PARADISE LOST - Lost Paradise

In the evolution of every band there are bad times and glorious times. How childish were Mackintosh and Nick Holmes and the others in 1990, how true and honest. A cemetery in the background, preferably 1-2 visible crosses, desolate atmosphere, perhaps a few leafless and rather crooked trees, their hands in their pockets and not trace of a smile on their faces. The music itself seems to be only secondary to this effort. If we also consider the booklet with only 4 faces, almost completely black and white and devoid of ornaments, we realize we’re dealing with something special.

Let’s assume I’m seeing this album for the first time with no prior knowledge of Paradise Lost. What would I think? If I judge by the logo, clearly death metal. Judging by the boys’ faces and the Confessor T-shirt worn by Nick, even more clearly death metal. Song titles – to only mention Deadly Inner Sense, Rotting Misery, Breeding Fear and Internal Torment II- doubtlessly, death metal. Just when I’m about to draw the line and draw the conclusion, the cover catches my eye. How could I have overlooked it? A cyborg seems tormented by human suffering, hunched by his cold and metallic back, metallic and full of cabling and electricity, as if pain were no stranger to it. What’s more, if my imagination is not playing tricks on me, it seems to make some sort of Nazi salute to an invisible interlocutor. This is not death metal, and it’s hard to say what it is.

Pressing play I realize my intuition was right and it is indeed death metal, in fact more than 80%, because in some places we get some solemn passages, majestic solos, even sporadic keyboards, which some may classify as doom influences.

This album has had a sad fate. It was lashed into the ground by renowned editors, people with vast metallic culture, university assistants and librarians, PR people and economists, probably even doctors. Of course it was also sprayed with slops by all sorts of unrelated people who came into metal by accident and got off at the first stop by accident, too. I don’t know what to do. On the one hand I realize how well it captures that 1990 moment – like a faded photo of a likeable grand-grandparent smiling through the mists of time and without whom we wouldn’t be here – with all that special flavor, with all the childish attitude of the bands and the awkward and pretentious performances. But I also realize that, on a careful listening, there are passages that shyly speak of a genius album that was to come out about 3 years later, Icon. This means that, beyond everything, these Englishmen had their own identity and it could be seen early. On the other hand, it is obvious that people looking for technical performances will be disappointed. There is no chorus that sticks to you, no remarkable riff, the voice is coarse and completely unpolished, and some passages are just meandering and confused. No trace of inspiration!

But, and there must be a but, that likeable grand-grand-parent had not always been a wise man, he sure made some big mistakes in places. What is important is that he had the strength to carry on and he did it well and now, in his old days, keeps all his grandchildren in his lap and sings to them a new song, shiny and probably unconceivable in his youth, and showing them an old dusty photograph with a man bending and giving that salute and saying: Look, this is me when I was young!

Sake Nota: 7