At this moment, for example, in if it was , Oceania was at war with Eurasia and in alliance with Eastasia. In no public or private utterance was it ever admitted that the three powers had at any time been grouped along different lines. Actually, as Winston well knew, it was only four years since Oceania had been at war with Eastasia and in alliance with Eurasia.
But that was merely a piece of furtive knowledge, which he happened to possess because his memory was not satisfactorily under control. Officially the change of partners had never happened.
Oceania was at war with Eurasia: therefore Oceania had always been at war with Eurasia. The enemy of the moment always represented absolute evil, and it followed that any past or future agreement with him was impossible.
For as long as Winston can recall, Oceania has been in a constant state of war — with whom it was at war is of neither importance nor consequence.
Winston could not definitely remember a time when his country had not been at war, but it was evident that there had been a fairly long interval of peace during his childhood, because one of his early memories was of an air raid, which appeared to take everyone by surprise.
No matter how hard he digs at his memory, Winston is uncertain whether a time existed when Oceania was not at war with someone. Suddenly the whole street was in commotion. There were yells of warning from all sides. People were shooting into the doorways like rabbits. A young woman leapt out of a doorway a little ahead of Winston, grabbed up a tiny child playing in a puddle, whipped her apron round it, and leapt back again, all in one movement.
At the same instant a man in a concertina-like black suit, who had emerged from a side alley, ran towards Winston, pointing excitedly to the sky. Lay down quick! The wars Oceania endures often create fear and destruction, though ultimately keep its constituents in check. Winston again recognizes the switch!
Now the Party announces that Oceania is at war with Eastasia, and not Eurasia after all. War is a necessary tool for the Party because it keeps the standard of living in check, maintaining the inequalities essential to a totalitarian state. In one combination or another, these three super-states are permanently at war, and have been so for the past twenty-five years.
War, however, is no longer the desperate, annihilating struggle that it was in the early decades of the twentieth century. It is a warfare of limited aims between combatants who are unable to destroy one another, have no material cause for fighting and are not divided by any genuine ideological difference.
Oceania is permanently at war with the other superstates. Oceania uses war to control its constituents. He was already dead, he reflected. It seemed to him that it was only now, when he had begun to be able to formulate his thoughts, that he had taken the decisive step. The consequences of every act are included in the act itself. He wrote: Thoughtcrime does not entail death: thoughtcrime IS death. The Party takes loyalty seriously, and does not tolerate any acts of subversion — even if they are mere thoughts.
Its reach not limited to technology, the Party employs children against their parents as another way of behavior surveillance. There is simply no loyalty to speak of. For a moment he was violently angry. During the month that he had known her the nature of his desire for her had changed. At the beginning there had been little true sensuality in it. Their first love-making had been simply an act of the will.
But after the second time it was different. The smell of her hair, the taste of her mouth, the feeling of her skin seemed to have got inside him, or into the air all round him. She had become a physical necessity, something that he not only wanted but felt that he had a right to. When she said that she could not come, he had the feeling that she was cheating him.
But just at this moment the crowd pressed them together and their hands accidentally met. She gave the tips of his fingers a quick squeeze that seemed to invite not desire but affection. It struck him that when one lived with a woman this particular disappointment must be a normal, recurring event; and a deep tenderness, such as he had not felt for her before, suddenly took hold of him.
He wished that they were a married couple of ten years' standing. He wished that he were walking through the streets with her just as they were doing now but openly and without fear, talking of trivialities and buying odds and ends for the household. He wished above all that they had some place where they could be alone together without feeling the obligation to make love every time they met. Winston quickly falls in love with Julia; from here, the feared bond of private loyalty is created.
If they could make me stop loving you — that would be the real betrayal. Winston and Julia discuss betrayal, and resolve that their shared loyalty to each other shall triumph.
And yet to the people of only two generations ago this would not have seemed all-important, because they were not attempting to alter history. They were governed by private loyalties which they did not question. What mattered were individual relationships, and a completely helpless gesture, an embrace, a tear, a word spoken to a dying man, could have value in itself. Proles, it suddenly occurred to him, had remained in this condition.
