Poison Emerald Blood Crown by Dmigor

Poison Emerald Blood Crown

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Almost unrecognizable from their debut recording, Dmigor return to take us on a journey. Reminiscent of the folk of early Ulver/Agalloch, the synths of Tangerine Dream/Popul Vuh, and at the same time, distinctly unique. - Ixiol Productions In a land beyond time, an orphic sound spreads its tendrils through ancient mist. Spectral figures cloaked in white haunt the ruins of a crumbling civilization, wandering in search of transcendence. Separately, they are but mere mortals. Together, they are DMIGOR. Where DMIGOR roam, ominous portents permeate the atmosphere. Shadows deceive the eye. The world inverts itself as sky becomes surface and earth becomes sky. Sparkling bodies of water rush through the breach, washing away the dust that clouds our higher perception. There’s that sound again—you know, the orphic one. This is True Pasadena Dungeon Folk. Ask yourself: Is there a bustle in your hedgerow? Does the summer breeze blow through the jasmine in your mind? Where have all the flowers gone? DMIGOR might know the answers. Then again, they might not. Either way, their new album will provide you with the keys to unlock the truth. Or at least something similar. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? Whatever the answer is, Poison Emerald Blood Crown is the question. As DMIGOR’s first proper full-length, it is the majestic follow-up to their 2019 debut, Pathways Beyond The Hallowed Rift. Released on cassette via the hidden hand of Malibu Psychic Laboratories, Pathways reveled in the damp netherwinds of dungeon synth and general medieval incarceration. This time, the eternally shrouded duo has stepped beyond the musty underworld to give glorious pastoral life to True Pasadena Dungeon Folk. If one wanted to get all fussy and pompous about it, one might say something like, “Echoes of rich European voices like Popol Vuh and Tangerine Dream thread an early 4AD tapestry of Red House Painters, Dead Can Dance and Cocteau Twins.” There, we’ve said it. But saying is a poor substitute for listening, and we implore you to do the latter. What else? Ah, yes. The lyrics. As the story goes, they were the result of a peeping-tom expedition to a haunted mansion that promptly went up in flames. (The mansion, that is.) As if by divination or magick or some such otherworldly interference, the semi-sacred words suddenly materialized in a friend’s breast pocket, in a leather-bound volume bearing the following inscription: “May the spirit of these verses find residence within a welcoming host.” DMIGOR suspect that YOU might be that welcoming host. Are you? Let’s find out. - J. Bennett MPL-003/IXP-062… Expand

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