Upon listening to Nadezda, the prevailing sentiment that one can perceive echoing, pulsating through its long, melodic riffs, is a kind of crucifying sorrow. The arrangement of the three songs present here progress in a very clear way from a thoughtful, perhaps even regretful melancholy, through the kind of deep sadness that is inherent in clinical depression which pins one down mentally and physically, to the crossing of a dark threshold whence there is little hope of return. The last track sees the artist stepping through while trembling, which after a brief pause becomes a decided embrace of darkness.
The present is a singularly psychological black metal, not in the academic sense, which would summon impressions of sterility divorced from actual, living emotions and the immense depth in which they are pictured in Nadezda. Oubliette, even more so than Norns in In Fog They Appear, emphatically stress delicate touch in both musicianship and performance, as well as in the energy-flow maintained in the swinging quasi balance of correctly proportioned sections whose interplay builds shadows of castles on the unlikely crags of receptive, and often broken, souls.
By referring to the inwards nature of this music, so to call it, one should bear in mind the lack of specific dependencies on any physical place. In different ways, Oubliette here creates highly impersonal music that is at once incredibly universal yet belonging to no one. It escapes the human power to relate to it, because one is always an outsider to it, yet it draws one closer as if to completely devour. It is as if what was being summoned here was the undead entity itself; which creature we relate to the horror we see behind the dark mirror.
The horror of which is spoken is not to be expected in sensationalist grimaces, which are rather the province of buffoon characters that draw the attention of millions of untermensch through their charlatanery, but the kind that requires willful acceptance, an invitation to intrusion by a bitter-sweet pollution.