Abrahadabra

Well well…here we have it…the latest chapter in the increasingly festering slab of nothingness known as Dimmu Borgir. Before tackling this latest musical attempt (emphasis on “attempt”…), I sat down and thought back on the days when the Borgir boys took that pop star ambition with a splash of corpse paint and became the biggest examples of what to do and what NOT to do when shooting for a career in black metal. Looking back on their discography, their career seemed akin to a heart patient’s EKG reading, wherein the ups and downs are so very noticeable; it’s either been a great and prosperous time (“Spiritual Black Dimensions”, “Puritanical Euphoric Misanthropia”, “Stormblast MMV”) or a bottomless pit of soul-crushing despair (“For All Tid”, “Stormblast”, “Death Cult Armageddon”) with only middling moments of a fuzzy gray area of neutrality (“Enthrone Darkness Triumphant”, “Godless Savage Garden”, “In Sorte Diaboli”), and the way they fluctuated so violently between up-and-down period albums is like the movies Curly Howard made during his last, stroke-addled year with the Stooges.

So with that in mind, I’d actually hoped that their latest work would be one of those up moments to counteract all their bullshit…

Before diving in, I’d had the misfortune of partaking in their first official single, “Gateways”, and I found it a bland, tepid, soulless, anger-inducing foray into a whole lotta nothin’ that acted more as a slap in the face to all of us long-suffering fans who’ve had to deal with their increase in revenue and egos. Like Ulver before them, Dimmu seem to have come to terms in thinking that they’re better than their fan base and don’t seem to give a fuck anymore, the way they thumb their silver-spoon-clad noses at the ones who made them who they are. And that’s a very shit-headed, vainglorious thing to do, if you ask me. As a result of how this album came out, I’m convinced that Dimmu Borgir are the Lindsey Lohan of the black metal world, where they at one time showed some real, definitive talent in the early days before years of Hollywood-style excess caused them to implode. Said implosion is the most evident here with “Abrahadabra”. Never in my life have I heard a band so completely fall apart on itself on an album as much as this…if “In Sorte Diaboli” was the first flaw in the band’s foundation, and “Gateways” was the concurrent structural damage, then “Abrahadabra” is that wrecking ball strike that brings the whole damn thing a’tumbelin’ down. In laymen’s terms? This sucks. Horribly. Massively. AIDS-inducingly. I guess we sorta saw this coming, pride coming before their fall, never heeding the warning buried deep within us all (to paraphrase a far far FAR better and more talented group and album), what with the whole Satyr-like ego trips and whatnot. Yes, I know I sound embittered and vengeful, but I’d like to think that my anger is well deserved; like the people I once knew who cut their hair in protesting accordance with Metallica’s “Load” albums, I hereby shake my fists in virulent rage at a band who has been, over time, seriously getting on my nerves due to a sudden, self-inflicted lacking of ability, talent, and overall common sense. No amount of repetitive, weak-kneed guitar riffs, pompous symphetics, plastic, artificial drum beats and snarky, holier-than-thou vocal croaks coupled with that getting-more-annoying-by-the-second robotic vocoder abuse would EVER a good black metal album make (though I guess the Dim’ boys don’t classify themselves as “black metal” anymore…such a cute excuse for this exercise in soul-killing worthlessness), and with all these elements in play the coffin that contains the band’s ability and true existence is shoved several feet lower than it originally was many years and albums back. There is absolutely nothing of worth in this album, and it seems as though Dimmu Borgir aren’t even TRYING to bring back the long-dormant black spirit, and would rather bathe themselves in gallons of Cristel in the back of their pentagram-strewn limos en route to the next Red Carpet Premiere. Such is the façade they seem content on portraying for now and evermore, where songs like “Xibir”, “Chess with the Abyss” and “The Demiurge Molecule” act as acid in the faces of all of us who’ve suffered their slings and arrows time and again, leaving us scarred, begging for mercy, and only getting derisive laughter. What a way to end it all…

In the end, “Abrahadabra” is the last straw to break this camel’s back. The integrity is gone, the spirit has been raped into oblivion, and no doubt this will sell like sugar to demented crack heads. There’s no turning back, at this point…not because the band can’t find that necessary return to form, but rather it seems they just don’t WANT to. If that’s the case, then I’m done. Thanks, guys, for those few years of assurance that you were a real, quality-laden band, but I’m hanging up my long-beaten Dimmu shirt and bidding you adieu. For the sake of everyone, GET OVER YOURSELVES! And fuck off…