Any seasoned extreme Metal veterans worth their salt should be immune to shock value by the time they ditch their training wheels. Fans of gore-themed bands like CannibalCorpse, or comically satanic acts like Deicide and Vital Remains (both of which coincidentally feature everyone's favorite hokey bible-basher, Glen Benton), are most likely in it for pure musical enjoyment, not because they are still trying really hard to weird out their parents. In my long and storied career as a master of the Metallurgical arts, I've borne visual and auditory witness to an endless march of these acts, and frankly, it wears thin. Violent satanic imagery, though it has its untouchable place in Metal's heart and history, is often snooze-inducing when placed next to the cosmic psychedelia of, say, YOB (R.I.P.)Why do I bring this up? Because despite my exposure to endless hours of Christ-rapinglyrics and their accompanying screeches, wails, burps, growls and gurgles, Deathspell Omega still really, really creeps me out. Black Metal bands are no strangers to ridicule, stemming from their often laughable obsession with all thinks satanic, grim and gangrene.

Yet on their new long-player, Fas-Ite, Maledicti, in Ignem Aeternum, Latin for, "By divine law, go, you cursed, into the eternal fire," (I feel so cool saying that) these French Metal warriors blaspheme with such class, intelligence and atmosphere that even the most besmirked skeptics will find themselves pledging their allegiance to the Dark One.

Though the Deathspell Omega's first two albums were based in the Darkthrone school of primal, screeching Black Metal, it was their 2004 opus Si Monumentum Requires, Circumspice (If you seek His monument, look around you), that saw them transform into a more sophisticated beast, complete with long passages of dissonant atmospherics, Gregorian chants and heavily researched occult themes. But for all its greatness, the album was a little overbearing. At almost 80 minutes, it becomes a chore to listen to. This time, DsO has trimmed down the album to a healthy 45 minutes, resulting in a much more digestible meal of wickedly clever evil.

Opening track, "Obombration I" begins quietly, with haunting chants and discordant feedback before transforming into a kind of slow Black Metal lounge jam. Soon, the unnamed vocalist begins croaking passages of Latin, after which the band slowly fadesback in the darkness.

At this juncture, the listener has been led to believe that Deathspell Omega haspossibly mellowed. But like the great white shark, the band has faded away only to gain some distance and then strike from behind, ruthless and deadly. Without warning, "The Shrine of Mad Laughter" explodes in your face like a furious swarm of buzzing guitars. Speedy, indecipherable drum patterns destroy everything in their path, clearing the way for the caustic vocals and riffs. All the while, bizarre, high-register guitar harmonies chirp above the madness. Then, suddenly, the music stops, allowing the listener to regain his bearings against the backdrop of an eerily soothing atmospheric passage.

Thus, the album continues for its entirety; tooth-clenching, atonal blasting, followed by cleverly placed and moody instrumental passages. While the formula may seem predictable, Deathspell Omega varies the structure enough to keep the listener from getting too comfortable. The first time I listened to this in my room, my suite empty and the lights dimmed, I was jumping out of my chair every few minutes.

I suppose that if one wanted to get picky, one could criticize the slightly single-gear vocals, or even the esoteric occult lyrics ("The rupture is too profound to stand up/ nothing remains but a terrified consolation in a laughable renunciation that is not the one of a single man/ thou art not dead to the devoration of sin!"). I happen to think they only serve to remind you just how deadly serious these guys are. Nitpicking aside, this is a quality release through and through. The packaging is beautiful, complete with provocative cover art and a booklet full of sullen brown pencil illustrations depicting all sorts of suffering. Forgoing any sort of credits, the booklet is wholly dedicated to the experience of the fan. In the age of the digital single, it warms my steel heart to see a band continue to try and enhance the experience of the listener through the lost art of album packaging. Deciphering the obscure latin text while hunched over your desk is a joy in itself.

This is intelligent and diverse black metal, capable of evoking far more emotion and atmosphere than the faceless Darkthrone clones. Dense though it may be, the material is certainly worth the investment. Wolves in The Throne Room is going to have to work very hard to keep the top spot on my list of favorite Black Metal bands.