The sound is eternal and not coming from a source that is located in a position that could be close by. It just floats up there endlessly.
A haunting collection of dark ritualistic explorations
The blade felt icy cold but just for an instant, followed by the hot crimson gush from my empty neck and I hit the floor face first where I bounced and rolled until a strong hand grabbed me by the hair and lifted me up to see the crowd, some screaming, some laughing, some weeping, most were standing sick silently, and that is when the music started. I am relieved.
“A haunting collection of dark ritualistic explorations of pre-Roman Celtic tribes lost in time, evoking an atmosphere of stone covered hills and gnarled trees in the mist, and creating a sense of what could have been, a timeline where the history of the Picts took a different path.” ~Press Release
There are records of Celtic mercenaries in Egypt serving the Ptolemies. The relation between ethnicity, language and culture in the Celtic world is unclear and debated, derived from the Celtic languages spoken in Iron Age Britain and Ireland. The Picts were a group of peoples who lived in Britain north of the Forth–Clyde isthmus in the Pre-Viking, Early Middle Ages. The term “Pict” meaning “painted” is found in Roman sources from the end of the third century, used to describe unromanised people in northern Britain. The area occupied by the Picts had previously been described by Roman writers and geographers as the home of the Caledonii.
I am doing no research, because I have just had my head detached and I am adjusting. Now all this is magically appearing on my screen today. I am using the force, and by now you might not know what that means. Eyes closed, listening. Playing dead now. Nobody suspects me. Glad to be alive. “Luibhean” (7:18) rumbling brutal forces combined with floating tones, maybe monks? So vast a darkness expands all around this place.
In the dark lost without the guards ::
Trying to forget the memory of anger. This dark place. The drums are starting. The lost voices rarely stop. “A’ Bàsachadh” (7:15). The sound is eternal and not coming from a source that is located in a position that could be close by. It just floats up there endlessly. The worried warriors watch restlessly. The guards have been gone a long time now, I am breaking out. “Coilltean” (9:30) sounds almost, not exactly, but it sounds like Scottish Gaelic coillte or coilltean meaning ‘wood’ or ‘woodland’ how would I know for sure? I am going to the woods now. The sound is always deep and like it comes from inside an underground pit or chamber, I am losing the force. There is the sound of steam now. Their deep strange singing is so brutal, I will never forget it, growling throat noises from some very large beings. In the dark lost without the guards now it feels almost comforting. Where is this now?
“Fògradh” (8:44) seems like they are telling me something, so hard to be sure. Something like expel, banish, exile. I keep holding as the pounding is slowly growing, off in the distance down here. Too close. “Cabair” (8:18) starts so quiet, everything seems safe, until the sudden slam sound. They keep coming in the long run. The air is alive with brutal pain. The sound is incredible. “Tiodhlacadh” (10:42), metal in fog, long and slow, the guards are nowhere. I am heading deeper into the place where the sound is. I have found my bliss.
Ùir is available on Cryo Chamber. [Bandcamp]
