Originally written by Nin Chan
I still remember, quite vividly, the day that Black Witchery first invaded my pathetic, insignificant existence. I was a green, brash and impetuous young black metal enthusiast penning verbose reviews for LARM, clamorous for the one band that would leave me frothing at the mouth, unconscious from the violent audial battering issued by said magical outfit.
Then IT happened. You know damn fucking well what I’m talking about- the Black Witchery/ Conqueror split CD. THE record that started the ‘’war metal’’ trend, THE record that reawakened widespread fascination in forgotten works by Blasphemy, Sarcofagó and Beherit, THE record that rekindled flagging interest in the Aussie scene, THE record that had everyone and their mother stumbling over themselves to start a bullet-belted, spike-donning, elitist blackened grind band. Who would’ve thought ONE split CD (and such an uncompromising, unmusical one at that?) could have such profoundly universal appeal across the metal underground, or have seismic reverberations that continue to be felt throughout subterranean circles? In an era where American black metal’s brightest hopes appeared to be rawer, more despondent propositions like Judas Iscariot and Demoncy, Black Witchery irreverently joined forces with Krieg to reignite a dormant flame first lit by Profanatica, invoking a sonic beast that had been subdued for years.
Once again, expect nothing less than pure black war from these battle-weathered purveyors of crusty malevolence, heavily armored auditory homicide that remains impervious to any fathomable structure, melody or similar extraneous and surplus ornamentation. This is jet black hatred condensed and HAMMERED into succinct, sharply honed assault weapons, nuclear detonations masquerading as ‘’songs’’, intent only on pummeling you and your God into a bloody pulp. As per usual, the closest reference points are ancient American deities like Profanatica, VON and Necrovore, as well as an intimate artistic kinship with Parabellum, Abhorer, Nuclear Death and other similarly debauched merchants of blasphemy. Developing on a parallel path with comrades Revenge, Black Witchery continue to ply a largely impenetrable wall-of-noise style barrage that aesthetically REEKS of classic American black metal, oriented around exceedingly primitive chord progressions, obnoxiously relentless blastbeats and vile, corrosive vocals that bleed all over the gruesome sonic impiety.
In much the same way as Revenge’s latest, Upheaval Of Satanic Might is a thoroughly hypnotic affair, erecting formidable, impossibly dense and claustrophobic bursts of outrageous extremity that are simultaneously bludgeoning and mesmerizing. Also, contrary to popular opinion, there is much appreciable ‘’catchiness’’ in the record if you have the patience to unearth it- when the band gels into a coherent groove, they are INVINCIBLE, witness the Repulsion on amphetamines of “Heretic Death Call”, the bulldozing mincey crustcore of “Hellstorm of Evil Vengeance”, the Hellhammer at gabber speeds “Darkness Attack”. It is truly hard to fathom that a band so merciless and utterly uncompromising in execution could be so engrossing, Black Witchery managing to conjure an ungodly sense of atmosphere within the barbarous, acrid filth.
Of course, one may lament that songs run into one another, that there are few distinct moments that truly separate themselves from the rest of the bloodstained cacophony, but at 25 minutes, who really gives a fuck? Upheaval Of Satanic Might is a comprehensive experience to be digested as a whole, again and again. It was not sculpted to be a collection of marked plateaus and valleys, and therefore cannot be evaluated as a set of individual composite songs, rather it functions as a cohesive assault on the senses, segmented into ten cruel movements. Many try, but few even BEGIN to approach the menace that Black Witchery project through their blood-splattered arias. Granted, this is a band that all but the most depraved and twisted individuals will shun and despise, but the patient few who remain will be rewarded with some of the most blatant, yet masochistically delightful brutality to ever be pressed on plastic.
