Music should always match your mood. Some days you want something deep and intense that conjures up images of icy wilderness and below-zero temperatures; other days, you feel the urge for something more experimental — a bit of sonic navel-gazing that leaves you pondering the grandeur of the universe.
And then there are the other days.
The days when you don’t want to think, feel, or contemplate a damn thing. The days when you just want to slam dance around your living room like a fucking lunatic possessed by a demon, spilling your drink, terrifying the neighbours, and headbanging until you’re one vertebra away from a trip to A&E.
Step forward Cloto by Moira.
Call it Black Metal, call it Blackened Death Metal, call it whatever the fuck you want — you can call it your Great Aunt Petunia’s bloomers hanging on the washing line for all I care. What I call it is a pure adrenaline rush fed intravenously into your soul for fifteen glorious minutes.
Five tracks. Fifteen minutes. That’s all Moira need to absolutely flatten you. Cloto doesn’t hang around, it doesn’t build slowly, and it doesn’t waste time with atmospheric intros or delicate interludes. From the second it begins, it’s full-throttle, teeth-bared, fists-clenched rage given musical form.
The production is spot-on for this kind of thing — raw enough to feel dangerous, but not so raw that it sounds like it was recorded inside a fucking wheelie bin. Every instrument hits like a sledgehammer to the temple: guitars slice through the air with venomous precision, the bass rumbles like the apocalypse rolling in, and the drumming… Christ, the drumming. It’s like being beaten with your own skeleton.
Vocally, it’s all fire and fury — a throat-shredding roar that sounds like it’s coming straight from the pit itself one second and then the scream of a banshee being exorcised. But there’s control beneath the chaos, a sense that Moira know exactly what they’re doing even as they sound like they’re about to explode.
Each track bleeds seamlessly into the next, creating a whirlwind of sound that feels almost ritualistic in its intensity. There are moments where it flirts with melody — subtle little hooks buried under layers of distortion — but they’re fleeting, swallowed up by the relentless aggression before you even have time to register them.
What’s genuinely impressive about Cloto is how much Moira manage to pack into such a short runtime. Most bands would stretch this kind of energy over a full-length album, watering it down in the process. Moira, however, keep it lean, mean, and brutal. It’s a concentrated blast of Blackened fury that knows when to hit, when to crush, and crucially — when to get the fuck out before it overstays its welcome.
By the time it ends, you’re left gasping, grinning, and wondering what just happened.
Cloto is available from the Moira Bandcamp page.
CHOICE CUT: Todo Se Mete
BLACK METAL ARCHIVES VERDICT: Cloto by Moira is fifteen minutes of pure, unfiltered chaos. Fast, furious, and addictive as hell, it’s the sound of a band lighting a match, throwing it into a barrel of gasoline, and walking away as everything explodes behind them. Short, sharp, and absolutely fucking lethal.
