Ψ.Χ. (Psi.Chi.) - Το Φως το Αληθινό

They'll never drag me out of the dark alive.

In my time listening to metal, I’ve found myself enjoying music from a variety of countries whose language is not English. Nevertheless, they oftentimes opt for English as their mode of lyrical expression, given that it’s the world’s Lingua Franca. Perhaps it’s a way to reach wider audiences, or the language they felt more comfortable writing in. All the same, it creates a Berlin wall-esque barrier between artist and listener, as the former doesn’t get to express themselves in their native tongue, and the other has to use English as a means of connecting with the art. In turn, this means that the cultural differences between musician and listener are obliterated, as they have to make way for a common mode of expression. It does allow for a bridge to be built across cultures, but it invariably results in things being lost in translation.

That being said, some artists do make use of their native tongue, and although I’ve always been a “riffs first” type of person, it is a sombre reminder that I will never feel the true essence behind the music, whether it’s because of the context it was created in, or because of the linguistic differences. Take for example Norwegian black metal, a favourite genre of mine, one that I’ll never fully understand, in part because it wasn’t made with me as a target audience. I’m from Greece, describing black metal as “grim and frostbitten” is something I’ve only ever absorbed via osmosis from reading other people’s thoughts on it, and then trying to conceptualise what it is about the music that warrants such descriptors. Add lyrics that are often written in Norwegian on top of that, and I’m as far from the art’s spiritual source as I am from Scandinavia itself.

This long preamble was a set-up for what might just be the most Greek black metal entity to have ever existed, Ψ.Χ. I don’t bestow this title upon them because they sound like compatriots Rotting Christ, if anything their take on black metal is of a Scandinavian disposition, but because they capture the essence of being Greek. The music presented on their sole album, Το Φως το Αληθινό (The True Light), is informed by the misery that has defined Greek society from the 21st century onwards, if not before that. This entity came to be in the wake of the 2008 recession, from which Greece still hasn’t recovered, and they toiled away in obscurity, in ways that to me appear to be ancient history, given that I hadn’t even hit double digits in age when they started making music. They dropped tracks on MySpace on occasion, operating in absolute secrecy, with but one interview to their name. No one knows anything about the person(s) behind the music, and to this day they’re spoken of with reverence in niche internet forums by the few who are aware of their existence. Hell, I myself only found out about them because of the guy behind Μνήμα mentioning them in passing on his Instagram. In short, all we can use to paint a portrait of the artist is their own creation, and what a piece of work it is.

Το Φως το Αληθινό by and large operates on straightforward and relentless tremolo riffing, the moments of calm being few and far between during its 68-minute runtime. One of them is actually the red herring found in the opener, “Άνθρωποι” (Humans), where things open up with the famous “Also sprach Zarathustra”, followed by a jovial riff that sounds like it came straight from J-rock. It’s a very cheeky way to inaugurate the experience, as it doesn’t take long for the façade to fall apart. The blasting starts unceremoniously, followed by the shrieking declaration “You disgusting humans, you’ve blackened my soul”. It’s not too dissimilar to what one would expect to hear from the more depressive strains of black metal, both in terms of the vocals and the lyrics presented, albeit with one key difference: there is no linguistic separation between me and the band.

Written in Greek, oozing with vulgarity and grotesque imagery, they are something that I feel in the core of my soul far more than all the “Hail Satan” and blood-and-guts imagery I’ve grown accustomed to in my years of listening to metal. The maximalist delivery further adds to this, as the ceaseless shrieking existed in a superposition of “grotesquely inhuman” and “I can’t take this seriously” for me at the start. Yet as time went on, all the vocalist’s eccentricities began piercing right through me, especially on tunes such as “Παιδομάζωμα” (Child levy, an Ottoman practice where Balkan children were forcibly taken away from their families and made to work in the army and follow the Islamic faith). As you can imagine, the title alone paints a very vivid image, and the lyrics only add to the package. But again, this impact is intrinsically bound to the language itself, and try as I might, I don’t think I, or any translator, can do justice to the horror inspired by the couplet “I’ll put all your fucking babies in burlap sacks / so that I can dash them like octopuses against the rocks on the shore”. The composition itself further accentuates the horror, intermingling the frantic tremolo riffing with a very discreet piano passage that weaves itself through the vocals and the cries of babies. Again, this is something that if you put it on without the necessary cultural and linguistic context, it’ll just be another black metal album with vocals that you could make fun of if you weren’t predisposed to such music to begin with. But really, this album doesn’t sound like something made with a wider audience in mind, even within Greek borders.

The music’s Greek personality is also ostensibly presented in more tongue-in-cheek passages, some very much being a case of “blink and you’ll miss it”, like the little stanza on “Η Νύχτα της Κρυστάλλινης Σιωπής” (The Night of Crystalline Silence). It’s just 4 lines, but they’re sung in a cadence and inflection redolent of rembetiko music, a genre of Greek music that was made by and for the lower socioeconomic classes. In its own weird way, this album transplants the downtrodden heart of rembetiko in a black metal context, using it to express a profound wretchedness that stems from layers upon layers of alienation, both from the self and society at large. For how crass Ψ.Χ. are, they remain remarkably human in how they express their hatred.

