People like me experience an ungodly high number of disappointments as a direct result of this sort of thinking, of course. In the gulf between “what if this is the world’s greatest album” and the 00:01 mark of any given CD lies the endless playfield of possibility, and not all possibilities are going to be good. Many of them are in fact quite bad. But when your hope gets rewarded even a little, it’s like a small taste of opium for the long-suffering addict. It reinforces the behavior. It rewards the junkie for his maladaptive tendencies. It rocks the house. So the album that slew me with its elvin-forged broadsword and then lit my bleeding corpse on fire was this little deal by a band called Aura Noir. (I know, I know: shut up, you. Three metal guys talk about a band name all night over beers and all they come up with is “Aura Noir,” that’s just the way it goes, OK?) Now, there’s a distinct probability that a couple of the people who stop by Last Plane to Jakarta for their biweekly metal injection are saying right now: “What you mean, ‘nobody’s even knows about it’? My buds and me didn’t eat for a week to save enough scratch to be able to buy Aura Noir’s Increased Damnation on the day of its release! Aura Noir isn’t obscure: they’re classic!” To you guys, I must rightly give all respect, but I must also say: knock on every door on your street and ask everybody who answers whether they’ve heard of Aura Noir. Hell, ask anybody in your whole town. Now enjoy the blank stares you’re getting, because what they prove is that just because the metal underground has declared it essential doesn’t mean it isn’t obscure, or occult, even. |