Not much these days has an organizing principle, but such a thing does not need to be complicated: songs need to sound like some kind of experience, real or imagined, and all their parts need to support that vision.
Horrifier combine early horror grindcore like Repulsion and Impetigo with more recent efforts such as Tenebro or Gwar, coming up with a musical take on the cinematic panic and paranoia of a good horror film.
Expect ripping first-five-fret riffs with bounding rhythms, tied together on a moment of not only suspension of disbelief, but suspension of normal life, colliding through rhythm and brief melodic hook to create a world of terror.
Not bad, but things are still looking bleak. The average metal fundie still mixes happenstance the classics with turd sandwiches.
Sometimes I wonder if the avarage metalhead may actually be dumber and more tone deaf than a normie, because they’re literally listening to old Darkthrone on one hand, and then afterwards with a hungry sloppy kiss put on Opeth and/or the bad latter Death albums like it’s nothing. We’ve established before 99% of metal is normie-invasion, but I say it’s even worse, as it’s more like the chaos spawn of the fecal Tzeentch of AIDS.
So when you’re promoting something decent around here, 90% of your dedicated readers will know know more or less what you’re saying and often agree. The AIDS-spawn majority will however go like “Sammath, fuck yeah bro, but you’re saying Ulver is bad WTF?!”
That’s the real “horrifier”. I don’t know how any of you are still wearing band-shirts, collect merch and still go gigs, knowing you’re inevitably going to get lumped by the normie-spawns into the Pantera cesspool.
I agree here. Much of my early years as a metalhead were spent separating the sheep from the goats, but people now seem to want music like air conditioning, a pleasant background that does not make them uncomfortable, not some kind of artistic, spiritual, or philosophical journey. But all the best music, books, cinema, and art are that kind of journey.
You can’t curtail your tastes because they’ve been co-opted by posers. That’s just another kind of posing. Who gives a fuck how a normie perceives you? That of itself is a normie way of being. I wear my Maiden tee as proudly as my Morbid Angel tee. Ultimately it’s about how wearing it makes YOU feel. Wanting to do something but not doing it for reasons outside you is pussy shit.
I really enjoy the Platonic ideal of Iron Maiden, but so far, I have only bonded with Killers. It seems to me their peak, by not being perfect; it is still an inner fight between prog, punk, and NWOBHM with each coming forth at its greatest strength and fading away where it is weak.
Since I’ve seen The Man With Two Brains 1983, I’ve been following that ideal by default. I don’t own any “metal clothing”, I just dress normally, and that works. Kathleen Turner was extremely evil and convincing in that movie, seeing she also looks and talks like me somewhat. I thought, this is how it’s done.
Most adrenochrome guzzling, child-sacrifing-to-baal, banker elites also look and dress like regular people, even if they have that creepy pedophile reptilian look to them.
Ildjarn had the same philosophy, dress like a normie asshole, because a wolf in sheep’s clothing is so much fun.
Adding to this, I have nothing to communicate to normies because they will not understand it because (like Leftists and Christians) their strategy is to repeat “I don’t understand, I am the exception” until the person behind the counter (bureau) does what they want. The bureaucracy arises from the middle classes, and normies learn to manipulate it early on at their means-over-ends jobs and social events. For this reason, they are thinking in entirely different terms than I am, and my ideas do not even have context in their world. I want them to see me as part of the background because they have nothing that I want, and they will see me as a threat and therefore sabotage what I do, so best to just let them move out of the way so I can do what needs be done without observation. If an empire falls in the forest and no one is around to hear, does it still make a sound?
I mean my toaster works too but it’s a stupid silver piece of shit that’s neither ugly nor beautiful that my girlfriend ordered from Amazon because it’s cheap and I have to cut my slices of bread (necessarily pre-sliced because the slots are so narrow) in half (necessary because the slots are so short). My hideous old countertop toaster oven, covered in tattoos and piercings and always wearing that old circle jerks shirt with the sleeves cut off and who occasionally forgets to zip up after taking a piss so that some strangers have certainly seen its penis, brought me much more joy with huge slices of sourdough toast smothered in butter and garlic powder, salt, pepper and red chili flakes, than this stupid piece of shit toaster that “works”, even if it toasts my gay little quarter slices of bread quite quickly. My stupid girlfriend has inverted the form-function relationship because she doesn’t want an ugly toaster in her kitchen, which is what I would do too if I was childishly concerned with the opinion of other people rather than intuit a joie de vivre within a reasoned recklessness.
The Merch Question (MQ) is a non-starter and means nothing with regards to ones’ degree of psychological liberation. Sometimes I wear a bunch of jewelry and a longsleeve, maybe throw on my fringed leather pants and combat boots, sometimes it’ll just be a plain white t shirt and blue jeans, throw on my chacos because it’s hot out. Just depends on how I feel. But I’m a looker no matter what I do, so I get to have fun with it.
I refuse to wear jeans. Prole clothing.
I too often prefer the silken and bejeweled robes proffered upon his Lordship of which he’s lately grown less fond…oh you should come along with us one of these days, we’ll take the horses, it’s an absolute gas, love, we throw the old scraps into the square and the folk come along with magnificent mooning grins and brightened eyes, wrapping themselves up in scarves and bracelets, the womens braids festooned with woven patterns like verdant ivy clambering along a stout and handsome wall; the next day the boys’ scabbards are a celebration of color, and this only a pitiful memory of what it once was, proud banners and gowns that recall the heights of the soul. Jeans indeed.
We will know society has healed when it is a bunch of functional people carefully forgetting what happened to the other 98.6%.
It’s because some people loosely grasp quality without understanding why. It’s probably the deeply ingrained aversion to hierarchy that I experience as well and I see as a sort of primitive anarchistic force which has its place on any scale. This explains why I can show someone morgoth and they love it and then they can start talking about how everything is cool except Nazis, and if you’re a Nazi you need to be punched in the face. Beyond the obvious fact that everyone should be punched in the face, I get the sentiment, but if you’re going to start making definite assertions like that then you must have a reason, and that to the degree that you aspire and act to understand (among other things). These poor souls have not yet yet been sufficiently exposed to their own reasoning, for reasons ultimately unknowable.
And who gives a fuck what anyone thinks about what you’re wearing. Faggots like you get me horny for some ASS. You won’t forget the image in the mirror, black nails, coffin nails, chains and tigers eye, bats and ravens and dead men in tarnished silver, blasphemy longsleeve, stoned speedy gonzales tattoo, the stink of shit and the motel conditioner mingling in the damp sheets where your gasping and excruciated face burrows as if to escape the unbearable truth of my load.
Well don’t stop there… go on…