To say Siberia and shiver for a moment even in the middle of summer is one and the same, as is to imagine that musicians from those parts might be naturally predisposed to sounds that are anything but sunny. Commonplaces aside, Station Dysthymia from Novosibirsk, with this their splendid second record, come to the attention of fans of funeral doom, placing themselves in the wake of the masterful Esoteric. The juxtaposition with the British band is indeed not causal, if we consider that Greg Chandler personally oversaw the sonic rendering of Overhead, Without Any Fuss, The Stars Were Going Out. It should be made clear at once that the reference to Esoteric has the sole function of providing a more or less reliable term of comparison for those who want to approach this monolithic work: in fact, the sound of the Siberians possesses its own peculiarity even if, in a band of relatively recent formation, the presence of more or less significant influences should all the more be tolerated. The record draws its long title from Athur C.Clarke’s novel, The Nine Billion Names of God, and this, to some extent, also directs the science fiction themes that permeate the work: of course, it is not difficult to imagine that, even in the vision of our people, the future of mankind is anything but rosy. An hour and ten of pachydermic rhythms bear down on those who possess the passion and patience for listens of this kind: the first, mammoth track entitled A Concrete Wall lasts almost thirty-five minutes and, by itself, would be enough and more to call this work a must for regulars of the genre. On the occasion, Station Dysthymia‘s style does not show the slightest opening to melodic passages basing everything on the depth of the sounds and the haunting impact capable of shattering any attempt at psychic resistance: the last quarter of an hour of the track is something difficult to describe, such is the estrangement it is capable of provoking. The following Ichor is by no means anything less, although we are allowed to glimpse a few dim glimmers of light, thanks to a keyboard that at times manages to timidly make its way through the somber riffing of the guitars: frankly, a splendid track that, thanks to a duration halved compared to the previous track, even seems endowed with a (relative) gift of synthesis. The finale is reserved for Starlit, divided into two parts , in which a melancholic aura attenuates in no small measure the claustrophobic tones that, up to this point, had distinguished the record: a fitting conclusion to a work of great merit, which delivers us another band capable of standing in its own right alongside the most prominent names in the funeral scene.

2013 – Solitude Productions