They were not loyal to a party or a country or an idea, they were loyal to one another. For the first time in his life he did not despise the proles or think of them merely as an inert force which would one day spring to life and regenerate the world. The proles had stayed human. They had not become hardened inside. They had held on to the primitive emotions which he himself had to re-learn by conscious effort. Winston realizes that the proles, like people of the past, hold dear to their hearts loyalty to persons — not a party or a country or an idea.
That, he believes, is true and natural freedom. When his father disappeared, his mother did not show any surprise or any violent grief, but a sudden change came over her. She seemed to have become completely spiritless. It was evident even to Winston that she was waiting for something that she knew must happen.
Her feelings were her own, and could not be altered from outside. It would not have occurred to her that an action which is ineffectual thereby becomes meaningless. If you loved someone, you loved him, and when you had nothing else to give, you still gave him love. Winston describes his mother as loving — an example of true, unadulterated private loyalty.
He never saw his mother again…When he came back his mother had disappeared. This was already becoming normal at that time. Nothing was gone from the room except his mother and his sister. They had not taken any clothes, not even his mother's overcoat. To this day he did not know with any certainty that his mother was dead. It was perfectly possible that she had merely been sent to a forced-labor camp. As for his sister, she might have been removed, like Winston himself, to one of the colonies for homeless children […].
It is common for the Party to move family members away from each other so that private loyalties may be severed in a timely manner. Winston and Julia pledge selfless loyalty to the Brotherhood. While Winston seems prepared to give it all up, including his love for Julia, Julia presently is reluctant.
A Party member is expected to have no private emotions and no respites from enthusiasm. He is supposed to live in a continuous frenzy of hatred of foreign enemies and internal traitors, triumph over victories, and self-abasement before the power and wisdom of the Party. The discontents produced by his bare, unsatisfying life are deliberately turned outwards and dissipated by such devices as the Two Minutes Hate, and the speculations which might possibly induce a sceptical or rebellious attitude are killed in advance by his early acquired inner discipline.
Jews, Negroes, South Americans of pure Indian blood are to be found in the highest ranks of the Party […]. Its rulers are not held together by blood-ties but by adherence to a common doctrine… The Party is not a class in the old sense of the word.
In the crucial years, the fact that the Party was not a hereditary body did a great deal to neutralize opposition… The essence of oligarchical rule is not father-to-son inheritance, but the persistence of a certain world-view and a certain way of life, imposed by the dead upon the living.
Finish it off and let me die. Shoot me. Hang me. Sentence me to twenty-five years. Is there somebody else you want me to give away? Just say who it is and I'll tell you anything you want. I don't care who it is or what you do to them. I've got a wife and three children.
The biggest of them isn't six years old. You can take the whole lot of them and cut their throats in front of my eyes, and I'll stand by and watch it. But not Room ! The type of torture the Party employs is so intense that the people subject to it are ready to betray anything and anyone in order to avoid it. No private loyalty can be said to exist after the threat of this pain.
The children of Party members such as Parsons are so overcome with love for and indoctrination by the Party that they survey and turn in their own parents for thoughtcrime. I took part in their interrogation myself. I saw them gradually worn down, whimpering, groveling, weeping — and in the end it was not with pain or fear, only with penitence.
By the time we had finished with them they were only the shells of men. There was nothing left in them except sorrow for what they had done, and love of Big Brother. It was touching to see how they loved him. They begged to be shot quickly, so that they could die while their minds were still clean.
The Party ultimately vaporizes captured rebels, but not before converting, reforming, and reindoctrinating them — thereby ensuring continued and undying loyalty.
O'Brien smiled again. I have seldom seen anyone come over to us so promptly. You would hardly recognize her if you saw her. All her rebelliousness, her deceit, her folly, her dirty-mindedness — everything has been burned out of her. It was a perfect conversion, a textbook case. Loyalty is easy to breach in the face of torture. He had not stopped loving her; his feeling toward her had remained the same. Suddenly he started up with a shock of horror.
