Raan - The Nacrasti
One thing I miss about not having been a youngster during the 1920s and 1930s is the pulps. I miss reading those lurid dime adventure novels where the stalwart hero braves unexplored continents and mysterious caverns to save the civilized world from some nefarious -- though always overwrought -- plan for world domination. I miss the febrile excitement of exploring dark jungles and stumbling across temples of human sacrifice, the shivering anticipation of uncovering forgotten cities buried beneath sheets of ice, the page-burning terror of unleashing ancient monsters captive for centuries. In short, I miss everything that I am reminded of by dark ambient music.
These bleak instrumentals are the soundtrack for the areas on ancient maps labeled "Here Be Monsters." Always consumed with the shadows, this type of music is filled with the sound of deep caverns, ruined cathedrals, crumbling ossuaries and black pits. The men and women who craft these bleak soundtracks are cartographers teetering on the rim of insanity. The bravest mapmaker of late is one Stig Berg. Recording under the moniker of Raan, his first excursion into darkness is called The Nacrasti, a record of his journey into a world filled with seismic uncertainty, black water, and spectral winds.
Released on the fledgling Antibody imprint of dark ambient champion Malignant Records, The Nacrasti is a tormented travelogue of hidden tunnels and lost pits. There are echoes of wood instruments that strain through the tumultous rumble of moving stones -- tiny, distorted melodies that fell down wells decades ago and have wandered lost in these caverns ever since. There are heavy rustling sounds -- not chains, not claws, not naked bones rattling together -- the sound of gigantic scales rubbing against stone as the flank of some immense beast scrapes the walls of narrow passageways. There are sub-sonic tremors, reverberations from the massive heart of empire-devouring beasts which have lain in captivity since the birth of mankind. There is the sound of viscious fluid dripping. It isn't water and it isn't oil; it is almost like blood, squeezed out by the immense pressure of the rock. There are sepulchral horns, a summons to an ancient sacrificial ceremony at the lip of a pit that has been breached by the molten spume of the earth.
There are no blank spots on modern maps, no scrollwork and ornate calligraphy that marks these places of uncertain darkness. There are no hidden civilizations, ancient blood-soaked temples, and untracked territories any more. The pulps are gone. The only places where you can find monsters any more are those places you visit in your mind. Dark ambient records are your charts and guides. Though, even Alan Quartermain would think twice about descending into the darkness of the The Nacrasti. Which suits me just fine.
Raan
Malignant Records:Antibody [2002]
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