De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas

Has anyone waited for me ending my more than six-year hiatus on the MA? Probably not. But here I am back again. Ignoring my initial intent of writing reviews, that focus on covering lesser-known artists. Instead re-starting my efforts with the elephant in the black metal room. Using humor as a stylistic element. At the same time trying to refine my English writing skills. With everything happening in this crazy world, I just felt like this is the right time. Me and black humor against the insanity around me. Read it or don´t, like it or not. I don´t care. Still, I´ll do my best.

There’s something inherently amusing for me about attempting to write a review of Mayhem’s infamous “De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas” in a format that maybe typically critiques wine and cheese pairings. After all, we’re dealing with a band that nearly single-handedly turned the entire Norwegian fjord system into a musical landscape of despair, corpses, and some very questionable interior decorating choices.

Let me start with some obvious basics: “De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas” blew me away and still does. It is widely considered as one of the blueprints for the second wave of black metal. If you were to compare it with a DIY home renovation project, Mayhem would be the ones who tore down the walls, gutted the plumbing, and left the place looking like a post-apocalyptic cathedral in dire need of an exorcist. The band didn’t just pave the way for the genre—they bombed it, desecrated it, and then did a victory lap while wearing corpse paint.

The opening track "Funeral Fog" greets you like a grim reaper at a welcoming committee, with riffs that could summon a rainstorm on the sunniest of days. The vocals, courtesy of Attila Csihar, are less about singing and more about channeling the guttural growls of a demon who just stubbed his toe on a torture rack. His vocal performance throughout the album is a masterclass in sounding like you're reciting ancient curses, simultaneously trying to cough up a hairball while surprising the unprepared listener at times with some operatic outbursts.

The guitars, provided by the late Euronymous, sound like they're being played on a rig composed entirely of rusty chainsaws. The tremolo picking is so relentless that it could probably be used to drill through bedrock. Meanwhile, Hellhammer’s drumming could easily be mistaken for a stampede of angry goats—fast, furious, and just a tad disconcerting. The bass guitar is subtle but essential, adding a layer of depth that is more felt than heard. Buried in the mix, it provides a cold, haunting foundation that enhances the album´s eerie atmosphere.

The atmosphere—oh, the atmosphere! If darkness had a scent, this album would be the olfactory equivalent of a damp and pitch-black crypt filled with rotting wood and a splash of sacrificial goat's blood for that extra touch of authenticity. The production quality is raw, but in a way that’s less “poor recording studio” and more “recorded in the seventh circle of Hell.” It's an album that makes you wonder if the static and feedback are part of the music or just ghosts trapped in the recording equipment. This point of my review would also be the perfect place to praise the “übersong” of this album, the title track, that best incorporates everything written and stated above. But I won´t. He, who does not know, listened to and felt the grandeur of one of the best black metal songs ever written, is not worth being served the description of this epic masterpiece.

Lyrically, the album is about what you'd expect if you handed a poetry assignment to a group of misanthropic goth kids with an affinity for ancient satanic rites and pagan rituals. Bloody, dark, deceased—if these were boxes on a black metal lyric bingo card, you'd be shouting "Bingo!" before the first half of "Pagan Fears" ends. But to their credit, Mayhem didn't just pen lyrics—the band created an entire world. It's a world where everything is bleak, hope is an unfamiliar concept, and you're probably late to your own funeral.

"De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas" also comes with an (un?) healthy dose of controversy, as every good black metal album should. Between the grisly suicide of vocalist Dead, Euronymous’s murder by bassist Varg Vikernes, and the burning of several Norwegian churches, it's an album with a backstory so notorious, it could fill a true crime podcast.

In summary, listening to "De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas" is like receiving a musical tour through the darkest corners of the underworld, narrated by a group of musicians who are either profoundly disturbed or just very dedicated to their black aesthetic. It's a masterpiece, a cacophony of sound that both fascinates and frightens, and a perfect album to put on when you want to scare away a bunch of Jehovah’s Witnesses at your door.

So, is it an essential listen for black metal fans? Absolutely. Should you play it at your next family gathering? Only if you’re planning on inheriting the house earlier than expected.

Rating: 666/100—because, well, anything less just wouldn’t be kvlt.