Light the pyre for which breathes the smoke of the soul, let the acrid scent stain the garments as body and flesh coalesce with the tongue of voids speech, for when true art bleeds the soul shall Inherit its ichor as its own, for the art shall become an extension of the conscious, a symbiosis is formed unto where the mind is ushered into a realm where human emotions cannot comprehend…
Servant’s ‘Death Devil Magick’ impregnates the celestial aura with the contemptuous seed of Melodic Black Metal, and from the womb, a spell tears forth, infecting the mind and deconsecrating every holy tongue with its cancerous blackened atrament. Calling upon the magick shared by Theotoxin, Abduction, and even Outlaw, Servant injects their own blood into this incantation, and from this mixture, a palpable experience is summoned, wherein the mind enters a ritualistic state where sound is the architect.
The very construction of the album invites the consciousness to embark upon a transcendental voyage, to be entranced by the smokeless flame, for the strings sets the tone in tracks such as the intro, ‘Void’ leading into ‘Temple’, for the manner in which the melodies slither can be likened to the scent that fills the chapel as the insents are lit, drawing in the senses to focus the mind upon a sacred image. Following this, ‘Sin’ and ‘Devil’ exhibit elements whereby the strings and percussion feed off of each other’s energy, at times complimenting the spiraling nature, at times creating a juxtaposition within the songs, for at times the guitars would be frenetic in its cadence but the drums accentuate its aura with the raw-like tones, in turn, swelling the atmosphere of this offering. Dissection and Watain can be looked to where the production is concerned, for the songs are bestowed in a polished manner which serves to highlight each feature, however, the very energy and virulence is never sacrificed in this translation. If the instrumental energy represented the stimuli for which the mind craves, the vocals would be the serpent that coils around the neck, and into the soul, an arcane litany is forged, for the orphic fashion that the voice motions evokes a serpentine candor, as though a spell is being recited, where every enunciation holds a weight to its delivery, in my opinion, this becomes the crux which cements this vessel.
Servant becomes the serpentine beast that dwells within the breast of man, the very creature that festers and burrows beneath the soul, transfiguring its essence internally, for what is experienced in sound is the dialogue betwixt that which slithers and a mind that yearns to discern its flickering tongue of archaic wisdom.