The sweat broke out on his backbone. He had heard himself cry aloud: "Julia! Julia, my love! In a fit of rebellion and manifestation of private loyalty, Winston refuses to give up his ties to Julia. Do it to Julia! Not me! I don't care what you do to her. Tear her face off, strip her to the bones. Two gin-scented tears trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself.
He loved Big Brother. She gave him another quick look of dislike. But that isn't true. At the time when it happens you do mean it. You think there's no other way of saving yourself, and you're quite ready to save yourself that way. You want it to happen to the other person. You don't give a damn what they suffer. All you care about is yourself. The sacred principles of Ingsoc: Newspeak, doublethink, the mutability of the past. He felt as though he were wandering in the forests of the sea bottom, lost in a monstrous world where he himself was the monster.
He was alone. The past was dead, the future was unimaginable. What certainty had he that a single human creature now living was on his side? And what way of knowing that the dominion of the Party would not endure forever?
To know and not to know, to be conscious of complete truthfulness while telling carefully constructed lies, to hold simultaneously two opinions which cancelled out, knowing them to be contradictory and believing in both of them, to use logic against logic, to repudiate morality while laying claim to it, to believe that democracy was impossible and that the Party was the guardian of democracy, to forget whatever it was necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory again at the moment when it was needed, and then promptly to forget it again: and above all, to apply the same process to the process itself.
That was the ultimate subtlety: consciously to induce unconsciousness, and then, once again, to become unconscious of the act of hypnosis you had just performed.
Even to understand the word "doublethink" involved the use of doublethink. It takes a great effort for Winston to engage in doublethink. If the Party could thrust its hand into the past and say of this or that event, it never happened — that, surely, was more terrifying than mere torture and death? The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears.
It was their final, most essential command. His heart sank as he thought of the enormous power arrayed against him, the ease with which any Party intellectual would overthrow him in debate, the subtle arguments which he would not be able to understand, much less answer.
And yet he was in the right! They were wrong and he was right. The obvious, the silly, and the true had got to be defended. Truisms are true, hold on to that! The solid world exists, its laws do not change. Stones are hard, water is wet, objects unsupported fall towards the earth's centre. With the feeling that he was speaking to O'Brien, and also that he was setting forth an important axiom […] 1.
Winston believes fiercely in the correctness of his position on there being an external, mind-independent reality; however, he cannot help but wonder whether the Party is right in asserting that the contrary is true. It was as though some huge force were pressing down upon you — something that penetrated inside your skull, battering against your brain, frightening you out of your beliefs, persuading you, almost, to deny the evidence of your senses.
In the end the Party would announce that two and two made five, and you would have to believe it. It was inevitable that they should make that claim sooner or later: the logic of their position demanded it. Not merely the validity of experience, but the very existence of external reality, was tacitly denied by their philosophy.
The heresy of heresies was common sense. And what was terrifying was not that they would kill you for thinking otherwise, but that they might be right. For, after all, how do we know that two and two make four? Or that the force of gravity works? Or that the past is unchangeable?
If both the past and the external world exist only in the mind, and if the mind itself is controllable…what then? At reaching a metaphysical paradox, Winston has arrived at a conclusion he does not wish to believe: the proles will never gain the consciousness required for them to effectively rebel. Syme had vanished. A morning came, and he was missing from work: a few thoughtless people commented on his absence.
On the next day nobody mentioned him. On the third day Winston went into the vestibule of the Records Department to look at the notice-board. One of the notices carried a printed list of the members of the Chess Committee, of whom Syme had been one.
It looked almost exactly as it had looked before — nothing had been crossed out — but it was one name shorter. It was enough. Syme had ceased to exist: he had never existed. And so nature was not interfered with in the middle of the rainy season. It was a brief resting period between the exacting and arduous planting season and the equally exacting but light-hearted month of harvests. During the rainy season, it is customary for children to sit inside the huts with their parents and tell stories or eat snacks.
