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My Dying Bride > As the Flower Withers > 1992, CD, Peaceville Records > Reviews > Gutterscream
My Dying Bride - As the Flower Withers

Joyriding just isn't in their vocabulary - 87%

Gutterscream, January 19th, 2006
Written based on this version: 1992, CD, Peaceville Records

“…adorn magnificent costume for I come to judge the world…”

And the air freshened, not with the proven aural aroma of bearish, deep groove death/doom, but with something that would become its wide-eyed sibling, a child that would take the role of a pupil crying the provision ‘the student shall surpass the master’. The master in this case is the death/doom bands, good or bad, already treading ground, setting standards, planting roots, sowing oats. And the student? As the Flower Withers.

Just as Aristotle arguably improved upon the teachings of Plato, My Dying Bride unrolls the not-so-dusty scrolls penned by Paradise Lost, Bolt Thrower, Amorphis, and even Goatlord, and illustrates them with hues the death/doom genres dreamed of in hushed celestial nightmares. With Symphonaires…, sleeping eyes fluttered, flinching with every inharmonious, sour string note remorselessly laid to the title track that would still be mere ornamentation of a bad sleep. But there it was dangled in front of us in almost tangible glory, and with that realization came the knowledge and hope that it wasn’t over, that something more revolutionary was right around the corner, and that the hibernating beast would awaken with more than just hunger on its mind. Of course, the beast is what it is – a death and doom hybrid not at all panther-like in its foundation, but this smarter creature, this heir to the sound, will eventually wake up and its narrow eyes will gleam with vengeful melancholy.

It would not be an immediate interruption of slumber, however.

Of the seven songs, four travel beyond the seven minute mark with one finding the outskirts of twelve, and in that perpetual time Aaron will bellow from the pit of his stomach with lyrics awash in acidic prose. Peculiar timing and rhythmic shifts bear the fruit of signatures most uncommon as death and doom styles battle for dominance at the borders. “Silent Dance” is a noteworthy false start, an orchestral anomaly that’s an allusion to what had been heard fleetingly on last year’s ep and acts only as an intro in the thought of, but not like Frost’s “Innocence and Wrath”. Stalking into existence is the drear of “Sear Me”, a Latin-tongued half-caste gushing with a great sweeping doom rhythm that even in its mirthless tread manages to instill an odd, hopeful reverie onto the listener. Rays of light keyboard backdrops this joylessness for another streaming spasm of atmosphere. The comparably short “The Forever People” is more a cannonball of death aggression, straight and deadly with frenetic force somewhat like finale “Erotic Literature” that also engages a tragic interlude sneakily backlit by keys. “Vast Choirs” possesses some of the slowest drones as well as some of quickest charges on the disc.

“…I can see from your smile you’re not here for the sunset…”

Finally gonging the baptism of violin are “The Bitterness and the Bereavement” and “The Return of the Beautiful”, two colossi amongst songs that in their altogether twenty-minute length define despondency, lyrics or no: a frustration of poverty, a solidarity of anguish and life, the companionless (“…away bastard dogs, down from your throne, a dagger glints in my hand, you’ll perish alone…”), the sixth hour of wandering lost through a dank lightless cave…emotional and physical relevance is infinite here, which is probably why it works as well as it does. Of course, some will find these tedious regardless of the atmospheric vestige, the soundtrack to a train ride to Snoresville, but who wants to please everyone?

Solos are short-lived and offered in passing (usually in the faster parts), seemingly happy to let the countless quasi-main riffs to tow the line, which isn’t bad because most of them are quite commendable, but if they’re not that hot they’re usually diverted promptly.

While this isn’t wholly entrenched in multi-instrument atmosphere, it isn’t a dainty toe in the water either, and compared to previous efforts As the Flower Withers is a bold, leering assurance to what boiled in the minds behind My Dying Bride. As a student the band was still learning, swooping in like an owl that’s homed in on its prey…or is that a swan?

Somewhat stupid, self-aggrandizing fun fact 98I&^: For about seven or eight months in '92 I actually trained as a pro wrestler at Iron Mike Sharp's School of Professional Wrestling in Brick, NJ. When I knew it wasn't the full-time career for me, I set out to have one semi-pro match before I quit. Lord Bane, my barbarian-type character, lumbered to the ring to "Sear Me" starting at the 0:27 mark. More than one person asked me who the band was.

“…marvel at the hanging gardens…”