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Cradle of Filth By Vinnie Apicella |
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"Sin Deep My Wicked Angel." and embrace the darkness, bleed for me my wicked angel, for I have tasted sin, and from your soul I feed, you shall burn in the abyss of flames and your greatest fears forever untold, shall quench the glowing embers of my bloodlust. Actually the opening sequence is little more than a chilling introduction, with added improvisational lyric effects to introduce the latest Black Metal epic from Dani Filth and this unholiest presence, reborn, always, and like darkness descending, an undying evil, so too exists Cradle of Filth, unyielding, unbridled. undead. And thus "Sin Deep My Wicked Angel" silently opens the gateways to another journey through Hades, a wicked world of orchestrated madness, delivered right to death's door from the evil elite, "Bitter Suites." and blackened minds. Furthering their next step into the great beyond with last year's unparalleled "Midian" release, "Bitter Suites." an extended EP featuring five new tracks, a cover, and remodeled past works all to leave a pleasant taste in the mouths of their legions of fans the world over; from the beginning, through the corridors of the dark, and today still, making them one of the biggest selling extreme Metal bands in a world where controversiality and corruption still rule the land, theirs is a claim to infamy yet unmatched in Black Metal circles. so in perfect unison, the bitterness will soon be revealed to the distaste of those they've managed to damn, destroy and disgust since their ten year inception and expect nothing less than hope sprung decay on their latest bastion of battle-ready Satanically-wrought fire-power and impending classically-bred Black Metal doom-"All Hope In Eclipse," "Born In a Burial Gown," bloody blasphemists with the steadfast purpose of shredding every last ounce of decency to any such a thing of lyrical substance. And never lost for words, there's plenty, as is traditionally expected, to absorb, sonically, visually, emotionally. By the time "No Time To Cry" chimes its death toll, and for all who recall U.K. Goth-pioneers Sisters of Mercy, there's none to be spared. Cradle of Filth is the embodiment of all that's wretched. wretched excess by way of musical mutilation and degradation to all that's held dear by such a notion as human value, effectively disemboweled, once and again, "Bitter Suites To Succubi," a right of revalidation granted, "The Principle of Evil Made Flesh," and for many greatly refuted, and for those who succumbed to the relentless conversionary power, pure affectation for the twisting knife edge of fate that's brought them here and kept them around when by all accounts they could've been buried long ago.
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