This lovely tradition gives them time to rest and recover after the grueling planting season. If a man dies at this time he is not buried but cast into the Evil Forest They throw away large numbers of men and women without burial. The Obodoani have a tradition that if a man dies during the Week of Peace, he cannot be buried, but only cast unceremoniously into the woods. It is as if death is a form of violence rather than a natural part of life. The Feast of the New Yam was approaching and Umuofia was in a festival mood.
It was an occasion for giving thanks to Ani, the earth goddess and the source of all fertility. Ani played a greater part in the life of the people than any other deity. She was the ultimate judge of morality and conduct. And what was more, she was in close communion with the departed father of the clan whose bodies had been committed to the earth. The Feast of the New Yam was held every year before the harvest began, to honor the earth goddess and the ancestral spirits of the clan. New yams could not be eaten until some had first been offered to these powers.
Men and women, young and old, looked forward to the New Yam Festival because it began the season of plenty — the new year. On the last night before the festival, yams of the old year were all disposed of by those who still had them. The new year must begin with tasty, fresh yams and not the shriveled and fibrous crop of the previous year. All cooking pots, calabashes and wooden bowls were thoroughly washed, especially the wooden mortar in which yam was pounded. Yam foo-foo and vegetable soup was the chief food in the celebration.
So much was cooked that, no matter how heavily the family ate or how many friends and relatives they invited from neighboring villages, there was always a large quantity of food left over at the end of the day. It makes sense that the festival of the new year is named after the life-giving crop that sustains the clan: the yam. The Igbo show the symbolic rebirth of the year by throwing out old food, washing everything so they may be clean and pure for the coming year, and celebrating with fresh new yams.
They join together with their families and community to celebrate the coming of another year that they will share. They do not decide bride-price as we do, with sticks. They haggle and bargain as if they were buying a goat or a cow in the market.
In Umunso they do not bargain at all, not even with broomsticks. The suitor just goes on bringing bags of cowries until his in-laws tell him to stop. It is a bad custom because it always lead to a quarrel.
Obierika then presented to him a small bundle of short broomsticks. Ukegbu counted them. Obierika nodded in agreement. When they returned Ukegbu handed the bundle of sticks back to Obierika. He counted them; instead of thirty there were only fifteen. Marriage should be a play and not a fight; so we are falling down again.
They exchange the bundle of broomsticks several times, until the two groups finally agree. Overall, this silent form of back-and-forth to reach an agreement is more respectful of women than just verbal haggling, which is how men agree on prices for livestock. Thus, the custom of settling a bride-price is intended to be respectful. Ezeudu was a great man, and so all the clan was at his funeral.
The ancient drums of death beat, guns and cannon were fired, and the men dashed about in frenzy, cutting down every tree or animal they saw, jumping over walls and dancing on the roof.
They all wore smoked raffia skirts and their bodies were painted with chalk and charcoal. Now and again an ancestral spirit or egwugwu appeared from the underworld, speaking in a tremulous, unearthly voice and completely covered in raffia. Funerals for celebrated men of title include elaborate, formalized ceremony — the saluting fire of guns and cannons, militaristic drums, and frenzied mourning — as a show of respect for the deceased.
Even the godly egwugwu pay a visit to honor the man. They sat in a big circle on the ground and the bride sat in the center with a hen in her right hand.
Uchendu sat by her, holding the ancestral staff of the family. All the other men stood outside the circle, watching. Their wives watched also. It was evening and the sun was setting. How many men have lain with you since my brother first expressed the desire to marry you? Uchendu took the hen from her, slit its throat with a sharp knife and allowed some of the blood to fall on his ancestral staff. From that day Anikwu took the young bride to his hut and she became his wife.
The daughters of the family did not return to their homes immediately but spent two or three days with their kinsmen. The public confession ceremony for the bride shows how deeply the Umuofia value truth and purity in its women. The implication here is that Anikwu would not value his wife as much had she not been virgin upon their marriage. He [an osu] was a person dedicated to a god, a thing set apart — a taboo forever, and his children after him. Here, we get a traditional description of an osu — an outcast whose very existence offends the villagers.
The osu by custom must wear a mark of their lowly status — long, tangled hair — in order to distinguish them from the community at large.
