Swazi’s Spectres of the Past comes with an image that hits before the music does. The project was born in isolation, forged in Cape Town during the global COVID lockdown, and it presents itself with the kind of shadowed, cinematic framing that instantly raises expectations. That is both a strength and a challenge, because once you press play, the first impression can feel slightly underfed compared to what the band’s visual identity promises. Still, this is a debut, and given how the project was conceived and put together, it would be unfair to call it anything close to a weak first album. If anything, it feels like Swazi have already found their look. Now the next step is to find the sound that defines them, a sound that feels unmistakably theirs, not a collage of references. These were my first, rough notes, based on what I felt in an initial listen. Then I gave it a second chance, and I’m glad I did.
I should also be honest about my own bias. As a big Carach Angren admirer, my standards for symphonic black metal are naturally skewed, and I know comparisons can be a trap, especially when mood and context play such a big role. On my first listen, I was not impressed. But this was not one of those “third time lucky” cases either. On the second listen, Spectres of the Past came across as more cohesive, more coherent, and more in tune with itself, with as much “synch” as symphony.
It is a varied album, and that variety is one of its strengths, but it also highlights a production issue. Not every track feels like it was handled with the same hands or the same level of care. “The Fallen Tower”, for instance, is genuinely well built and well produced, and it carries a clear sense of direction. “Iron Will” is a solid piece as well, opening on piano in a way that should pull you in, yet it feels more unbalanced and thinner from a production standpoint, with raw drums and cymbals pushing into harsh peaks that distract from the songwriting. “Army of the Dead”, despite what the title might suggest, is a beautifully arranged acoustic guitar piece, and it flows naturally into “Arise”, which slows the pace down into something more macabre, told in two voices.
The album is long, very long by today’s standards. Sixty minutes spread across 17 tracks is a lot to take in. There is a lot to discover, a lot to appreciate, and also plenty to question. Next time, the right call might be to trim the fat and keep only what truly matters. In many cases, less is more, and this album would gain a lot by being shorter. But one thing is certain: no song feels like the one before it. No idea is simply repeated. This is a record that asks for more than one listen, because it carries a complicated personality that you need to live with before you judge it properly. There are melancholic passages, bursts of extreme metal, moments that brush against a Cradle of Filth type of theatrical darkness, and an overall feeling of organised chaos. But above all, even with the growing pains of a debut, it still feels like Swazi. Sure, they’re the new kid, but their presence is starting to drift far beyond Cape Town.
Listen to their full album, if you dare…
