COMBICHRIST – D For Demonic (2024)

It might sound as sheer nihilism, satanism and whatnot, but it’s actually industrial-heavy-metal-electronic-body-music shadow work. Those who don’t practice it are usually the most nihilistic ones. Paraphrasing Romanian philosopher Emil Cioran (changing some words, replacing “philosophy” by “music”) it could be said that, “in everyday life, anyone can compete with the devil; in music, this is not the case. To commit horrors and to conceive horror are two irreducible actions: no common ground between the actual experience of cynicism and cynicism in music.” (History and Utopia)

Combichrist’s “D for Demonic” carries an intense and dark energy that evokes, like many other of their songs and lyrics, Jung’s concept of shadow work. Religious believers are especially prone to conceiving of themselves as necessarily righteous, good, and pure, while perpetrating terrible abuses and crimes within their own families and communities.

Shadow work involves confronting and integrating the unconscious, often darker aspects of the psyche—those parts we reject or repress. Combichrist’s music is a safe space for such inner exercise, which can be at times an inner struggle. The acid irony in Combichrist’s music works as a double-edged tool, both shielding and sharpening the confrontation with the shadow. On one hand, it disarms resistance by introducing a playful, exaggerated tone; on the other, it slyly amplifies the discomfort of facing raw truths.

In “D for Demonic,” this dynamic feels particularly potent—it’s as though the track dares you to embrace the chaos with a smirk, acknowledging that the demonic isn’t purely external but also part of us. This blend of irony and raw expression makes shadow work through such music both cathartic and strangely liberating.

The exaggerated elements in “D for Demonic” almost seem to laugh at the notion of purity or perfection, underscoring Jung’s idea that growth and wholeness come from integration, not denial. This ironic detour makes the process feel accessible, even mischievously inviting, as if the track is whispering: “Come dance with your demons. They’re waiting.”

The track’s visceral aggression and rawness could serve as an auditory mirror, inviting listeners to face their inner demons, primal instincts, or unacknowledged feelings. Its relentless industrial beats and provocative lyrics could symbolize the chaotic yet transformative journey of acknowledging and reconciling with the shadow. It’s one of Combichrist’s tracks that most resemble the best of Ministry’s industrial metal.