‘From mountain top to valley deep
From shore to cursed shore
What nation? What state? What land is this?’
— “As Rome Burns”

Dublin, Ireland’s Primordial released their sixth album, To the Nameless Dead, on Nov. 16, 2007. I remember it was so late in the Fall of that year both because it’s information readily available on the internet and because it’s the latest release I’ve ever made my album of the year. Hearing it, I felt like there was no other choice. The songs forced themselves into the consciousness.

Primordial had made their debut on Metal Blade two years earlier with The Gathering Wilderness, which saw them continuing to move beyond their more strictly black metal beginnings toward distinct, Celtic-informed fare, readjusting the balance of elements at work in their sound to incorporate more melody in the guitars of Ciáran MacUiliam and Micheál O’Floinn and a cleaner vocal take from frontman Alan Averill — who also mastered the album and mixed with producer Chris Fielding (now also of Conan) — atop the affirming, drivingly metallic rhythms of bassist Pól MacAmlaigh and drummer Simon O’Laoghaire. By the time 2007 came around, that transition-to-something-else could only be called complete, and while one would still call their roots black metal, and that can be heard across the album in the guitar tones and in songs like “Gallows Hymn” or even the electric parts of the declarative “Heathen Tribes” — lest one not mention the more willfully charred “Traitors Gate” and the earlier verses of closer “No Nation on This Earth” — the emphasis in To the Nameless Dead was less adherence to genre than adherence to the songs themselves. Running seven songs and 53 minutes, it is an impeccable clarity of sound honed by the band while still coming across with any semblance of a natural impression, and the nuance of this particular moment in the development of their style happens to coincide with a front-to-back batch of memorable works of genuinely epic metal.

Beginning with opener “Empire Falls,” Primordial‘s lyrics tell tales of crumbling hedonism that are cast in ancient frames but applicable to modernity just the same. In 2007, Ireland and Northern Ireland — having been embroiled in violent conflict since the ’60s that continues to resonate across the two nations to this day and there are murals of murdered people all over the walls of Belfast to prove it — were less than a decade out from signing the Good Friday Agreement, and with the cultural corruption that was unveiled with the Catholic church’s sex abuse scandal (also ongoing), the band of course would’ve been no strangers to the tumult, the violence and the sheer unsettled-ness of the atmosphere of their home nation. Among Ireland’s rich histories is one of protest music, and Primordial represent that as well, in the lyrics of “As Rome Burns” and “No Nation on This Earth” and “Empire Falls” specifically, and coupled with the folk lyricism of “Gallows Hymn” and the triumphant touring chronicle “Heathen Tribes,” To the Nameless Dead cast itself from its leadoff fade-in to its final fadeout as a tale of defeats and victories, of battles fought, won and lost.

Averill‘s performance is striking on the record and many of his declarations carry a sense of stage drama. The language is grand and poetic — see, “And winter mocks me though he does not need to call my name/He thinks my bones are brittle” in “Failures Burden” personifying a season as an oppressor — and the vocalist’s delivery designed to suit, but the complexity on display across To the Nameless Dead is about more than one aspect. It’s everything on this album. The atmosphere is cold like that winter being described, and the feeling of struggle writ large in the guitars and the melancholy but insistent groove of “Gallows Hymn” and the decidedly progressive jabs amid the later chug in “Empire Falls.” Though “Gallows Hymn” is the shortest inclusion on To the Nameless Dead at 5:55 — the 90-second drone interlude “The Rising Tide” ahead of “Traitors Gate” notwithstanding — and plays as part of a back and forth between songs on either side of six minutes and songs longer than eight, no matter what mode Primordial seem to be working in at any given time, and no matter which side of their aesthetic is in the foreground, the material never sounds bloated in terms of structure or pompous. To be sure, there is an elaborate affect happening across the entire span of the release, but the manner in which that’s manifest is efficient, and all the parts of all the songs feel as though they’ve been evaluated to determine whether or not they serve the record’s overarching purpose.

