Satyricon - Now, Diabolical

Rating: 1.0

Country: Norway

Release Date: 2006

Track list:
1.   Now, Diabolical   05:30
2.   K.I.N.G.   03:36
3.   The Pentagram Burns   05:38
4.   A New Enemy   05:47
5.   The Rite of Our Cross   05:45
6.   That Darkness Shall Be Eternal   04:46
7.   Delirium   05:38
8.   To the Mountains   08:09

Total playing time   44:49

Band Website: Satyricon

Satyricon - Now, Diabolical

Satyr - Vocals, Bass, Guitars, Keyboards
Frost (Kjetil Vidar Haraldstad) - Drums
Steinar "Azarak" Gundersen - Guitars

In all fairness -- something you won't find much of below this paragraph -- I pretty much hated this album before I heard it; the concept of commas in album titles is almost as annoying as the Korn/Meshuggah school of RaNdOmLy CaPiTaLiZeD LeTtErS. Still, due to my close-mindedness, I regard all albums that I haven't yet got around to stealing as foreign objects that are useless to me, so that I was initially suspicious of this window-licking failure doesn't disqualify me from molesting it. Alright, think back to the last few zombie films you saw. There was invariably a scene in one of them in which someone, probably named Miggs or something, couldn't bring himself to shoot the flesh-eating form of his old friend/lover/family member, because it shared traits of the person it used to be, yes? And then Miggs' entrails were subsequently pulled out. I feel as if I'm in a similar situation writing about Satyricon's horrid degeneration; not only am I thoroughly displeased to give a poor review to a band whose first couple albums were so enjoyable in their own right, but in this shambling husk, there are subtle traces of the band they used to be, albeit twisted into some soulless, hatefully moaning parody. The difference between Miggs and I, however, is that I'm not afraid to pull the trigger.

Ceci n'est pas une black metal album. This is rock. Now, when I say "rock," don't get the idea this is some sort of watery-eyed, nostalgic backtrack into the days of Venom and Celtic Frost. Oh no, that would be too nice. Although the respective progressions of the "big" Norwegian black metal names are often lumped together, this is nothing like the recent releases of, say, Darkthrone and Carpathian Forest. Those two have long since strayed from their path of epic romanticism and into the realm of crusty, thrashy, basically just metal; if you can't appreciate that in theory, you probably can't appreciate Hellhammer, and if you can't appreciate Hellhammer, you're probably a hippie and we can never be friends. Satyricon, however, insist upon maintaining the sterility and uberpolish of their "post-black metal" turds Rebel Extravaganza and Volcano, which both succeeded only in proving recent Satyricon to basically just be a retarded version of Thorns (except the members of Satyricon probably don't delight in giving strangers uncomfortably long hugs). The result is an unfortunate marriage of contemporary black metal pastiches and a listless array of whitewashed AC/DC grooves seemingly rotating forever like some insidious perpetual boredom machine sadistically contrived on Planet Hate.

This is how I like to imagine Now, Diabolical was conceived: "Fuel For Hatred" was a subpar rock number from Satyricon's last precious little mistake that Satyr once boasted about writing in five point two seconds or something; while listening to this song in a Satyr-shaped citadel constructed from small golden statues painstakingly crafted in his own image, Satyr thought, "I know, I'll make an entire album like this!" He then shouted, "muse! Take notes!" A hunchbacked butler sluggishly hobbled into Satyr's secret lair and before his throne, wheezed "yes, sire!" and began jotting upon a scroll with a quill pen lines of jarring insight such as: "fuck you / you can never win!" Those are actual lyrics, by the way. You may wanna lay off the Kant, guys; your subject matter's getting a tad too lofty for radish-farming philistines like myself. Lyrically, I have to give this band credit for actually degenerating since Volcano -- not many people have the writing chops, or lack thereof, to get much worse than embarrassments like "Angstridden." Lines like "climbing down to rule the world," among other declarations of vague arrogance concrete the elitism of black metal, once meaningful and derived from pride rather than ironic, politically correct supervillain posturing (Hello Dodheimsgard, enjoying your 15 minutes?), as a new fashion accessory for grubby hipster mall-urchins.

