THE BEAST

Eastern European Discontent is about the space we inhabit, both mentally and collectively, as a post-Soviet and post-communist people. It draws from what we saw as ‘the heritage’ given unto us by those years: a general distrust of others, a sense of exile within one’s own environment and, somewhat ironically, an embittered form of individuality, borne out of the need to survive, that is more of a source of isolation than what some might consider strength. All of these explaining certain behavioral or temperamental patterns and characteristics, that, even if not entirely explicit, are observable in the populations of Eastern Europe, should one look close enough. The video was shot in Dej, Transylvania, showing a face other than the usual one that most black metal enthusiasts associate with this region. Eduard was given a basic understanding of the concept and the freedom to build upon it. Censorship, fear, submission, industry, prosperity, nuclear disaster, all are megaliths in the collective unconscious, that we try to give new meaning and understanding to, some in an attempt to overcome this legacy, others as an impossible return to authoritative order, now seen through the lenses of nostalgia. Follow Genune here: https://genune.bandcamp.com https://www.facebook.com/genunebm This track is part of the 'Inert & Unerring' album, out on the 25th of April 2021 through Loud Rage Music: https://loudragemusic.com https://loudragemusic.bandcamp.com https://www.facebook.com/loudragemusic/ The video was shot, directed and edited by Eduard Szilagyi, with on-scene assistance from Calin Capalna. See more of his work here: https://vimeo.com/user93961912?fbclid=IwAR2exqgRtKBz06ONDmGjSf5xP3KQg_36vCsEplVffSzKmRyA1_tHQojgFCw https://500px.com/p/eddedd?view=photos&fbclid=IwAR3okOgnJE0kb6BK515Py391iwDSNeCx4E4kfrBBhG4SQVmePDLawe_9e7 Lyrics: through the shattered glass, dark rooms not unlike lungs filled with leaden air still lays the motionless unrest of men buried yet not gone, in the grey beyond these towers ache in ossified agony in noxious fumes, they convulse and wither and fall, gradually, like ghosts of olden days their skin and core burnt and tossed away to be altered in streams of light and time nothing but colorless, dreamless sleep roots clenching onto empty apartments like bone-dry fingers reaching the heavens no thought, no gesture, no words belong in the afterglow of fleeing particles there’s but the tremor of events past whose weight still burns immediate resplendent in its lonesome present