O Spirit, present in this place, hear me and heed my prayers — that is the title, for those unfamiliar with ancient Latin. And let there be no doubt: that spirit, after hearing this first tape by Temple Mist, will have been scared absolutely senseless. Because what in the name of all that is unholy is happening here?
The person behind Temple Mist is none other than Maurice de Jong, known of course from Gnaw Their Tongues, Cloak of Altering, Pyriphlegethon, and countless other projects through which he explores the boundaries of sonic terror and artistic darkness. Time and again, De Jong pushes towards an even icier, even more discomforting listening experience. Every release feels like a step further into a world where light is not welcome — and this tape, released on De Pankraker, is no exception.
Temple Mist exudes a remarkably clear vision. We are transported to early 1990s Greece, where names like Necromantia and Varathron laid the foundations for an esoteric and occult form of black metal. That atmosphere of archaic magic and necromantic grandeur is present here in full force. At the same time, the spirit drifts unmistakably toward the extreme improvisational madness of Abruptum’s It and All, which in their time already sent chills down many spines. Temple Mist stands at that magical crossroads: between ritual and chaos, between incantation and insanity, between breathless tension and total sonic annihilation.
The result is not a collection of songs, but an experience — a ritual in audio form, where drones, demonic whispers, and chaotic structures merge into a slow, suffocating trance. It feels as though we are witnessing a ceremony never meant to be heard by human ears. Temple Mist is not a project for passive listeners, but for those willing to surrender themselves to a kind of subcutaneous terror that seeps into the skin and lingers there for days.
Anyone who thought Maurice de Jong had reached his limits after nearly two decades of extremity will once again be proven wrong. Temple Mist is not a stylistic exploration, but an entity in its own right — a shadow, an echo of something ancient and inhuman. And as always with De Jong, it demands from the listener exactly what it promises: total surrender.
75/100
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