Indeed, good things come to those who wait, but the best things are announced by a sulfurous stench, as in diabolic apparitions. Dormant for over a decade, Beyond Man has been awakened like an ancient curse from an old and sandy burial ground. In an epoch of records in which resounds the dull embellished atmosphere of a cozy bedroom, Beyond Man‘s self-titled album smells of old amplifiers drenched in rotten blood, ash and whisky, the reek of a cave I dare you to enter, where the frustrations of a group of Satanic cowboys take sonic form together with their zealot visions and nightmares, veiled by a truly ferocious and sinister aura.
Call it black metal if you wish, or envision Morbid Angel sitting down with Black Sabbath and listening to Norwegian black metal while sharing a bottle of red wine followed by straight shots of heavy smoked whisky.
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