歌手资料
Ides of Winter
英文名：
性别：男
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Edmonton, Canada. May of MMXI. During a particularly horrendous spring thaw, IDES of WINTER emerged from the smoldering embers of several local metal bands that were not quite ready for entertainment careers. A new collaboration was formed with dedicated members each harboring the drive to write, record, and play the shit out of every single live performance. Although together for only a short while, IDES of WINTER went straight to work melding styles as well as writing songs which clicked right away. So why assume a name meaning "the middle of winter"? All artists must draw inspiration from their surroundings. Northern Canadian winters dominate the senses. With a flourish of winter wildlife and wind-chills that can freeze you to the bone in minutes, the stage was definitely set. Armed with experience and a common goal, IDES of WINTER are prepared to meet any condition thrown at them, and eager to entertain the frost bitten hordes.\nBolad Viscol\n(Guitar)\n \nHyaku Nin Giri. \nAn obligation or a simple standard of living? It’s hard to tell when first encountering Bolad. The reserved figure seems to be carved from the ice, and when his chiseled glare becomes fixed upon you, one doesn’t know whether to flee or try to remain rigid in hopes of avoiding detection. Unfortunately for most, it matters not. \nBred for a single purpose, any close-quarter weapon conceived becomes a graceful extension of his hardened soul. \nRazor-embraced edges and well crafted six strings alike become honed instruments of pure fancy, for in his eyes there is room enough for only one moon in the arid sky and the rest will quietly topple and accumulate like newly fallen snow. Like most \ndescendants of Khan’s, he remains loyal to his kindred brethren, but be warned if you step onto his winter-locked battleground, as he will become the cold steel that pierces dreams, the blades that remove your bones, and the hinting metallic flash that silently passes… before the rich warm flow rushes from your neck.\nCaesar Tiberius\n(Vocals) \n \n All Hail Caesar. \nCan a man who bears the namesake of such a legendary and historic figure even hope to someday become un-eclipsed? Not a chance. However, while not being imbued with empiric greatness, a common thread between them could be akin to bitter destiny. Our present day Caesar has fought and clawed for every ounce of leverage on life yet it always seems to plot against him at every turn. One such pitfall may have a silver (or black) lining, as now on stage every night he must rely solely on vocal presence to make himself known. Sometimes too much presence. Add a twist of ego to anyone on a soapbox and you will surely attract those who wish to strip you of your destined glory. Call it insight or paranoia, he was once heard saying “I like to treat all as a friend, but view all as an adversary.” That being said, if our modern Caesar were to pull every knife from his back, there would be very little time for him to indulge in the continuous flow of loose virtue drink and the willing desires of tender flowering gifts the earth has so kindly provided.\nAll hail those who hail!\nLevatis Silvarum\n(Drums)\n \n \n When a man bearing the marks of a dark ancient order flaunts his influence over the wood life that awaits his command, you listen. Oh, how you listen. Lightning may never strike twice, but it does a thousand fold and with precision that seems to shudder forth from the very earth itself as one marvels at the orchestration of ageing forests that yield under the skilled violence of Levatis. Immortal and unchanging, garnering energy from the decay of his surroundings as the life seasons give way, he asserts his sovereign position to the order, and lends counsel to those that follow in his wake. Falling to the wayside is not an option. Clouded in hearsay and rumors whispered between the vales, we officially have no verification of any lurid druidic lineage, but if such a man were to exist, then who better to lead such a frigid congregation extracted from winter’s womb. Call it what you will, but if you ever find yourself captivated by the blackened pulse of primal timber, remember to breathe, or become a numbered soul among his collection.\nPsychron Mithridate \n(Bass)\n \n \n As with all mithridates (un-officially the legendary Rasputin among them), Psychron is immune to the daily gradual poisoning our modern life bestows. Where some would succumb and wither like a delicate plant during the first frost, this\nsub-sonic foundation of tone thrives and mocks whimsically into the face of Father Death. To waywardly shrug off primary existence is either audacious or insane, and if you wish to dispute the latter, gaze directly into his unhinged eyes and decide if you would hazard your own sanity against a man who has undoubtedly nothing to lose. To quell the common burden of day to day existence, the Psychron takes command of the anti-venoms through self medication, mutilation, and\nun-moderation to create a dimension all of his own. To step across this threshold for any other human is a definite roll of the dice with the wager being the stableness of your own conscience. Bluffing with an ill-dealt hand is never in one’s best interest, and let this be a warning to stay far away from the table in his realm. As with many things we once wrongly thought, the meek shall not inherit the earth, in the end it will be the adaptation and quick survival instinct of those who throw caution to the floor and smirk as toxic waves cascade through their souls.
