And Our Black Wounds Still Remains Silence – Suicide Theory’s Sonic Inferno
Alright, let’s get one thing straight: this album fucking rips. Released in 2014 by the Russian black metal outfit Suicide Theory, And Our Black Wounds Still Remains Silence is a raw, unrelenting assault on your eardrums. It’s not here to hold your hand or make you feel cozy—it’s here to drag you into its abyss of despair and leave you gasping for air. Label CVLMINIS knew what they were doing when they put this out; it's pure nihilistic fury wrapped up in six tracks of sonic devastation.
Let’s break it down. First off, “Pain In The Moon” slams into you like a freight train derailed at full speed. The drums are relentless, pounding away with zero mercy, while the guitars churn out these dissonant riffs that sound like someone tearing apart their soul string by string. Vocals? More like a banshee screaming from the depths of hell. This track sticks because it doesn’t just sit there—it grabs you by the throat and shakes until you’re too dizzy to stand upright. You can practically smell the sulfur burning through your speakers.
Then there’s “Depressed, Wounded, The End…” which feels less like a song and more like an existential crisis set to music. The pacing slows down just enough to let the weight of everything crush you. It’s haunting as fuck, man. That slow crawl of dread builds until the final crescendo hits, and suddenly you realize why it’s called the end. Like, damn. It’s bleak, but holy shit does it hit hard. These guys aren’t messing around—they mean every anguished note.
The rest of the album ain’t no slouch either. Tracks like “Welcome, To The Pain Of The World” and “Life’s Killing Me” keep the momentum going with razor-sharp aggression and lyrics dripping with venom. But honestly, after hearing those two standout tracks, you’ll be too busy picking up the pieces of your shattered psyche to even notice.
Here’s the kicker though—this isn’t some polished-over studio project trying to cash in on trends. No, this is ugly, messy, real-as-hell black metal straight from Russia’s cold, unforgiving heart. And maybe that’s what makes it so goddamn unforgettable. When the last note fades, you’re left sitting there thinking… what the actual fuck just happened?
Final thought: If silence really is golden, then Suicide Theory just turned our black wounds into something way heavier than gold. Now excuse me while I go bang my head against a wall for another hour.
