Recomendaciones musicales: Elvenking

Hace unos años (caramba, ahora que lo miro hace nada más y nada menos que cinco) descubrí por casualidad el disco de debut (Heathenreel) de un grupo de... ehmm... power-folk-metal italiano llamado Elvenking. Salvando el primer disco de Sonata Arctica (Ecliptica), es quizás el primer contacto con un grupo que más me ha impactado desde que me inicié en el mundo del metal. Conjuring of the 14^th sigue siendo una de mis canciones favoritas (y no tiene pinta de que vaya a dejar de serlo), y el disco en general rayaba a un nivel altísimo. Casi tres años después, lanzaron Wyrd, con un nuevo cantante. Realmente no era un mal disco, pero la verdad es que me decepcionó bastante (aunque algo después la palabra decepción llegó a nuevas cotas con el último disco de Rhapsody): con la marcha de Damnagoras habían perdido gran parte de su fuerza, de su salvajismo, de todo lo que me cautivó de Heathenreel.
Pero ahora han vuelto. Damnagoras ha vuelto al grupo, han grabado su nuevo disco en Finlandia (si algún finlandés está leyendo esto y sabe qué puedo hacer para conseguir la doble nacionalidad, que por favor me lo diga) y con The winter wake han vuelto al nivel que marcaron con su primer disco. Canciones como Devil's carriage, Rouse your dream o Trows kind han hecho que Elvenking vuelva a convertirse en uno de mis grupos favoritos. Si alguna vez vienen a España y las fechas me caen mínimamente bien, que cuenten conmigo :-).

Conjuring of the 14^th

Follow down the path
It leads to a circle of houses,
Where foreigners are not well thought
And strangers unwelcome to their affairs!
The villagers (so they said) do heathen rituals

"Just for a while
Look through the chimney stack
Through the mist, aren't you afeared?
Ajar are the doors
A smell of rotten woods
In the mud, aren't you afraid?"

Hidden by the clouds
A pallid sun on a November day
An expedition organised
To go and see what's going on
The villagers (none of them) weren't seen in town for weeks
To get provisions as they used to...

"Just for a while
Look through the chimney stack
Through the mist, aren't you afeared?
Ajar are the doors
A smell of rotten woods
In the mud, aren't you afraid?"

Hearsay called him the 14th, was never born, he's always been
The sins to expiate in front of him, will be the
worst part of your dreams!
(Someone said it is a magic place!)

Chorus:
Through the hazy heights, two leagues from Avhon,
Among the heart of brushwood, aloof from the glances
Lies a village, built on a clearing
Thirteen houses, aligned maliciously, and a mansion on a hill
That mournful light in (the) ground floor window is always lit!

As they reached the hamlet on the hill
They found nobody at all! (was anybody there?)
Faint light in the house (where have they gone?)
Would they dare to go inside (to go inside)
When they all returned back home
They told of uncanny things
When they all returned back home
Inside (knock, knock) their souls something's hopelessly gone!

Jesp Van Cleave, the first found dead, drowned in the stream
While we was having a bath, "A terrible misfortune,
Was an incredible and fatal accident!"
Ichabold De le Fournier, son of the Major, was the second one,
His horse fell on top of him, the wounds were too serious to be cured.
One by one the thirteen died, all those who
had been to that village faced the unknown One!

One was hanged, the other choked, little by little
all the townsmen understood
The Conjuring of the 14th was gliding in the mazes of their lives
Thirteen souls to replace the old, the evil lifeblood will
flow in the shadows of their bodies

Hearsay called him the 14th, was never born, he's always been
The sins to expiate in front of him, will be the worst part
of your dreams!
(Someone said it is a magic place!)

Chorus:
Through the hazy heights, two leagues from Avhon,
Among the heart of brushwood, aloof from the glances
Lies a village, built on a clearing
When they went back to the village then, thirteen houses occupied
Thirteen new inhabitants, whom does he look like?

Thirteen houses, aligned maliciously, and a mansion on a hill
That mournful light in (the) ground floor window will be always lit