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HANDS OF ORLAC
Figli Del Crepuscolo

Horror / Terror From Hell (2014)
Rating: 9/10

It’s been three years since Hands Of Orlac released its 2011 debut opus onto the world, and now the band is back with another episode in ghoulish horror!

Cower in fear at that cosmic introduction ‘I Figli Del Crepuscolo’, which has all the hallmarks of some weird, obscure Italian horror flick soundtrack. Mind you, these guys originally spawned from the darkest corner of Rome, although relocated to Sweden in 2012. It is possible that the move could well influence their sound, and indeed it does.

Firstly, Hands Of Orlac is a quintet fronted by the bewitching tones of The Sorceress who, like so many female vocalists of this ilk, is at the helm of a slightly surreal, yet often mesmerising and spooky outfit that tends to dabble mostly in orgasmic doom with an eye very much on horror themes.

So, with the likes of Purson, Blood Ceremony, The Oath etc. constructing their own occult cacophony it’s time for the world to recognise the terrifying talents of Hands Of Orlac who – if anything – have more in common with Blood Ceremony in the sense that there is an element of flute-like swiftness dipped into the cauldron which likes to toy with that catchy, doom-laden eeriness. It’s all very instant to the ears, supplying a kaleidoscopic psychedelia drenched in a sort of 1960s-cum 70s swirl of nostalgia, particularly with tracks such as ‘Burning’ which has a touch of the heebie-jeebies about its prowess as we are projected images of gangly spectres dancing through the woods.

It’s certainly an atmospheric listen and what I really like about the overall feel is that the band clearly isn’t a one-trick pony soon to run threadbare – far from it. In fact, the combo shifts through a number of grim fairytales, resulting in the vamp-a-go-go garage throb of ‘Last Fatal Drop’ with its stark percussive thud courtesy of The Clairvoyant. Meanwhile, ‘A Coin In The Heart’ is a seven-or-so-minute epic priding itself on suggesting riffs which need surely be accompanied only by a bad acid trip as a gaggle of screaming ghouls begins its banshee tirade over another spooky driving riff.

I can just see Count Dracula pogoing along to this grandiose beauty which leads us through its thorny Carpathian maze via the sporadic injections of The Sorceress’s haunting tones. Yes, I will admit that a majority of female vocalist in this line of work do have similar tones, somehow offering up a witchy blend of Blondie’s Debbie Harry and Jefferson Airplane’s Grace Slick’s sultry tones, but this is such a will-o-the-wisp of an album in that it enchants and leads you into the darkest woods where no doubt we shall all be consumed by the crumbling walls of some leering castle.

There are times in our life when we need to peer into the darkness however, and what better soundtrack to aid us than Hands Of Orlac who, in Italian horror fashion, tease us with the carnal delights of ‘Noctua’ before blending a trippy doom rock spectacular with progressive oddness in the form of the sprawling ‘A Ghost Story’; another unspeakable act of fright and frolic. It lumbers with a dark guitar as The Sorceress summons her minions; her tone a mere conjuration until it rises with the black, glistening tide of ascending percussion and twin guitar lurch of The Puritan and Alex Moraitis.

The final air of mysticism is played, channelled via another Ouija board of sound, this time in the form of musical manifestation ‘Mill Of The Stone Women’ which is as bonkers as the 1960 film it is based on. Again, we have the lumbering menace and trudging sorrow and with those injections of haunting chants, it’s a fine, gargantuan chill to end this devilish opus – burning with deep-rooted uncanny psychedelia and heavy wafts of stale doom.

Although silence only comes when they’ve returned to their remote cabin in the woods, I can’t help but follow this clandestine coven in the hope they’ll let me join their creepy club. Hands Of Orlac have gone and released one of 2014’s best albums, and curse ye who does not dare to enter.

Neil Arnold

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