Jahreszeiten

Jahreszeiten
No Colours Records 2009
A5 Digi ~ CD, Gatefold DLP
Ash: Screaming Vocals, Clear Vocals, Spoken Voice, E-guitars, Bass, Acoustic Guitar,
Synthesizer
Erebor: Drums
The Jahreszeiten (Seasons) album was intoned during some snowy rainy April days of
the year 2009.
Concept, Music & Lyrics ~ Ash
The prologue of the CD version and the monologues of the vinyl version are by the
majority an amalgam of records by K.K. mixed with fragments of my book ”Between the
Stones” written in 1996.
Addendum/Addition
This album is not a Black Metal album and, therefore, cannot be regarded with the same
criteria. It is the attempt to reflect, musically and in the lyrics, the characteristics of the
four seasons as well as the sensations of the (“mental illness”) love in a classical notion
and its changes. In the album booklet I expressed this by writing that “the emotional
peculiarities and mental representations of which [are] reflected in the musical-melodic
progression of the individual songs”. The melodic beginning of each of the pieces is
meant, thus, to represent the characteristics of the respective season but also the
momentary emotional state of love, which sometimes has been achieved by Black Metalunorthodox melody lines, in order to do justice to the endeavour of capturing the
emotional moment. For the illustration of these complex dynamics, my lyrics contain
classical elements, which should be familiar to everyone who ever dealt with the classics
and literature, so I reject any kind of insinuations of plagiarism.
As was to be expected, the initial melody of “Spring” caused the strongest controversies,
because it‟s a fist punch into the face of all this Neo-BM-Kids, which never experienced
the old spirit of Black Metal and violate him with their adolescent short-time Ideologies!
My german-rooted great-grandparents from the father‟s side were farmers in Bessarabia,
to where they emigrated in the 18th/19th century. Everyone who is able to imagine the
harsh winter in the southern branches of the Carpathians or who, like myself, grew up in
the countryside, can certainly measure those people‟s expectation of spring, which, as the
envoy of new life after needful and icy, stormy weeks and months, was accordingly
greeted in spring festivities with dances and songs. In order to honour my ancestors and
my bessarabian roots, I employed a bessarabian folk melody for the introduction in the
song “Spring”. More on this in the NARGAROTH special issue of IUT DE ASKEN
magazine in early 2010. In consideration of the earlier mentioned subject of the songs,
everyone who has ever been freshly in love should know how “silly”, as the English
language aptly has it, or in the farthest sense nearly pathologically, one might behave in
this early stage of love. Or how liberating it can be to fall in love again after long
biographical periods of desolation and despondency (winter), and suddenly everything
seems possible, just as if life had returned into oneself. This is exactly what the
introductory melody reflects! I do understand that this folkloristic bessarabian melody is
regarded as Black Metal unorthodox, but I do not, with respect to the subject this album
deals with, understand the incomprehension about it. When, however, some are amusing
themselves in getting excited about it, are reminded of “beer tent music” or similar
infantile sounds, the energetic effect of this melody is revealed, for they, too, are coming
close to the intention of a joyful feeling. As mentioned in the booklet, I express my deep
pity for those creatures who never experienced this emotional state. To those, who
regardless of the explanations given in this lines here are not able to bear the introductory
melody line of “Spring”, it shall be said that this song is longer than just 3:22 and that, at
least from then on, it is better than much of what the “German scene” had to “offer”
during the last years. The controversial internet discussions have, anyway, made this song
known to a considerable public in a very short time span, so that the album reached a
high degree of publicity due to the promotional effects of those “critics”. Thanks.
Furthermore, I have spoken the prologue and the other monologues on the vinyl version
by myself, and a real (sometimes triggered) drum kit and not a drum computer was used
on the “Jahreszeiten” album, as was sometimes tried to claim. This misunderstanding on
the one hand indicates a musical-acoustic incompetence of some “listeners” and the
above-average abilities of my drummer.
I have never limited myself with respect to lyrical subjects in NARGAROTH and will not
do so in the future! From the beginning, it was obvious and known that NARGAROTH is
dealing with fallible humanness. Everyone who has not realized this since “Rasluka Part
II” and the lyrics in that release cannot be taken serious with what he says! Even though
the current release is not a Black Metal album, I am aware of where I stand with
NARGAROTH and what it means to me! With Black Metal, we have got an unique art
form and way of expression, which allows to give room to and express all emotional
aspects of fallible (in)humanness as well as human developments. I am still of this
opinion. Everyone who has not yet realized this should stay away from Black Metal!
