Koan, an electronic musical act from Russia, upon which I wrote here). Recently, I’ve heard their four songs EP, Forgotten Myths, that for a certain amount of time has been calling me, out of nefarious curiosity. Despite its brutal conciseness, the work is only a few minutes long, the EP is certainly more or less intriguing, although, to a certain extent, you instantly recognize ordinary patterns on their music, regardless of their natural and incontestable talent. Nevertheless, all the elements in these four songs are very well arranged altogether, and dissipate a dispersive, but quiet and consistent aura of majestic splendor right through it, envisioned by a sagacity that instinctively drives the harmonies. The duo definitely has an interesting signature sound – with a more fatalist, but delicate and gracious infatuation, so to speak – that keeps the melodies popping up. There is a vague, but latent sincerity in the music that lines up with their dissolute introspective universe that easily acknowledges its profound impetus.   

Right away, it’s easy to notice their references, since it becomes a little obvious that they have been influenced by genres like EDM, chillstep and electronica, but they effortlessly try to sculpt in the razorblade chain of their expansive compositions their own personal style, with successful composure and mordacity. 

With only four songs – Strike, Sentient, the title track Forgotten Myths and View From Above – there is not too much to be highlighted here. These are very good songs, but my main curiosity was hit when I discovered the duo’s existence while searching for the other Koan two-piece. For individuals who really love electronic music, Forgotten Myths it’s a decent possibility. Of course, don’t expect anything glamorous, rapturous, nor extraordinary from this work. It’s a modest promise, but it will entertain your senses, though, although I speculate that Koan Sound is only beginning their journey. 


Wagner