Strange Ways to Ancient Times [Old version]
(Dark Hidden Prod., 2005)
Book I - The Four New Storms
01. C-moll Präludium
02. Walk the Path of Conquest
03. Aspiring Heights
04. A Lone Disdainful Proud Spirit
Book II - Hidden Ancient Works
05. Prelude in A minor for organ, violin and cello
Concerto in F minor for strings and continuo
06. i - Sehr gewaltsam (nach Ulfhethnars' "A Call for the Rising Mists")
07. ii - Streng
08. iii - Rondo: Lebhaft
Concerto in G minor for violin and strings -excerpt-
09. i - Gewaltsam
Sonata in G minor for harpsichord, flute and oboe -excerpts-
10. ii - Düster
11. iii - Rondo: Lebhaft
Four preludes and fugues for harpsichord
12. No. 1 in D minor
13. No. 2 in Ab minor
14. No. 3 in D minor
15. No. 4 in H minor
16. Piano piece after Ulfhethnar's "A Call for the Rising Mists"
Six fugues on H. P. Lovecraft's "The Outsider"
17. No. 1 in C minor for harpsichord: Alone in the Dark Castle
18. No. 2 in A major for organ: A Dream of Pastoral Delights
19. No. 3 in C minor for harpsichord: The Ruined Black Tower and the Endless Forest
20. No. 4 in D minor for organ: The Moon, the Graveyard and the Lonesome Road
21. No. 5 in D minor for harpsichord: Ghastly Vision Haunting the Ivied Pile
22. No. 6 in C minor for organ: The Dweller in Shadows
Total time: 68 min.
Grim aristocratic Black Metal followed by a Neoclassical approach.
All music and lyrics were written and performed or programmed by E.
The C-moll Präludium is a Black Metal transcription of the Prelude BWV 847
from Das wohltemperierte Klavier, Bk. I (1722), by J. S. Bach (1685-1750).
CD edition through Dark Hidden Prod., limited to 612 copies (sold out).
Walk the Path of Conquest
While stands my bold soul these roaring black storms,
in hate against minstrels of sorrow and sloth,
th' old will-to-conquer my voice proudly exalts,
with no friendly eyes summoning to war.
Rueful sights of fall'n souls confounding life,
stripp'd of all dignity and thirst to fight,
unmoved saw I to spread from the north
fading the gleam of the spear and the sword.
I see now a way through our woods and their night,
to walk there the paths of improvement and rise,
to learn and advance from despair and from want,
and to reach victory by forging new arms.
So take all weights upon the wreckling back
and do defy the worst that can befall;
rejoicing in war, as in th' steepest paths,
my powers thus grow, my mind aims to might.
The blind poet bespoke: «Which way shall I fly,
infinite wrath, and infinite despair?»
Which way I fly is pride; myself am pride;
and may th' low'st deep be in fact a hidd'n height.
Aspiring Heights
Shine bitterly eternal eyes
at the revenge of the mean lame,
the feebles' cunning and the guile
preach loud th' equality of men.
The masks fall rolling now afar
that ne'er deceiv'd me with their snares,
so seeks the low to blind the high
to veil the crumbling of the race.
A revolution of sore plebs,
their only base way to stand up,
craving the falling of the great,
just wise lone souls can blight their plans.
Spurning the slaves' resentful lies,
treading the last man's values through,
I breath the air of lonesome heights
bearing a proud cold solitude.
Wide in these lands they do exist,
the hierarchies of mind and might;
though upside-down the mass is seeing,
still shall my pow'rs aspire the heights.
A Lone Disdainful Proud Spirit
Am I 'mid storms or am a storm myself,
a dark lone spirit fierce and proud, where wars
tear deep and wide the dismal air of night
in fleeting sights of bloody deeds and wise?
Forging new values in the dark, to root
a high chosen soul fall'n in hateful art,
I cast my mind to baleful wrecks I wrought,
this sere void trying there to justify.
Can I see it, the study of revenge,
the injur'd merit sheltering aloft,
the black cloak and the hate, all that dragg'd me
tow'rds desolations that my air became?
But be it so; spurn the herd, shun the life,
a distant tower in the night erect,
there to dwell far remov'd thus from a world
which foul repels in scorn my eyes away.
Night, void, ye are my high abode, and books
and ancient works of those who rose 'bove man;
proud I sneer o'er the vulgar crowd below:
vain now th' attempts shall be to throw me hence.