Obšar “V rabstvi merzotnyka”
Obšar is a Ruthenian band that’s been transforming grief into blackened, progressive, melodic expression since 2022, and with V rabstvi merzotnyka, they’ve delivered their most unsettling and refined work yet. These aren’t just songs, they’re folklore infused stories told in regional dialects, powered by riffs that descend with unstoppable force. Obšar doesn’t make music for passive listening, they make things meant to be felt, not just heard. It’s tense, immersive, and uncomfortably human in all the right ways. Simply put: this is the kind of EP that doesn’t just linger, it burrows under your skin.
Track 1: “Sucha Rokyta”
“Sucha Rokyta” kicks off V rabstvi merzotnyka with a sense of weight, not speed. This track doesn’t rush; it settles in slowly, pulling you into a dark tale of folklore and consequence. The story revolves around an old man who disrespects a dying willow tree, only to be struck down by a brutal, supernatural force. Musically, the track is deliberate and heavy. The guitars drag like they’re trudging through thick mud, while the drums march with a steady, ritualistic pace. The vocals aren’t aggressive; they’re ominous and almost mournful. What makes “Sucha Rokyta” so effective is its atmosphere. You feel the curse closing in, building tension until the very end. It’s haunting, slow, and relentless, like something you can’t escape, even if you wanted to. As an opener, it sets the tone perfectly, ominous, eerie, and unforgettable. This track doesn’t try to impress. It simply pulls you in, makes you listen, and leaves you waiting for what comes next.
Track 2: “Sľipa Vira”
If hysteria had a sound, “Sľipa Vira” would be it. The track plunges you into chaos from the opening moments, unfolding like a slow burning folk horror tale. A child falls ill, panic sets in, and a woman is blamed, while the village unravels under the weight of fear. What makes this track so gripping is the way it blends ancient dread with a modern sense of pressure. The black metal foundation is solid, but it’s the presence of synth in this song that pushes the atmosphere further. It doesn’t soften the track either, it chills it. “Sľipa Vira” doesn’t explode, it tightens. Every element feels like it’s closing a trap. The result is not just aggression, but anxiety. And once it has you, it doesn’t let go.
Track 3: “Falošnŷj Prorok”
“Falošnŷj Prorok” is where the EP pivots from myth to confrontation. Gone is the slow, ritualistic weight of the previous tracks, this one comes out swinging. Obšar turns their focus toward a false prophet figure: charismatic, manipulative, and long overdue for a reckoning. Lyrically, it’s a clear takedown. The delivery is direct, the tone biting, and the sarcasm hits hard. Obšar doesn’t scream into the void here, they aim carefully with emotion, and they land every shot. Musically, this is the tightest and most urgent track on the EP. The riffs are sharper, the tempo quicker, and the rhythm section pushes everything forward with tension that’s been simmering beneath the surface since track one. There’s no folklore or supernatural force at work here. The threat is real, human, and familiar, and this time, it’s being called out without hesitation.
Track 4: “Plamiň Rozumu”
After three lyrically dense, emotionally brutal tracks, “Plamiň Rozumu” brings the EP to a slow, wordless conclusion, and it might be the most emotionally impactful moment of the entire release. This instrumental closer offers space to process, to breathe, to feel the weight of everything that’s come before. The guitar work is minimal, almost meditative, but it carries a gravity of its own. There are no vocals, no drums battling for attention, just slow, deliberate notes suspended in tension. It’s not calm, but it is quiet. Where earlier tracks gripped you by the collar and dragged you through haunted narratives and burning villages, “Plamiň Rozumu” simply leaves you there in the silence afterward, to think. There’s also a shift in tone here. It feels like the moment after the horror film ends, when the credits roll but you’re still staring at the screen, unsettled and changed. It just is unapologetically bare and honest. In a record full of progressive, confrontational textures, this track dares to say more by doing less. It doesn’t end the story. It lets you carry it with you.
Obšar’s V rabstvi merzotnyka four track EP feels like being dragged through a cursed village, scorched by grief, and left to sit in the smoke. From the creeping doom of “Sucha Rokyta” to the frantic chaos of “Sľipa Vira”, the sharp, callout energy of “Falošnŷj Prorok” and the eerie, wordless comedown of “Plamiň Rozumu”, the pacing is brutal in the best way. It’s not just heavy, it’s emotionally crushing. Every scream sounds torn from the gut, every riff digs like a shovel. What hits hardest are the whispered threats, the spiraling tension, the shift from folklore to fury to fallout. This isn’t background music, it’s music that lingers in your bones.
