Mirmillon

Horum omnium fortissimi sunt Belgae.
- C. Julius Caesar, De bello Gallico.

The above statement – of all [the Gallic tribes], the Belgians are the bravest – has met quite a contrasted fate in subsequent History, especially when 20th century Belgian nationalists hijacked it as an alleged proof of their superiority. Nevertheless, it applies well to Coliseum, the ephemeral black/death metal band the eighth installment of our Roman metal series will deal with; a band who, to tell everything you need to know about Belgian bravery, exclusively chose a largely unexplored thematic niche: gladiators.

This album, Coliseum’s first and only, is thus loosely built around the concept of a fictional Gallic (understand: Belgian) warrior nicknamed “Gallius”, who’ll eventually become a superstar gladiator in Rome. In the intro and outro, the bandmembers are heard role-playing Gallius and various other characters over a background of cheering crowds, clashing swords and, for after all it’s a metal album, some vague guitar chords or piano in the distance. Amongst the real songs, however, only three are directly related to the Gallius story (L’auxiliaire, Le gladiateur, La légende), the remaining consisting in random lyrics about gladiators, or gladiatorship as a metaphor for metal. This dichotomy roughly translates into the music: the “Gallius” tracks are overall slower paced, leaning more towards epic, majestic black metal with lots of tremolo picking and wailing leads, while, at the other end of the spectrum, a fast, groovy number like De sable et d’honneur is almost straightforward melodic death metal, featuring little to no black metal element save for the screaming vocals.

Because the man screams, you know. Fortissimi sunt Belgae, and he came here to prove it. Typical Roman metal syndrome, where the singer identifies down to every bone with his subject matter. He clearly figures himself in the arena, attempting to kill his adversary with nothing but his high-pitched hysterical voice. Please don’t laugh, Dear Reader, because that’s pretty much what the first song is about, the Last Shout – Le dernier hurlement. I doubt he’s trained very much, though; often, he sounds like he put all the energy he had available in the delivery of every single syllable, without worrying about the strain he was applying on his vocal chords. So forced, that no modulation was possible any more, thus talking about singing isn’t even relevant – much more like, rhythmic shouting. To break the monotony such a style would eventually lead to, he regularly switches to a much lower, bestial growl – delivered with no less dedication, though.

As you must have guessed when reading the preceding paragraphs, Mirmillon is a case of maximum camp factor. In other words, you either love it, or hate it. Understanding French may also be a pre-requisite: not only the intro and outro, musically uninteresting but crucial in building the general mood, will fall flat for anyone who can’t grasp what the guys are saying, but the lyrics themselves, as over-the-top as the way they’re delivered, are an integral part of the experience – note that, even if the band seemingly didn’t care for publishing them, the special articulate shouting makes them mostly understandable. The guitars sound quite showy, too, with extended triumphant leads and soloing taking the precedence over the rhythm section; besides, for a release in the so-called epic style, the absence of any keyboard overdub is remarkable, the atmosphere reposing solely on chanting leads. The other instruments are unfortunately too muffled to add much to the ensemble, the drums mostly summing down to the bass drum, mixed loud enough; the bass guitar, similarly, is distinguishable... to who specifically searches for it.

All these songs tell stories, usually concluding on some big dude being triumphally slaughtered at the center of the arena, so the songwriting doesn’t rely on circular, verse-chorus structures, but, instead, on linear ones where the tension progressively builds up to a climax: independent screamed sections alternate with multiple guitar solos, the former getting more and more frenzied and aggressive the further the track progresses, the latter longer, faster and more technical. De sable et d’honneur and Coliseum, hymn to the band, are the most extreme examples, both ending in complete madness; vocal madness for the first, guitar madness for the second. Even if this tendency is less obvious on the remaining tracks, it doesn’t obscure the fact that the only verse repeated on the entire record is found at the coda of L’épouse, when, for once, our Belgiae tone the drama down a bit to deliver a poignant lament about a gladiator’s wife. Belgiae who sound never as good as when they play fast and direct; the last couple of songs, though meant to be the heroic pinnacle of the whole piece, shows a tendency to drag on when the telling of Gallius’s adventures eventually becomes more important than the music itself. Too many text, too much riff recycling, not enough imagination, alas; were those tracks both only one minute shorter, they would have been as equally enjoyable as the rest.

Coliseum lived the life of true gladiator: a short blaze, before disappearing forever. After such a promising debut, they might have deserved better; however, Mirmillon being primarily remarkable for the freshness and craze only debut albums can boast, a follower would likely have sounded less fresh, more generic, rehearsed. The extra song left as a testament on the band’s official youtube channel, Spartiate, only confirms this feeling: correct, but unoriginal melodeath tune, it has already lost most of the frantic edge which characterized its seven predecessors. No regret, then? Well, one: at least, there, the bass was clearly audible.

Highlights: Le dernier hurlement, L’auxiliaire, L’épouse, De sable et d’honneur