L'appel

The true spark of genius here is the band's name... seriously. Pâlefroid – palefroi (palfrey) – pâle froid (pale cold): you instantly know you're dealing with French black metal of medieval and heroic themes. No need to even hear a single note, the whole sound is contained in the moniker. In addition, once you've realised it's signed on Antiq Records, a label which seems to be willing to sign every single band of the genre these days – well, they couldn't get their hands on Sühnopfer so far – you see even more what you've got to expect, the only unknown factor being the skill of the man involved.

Thus everything will work as expected. L'Appel is but a long lament, primarily chanted by squeaky lead guitars and enhanced by a production just hazy enough to thicken the atmosphere while keeping every instrument easily distinguishable, bass included. Lament for the dead. Lament for the Motherland. Lament for those who died for the Motherland – above all. I wrote it elsewhere, some tolerance to patriotism and, overall, to conservative ideas is indeed required before approaching this particular scene; yet the present case is an extreme one, full of grand statements about honour, sacrifice and reconquest, often delivered through exalted spoken parts, to the point it becomes ludicrous. Not a big fan of the vocals delivery, either: while these sound sufficiently raucous, incisive and hostile altogether, they don't vary much in their melodic lines and structures from one song to another, hence a faint monotony infusing after a while.

Never mind. We came to follow crudely drawn, mortally wounded black-and-white knights while they lift their carcass for a last charge in the pale cold, remember. Despite the above reservations, there isn't any truly bad track to be found, in a consistent work which varies its melodies, beats and sounds enough to overcome most of its limitations. No peace, no fun, no fancy elements save for a – very – discrete keyboard on a couple of tracks; we're in the typical configuration where high-pitched leads and tremolo picking reign supreme. To this respect, our patriotic champion fully masters his favourite weapon to keep the dark spell working until the end, until the final lines of the closing danse macabre, the pinnacle – le roy est mort! le roy est mort! – which are of the sort that sticks in mind long after the last arpeggio has faded. And when you add the fact this same song starts with a pure doom metal riff, totally unexpected in such a context, you can no longer deny the man definitely has some talent, some imagination.

A few disturbing mysteries persist. The programmed drums are one of these, when simplistic lines which do little more than keeping time alternate with more elaborated, aggressive patterns. Another one is the band itself, about which nothing will transpire. Pâlefroid is the name, again; is it also the alias of the man behind? Or, the men? Does Hyver really have to pop up on every single album he edits on his label, especially when his guest vocal performance isn't exactly stellar? Far away a lone, estranged hero, is agonizing, while the questions remain unanswered.

Highlights: L'impie; Bâtard galeux; La mort du roy.