Welcome my fellow black metalheads, Sean here at the Black Metal Archives, and today I’m fucking possessed by the haunting, soul-shredding brilliance of Deadwood’s Picturing a Sense of Loss. This beast clawed its way out of Germany’s dark heart on February 14, 2014, a six-track monolith from a crew of shadowy fuckers—Jo barking vocals like a wounded beast, Marcel and Flo weaving guitars and soundscapes that’ll rip your mind apart, Marc rumbling bass like a goddamn earthquake, and Chris pounding drums that hit like a warhammer to the chest. Self-released with no corporate bullshit, this is Deadwood’s one and only full-length, and holy fuck, it’s a journey that’s left me stunned, bruised, and begging for more. This is black metal that bleeds emotion—let’s tear this bastard open and feast.
“Burden of Remembrance” slams in like a cold wind through a graveyard, guitars slicing with tremolo fury that’s got my blood pumping. Jo’s voice is a goddamn force—ragged, melancholic shrieks that cut straight to the bone—while Marcel and Flo layer riffs and ambient haze that feel like ghosts clawing at my skull. The drums crash with a primal heft, and the bass growls low, setting a mood that’s heavy as fuck and twice as haunting. It’s a kick to the guts, a perfect plunge into the abyss that’s got me hooked from the first scream.
“White Tears Gently Touching the Earth” keeps the fire raging, and fuck me, it’s beautiful in the most twisted way. The guitars shift into this dreamy, post-rock shimmer—soft one second, then exploding into a wall of blackened wrath the next. Jo’s howling carries this deep, aching sorrow, and I’m right there with him, lost in the pain. Chris’s drums roll like thunder, while Marc’s bass anchors the chaos, making this a track that’s got me swaying and snarling, fucking entranced by its raw, emotional punch.
“Ending Circles” is where I lose my goddamn mind—this shit’s a masterpiece that hits like a tidal wave. It starts chill as fuck, guitars plucking this hypnotic melody that pulls me in, then bam—blast beats and riffs that shred my sanity. The soundscapes swirl around me, thick and suffocating, while Jo’s voice rips through like a chainsaw, dripping with rage and despair. It’s long, it’s epic, and it flies by in a haze of pure fucking brilliance—I’m banging my head ‘til my neck snaps, loving every second.
“Soiled” drags me deeper, a filthy, brooding bastard of a track that’s got me grinning like a maniac. The guitars churn with this slow, deliberate menace, layered with ambient echoes that feel like a storm brewing in my chest. Jo’s vocals are a guttural snarl, spitting venom, while the rhythm section—Chris and Marc—lays down a foundation that’s heavy as hell. It’s a slow burn that erupts into chaos, and I’m fucking reveling in its dark, dirty glory.
“Gefangen im Spiegel” keeps the vibe raw and real, guitars weaving this icy, melodic web that’s got me hooked. The soundscapes hit hard, painting a picture of shattered reflections, while Jo’s shrieks are pure anguish—I feel that shit in my soul. The drums and bass drive it forward, relentless and punishing, making this a track that’s got me staring into the void and loving the view.
“NA1.7” closes this fucker out, and holy shit, it’s a mind-bender. It starts spacey, like I’m floating in some cosmic wasteland, then the guitars crash in with a groove that’s got my head nodding hard. It’s a rollercoaster—calm one minute, brutal the next—and Jo’s voice ties it all together, a beacon of fury in the storm. The whole band goes all out, and I’m left wrecked, fucking exhilarated by the ride.
Deadwood’s sound on Picturing a Sense of Loss is a goddamn revelation—Marcel and Flo’s guitars are twin serpents, slithering between frostbitten black metal riffs and post-rock beauty, while Marc’s bass is the deep, throbbing pulse that keeps me alive. Chris’s drums are a fucking tempest, blasting and grooving with savage grace, and Jo’s vocals are the raw, beating heart—pained, pissed, and perfect. The soundscapes? They’re the ether, wrapping this beast in a haze that’s thick and intoxicating. In the black metal genre, these fuckers dance with the post-black elite—Alcest’s dreamy chill, Deafheaven’s soaring chaos—but they’ve got a gritty, emotional edge that’s pure Burzum or early Ulver, raw and unpolished. This album’s a fucking gem, a one-off blast of brilliance that’s got me screaming its praises—crank it loud, let it rip, and join me in this beautiful goddamn nightmare. You can blast the full album on Bandcamp, so get your ass over there and dive in!
