[Reviewed by: Iaha Crax]
About a century ago Marseille was a favourite place for artists like Renoir, Cezanne or Braque, who drew their inspiration from the refreshing seascapes and the friendly, bucolic nature. It is certain that the Bulgarian Dimitar Dimitrov and William Kopecky, hailing from the USA, didn’t come to the shores of Provence neither for the Fête de la Musique, nor to follow the descent of La Marseillaise; their chance meeting is surely another cosmically driven event, or simply a narcotic team-building which has enriched the metal underground with a fanciful project called Haiku Funeral.
This seems to be their fourth record, following “Nightmare Painting”, my first acquaintance with them, released through this trickster famine record label Aesthetic Death (Esoteric, Endvra, Fleurety, Eibon…). Down to earth flashy records, like some viscerally pathetic Cradle of Filth, the new 3D stars Vulture Industries, Count Nosferatu Kommando or poisonous spicy dark metallers Slagmaur and Smohalla, are all fine examples of insalubrious musical mixtures attempting to transcribe mostly literary – and imaginary – visions into music.
Haiku Funeral inclines the ear towards a fluid syntax; they could be inscribed on structures akin to Dark Kilimanjaro Orchestra, with less respect for classic conventions. They elaborate a pretentious surgery on the awakened body of metal music, letting organs in the open and chanting upon jazz-funky lullabies. Daunty magick or furtive experimentalism, as they play songs like “Hallucinations”, “Razgradjone”, “Glasat”; the music flows ethereally, replacing rhythm with erotic pulsations, the extracts of unnamed imaginary perversions.
Music evolves mainly around a text, as noticed on “Suicide Organ”, the electronic devices building the shape that suggests what the writing is about. Haiku Funeral works with numerous sounds, theremin, harps, several types of drum and a constant bass, that can even create a curious disco-death track like “Servants of Fire” , e-bows for a seductive belly-dance ballet with “Darkest Day Of The Year”, and industrial ambient pastiches on the final track, “The Last Hallucination Of Christ”.
Perhaps if they had tasted some of the mescaline leftovers from Spektr, we would have had another near-death experience. Otherwise, “Hallucinations” is more drawn to Baudelairian haschisch, which has in common with wine this interesting effect that made us listen to “Hallucinations”: the excessive poetical development of man.