A Bleak King Cometh is like a molotov cocktail casually tossed into the stave church of black metal orthodoxy. There might be tremolo-picked riffs, gnashed teeth and blastbeats aplenty, but the trio explode, expand and fragment their grainy, frost-patterned palette in order to incorporate a delirious mix of noise, electronica, ambient and industrial influences.
The band self-describe as “ancient future black metal” which is as helpful as it is not. It certainly gives a surface-level sense of how they blend gnarled primitivism with programmed electronics, synths and beats, but, as with Agriculture’s “ecstatic black metal” or Cryptic Shift’s “phenomenal technological astrodeath” it also pre-loads the listener’s expectations to suggest there might be a degree of glibness or irony at play: that things might be intentionally Stuckist-baiting at best, ironic or gimmicky at worst.
True enough, it’s not a record that’s likely to find favour with those who prefer black metal’s rawest, most rigid parameters, but it’s also a serious and enveloping piece of work that deserves to be approached as such rather than with a smirk and a half-raised eyebrow. Much like death metallers Blood Incantation – with whom Qasu seem to share an affection for aliens, alternate histories and science-fiction conceptualising – it’s best to approach the weirdness and potential fuckery of it all with an open mind in order that it may be basked in wholesale, rather than toe-dipped as a chortling outside observer.
‘The Bitter Waters Of The Abyssal Sea’ opens with a moment of plush ambience before descending into a pit of industrialised terror that suggests Godflesh by way of Mayhem. A simple, unhealthy riff slurps malevolently, underpinned by rippling electronics and a series of goetic mutters before a series of wavering, Broadrickian harmonics make a desperate skyward bid for freedom. This is followed by the ‘Jewels Where The Eyes Once Were’, which earns its creepy, Robert Aickman-esque title by blending dappled New Age synths with an elevated-heartbeat kick drum before taking a madcap dive into claw-handed riffing and painfully-howled incoherencies. The mood is then well and truly curdled with further ambient abstractions and vocal noises that sound like shadowy things greedily sucking marrow from freshly-cracked bones.
What’s likely to be the tipping point for many listeners – particularly those still vainly clinging to the hope of a more traditional, linear approach to black metal – manifests with ‘Death Dreams’. While all manner of horrors have been gleefully suggested and portrayed in black metal’s name (consider the endless Christs, nuns and goats that have been slaughtered, splayed and violated in the name of myriad t-shirt designs and album sleeves…), Rahsaan Sagan’s auto-tuned vocals might just be a blasphemy too far. If the idea of quavering, transhuman vocal lines gliding in and out of such stark, craggy terrain seems like an uncomfortable fit on paper, the effect actually makes a strange sort of sense. Underpinned by gliding synth lines and bubbles of percussion the vocals drip a sort of ectoplasmic residue before fading away, cut short by a series of hydraulic-press crunches that see things violently revved toward deafening levels. It’s uncanny and effective, and bewildering enough that it makes the incessant, curling mire and subterranean excavations of follow-up track ‘They Drag Unfortunate Mortals’ seem like welcome respite by comparison.
If there’s anything like a safe point of entry here, it’s probably ‘Faith In Violence’. The song features the album’s catchiest and most clearly-delineated riffing, even as it shape-shifts from dirging trudge to clamorous blasts. There’s even some unexpected prettiness thrown into the mix: a tapering melody that conjures images of something that was once celestial spiralling towards Earth as the sun slowly begins to set.
‘The Long Knives Of The King’ begins with subtle John Carpenter invocations before dissembling into a smeared, feverish horrorscape that’s equal parts Abruptum and Boards Of Canada. Things close out with ‘An Orchard Of Bone Flues’, which initially offers a sense of tranquil respite before layering in a series of muffled, inchoate howls and guttural, breathy invocations. Finally, there is a leisurely spreading of leathery wings and the sense that something unimaginable is taking flight in order to do battle with an enfeebled, demented God.
That this potentially chaotic, counterintuitive mix of sounds and styles manages to make cohesive sense is striking, even more so given how immersive and compelling A Bleak King Cometh manages to be. It is alien but not alienating, mixing the visceral with the cerebral and, on occasion, a joyfully demonic sense of play. Shapeshifters like Darkthrone and Ulver have shown that it is possible to create viable, landmark works of black metal while appreciating and exploring other creative avenues. While these might be heritage acts, the same outré approach and restlessness of spirit can be detected in diverse lesser-knowns like Thantifaxath, Oranssi Pazuzu, T.O.M.B. and the interlinked worlds of Wold and Black Mecha: artists who understand what makes black metal tick, but want to force its slippery substance into new shapes rather than be bound by expected norms. Newcomers they might be, but Qasu appear to be made of similarly strange stuff: amorphous, evocative and detail-rich, and capable of blurring the line between dreams and nightmares to dizzying, frequently psychedelic effect.
