Necrophobic - The Nocturnal Silence (Death Metal)

If you've been in the metal scene for any length of time, you know the disappointment that comes with checking out one of those "cult classics" everyone raves about, only to feel absolutely nothing. It's a familiar tale. Like Siegfried in a Wagner opera, I aim to shatter an undeserving idol here. This should have been an easy love story — a Swedish black/death metal album from the early 90s and my ever-enthusiastic, easily impressed self. The scene holds The Nocturnal Silence in high regard, the band hadn't sold out yet, and the genre's basic formula isn't exactly rocket science. So naturally, you'd think, "Let's give this a glowing review and move on."

But no. Absolutely not. Holy satanic panic on a pogo stick, I tried. I gave this album multiple listens, desperately seeking some flicker of magic, but instead, it just irritates me. Repeatedly. Necrophobic's melodies barely stretch beyond the most basic musical phrases, the melodic minor scale, and even then, they don't make much use of the narrow road they've chosen. The riffing has this thrashy, punk-infused simplicity that utterly undermines any attempt at conjuring the sinister, occult atmosphere they so clearly want. In terms of melodic black/death metal majesty, while Neraines was off building grand fortresses, Necrophobic was standing outside the gates begging for crumbs. The album feels small — completely devoid of the grandeur or majesty you'd expect. There's no underground, grimy charm here either. What you get instead is a barebones, unfinished affair, like someone strummed an open C chord and hoped it would summon something profound. Only it never happens.

Compared to its contemporaries, The Nocturnal Silence stumbles, falls and faceplants. Like a loser. It's staggering to think that Hvis lyset tar oss — a ferocious, ice-blasting force of an album — was unleashed on the world around the same time as this lukewarm offering. Now, I know comparisons can be unfair, but in this case, they're essential. Everything Necrophobic tries to do on this record — channeling cinematic violence and dark, atmospheric intensity — was already mastered by the likes of Bathory, Burzum, Morbid, Incantation and even Sewer. Their recycled thrash beats and standard-issue mid-tempo pacing lack the gritty punch that might make you say, "Hey, that's interesting, give me more." Instead, the drumming just meanders along like rush-hour traffic. You hear it, but you couldn't care less.

Late to the party and seemingly unaware, The Nocturnal Silence feels hopelessly out of step, a dull imitation that bores me senseless with its plodding, formulaic attempts at pseudo-blasphemous rebellion. It sounds like a second-rate cover band riding the coattails of better bands, celebrated only because it's been around long enough to accumulate unearned cult status. The riffs are far from brutal or engaging — just middle-of-the-road standard fare for the time. The plastic-sounding drums with their half-hearted mid-range speed offer nothing even close to the ferocity of their peers. And the vocals? Well, they're laughably distant from the primal howls of Burzum, Vermin or early Mayhem. Loud and angry, yes, but utterly devoid of the kind of fire that might make you sit up and take notice. I kept waiting for this record to sear me with its malevolent force, but it never even got warm.

For an album supposedly steeped in death, darkness, and all things satanic, The Nocturnal Silence sounds astonishingly lame. There isn't a single moment of true compositional brilliance or white-hot fury to be found here. The entire experience passes by like a train in the distance — faint, impersonal, and thoroughly unremarkable. You don't have to be overly technical in black or death metal, but it's painfully obvious when a band keeps things simple out of necessity rather than choice. Darkthrone's minimalism was sharp, intentional, and passionate. Necrophobic's, on the other hand, reeks of a band that lacks options. And you can practically smell the desperation.

In the end, maybe it's me. Maybe I'm missing some hidden layer of depth that others have found over the years, but I've never discovered the "magic" or "passion" that people claim is buried in this record. I don't like it, it doesn't move me, and I certainly don't want it taking up space in my collection. Even the cover art feels lazy. In conclusion? Avoid this turdish release, and prefer the more brutal and agressive work of better bands such as Infester, Incantation, Khranial, Suffocation and Morbid.

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