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SHADOWDREAM
Um

WormHoleDeath (2014)
Rating: 8/10

Anyone who goes by the name Magister Nocturnal is clearly going to be a musician who likes to dabble in the weird, haunting and sinister. Magister Nocturnal is the lone force behind Shadowdream, a rather quizzical act hailing from Serbia who since 2004 has dwelt in musical voids that many would fear to tread.

It would be unfair to call Shadowdream’s sixth full-length release soundtrack music, but one could quite easily imagine this sort of ambient darkness caressing a peculiar horror film, such is its potency.

Yes, this sort of music is an acquired taste in the sense that it doesn’t exactly deliver crushing riffs, (or any riffs for that matter!) pummelling percussion and deathly vocal growls, but if you like strange soundscapes, haunting passages and threatening hums of suspense then this is right up there with Neptune Towers and Enoch, although Um is less cosmic than the former and minus the sheer horror of the latter.

Um could easily be deemed mood music; the sort of soundtrack to pass away the dark hours and maybe even drift off to, such is its almost soothing approach. However, it’s not all as simple as that. While opener ‘Theological Agnosia’ merely exists as a brooding storm that never once breaks the haunting, ‘Intermetamorphosis – The Abandoned Inhuman’ is a rather chilling episode that wouldn’t seem out of place accompanying a ghost story, such is its nature. While the main instrumentation exists as a brooding groan, the gothic orchestration brings with it a set of diabolical whispers and creepy chants. I’m a huge fan of eerie music when there is an injection of effects and odd voices, and while still very much an instrumental – well, the whole album is – one dare not drift off to this one just in case upon waking you find a host of fleeting shadows flitting about the room.

There is something so suggestive about Um; it’s a mere peek into a dark corner and a spectre in the corner of the retina. Hidden within this parlour of peculiarity are things that never wish to fully reveal themselves. ‘First Episode – Hysteria’ dances on tiptoe; again, it is spectral in nature, evoking images of a phantom ballerina or dancing ghostly children who are at once playful yet mournful. The track features a jazzy drum which litters the haunting melody, but ‘Bedlam – Take My Life’ is a complete contract; a weird avantgarde mesh of Darth Vader huffs, entrancing sitar and Eastern drum thumps, but it’s literally nothing more than that.

Of all the tracks, it’s the David Lynch (director of Twin Peaks, Blue Velvet) styled ‘Pavor Nocturnus – Death To Me’ that floats my boat. Again, just like every other track, it only hints at a darker side as the drums skip spasmodically yet deftly over those sombre strains of surrealism. It tapers away into some remote asylum of distant yells and tortured moans, suggesting someone of demonically possessed mind is inhabiting the room next door, but it harbours a door we dare not open.

Each track here deserves its own description, whether in the form of sprinkling delights of the cosmic ‘Second Episode – Schizophrenia’, the inner psyche trauma of ‘Ghost Sickness – End of Life’ or the closing crawl of ‘The Cotard Delusion’.

There is nothing remotely “metal” about Um but if you have ever paddled in the murky waters outside of the box that many fear to open, then this opus is ideal for those who don’t simply rely on guitars, bass, drum and vocal to see the night through. Whether Um evokes nightmares of pleasant dreams is solely down to the listener and their perception, but whatever your opinion there is clearly something lurking behind the black door… otherwise known as Um.

Neil Arnold

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