Days Of Nothing
posted on 11/2007 By:
“Look at these morose motherfuckers right here. Sounds like someone shit in their cereal.”
Truly, if this debut album is to serve as a window into The Foreshadowing’s collective psyche, I think it’s safe to say that these dudes aren’t exactly thrilled to be alive. In spite of their almost annoying cloak of self-pity, they’ve managed to create an album with more staying power and entertainment value than a goateed Ben Affleck, albeit by directly channeling the influence of their forebears. Unfortunately, the level of entertainment that one can cull from this release is directly related to the listener’s experience with the gothic/low-calorie doom genre (as well as their tolerance for the dramatic), as this debut album lacks the ability to transcend.
Days of Nothing is a bleak snail-crawl of an album, gracefully draped with gothic overtones. This is metal at its most melancholic, crafted in the mold of Katatonia’s seminal Discouraged Ones while ambling along with the sweeping gait of Novembre. That said, the astute reader can deduce that The Foreshadowing has a bit of a sonic weight problem, and it’s not one of morbid obesity. While there is an underlying, doomy fog to be found, an eyeliner-gaze vulnerability is equally prevalent. In fact, while it’s been damn near a decade since Sin/Pecado ejected from my Kenwood and flew into the discount bin, some of the moments on Days of Nothing itch at that memory sitting in the back of my head, especially when Marco Benevento’s monotonous baritone smacks a rumble at just the right moment.
The true fault of this disc isn’t the fact that it conjures memories of an unimpressive record, or that it isn’t well-executed. This is hellaciously pro and polished for a debut, and is anything but unfocused or uneven (though the steadfast consistency is almost a detriment in itself) . The Foreshadowing’s problem is that they never achieve symbiosis with the listener. Albums of this style need to pull you in, drape their cold fingers around your neck, and force you partake in the sorrow. Days of Nothing doesn’t contain any memorable hooks that singe the soul, harbors few tear-jerking melodies, and exudes nothing that pulls the music from the status of “a performance” into the realm of “an experience”…which, ultimately, should be the goal of deeply depressive music.
If you’ve already spun the living piss out of Katatonia’s discography to the point of exhaustion, wished Novembers Doom would’ve chilled out on their last album instead of going DM gonzo, or reserve some affection for that aforementioned ass-bomb of a Moonspell record, Days of Nothing may hold some redeeming value. Both the casual sorrow-mongrel and the full-on devotee of despair can add this to their arsenal of sleep-aids, but the curious ear would be wiser to explore the catalogs of the subgenre's veterans.
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