If there's one band that truly embodies anti-commercialism, it's
Emperor
. Generally regarded as the one true master of the Norwegian-bred
black metal
art form, the band concocts a staggeringly violent whirlwind of carefully constructed noise resulting in nigh-impermeable records piled high with complex arrangements and heart-bursting violence. So it's no surprise that, for its swan song, the band would issue
Prometheus
, a birth-to-death concept album of such weight and density that it takes roughly two dozen listens to even begin to appreciate the depth of its composition and its painstaking attention to detail. Accompanying the release of
was the announcement that it would be
's final word as a band, and listening to the record, it is increasingly apparent that the bandmembers were beginning to take divergent musical paths; drummer
Trym
and guitarist
Samoth
had started expressing more interest in gut-level power punches, while frontman
Ihsahn
wished to pursue more cerebral art, evident in his classical project
Thou Shalt Suffer
, and the strange, progressive output of side band
Peccatum
. With
and
investing the majority of their time in their relatively straightforward, speed-obsessed
black
/
death
unit
Zyklon
,
willfully conceived, wrote, and produced the psychologically rigorous record in its entirety, handling all vocals, bass, keyboards, programming, and the majority of guitar tracks himself. Earlier albums were certainly more collaborative, although
's influence was always prevalent in
's work. Previous release
IX Equilibrium
was more immediate and simply arranged, albeit still putting forth the brainy, symphonic battery of much-praised earlier records
In the Nightside Eclipse
Anthems to the Welkin at Dusk
-- but
is an altogether different beast that still manages to stay true to the
canon, boasting the group's best production to date with a mix that emphasizes clarity by pushing guitars to the forefront, more carefully integrating the keyboards, and bolstering the flat drum sound that marred previous recordings. In addition,
more cogently utilizes his variety of vocalizations, from mid-rangey black-throated screams to
King Diamond
-esque operatic singing to a deep, echoed spoken tone, all tying tightly into the lyrical story line. Meanwhile, a tangled maelstrom of instrumental madness swirls behind him, the occasional melody or riff leaping out of the storm like a viper striking out from thick brush -- a device that
easily mastered during their career. Middle three tracks
"The Prophet,"
"The Tongue of Fire,"
"In the Wordless Chamber"
are the album's most prominent manifestos, balancing memorable hooks with molten-hot, broiling ebullience, especially the latter track, which sports a Viking-horn call that rallies the chainmailed troops for battle.
"The Eruption"
is an apt opening cut, kicking in with a delicately ominous harpsichord intro before bursting with effervescent rage, and
"Thorns on My Grave"
is a fittingly cold, harsh, and chaotic finale to both
's legacy. Those willing to invest a significant amount of time into
will be thoroughly rewarded on intellectual and emotional levels -- especially when drawing parallels between the album's elaborate concept and
's musical reign -- while more practical listeners unwilling to slap on headphones and willfully ingest the lyrics will find the record impenetrable. Certainly,
will still stand as two of the genre's defining moments, both albums redefining the creative boundaries of
in the mid-'90s, but
should proudly stand beside them, full of sound and fury, signifying a whole hell of a lot:
, being all it can be, plunging the sword into its own breast after winning its most important battle (and possibly the war), willfully doing so before the plague of weakness has a chance to infiltrate its body. No act could be more anti-commercial. ~ John Serba