Written by: The Administrator

Welcome, dear read/traveler, to INTO THE DUNGEON, a new (and likely infrequent, if I'm being real) column dedicated to dungeon-dwelling music of the synth-y persuasion. While admittedly less than well-steeped in the genre and its conventions, I've found myself listening to more and more dungeon synth over the past few years. There's a lot of incredible talent and innovation in the space, but said talent all too oft flies under the radar, particularly when it comes to metal-centric sites/medieval townships such as ours. 'Bout time to extend the reach of the limelight, methinks.

Anyways, preliminary chatter out of the way: the topic of today's discussion is Sword of Hailstone, the excellent debut album by Minneapolis, Minnesota's own Desolation Plains. A notable aspect of this release is the companion RPG, which features some swell point 'n' click gameplay, plus some of the coolest fuckin' bandcamp code integration we slumbering scribes have ever seen. The music itself--the real focus here--is simply top-notch: everything I crave in a synth-laden experience is inordinately well represented. If you're questing for a soundtrack to adventure, Desolation Plains delivers in spades.

Every Friday, a wagon arrives at the Sleeping Village’s crumbling gates, stuffed to the brim with our sustenance for the following week. Today is the day we must offload all this week's new and noteworthy music, and so, in the process, we thought it would be worthwhile to share some of our choice picks from this veritable mass of fresh meat. This is what we’ll be--and have been--listening to this week at the Village HQ. We hope you join us in doing so! 

We slumbering scribes were slightly more productive this week than normal, so enjoy an additional two mini-reviews!
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​On the docket for today, April 30th, 2021:
GOREGÄNG, Greyhound, Becerus, Bevar Sea, Order of the Wolf / Pessimista, and Alpha Boötis

Written by: The Administrator 

In my admittedly limited experience with the wide world of dungeon synth, there seems to generally exist a spectrum between light and dark, airy and foreboding. Y'know, sunny pastoral ambiance versus cobwebb'd gothic atmosphere. On Death Cannot Contain You, Lunar Cult perpetually toes the line between the two--and, all the while, a tangible sense of sadness permeates the whole.

This album marks an admitted change in sonic direction, a switch which is hardly unprecedented, given Lunar Cult’s documented tendency to draw inspiration from the ethos of NIN. Whereas previous works fit into the largely vacant category of chiptune-inspired-by-black-metal, Death Cannot Contain You leans entirely into synth-laden waters. While I enjoyed former efforts quite a bit, this feels the most cohesive, both in terms of narrative and aesthetic. Without further ado, then:​

Written by: The Administrator

​When we're not locked in our drafty scriptorium, daily existence here at the Sleeping Village is inevitably beset by the type of backbreaking labor inherent to a (pseudo) medieval township. The  grind is real, and, as such, an occasional dose of the weird and wonderful is a bit of a necessity. Hence, the promise of self-declared "space disco synth metal," courtesy of Alpha Boötis, seemed like a likely candidate for injecting a lil' excitement into mid-afternoon drudgery.

And boy, is it ever. I seldom write reviews immediately after consuming the music in question, but after jamming this two-track-plus-a-cover EP about eight times over the span of the past few hours, I feel somewhat moved to say my piece post-haste. Let's get to it.

This review was originally published in January of this year. Moribund Kingdom's​ forthcoming physical release via Trepanation Recordings, however, is an occasion worthy of republication. Since the time of writing, my appreciation of this album has only grown, and it remains a frequent companion in the many, many times throughout the day where more extreme music simply won't do. Pre-order here! ​- Ed.

Written by: The Administrator

If you, much like the ravens lurking outside our drafty scriptorium, are on the hunt for something new and shiny, I'm happy to present an alternative from our standard fare. Today on the docket: a healthy platter of horror-tinged gothic dungeon synth, conjured from the mind behind the (equally stellar) Order of the Wolf. In this newfound context outside the underground black metal sphere, he goes by Spectral Child. Moribund Kingdom is the first haunted creation of this alter ego.

I like to think of Spectral Child's Moribund Kingdom as an alternate soundtrack to the horror-themed action games that (only partially, I swear) defined my adolescence. While it certainly isn't a sonic match to, say, the grossly high-octane riffage of the equally high-octane Painkiller series, the mood is similar. Consistently menacing, in a word. Frightening in a sincere sense--like if the more intense moments of the soundtrack to Amnesia were distilled and reproduced in synth-based form. That comparison, again, is a bit of a stretch, but the fact remains: there is something about Spectral Child that feels intrinsically attached to the world of video games wherein a lone protagonist braves a world designed exclusively to confound and cause harm.

Written by: Lichtmensch, Loveloth, and Ancient Hand

"But wait!" the haters said, sweating feverishly. "This is a metal review site! Get this pop crap out of here!" Needless to say, said haters are now....disposed of, and the Village is significantly quieter for it. Miss Anthropocene an album many of our writers enjoyed, and it is also hardly a stretch to justify Grimes' latest iteration as "heavy." On her long-awaited followup to 2015's revered Art Angels, Grimes pushes pop to a dark and ethereal place. Utilizing a healthy blend of sounds and genre aesthetics, Miss Anthropocene decries stagnation. 

The Sleeping Village's cabal of scribes is a multifaceted lot, and when a Grimes review was proposed, three unique individuals--Lichstman, Loveloth, and Ancient Hand--were all excited to put in their two cents regarding Miss Anthropocene. In cases like these, where a frank and friendly discussion between friends seems more productive than a bunch of separate reviews, we break out a rare but ancient form of communication: the conversation. So, here it is: the long-belated followup edition of Twofold Treatise-- but, in this case, we're not dealing with two slumbering critics, but rather three. Hence: Threefold Treatise.