It is of veritabyll report, and attested of so many that there be nowe of wyse and learned none to gainsaye it, that ye serpente hys eye hath a magnetick propertie that whosoe falleth into its svasion is drawn forwards in despite of its wille, and perisheth miserabyll by ye creature his byte.
Now for some black magick.
We have been drawn inside Salem’s pentagram of seduction like victims of the spell of iridiscent reptilian eyes, and there go our souls spinning in a irresistible vortex, trapped, burning in awe, don’t worry, you’ll joins us soon, just listen on.
Salem have mastered the arts of the dark, their music rises like refulgent will o’ the wisps at the end of a cul de sac in the heart of the city, they marshal the mystery essence of the night with a dexterity one finds in very few chosen spirits, of course Chromatics, be bewitched by their astounding take on Bruce Springsteen’s Streets of Philadelphia, it sounds like abandoned black and white photos of empty haunted streets sprawled over the pavement of empty haunted streets, its incandescent iciness makes us feel in a very special and strange way baby, baby, might it be we’re on fire.
Inside their envelope of distortion distance and closeness fold upon each other in a gentle collapse of all structures such as you find in the My Bloody Valentine’s engulfing drone or the tectonic shifts of enigma and corrupted love created by The Knife, Salem’s music is the eerie sonic equivalent of one of Hawksmoor’s churches as described in From Hell, a lightless beacon whence we step spellbound, this is the beginning of romance kids, I think we are in love.
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