Van Clitt is like the cloaked sorcerer perched on top of a shadowy mountaintop, casting his curses through twisted tongues and ancient eyes. Only, this sorcerer's craggy mountaintop is the stage, and his curses are hideous waves of sound. This malevolent composer cracks atonal lightning through his instruments, sending gods and devils running for their lives.
The discordant dirge, made with mere wood and steel, will provide a perfect soundtrack for the coming day of reckoning. Make no mistake though. This is not meaningless noise. There is dark color and timbre in his gloomy masterpieces. The movement in his compositions will unsettle you through the sinister use of unusual chords and reverberating anti-notes. This is music for dead kings ruling
dead alien landscapes.