Majestically crafted, the last time I heard something this aged was The Nephilim record, this breeds more visions of stark Hell, sombre, malevolent, morose, beautiful, solemn and remote, breathing further darkness into the doom encrusted void which for too long has been inhabited by bands all too eager to mimic the magic of Sabbath. My Dying Bride construct their own padded cell of nightmares, achingly stretched over a canvas of loveless meandering and poetic cruelty, amid Poe-inspired hellscapes, violins whine and bicker over the downtuned guitar orchestrations, the weight of the title cut pouring dirty oil into the soil, slow dripping into some pitch grave where only smells and touch can surely give way to such complex emotions. Not sure how a band can come up with such ravenous and diabolical summonings, but as the church bells of 'Le Cerfe Malade' echo out across the courtyard, one look into the glassy orb eyes of the crows tells you that you're not going to get this for a long time, or forever remain paled, gaunt and tortured by the grim fragments of dreams. My Dying Bride spew out a horrific, ancient story that borders on madness, often reaching into dormant pits of silted genius but always leaving you lost in the dark, never to see again, but only to hear the viola strains of horrors past, but never truly letting you into a world that is truly theirs to behold, where hideous demons and writings once taught are now but whispers of some unknown terror that we can only suspect in our naivety. 'Turn Loose...' is a magnificent record that creaks with historical anguish, it's pages sagged by the tears it took to make.
9/10
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