Gods Have No Home is the third LP from Siberian atmospheric black metal band Eoront. The album’s story follows the journey of a nameless god, wondering a deserted world with another world in the palm of his hand. Forging the crushing bluster of the near-constant winter storms, with another world clutched to his chest as he walks the wastes, sleeping beneath the ruins of abandoned and dead civilizations, foraging through the tall, snow choaked grass and young trees that have sprouted in the huts and temples which once belonged to a people, who now are mere shadows, a whisper in the wind. They are gone forever. Their names, beliefs, and traditions lost. Only the hollow shells that they erected to protect themselves from the elements remain, and snow, roots, and time will soon eat even these intern and spit out their bones as dust. As this nomadic diety continues on his destinationless journey, through a world whose name has slipped through living memory’s fingers, he is only vaguely aware that the plain he is tethered to is also held in the palm of the hand of a god. And that god also wonders. And the plain he inhabits rests in the merciful hands of another god, and so on, and so on, at Infinitum. The gods have no resting place, only paths of struggle, which may continue so long as they receive the grace of others to whom they have no agency in relation. A life lived like a dust motes dancing on a pin- not on its head, but on its tip.
Eoront’s LP begins with “The Forlorn Land,” where you are greeted with the sounds of a traveler leaving in a blizzard, facing the open wild on horseback, after which a heaving tremolo gallops into earshot on the back of a cold earth plowing blast beat, a valiant charge that only grows more bold as it tilting against the onrushing gale of wintery guitars and disconsolate orchestral maneuvers. The bravura of Gods Have No Home becomes inescapable as you enter the elegantly carved corridors and sturdy, wooden vaults, as fortified as stone, that is “Wormwood,” all the while guided by a dark, pervasive melodicism and the entrancing pull of shadowy energy. “The Hermit” follows with an elegant, acoustic guitar intro, that inverts into a raging, cascading, blood-crazed groove, like a woodland spirit that first appears to be a maiden wondering the forest, dressed in white, but as you approach, she appears to become taller, her features unnaturally distended, her nails and death becoming like that of a hungry bear. Once you are close enough to notice the danger you are in, you are also two close to having any hope of escape. This is the trap of Eoront. Now that you have come this far, all you can do is accept your fate.
You can stream the entirety of Gods Have No Home below via Bandcamp.