Unholy Baal Zebuth

Sometimes, I wonder how it’s possible that, with over 1.7 million registered users on Metal Archives, certain albums remain untouched and unreviewed. And then, I listen to “Unholy Baal Zebuth”, and all becomes clear. Welcome to the underground catacombs of Russian Baal Zebuth, a dark place where the sound quality goes to die and black metal tropes are laid on thicker than the dust on my old cassette tapes. No wonder no one else has dared to review this. Why am I, then? Because I have a deep, charitable side — the kind that compels me to throw myself onto this sonic landmine to spare the rest of you.

Let’s talk about the sound “quality” first, if that term can even be applied here, because everything sounds like it’s been filtered through an old sock. “Unholy Baal Zebuth” is recorded with all the depth and clarity of crumbling papyrus. Imagine listening to an album through a wall — while someone’s vacuuming in the next room. Guitars occasionally appear, only to vanish beneath a buzzing “keyboard” noise that might actually be a distant lawnmower. The bass? Missing, presumed dead. And the drums? They deserve their own horror story. The high-hats are a soft, static swoosh, as though someone dropped the mic in a sandstorm, while the snare sounds like an off-kilter jackhammer struggling to find its beat. This is chaos, and not the “good, nihilistic black metal chaos”. Honestly, the vocalist’s performance is the only thing in sync with this cacophony. He does his best evil overlord impression, complete with devilish nagging that lands somewhere between laughable and pitiable. This album is custom-made for a very small crowd, possibly those who collect black metal demos recorded with a Fisher-Price tape recorder in a basement. Not for the faint of heart, or anyone with a strong sense of self-preservation.

Creativity has its own very specific interpretation here. The band offers up every black metal cliché you can think of, sprinkled liberally throughout. The song titles are dripping with well-worn “evil, cold, mystic” words that bring on déjà vu after déjà vu, and the music follows suit. Even when the keyboards try to create some semblance of atmosphere, it is the band’s pace rendering any structure nearly impossible to decipher. You find yourself questioning: is this still track two, or did we stumble into track eight? Either way, the album feels like an endurance test you never asked to take.

Despite my better judgment, I soldiered through multiple listens, all in the name of “objectivity” (or something close to it). Occasionally, a faint spark of promise glimmers, like in “Goat to Azazel.” For about two seconds, the song teases at potential, but that promise is quickly lost in the band’s rush to bury any coherence beneath the muddy production.

Because we love the album so much, on my re-issued release, the band serves us a bonus track. “Nocturnal Carpathia”—the unexpected gem (just kidding) in this pile of blackened rubble. Again, the band almost stumbles into something listenable. The guitars manage to stay audible above the layer of keyboards, and there’s a faint, moody atmosphere that doesn’t instantly collapse. But late, too late. The hearse to take away the listener has already arrived.

The CD proudly declares, “The war has begun.” And after sitting through “Unholy Baal Zebuth”, I can confirm this — it’s a war with yourself to endure a second listen. But take my word for it: this is one battle not worth fighting. I forced myself to listen more than once, so you won’t have to — that’s dedication.

Rating: 35/100 — because sometimes it’s good to remind yourself just how bad things can get, and it made me appreciate silence like never before.