Sometimes a band name can be on the nose in the best way, and Power Paladin makes no effort to disguise their preferred music class. The mission of these Icelanders is no different than that of many power metal groups—to explore fantasy realms, vanquish foes, and have a blast while doing so. They already acquitted themselves with their debut album, With the Magic of Windfyre Steel, which Eldritch Elitist lauded with praise in the January 2022 filter. While I found it enjoyable at the time, it didn’t stick with me for very long. But now, on sophomore record Beyond the Reach of Enchantment, Power Paladin returns with sharper blades and brighter divine light to safeguard the ears of the innocent.

If you elect to ride with Power Paladin, the first rule of the road is to leave all self-seriousness at home. As with most Europower, Beyond the Reach of Enchantment requires a love (or at least a tolerance) of flamboyant frivolity and imaginative play. Expect big verses, bigger choruses, and lots of guitar shredding. While its predecessor was more devoted to the sleekness of Twilight Force or Rhapsody of Fire, Power Paladin now divides their allegiance more evenly with heavy metal and hard rock in Helloween fashion. This makes Beyond the Reach of Enchantment sound brawnier, further aided by a meaty bass tone that adds welcome crunch to this glorious charcuterie board. These Paladins occasionally succumb to their darker urges, embodied by Óskar Rúnarsson’s1 death growls (“Glade Lords of Athel Loren,” “Valediction”), making them more endearing and relatable.

Beyond the Reach of Enchantment may be a bit derivative, but what sets Power Paladin apart is their sheer energy and charisma. Their music challenges one’s ability to sit still; not even my distracted five-year-old daughter could resist the urge to headbang the first time she heard the opening notes of “Glade Lords of Athel Loren.” No member of the body can remain limp or listless upon hearing the heavy metal anthem “Sword Vigor” or the stomping and romping of “The Royal Road.” Vocalist Atli Guðlaugsson frequently steals the show, his powerful falsettos weeding out the unsanctified eardrums. That said, it’s impressive how Power Paladin can write songs in such a way that such a commanding frontman doesn’t completely dominate the listener’s attention. Einar Karl Júlíusson is constantly changing up his double bass rhythms, and there are plenty of rapid-fire guitar and keyboard sections to keep the momentum going.

Yet, all this energy on Beyond the Reach of Enchantment can become slightly wearisome. The album art might feature a respite around a campfire, but the music is much closer to a battle scene. Rests tend to be momentary and sometimes sound out of character, like when “The Arcane Tower” abruptly dies down to a whisper midway through. I find myself missing the naturally occurring downtime in “Creatures of the Night” and “There Can Be Only One” from With the Magic of Windfyre Steel. It’s not until the 10-minute conclusion, “Valediction,” that Power Paladin takes a proper breather in the form of soft guitar plucks. The extra time also allows for more compositional experimentation, with smooth keyboard transitions during the extended bridge section, as well as a brief but lively duet with Sara Rut Fannarsdóttir2 (more of her next time, please!). Everything is solidly written and performed, but still somewhat blends together until the end.

If you’re questing for fun with a hefty side of merriment, Power Paladin will happily serve as your guide. They sound even more confident and earnest than before, once again striking a great balance between silliness and substance. Beyond the Reach of Enchantment somehow overclocked the power of its predecessor, the gallant and galloping tunes courageously smiting the unholy. I do wish for a bit more dynamic pacing, but this may just be a “me” problem, and only when listening front to back. Gather your party and grab your dice—the next campaign awaits!



Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Reigning Phoenix Music
Websites: powerpaladin.is | facebook.com/powerpaladinice
Releases Worldwide: March 27th, 2026

“Sleeping Giant” was always a standout song for me on Mastodon’s Blood Mountain. After two thrashy, pummeling tracks, “Sleeping Giant” slows the pace and ups the atmosphere, doling out chunky riffs and creepy leads. Its name aptly captures its role on Blood Mountain, feeling like the stirrings of an album (and a band) with gigantic aspirations. Speaking of slow risers, Iceland’s Sleeping Giant has finally roused for their first LP after forming in 2006.1 It’s eminently plausible that this sludgy stoner-doom sextet derives their moniker from the Blood Mountain song, seeing as they cite early Mastodon as a sonic touchstone. Though it would be unfair to expect The Beauty of Obliteration to make as big a first impression as Remission, it’s more than fair to expect a debut with punishing riffs, gnarly vocals, and some curveballs.