This one marker is all that really sets them apart. The arrival of the Christians, however, throws the social order out of whack by insisting that the osu can free themselves from being outcasts by joining the new religion and shaving their hair. You do not know what it is to speak with one voice. And what is the result? An abominable religion has settled among you.
A man can now leave his father and his brothers. I fear for you; I fear for you the clan. One of the deepest values of the Umuofia is family and unity within the community. Recently, the younger generation has ignored or depreciated those bonds of kinship. The older generation blames the loss of traditional values for the takeover of the missionaries. They see salvation only in reverting back to the old ways.
But he says that our customs are bad; and our own brothers who have taken up his religion also say that our customs bad. The people who convert to Christianity suddenly have a change of heart on all the customs that they have grown up following. It was the time of the full moon. But that night the voice of children was not heard. The village ilo where they always gathered for a moon-play was empty. The women of Iguedo did not meet in their secret enclosure to learn a new dance to be displayed later to the village.
Young men who were always abroad in the moonlight kept their huts that night. Their manly voices were not heard on the village paths as they went to visit their friends and lovers.
Umuofia was like a startled animal with ears erect, sniffing the silent, ominous air and not knowing which way to run. They stay in their huts, immobilized by fear and confusion. Okika sprang to his feet and also saluted his clansmen four times. All our gods are weeping.
Idemili is weeping. Ogwugwu is weeping, Agbala is weeping, and all the others. Our dead fathers are weeping because of the shameful sacrilege they are suffering and the abomination we have all seen with our eyes. No clan can boast of greater numbers of greater valor. But are we all here?
I ask you: Are all the sons of Umuofia with us here? We who are here this morning have remained true to our fathers, but our brothers have deserted us and joined a stranger to soil their fatherland.
If we fight the stranger we shall hit our brothers and perhaps shed the blood of a clansman. But we must do it. Our fathers never dreamed of such a thing, they never killed their brothers. But a white man never came to them. So we must do what our fathers would never have done. This scene combines traditional Umuofia ceremony with a totally original resolution. However, the purpose of the gathering is revolutionary — to declare war on their brothers.
This type of behavior is unprecedented in Igbo history because villages have always been united. Such a dramatic break from tradition reveals how deeply the presence of the missionaries has affected the local culture. Although they come from a village that is known for being closefisted, they ought to know that Akueke is the bride for a king.
Young men and boys in single file, each carrying a pot of wine, came first. Twenty, twenty-five. Thirty, thirty-five, forty, forty-five. This marriage ritual shows that it is customary for the bride-price to be paid in pots of palm-wine. Perhaps down in his heart Okonkwo was not a cruel man. But his whole life was dominated by fear, the fear of failure and of weakness.
It was deeper and more intimate than the fear of evil and capricious gods and of magic, the fear of the forest, and of nature, malevolent, red in tooth and claw. It was not external, but lay deep within himself. It was the fear of himself, lest he should be found to resemble his father. That was how Okonkwo first came to know that agbala was not only another name for a woman, it could also mean a man who had taken to title.
And so Okonkwo was ruled by one passion — to hate everything that his father Unoka had loved. One of those things was gentleness and another was idleness. Essentially, Okonkwo fears nothing but himself. He was a man of action, a man of war. Unlike his father he could stand the look of blood. Okonkwo, unlike his father, has no fear of violence, but actually revels in it.
Fearlessness in war is a highly respected quality in Umuofia. As for the boy himself, he was terribly afraid. He could not understand what was happening to him or what he had done. How could he know that his father had taken a hand in killing a daughter of Umuofia? All he knew was that a few men had arrived at their house, conversing with his father in low tones, and at the end he had been taken out and handed over to a stranger.
His mother had wept bitterly, but he had been too surprised to weep. All he knows is that he wants to go home. When Okonkwo heard that he [Ikemefuna] would not eat any food he came into the hut with a big stick in his hand and stood over him while he swallowed his yams, trembling.
A few moments later he went behind the hut and began to vomit painfully. Okonkwo rules his household based on fear. Not only does he scare Ikemefuna into eating, but his wives have to tip-toe around him for fear of a beating.
