“His incisive mind, his intense personality, his whole heart & soul – all were dedicated to the furtherance of his ideas, even in his choice of food. For instance, he refused to have eggs & milk at the same meal on the grounds, expressed in the same terms as he used for his ‘linear orchestrations’, that “eggs & milk are too ‘analogous’”. (Hans Richter on Hugo Ball)
As I rumination on the above quote, I think (this happens oft - thinking that is), are not we lucky that Wold was unperturbed by the idea of black metal and noise being ‘too analogous’? As, in my opinion, these two noisome suspects are very much like milk and eggs! Curdled and smashed. Partners in crime, some might say.
In recent years Wold have spearheaded the black metal – noise bastardizations in a dastardly way and this was the first full length. Unlike Abruptum before them, who’s twisted and satanic drudge, disturbed and disgusted, Wold sidestepped the hateful projections of their forefathers. Oh yes, they are, at times an ugly beast, but they imbue their lo-fi clatter with Epithet’s like atmospheric and (oddly) melodious; if I dare utter words of beauty in the same sentence as Wold! L.O.T.M.P. , after possessing it in its solid state, reminds me fondly of the day I lost my trousers; a splendid pair bottoms they were too! Grieved over the loss I thought life was done, but I made the most of a dastardly situation and found myself a rock; 'twas ugly to look at. Cherishing it nevertheless, with each day creeping by its roughened surface took on a glazed look through my eyes. The façade slowly slipping away to reveal the loveable pulsating heart that is the skeletal structure for L.O.T.M.P..
‘Tis with these basic rudiments that Wold arrives at their outré breed of Black Metal. A sideways slant on composition is imbued by the repetitive & archaic, archaic with a touch of mysticism. The soul is veiled by a diaphanous cloud of shattered debris hacked off, sometimes tastefully, by a whirling, buzzing chainsaw. Amidst the whirling buzz, fragments of ethereal beauty slipway under the shrouded stratosphere, punctuated by synths and an insistent snare drum that ensnares the heart as it makes its way belligerently towards the zenith. As a summation of their sound ‘tis like listening to the radio late at night with the dial off plum, the fluctuating buzz of white noise infiltrating the intended broadcast with its charm.
When this unlikely beauty was unleashed in ’05 ‘twas wrought by apprehension. We all know the purist don’t like to be unsettle in there home territory. Then these chaps from Canada come dashing out with audacity on their sleeve and the likes of Akitsa on their tongue to stir the coop. There are those who love and those who hate, both plentiful in their numbers, each with the vicious opinions. I think it’s clear now that Wold’s approach titillates me in ways untold and rekindled a dormant dalliance with a former love. As Marcel Duchamp said:
"I am suspicious of my own good taste!"