#mardore

Erroiak est un compositeur et musicien qui joue et a joué dans les entités Aeterna Tenebrae, Au Loin, Eminentia Tenebris, Enterré Vivant, Hrad, Léthifère, Nuit Macabre, Oppressive Light, Outland Hill, Stellar Forest, Suicidal Madness, Tour d'Ivoire, ex-Kaldt Helvete, Udazken, ex-Foghorn...

Les présages de l'abîme courtise la folie humaine, son spleen, sa haine face à un monde incompréhensible, fourbu d'un cynisme à coupé au couteau de survie. En 4 titres ce sont une élévation épique, pleine de force, cloutée au fer pour galoper dans les cendres, le fiel, l'acrimonie,

J'aime cette fulgurance, cette mise en relief, la personnalité qui en émane, la fusion des sons avec la musique, leur résonance, Erroiak compose une musique qui parle à l'âme, à sa noirceur, avec la clameur de faire remonter des bas-fonds humain, toute la grandeur terrestre.

« Hermétisme au Chant des Modernes » est un péplum dark, punk, grandiloquent, pièce antique de plus de 8mn qui renoue avec authenticité à la recherche de son équilibre initial, et le titre est en soi initiatique, il façonne la sauvagerie non comme une barbarie mais comme une délivrance. Erroiak est force d'âme !

Mardore, projet de black metal ambient et contemplatif, puise son inspiration dans les mystères de la nature et le passage du temps. Voici 4 titres pour un black plus atmosphérique, l'on suit les empreintes, voit les spectres des bois prendre forment, la brume épaisseur l'essence même des ruisseaux de feu musicaux, les arbres mélodiques nous enracinent jusqu'à leur écorce, Mardore est une fable, un jalon entre la nature et le langage langoureux que l'on doit au charme de la noirceur. Comme la pluie murmure toute la nuit, la mélancolie de Mardore ne pourra jamais apaiser sa chair musicale, les titres baignent sur des roches mélodiques teintées de sang, auréolés d'un nuage de pureté sauvage.

Le split E.P « Chants D’Outre Nuit » via Asgard Hass Productions et Ashen Cold Productions suinte une authenticité et un caractère avec lesquels vous vous fondez dans l'ombre absolue.

It wasn't a very nice day for Marquise.

Yes, she is home in St. Claire, after spending three years at the University, she was supposed to be happy, delighted that she is finally home. After all, she has been waiting for this day ever since the first semester of college began. Marquise was never comfortable living far away from the only person dearest to her, her mom; especially knowing that she was leaving Margaret battling cancer on her own. But her mother was insisting she should go and pursue her dream of going to college and study arts. "Besides," her mother said, "Jude will be with you. She arranged everything. You too are going to be roommates." That lessened Marquise’s worries about college, but did not do any effect on her thoughts about leaving her mother with a stranger from the only nursing home in St. Claire. Nevertheless, her mother still convinced her and told her that the only thing that would make her mother feel much better every day is that knowing her loving daughter will be in a place of her dreams, doing what she has always wanted to do.

Now, Marquise is all alone in her new apartment sitting on the floor, back against the side of her bed. She closed her eyes and tried to remember every detail of her mother’s kind face: the creases on Margaret’s forehead, the age details that was never even visible before, the scar that always made her wonder where she got but never had the guts to ask, the gentle smile she always gives her daughter even if it wasn’t a very nice day, and the light freckles she had gotten from her. She loved her mother so much, they were best friends. And now Marquise has to face the awful truth, the reality of life, that her beloved mother is dead.

The nursing home never called Marquise the day her mother died; they said they didn’t want to bother her during the final week of the semester so they took care of everything. When Marquise arrived at their house, everything was packed into boxes. One man said that their things will be brought to the storage units at Northcote, except for her things. At first she didn’t understand, she thought that her mother wanted to stay at the nursing home for good and just sell the house for her medications. But it didn’t seem something her mother would do, Margaret loved their house, she decorated it herself. She even built her own flower garden at their front yard. Marquise also loved their house, and now it was gone. The only thing that was close to feeling like her mom was still alive was gone.

When everything was explained to her, she calmed down. She was brought to the City Hall to talk to her mother’s attorney. The attorney told her that Margaret had written her last will and wanted the house to be vacant. “That is, until you have a family if your own,” added the attorney. “Mrs. O’Dwyer wants all the furniture to be kept in a storage unit she bought. Meanwhile, all your belongings shall be with you in your own apartment in the city. You, Miss O’Dwyer need not to worry about paying any fees because your mother already took care of everything. All you need to do is find your husband to be, have kids, and then your house will be all yours again.”

“Wait, what?”

“Those were the only conditions Mrs. O’Dwyer has written. She knows you love the house, it is your home. But before you could have it, you need to be married and with kids. The house is quite big for a single person you know,” the attorney explained.

“But. . . what. . .uhh. . .why would my mother be giving those conditions? We never talked about things like having family, or. . . she never told me she wanted to have grandchildren. She never even asked me if I ever had a crush! How could I possibly. . . how. . .” Marquise trailed off.

“Whatever the reason your mother had, or has, for writing these conditions in her will is none of my concern. And I’m pretty sure it is for your own good, Miss O’Dwyer.”

Marquise opened her eyes and she was back to reality, blinded by the bright floor lamp beside her. “Oh mom, what would I ever do without you?” Sitting there, she thought of the only friend she ever made while in the University (except for her cousin Jude), Theo. She didn’t know why she suddenly remembered him. Maybe because she was feeling really alone, she wanted company, even if the only person available was the sometimes-obnoxious-but-sometimes-serious-and-mysterious Theodore Platt. So she got her phone that was on top of her bed and dialed the familiar number.

It took only three rings before a voice was heard on the receiver, “Hello?”

“Hey . . . it’s me,” said Marquise in a shy manner.

“Oh hey! What’s up Markeee. Miss me so soon?” said the person on the other end.

“Oh shut up, Theo. Where are you? It’s seems like you’re in a club or something . . . am I disrupting something? Is this a bad time?”

“I am at home, my cousins threw me a welcome-home-party. It’s not a bad time; I’m not enjoying myself that much anyway. My cousins are just using me to throw a party so, yeah. Is there something wrong? Why did you call?”

“I . . . well, I just . . . can you come over? I really need company. Jude just left to Barbados, she’s with her family, and. . . .”

“Okay, I’ll be there. Give me 10 mins.”

“Wait!”

“Yeah?”

“I moved, I live downtown now. City Studio”

“You moved? O—okay then. I’ll be there.”