In Carbon Mysticism
Well, it’s metal. Dark, black, shiny metal. I can tell because of the vocalist — regular rockers aim for the operatic high notes, Dark Metal guys go for a low, throat-ripping growl that I can’t imaging making without going mute. It must be the pain and depression of life. Life. Grim, burdensome life with only a wall of noise to comfort and shield from the press of cute kitten pictures and birthday parties and summer breezes. I guess you have to live it to feel it.
Winterus takes a very layered approached to the art of building metal. You can feel and follow each instrument with ease. On top of everything is a skilled, exciting guitar line, soaring like Emerson, Lake, and Palmer on a particularly ostentatious solo. The drumming is single-minded and frankly not very exciting. It’s a tap-tap-tap staccato of sixteenth notes occasionally leavened with a light touch of bell, and the bass is a fuzzed-up wall of sound that recalls a power company wood chipper. Winterus is an acquired taste, and not one that cute kittens are likely to pick up.