Il black metal è stato profetizzato dai Venom, GIUSTO, ma il gruppo che per me ne ha delineato i connotati e la tecnica compositiva sono i Bathory (basta ascoltare, anche di striscio, la musica di Mayhem, Darkthrone, Marduk e Dissection per capire quanto è stato importante il contributo della band svedese), senza togliere nulla ad altri influenzatori della frangia più oltranzista che l'heavy metal abbia mai avuto (Celtic Frost, Slayer, Sodom e Mercyful Fate).
Il leader ed unico membro stabile Quorthon (R.I.P.) è stato un grandioso musicista, non per il suo livello tecnico ma per il suo stato d'animo che riusciva a tramutare in musica, uno stato d'animo colmo di rabbia nei confronti della religione cristiana che, secondo il suo pensiero, ha estirpato il culto norreno dalla Scandinavia, esibendosi, provocatoriamente, con tanto di caproni e stelle a cinque punte per urlare la sua avversità contro il cristianesimo.
Reduce dai successi thrash/black degli anni '80 ("Under the Sign of Black Mark" e "Blood Fire Death") e da quelli viking dei primi anni '90 ("Hammerheart" e "Twilight Of The Gods"), il buon Quorthon dà alla luce due dischi controversi, "Requiem" (1994) e questo "Octagon" (1995), dischi che segnano un abbandono del viking metal sound acquisito negli ultimi anni in favore di un violento thrash metal stile Slayer di "Reign in Blood" e Kreator di "Pleasure to Kill". "Octagon", come il suo predecessore, venne ostracizzato dai fans dei Bathory, accusato di essere scarno del punto di vista sonoro e privo di nuove idee. Ad ogni modo, non lo ritengo affatto il miglior capitolo della band, ma questo disco è di decente fattura ed è proprio la sua registrazione "sporca" a renderlo cattivo e sinistro.
"Immaculate Pinetreeroad #930" apre l'olocausto sonoro sprigionato da questo lavoro, con un Quorthon che urla a squarciagola, sorretto da una batteria dai ritmi indiavolati (é proprio il caso di dirlo) e da una chitarra dalla distorsione quasi incomprensibile. L'intro melodico di "Born to Die" trae in inganno l'ascoltatore con un arpeggio sulfureo di chitarra e dopo circa 30 secondi si trasforma in un violento battito metallico. "Psychopath" è stilisticamente simile al precedente mentre "Sociopath" e "GRCY" riportano la band verso il massacro dei padiglioni auricolari del malcapitato ascoltatore. Segue "Century", un pezzo (diciamo) più tranquillo, "33 Something", il più violento del disco ed anche il più noioso per i miei gusti, e "War supply". "Schizianity" è uno dei miei preferiti, con la sua atmosfera doom che si avvicina ai Black Sabbath di "Master of Reality" e "Judgement of Posterity" torna con il suo martellamento di scuola thrash. Il lavoro si conclude con "Deuce" (cover dei Kiss), molto bella e ben suonata.
Ribadisco che non è il miglior disco partorito dalla mente di Quorthon, essendo mancante di originalità e per certi tratti ripetitivo, ma è pur sempre un passo della storia dei Bathory e se fosse stato, musicalmente, più elaborato avrebbe avuto un applauso più risonante dalla critica e dai loro fans.
Elenco tracce e testi
01 Immaculate Pinetreeroad #930 (02:46)
Sixteen years of age. The suburb sets the scene.
Sixteen years of rage withheld and concealed.
Doors locked. Curtains drawn. Rehearsals begins.
Preparations made. The axe gets a final trim.
Shadowed figures came at night. The hands would
clutch and strike his thighs. The kid would not even
be weeping. This kid pretending he's sleeping.
Immaculate Pinetreeroad #930
Kept within his young strained mind all this damn time.
Not a hint at what grew steadily inside.
The hate during prayer at supper and the surpressed
at school. The need to be able to strike back grew.
Memories of fingers penetrating. Years of terror
generating emotions functioning as fuel
when this kid walks down his parents room.
Parts of bodies found. The blood splattered all around
The result of the hate unleashed. Just one shot was heard.
This suburb neighbourhood disturbed. This pained mind
has found peace. In the backyard. Shotgun at his side.
Difficult to identify. Sixteen years of age and dead.