(ending Addition)
Dedicated to the memory of Dr. H.-J. Koraus (18.02.1946 ~ 23.11.2007) and to Dr. M.
Wernado, who inspired and escorted me on my way during the last five years, in many
peaceless moments in the experiences of a man and his self-despise, and without whose
help I would have never found to myself again.
In the album on hand, I am dealing with seasonal changes as exemplified by the seasons
of the year, the emotional peculiarities and mental representations of which reflected in
the musical-melodic progression of the individual songs. As for the lyrics, it deals with
the dynamics of dyadic human relationships, which essentially influence – if not outright
cause – mundane fates, single tragedies but also the destinies of entire world empires. I
dare say that I‟d be surprised if not the one or other willing listener is going to find
himself in one of the poems of this album. And I express regret for that creature who can
not – or tries to repudiate it! The CD version of the SEASON ~ album does not represent
the complete work of art because I won‟t grant the download-ridden shit scene my
thoughts and works by such easy means, which they consume like fast food. Listeners
who permanently ignore or leave out the monologues don‟t do justice to the art nor prove
to be worth it.
Being a man means waging a daily war with ones ideals against the background of the
demands of reality. Thus I dedicate this album to two persons who escorted me on this
difficult way of Dying and Becoming, and whose disciple I have been. Forging such a
way on one‟s own I consider, on grounds of my own experiences, as insufficient and
impossible. Being a man, my way consists of constant self-experience, permanent
calling-into-question and analysing, the perpetual quarrelling with myself and the despair
about my former way of life. But it also consists of the courage to give room to these
misconducts, in order to rearrange the way lying ahead of me every day, just like
described by Goethe in Seelige Sehnsucht (Blessed Aspiration). A man who does not
know this inner struggle, or worse, who is not interested in it, is for me neither relevant
nor worth of honour.
And for as long as you do not have this: Die and Become!
You are but a blear visitor, on the dark Earth.
(J.W.Goethe)
Ash
Prolog
I do not know who I am and who I was –
a stranger to myself – and new to me –
and old when I look into the mirror –
I thought I was everywhere at home – and
was already homeless even before I was really there –
I don‟t want to be lonely – and crave for loneliness as soon as I am not alone.
I do want to learn, learn, and I hate my sleep because it‟s stealing the time –
but I am so over-full with myself –
I am full of energy-charged ideas – and full of sadness –
I want to live and I want to die – and often both I do –
I was curious about happiness – and look, I hate the feeling of happiness –
I was inside of everything and wanted to be nowhere while I was everywhere –
I love my sun – and I hate it, for I realize that I cannot escape from it –
I love whores, thieves, and maybe murderers too – because I love their destinies –
if they do have such a thing –
and also the lunatics, as they are called by people – they are like blind who can already
see for a long time – and even all the whores are standing above us because they have to
suffer so much –
I run from every day – and comes the night, and so keeps standing,
all those hour-less hours,
then I am so very sick just because it is no longer daytime.
I hate all children – and yet I kneel down wherever I see one.
I am searching for myself – and when I‟ve found me, I am my worst enemy.
I feel my own skin is burning like fire –
and my blood is like an erratic beast –
I run from myself and from my life – and I hate myself, who wants to destroy me.
But I ask for sorrow and a hard life –
and for thoughts after the fever –
I want to suffer for every flower when it is dying in life –
and want to be forever grateful when the spring does come every other year
and want to await the strength after the sorrows.
Give me strength to go through the interims – without a scream, and give me humility for
the big womb.
Spring
(Music & Lyric by Ash 2004 ~ 2009)
It laments the lark her song of hope,
making old sorrows forgotten.
I listen in tears to the spring sound,
the love after deep-cool night.
The crows lamentation touches not my ear,
I tore it from my lamenting conscience.
I murdered all the shadows away,
which once drove me in abysses.
Also the bloody-rusty knife
did I bury well beneath the cherry tree.
And the demon of revenge
I have slain in my dreams.
So may this knife in its warm roots
like a dead child shall sleep.
And not arouse an old-yesterday grief,
with which I punish the young love.
The cherry blossoms are dropping
like white tears down on me.
As a sign as if I now was
awoken from the sleep in a moist cold grave.
