On ‘Ghost Chants’, Outre sort of serve up a bit of everything but the kitchen sink. This includes some clean vocals (fuck me purple…); theatrical, avant-garde passages; and over-the-top, grandiose pomposity that distills any vague prevailing Black Metal elements to such an extent that they have essentially been negated.
It all ends up sounding like some pretentious, pathetic, homosexual variation of Deathspell Omega taking it up the ass from Arcturus and in the mouth from Dimmu Borgir. This one isn’t for me, at all. A truly terrible piece of shit, really.