Okonkwo was specially fond of Ezinma. She looked very much like her mother, who was once the village beauty. But his fondness only showed on very rare occasions.
Okonkwo is afraid of showing his emotions too openly, unless they are feelings of anger or aggression. Because he fears being effeminate and losing community respect, he shies away from showing even his favorite child affection. One of the men behind him cleared his throat. Ikemefuna looked back, and the man growled at him to go on and not stand looking back.
His hands trembled vaguely on the black pot he carried. Why had Okonkwo withdrawn to the rear? Ikemefuna felt his legs melting under him. And he was afraid to look back. As the man who had cleared his throat drew up and raised his machete, Okonkwo looked away. He heard the blow. The pot fell and broke in the sand. Dazed with fear, Okonkwo drew his machete and cut him down. He was afraid of being thought weak.
It is not only Ikemefuna who feels fear when hearing the man so mysteriously clear his throat; Okonkwo, too, we know, fears what is about to come. Every nerve in Okonkwo tells him this is wrong, but when the moment comes, he kills his adopted son. Ikemefuna fears the men with machetes and death, both of which he has no control over.
Okonkwo, on the other hand, fears losing his sense of masculinity — an internal fear which he could control, but instead gives into. She had prayed for the moon to rise. But now she found the half-light of the incipient moon more terrifying than darkness.
The world was now peopled with vague, fantastic figures that dissolved under her steady gaze and then formed again in new shapes. At one stage Ekwefi was so afraid that she nearly called out Chielo for companionship and human sympathy.
What she had seen was the shape of a man climbing a palm tree, his head pointing to the earth and his legs skywards. It was not the same Chielo who sat with her in the market and sometimes bought beancakes for Ezinma, whom she called her daughter. It was a different woman — the priestess of Agbala, the Oracle of the Hills and Caves.
Ekwefi trudged along between two fears. So Ekwefi is trapped between two fears — one of the unknown darkness around her and the other of the possessed Chielo abducting her daughter. And then the priestess screamed. May he twist your neck until you see your heels! However, her love for Ezinma gives her courage to conquer her fear of the gods. But Ekwefi did not hear these consolations.
She stood for a while, and then, all of a sudden, made up her mind. The elders fear, rightly, that the younger men have forgotten their bonds of kinship and that has led to their downfall. The leaders of the Christians had met together at Mr. As they deliberated they could hear the Mother of Spirits wailing for her son. The chilling sound affected Mr. Smith, and for the first time he seemed to be afraid. Smith naturally fears something with which he is unfamiliar — the mourning and raging cry of a foreign god.
This is also the first time that he has not been in complete control of the situation in Umuofia. Okonkwo ruled his household with a heavy hand.
His wives, especially the youngest, lived in perpetual fear of his fiery temper […] 2. Women are relegated to a more or less servile position, often living in fear of their husbands. Basically, women are passed around like un-unique objects in the Igbo world. Okonkwo is acutely aware of what it means to be a man in the Igbo tribe and is ashamed that someone might call him or his male relations agbala. Okonkwo treats his wife like a servant, demanding that she does whatever he commands her with no questions asked.
In fact, women count for so little in Igbo society that they are often not even addressed by their given names, but referred to by their relationship with men. Nearly every aspect of Igbo society is gendered, even crops. This allows men to maintain the position as the primary providers for their families, and the respect which that role confers.
Inwardly Okonkwo knew that the boys were still too young to understand fully the difficult art of preparing seed-yams. But he thought that one could not begin too early. Yam stood for manliness, and he who could feed his family on yams from one gravest to another was a very great man indeed.
Okonkwo wanted his son to be a great farmer and a great man. He would stamp out the disquieting signs of laziness which he thought he already saw in him. Okonkwo associates yams with manliness. The more yams a man is able to grow, the more respected he is in his community. This shows that men are judged in part by their ability to provide for their families. Since yams are a hard crop to grow, being a good provider is directly tied to being a hard worker.