Narratio
I am the murder-iron to my own soul, which I forged in the flames of purulent vanity and
solidified in the tears of blood-spoiled flowers - which grows leady and syphilisimpregnated before my eyes, biting like screws in my mouth and sewing my lips
together. The murder-iron which I forget when I, pious and oblivious of all sorrow,
spread myself again in the fold of the sun..... In the shivering, my pulse is lying
somewhere in the bush, still sticking to my hangmen‟s heels, having bitten them as my
bloodstream struck them like a torn stiletto...... I am the morning. I am Helios. I am the
agitated pox-ridden faun, who quenches his flames only in the muzzles of heaven, who,
like a rudderless, carrion-smeared raft, is swelling through too narrow veins, and who
cannot trust anyone but the denture of contaminated air..... I am the fever beast of this
earth. I burn the mark of Cain in everybody‟s slit indent. I am the worm living in the
breasts. I fall back as faeces and singe into the sand. I am the tower of burning-hot trees.
With my hand heavy from blisters, I am digging the sulphur yellow fruits into a grave
when my fallen bones have dissolved in the leach of my anger. I am the strawberry skin
of Venus, who even a god wanted to denude. I am the leprosy on the apple bough, I am
the mouth of the copper blossoms, am the fire in a woman‟s lap, I am the pearl-herb on
every girl‟s slumber. I am the poisonous-greedy ledge where “Amen” is being yelled. I
am so close as light at midnight and also so distant, alas.... I am Tantalus for you, hurt by
all sins, whom you empty like a garbage bin. I have never complained, I have always
pulled myself together. But I want to cry for 1000 years for the eyes of all the sunflowers
you punished with chlorine. You, however, are beating on the buds of my eyes.
Forwards, quick, onwards. You have got “so much” courage. There cries the syphilis on
my skin, you have spit upon me, you have besmeared me. Push me and beat my hands
and piss in the abdomen of my soul – and slur into my bright singer‟s throat. I do not fear
the end. I have seen mothers tussle for revolvers. I have drowned in wild flower‟s blood.
Ailing angels grasped into my suppurative wounds. I tear the pock from Christ‟s
grimaces because the scabies itches deep inside my heart until the fiery sap is quivering
from his legs and my wings are bursting like paper. I have again and again been woken
up with a bucket full of fever
foam until, then, like a tree under
the axe of insanity, I fell. I was
filled with mad hope like the
coral of young girl‟s breasts. I
was as believing as a sacrificial
animal which kissed its lewd
murderers.... Come and strike
dead my blood vessels. What is
to me man‟s rotten dirt.... My
heart is screaming like an unborn
child against the rigid masks of
my privation.
Summer
(Music & Lyric by Ash 2004 ~ 2009)
Introludiumssolo: Marcel - Lightningz Edge
I am the dew on the grass,
nourishing your heart.
The kiss which has forgotten
that nothing lasts forever.
I am the scream in the wind,
which wishes to announce
that we are stars,
revered even by a god.
I‟m your armour and your shield
in hail and in storm wind.
In the struggle with the shadows
and the burrow worm.
I‟m the rain in the summer,
which quenches your thirst.
I‟m the light after thunder,
which illuminates ‟wards our course.
I‟m the wave on the water,
which cools your scars,
which bleeding for oh so long
and, starving, stir your soul.
„Cause for you have found me
in the heavy-deep ore.
Healed my wounds,
consoled my heart.
As a man my hand raised for shelter,
I bed you on an ivy sea.
And remain with you forever interwoven
(and) never want to be with another one again.
Argumentatio
...the people don‟t even get a fever when drinking their own piss. I‟ve got the fever of the
whole world in my eyes. And like the pus stream of syphilis the black fever is biting itself
naked and dying into the broken halls of mirrors in my sick heart. My fever is burning me
to death. I am walking upright like the youngest son and am romping screaming through
the ashes of my fathers‟ sins and my eyes are burning like black suns in the mother‟s
breast which suckled me to death. Salvation, salvation. I am devouring the vermin of
defaming mouths. I piss on your laws. For you know nothing but the besmeared hearts
and sit with your asses on my pains. For you, I certainly am the biggest pig. Inside of me,
everything is black from the sun. My blood is yelling like insane pikes through the
drainpipes of my soul. My skin is too tight for me. The tears are exploding under my skin
and are talking to me in strange tongues which growing between my eyes. Bellowing
birds are bathing their ass in sore eyes and their faeces nourish old women‟s breasts,
where I becalm my fever while wallowing in their old hands like a newborn child with
ashes at the hips. I am haunted by my crimes..... I am whipped by my lies..... The
murderers are fantasising my face..... They are coming to get me by the morning.... I am
all blotched..... I cannot even see if there are any flowers.....The sky is chopped into
pieces - and one is to be hanged.
