It´s not mere coincidence that they live on a holy mountain. After a droney mumble out of the deepest rock, accoustic guitars, bass, drums and a flute from time to time bring us up to the summit. There´s an impression of sacral and pagan holiness. With eyes glowing in the dark. They don´t sing much and if they do, it sounds like incantation while the wolf howles at the moon. The forcefulness is shurely an enrichment for the next mushroom.