Fire Walk With Us
Mercenary / World War III
Some of the promotional material for Fire Walk With Us touts head screamer Attila Csihar as the “official shaman vocalist,” and if that means that he’s the Black Metal Jim Morrison, suddenly a lot of things fall into place. As lead vocalist on Mayhem’s bleakest hour, “De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas,” Attila surely gave a performance that was a modern successor, in terms of weary nihilism, to Morrison’s death rattle on “The End.” Bear with me, I was trying to bridge generational gaps there. Attila gave a wrenching musical exorcism that purged all of the hate and darkness that clouded black metal during the church burning years, and after channeling that, cleared his own way for unfettered experimentation and self-expression. Enter Aborym.
After seeing some live photos of Aborym’s outrageous and sacred/profane garb, my curiosity was further piqued. Extra points for the Twin Peaks referencing album title and the Old Skool band logo, complete with two Iron Crosses and barbed wire. All bets are off as Aborym gleefully slice up and collage the combined canons of metal and industrial, creating a manic schizophrenic melding of styles that comes off as completely natural. And way better than Fear Factory. Aborym avoid the pitfalls that befell the Kovenant by melding current industrial and metal sounds to their singular experimental and alien vision. A less self-conscious Cynic or Deicide with a Frank Zappa fetish is a good starting point.
I quite enjoy this record, and I’m even looking beyond Attila’s superlative vocals. Catchy but bloodthirsty riffing, well-placed electronic soundtraps, and metronomic galeforce percussion augment the core song structures. Aborym exists in a dark dimension of voodoo fetish objects, cold spires, dark shapes and UFO conspiracy cults. Attila’s vocals are still as forbidding and cold as ever, even down to the recording quality — ice! The tape sounds parched. He wretches and groans and utters dark curses against the body politic. Aborym is the ultimate manifestation of the postmodern urban jungle end times — all of the bleakness hidden in our collective unconscious comes spewing out at a rate of millions of miles per second. The damage is already so deep that it cannot be undone.