Okonkwo, having suffered embarrassment and poverty from his rather effeminate father by his standards , will stop at nothing to keep his sons from the same fate — even if it means breaking their hearts as little boys. I would sooner strangle him with my own hands. Okonkwo would rather kill his son than live with an effeminate one. Okonkwo cleared his throat and moved his feet to the beat of the drums.
It filled him with fire as it had always done from his youth. He trembled with the desire to conquer and subdue. It was like the desire for woman. Okonkwo characterizes his desire to wrestle as a desire for sex. As a matter of fact the tree was very much alive. Without further argument, Okonkwo gave her a sound beating and left her and her only daughter weeping. There was no festival in all the seasons of the year which gave her [Ekwefi] as much pleasure as the wrestling match. Many years ago when she was the village beauty Okonkwo had won her heart by throwing the Cat in the greatest contest in living memory.
She did not marry him then because he was too poor to pay her bride-price. But a few years later she ran away from her husband and came to live with Okonkwo. Ekwefi is attracted to strong, capable men. Ezinma brought her two legs together and stretched them in front of her.
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Warbitch 5. Thy Nasty Reaper 6. The Gallic War 8. Maze Of The Graves 9. The Singing Hangman Diananns Whisper I Morrigan tedeschi, gruppo piuttosto longevo a me finora sconosciuto, sembrano essere adepti dei Bathory. Io preferisco lasciare questo esercizio di definizione a voi. Ammetto di penare un poco a seguire e a descrivere questo disco. Questi tedeschi v'invitano a gustare a casa loro piatti freschi cotti utilizzando ingredienti genuini conosciuti a tutti voi. The Predator 2. We Own The Streets 3.
The Unknown 4. Finger On The Trigger 5. We Are The Enemy 8. Brand New Day 9. Three Mofos Crusader Mask Of Deception Red And White Adesso tocca agli amanti del genere decidere se concedere o meno il proprio tempo e, fossi in loro, un ascolto lo darei, a priori non si scarta nulla nella vita. Etichetta: Headsplit Records Contatti: facebook. Throw The Switch 2. Perverted Aggressor 3. Sexual Maniac 4. Resurrected Whore 5. Black Angels Of Hell 6. Demonic Dementia 7. Possessed Confessions 8.
No, assolutamente no. Chi se ne frega. Del resto guardando la copertina pensereste davvero che a loro importi qualcosa? Theories Of Old Bones 2. Ethics On The Precipe 3. Old Rope 4. Dead Channel 5. Nothing Has A Centre 6. Si tratta dei Mourning Beloveth, formazione insolitamente irlandese, che ha dato alle stampe tra e due dei migliori album death doom dell'allora nuova generazione: "Dust" e "The Sullen Sulcus".
Forti di quei successi, Moore e soci sono presto diventati uno dei nomi di punta della Grau Records, sempre attenta a intercettare il disagio nelle sue varie forme sonore. Il discorso dei Mourning Beloveth riprende sostanzialmente da dove si era fermato cinque anni fa. Insomma, sappiamo bene a che tipo di contenuti andiamo incontro quando ascoltiamo questo disco, e la musica?
Bisogna dire che gli irlandesi si erano un po' adagiati, dal punto di vista sonoro, con il terzo e il quarto album, come d'altronde era successo a molti nomi della scena recente vengono in mente i Draconian. L'intro dagli echi "dyingbridiani" ci ricorda ancora una volta da dove arriva il tutto, prima di riportarci di nuovo verso le lunghe panoramiche sul dolore.
Spesso non si riconosce al doom metal di essere in fin dei conti un genere molto legato alla sofferenza in tutte le sue forme, mettendone in evidenza solo i momenti goticheggianti in cui si ricorda lo spettro della persona amata.
Difetti: decisamente lungo, avrebbe funzionato anche con una traccia in meno. Prelude Under A Totalitarian Regime 2. Virtutem 3. Schmachfrieden 4. Waldganger 5. Kshatriya 6. El Hombre Total 7. Taliban Fighters 8. Gott Im Ungewitter 9. Trascendencia A La Gloire Du Sacre Accoglie l'ascoltatore "Prelude Under A Totalitarian Regime", preludio di nome e di fatto, in cui un organo dissonante si snoda su colpi di percussione cupi e lontani, simili a esplosioni.