Sixteen years of rage to an end.
Immaculate Pinetreeroad #930
03 Psychopath (03:20)
I want to kill you and share with you my pain.
And if it thrills you I'll gladly kill again.
I want to maim you. Your throat a bleeding well.
And before your damned body's cold you're already in hell.
This is my anger. My hurt and my hate.
This is my f*cking despair.
This is my inside. My thorn and my ache.
This is my grind and my tare.
I want to tie you up. Make you beg for release.
I'll whip your body beyond sense. Cut you down piece by
piece.
I want to rape you. I'll leave you bleed in death.
This is my lust and my distorted needs.
This is my wrath and my pain.
This is my kind. This is my creed.
This is my body and brain.
This is my anger. My hurt and my hate.
This is my f*cking despair.
This is my inside. Mt thorn and my ache.
This is my grind and my tare.
This is my lust and my distorted needs.
This is my wrath and my pain.
This is my kind. This is my creed.
This is my body and brain.
04 Sociopath (03:10)
Kill. Kill them all. Pigs written in blood on the walls.
Your not entitle to accuse and judge one single man
if you allow all shit that's happening in this damned
rotten land. The pressure your damned system,
religion and school puts on our minds creates an all
collective pain that no damn walls can keep inside.
Do you really think that all evil and madness rests in me.
Do you think you're safe locking me up
and then throwing away the key.
Can't you see I'm out, man. Can't you see I'm free.
Can't you see I'm out, man. Can't you see I'm just
a product of a broken nation's shattered dream.
Death. Death to all. Pigs screaming, The blood runs
down the walls. You'll never be successful trying to
keep the madness behind these walls because the pain
comes from inside and creates chaos within all.
You can put me in the chair and watch me fucking fry.
But I am aware my death's a nation's alibi.
Do you really think that all evil and madness rests in me.
Do you think you're safe locking me up
and then throwing away the key.
Can't you see I'm out, man. Can't you see I'm free.
Can't you see I'm out, man. Can't you see I'm just
a product of a broken nation's shattered dream.
Can't you see I'm out man. Can't you see I'm free.
Kill. Kill them all. Pigs written in blood on the walls.
Your not entitle to accuse and judge one single man
if you allow all shit that's happening in this damned
rotten land. The pressure your damned system,
religion and school puts on our minds creates an all
collective pain that no damn walls can keep inside.
Do you really think that all evil and madness rests in me.
Do you think you're safe locking me up
and then throwing away the key.
Can't you see I'm out, man. Can't you see I'm free.
Can't you see I'm out, man. Can't you see I'm just
a product of a broken nation's shattered dream.
06 Century (04:08)
Freedom of speech and that of information.
To gather in prayer and for demonstrations.
Freedom to choose. Freedom found driving a car.
To posess a remote control and the right to arm.
Supermarket. Machine gun. Voices talk from inside.
Unemployment and touchdown. Holy book full of lies.
Suicidal intentions. There's no kingdom up high.
Presidential elections. Superman never dies.
Conservatism. Communism. Paganism. Nationalsocialism
Liberalism. Satanism. Christianity. Slavery. Anarchy. Lunacy.
Insanity. Mediocracy. Assorted Century.
Genetic disortion and UN resolutions.
Pro-life and abortions. The final solution.
Vivi-section. Disorder. Cosmetique for the disabled.
Civil crime watch camcorder. Cocained soft drink containers.
Amusement and passion. Files on serial killers.
Abusement and fashion. Queenies Asshole refillers.
Read my lips. Need I say there's a lot of shit on the hill.
But it all fits in the grave. Somewhat more darkness and
chill.
Sociopath. Psychopath. Autograph. Schizofrenia. Empathy.
Biography. All humanity. Majority. Minority. But then
regardless of which it's a f*cking damn assorted century.
Conservatism. Communism. Paganism. Nationalsocialism
Liberalism. Satanism. Christianity. Slavery. Anarchy. Lunacy.
Insanity. Mediocracy. Assorted Century.
Sociopath. Psychopath. Autograph. Schizofrenia. Empathy.
Biography. All humanity. Majority. Minority. But then
regardless of which it's a fucking damn assorted century.
