— Where did you say they're from? Czech Republic? Do they even play metal there?
As it turns out, they do. It just so happened that the countries of Eastern Europe, placed next to Scandinavia or the States — which breed brutal offspring at the speed of a champion rabbit — always looked like a maiden wrapped in a puritan skirt with a stern bonnet atop a tightly wound braid. "No sex before marriage," she was told from childhood, and the wedding... when would that be? First you need to wait for the prince on his white horse, with sword drawn against the dragon, and meanwhile — dream on, dream on, captive maiden, about children hollering in sandboxes, a house covered in roses and marmalade, none of that "clean the pike," "milk the cow," or "scrub the outhouse till it gleams and jingles." However, it happens — on days when planets form cunning figures in the sky, stars don't just blink but wink, and fairy enchantresses frolic under the moon — it happens that an anonymous wind knocks on the door, the lady opens it, and there, at her bare feet, lies a foundling. Sleeping sweetly, a beautiful boy, in a tight bundle of dense cloth, and across it — crescents and tiny stars. They scatter, spiraling outward, like parade beetles on review...
In short, it wasn't without Oz the Great and Terrible when, with a wave of a magic wand, ROOT appeared. They appeared in those distant days when That Same Burzum Guy was still learning "Nothing Else Matters" from tabs. And now these Czech lads are a subject for special conversation: black and white, yet unique; ancient, yet still stylish and interesting. The Sir Anthony Hopkins of heavy metal, however crude that comparison may seem. While modern music resembles a torn-up road — one deep rut rolls into another, you can't take a step without sliding down the beaten path into the global discount bin of bands and singers — some still achieve the fifth state of matter — a state of incredible lightness — and stride forward with ease. You can't keep track of such "weightless" ones. It's pointless to copy such greats as MERCYFUL FATE or CANDLEMASS. It's pointless to imitate ROOT — even a layman would detect a forgery from a mile away. But what is it — dark, black, power?
I remember in my youth suffering headaches trying to shove the great KING DIAMOND into a stylistic classifier; now I've finally grown up and understood that a formal mechanism perceives only an endless paper tape chewed by a toothy hole-punch, but try folding it into a charming rose, and the machine, shrieking like the devil scalded by holy water, will spit it out. And it's good if it just spits it out — it might crumple it, damage it, the brute. So let them say that it's reviewers, not the bands themselves, who hang labels — let them — I'll refrain from such an "honor" and simply try to look at "The Black Seal" through a magnifying glass.
So, ROOT. Quite the gang. Led by the dashing ringleader BigBoss — quite possibly the most fearsome figure on the European scene (may Mortiis forgive me). The band's main heavy artillery, capable of sending anyone to the next world with his trumpet-like voice. The rest — some shaven, some long-haired. The main thing is they can play. Both fast — as on "Theriak" — and slow, immersing the listener in a semi-hypnotic state. The latter is especially characteristic of "Salamandra," featuring Fernando Ribeiro on vocals. An undeniable plus, with its own unique flavor. It's the central piece on the disc — both geographically and in meaning. On the lyrical side — an excellent melody in "The Mirror Of Soul" and the closing "Before I Leave" with its original a cappella ending. As people say about such songs: "Not a song — a journey!" The guitars are brilliant. Those who've heard them will understand. Andy LaRocque can only dream of such solos now.
There are hits as well. BigBoss showed his villainous nature here too, composing "Necromancy" and (together with Ashok) "The Black Seal," which send shivers down your spine. True diamonds. "Super-heavy," I'd say. Of course, you won't hear anything like this on the radio, but... does anyone still listen to the radio, except when stuck in traffic? Then again, "Before I Leave" — its simple little chorus knocks out two screaming nymphs who pollute the gaps in our thoughts with yet another "boy band hit" for a long time. And all the remaining material is surprisingly solid and strong. Remember BLIND GUARDIAN's "Imaginations..."? Well, it's the same here — you want to write something off as filler, but... there's nothing to write off. Want to criticize? Well, the logo is crooked, the cover is grayish — what else?
Lyrics. Sophisticated aesthetes who dine on the progressive symbolism of PHLEBOTOMIZED or the sharp satire of SOLEFALD, please don't bother. But those who wouldn't mind savoring an entertaining hybrid of early MOONSPELL and CHRIST AGONY will find much of interest. The flag of patriotism proudly flies in "Nativity"; they say black candles spontaneously ignite during "Liber Prohibitus," if you happen to have any at home. Then there's "The Faith," a sort of proclamation of a free lifestyle. "Salamandra," as I already mentioned, reads as though copied from a burned witch's grimoire. "Incantation of Thessalonian Women" resembles a biblical narrative in form (a nod to CANDLEMASS), though I wouldn't state that with certainty.
In closing, one can only wish the metal scene more talents like today's heroes, the legendary MASTER'S HAMMER, FORGOTTEN SILENCE, SEAR BLISS, and others whom I've forgotten or barely heard of. I'd like to believe that countries that endured a cruel cultural blockade in the not-so-distant past are by no means a dump or a grim ghetto, but rather the forge of a master craftsman, from which everything that emerges is invariably a masterpiece. One need only believe and wait. Sit on the threshold and listen to the hammers pounding inside, the cauldrons boiling, the pistons hammering, and the predatory milling cutter slicing through the air...