SIGNAL REX is proud to present a special new mini-album from Portugal’s legendary IRAE, Dangerovz Magick Zpells from the Mesziah of Death.
By now, IRAE should require little introduction. Since the dawn of this cursed millennium, mainman Vulturius has prolifically pursued a singular vision of RAW BLACK METAL that includes five full-lengths and countless split releases with likeminded comrades. As such, IRAE have almost singlehandedly invigorated Portugal's black metal scene, particularly the rawer iteration of it, and with the release of Lurking in the Depths last summer, the Korona Winter Rehearsal of Darkness & Evil tape at the bitter end of 2020, and a split LP with comrades ORDEM SATÂNICA and WØMB most recently - all through SIGNAL REX, of course - there’s no sign of that black flame being extinguished anytime soon.
Ever restless, Vulturius returns with one of IRAE's most unique recordings, Dangerovz Magick Zpells from the Mesziah of Death. As suggested by its enigmatic title, this is largely IRAE at their most thirsty & miserable - howling, hypnotic, and harrowing, with no redemption nor reprieve in sight - and the sound suits the concept, form matching content like old rot atop ancient moss. Here, Vulturius wrote all the lyrics first and then divided them across four songs. It's a story written and adapted in a sub-language that Vulturius invented, to not have a common language but something close by. "Imagine you're possessed and don't talk things right and give a new formula to things that already exist," he explains, before qualifying: "I was drunk when I had this idea and put pen to paper." Imagine, then, the tongue-twisting demi-vernacular not unlike the magickal realm created by the Black Legions' Vordb, for his hordes Belkètre, Brenoritvrezorkre, and Moëvöt among many others.
More concretely, Dangerovz Magick Zpells from the Mesziah of Death tells the story about an old mad wizard who made a deal with supernatural forces to conquer the world. Thusly rising to the occasion, IRAE weave four equally epic spells across a time-expanding yet somehow concise 33 minutes. Each one is as nasty yet magisterial as the last - sickly flowing, ripped raw, and all keenly nuanced - with "Part III" portraying Vulturius at his most ghostly, an almost downer-pop anthem that shows a softer yet supremely sinister side.