“Heathen Tribes” is perhaps the most direct engagement of audience on To the Nameless Dead, as Averill‘s lyrics take the listener sightseeing on tour, noting monuments like the “spires of Sofia” in Bulgaria and “Senatus Populusque Romanus” in Italy. The band signed to Hammerheart Records for 2000’s third album, Spirit the Earth Aflame — a landmark in their progression — and their first two outings, 1998’s A Journey’s End and 1995’s Imrama had backing from Misanthropy Records and Cacophonous Records, respectively, but one can’t help but wonder if maybe there was an element of self-introduction happening too. Seems strange for a band’s sixth full-length, sure, but considering the band’s earlier works (2002’s Storm Before Calm preceded The Gathering Wilderness) had yet to see the reissues they’ve since been given, To the Nameless Dead would’ve arrived as Primordial‘s second long-player with the breadth of Metal Blade‘s distribution, and maybe served as a point of entry for international listeners as a result. They had momentum behind them with The Gathering Wilderness just two years before, but no question To the Nameless Dead would take their recognition to another level. It’s fortunate, then, that the sensibility throughout “Heathen Tribes” is welcoming.

It was four years before Primordial issued a follow-up in 2011’s Redemption at the Puritan’s Hand (review here), and 2014’s Where Greater Men Have Fallen and 2018’s Exile Amongst the Ruins (review here) arrived behind that, but in some crucial ways, To the Nameless Dead became the stylistic model from which their growth would continue, and even now its resonance and relevance feel as sharp as they did 13 years ago when it was released.

As always, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading.

—

Cold this morning, and dark. Alarm was set for 3:40AM and that’s when I got up — yes, that 20 minutes makes a difference — and as I didn’t go yesterday because I was working on the Quarterly Review, I just went for a run after finishing the above. Left at 5:45, got back at 5:58, so that’s pretty good. Felt like I was keeping a decent pace for someone old, fat, tired and who just put an entire pot of coffee in his belly. It may not be the last one I get to today.

But winter, as the saying goes, is coming. Mars is out and big as the summer haze has dissipated. Orion’s out. It’ll be back to sweatpants before I know it.

It wasn’t my original intent to close out the week with Primordial. I had the back end set up for a whole different post, but it’s fitting that To the Nameless Dead should butt its way into my consciousness at the last minute like it did, since that’s also how it wound up as my pick for the best album of 2007. Like a few other bands I seem to insist on writing about every now and again, I don’t ever get a huge response to talking about them from social media or anything, but as far as I’m concerned if you don’t listen to the above long-player in its front-to-back entirety today, that’s your loss and not mine. I’m glad I did.

Oh, and I didn’t note it earlier, but Enslaved totally shared my review of their album from last week, which officially — YES OFFICIALLY — means I’m a big deal like Obamacare. In all seriousness, that one did mean a lot to me. I don’t know if they do their social media or someone on their management team handles it, but whoever it was thanked me for my years of support, and that was a pretty special moment to my week.

Otherwise, rough week in a series thereof. My wife’s schedule this semester is a cruel thing. Conflict continues about the dog. The Patient Mrs. is taking her to a training/boarding place today. I don’t know what the endgame is. I know nobody’s happy. Not her, not me, not The Pecan — whose new thing is grabbing the dog’s skin as hard as he can to make her bite him then getting upset when she bites him and hitting her so she bites at him again and he gets upset and then kicks and grabs and hits and she bites and by then they’ve probably been removed to separate rooms again — and not the dog, who stays in the kitchen all day and whines. I’d let her in the living room, but just about every time one of us does so, she pees on the rug. Fortunately we have a robust system of gates in place for The Pecan already, or we’d be sunk. In urine.

I have been beset with Russian-language spam the last few days. Hundreds of emails from the contact form, then corresponding hundreds of Mail Undelivered notices when the autoresponder bounces back. I know it’s a moving target, but the internet’s been around one way or the other for like 50 years now. Can it really be so hard to solve this most basic shit? This is why humans don’t deserve to go to other planets.

The Quarterly Review, which consumed my being this week as only it can, continues on Monday. I could easily do a seventh day — well, easy in terms of filling out 10 records; probably less so in terms of the actual writing — but I have two premieres-with-announcements set for Tuesday and so that put the kybosh on that. Maybe next time. I’ll have plenty left over either way. Would you believe I haven’t reviewed the new Kingnomad? Or Faith in Jane? Or the Conan and Deadsmoke split? Hell’s bells. What have I been doing with my time? Can feeling-bad-about-yourself really take up so much of one’s day?

I should roll out. The Pecan will be up shortly and will want three yogurts or whatever it is this morning for breakfast. He likes the strawberry & rhubarb kind, the mixed berry kind and the vanilla with freeze-dried crunchy blueberries added that turn it purple. I think it was Wednesday he had one of each. Siggi’s, the brand we get, is pretty low sugar, so whatever. I try not to give him bullshit. I do, however, feel like leftover pizza breakfast every once in a while is good for the soul.

Have a great and safe weekend. Have fun, wear a mask, stay hydrated. So important.

FRM.

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