This is black metal stripped down to its skeletal essence — bashin' and thrashin'. But Tangorodrim demonstrates that just because it's pure doesn't mean it's not shit. In fact, the attempts here to be pure give way to boring repetition and horrid, bland ideas. Each track offers a couple of riffs and a drum pattern that regurgitates itself until it dies. And the band uses this cycle endlessly. In fact, it sounds like the record one makes only in the afterthought of a liberal drinking session.
Now, repeating the same motifs to no end is a common theme in black metal. Its aim is to becomes trance-like, attempting to disengage the mind. But Tangorodrim, instead, recycle dull themes and motifs that go nowhere and do nothing. Instead of awe one just feels annoyed, especially as the vocalist, buried under a sludgy production, groans and screams on and on about bloody journeys and killing priests.
When not drenched in feedback, the band sometimes attempts to be "catchy" and "dynamic," grabbing and defiling ideas from early punk. But it almost always dissolves into a disjointed mess. In its pursuit of the "true" spirit of pure, unfiltered black metal, this album staggers from the start and never fully recovers. But if you're like Tangorodrim, you'll be too drunk to actually give a shit.
Kent Alexander writes about music for Metro Times. Send comments to email@example.com.