Category Archives: Mayerling

Fisher’s Wake

Featuring : Mayerling

Today we listen to the echoes of new age, post-rock and prog.  The reverb of decades crashing towards us in an endless wave; the tunnelling through of the 20th century, desperate to escape into the 21st.  While the 21st, eager to understand its own, disturbing upbringing, embraces it.

Today we welcome Mayerling back to the blog.

Mayerling – Only These Echoes

Only These Echoes is taken from Mayerling’s new album, Roche.  It’s an insistent, pulsing, mournful piece of music and it begins with a heavily modulated synth from the darker recesses of new age.  The sort of sound you’d find on a particularly downbeat infomercial for enlightenment.  Atop that, a simple, mournful melody repeats under a brief, almost spoken word vocal.

All this soon gives way to a looped pulsing synth rhythm which is swiftly joined by what sounds like a guitar pretending to be pan pipes whilst simultaneously sounding like the best bits from your Post-Rock favs.  And by best bits I mean the most soul crushingly sad.  As if the whole edifice is constructed to ape the naive optimism of the past while simultaneously charting its failure over time.

Roche is out on Hands in the Dark Records and you can get it right here.

Death Will Do Nothing

Featuring : Mayerling


It amazes me that, in the face of industrial indifference, people can still sit down and create pieces of music as fragile and downbeat as this.  As if the safety net of a musician’s wage still existed to catch their psyches as they fell through the blackness of their own work.

Mayerling‘s La Mort Ne Dira Rien contains a vocal that perfectly captures the blues imprinted in the very foundation stone of Metal.  A chanting: clipped and earnest.   A sporadic sermon in a hushed church.  The majority of the time, the congregation seeing only a hunched, robed back.

A strange, nostalgic beat is pulled from the same hazy avant garde that Boards of Canada mined.

An ambient, organ-led backing holds within it a nostalgia for the nostalgia of the late 90s.

A wormhole where an imagined 70s seeps through cracks to bring fertile patches of beauty to subsequent decades.

These fragments orbit each other, slowly compressing into what you hear below.

Mayerling – La Mort Ne Dira Rien

This is taken from the album ‘Cut Up’ which will be out on Hands in the Dark on May 14th.

Shadow caravanseray


Three thin pale sisters welcome you in with melodious voices. It is warm and it smells of clean sheets, baked bread and burnished wood. They bid you to stay as long as needed, and rest and recover before venturing back into the wilderness outside.

They smile and they swirl and all of your wishes are fulfilled. Cream soup, a well-appointed library, good conversation and delightful entertainment every night, shadow puppets running through the walls with a fairy tale that puts you to sleep.

Some things you do notice.

There is a subtle whiff of something sour in the breath of the three sisters, of something rotten in the food that they serve you, of something crawling behind the florid wallpapers of their lounge, of something awful in the shadow puppets that stretch and linger over the walls.

Also, note that you have never seen these three sisters in the light of day. Wait. You haven’t seen the light of day since you arrived here. Wait. For how long have you been here?

Tonight (it’s always tonight) shadow puppets run over the walls, dangle acrobatically from the wrist of a sister around the neck of another, leap on the floor and scurry into the shadows where their little eyes glimmer luridly. They jump on your chest like cats made of mist, and stretch their paws around your throat.

As you start dozing off, they whisper a strange story.

About a house in the countryside and a God-fearing father, a silent mother and three daughters who liked to play in the forest behind the country-house. About the shadowy things they met in that forest and how the father didn’t like them.

About how he forbade them from playing with the shadows and what the sisters did about it. Blades in the night, a brief trial. Three ropes over the branch of an oak, their bodies so slight it barely creaked.

And then the house empty, save for the shadows. And then thin pairs of pale arms tearing a rend in the veil, crawling back into the house and its lonely limbo, waiting for visitors to keep them company in the shadows of a night that lasts forever.

The Coombe – Tierra Amarilla

Troller – Winter

The Knife – Without You My Life Would Be Boring

Cabaal – In Flux

Mayerling – La Mort n’en saura rien

You roam the shadows for an eternity. Eventually you find your bag, and strike a match. You slowly get your bearings.

Ahead of you, there is a tunnel dug in the rock that heads further down. Go there.

In the wall to the right there is a portal humming ever so slightly. Go there.

2013 References

Image from book cover for Shirley Jackson’s ‘We have Always Lived in the Castle’.
We loved The Coombe’s parcel from A. Machen’s country, and Troller’s glaciar-like ballads. The lumbering beast that was The Knife’s album could perhaps have done with some light editing, but we nevertheless surrendered to its claustrophobic embrace (and loved the Margaret Atwood references).