Alchemisland

Fuil Na Seanchoille (Blood of the Old Forest)

The deep memory behind this invocation affiliates with various non-BM groups. Kromosom, GELD, Fag Enablerz, Fuck You Written in Shit, Nerdlinger, Nuclear Death Terror, to name just a few.

It’s not only the course of punkmetal leys this musician probes, as recent synth forays illustrate. Enter MetaTyrant. This is the music playing in whatever big meg crackden Judge Dredd is shaking down tonight. When the Alien space jockey gets tired of Autechre, this is what he reaches for. Sounds stolen from debt addled futures. Retro causal loops inside cassette tapes vomiting yesterday onto today, in the putrid pile trace the circumference of the analogoroborous. William S. Burroughs and William Gibson injecting each other with radiation-infused heroin to induce revelatory fiction.

Fuil Na Seanchoille, hereon FNS, draw thematic inspiration from the charnel centuries Ireland spent under British occupation. This period of strife by necessity forced much of the Irish spirit into the shadows, a long katabasis spent alongside the deposed Tuatha, whose homes were beneath the old stones. Inspired by VON, early Burzum.

Raw shit sporting a circular, pacey feeling that evokes the rhythms, but not the tones, of Ulver’s Bergtatt. Hypnotic. Vocals liberated of harmony. Shaved to their constituent raw ingredients then wailed into the void. Inhuman screams scraped from Hell’s foulest spiritual grease trap.

Herein evince the grievances of an anguished culture scribed in their native tongue; a language voided by imperial decree, itself an hangover from antiquity, better served to casting curses and spoiling good milk than giving visiting Yanks directions to the Blarney Stone.

Here, find fury and blood-stored ire which courses through Irish veins. Here, find famine anger in the blight-blacked hands of forebears, sonically summoned for your listening pleasure.