The Beauty of Obliteration demonstrates some mighty fine riff-smithing. This may be because Sleeping Giant—expanding upon the maxim that ‘two heads are better than one’—is working with three heads. The guitar Cerberus of Finnbogi Jökull, Árni Björn Björnsson, and Guðmundur Eiríksson wield an arsenal of doomy dirges (“Conqueror”), stonery shuffles (“Abysmal Flame”), and thrashy assaults (“Venom Ripper, Gorgon Blaster”). Some of these riffs even go straight to the source, boasting a Sabbathy swagger (“The Monk”). Early Mastodon certainly resonates throughout, but the guitarwork makes it clear that these Icelanders also get High on Fire. Indeed, the recurring shifts between stoner-doom and thrash, coupled with the beefy guitar tones, summon the presence of latter-day Matt Pike. But Sleeping Giant aren’t just their three-headed guitar monster; drummer Ásmundur Jóhannsson and bassist Einar Darri Einarsson hold down the low end. Einarsson in particular shines, tastefully filling up negative space with bluesy runs (“Conqueror”).

Mobilizer of Evil by Sleeping Giant

Rounding out Sleeping Giant’s lineup is vocalist Oddur Freyr Þorsteinsson, who gives The Beauty of Obliteration a death metal edge. Thusly calling the band death-doom, though, wouldn’t be accurate—’necrotic stoner-doom’ is my best attempt at describing the band’s layering of an extreme aesthetic over a mostly traditional riffing style. Þorsteinsson possesses a powerful guttural, reminding me of the low registers of Travis Ryan and Randy Blythe. He even dips into some slimy gurgling on “The Monk” as it shifts into a faster, more melodic gear. Though these gurgles provide contrast, it’s a contrast that doesn’t necessarily add to or accentuate the part. This gurgling is a microcosm of how I feel about the vocals on The Beauty of Obliteration as a whole. They are performed well and don’t overtly clash with the instrumentation, and yet I’m not sure if they are doing anything other than marking Sleeping Giant as ‘extreme.’

As a unit, Sleeping Giant have molded a debut that roves between riff styles, for better or worse. “Conqueror” and “Mobilizer of Evil” map out the terrain the rest of the album explores, showing a band comfortable with both low and high BPMs. “The Monk” gets closest to the kind of unhinged glory of early Mastodon, though its shift from doom to thrash feels a bit redundant, even at this early juncture in the album. The biggest curveball on The Beauty of Obliteration is its penultimate track, “Venom Rippers, Gorgon Blaster.” A thrash ripper under three minutes, it’s an enlivening change of pace from tracks that otherwise hover between four and nine minutes. It’s also an effective transition between the orgiastic riff-fest of “Slay the King of Hell” (my favorite track) and the closer. “Abysmal Flame” starts strong with a chunky monkey that morphs into an almost melodeath-style earworm. The sparse, feedbacky ending, however, is an underwhelming sendoff.

Their namesake may create unrealistic expectations, but Sleeping Giant has delivered the goods with their long-awaited debut. At 6 tracks in 35 minutes, The Beauty of Obliteration is a tight, well-produced package with tons of hummable riffs. Though the songwriting is by no means bad, the riffs themselves feel more noteworthy than the songs they populate. The gutturals give Sleeping Giant a different vibe than typical stoner-doom, but I hope that future outings see the vocals actively serving the songs more. If you dig giant riffs, you won’t want to sleep on these Icelanders.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: V4 OR ~316 kb/s VBR mp3
Label: Octopus Rising (sub-label of Argonauta Records)
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

Nexion – Sundrung Review

By Kenstrosity

I was late to the Nexion train when debut masterpiece Seven Oracles dropped five years ago. Peddling blackened death metal of the Icelandic persuasion, the occult quintet floored me with their writhing, twisted take on the genre, fronted by possibly the best vocalist in black metal right now.1 It’s 2025, and a new Nexionic invocation approaches, looming over this world with a heart full of chaos and a mind consumed in shadow. Is it too much to ask this latest summoning, entitled Sundrung, to match the imposing, irresistible presence of its predecessor?