Other instances of this sardonic approach to black metal include the protracted acoustic segment of “Κουκουβάγιες” (Owls), which blends joviality and melancholy, lulling you into a state of near-bliss before a small piano lick escalates into another instance of maddening black metal furor. It’s all executed with aplomb, and it shows that whoever was working on this knew what they were doing, both during the black metal passages, and these little diversions. For how eclectic it is, Το Φως το Αληθινό avoids the garish stylistic mashups that plague a lot of Greek bands that strive to sound “out there”. This isn’t weird because it tries to be, but because the individual(s) involved are actively fucking with the listener on all levels, both within and outside the art, and it works like a charm.

Speaking of black metal, although the lion’s share is taken up by vast swathes of tremolo riffing, the tracks are arranged in such a way that make the most out of this, as the aforementioned “Παιδομάζωμα” feels like a cavalcade bearing down on you before it finally breaks loose. “Στα Χέρια της Μόρας” (In Mora’s Hands, Mora being the folkloric entity associated with sleep paralysis) is one of the highlights here, as it not only boasts some superbly frantic and roll-happy drum patterns, its finale is also equally devastating, a contorting riff working in tandem with some swirling keyboard lines in order to create a disorienting mass of noise. It’s far more involved than what it seems at first glance, but the band cleverly hides these intricacies underneath an unwavering commitment to maximalism.

From “Στα Χέρια της Μόρας” onward, the songs become more death-obsessed, but with the vocalist’s death, rather than someone else’s. Whether it’s a desire to die in his sleep, or seeing visions of old women gathering around to eulogise him while he hasn’t quite died yet, it’s all very vividly sketched out. While a lot of the hatred is still directed outward in a “You’ll eat my shit, whether you want to or not” way, it’s far more concerned with the self, and the decay that settles in when life has ceased. The penultimate track “Νανούρισμα” (Lullaby) is the record’s climax, a jagged maze of riffs that culminates in the declamation “You fucking hag, I bought a pistol, my time has come”, which is then followed by a gut-wrenching choir of squeals and screams.

And all this brings us to the actual eulogy, the 12-minute “Νεκρικά Φεγγάρια” (Deathly Moons). An acoustic piece with some orchestral embellishments, it’s a wistful lament about wanting to leave this uncaring world behind and go beyond death, but the spite that was showcased over the past 56 minutes has been dulled into resignation by this point. The imagery of boats is a recurring theme here, evoking both images of travel, and of the underworld’s ferryman, Charon. It’s a beautiful song, and the vocals showcase a vulnerability that was nowhere to be found on this record, especially with how toned-down the lyrics are. While you could consider this to be a final wink at the listener, no different than all the other moments I’ve already mentioned, it’s a farewell, both for the album, and Ψ.Χ. as a whole.

Truth be told, I am not quite sure what the point of this review is. Throughout the text I’ve made allusions to gatekeeping this work as something not meant for foreigners, yet here I am, writing about it, in a language that is not my own, or the band’s. Hell, it can be argued this is more of a cultural analysis, rather than a review of the music itself. I’ve spent the majority of December poring over this obsessively, digging around online to find a place to download it from, trying to find info on the band itself, and it ultimately feels pointless. For all I know, the individual(s) behind this could have been some of Greece’s greatest trolls, and if that’s the case, they got me, hook, line, and sinker. Not that it matters at this point, as the entity known as Ψ.Χ. has faded away following the album’s release. Strange as it might sound, they might have left us with one of the few post-ironic black metal works, as what you’ll get out of it depends wholly on how earnest your engagement with it will be. You can either take it seriously, or make fun of it for being black metal with comically high shrieking. I’ve already made my case as to why I am taking it seriously, and although I could invite others to listen to it as earnestly as I do, there is always going to be a barrier between them and the music. Try as I might, this is always going to be abstracted to most people, similar to my relation with the northern chill.

The vocalisation of the letters Ψ.Χ. (Psi.Chi.) produces the same sound as the word “Soul” in Greek. Through Το Φως το Αληθινό, they indeed managed to capture the soul of the Greece they created their art in. A country full of indifference, misery, and alienation. It stands as a monument of Greek black metal, rejecting the occultism and mysticism endemic to the scene, and focusing solely on the self, and the decay that is exacerbated by living in a society that continually numbs itself to its own horrors. It came straight from a blackened heart, one that every Greek person can relate to in some capacity, and that alone makes it special.

Highlights: Παιδομάζωμα, Στα Χέρια της Μόρας, Η Νύχτα της Κρυστάλλινης Σιωπής, Νεκρικά Φεγγάρια

Rating: 95%