On “A Tribute to Zdzislaw Beksinski (2007)”
To say that raising an oeuvre as a tribute to one of the greatest yet unknown artist of our age should grasp the highness of the eulogized dignity is a frail avidity. But yet, it’s not permissible to grace the mediocre and somehow lethargic attempt before a real prodigious being as Zdzislaw Beksinski. It’s good to see that all the tracks names “untitled”. It can be seen as a kind of formal unanimity with a great artist whose arts are all unnamed; but it's a gain and you know why when you advance thru the album.
When Asmorod brings up the prelude in a sedate way that you can say it’s tuned up within Anthesterian borders; the song fairly represents the calm gaze of the face in the painting. But here and there, the unduly implement of caws and some raw noise disrupts that tranquil wave. There shouldn’t be any sound of living being for the here. Everything seems to be relaxed from life, while the blushed (yet calm) wall speaks silently about an obscure happiness of that gaze. But yet, this minimalistic melody works well as a prelude.
Contemplatron’s share is a shame. It’s hard to believe how the one can take such spatial concept from an immense scene like the one developed in the painting. The song is dark ambient, yet tainted with modern disturbing sounds (alien’s speech, echoing voices) which entirely corrupts every ultra visual esoteric experience you happen to bear from the painting. A man cloaked in red sitting on a cursed throne while the world is poetizing his inner void; But doesn’t expect anything relevant from the track. An ailing song for one of the most arrogant paintings in this album.
Desiderii Marginis is adept in ambient discipline. But what is this tempo!? Thru my time of hearing Desiderii I haven’t faced such indecent rhythm; it’s vulgar and pop-like, and in contrast to warm static disposition of the painting, it renders a cold and hyper- verbose world. Who could think of acoustic guitar when beholding the distressful ascent of a martyr?
Gustaf Hildebrand comes along with familiar destructed scene of post-apocalyptic world which has been recurred in Beksinski’s works in various but univocal form. It’s simply a pure dark ambient track, developed with squally soundscapes and decolorized vast fields of nothingness. We can linger upon the dead cross as a beholding raven or we may lean against its pillar and close our eyes to perceive an obscure pantosophy.
Two wolves talking about the departure of a man who taught them the wretchedness of men. A gloomy scene is well matured with a well-known melody (derived from Brahms' symphony 4). His Devine Grace has shown his trained taste in reading paintings musically by this work.
Hybryds: we know them as Noise Ambient, and here is another raw model of this neurotic sub-genre. It could present a face of those ghosts in poor Japanese movies; but before the grotesque statue, such effeminate voices and flimsy sounds and screeching electronics would have nothing better to do than urging you to fast forward to next track; fortunately the next one can appease the ire of the great but fooled statue.
Industrial Ambient and the gnomes. With this song, Inade verily successes in exhibiting misanthropic scene of the painting; as the drone stubbornly carry on and on with no notable variation, it stresses on the ordered consternation of an unearthly domain wherein nothing explicable could be sought. Behind this set of hypnotic sounds, a blue bird is flying from the dream of a bodiless face.
Job Karma has done a rickety experimental ambient job here. Despite this clear fact that tonality was set for conducting an experimental trip, the track is too unprocessed to communicate with inner-journey of the painting. In addition to the indolent context, all elements (waters, sound of running) are loosely assembled so there’s no suitable field for growing any ambience. One of the worst.
This is also what Kratong has done with such a colorful vivid painting. Full of electronic white-noise-like noises and dull ups and downs. Someone must tell them that they’d better to compose for watery Dali’s thin works... Put it beside the previous – and fast forward.
Necrophorus (Peter Andersson) puts an end to the earlier stagnation (Keep it under your hat). This is where you believe that the only way to approach Beksinski is flying above pure dark ambient realms where neither cacophonic noise nor militant percussion is up. As the bird-ghost is riding behind the foreground, where the real catastrophe is taking place, you can even hear the voice of the deadly hibernal wind. This song properly epitomizes this aesthetic idea that how one can exhibit a catastrophic status without explicitly exposing a rational disastrous sentiment (we’ve already navigated to the core of this idea by embracing LAND, Atrium Carceri, Mortaur, etc). There’s no meaningful intention here, no animus, still you can feel how brutal is the malice which is throbbing under the dark skin of the painting.
Svartsinn and isolated gathering of the dead. A whispering vocal set out your journey above this infinite world. There’s no talk within these damned circles but there’s a feeling that all of them are gathered enthusiastically. In the middle, out of a sudden you descend into a bottomless abyss wherein someone unseen haggles with you over a vacant place. I’ll join you if you wish.
The epilogue is corrupted noise without any ambience. It’s where the album drowns itself into trashy void of noises. I pray one of the Beksinskian monsters to screw the ludicrous mind of Zenial. Undoubtedly it’s the worst and disjointed track.
All in all, this set of works can’t tread in your Beksinskian dreamland, the overall experience has run short of the indispensible volume of darkness and depth, and it really suffers from the loss of rambling noisy tracks which all are incoherent regarding the concept of work (no need to say that there’re much better impressions in ambient genre). Nevertheless it’s gracious hit to see a set of visual-musical objects which simply inspire this pleasant illusion that you have your own cultural brothers.
