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Streaming through the luminous breeze of primordial flame comes that known only as Shataan, a being writhing in the shades of black folk majesty, combined with a dedication to post-punk lamentations. A stark display of dreamscape soliloquy, one that blossoms in dark shades with each cry of ruin punctuated by forlorn guitar melody, mature percussive execution, and a vocal obsession of detached oration. Now some of the earliest spellcraft from this mournful entity comes to acolytes through the iron wailings of GoatowaRex hermeticism, upon splendour of wicked wax.

Relic is an amalgamation of Shataan’s earliest incantations, these being a stark display of the entities impressive talent for fusing post-punk, black metal and folk spellcraft into one incantation of experimental furor.
Lilting streams of tear stained sadness as flesh is strained through passage of limbo, plumes of thick black smoke over the desert sands as those that wander find that no paths amongst the sands of time, no purpose alongside the spirit quest of mortal folly. Brought full circle in the cycle of destruction, with flesh rinsed in the waters of a well long since dried, ghost of moisture all that remains on the dusts of desolation.

Carving forth a place all of their own in the wastelands of mortal heart and head, Shataan push a sound that lies beyond the frontiers of conventional sonic sorcery. All those riding to the tune of those things strange and unusual, depression soaking their bones, laying themselves prostrate before altars of lonely harmony, and savage storm—will find much to taste hear amongst the phantom memories of the lost. Careful they should be that they do not lose themselves as well, souls forever drifting upon the fulcrum of time, the vastness of spirit let loose amongst the star flute dreams of spectral gods.