review by: Tom Orgad

The musical output of Dimentianon, a US underground band, by no means should be referred to with measures and standards of enjoyment or satisfaction. Beyond the nearly imperative lack of accessibility and absence of traditional beauty (attributes which traditionally characterize the vast majority of acts of the genuine extreme metal genre) Dimentianon intentionally aim towards a more problematic state of absolute lack of catharsis. Thus, their music bears the alleged pretense of comprising a mere rebellious, intellectual entity devoid of any common definable artistic values.

Nevertheless, it is important to emphasize: unlike many Metal musicians (some of them quite trite), their music doesn’t seem to proudly march under the “anti-art” banner. It simply doesn’t have to do much with neither of these polar views. At such state, maintaining the coherent legitimacy of expression of a morally depraved form seems to be an intriguing and difficult challenge. In my opinion, Dimentianon reach that goal in a rather satisfactory manner.

Dimentianon reveal a pessimistic point of view with the presentation of compositional bulks constructed of randomly positioned, methodically evolving patterns, sharing no reasonable common denominator but the global renouncement of tonality. Each track (only three present on the promo reviewed) features an idle stream of basic black metal guitar riffs, shaping frames of singular sonic structures, most of them, although varied and inconsequential, do seem to emanate from the same pondering mind: the composition features a rhythmical root of a chosen tone, on which a chromatic evolvement is generated, at times completely atonal, occasionally hinting towards a primitive melodic presence. The aforementioned phrase, after founding its tangible shape, whirls into an obvious, repetitive cyclic progression in which it is played numerous times, only to finally be incoherently, arbitrarily replaced by a different one. By establishing such a pointless shift of material with no significant essence, nor justifying continuity, Dimentianon successfully express and embody their consent towards the nowadays renowned post-modernistic philosophy: an amplified sense of hollow determinism; a biology-induced, sobered, anti-nostalgic state imparted with no essential progression or caring evolution, but for its inevitable relative, chronological one.

Indeed, as in real life, their tidings leave the listener permeated with a sense of blunt sadness, a sort of dormant theoretical desperation. One easily notices the regularity imbued within the band’s creation; he surely is aware of himself witnessing an original compositional utterance, of the tension and alertness he is expected to feel towards the next bewildering musical evolvement. Still, he simply doesn’t mind. The forthcoming turn of events will surely arrive; He will surprisingly be thrust towards an estranged tonal dimension; yet he isn’t moved. Does one sense of estrangement differ from the other?

Unfortunately, while leaving quite a significantly rationalized impression, Dimentianon don’t equally manage to impress on the instrumentally and actual performance level. Although not bearing any horrible misdeeds, the band is obviously composed of no more than amateur musicians. Therefore, they may as well be complemented for making the clever choice of focusing their effort on their more competent ideological facet, leaving the practical flaws minor and unimportant in relation to the overall phrased manifest. In fact, it almost ascends to the stand of an actual privilege: the partially uncoordinated segments and deconstructed harmonic efforts contribute much, first to the feeling of discomfort, than to the regulating, overbearing factor of indifference. It simply doesn’t matter anymore; nothing is lost, yet there is nothing left to lose, as there was probably nothing there to begin with.

Dimentianon’s music is depressive and binding, pungent and acrid. Any recommendation would be exceedingly personal and subjective; I loved it. (8/10)