Why write about an album that needs no introduction, you might ask. Why put in time and effort to praise a work which has been critically acclaimed by seemingly the entire Funeral Doom community? And I would answer: because it is much more than an album. This exhibit might be solely responsible for the modern Funeral Doom resurgence. It is an impactful record overflowing with brilliance, and also personally dear to my heart. Its importance can hardly be overstated. Spoiler: this is neither an analysis nor a critique. This is an ovation and a love letter to Mirror Reaper.

THE REAPER

The story of Mirror Reaper is one of real-life tragedy, as during its writing process, former Bell Witch drummer and vocalist Adrian Guerra passed away at the age of 36. I do not intend to be disrespectful, but this happening capitalises the record’s ‘Funeral’ aspect heavily, not least because the piece’s spiritually second act (“The Words of the Dead”) features vocals done by Mr. Guerra himself.

AS ABOVE

The records starts off with a gentle melody, before gruelling, droning guitars and a crushingly heavy organ unite in crippling gloom to set the stage. Nearly seven minutes pass before even the first vocals set in – apocalyptic, drawn-out death growls. Shortly after, a recurring, melodic guitar theme is introduced, leading to the first ascension of the song: the introduction of bewailing, meditative cleans ten minutes (keep that in mind!) into the song. I cannot get enough of these, channeling unfiltered emotion of personal loss and raw, devastating pain. The aforementioned melody, slowly and carefully being expanded upon, becomes a central and important aspect of this first chapter; exuding a gravitas one only hears seldom, even in a genre this reliant on making the most of every single chord, drum hit, and growl.
After grinding down the listener’s emotion for over 17 minutes, Bell Witch insinuate a brief moment of respite with only the guitar playing delicately, almost timidly for a few minutes. This could not be farther from the truth, as it merely lasts long enough for the preceding ache to settle and eat its way into one’s fallow soul. If you’ve let your guard down, perhaps closed your eyes and drifted into a trancelike state during this – congratulations, you have become inevitably infected with the tragic beauty and everlasting pain of Mirror Reaper. From here on out, there is no turning back. Eight minutes into the fallacious peace, reverberating cleans set in, seemingly echoing over from beyond the edge of the world, before ghoulish growling and gargantuan guitars re-envelop one with irresistible force. Hammond organ and lead melody return to continue their mission – which seemingly is to share the pain via extracting the last spark of joie de vivre from your being, leaving nothing behind but an empty, emotionally withered husk. It is done expertly and, despite foreboding unavoidable calamity, emits such undeniable grace that it is simply impossible to interfere or fend it off.

SO BELOW

For more than 20 minutes, the piece washes over you like a flash flood: all-encompassing, violent and inexorable like the tides, it is pulling you deeper and deeper into its aphotic depths. Every sense of time is being drowned and there is literally as much breathing room as on the bottom of the ocean. In the process, the song samlessly transitions into the previously mentioned “The Words of the Dead” which (for the most part) operates less maiming, yet more sombre than the rest of the piece, resulting in the second ascension: minimalist guitar usage and brittle, crystal clear cleans, only supported by the most delicate whiff of crash cymbals, result in one of the most emotionally captivating musical passages I have ever heard. Shy of the 1-hour-mark, the Hammond organ is woven in again and the intensity increases. As before, this is done with such tactfulness that neither focus shifts away from the vocals nor any of the fragility is lost as it vanishes for the more, finally transitioning into the third act.

THE MIRROR

Being more heavily reliant on organ and (initially) crash cymbals, the guitar, previously widening the narrows, increasingly fades into the background before crumbling to decay. One more paragon of the genre’s minimalist character and impact of excellent, meticulous songwriting. As the piece’s final sixth commences, guitars and drums return with thunderous force, taking centre stage again. Ploughing through the delicately seeded fields of sorrow, they are prefacing the third and final ascension: the return of the bewailing meditative cleans – roughly ten minutes (do you remember?) before the end – and lead guitar melody right afterwards. This is a beautiful detail which only caught my eye several weeks ago. With that, the song concludes on a high note, remarkably revealing a slight touch of inner peace, even levity in its final moments, without compromising its own identity.
I hardly need to further elaborate on how much I adore Mirror Reaper. It will likely, and hopefully, forever be one of the first things people encounter when familiarising themselves with this beautiful genre. It is more than an album – an obituary, a last farewell, a glimpse beyond the veil. This has merely been my rather derelict attempt to honour it and put into words how much of a magnificent masterpiece I think it is.