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Athrú Crutha

by Cruthu

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ChristopherAtom Where have I been? This is the kind of traditional doom/metal that calls to mind the greats like Manilla Road and Trouble as much as it references regional contemporaries The Gates Of Slumber. In other words, if you like all of those bands, don't sleep on this! Favorite track: Necromancy.
last vinyl before doomsday
last vinyl before doomsday thumbnail
last vinyl before doomsday Sick Lansing doom with a healthy dose of catchiness - how this scene is so consistently fertile and fantastic is beyond me, but I'm grateful for it all the same!
DEATHMETALNERD666 What a fantastic band! The vocals are awesome! Trad Doom like it should be - heavy riffs with a sense of impending doom. I will play this in my next showreel! 🙏💚 Favorite track: Necromancy.
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    Official Pro Audio release of Athrú Crutha via Dystopian Dogs Records. Includes full 8-page insert with lyrics and artwork.

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Hanged for the black arts, taboo. Salem, 1692. A non-societal man. Helped with the city's demands, but they all feared him and left him alone. Marvelled at, shunned like a plague. Seen at all hours in graveyards, rumored he'd found the Philosopher's Stone. Hanged for Witchcraft, and Voodoo. Salem, 1692. His portrait up on the wall, eyes follow you down the hall... ...as we search, for what is unknown. We were about to go home, pure chance in moving a stone. Cache of knowledge, the Sorcercer 's tomes. Books of Enoch and Eibon, and the Necronomicon. A posse was formed, the property stormed, his home and possessions were burned to the ground. Grimoires in play, they were hidden away, in what had become a burial mound. Supernatural crime, of a traveler in time. Among the chaos a letter was found. "Essential salts of animals, even those of man. Virtual Ark of Noah, in ingenious hands. Ancestor's ashes, scraped from the surface crust. Black wizardry, mixed with human dust. Can't stress enough to you. Summon not which you can't put down too. Our spirits entwine anew. You are me, and I am you." 'Now I'll come and claim my prize. Gaze through my descendants' eyes. I don't have to be discreet. The transformation complete. I have raised him, now he lives in me. You don't believe me, my friend? I think you will in the end. The hour will dawn, and I'll be free.' Hanged for Witchcraft, and Voodoo. Salem, 1692.
Necromancy 05:58
You must bring, an offering. The one to be sacrificed must be willing. Time runs short to learn the secrets that they are keeping. The priest will not admit his son is dead, he's only "sleeping." You will see, that he or she. Gives a life for a life, lets their spirit fly free. Using witchery to melt the mind already diseased. Loss of identity, gain immortality. Sorcery, is what you'll need. The evil seed, an unnatural deed. Using witchery to melt the mind already diseased. Loss of identity, shell to the sacrifice - soul to the beast. It has to be, Necromancy. The pentagram, sacred salts-beyond alchemy. The terror has increased. Bitter drink given you by the priest. Who leads the witchery, funeral within a dream. Successful alchemy. Gain immortality.
My interest in the supernatural, author unknown, obsession of mine. I need the volume, alchemical, to project my mind into space and time. The travelling magician, who loaned to me the book, with a sly grin told me it was free. Overeager mistake, dimensional collide, I call out from the void...can you hear me? Can you touch me? Can you see me? We met before dawn. The Magus must die, and so we ride. Posse employed, search and destroy. Because of whom he hailed. All our crops have failed. The clergy had warned. Copies obtained, with broken seal. Your gaze it grabs hold, your soul it will steal. How I wish that I had heeded their advice. He wrote of legends and of far off distant lands, ...and that he would soon hold this world within his hands. Where went the hours? It took almost three to remove the debris. The books not in god's name. Get thrown in the flames. I opened a cover. Inglorious spate of anger and hate. Master of all, fly, swim, walk or crawl. The knowledge that I craved came with a heavy price. He wrote of curses and of demons with no shape, ...and of multi-verses where he could escape. Through sacrifice, and blasphemies bring the world to it's knees. Land burned to stone, blood flesh and bone. His poison covers all. Fly, swim, walk or crawl.
We have gathered here today, to repel, the power that would hold us down. Past the borders of our lands, we bring the fight, to sympathizers of the crown. On we march, ride and sail. To the land beyond the pale. No quarter shall we give. We won't ask forgiveness, no, we won't beg or plea. No more shattered compromise, no broken truces, we'd sooner die than bend the knee.
The Outsider 05:59
The gamekeeper stared out through his doorway. He heard the swans' melancholy song. Turning the lock for a final purpose, He knew his time wouldn't be long. From old to young, the mantle must be passed. The guardian holds the only key. Opening the lock for a brand new purpose, Give sight to those with eyes that see. The keeper he told, stories of old, a native dance of horns. Fertility, eternally, to be reborn. Hidden deep, secret to keep, some point the finger of scorn. The old one told the young one, of the gift he'd received. The Antler of Inheritance. He'd longed to witness, in dreams or reality. View the Sacred Great Horn Dance. In the light of the day rising up from the river's edge. Antlered crowns from the skull of a stag, worn upon their heads. Undulating movement, dancers reel and twist. As suddenly as they appeared, they fade into the mist. The young one told what he had seen. Here and now out on the green. Dancers perform, what does it mean? The skull is worn. Crown of horns. Eternally to be reborn. Crown of horns. That night in the young one's dream. Distorted images and colors, not what they seem. The old one he drifts into (r)eternity. The young one he shoulders the responsibility. The dance was incomplete. The men numbered five, but six they would need. The old one calls out to the young one, to assume the deed. The skull is worn. Crown of horns. Eternally to be reborn, crown of horns. Opening the lock for a brand new purpose, gave sight to those with eyes that see.


released September 11, 2020

Ryan Evans - vocals
Dan McCormick - guitar
Derek Kasperlik - bass guitar
Matt Fry - drums

Produced by George Szegedy and Dan McCormick
Recorded by George Szegedy at The Black Lodge, Lansing MI.
Mastering by Richard Whittaker at FX Mastering, London UK
Album art by Niki Urban Art
Layout by Luciferium War Graphics


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Cruthu Lansing, Michigan

Rehearsal began in spring of 2014 with intentions of creating a cohesive sound consisting of traditional and modern influences in the doom and metal genre including blues and heavy 70's rock. Our goal was not to reinvent the wheel, rather to create the music we wanted to hear. Hence the name Cruthu, Gaelic for creation. ... more

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