Album Review, Blog, Cradle of Filth, Gothic, Music

Album Review: Cradle of Filth – Nymphetamine

I guess, finally, it’s time that I reviewed this shart of darkness.

Undoubtedly there are many articles out there, all written long before I had even uttered the word cunt, yet here I am.


Because this is the album that introduced me to the most important music in my life.

I can only vaguely remember much of that fetid day when a friend said (probably):

Yo, this is pretty crazy, you should check it out.

Indeed, I often wonder if I should wish to go back and relive that moment, because quite what happened next is blank to me. All I know is that I found something beyond mere music in that CD.

What is it then, that makes Nymphetamine stand out starkly on my musical horizon, and maybe your own?

For one, this is a beautifully versatile album; you can melt away into a Gothic embrace of opiate dreams just as you may channel a rage that has furiously burned away within.

The imposing doom of the intro Satyriasis; leading into something that our minds cannot yet understand, and then taking us to a sublime crescendo, is ever more relevant as we go on.

The album is, to me at least, like the highs and lows of any kind of addiction; personal to us all, painful to none save ourselves, yet eternally redeeming and damning.

Truly, I struggle to point out one track above another. Sure, Nymphetamine itself is a Gothic opus, but it really doesn’t stand alone here – everything excels at the snapshot is seeks to present to us.

On vinyl the sound is strong and well rounded, at least with my setup, and just simply rocks.

Playing Gilded Cunt with the volume cranked up yields all the detail your neighbours don’t want, and the religious chanting of Nemesis could convince anyone to form a cult.

What I think really sets the album apart, though, is just it’s pure timelessness.

The range of organic, furious rhythms, and Gothic reflections on something lost is just immortal – ironic, I guess.

And yet, herein lies my own addiction and vice:

One day it must all end, and when it does, I’ll be bound to a memory mourning where it all began





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