The most obvious point of passion comes with the vocal performances. I’ve looked around and kept an ear out since, there really isn’t a single reference or modern band that compares with what Magic Circle do in terms of style and songwriting. Though this band has been pretty well sussed out in terms of easy comparative musical description since, ( Witchfinder General, 90’s Trouble) back in 2013 I’d made two suggestions that still hold up today in ‘Hell’s Fire’ era Mistreater and that same ancient feeling of Pagan Altar‘s more 70’s feeling moments (see: ‘Mythical & Magical’). It was unpolished with a purpose and I think that is where the Ice Dragon comparison had come from at the time, that raw garage (or basement) shaking thunder was alive in both bands at the time. The album landed in my hands early February that year thanks to a friends recommendation off the back of my praise for early Ice Dragon and I’ve been a cheerleader for this band ever since “Winter Light” tore its way through my head. Formed in 2011 the lightning that’d strike upon the release of Magic Circle‘s self-titled debut in early 2013 couldn’t have been predicted lest you were a dedicated east coast doom-goer. With the cobwebs flailing against spore and dust-grimed structural beam the gasping lungs of Massachusetts doom metal druids Magic Circle fill with the death of our world and wail out transcendent conviction, a truly impassioned and powerful bout of existential dread that only heavy metal could provide.Īs true to form, tasteful and effective as they were/are in their hardcore punk ( The Rival Mob, Mind Eraser, Mental, No Tolerance, etc.), extreme metal ( Innumerable Forms, Torture Chain) and heavy/doom metal-adjacent ( Doomriders, Sumerlands, Stone Dagger) projects throughout the years the membership of Magic Circle appear nigh infallible in their approach as Boston’s finest traditional doom metal music. Down in the dark and moldy basement of our end times what is left of sagging modern man is a firestorm of erratic lazing neuron We dream of hope feebly, all the while dying an unwilling death atop the corpse of duly crushed spirituality. Corridors of worship fill with machine gun fire, the obituaries of vital influence busy the tied hands of the long-muted journalist, and what beauty left on Earth rests in the peace of death’s stone gardens. Humanity is reduced to packs of corporeal geist in various stages of grief for the end, haunting a world that’d collapsed under the weight of our coffins decades ago. How do you sleep at night, anymore? Do you feel guilty for the polluted air you breathe, the piling trash you create, the unsustainable food you eat from the oceans you poison? Do you flinch when see the picked-clean skulls of your fellow man as you close your eyes at night? Death surrounds us, denial entombs us, and yet we refuse to march in our own funeral with even a hint of grace.
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