Lord Wraith
Crimson Flame
Punished GN
Issue 2.01 – The Book of Baal LP - All Falls Down
The Thunder’s Call: Break the Mold
By Arturo RodriguezThe last time we ran a “Break the Mold” segment, our readers got an exclusive look into JAY-Z’s 8th rap album “The Black Album.” The multi-millionaire rap artist-turned business mogul, turned political activist, turned arts patron was more than happy to let us into his home. In the process, we got an intimate view on foundation that built rap’s HOVA.
This time, I get to take a seat with Baal, the artist who’s on track to save the world. His meteoric rise as an activist and hero is second only to his meteoric impact in the music industry, and in his own words, his “throbbing, fucking ego.”
It’s an ego which can be felt as soon as I walk into the waiting area of his studio. 4 portraits of him adorn the walls. The lavish explosion of color, richness of texture, dramaticism of his poses are all further accentuated by the wall housing them, marble of an ivory white. Readers, if you find this impressive, I won’t even get started on the mural in his main hall.
More on that, later.
Because Baal himself is an inviting host. He’s surprisingly candid from the intense demeanor his outside appearance gives. No formal wear, just a black shirt and white pants. His signature lightning bolt chain--of course--accompanied by splayed arms and a smile. In the interview coordination phase, it “slipped” how much I’d followed the new musicians rise. I was already a dire fan. I asked about what he was working on and in response my audio recorder short-circuited. Baal apologized for his excitement, ushering me into his studio and promised me a brand new one. After one glorious hour, listening and experiencing the next wave Baal has up his sleeve (I’m under oath to say mum about it), I was taken to his sky deck.
En route, we passed an art studio, study room and a few rooms, but the Man of the Hour wasn’t interested in showing off the grandeur of his home. He was more interested in telling the stories that birthed the art pieces in his home.I’ve been thinking and, I promise this will be all I say on anything outside the music, but if you think about it--your message is essentially to save the world through Art, Unity and Action.
“Yeah. I guess you’re right. Holy Trinity, if you will.”You don’t mince words or shadow your ego in a veneer.
“Why should I? If you don’t know your worth, if you haven’t proved it to yourself, how will you to anyone else? If I can’t live up to the hype, the world will know soon enough.”
On the topic of hype, Baal’s first album, “By Divine Rite” scored a 99 on Metacritic. It’s a feat almost unheard of by rap-focused albums. It’s garnered him rightful critical and popular appeal.After hearing your samples from “The Book of Baal,” I have to say it’s a vastly different sound, sprinkled with deliberate nuances. But I might be even more excited for this album than BDR.
“Come now, love. It’s almost like you’re trying to make me blush. Takes more than that, but I appreciate it.”How do you think the rest of the world will feel? Will they respond well to the new direction?
“‘Course they will. Have you heard the sound, the bravado of the album? Did you listen to the soundscapes? It’s likely to become the album of the summer, one of the albums of the year.”There’s...not an ounce of doubt in your voice. You won’t even feign humility or some shadow of doubt, will you?
“Please, SparkArt. When you’re as good as I am--”
Baal paused as this point. It was the first I’d experience of the man looking surprised. I inquired, and he shook his head. There was a wistful tilt to his head as he said “Just a...just a wave of deja vu.”You were saying...
“Right. When you’re as good as I am, this is humble. I see no point, pretending to be smaller than I am because some pruned feathers might be ruffled. Mortals have such a short life, why spend it pretending? Pretending to be lesser than you are, greater than you are. Be who you are, find your truth.”
Mortals? You say it as if you aren’t one.[Continued on next page.]
“Mortals?” Baal read, “You say it as if you aren’t one.” The sky god chuckled, dropping the magazine onto his armchair.
Raindrops ran down the wall of window he looked out of, blurring the flecks of light that dotted the Seattle cityscape. It was no London, but it was a good substitute on nights such as these. “Well,” Baal asked, “what’s your verdict now, SparkArt?”
The figure in his bed slid from the silk pool of sheets that stained beige by the city lights. “Hmm, I’m not sure. You’re definitely something, alright.” Jimmy wound his hand around Baal’s arm, shivering next to him. “All I can say for sure is you’re a shockingly good space heater.” Arturo smirked at the sky god. The patter of raindrops turned his gaze toward the cityscape. “Do you ever think about it? That day in New York?”
Baal resisted the urge to tense up. ’Don’t be like the rest of them, James. Don’t be daft.’ Baal thought to himself. But he answered. “Not really, no.”
Art motioned him back to the bed. “Really? The entire world was holding it’s breath. Waiting to see how New York would come out of this. If the rest of us were next. How does that not sit with you?”
Baal felt the chill from before. Before this realm. The way The Great Darkness billowed like a forming maw, tendrils snapping to attach to his limbs. The way it dragged him back. That damn cold. The only time he’d ever felt cold. “Because I’ve sat with worse.”
“Why?” Arturo pressed. “Why don’t you like mentioning your work as a hero? It’s a good thing, you know.”
“Because, Spark-Art. I’m not a good person. And that’s not why I’m here—”
“By that logic, why are any of us here?” Arturo threw his hands in the air, falling back into the plush of white pillows on the bed.
“Look, Spark-Art. I don’t know why you all are here. But, I’m not here for that: to be a good person and the heroics. It’s because your lot is shite at it. That Wonder Woman? If she’s your world’s posterchild for heroes, you all need to go blind then.” Baal turned to Arturo finally, slid into bed and pressed the journalist down. “But if that’s the case, I’m thinking I can leave you with some sights and sensations you won’t forget.”
Art flipped himself so he straddled the sky god. The sky god gave the mortal a taste of what he’d been too afraid to admit he’d been waiting for: Baal let sparks dance across his skin, run up Arturo’s arm. Arturo’s tan skin shivered and Baal lifted himself, carrying Arturo to the window and pressing the reporter’s head against the glass.
“Oh? How’d you know I was ready for round 2?”
Baal kissed down Arturo’s neck, glancing toward the skyline once more, noting a growing glint in the night. “Let’s just say there was a spark in your eye.” They both chuckled before Arturo let slip a moan and Baal ran his hand down the mortal’s torso.
“Well Mr. Baal, can you do that thing with your tongue again—”
Baal tensed, his grip tight on Art’s neck.
“Baal? You’re hurting m—”
The sky god’s grip became steel around Arturo one instant. The next, Art’s body was flung across the room, toward the door. He hit the marble floor, his skin tugging against the cold surface. The mortal looked up just in time to see a portion of the glass wall shatter, flames lick the panes and radiate outward, an explosion! With Baal’s silhouette right in the epicenter.
