Tales From The Immortals: A Dark, Dreamy Dive into 1996 Belgium
Let’s get one thing straight—this album isn’t for everyone. Tales From The Immortals by Acroamates De Tristitia is like that moody friend who only talks in metaphors and wears black trench coats even when it’s 90 degrees outside. Released in '96 under their own label (because why trust anyone else with your weird genius?), this Belgian gem blends electronic beats, rock grit, and a splash of modern classical drama to create something hauntingly unforgettable.
The band’s lineup reads like a recipe for goth-rock perfection: John o.m..l... handling the music, Iris lending her ethereal vocals, Lieven penning the lyrics AND smashing the drums. It’s clear these folks weren’t messing around—they crafted an experience, not just an album. And damn, does it show.
Now let’s talk tracks. While every song here has its charm, two stood out enough to lodge themselves permanently in my brain: “My Angel Is Black” and “Dying While I Kiss You Goodbye.”
“My Angel Is Black” hits you right away with this creeping synth line that feels like walking through fog at midnight—unsettling but kinda beautiful too. Then Iris comes in, her voice floating between vulnerability and defiance, like she’s whispering secrets meant only for you. The lyrics? Oh, they’re dark poetry gold. Stuff about angels falling apart and love gone wrong—it’s melodramatic as hell, but somehow it works. By the time the chorus kicks in, you’re either vibing hard or wondering if you need therapy. Either way, mission accomplished.
Then there’s “Dying While I Kiss You Goodbye,” which might be the most metal title ever written. This track slaps harder than expected, mixing pounding drums (thanks, Lieven!) with glitchy electronic undertones. It’s chaotic yet strangely romantic, like breaking up in slow motion while lightning flashes outside. The way the melody builds toward the end gives me actual chills—it’s operatic without being pretentious, raw without losing control. Honestly, I’ve caught myself humming it during mundane moments, like waiting in line at the grocery store. That says something, doesn’t it?
What makes Tales From The Immortals so special is how unapologetically itself it is. There’s no attempt to smooth out the edges or cater to trends. These guys took risks, blending genres and styles in ways that shouldn’t work—but do. They sound like they’re channeling centuries of sorrow while stuck inside a cathedral rave. Weird? Sure. Compelling? Absolutely.
Here’s the kicker, though: listening to this album feels less like hearing music and more like stepping into someone’s fever dream. Maybe that’s why it sticks with you long after the last note fades. Or maybe it’s because we all have a little darkness lurking inside us, waiting for permission to come out and play.
So yeah, give Tales From The Immortals a spin—if you dare. Just don’t blame me if you find yourself staring wistfully out rain-streaked windows afterward.
