Morito Ergo Sum 'A Mournful Foreboding' premiere

When this site began some five years ago, it was intended to be little more than a vessel for us to spread the music we'd become so dedicated to. We were writing reviews about albums we loved, new and old, and that was that. We didn't expect e-mails, submissions, PR firms, or anything more. But somewhere along the line, the two began to intersect; albums we received from bands unknown to us before quickly became favorites, and it broadened our horizons as to what metal is, was, and could be.

It's an honor for us to be able to bring you the premiere of the new album from Sweden's Morito Ergo Sum, not only because of the music itself, but the level of admiration we have for a band that we've covered for the bulk of our time here. You can listen to A Mournful Foreboding, due out on March 25th, a full week early. Pre-order it here on CD or digitally, and support a band more than deserving of it.

There will surely be comparisons to My Dying Bride, and those will be fair. It was My Dying Bride that truly harnessed sadness in a way metal fans had longed for, and, like Black Sabbath, those who come after have a mighty shadow to escape. But, most importantly, this isn't a derivative, or a lesser copy, it is one influence of many that contributes to the sound that has become synonymous with the Morito Ergo Sum name. With a full line-up, fronted by violinist Sebastian Rosengren, they can now attain a much richer, fluid sound than before.

The advancement is evident early on, as early as the opening track, in fact. Silence, My Beloved Friend establishes the personal nature of the album. It's lyrics tell the story of guitarist Paolo Cito's real life battle with tinnitus, a condition that, while common among musicians, is rarely spoken about in the musical arena. That it is the lyrical focus of the song is a credit to the honesty present on A Mournful Foreboding. After all, tales of loss and sadness are only powerful when they're real and tangible. The pace is slow and deliberate, allowing you to feel every pulse and drum beat.

What emerges as the album goes on is a beautiful juxtaposition of life and death, sadness and acceptance. In some ways, the songs, taken as a whole, could be seen as a lesson in triumph. For as dark as the times may seem, they go on. I Won't Be Around (Tomorrow), one of two acoustic tracks on the album, is as close to an admission of defeat as one could have. As Rosengren sings softly over violin and lightly plucked guitar strings, "All I have to do is fade away," you're allowed to share in that sense of hopelessness and dismay, a place many of us have been. It's a powerful sentiment, even for those who've never felt it for themselves. The track that follows, Crows Of Hate, is the most complete recording on the album, a sweeping layer of distorted guitars ringing out crisp and clear. But it's also the place where the darkness is allowed to breathe and expand in a ferocious display. For a few fleeting moments, gone are the whimsical, reassuring tones, only to be replace by a vicious stomp. As the track comes to it's end, that mood is joined by the cry of a dizzying lead, executed perfectly, without ever swaying the momentum of the track.

There is, of course, a common theme that runs like a string through the record; how it is presented is the element that changes. In some instances, it's spelled out for you. My Shameless Pain is overt and obvious in its lyrical content, speaking of self loathing and pain. But beneath that surface layer, there is more to find. There are hints at love lost, never to return. Deep seeded regret. It all feels so real as it pours through your speakers, speaking to parts of you that were forgotten as you aged. It provides a broad appeal that few doom-centric bands can wrangle, speaking directly to their listeners through personal experience. And as the album comes to a close - speaking, at least, of the new material - there would be no better way than with the second acoustic piece, the solemn and accepting tone of Rain. And as the music fades, the last line speaks volumes; "I'm trapped in these blues."

The album has an interesting level of subtext that should be noted; it's intended release was to be before the end of the 2015 calendar year, but due to unforeseen circumstances, it was delayed to the Spring. While it was a matter of quality control and business, there is something poetic about it all. Winter is the season of death; the trees go dormant, in hopes of merely surviving the cold and elements. Spring, however, is the season of rebirth. But lost in that widely held belief is that death begets life. Every fallen leaf returns to the Earth to aide in the renewal. It seems almost fitting for an album so rooted in the darkest of emotions to come as life begins anew. And it's staggering to glance out the window to budding trees, while pure, unadulterated sadness rings through your speakers.


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