М8Л8ТХ - "Запах крови/репетиция" (2003)










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Фрагмент рецензии от дружеского ресурса :

Прошли те славные времена и мало кто уже их вспомнит, однако ведь именно тогда, в 2003 году — более десяти лет назад зародилась та замечательная группа, что несёт название МолотХ которая прожила за свои 12 лет историю которая вмещает очень многое и не каждая формация может сравниться с ней в этом. 4 ещё совсем юных молодых человека, решили зажечь пожар сердец и в других людях. Так появилась первая демонстрационная лента 2003 года.

С первых же секунд чувствуется очень специфическая атмосфера: специфическая своей записью, подачей, временем. И пока тянется лента музыка охватывает и не выпускает. Огромная энергетика порой плещет так, что сердце вздрагивает — мелодия с экспрессивным вокалом сливаются воедино, создавая поток эмоций, сравнимый при прослушиваний лишь эпохальной русской классики. В музыке на демо ленте даже присутствует некоторый романтизм, она имеет широкие русские объятия, искренне страдает и воодушевляет и нельзя ей не сопереживать. Уже тогда музыканты сумели очень технично передать свою идею, такое свойственно не каждой группе на своих первых репетиционных работах, а порой и вообще никому. На этой ленте МолотХ поставили очень даже высокую планку для своего творчества и в последующих релизах так её никогда и не опускали. Материал столь уникален для российской БМ сцены, что был множество раз переиздан и с честью занесён в том или ином виде в последующие релизы группы.



Scent of Blood

The red sun, the black sky
Burns my back, ears and eyes.
The wood grants me the cold and luxury,
Blood is granted to me by the night dew.

Night’s shine of the stellar sky,
The moon tears my soul apart,
By one more night of a bloody snow
The twilight in the wolf land will be filled.

I was just a human one year ago,
But god-werewolf presented me the force of woods,
I knew but didn’t trust that
I’ll stay in the pack of wolves once and forever.

Blood’s smell lights up the road for me.
I try to appease my thirst.
I come back to the native threshold in darkness,
Just to fall on it and to sob.

But nobody will see my tears already,
I’m running in the dark not feeling my foots.
I cry with the blood when I just recollect the one
Who has taken out the blade from a stub at that night…


By the Wing of Black

The sun shines as fire on chain armours,
And morning air is crystal-clear.
Bloodred boards will block this field
Under a rustle of trees and the singing of wind.
Trees will cover our backs with foliage,
Without fear we wait, when the moment will come
When the sky will call for our souls,
And clear morning will present us eternity.
Our enemy is insignificant, dammed by the sky,
Empty souls are standing in front of us
Now I see the gloom of your eyes
Gloom that hides in souls for years.
Sights are full of destructive will,
The confusion fills your hearts,
The body will be filled with a burning pain,
The pain will finish it all
“I see a raven, he had waved by the black wing
And had risen above white eagle.
I see how they had risen to the sky,
How feathers strewed, how claws were plaited
Eagle wings are stronger than raven’s ones,
Eagle claws are sharper than raven’s.

And the raven falls, the eagle wined,
He sat on a rock and praised the victory
But the raven had recovered, had soared up on a rock
And he inflicts well-aimed impact to an eagle
Raven’s beak – the warrior’s sword,
He cuts down a head from the eagle’s shoulders.”

The warrior falls into embraces of death,
Sing the song and only white smoke,
Aspiring to heavenly open spaces,
Ascends above him smoking silvery.
He’ll soar up to heavenly halls,
Where the fathers meet of sons,
Having left the burning down world behind a threshold,
The left world of extinct fires.
And warrior, having embraced the Land parting,
Will merge with the sky, will fall asleep by eternal dream,
and the gloomy wanderer, a dark raven
Will close his eyes by the wing of black!!!


Sons of Russland

We were taking off an armour before the fight
And bit shield in rage.
Seeing those who brand crosses
On our land with red-hot iron.

We slaked our thirst with beer,
Dreaming to slake it with enemies’ blood.
To become a wolf in time of death,
And to become the horde of wolves together with all.

We are not afraid of death now,
We thirst for a blade’s jingle only
Fearless soldiers of Russland
Became the wolves of ancient gods.

There, where a hall of gods,
We will be there soon
Having risen in a flesh of darkness,
We shall march in the fight again.


Under the Falling Star

In darkness of night where all burns in dream,
I hear their steps in each spring…
And our dreams are broken
As the splinters of a falling star,
That lights a way to me,
My gloomy way in Darkness…


Under the Falling Star!


The One Inspirinf with Fear

I don’t see the eyes; I don’t see your world,
I don’t ever know what your light is.
Time has stiffened in a stone, the night eternal.
I will never see the Dawn.

I don’t see you and you can’t see me as well
But I feel the world in the encirclement of shadows,
The world where exist not only ourselves
The world of other woods, rivers and fields.

Faces of those dark stars melted off,
Those I have lit behind this window,
Feeling in a twilight of the flaring eyes,
That are speaking to you about that –
How flaring by sensual flame of Knowledge
These Forces were absorbed by me,
Towering above herd of silent worms,
Accepting this fear from fire by myself.

They hated the Flame that’s living in hearts,
But kindled fire under me.
The smoke dimmed my blind eyes,
Blind eyes will take you with themselves away.

I lit those houses by reciprocal Fire,
Where the lie installs to the souls of worms.
The hatred revived of ones burned down completely,
Hatred burns stronger from within.

The one inspiring by fear.

Pain, Suffering.
Fear, Despair.
Hatred, Horror, Death.


Guardian of the Forest

The forest keeps silence at night
Of fire, that was lighted with a wise hand
Of guardian of the forest of Ancient Rus’.
Who does not allow to extinguish it.

He never sleeps at night,
Nobody never saw him there,
Where the moon lights a moss on a glade,
Which has covered ancient gods.

Here, among thick oaks,
Birches, aspens and free winds
Where a thousand years passed as a moment,
He is the same grey-haired old man.

Deathly pale light of the moon,
Lights scattered boulders,
Spills eternal darkness,
Covering ground with silence, and to him

Is intolerable to see dead trees,
About which in legends were spoken,
That was sung by those dead people,
Who considered themselves as nature’s children.

He never sleeps at night…