As along-standing fan of Fields of the Nephilim, and of Carl McCoy's album with The Nefilim, Zoon, I have to say that this is pants. There are those who, having waited eagerly for any sign of new releases from the (rather unproductive) McCoy Creative Engine for so long will lap this up simply because they can't bear to admit it's low-grade, soulless pap, but... it really is. Gone is the feel of "Elizium", the deep ambient spell woven through the shimmering interconnectedness of a group of real musicians playing together, the whole far greater than the sum of its parts.
This is sterile, overworked... The computer has left its formatted talon-marks all over the sound (and thus that timeless quality has been lost).
Some of the instrumentation is, frankly, teenage-bedroom cringeworthy... And the lyrics, ye gods... All I can assume is that McCoy's poetic daemon has leapt back to the dimension from whence it was conjured. Not the masterpiece that ten years' silence should have been crowned with, but an album that could have been written, recorded and released in six months on the side while working fulltime as a motorcycle mechanic.
Magick? Ah... Mr. McCoy's face appears in the cover image... Ego... the false centre that causes all delusion. I feel that Carl has simply proven by deed that the dark path yields less and less real power, substituting in its place empty posturing and show. Silly, and rather sad, really. Wake up: We're already here.