Pallbearer: Foundations of Burden ALBUM REVIEW

Pallbearer’s debut full-length, Sorrow and Extinction, impressed many upon its release with its utterly sincere take on traditional doom metal. It combined the core elements of Black Sabbath with the drama of Candlemass and the snail-paced crawl of funeral doom such as Evoken. It resulted in a very likable and worthwhile release that had many metalheads, young and old, raising their horns in approval, rocking out to the album’s wall of guitar sludge and soaring lead lines. Foundations of Burden, their latest offering, was met with even more acclaim from fans and critics than its predecessor, with Decibel in particular calling it a “goddamn masterpiece” and naming it Album of the Year. However, The Needle Drop criticized it for its lack of contrast and gave it a mere 5 out of 10.

Triptykon-Melana Chasmata: ALBUM REVIEW

Can we possibly describe Triptykon’s debut album, Eparistera Daimones, without eventually resorting to ridiculous and redundant superlatives? Calling it a worthy follow-up to Celtic Frost’s Monotheist would be selling it sadly short; it surpassed its predecessor in every possible way from its minimalistic, yet monstrous riffs, its sludgy and gurgling vocals, all the way to its (slightly) less compressed production, Daimones was an outstanding achievement for Mr. Tom G. Warrior after Frost’s unfortunate and sudden demise. A long and tedious four-year wait would ensue before the metal masses would hear new Triptykon music, conceivably scratching restlessly at the imaginary worms crawling under their skin whilst nibbling on saltine crackers and pop tarts with their eyes glued to their computer screens waiting for any faint signs that a new Triptykon album was on its way. Their waiting has thankfully come to a blissful end now that Malana Chasmata, Triptykon’s latest, has been released.

The Pallbearers (A Poem)

The Pallbearers.

They carry me westward,

covered in velvet,

encased in mahogany.

Wander to the site of a lonely grave,

hallowed out, ready to embrace me.

A count of five.

Silence among the rustling winds.

A tear escapes the eye of one

as he begins to hum a sorrowful tune.

He sheds inhibition and begins to sing.

A high tenor, trembling slightly.

One, then two.

Three, then four.

The five dour men begin singing the tune of the Foreigner

as I’m buried six feet deep.

Given to the grave.

Into new life.