Therradaemon - Den Mörke Munnens Språk

In the the movie "Parents", Randy Quaid's character looks at his son and states: "You really like the dark, don't you? Well there's one dark place we have to be very careful of..." after which he points to his head. Welcome to Therradaemon's debut. It is the blood/brain barrier given a voice and it is the reptilian core we still retain despite our evolutionary journey from the sea. Northaunt is dead, long live Northaunt is what this record states quite clearly as the long passages of reverberating, dissonant electronics provide an ample backdrop for subtle movements of sound through the shadowy domain Langis depicts.

Just supposing for a moment that you've never heard this kind of work before, what's it sound like? Decay, rot and neglect are the words which spring to mind first but there is also an incredible theme of abandonment. Left behind to die in the freezing rain amidst petrified surroundings... to know what once was and be all that is left of it, how did it come to this; deservedly or not, we are cast upon the sheared stones to face an elemental judgement we'll not survive.

It has taken some time to digest what this new project is capable of as it was recorded over the space of five years; this is no casual stroll in the park, there is definite purpose in the selections made. Four tracks are what you get but the sheer scope of them will transport you to places you never suspected you'd find. This is an album to let your mind come apart to, a defragmentation of all the feelings and faces you have come across. The results speak for themselves with grandly sweeping movements of glorious menace carving up your subconscious like so much dead meat. Bit by bit the conventions of a waking world are shrugged off and in their place are the thoughts and impulses rising up from the core of the mind. Predatory instincts, malicious envy, vitriolic spite... all are exhumed and given their day in the sun at last. Who you are when you begin listening to this release plays an important part in the proceedings because if you're incapable of reflecting or unwilling to surrender control then this isn't for you.

This is the chocolate torte you know to avoid but just cannot abstain from. You plunge into the layers, reveling in each and every nuance of flavor it's composition contains. Density notwithstanding, the textures coat all your senses in a tactile overload which leaves you foolishly desiring more. So it is that this work will lure you in with the promise of satiating your curiosity but the mind is never content to merely know what is perceivable, it must always look for the outermost edge even if it means careening over it.

Therradaemon are both languid cerebral excursion and tautly tense apprehension wrapped into some kind of hybrid. Even though this is the work of one man, it has all the characteristics of the right hand not knowing what the left does. I suspect trance-like states of being were induced during the recording process as there is just no way a person could create this kind of dichotomy while lucid. This album will slip by on the clock and more importantly, slip underneath your skin to saturate your perceptions and alter the vision you have of reality. Why do I get the feeling some manner of bargain was struck by this fellow in order to make this record. And a record it surely is in every sense of the word. Karjalan Sissit are often cited as being the preeminent source for mental distress put on disc but I think he's got some competition now. Head over heels into the darkness we tumble, our eyes shut up tight but even if we cannot see it, it can see us with wicked,
glittering eyes.

Intimacy so often comes in the guise of a lover's touch, a gentle word. A soft embrace. Now it appears wrapped in the cloak of 'Den Morke Munnens Sprak' to extract our very souls for it's collection. There is a beautiful symmetry in what this release does: it both reveals and accentuates a grimly morbid outlook on the world. The silent solitude of a man who lives a near monk-like existence on his island, he could not have done any more to bring us to his kingdom for this is definitely the feel of burning, permeating, inescapably penetrating cold. Jan 21 2012