It was said of the author, Michael Crichton, that he was unusually cursed. By some Faustian bargain, he was able to come up with exceptionally good ideas for his novels, but then cruelly denied the ability to see any of them through to satisfying conclusions. It’s why most movies of his works (Jurassic Park, The […]
“One-man bands make me both impressed and apprehensive. I’m impressed because having a musical vision is special to begin with and being able to execute it solo takes real talent. I’m apprehensive because there’s no give-and-take or real collaboration for the visionary, and most creators of any stripe lack the will to kill their darlings.” One man with a bully pulpit.
“I first became acquainted with Vananidr through the AMG metal forum. One of the contributors recommended the band’s second album, Road North, on the grounds that although it seemed, from afar, like a fairly straightforward, old-school black metal album, there was something compelling about it that kept him returning. Well, for once, the rabble was right: while Road North was far too long, it’s an unpretentious slab of second-wave, black metal goodness. It also sported that often-undefinable quality, possessed by bands like Immortal or Sacramentum, that brings you back again and again. I was impressed, and gladly signed up for the follow-up, Damnation.” X factoring.
“Once upon a time there was a dude named Maxime Taccardi. Max has a twisted and dark mind, and I fear it. His music is equally frightening, and it makes me uncomfortable. Yet, I can’t turn it off. Try as I might to fend it off his insidious vision haunts my imagination, conjuring the most depraved scenarios for me to weather. For Max, it seems, this place of nightmares which he creates represents the repugnant underbelly of his Paris home. And so he put all that we refuse to see inside the “most romantic city in the world” to music. Ladies and gentlemen, Griiim’s Pope Art.” Warhol’s twisted Id.
“As I stare into the night sky, casting wishes and cigarette smoke to a lonely moon, a faint tapping sound breaks the silence and the grip of my reverie. I peer into the surrounding dark, curious as to who or what might be sharing this moment with me, but the hushed scenery offers no evidence of an intrusion. I shrug off this immaterial disruption and redirect my gaze towards my lunar companion, when something catches my eye; there, at the skirt of the moonlit lake that I’ve come to sit and think beside, stands a ghost. Before the icy grip of panic can steer my body into a flight of terror, I realize that this spectre is but a reflection in the water—and I am no less relieved.” Keep your sock puppets inside the ride at all times.
This post has been removed because it promoted Nazi or Nazi-adjacent metal bands or musicians. We apologize.
