Fans of TYPE O NEGATIVE or in general of well-tempered Funeral Doom/ Gothic watch out, this will definitely please your ears!
THE LAND OF LONG SHADOWS on all STREAMING PLATFORMS
NEVER STOP THE SADNESS – a dire harbinger of melodies bereft of joy and optimism. The ensemble delves unflinchingly into the abyss promised by their somber name, shrouding their true personas, letting the music speak for itself. The lament-ridden musicians hail from the shadowed, northern precincts of melancholic metal-rock, their chosen avatars assuming the visage of tatter-clad psychopomp-like wayfarers and guides, shepherding souls to the veil, while the music mirrors this sepulchral pilgrimage.
NEVER STOP THE SADNESS may be most aptly described as death-doom, or perhaps a union of funeral doom intertwined with the melancholic Gothic strains reminiscent of the mournful dirges of TYPE O NEGATIVE. These melancholic odysseys are riddled with unexpected detours, like the spectral echoes of vintage synthesizers woven into the tapestry of sound. Every composition resonates in a mournful abyss of down-tuned melancholy, entwined with themes of demise, the passage beyond, the nether realms, sorrow, longing, and the lamentations that shadow all things grim.
Though the identities of the constant denizens of this unhallowed assemblage may forever shroud themselves in enigma, it is ordained that one might recognize some well-known and loved voices from the darker metal scene.
Let us now turn our gaze to the philosophies and conceptual elucidations of these enigmatic northerners, for in their words, we glimpse the sprawling sonorous cosmos that NEVER STOP THE SADNESS unfurls: You might see them, a glimpse in the uncanny moments at the first promise of thunder, when the air turns heavy to breathe at dusk, when the light plays tricks on the mind or standing at the feet of your bed, when you awaken in the dead of the night
The Moth looms there, weightless, silent. He watches, as he did at the foot of your cradle And he will, until the day the harvest turns ripe And the call of the black river becomes overwhelming Until it is time go To Styx, to Tuoni, to Lethe The Bellwether will take your hand, gently and with great care And you will follow As everything has and as everything will