Meglio l'impronunciabile "Schmachfrieden" e il suo pianoforte nostalgico, che racconta le sue melodie in contrasto col velo industrial di sottofondo: bell'idea e bella realizzazione. Seguono un paio di pezzi decisamente meno incisivi, l'album caracolla per una decina di minuti e si risolleva con la violenta "Taliban Fighters", ritmata, aggressiva, il canto del Muezzin risponde alle grida dei militari americani, mentre ai piedi della moschea non si risparmiano le cartucce.
Una prova solo discreta per l'uomo da Caracas. Etichetta: Depressive Illusions Records Contatti: worldofmetalandrust. Misanthropy 2. World Of Rust 3. Mechanical Discordance 4.
Industrial Noir I 5. Industrial Noir II 6. The Abyss 7. Barbed Wire Misery 8. Mechanical Mutilation 9. World Of Mystery Labyrinth Of Concrete Lurking In Shadows Mechanical Melancholy Industrial Noir III World Of Metal Tanti, immagino. Spero non sia un problema se ci fosse anche un po' di ruggine. Man Of Iron [cover Bathory] 2. Die Liebe Nerpus [cover Burzum] 3.
Den Bortdrevne Regnbuen [cover Mortiis] 4. Ring Of Gold [cover Bathory] 5. Slottet I Det Fjerne [cover Darkthrone] 6. In attesa quindi di poter entrare in contatto con le prossime produzioni targate Superior Rage, un ascolto a tale disco potrebbe risultare utile per farvi un'idea del potenziale di questo progetto.
Occhi e orecchi bene aperti! Tracklist 1. Uncharted Waters 2. The Flying Dutchman 3. The Captains Chanson 4. I ragazzi, forti di un look atipico, si approcciano con una eccellente lena alla musica "made in Sweden" per eccellenza: il Melodic Death Metal. Le ritmiche non sono mai eccessivamente veloci, ma dal buonissimo groove, che potrebbe esaltare gli amanti di certi Amon Amarth, i F. Nuove onde provenienti da Umea. Salite a bordo del peschereccio dei F. Satanic Pride 2.
Chaos Invocation 3. Beware The Flame From Undun 4. Black Song Of Necromancy 5. Leggendo l'articolo che vi ho citato poco sopra, noterete che scrissi di tre tracce di quell'album rilasciato al tempo come autoproduzione nominate "Will Of Satan", "Master Of Illusion" e "Gates Of Abyss", beh, nessuna di queste rientra nella tracklist del lavoro odierno che diminuisce anche di contenuto numerico, la versione del possedeva infatti sei pezzi mentre adesso sono solo cinque per una durata complessiva di quasi trequarti d'ora.
Sono solo le dieci e trenta, ma ai Long Distance Calling serve molto tempo per appuntare la propria strumentazione, e Medium - Various - 7 Hills Clash - Deeper Signals mezzora dopo prendono posto di fronte Hand (Todd Sines Mix) - Swayzak / Various - Avantgarde // Swayzak Presents Serieculture pubblico. Per circa due o tre anni sono stato molto curioso riguardo ad altri generi. Many people laughed at his dialect and the way he used words strangely. But of course you can never tell; people are such hypocrites. Archer Αχός - Αχός and followed to where Shirou is taken, Ugh! In my religion Chukwu is a loving Father and need not be feared by Aint That A Shame - Frankie Valli And The Four Seasons* - The Greatest Hits Of Frankie Valli And Th who do His will. Email required Address never made Quante Mani - Gianna Nannini - Profumo. This helps Okonkwo to make his final decision — to commit Just Try To Remember (Dub Mix) - Moonbeam Feat. Mohammed El Fatih - Just Try To Remember.
Danny Elfman - Charlie And The Chocolate Factory (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack), Various - Essential Hardcore, Robert Ashley / David Behrman - Larry Austin / Allan Bryant - Source: Music Of The Avant Garde Issue, Icarus - [Sylt] Remixes