The Monolith

While Inframonolithium musically seemed to serve as a continuation of Beyond Black Void and/or The Ethereal, the conceptual content of the project increasingly felt like a distinctive extension of the Symphony series from van Cauter’s main project Until Death Overtakes Me.

There is the titular monolith found in what are likely the two most popular Until Death Overtakes Me albums: Prelude to Monolith and Symphony III – Monolith, as well as in this project. At the time, visual associations were made with Carpenter (Prince of Darkness/Prelude to Monolith), Lovecraft, and Kubrick (2001: A Space Odyssey/Symphony III – Monolith). In van Cauter’s work, the monolith has always also represented a gravestone at the end of life’s journey, while in Kubrick’s vision it was initially a mysterious tool enabling the transformation of intelligent life, and for Lovecraft it was a similarly mysterious object, heralding the downfall of humanity as a sign of hidden powers.

The two poles of possible human development – ascension or downfall – can naturally be linked to the threshold at the end of life, a theme consistently explored by van Cauter. The potential path of humanity reflects that of the individual at life’s end. Yet it’s important to clarify that Lovecraft, Kubrick, and van Cauter focus on different aspects, even if van Cauter was at one point clearly inspired – both aesthetically and thematically – by 2001: A Space Odyssey and by cosmic horror. The reference to Kubrick appears far less present in Inframonolithium, manifesting more clearly in some of van Cauter’s other projects. Lovecraft remains a conceptual companion, resonating through van Cauter’s attempt to construct a world-building arc encompassing his body of work.

Cosmic horror and science fiction continue to be dominant themes in van Cauter’s oeuvre. The monolith must therefore not only be seen as a mystical unknown object, a tool, or the evidence of an unknown (alien) civilization in the spirit of Erich von Däniken, but also as a symbolic gravestone – towards which the individual moved in subjective texts shaped by fantasy and sci-fi up until Symphony III – Monolith. One thing Lovecraft and Kubrick share is the portrayal of humanity’s greatest fear: fear of the unknown. The greatest mystery remains our own non-existence; references to the unknown always involve a confrontation with mortality. Thus, the circle closes – from the literary and cinematic transformation of mankind to the subjective end of the individual.

Kubrick resolves this fear in a kind of psychedelic transcendence, while Lovecraft wears the individual down with terror, depicting it as a helpless subject to higher powers. This idea reappears in Carpenter’s Apocalyptic Trilogy – which the cover of Prelude to Monolith recalls. Van Cauter’s work incorporates both poles: transcendence and decay remain constant possibilities, leaning more or less strongly in one direction or the other.

Inframonolithium

So the monolith returns. Inframonolithium appears as a kind of mirrored/counter-world: a Lovecraftian reflection that strips away the illusion of the first world, of life in the supposed here and now, offering fleeting glimpses of the Great Old Ones. Van Cauter explicitly described Inframonolithium as a fantasy concept. The analogy to cosmic horror is obvious, even though there are hardly any text fragments, tangible reference points, or explanations about the overarching concept. His description of it as a cold journey through realms of emptiness and screaming voids once again links the project to both death and cosmic horror.

And even though he emphasized that the project was more about musical textures than lyrical themes, the references to the eternity of death and the eternity of the Old Ones remain present.
“Surges of darkness wash into the mind, wave after wave, until there’s nothing left to resist the pull towards those monoliths, those portals into the void,” he wrote about the album Mysterium. This pull into the void is the musical texture he seeks with this project. It is a monumental striving into one’s own demise, whether elevating as in Kubrick or annihilating as in Lovecraft.

After this striving came short flashes of bare existence. The Lightless is about a world in which light and darkness are inverted—a counter-world where the defining elements of life are brought into question. Thematically, the album aligns closely with They Live! by Carpenter. Although not part of Carpenter’s Apocalyptic Trilogy, the film is closely related to it and resonates with Lovecraftian themes of external control and oppression. The Lightless is not directly rooted in Carpenter’s work but shares sufficient parallels in its basic idea:
“A life of lies and emptiness or one of freedom. False gifts of gold or cold truth. Slavery or control over one’s destiny.”

Musically, Inframonolithium has always been one of van Cauter’s rawer projects. The albums were intended to be forceful and dark. While van Cauter increasingly embraced ambient elements in his other projects, here the riff remained the defining element. Slowly flowing forward – first toward the monolith, then through it – emerging to view things, to view being, anew.

Gods of Desolation

The Lightless was followed by Gods of Desolation. Here the various gods are revealed – the god of lies already audible in The Lightless, those of devastation following on this album as the inadequacies of society viewed or recognized from the other side of the mirror/monolith. One Who Once Dreamt, One Who Prays to the Void, One Who Waits for Death, and And One Mired in Sorrow.

To musically bind the barren realms of these four figures, Stijn van Cauter varied the sound of his otherwise very raw and space-conscious project. Until now, the credo was that if there was a successor to the radical minimalism of The Ethereal, it was this project. But Gods of Desolation is far less bare, bleak, and dark than previous releases.

One Who Once Dreamt begins the album in a rather classic style of van Cauter: an elongated arrangement, a simple drum machine rhythm, droning – though surprisingly short – riffs, and piercingly bright synthesizers. But even this track already introduces a clear chanting of “Aaa”s and “Ooo”s, previously unheard in van Cauter’s work.

The second track, One Who Prays to the Void, and the fourth, And One Mired in Sorrow, are atypically sluggish, more measured than the opening track, and deeply rooted in ambient funeral doom. The guitar strikes echo for a long time; the rhythm remains slow, though One Who Prays to the Void is dynamically rich, with clattering, tinkling cymbals that convey an archaic-sacral impression. The vocals in this piece are highly dynamic—guttural groaning becomes the sound of winds fading across a desert plain; overtone singing pushed into the background gives a sense of otherworldly presence, and the synthesizer melody becomes a solitary wail in the void.

Melody seems to be an essential element in shaping the textures of Gods of Desolation. In And One Mired in Sorrow, the dynamic interplay between lamenting keyboards and desperate guttural moaning creates a unique sound world – a dialectical dualism of droning despair and drawn-out, whining tragedy, leading to the dying breath of entire civilizations.One Who Waits for Death also features surprisingly musical elements: a fragile melody, a thin, sacred clean vocal in the background (I believe I’ve never perceived van Cauter’s clear voice before), and a rhythm that can actually be identified as such. This piece, with its accessible and even celebratory blend, is reminiscent of older Pantheist songs, making it a potential single or even a “hit song” in van Cauter’s funeral doom oeuvre – and perhaps a small highlight in his now sprawling and often filler-laden discography.