The hypnotic power of a dying Bride

It's been more than 30 years since rock music was still important and had great relevance. Artists were not pop bunnies who sang with computer voices, but stars with guitars, poets, explainers of the world.

We look back in a series. Today do the "Symphonaire Infernus Et Spera Empyrium made by the british band My Dying Bride.

The bride dies and the band weeps. The best cry is My Dying Bride. The six-member core ensemble from England has made melancholy the principle of their work.

Slowly, very slowly, they patiently layer mountain-high walls of sound from pianos, guitars and violins, whose hypnotic power is occasionally reminiscent of Pink Floyd's great conceptual works.

My Dying Bride, who only debuted last year with a rather unusual album called "Symphonaire Infernus Et Spera Empyrium", now fuse metal and classical as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Supported by violinist Martin Powell, they work their way slowly through their eight, nine or ten minute long dark metal requiems. There is no escape. My Dying Bride pours its minor chords into the listener's ears like boiling hot lead. A plate like a mountain.

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