Edmonton, Canada. May of MMXI. During a particularly horrendous spring thaw, IDES of WINTER emerged from the smoldering embers of several local metal bands that were not quite ready for entertainment careers. A new collaboration was formed with dedicated members each harboring the drive to write, record, and play the shit out of every single live performance. Although together for only a short while, IDES of WINTER went straight to work melding styles as well as writing songs which clicked right away. So why assume a name meaning "the middle of winter"? All artists must draw inspiration from their surroundings. Northern Canadian winters dominate the senses. With a flourish of winter wildlife and wind-chills that can freeze you to the bone in minutes, the stage was definitely set. Armed with experience and a common goal, IDES of WINTER are prepared to meet any condition thrown at them, and eager to entertain the frost bitten hordes.\nBolad Viscol\n(Guitar)\n \nHyaku Nin Giri. \nAn obligation or a simple standard of living? It’s hard to tell when first encountering Bolad. The reserved figure seems to be carved from the ice, and when his chiseled glare becomes fixed upon you, one doesn’t know whether to flee or try to remain rigid in hopes of avoiding detection. Unfortunately for most, it matters not. \nBred for a single purpose, any close-quarter weapon conceived becomes a graceful extension of his hardened soul. \nRazor-embraced edges and well crafted six strings alike become honed instruments of pure fancy, for in his eyes there is room enough for only one moon in the arid sky and the rest will quietly topple and accumulate like newly fallen snow. Like most \ndescendants of Khan’s, he remains loyal to his kindred brethren, but be warned if you step onto his winter-locked battleground, as he will become the cold steel that pierces dreams, the blades that remove your bones, and the hinting metallic flash that silently passes… before the rich warm flow rushes from your neck.\nCaesar Tiberius\n(Vocals) \n \n All Hail Caesar. \nCan a man who bears the namesake of such a legendary and historic figure even hope to someday become un-eclipsed? Not a chance. However, while not being imbued with empiric greatness, a common thread between them could be akin to bitter destiny. Our present day Caesar has fought and clawed for every ounce of leverage on life yet it always seems to plot against him at every turn. One such pitfall may have a silver (or black) lining, as now on stage every night he must rely solely on vocal presence to make himself known. Sometimes too much presence. Add a twist of ego to anyone on a soapbox and you will surely attract those who wish to strip you of your destined glory. Call it insight or paranoia, he was once heard saying “I like to treat all as a friend, but view all as an adversary.” That being said, if our modern Caesar were to pull every knife from his back, there would be very little time for him to indulge in the continuous flow of loose virtue drink and the willing desires of tender flowering gifts the earth has so kindly provided.\nAll hail those who hail!\nLevatis Silvarum\n(Drums)\n \n \n When a man bearing the marks of a dark ancient order flaunts his influence over the wood life that awaits his command, you listen. Oh, how you listen. Lightning may never strike twice, but it does a thousand fold and with precision that seems to shudder forth from the very earth itself as one marvels at the orchestration of ageing forests that yield under the skilled violence of Levatis. Immortal and unchanging, garnering energy from the decay of his surroundings as the life seasons give way, he asserts his sovereign position to the order, and lends counsel to those that follow in his wake. Falling to the wayside is not an option. Clouded in hearsay and rumors whispered between the vales, we officially have no verification of any lurid druidic lineage, but if such a man were to exist, then who better to lead such a frigid congregation extracted from winter’s womb. Call it what you will, but if you ever find yourself captivated by the blackened pulse of primal timber, remember to breathe, or become a numbered soul among his collection.\nPsychron Mithridate \n(Bass)\n \n \n As with all mithridates (un-officially the legendary Rasputin among them), Psychron is immune to the daily gradual poisoning our modern life bestows. Where some would succumb and wither like a delicate plant during the first frost, this\nsub-sonic foundation of tone thrives and mocks whimsically into the face of Father Death. To waywardly shrug off primary existence is either audacious or insane, and if you wish to dispute the latter, gaze directly into his unhinged eyes and decide if you would hazard your own sanity against a man who has undoubtedly nothing to lose. To quell the common burden of day to day existence, the Psychron takes command of the anti-venoms through self medication, mutilation, and\nun-moderation to create a dimension all of his own. To step across this threshold for any other human is a definite roll of the dice with the wager being the stableness of your own conscience. Bluffing with an ill-dealt hand is never in one’s best interest, and let this be a warning to stay far away from the table in his realm. As with many things we once wrongly thought, the meek shall not inherit the earth, in the end it will be the adaptation and quick survival instinct of those who throw caution to the floor and smirk as toxic waves cascade through their souls.
