Sometimes, the most difficult aspect of oneself is convincing the mind to commence, to transcribe what is locked within our consciousness onto paper. Is it not strange? The act of merely beginning can feel as though eons have passed, yet nothing changes. But if one were to surrender, allowing the mind to divorce itself from the constraints of beginning and end, then naught exists. Instead, all that matters is the flow of creation.For it is like charcoal brushed in strokes upon paper, blending darkness into darkness, suffusing from it many shades. For when it is done, out of nothingness emerge our thoughts before us. Though crude, they are honest, for the currents that moved the hands become in sync with the soul.
‘A Sign of the Cloven Hoof’ by Windswept becomes a testament to how art can thrive even in its most rudimentary and crude state, for it is an album that exhibits a minimal approach both in its aggression and its structural patterns, yet what is created is rather profound and tangible to the soul. Even though there are similarities to Drudkh and Hate Forest, as expected, the style of Ukrainian Black Metal still manages to sound captivating and unique in its resonance due to its grounded movement as well as its atmosphere.
Therein exists a raw and primitive spirit within the album and its instrumental prowess, wherein what is painted comes not in a conflagration of colors, nor does it require intricacy to fashion its image. Rather, a stripped-down approach is taken, more specifically with the guitars. Radiating in an old-school Black Metal cadence, with the aura of the Ukrainian style becoming the marrow of its bones, what is prevalent is the manner in which the guitar breathes, its slow-paced movements, such as on ‘Behind the Mask of Piety’, which utilizes a caustic tone in its riffing. However, its main melody is often slowed down, juxtaposed with the other riff nestled behind it, which speaks in less of a serrated tone and more of a steel-like shimmer, adding a sense of character to these chords. For it is like the wear and tear of a painting, where the colors tend to fade, sometimes bleeding into each other while the canvas yellows. But even in this weathered state, the piece becomes treasured, naught because of its age, but rather because of its meaning, for the honest work still holds true even behind faded colors. In tandem, the guitars of Windswept carry this same demeanor.
Throughout the entire album, the strings shift their patterns, alternating from a sauntering movement to something more haphazard. However, the merit lies not in their contrast, but in the magnification of it. Take, for instance, ‘Goat-footed’, where there exists a medium-length passage in which the guitars become honed in on a central riff, but this ceases to become monotonous. Instead, it becomes rather hypnotic. Due to its organic tone, you feel as though you are observing the physical reverb take shape and morph as it escapes each riff. In the same vein, the riff generates a cadence by taking an Orphic shape, and from this shape creates a branch where the sound forks across the atmosphere in unison with the drums’ expulsion.
Beneath the rhythmic patterns and their tonal shape, the captivating element comes forth in their warmth, where the strings exhibit a temperament that feels livid yet honest. Their warmth arrives through their feverish temper, coercing the mind to feel the inner workings of the art. This in itself becomes the zenith, and the difference between merely viewing the creation and now inhabiting its very language, for where the eyes could only see what lies before them, the mind now foresees what dwells within it.
Where the guitars act as the force that merges with the consciousness to look beyond their creation and see what resides within their abode, the drums become the very reverberation of the entity that occupies this space, their spirit tied to the energy of the strings. Yet it is also the strings that part their current so that the percussion may flow into it.
Trampling in their movement, with each beat pounding the very atmosphere in a rhythmic swagger, as though you can feel the very impression left behind, the drums, like the guitars, also exhibit a stripped-down approach, where technical patterns and flair become rather sparse. In their place are simplistic beats at a concise tempo, but these often deviate to showcase a vehemence in the footwork, as demonstrated on ‘Thieves of the Stars’, where their erratic behavior becomes more prominent, with the guitars supporting the pulsating rhythm.
Alongside this, the drumming evokes an emotive sensation, whereby the energy channeled from the instrument feels as though a mind flooded with a myriad of emotions uses the instrument as a conduit, orchestrating the layers of vehemence into every beat, every cymbal crash. Further, adding to the texture of the drums is their nature-like essence. Through their linear playing, alternating between slow, rhythmic beats and more haphazard pounding, what graces them with their captivating aura is the sensation of being played live, but also as though performed in one fluid take. It is like when a thought becomes trapped within the mind, and thus you take pen to paper, recalling every shape. So too does the drumming feel, as though every facet is being poured into it.
Traversing through the album as a cohesive piece, the instrumental elements become the flesh and sinew that comprise most of its body, yet the breath of its existence comes forth in the vocals, permeating through its body, pushing themselves in and out of the guitars and drums, but also acting as a canopy that grows above the instruments themselves. Manifesting in an execrative spirit, the vocals, abrasive in tone, render unto the album its human element, for if the guitars and drums bruise the soundscape, the vocals become the casualty through which you can feel its tangibility.
A tongue of malediction takes over, where the vocals themselves feel like blood that rushes from the stomach to the throat, pooling at the mouth as the words are enunciated. ‘Buried Face Down’ demonstrates this, where a bitter and imprecatory energy is expelled from the vocals. However, the timing of the delivery is what adds to their bewitching quality, for the vocals are not as prominent throughout the track and parts of the album. Rather, they allow the other instruments to build their crescendo while injecting themselves into it as the summit is reached.
Embodying the same sensation as the drums, the vocals also exhibit an honest approach to their craft, where their manifestation feels physical, as though this were the lamentation of a poet, where the scent of the words need not be sweet in aroma, but instead their rancour erupts from the bitterness of the stomach.
Windswept allows the soul to seek counsel within one’s own mind, to see the world that dwells amongst its own thicket of thorns and brambles, and through its melodies bring that which is hidden to life. For even if the legs are stiffened in mud or the hands become calloused in forging that which resides within, what is created, in turn, becomes crude in experience yet honest in existence.
