Who, exactly, decides which bands get the blacklist treatment, and when? Why are certain bands, at particular points in their careers, just expected to drop a turd, and the expectations of said dung heap earn them revilement long before a second of the album is even heard? Is there some all-seeing Lord of the Underground that has his hand on the kill switch for the reputations of long-respected acts?
Those of us without our finger on the button demand clarification, because the latest band to be snubbed by the cool kids is veteran black metal act Watain. While their career to this point has certainly formed an arc towards more accessible material, nothing they had done had earned them universal betrayal from the corpse-painted masses. But then some word of a Black Album-ish sellout began circulating about The Wild Hunt, and before even a note of the ballad met ears, Watain had inexplicably become an unhip band.
This is as unfortunate as it proves to be ridiculous, because of the hour presented here, a good 2/3 still sounds like the Watain you would expect at this point: a mix of ever-so-catchy black metal and full-on blistering blastness, with key variety added to really give the album a sense of flow and texture. For example, “De Profundis” charges forth from the intro track with prickly leads and blasts, while “Black Flames March” quickly adapts this sound with an eerie mood and touches of bombast. “The Child Must Die” likewise alters the formula, bringing a kind of darkened black metal (or blackened dark metal) that progresses perfectly into a soaring passage of emotive tremolo melodies.
The Wild Hunt is glued together by a few big time winners, typically those songs that look directly to other masters of the underground for inspiration. With its thudding drumming and brooding atmosphere, the methodic title track owes a direct debt to Viking-era Bathory, particularly the somber tones of Twilight of the Gods, and Swedes present are damn adept at imitating Swede past. The ensuing tune, “Outlaw,” rips in an Absuian fashion while adding an extended (and rockin’) guitar solo and some huge chanting just for good measure. The album drags ever-so-slightly after this point, and a touch of self-editing may have done Watain some good, but these types of self-explorations – bits of mariachi guitar and all (seriously) – work best when every single impulse is indulged.
Speaking of indulging… we arrive finally at the song that has people just freaking out, the balladish “They Rode On.” To the right ears, it is quite a good track, and its placement on The Wild Hunt doesn’t feel odd after repeated spins. However, as a kind of mish-mash of Love-era The Cult and light, gothy Tiamat, it probably won’t find any immediate fans among the more close-minded Casus Luciferi diehards, but this doesn’t mean that it was some jab at commercialism. Really, anyone who thinks this was an attempt at radio play is goddamned delusional, because there aren’t exactly any radio stations out there dying to play songs that sound like eight minutes of Johan Edlund crooning over sweet lead guitars. (That said, if someone knows of such a station, clue me in, because I’d quite enjoy more.)
Rather than going for the hit, it is far more likely that Watain was just bored with doing the same shtick for 15+ years, and wanted to dip a couple toes into new waters. But it must be stated how much the fear of change surrounding this album has grown out of proportion to reality. Foul-criers will still find fuel in how The Wild Hunt fails to quite match some of the band’s earlier, more “orthodox” material in terms of sheer quality, but even they would have to admit that it’s far better than all of the (a)band(on)wagoners predicted. As is always the case when purveyors of “extreme” art come down from their murderous heights a tad, the quality is what matters, and this is yet another fine Watain album. Damn fine to the right ears.