The performance is bored. Frost is an admittedly excellent drummer (check out 1349 instead), but you wouldn't know it just by listening to the meek, pitter-patter rhythm section of Now, Diabolical. And how does Satyr think his vocals are adequate, even for music this lethargic and depressingly vacuous? Aside from his Popeye-reading-gothic-poetry spoken word drama, his only apparent talent is the ability to sound mildly snide, but in more of a "keep it down in the library" sort of snide than "invert the anus of Jesus" sort of snide. Despite this general sense of idleness, among the technical imperfections of Now, Diabolical, well, there aren't many. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I begin to suspect these songs were written specifically to appeal to the subliterates at Metal-Archives who write like this: "... Guitars: The guitar Riffs are really good, and they Play some good black metal riffs Because they are good. Vocals: Awesome vocals give the album it's visciousness! THis is reason to support REAL metal what do you listen to ---> Green Day? lol gaytarded. Drums: good, The album is good and it's fast rythm Really gives it a good beat. this is a Good album. \m/"

Unfortunately, Satyr seems to think that his music not technically sucking when reduced to its most basic elements gives it license to not have any electricity or passion as a coherent whole. The album is riddled with go-nowhere breaks that meander about errantly, presumedly until you forget that the song you're listening to places verse/chorus pop repetition on a higher pedestal than that of compelling riff development. It isn't all indistinguishable, I suppose; you'll find a bluesy lead here, a Celtic Frost fanboy-pandering brass horn backdrop there, but they do little more than facilitate a perpetual atmosphere of nondescript melancholy that renders each song vaguely gloomy yet ultimately emotionally depleted and, well, retired. Maybe Satyricon should follow suit.

The consistent truth linking the otherwise vastly diverging Satyricon albums, from renaissance fair medieval bullshit to post-apocalyptic industrial bullshit, is that the entire discography can be seen as a gradual shift from the narrative cut & paste bombast defining the earliest recordings to a more concise rock n' roll thing. Yes, before you hurl your replica battle axes at me, I'll confess the band still regurgitates the occasional 10 minute black metal trudge consisting of about two tremolo riffs (sadly not absent here), but it's invariably sandwiched between a bunch of unfortunate arena rock-on-painkiller shambles. As such, this album is the current (I venture to say "current" because I imagine it's still all tragically downhill from here) compositional nadir of Satyricon's career. Does it even once attempt to challenge or stir you? No; instead the songs strafe and cower at the mercy of a completely inoffensive formula like a beaten child as Satyr feigns imperious egotism hoping you don't notice. Sure, that fucking "K.I.N.G." song emerges from the homogeneous muck of the rest of the album by managing to be really catchy, but so is "My Humps."

Now, Diabolical is a Roadrunner release, so you know what to expect when it comes to production, but I feel I must discuss the audibility of the bass guitar in the mix. There's none. Granted, the bassist -- probably Satyr -- doesn't really do anything, but I still want to fucking hear it. I badger a lot of bands about their weak bass (and they should be thankful for the opportunity, the ingrates), but listen to the first minute or so of "K.I.N.G.", when the particular instrument is arguably most prominent, and you'll understand why this is a special case. I've heard Mega Man midis with a more lethal bass tone. You know an album sucks when you instead yearn for the sweet hooks of a track like "Level 3: Cut Man."

If Satyricon was a character in an opera, his leitmotif would be a fart. Now, Diabolical is a flamboyantly dreadful excursion into a minefield of ennui and artistic compromise, and if its existence serves only one purpose, it's proving that in music, pomposity and structural simplicity can indeed intersect. For the six or seven remaining Satyricon fans who care enough about music to be reading this, I'm not mad about your abusive relationship, I'm just disappointed. How much longer will you allow this band to tell you that they only hit you because they love you?

May 21st, 2008