![]() ![]() ![]() The harsh Anagnorisish vocals lend themselves remarkably well to the larger-than-life feel of the album, and with various death- and doom metal shadings applied throughout to keep things interesting, Avast’s take on atmospheric black metal is brutal and progressive enough that you might have mistook it for something Kronos-friendly, except fuck that. This is not (just) to gush about the album, but also an attempt to describe the monolithic, otherworldly atmosphere of Mother Culture: the black metal aspects recall the brooding malevolence of Darkthrone and early Ulver, while the post/atmospheric bits come from a strange sonic space somewhere between the reverberating resonance of Unreqvited and the dense delirium of Départe. There’s a certain sinister sense of seriousness to it all the songs sound significant and somehow superior to the music ov mere mortals. To that end, Avast’s sound could be described as something to the effect of Woman is the Earth meets Downfall of Gaia. What’s more, the production is actually warm and alive rather than frozen to lo-fi death or else mechanically rendered sterile: this shit not only sounds good, it also, like, sounds good. However, where many bands within the genre are content to slap together a handful of repetitive and trope-laden passages and call it an album, these Norwegians craft songs which actually progress and explore themselves, the end result being 40 minutes of adventurous and enjoyable black metal instead of Ghost Bath v 7.0. Sure, it has its moments of unfettered Alcest worship Avast often shift from shimmering post-metal serenity to evil blackened nastiness, and at its core Mother Culture is very much an atmoblack album. An understandable assumption, to be sure, yet Mother Culture is no Newer Bermuda. Given that Avast are a fledgling blackgaze act in the year of our Jørn 2018, you probably thought that you had yet another Deafheaven clone on your hands. What’s done is done, yo, but allow me to paint you a picture of just what you’ve lost. This thing couldn’t be more Muppety if it tried, and by Jørn I simply could not allow such a thing to risk a sensible, objectively sound rating when I haven’t been able to properly and possibly inappropriately praise a piece of post-black poetry in practically phorever. Not only are you down a fortress and a pig army, but you’ll also find yourself no longer in possession of Avast’s Mother Culture. You had something of mine – that’s right, had. When the respective hazes of gun smoke and cranial-injury clear, you’ll find your army of feral pigs disposed of and your fortress reduced to rubble I even sang Porcupine Tree as everything burned to the ground, how’s that for brutal, yo? Anyway, you knew this was coming. If you’re reading this, it’s already too late.
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