Album: City of the Dead
Artist: Out of Hell
Label: Self-released
Catalogue no: N/A
Tracklist:
1. Catacombs
2. Funeral
Noir
3. Insomnia
4. Distant
Dream
A short four-track album (or
taster if you will) of the work of Swedish artist Boris Tyurin, of what could
be termed deep dark horror ambient. What we have here are barren nuclear
wastelands, denuded of vegetation and other forms of life, a hellish infertile
desert dotted with the occasional rotted ruin of a shack or wind-pump, creaking
forlornly in the radiation-filled wind of a winter unlooked for. The sky is
black, with vast continent-covering clouds continually churning and boiling
above, pent-up fury crackling in their every movement, relieved but rarely with
a flash of lightning followed a few seconds later by rumbles and grumbles of
anger and bitterness. This is a catalogue of beauty defiled and mortified,
besmirched and dishonoured – a world, once filled with riches, now irrevocably
reduced to rags.
The opening piece,
‘Catacombs’, begins with distant, keening winds, a lament for the wasteful and
needless havoc that has been wreaked upon the planet. Voices accompany those
winds, the ghosts of the innocents caught up in other people’s wars and
skirmishes, a haunting refrain set to linger on for the millennia needed for
nature to recover. Wandering shades weep black tears on ‘Funeral Noir’ which,
falling upon the bare Earth, poison it still further. The cortege is an
insubstantial parade, ragged, clothed in ripped and torn black robes, marching
disconsolately to the metallic peal of a broken bell. There are no living
creatures left to mourn the passing of Mother Earth, just the howling gales, or
perhaps that sound is Cerberus, guarding the new Hades that Earth has become.
After the funeral comes
‘Insomnia’, the restless spirits of those still carrying their bitterness and
animosity towards those responsible for the nuclear holocaust, when all they
asked for was life. That has now become a ‘Distant Dream’, a cause now lost for
the aeons to come. A lone peal and metallic scraping, set against a vast
silence with only the soft sussurations of a breeze interrupting it, mourns for
the vanished pearl of life that once bestowed its graces upon the world. That
yearning is palpably real, the infinite spaces of an empty Earth keening for
its glories to return.
As I’ve often noted,
darkness doesn’t have to be portrayed in terms of loud, guttural rumbles or
thunderous crashes in order to get its qualities across: quiet emptinesses can
do the job just as effectively, if not more so. This is why I think City of the Dead works on the level it
does – there’s the sense here that nothing has survived so there’s no one to be
mourned or to mourn. The world has
become a veritable irradiated Hell, only a place of ghosts robbed of its
future. An introspective work that nevertheless poses some awkward questions
about what it is we want as a species, who do we put our trust in, and how do
we change the path we’re on so we head to a better and clearer destination? On
top of that, it’s an astute observation of the current state of humanity – and
it isn’t a particularly rosy summation at that.
Available as a digital
download via Bandcamp on the link below:
Psymon Marshall 2019
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