Autumn
(Music & Lyric by Ash 2004 ~ 2009)
There sinks the dying sun,
bloodred into foggy slumber.
Regret bestirs itself in the heart,
where once my failure hit me.
There urges the singing of norns,
about so much sleeping Once.
Breaking are the fates of love,
no matter how serious you‟re about it.
And my hands now withered like paper,
are burning in heart-cool blemish
and old laughter that making me shiver,
derides me in all my woe.
There rest the tears like young rain
on the soon to die grass
Gently nestles moss to weathery walls
The hearts that I never forgot…
And no scar remained nameless,
in vanity‟s combat.
Bleeding to death we remained in the field
and lick the wounds of time.
Where the yearning for your skin has gone?
It‟s screaming in my mind alone.
So that it shall be done to me alone,
With all its doubts and screamin‟.
The strange bed, to where I fled in the evening,
was like the one in the morning so cold.
Once were our hearts united,
sear now, betrayed and old.
I have so often lied for you,
no matter at or with whom you slept.
There’s still sticking a strange hint to your hair,
which resembles the demon from which you are fleeing.
For so long now we’re not looking in each other’s eyes,
for too many kisses we’ve stolen.
We’re cutting at night our sins into our flesh,
that are reminding us forever of the sorrows.
Still thousands of castles we drunkenly ascend,
which will be ruins soon.
But alas not yet see from stony pinnacles
that our dreams are already dying in the wind.
Peroratio
The people are whores in the deepest of their hearts! What do they want from me? I did
not do anything. I had only severed my life because they are pissing pus in my soul. What
is all this about? Just leave me alone. I can‟t be happy with the grimace of yours. I can no
longer sleep since years. I can only keep weeping and screaming into my hands. I
crooked from the afterbirth. They braze me tight to a bed to which the torn shreds of a
poor dissolved pig are still clinging, which brought to an end his mortal agony here in
this pit as, in the hurricane of his limbs‟ plague, liquid flesh burst its banks. Mary! Why is
the people‟s shrub of purulence growing through my brain? The people say that I am
insane. But huge flames are gushing through my blood. I am the earth‟s reason kept pure!
I have been riding on my sorrows like on a horse, and, without sleep, from night to night,
and only fell asleep as my face had become derided and salty. They did not know that I
had been hunted by the fever-sharp mouth of the sun for all my life. They did not know
that it made me life-sick and raging like a sheet lightning. And that it greedily drank my
years. Around here, not even rats are shitting against the walls. Not even the silly winter
does reach as far as here. Just sometimes a deranged wind beats its wings lame against
the cold walls. Oh, if you just knew how hard it is to be hanged and not be able to die? I
am free. Be not concerned. I am screaming liberating under the statures who are vomiting
my name and stinging their sulphurous wild lies, like thorns into my twisted heart!
Forgive me my freedom. Your pain I am vomiting into the purulent throat of the earth.
Winter
(Music & Lyric by Ash 2004 ~ 2009)
Lamentation of hatred
Weeping are ancestors who deceased in love
who ice-drunken bend the honourable head.
And all my sins lose their name
when hatred robs the conscience.
Like once a splinter of pure crystal
had left the boys heart cooled.
Just so gave graciousness the queen
to me the strength, so that I cast you away.
I have torn the heart from my chest
with the icy dagger long ago.
Have liberated myself from humility and lust for punishment,
from woefulness and a sinful conscience.
With a scream I cut the bloodstream in half
which did bind you and me.
For the love, which once healed us,
we had maltreated like bloody-black hacks.
Solo: Marcel - Lightningz Edge
The ancestors’ denouncement
And there claim the fathers of ancestors „Traitor“
The soul deceived. Honour belied.
Preaching of self-contempt, eternalised in guilt.
In words and deed, a man’s high treason.
No god will redeem you, from your honourless guilt.
A man you must become, yet no more within your “cult”.
Wear your sins uprightly, chart them on your skin,
So for redemption be mistreated by all who behold your mark of Cain!
The end
Thus I carved in stone my despicable legacy
and it‟s still bleeding in my mind,
for at times and every now and then
the memory of it is aching…
Prologue
I erect myself. Like trees when they know that it‟s time to die. I got to get away from
here.