07 33 Something (03:16)
Chained to the log. Handcuffed and drugged
Still pain is all you feel
A piece of meat that hardly breathes
Still much a human being
Forcing his way into your ass
John Wayne Gacy is near
Flesh will rip and bloody will flow
This death comes in your rear
One of 33 Something
All who were raped and bled
The last thing you will ever hear
before your fucking dead is...
Drink my cum, take my rum
Blooded hole, twisted soul
Eat my shit, suck my dick
Writhe in pain and die insane
With every breath inhale the stench
of lubrication shit and sweat
The smell of love the smell of human
blood and excrement
Once you've played with Mr. Gacy
there's no way out. No release
In the attic is all hell, then in the
basement you'll find peace
One of 33 something
All who were raped and bled
The last thing you will ever hear
before your fucking dead is...
Drink my cum, take my rum
Blooded hole, twisted soul
Eat my shit, suck my dick
Writhe in pain and die insane
Drink my cum, take my rum
Blooded hole, twisted soul
Eat my shit, suck my dick
Writhe in pain and die insane
09 Schizianity (04:17)
I'm but a shell, a frame of a man, I'm but a glimpse of
Whom I used to be, I'm no more life and lust
I'm only rich on time to spend venting my own spleen
I'm sick as hell, I am in desperate need of heeling
Need to feel salvation, or I might as well embrace death
I could never stand a world of sin and fornication
The world is full of whores, all this filth and heresy
I am a tool of the Lord, I have eternal life
The will of God was executed through my deeds
The voice of God I heard, all filth and unclean I
Disintegrated to prepare Gods paradise in this world
I read the holy writings, I read Matthew's 18th chapter
7th, 8th, 9th, and I realised what had to be done
And that I just had so little time
The world is so full of sin, blasphemy and sacrilege
For as I believe in him, I have eternal life after death
What have I done so wrong, why have they put me in this
Place without no windows, I'm no more life and lust
I'm only rich on time to spend venting my own spleen
The world is so full of fools, vagrant souls and lustful flesh
But as I believe in him, I have eternal life after death
10 Judgement of Posterity (05:11)
Ten million barrels at sea. Atmospheric temperature
increases.
Fourhundredthousand acres a day. Post-generation to pay.
Chimneys spew death day and night. Chemicals with every
bite.
Layer of mist in the sky. Filtering no more the light.
Toxic waste. Debris. On land, in the air and at sea.
You can't shut it out. With every breath reality.
This is the key. Objection of history. Now all that remains...
The judgement of posterity.
Toxic waste. Debris. On land, in the air and at sea.
You can't shut it out. With every breath reality.
This is the key. Objection of history. Now all that remains...
The judgement of posterity.
Substances lethal en masse. Genetical codes harassed.
Disassembled and distorted chains of DNA nourished
to breed life again. Elevated. Erected. Enriched.
Developed. Perfected and pitched. Educated. Equipped
and supreme. Initiated. Homo Sapiens. Human being.
Toxic waste. Debris. On land, in the air and at sea.
You can't shut it out. With every breath reality.
This is the key. Objection of history. Now all that remains...
The judgement of posterity.
Toxic waste. Debris. On land, in the air and at sea.
You can't shut it out. With every breath reality.
This is the key. Objection of history. Now all that remains...
The judgement of posterity.
Ten million barrels at sea. Atmospheric temperature
increases.
Fourhundredthousand acres a day. Post-generation to pay.
Toxic waste. Debris. On land, in the air and at sea.
You can't shut it out. With every breath reality.
This is the key. Objection of history. Now all that remains...
The judgement of posterity.
Toxic waste. Debris. On land, in the air and at sea.
You can't shut it out. With every breath reality.
This is the key. Objection of history. Now all that remains...
The judgement of posterity.
11 Deuce (03:42)
Get up
And get your grandma outta here
Pick up
Old Jim is workin' hard this year
And baby
Do the things he says to do
Baby, if you're feeling good
And baby if you're feeling nice
You know your man is workin' hard
He's worth a deuce
Honey
Don't put your man behind his years
And baby
Stop cryin' all your tears
Baby
Do the things he says to do
Do it
Baby, if you're feeling good
And baby if you're feeling nice
You know your man is workin' hard
He's worth a deuce
And baby, if you're feeling good
Yes baby if you're feeling nice
You know your man is workin' hard
Yeah
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