The Disciple of French Fries - "Prometheus - The Discipline of Fire & Demise" Review (0%)
If black metal is a buffet, Emperor is a Taco Bell Dollar Menu: insipid, plastic, detrimental and potentially lethal.
Sigh... After reviewing In the Nightside Eclipse (shit), Anthems to the Welkin at Dusk (emo shit) and IX Equilibrium (no comment), I had to complete my series on one black metal's biggest usurpers, the posers of Emperor, led by none other than retro-cuck Ihsahn. The title of the review refers to him, you'll see why in a moment. But you can probably guess if you're familiar with his history.
At the root of all black metal, there is a unifying concept, connecting all musicians and songwriters together: music should be more than just plastic, disposable tunes, it should have atmosphere. And what is atmosphere if not a coherent message, an emotion, transmitted by the artist or artists to the listener. Ergo, never has black metal music become too homogenized and passé, neither has it ever been too 'avant-garde' and superficial. There is always some sort of musical heart beating underneath the gelatinous layers of either reactionary 'old school' fetishism, as in the case of Darkthrone clones, or of overt 'experimental' wankery, as in the case of Burzum imitators.
Searching for this heartbeat in the streamlined, soulless, over-processed black metal that today's industry manufactures can prove to be difficult... but it is nonetheless there, right? Well, mostly.
Here lies the problem with Notodden's prime emocore troupe Emperor: they have no atmosphere, no message, no raison d'être.
The Disciple of French Fries
It all boils down to the fact that Emperor's latest - and thankfully final - record, Prometheus - The Discipline of Fire and French Fries, is perhaps the most abhorrent, plastic and worthless record to appear in the new millennium, a torturous, brain-numbing bonfire celebration of 'emocore' that, instead of spurring fantasies of 'getting freaky' and 'sexing vampires' like is commonplace for the genre, is more likely to inflict suicidal thoughts on to the uneducated, vulnerable listener because it sucks so much camel penis.
'And after years in dark tunnels, He came to silence, There was nothing...'
These words - eloquent poetry presented by the first track of the album, 'The Eruption' - are the listener's (or ex-listener's, depending on the time) first exposure to Emperor's deep philosophical prose, or lack thereof. A tilt-a-whirl presentation of non-dynamic sing/scream distribution.
It's important to note that vocalist Ihsahn can perform neither singing or screaming and instead opts for a combination of digital warbling and cat-like hissing, furthering the album's inherent unlistenability from simply migraine-inducing to life-threateningly shit.
Derivative and unoriginal synth loops and beats (example: any song on the record) rotate lifelessly around poorly written and ultimately pointless lyrics (example: also, any song), spinning a revolving globe of faux-intellectual masturbation and teenage angst juvenility.
Musically, Prometheus is like putting a collection of sushi knives into a Ziploc bag, tossing them into a microwave and sticking around to watch the results: a) these things clearly do not go together - crunk and emocore, metal objects and microwaves - and b) if these things do end up together, the results are going to unpleasant, if not hazardous.
'When all is dark
There are no points of reference
And we no longer navigate
By the stars
We just end up somewhere
...nowhere...'
This lyrical excerpt from Prometheus is in no way significant, as I said faux-intellectual prose is rampant throughout the album. The above lyrical excerpt is, however, a prime of example of what makes up the bulk of Prometheus, and what makes it so generic and forgettable. No track does anything to differentiate itself from another, they are all the same and they are all equally atrocious.
Every single song has Ihsahn whining like a castrated bitch about some random topic. In order of the tracks: emptiness, 'lack of purpose', a 'bleeding heart', the cold, death, fire, gas chambers, despair, monotony and finally death (again).
Every single song has the same tired and thieved beats, the same carbon-copied synths and Burzum riffs. The derivative matrimony that sums up this record is a painful welding together of unoriginality and ridiculously talentless execution that I can guarantee will make you feel like less of a person for listening to it.
Prometheus is to music what McDonald's French Fries are to higher gastronomy.
Avoid this shit at all cost.
Prometheus - The Discipline of Fire & Demise score: 0/100.
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