A morose and atmospheric slab of doomy death here from this German quartet who have tied their second album in thematically with a narrative of “noises inside the head.” New to me as are other bands the quartet currently play in; Serpent Eater, Union Of Sleep, Blackwhole and the wonderfully entitled Grim Van Doom, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect here but Il Nostro Silenzio quickly makes its intentions felt.

A doom sense of encompassing darkness descends as ‘A Farewell’ ebbs in with a funereal stealth, drums boom dramatically and a slow churn quakes into slow bruising contusion. The vocals hone in guttural and ugly and their forceful delivery along with the slow pound of the music breeds familiarity. It is absolutely no surprise to discover that this album was mastered by Victor Santura and by now anyone listening will no doubt be hearing familiarities to the rumbling mass that is thick and tar driven in line with what you would expect from Triptykon. Also the delivery of the vocals although without the harmony of recent years harks back a fair bit to fellow Germans Secrets Of The Moon. The six songs may not be quite as lengthy as the humungous lengths Triptykon go for but they are still dense and harrowing to listen to dragging you into a deep pit of depressive distemper from which there is little hope of escape. Occasionally things lighten in mood such as with the shimmering guitar lines at start of ‘Cut.’ Lyrically we sound like we are in the English language here but without finding the words online it is difficult to distinguish exactly what is being said. I’m sure it makes an interesting story and one wonders with the anger behind it if the growls are urging our storyteller to literally cut the noises out of his head in a sense of needing silence and for the babbling to stop? Pain is certainly being expressed here and the slow pounding muscular musicality enforces this notion with plenty of drama about it.

The problem here is that on the very first listen I couldn’t get that link to aforementioned bands out my head and that posed the question why should you listen to Morast when you can just go straight to the source. Yes, this isn’t the most original album heard but thankfully like a parasite wriggling ever closer to the brain it has drawn me in on its own merits. As the title track attests this is far from a pleasant listening experience and leaves you wallowing in its ugly filth. Vocalist F sticks to his route without any mercy or deviation but the one dimensionality of his harrowing clamour kind of works in its own favour here. Dogged and determined the combined weight of him and the players here seen hellbent on dragging you down to the depths of their pain and misery. From the slow tribal thump of ‘RLS’ with its near gothic guitar work to the speedier ferocity of ‘Nachtluft’ this pretty much smothers the listener like a plastic bag over the head and stifles with a claustrophobic feel of doom that leaves you desperately trying to draw a breath. Ugly darkness well manifested but perhaps a little more sense of own identity wouldn’t harm further forays into Morast’s abyss of despair.

(7/10 Pete Woods)