I believe that I and many others miss the days when music consumed in physical format was more commonplace. There are many reasons for this, but chief amongst them is the desire to appreciate the full art of a record, with everything from the music to the lyrics to the visual presentation taken into account. I was recently reminded of this when I downloaded an album from Bandcamp — and was pleased to see that scanned copies of the cover and entire lyrical booklet were included.
This sparked the idea in my head to examine in detail some of the artwork for black metal releases (and a few death metal ones) I’ve enjoyed, and as I did so, I realized that the subject warranted a written article. So here I present some of my personal favorites, with some relevant background info, thoughts, and opinions. Bear in mind that this is not meant to be a list of what is objectively the “best” artwork, nor is this list meant to go in any particular order from “most to least favorite.” This is merely one metalhead’s view on some interesting, fascinating, or inspiring album covers.
Bathory — Under the Sign of the Black Mark
It would only be fair to start with one of the classics. I find it interesting that this artwork still holds up so many years later, particularly given the details surrounding its creation. It’s actually a photograph, taken in 1987 when Quorthon made a deal with the Swedish National Opera to allow him brief use of their stage. So it was that bodybuilder Leif Ehrnborg donned a papier-mâché Satan mask and jumped on stage during the second act of their production of Carmen (a French opera with no relation to this album).
It’s surprisingly colorful during a time when black metal would often abstain from such garish art styles, opting instead for grainy scans of corpsepaint-laden band members, pallid landscapes, or monochrome renderings of goats and demons. What I find surprising about this album cover is that it ought to come across as campy and lackluster in its stereotypical devilry and simplicity, yet for me it’s quite the opposite. It feels like a primal, earthly evocation of Satanic energy — certainly that energy might interplay with the pagan themes that would dominate Bathory’s later records. There’s a kind of welcome crudity to the stripped-down machismo of the photograph’s central figure, and I think it lends itself quite well to the raw and abrasive music on the album.
Handful of Hate — Gruesome Splendour
When it comes to dark imagery, the film Hellraiser left an indelible mark on the horror genre with its demonic sadism and bondage. Such visuals would not infiltrate much of black metal until decades later, and perhaps on no album cover does it manifest more strongly than Handful of Hate’s Gruesome Splendour. On this 2006 release, a close-up is presented of a possessed woman’s cut and withered face as she wears a ball gag. With song titles like “Used to Discipline” and “Grotesque in Pleasure, Rotten in Vice,” the art goes hand-in-hand with the lyrical themes, yet there are many not-meant-to-be-answered questions regarding the nature and circumstances of the image.
The woman’s expression is neither one of agony nor pleasure, but of great despair. This immediately is at odds with the white eyes that would otherwise indicate the victorious dominance of possession. Another feature to consider is the ambiguity of the subject’s age — the withered half of her face and the anemic lock of hair beside it make her look old, yet the left side could be that of a young woman. The contrasts and contradictions behind the art, as well as the mystery of its ultimate message (if any), makes this a deeply compelling and unsettling album cover.
Watain — Casus Luciferi
I’ve always found the wood engraving art of Timo Ketola (R.I.P.) to be quite ensorcelling. When it comes to my favorite album cover by the Finnish artist, it’s a close call between Teitanblood’s Seven Chalices and Watain’s Casus Luciferi, but the latter is the one that appeals to me more — perhaps due to its occult symbolism. A sinister inversion of the Eye of Providence illuminates a divide between mountains, casting its gaze upon hooded fallen angels, possibly representing the Watchers gathered on Mount Hermon.
The art reminds me of the many works of Gustave Doré — especially those engravings included in Paradise Lost and The Divine Comedy. Ketola’s piece for Casus Luciferi has a particularly busy quality to it, placing it in perfect lockstep with the sonic and lyrical chaos of the album itself. Ketola went on to do more pieces for Watain, including for Sworn to the Dark and Trident Wolf Eclipse, but I prefer this one — and its foreboding qualities — by far.
Thantifaxath — Sacred White Noise
Perhaps the most captivating feature evoked by certain black metal artists is that of mental disquietude. Whether represented musically, visually, or both, its influence on me as I’m listening or taking in the art, and how, if but for a moment, it sets my reality askew, is unnervingly enthralling. All of Thantifaxath’s music does this for me, but when it comes to their album covers, the photograph used for Sacred White Noise left a lasting impression on me due to the immediacy of its stark anguish and sorrow.
The image, called simply Woman on bench, was captured by Russian-American photojournalist Jerry Cooke, and was originally intended to be used in a 1946 magazine article on the horrid state of mental asylums. It was later used in the photography collection Family of Man, and of course, as the cover of Thantifaxath’s 2014 full-length album. As the band’s lyrical themes deal with “depression, death, and misery,” according to Metal Archives, the photo is a perfect snapshot into one woman’s moment of cerebral and spiritual hell. The dark, unforgiving textures of the wall and ceiling above her present a kind of haunted minimalism, serving to thrust the subject of the piece into painful focus.
Theotoxin — Consilivm
So much of black metal artwork is characterized by iconoclasm. Since its inception the genre has run the gamut on visual assault upon Christian iconography, and the cover for Theotoxin’s Consilivm continues that tradition. One of the most potent ways to make a photograph really assail the senses is by taking one or two universally understood symbols and bringing them together in uncomfortable contrast. Here, most of a nun’s habit is contained within a noose, encircling a sister with an apathetic expression and dried bloody tears, as though she is resigned to her fate.
The photographer was James Quinn, an artist whose work I have only recently discovered; I’ll have to dedicate some time to exploring what seems like a fascinating portfolio on his website. Though I don’t know the circumstances or backstory behind his photo used for Theotoxin’s album, its juxtaposition of religion and death is an exciting display, and pairs well with the themes of theological contention that mark the band’s music.
Famine — Famine
Famine, along with all its artwork, is the brainchild of New Jersey musician Will Kuberski, who goes by the moniker of Worthless. He released one 2007 self-titled record for Famine, and I’ve heard nothing about the project or the artist himself since then. What I do know is that its black-and-white depiction of a squatting demon brandishing a sword is alluring in its grotesquery. Though the creature would seem to be the embodiment of devilish tropes, with a pentagram on its chest and its backward curving horns, the fact that it feels chillingly fresh and authentic to me stands as proof that if you pour the right energy and artistry into an image, the dark emotions it stirs up will render it hideously unique instead of boringly derivative.
There’s something about the pained expression on the demon’s face, the shadows cast beneath and beside it (the monochromatic tones really help with this), and a few curiosities such as the nature or purpose of the sword and what looks like burned or eroded flesh leading downward from its right shoulder. The diminutive aspect to the creature also reminds me of some depictions in grimoires of lesser demons like Ukobach, though the defiant posture of this devil suggests that its place is on a significantly higher spiritual echelon. It’s a piece of art that is unabashedly unsettling.
