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In Flames
The Jester Race
Style: Melodic Death Metal. Year: 1995

MUSICA Soundcheck:
Average score: 8.8 of 10
Votes: 18

Муpлакотам (26.07.2012 00:13:25)
Score: 9.5 of 10
Отсюда есть пошёл SMDM.


Ark84 (30.10.2008 01:24:05)
Score: 10 of 10
Считаю этот альбом лучшим у группы наряду с Whoracle, следующие два тоже приличные очень, а потом начался modern metal и этим все сказано. Когда впервые его услышал помню долго не мог отойти. Настолько был в шоке от высочайшего уровня каждой песни. Очень долго не мог наслушаться


Nomad242 (27.08.2008 23:35:13)
Score: 9 of 10
Классика стиля


Girl (27.08.2008 22:50:00)
Score: 8 of 10



Троценко (24.08.2008 19:19:23)
Score: 7.5 of 10
Неплохо, но уж никак не шедевр


TRACKLIST:


1. Moonshield
2. The Jesters Dance
3. Artifacts Of The Black Rain
4. Graveland
5. Lord Hypnos
6. Dead Eternity
7. The Jester Race
8. December Flower
9. Wayfarer
10.Dead God In Me

All Songs By IN FLAMES.
Produced By Fredrik Nordstrom & IN FLAMES.
Engineered By F.Nordstrom & Patrik Hellgren.
Recorded In Studio Fredman.

Anders Friden - Vocals
Glenn Ljunqstrom - Lead Guitars
Johan Larsson - Bass, Backing Vocals
Jesper Stromblad - Lead Guitars, Acoustic Guitars, Keyboards
Bjorn Gelotte - Drums & Lead Guitars

Keyboards By Fredrik Nordstrom.

(P)c 1996 NUCLEAR BLAST Records


LYRICA:


Moonshield
Tried of dull ages, I walk the same ground,
collecting the tragedies still
Hollow ambitions in a hollow mind
carried my cross to the hill

And how I lust for the dance and the fire
deep of the nectarine sunset to drink
spill me the wind and its fire
to steal of the colours - Iґm the moonshield

Shattered hope became my guide
and grief and pain my friends
a brother pact in blood-ink penned
declared my silent end

Naked and dying under worlds of silent stone
reaching for the moonshield that once upon us shone


The Jesterґs Dance
Instrumental


Artifacts Of The Black Rain
Stood there leaning to the city moon,
casting silhouettes tall to grip her white rooms
the black-clad voyeur in his black-clad masque
in the serpentine sun of tragedy basked

Stood there cursing at the soul-dead mass
with their fabled illusions, the vain dreams that passed
splinters of a life rushing by in the whirl
a lone, silent warrior in a fantasy world

He cried for night / but night could not come
so, swept in the shroud of Misanthropia he went away
and fed the empty galleries
with the artifacts of the black rain
sunken into the shadows with a dry, sardonic smile

He made the footprints a part of his heart
to rouse a sacred confrontation

Stood there carving on the monument to lies
digging of the earth, making friends with the soil
as the all-mother rises and bares her bleeding thighs
he disappears into her cold, icy womb


Graveland
Mankind - proud conqueror and king
swings its flag of primal glory to the winds
Titans of the power-myth that failed
Neanderthal hunger for the flesh of war so frail

So weak, so hollow-minded
the primat flock responds
the jester race submits

For each day of war is a failure for man,
enslaved to her mordial genes
Illusions bleed from their fetid cores
bent to their rotten extremes

We, the plague of Terra Firma,
natureґs grand and last mistake
plant the poisoned seed of cancer,
set the severed fruits awake
Burning like frozen relics
in godґs archaic graveland

Burn the visionaire
Kill the ideologies
Mankind must die

The doves and the angels return to their graves
with flames on their pestilent wings
while mushroom-clouds haunt their virginwhite skies
to rape their utopian dreams

Living the last days of evolutionґs end
from the nest of humanity, the graveland vultures rend


Lord Hypnos
I lie in your soothing arms, lord Hypnos
your garment alive with your song
I lie in your soothing arms, lord Hypnos

Steep the spiral to your far abode
in the wake of slumber, on visions I rode
and fell like history through the chasm of ages
into the charged, forbidden zones

How I have searched
through a million worlds and faces
yet unaware, I have not found
my own true face, traceless and profound

So, find me in these grandiose halls
where long ago summers eternally fall
and tune the strings of truthful longing
to the frozen music of gods

Hypnagoniaґs lucid horizons
play with the yearning Iґve quelled
as I strike towards the Pantheon
and what therein is held


Dead Eternity
Youґll never be alone again
Youґll never die again
Youґll never be born again
Youґll forever be, stuck here in eternity

I bid you welcome to my world
They call me existence
You have just entered through the gate
to your journey towards eternity

This part i control

In the beginning youґll fear nothing
As I climb beside you
Time will be your master
in this laborious part of human subsistence

This part i control

Black clouds embraces your soul
Slowly passing through repeating lacunas of anguish
When time takes your life
I will transfer you into the bare grip of thinking twanquility
Voices frilling the emptiness of the dead floating
Seamless across the surface into chilling stillness
Nothing can help you now


The Jester Race
Rush faster on the one-way lane
the answers so silent

Rysty gods in their machine-mind armours
grind our souls in the millstone of time
the "deathbed harvest" is a dead manґs banquet
of mould ridden bread and black, poisoned wine

And we go... our step so silent
And we go... our blooded trace
the Jester Race

Calling our to the gathered masses
their answers so silent

And we go...

Embracing the tools of the neo-wolf age
that speak of silence and silence alone

Offering the tokens, the reliced idols
to the heirs of the newly raped ground
inferior even to the transparent winds
- lesser in motion and sound

And we go...

There is no trace of me
in their altered blueprints of life

Gala impaled on their horns and lances
the fumes from her body give chase
as the strong of blind men savour the scent,
dream-dead from Prosaic and hate

-epilogue-

"Sunwind strokes the ElectroHeart,
ignition roars through the corridors,
stream launching the binary vessels"

Vanities in extreme formations
ride into tomorrowґs rigid great face
The Machinery outlives the futile scripts
of our dying jester race


December Flower
Towards the rich archaic heavens; towards the lack diorama
you are the artist of the texture
that plays with the mantle of the earth

When the bleakest of powders
lie rooted to the starched stones
and roots that feed the peaking trees
embrace the sleeping shores

Archaic pearls of sleep and death
the voice of December losing its breath
and the floweryard of white and grey is haunted

White as the down of flaking snow,
the heroic emblems of life

Green is the colour of my death
as in winter-guise I swoop towards the ground
Green is the landscape of my sorrowfilled passing

We are In Flames
towards the dead archaic heavens
We Are The Mantle And The Texture
the alters the mantle of the earth


Wayfaerer
Instrumental


Dead God In Me
To slit the grinning wounds
from childhoodґs Seven Moons
the palette stained with the ejaculated passions
(of forbidden, hedonistic colours...)

Strike from omnipotence, all-seer, all-deemer,
and haunt my severed country
with your dripping, secret games

You picked the unripe lilies,
deflored and peeled the bleeding petals
made known to me
the grainy stains, the crimson lotus
of the Black-Ash Inheritance,
the semen feed of gods and masters
The worms still in me,
still a part of me,
racing out from leaking rooms,
swoop from broken lungs to block the transmission
to put an end to the nomad years

father you
are the
dead god

in me
The Jester Race



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