There was a time when the purists and die-hard adepts would have burned them disks on heaps of flaming plastic. Like those churches they liked to torch in Norway. We talk about those records that emanated from bands that stepped away from pure path of flaming, spiked and red-hot Black Metal. Those that reduced themselves to screamy bombast and loads of make-up. Cradle of Filth comes to mind for instance. Even if Dani Filth and his merry warriors are adamant that they are no Black Metal band no more. But still, this is pure blasphemy to the goat!
Or theatrical maniacs like Carach Angren emerged from the depths of the pit. Those shamelessly abuse the unholy goodness of the Dark Lord to produce elaborate productions of swarthy cheese. Bound in wrappers reeking of Black Metal flavors, but not quite containing them. [...]