A Somber Wind from a Distant Shore

Black metal can sprout anywhere; it's a hardy weed. Canis Dirus (the Latin designation for the wolf, a common symbol within the genre) are a duo from Plymouth, MN. Their brand of black metal is Americanized and macho; no corpse paint, leather pants, or spikes are present. The usual buzzing guitars, hissing hi-hats and cymbals, and echoey, reverbed drums are here, but there's also a feeling of amped-up white blues, especially in the guitars on the nearly nine-minute "Garden of Death." When these guys play slow, they're conjuring the psychedelic hard rock of Neil Young & Crazy Horse as much as Burzum. It's easy to imagine them tearing into a killer version of "Down by the River." The vocals are indecipherable howls that recall the cries of birds of prey more than human voices. There are sampled choirs, but given the whole atmosphere of the disc, they just sound like a bunch of somber Lutherans, not some creepy gothic cult. The forest is a very common image in black metal, and this album's cover art is no exception, but it's easy to get the feeling that these guys are hunters and fishermen who walk the woods with shotguns over their shoulders, rather than lurking behind trees pretending to be trolls or pre-Christian pagans. This is black metal that Ted Nugent could appreciate, or that could soundtrack an adaptation of a Jim Harrison novel.