Heavy metal is capable of a lot of things. [Insert witty headbanging and moshing analogies here] But when that one record effortlessly plasters a shade on your entire waking life, you know it’s a moving one. Metal really starts to show its power. Behold: The latest offering from Profetus, As All Seasons Die.
They call it funeral doom, but it bleeds outside of these confines to unlock more than just drear upon a lethargic snare drum. It’s a slow draining of time, where dismal places find, they too, can be uplifting.
The opener, “The Rebirth of Sorrow,” blossoms under the tick of acoustic chords and the organ. But what happens next raises a haunting question: How can a piece be sad and fulfilling at once? “A Reverie (Midsummer’s Dying)” does indeed carry phrasing that’s so thick, it leaves traces of its mournful chime in your head for hours. Accompanied by rich harmonies, “Dead Are Our Leaves of Autumn” peels layer after layer with pronounced cymbals. And then, we meet the lengthy ending of “The Dire Womb of Winter,” summoning deep vocals to shatter what once was.
The record rakes up a mere four songs, but the substance does stretch. But the more antsy listener is not ignored; there’s also “Dead Are Our Leaves of Autumn,” finishing before eight minutes; folks attracted to guitar solos will find comfort in this track too, as emotive, electric notes scratch here and there. But hardly any piece compares to the overwhelming woe of “A Reverie,” and the gloomy whine of the organ is our little moping culprit.
This whole thing is a preserving of a melancholic moment, sweeping you up and drifting you off to some twilit space. As All Seasons Die naturally goes there, and that’s what makes this so chillingly believable.