For Ivan and Shaafe’
To say that raising an oeuvre as a tribute to one of the greatest yet unknown artist of our age should grasp the highness of the eulogized dignity is a frail avidity. But yet, it’s not permissible to grace the mediocre and somehow lethargic attempt before a real prodigious being as Zdzislaw Beksinski. It’s good to see that all the tracks names “untitled”. It can be seen as a kind of formal unanimity with a great artist whose arts are all unnamed; but it's a gain and you know why when you advance thru the album.
When Asmorod brings up the prelude in a sedate way that you can say it’s tuned up within Anthesterian borders; the song fairly represents the calm gaze of the face in the painting. But here and there, the unduly implement of caws and some raw noise disrupts that tranquil wave. There shouldn’t be any sound of living being for the here. Everything seems to be relaxed from life, while the blushed (yet calm) wall speaks silently about an obscure happiness of that gaze. But yet, this minimalistic melody works well as a prelude.
Contemplatron’s share is a shame. It’s hard to believe how the one can take such spatial concept from an immense scene like the one developed in the painting. The song is dark ambient, yet tainted with modern disturbing sounds (alien’s speech, echoing voices) which entirely corrupts every ultra visual esoteric experience you happen to bear from the painting. A man cloaked in red sitting on a cursed throne while the world is poetizing his inner void; But doesn’t expect anything relevant from the track. An ailing song for one of the most arrogant paintings in this album.
Desiderii Marginis is adept in ambient discipline. But what is this tempo!? Thru my time of hearing Desiderii I haven’t faced such indecent rhythm; it’s vulgar and pop-like, and in contrast to warm static disposition of the painting, it renders a cold and hyper- verbose world. Who could think of acoustic guitar when beholding the distressful ascent of a martyr?
Gustaf Hildebrand comes along with familiar destructed scene of post-apocalyptic world which has been recurred in Beksinski’s works in various but univocal form. It’s simply a pure dark ambient track, developed with squally soundscapes and decolorized vast fields of nothingness. We can linger upon the dead cross as a beholding raven or we may lean against its pillar and close our eyes to perceive an obscure pantosophy.
Two wolves talking about the departure of a man who taught them the wretchedness of men. A gloomy scene is well matured with a well-known melody (derived from Brahms' symphony 4). His Devine Grace has shown his trained taste in reading paintings musically by this work.
Hybryds: we know them as Noise Ambient, and here is another raw model of this neurotic sub-genre. It could present a face of those ghosts in poor Japanese movies; but before the grotesque statue, such effeminate voices and flimsy sounds and screeching electronics would have nothing better to do than urging you to fast forward to next track; fortunately the next one can appease the ire of the great but fooled statue.
Industrial Ambient and the gnomes. With this song, Inade verily successes in exhibiting misanthropic scene of the painting; as the drone stubbornly carry on and on with no notable variation, it stresses on the ordered consternation of an unearthly domain wherein nothing explicable could be sought. Behind this set of hypnotic sounds, a blue bird is flying from the dream of a bodiless face.
Job Karma has done a rickety experimental ambient job here. Despite this clear fact that tonality was set for conducting an experimental trip, the track is too unprocessed to communicate with inner-journey of the painting. In addition to the indolent context, all elements (waters, sound of running) are loosely assembled so there’s no suitable field for growing any ambience. One of the worst.
This is also what Kratong has done with such a colorful vivid painting. Full of electronic white-noise-like noises and dull ups and downs. Someone must tell them that they’d better to compose for watery Dali’s thin works... Put it beside the previous – and fast forward.
Necrophorus (Peter Andersson) puts an end to the earlier stagnation (Keep it under your hat). This is where you believe that the only way to approach Beksinski is flying above pure dark ambient realms where neither cacophonic noise nor militant percussion is up. As the bird-ghost is riding behind the foreground, where the real catastrophe is taking place, you can even hear the voice of the deadly hibernal wind. This song properly epitomizes this aesthetic idea that how one can exhibit a catastrophic status without explicitly exposing a rational disastrous sentiment (we’ve already navigated to the core of this idea by embracing LAND, Atrium Carceri, Mortaur, etc). There’s no meaningful intention here, no animus, still you can feel how brutal is the malice which is throbbing under the dark skin of the painting.
Svartsinn and isolated gathering of the dead. A whispering vocal set out your journey above this infinite world. There’s no talk within these damned circles but there’s a feeling that all of them are gathered enthusiastically. In the middle, out of a sudden you descend into a bottomless abyss wherein someone unseen haggles with you over a vacant place. I’ll join you if you wish.
The epilogue is corrupted noise without any ambience. It’s where the album drowns itself into trashy void of noises. I pray one of the Beksinskian monsters to screw the ludicrous mind of Zenial. Undoubtedly it’s the worst and disjointed track.
All in all, this set of works can’t tread in your Beksinskian dreamland, the overall experience has run short of the indispensible volume of darkness and depth, and it really suffers from the loss of rambling noisy tracks which all are incoherent regarding the concept of work (no need to say that there’re much better impressions in ambient genre). Nevertheless it’s gracious hit to see a set of visual-musical objects which simply inspire this pleasant illusion that you have your own cultural brothers.
For Ivan and Shaafe’
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