Ah, springtime in San Francisco. A magical, enchanted time, to be sure, characterized by torrential downpours of rain and the occasional gust of hurricane-grade wind. Today is no exception.
As I gaze through my murky, precipitation-flecked window this afternoon, ethereal whisperings of utter despair and total defeat pulse at my temples, beckoning from the yawning abyss as darkness closes in and the very air drips with prediluvian menace.
Today is a day for Funeral Moth.
Hailing from Japan and featuring former members of Coffins and Congenital Hell, Funeral Moth belong firmly (and unsurprisingly) in the fetid, depressing genre known as "funeral doom". Their sound is pure audio torment, or as their Last.FM page cheerily exclaims:"The band create absolutely unique morbid atmosphere by extremely simple and slow rhythms combined with ultra heavy riffs, eerie guitar melodies, and deep growls from hell!"
Indeed. Not usually my kind of thing, but perfect for a day like today. And the weird, off-time shit they tend to throw in seven minutes in to a fourteen minute song are a bonus, as well as the torturous, Eye-esque vocal contortions that pop up here and there. Two tracks. Half an hour. Pure pain and evil.
(PS: If you're wondering what Funeral Moth would sound like if combined with John Carpenter synth jams played at the wrong speed, head on over to From This Swamp and check out Fungoid Stream. Cryptic, pulsating stuff -- thanks to abdul for posting.)
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Lo! What's this? That newly unleashed Fungoid Stream album proves to be elusive and mercurial, flickering at the edge of my peripheral vision. After several days of contemplatively listening to Ahulabrum, the Mothman of black metal bands, it's a bit eerie to see this flutter in front of my windshield. What kind of ill omen is this?
Part of the lattice of coincidence? Or mere diversion as a larger apparatus slides into place? The Old Ones work in mysterious ways...
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