Review Summary: Save the trees, brethren.
Blood of the Black Owl is the brainchild of Chet W. Scott, who is responsible for all vocals and instrumentation, from guitars and drums to flutes and ocarinas, on this disc of his signature blackened folk-doom.
The music on Chet's self-titled second album, if music it may be called, does tend to be very repetitive and is much heavier on instrumentals than even it's successor,
A Feral Spirit. It can get tedious fast, but just when you're about to hit the Stop button, Mr. Scott changes it up, sometimes slightly, sometimes blatantly. For example, the wolf howls and rain between "Kills In Timber" and "The Thunderous Hooves of Two Goats In the Sky" are enough to have me engulfed from that point forward. Sometimes a flute-driven interlude abruptly bursts back into blaring doom-drone, and sometimes ominous drums enter, or a random vocal outburst breaks the tide of sorrow with a quip of despair. If it's any consolation, you'll be too depressed to be bored.
Blood of the Black Owl is a 7-track journey through the forest of decrepitude. This record honestly scares me much more than the most brutal of
Anaal Nathrakh cuts. It's an experience of what humanity's progress has done to nature and our spirits. It's a trip of pain, hopelessness, and a slow-churning fury. The guitars are loud and fuzzy like they're straining the limits of an amp overgrown with moss. The slow, ritualistic drums are darkly eerie, and the few vocals are shrouded and unintelligible groans and yells. If you, as I did, listen to the echoing drums at the end of "Uwwalo" while watching the last shreds of sunset disappear, I guarantee you will get a deep feeling of dread, like you'll never see that sun again.
It's appallingly creepy, listening to a song called "Like a Coffin Chasing the Womb, His Chariot Becomes a Southern Bloodstorm". The buzzing of amps, the apocalyptic drumming, and the incessant drone will drive you insane with anxiety. Even the slower, more melodic movements only add to the suspense. Much like with BotBo's fellow Washingtonians
Wolves In the Throne Room, you know in your gut that the frightening sounds will return as soon as the calming guitar and lulling flute start to die down...The fear factor climaxes during "Hammer Comes Crashing Down," where Chet's screams over the bleak bass sound like the death-cries of a lone orc deep in an abandoned Cirith Ungol.
All in all, Blood of the Black Owl does nature and the spirits a great favor. He gives them a powerful and destructive voice that resonates, quite literally. I got a splitting headache from listening to this album, and I'm not quite sure that wasn't the point. Chet speaks for the earth and apparently feels every pang of its moaning, rumbling agony. His ambience will send a chill down your spine like ivy climbing over cold stone and his throat makes noises that will haunt your very soul. Some say the trees speak...imagine if they screamed.
