Stygian Ruin – A World Past Hope And Fear Review

EVERYTHING LOUDER THAN EVERYONE ELSE

For as long as motors have had heads, that turn of phrase has been one of our most sacred heavy metal credos. And even before then, Sir Ian Gillan scribed a similar edict—“Could we have everything louder than everything else?”—in the deepest and heaviest of purple tomes. Conclusion: For those who bow, curtsy and submit to the omniscient riff, we generally like it loud. Loud and proud, baby. Loud, we wanna hear it loud, right between the eyes.

But what if… WHAT IF…

What if some hero (or heroes) figured out how to make heavy metal that sounds just as good turned down low as it does cranked to the point of cranial detonation? Heavy metal that, for some willful and curious reason, appears nonchalant about spending an equal share of its time faintly trickling out of a phone propped next to some metal lord’s pillow at night. On paper, the concept not only seems rather ridiculous, it’s maybe even a little… insulting? Naaaah, metal fans are all super easy going and open to counter intuitive experimentation. [falls down twenty flights of stairs, sending top secret papers flying]

Well, Norway’s Stygian Ruin produces music that sounds just as good quiet as it does loud, and said music will do the deed on most any type of speaker, even the crappy cup version your kid slapped together the night before the science fair. Despite this, however—and I cannot stress the following point enough—A World Past Hope and Fear is absolutely not some sort of novelty album. Is its quiet strength a unique fortuity? Yes, for certain. But it’s likely unintentional because… Well, why in fricken blazes would anyone of metal mind set out to do such a thing., right? More than likely, this curiosity is simply a byproduct of Stygian Ruin’s elected mode of transportation, which is a form of fantastical atmospheric black metal sprouted from pure dungeon synth roots.

DON’T RUN AWAY YET.

I’m sure there are any number of very deadly serious people out there generally equate dungeon synth with Dungeons & Dragons, $80 Casiotones and bloodless nerds who still have curfews, but this project is decidedly different. First and foremost, instead of the Mortiis School of Dungeonry—an institution I am personally quite fond of—principal Stygian Ruin architect E.R. (probably not Eddie Rabbitt, though I’d put a C-note on the chance that this guy also loves a rainy night) appears to have graduated with honours from the John Carpenter School of Synthology and Soundtrack Design. This gives A World Past Hope and Fear an extremely satisfying sense of ‘80s horror suspense without, you know, outright plagiarizing something like Halloween. It’s an atmosphere that mixes seamlessly with the other face of Stygian Ruin: a form of strangely hushed black metal that falls in line with, say, Paysage d’Hiver, classic Ruins of Beverast, or early Runespell, all of which deliver music that sounds as if it rolled in off funeral or hyperborean winds.

There are but two songs on A World Past Hope and Fear, yet both stretch past the 15-minute mark, which is clearly characteristic of our old friend dungeon synth. The pair flow seamlessly together by conjuring very similar moods, and both put a strong emphasis on a very equitable fusion between dark ambient outer space synth blip-bloopery and an epic form of whooshing black metal that underscores crumbling vocals that sound buried by time and dust. Adding further to their harmony, everything is wrapped in an extraordinarily satisfying sense of wistful introversion—as if the hardships have already been met, fought and mourned, so all that’s left to do moving forward is to remember and revere.

Though the songs are quite similar in overall narrative and scope (curiously named in observance of Mars’ two natural satellites), there are of course differences in the many folds and shifts that slowly unfurl as the album plays. The opening “Phobos” has an even stronger Ruins of Beverast vibe, particularly around the 10:30 point, where distant war drums and a vocal approach quite similar to Meilenwald’s croon swoop into the spotlight to give the song a touch of a “Soliloquy of the Stigmatised Shepherd” vibe. The song also showcases a notably playful bass, which really comes to light when the album is cranked on a nice pair of headphones. YES, THE ALBUM ALSO SOUNDS GREAT LOUD, WHICH IS HOW I’M LISTENING TO IT AT THIS VERY MOMENT, AND ALSO THE REASON WHY I’M CURRENTLY SHOUTING.

The subsequent “Deimos” is equally as dark, sorrowful and reflective, but it also feels a touch more medieval, which is magnified by a bit of a harpsichord effect early on and certainly via the nice stretch of true dungeon synth that swings in around the 8-minute mark. “Deimos” also drops the most aggressive measure of the album, flawlessly folding it into the formula around 11:20 for a sudden sprint that’s as epic and heartening as the killing blow in long-fought battle.

My sincere hope is that I didn’t throw too many people off the trail by emphasizing the album’s QUIET strength early on, as that particular element really does come across as a unique perk rather than an ultimate goal. Ultimately, the bottom line is basically this: Stygian Ruin travels a peculiar path that’s not exactly singular to E.R. alone, but he finds interesting ways to put his own distinctive spin on the blueprint, and that unique blueprint will appeal to anyone who might be tempted by an ideal collision between distant, lo-fi black metal and John Carpenter’s The Fall of the House of Usher in Space. Sound good to you? Then be sure to put A World Past Hope and Fear at the top of your “to listen to next” stack.