Likely so, but Sundrung stands tall on its own regardless. In sound, scale, and style, Nexion’s concoction carries over to 2025 unadulterated. Every ingredient that made Seven Oracles the unmistakable omen that it was persists here with equal potency. Pummeling drums propel shimmering black metal riffs and deathly marches, while Nexion’s infernal siren screeches, roars, wails, and rumbles as only the most powerful spirits of unknown realms can. With a stronger emphasis on throat singing, baritone chanting, and ascendant melodies than before, Nexion doubles down on their occult theme and aesthetic while also recalling Sulphur Aeon‘s eldritch touch (“Visions of the Seventh Fire”). Sundrung also retains the gnarled, deceptively hooky metamorphoses that characterized Nexion’s previous work. However, a greater reliance on repetition and more linear structures drives deeper those key phrases and memorable moments that form the backbone of Sundrung’s 8 realms.

Sundrung may be more straightforward than Seven Oracles in most respects, but it requires quality time to bloom. At first, I was concerned that the repetitive nature of “Gandr” sacrificed too much focus from the whole, and created a lull in momentum. However, in remarkably short order I found myself hypnotized by its compelling chorus chants and oscillating riffs. A surprise to be sure, but it’s not the only one. “When Raven Steals the Sun” and “Rending the Black Earth” at first left me wanting for more creativity, something that elevated these pieces beyond that of what I already expect from Icelandic black metal. Once again, repeat spins revealed subtleties. In “When Raven Steals the Sun,” for example, intricately detailed and intentionally placed background melodies—often burgeoning through the fiery tremolos, bending riffs, and charred rasps—simultaneously fortify connections and ease transitions between distinct passages. Meanwhile, “Rending the Black Earth” intensified the more often I returned, blazing with an unearthly vitality and an unhinged spirit that invigorates its epic trem-picked refrains and double-bass pummels. Consequently, these numbers slowly became some of my favorites over time.

On the other side of the same coin, those cuts that attack with immediacy and power always ensure memorability, but compromise a small measure of depth and nuance in exchange. Opener “Uflarpaspa” and album highlight “Hymn of the Valkyrjur” are the most successful in navigating this tricky balance. The former makes a magnificent opener, showcasing everything that Nexion does well, with a little extra aggression to keep things interesting. The latter, a momentous march with a face-twisting riffset built for the stage, “Hymn of the Valkyrjur” offers instant hooks without disposing those unfolding deviations from repetition that set Nexion’s material apart from the pool. However, they still lack the same surprising level of detail that makes “When Raven Steals the Sun,” “Gandr,” and even epic closer “Visions of the Seventh Fire” such a joy to spend extra time with.

In sum, Sundrung has the potential to challenge listeners as often as it will delight them. Certainly one of the more interesting records to come from the Icelandic scene, it offers a varied combination of immediacy and nuance. But it takes patience and focus to perceive those attributes. Some listeners—especially those who are not duty bound to spin records a dozen times before settling on a score—might not want to put that effort in. I argue that you ought to anyway. It may not be flawless, nor is it quite as universally successful as Seven Oracles, but Sundrung is nonetheless worthy of enthusiastic recommendation.

Rating: Very Good!
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: V0 mp3
Label: Avantgarde Music
Websites: nexion.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/Nexionband
Releases Worldwide: September 19th, 2025

#2025 #35 #AvantgardeMusic #BlackMetal #BlackenedDeathMetal #DeathMetal #IcelandicMetal #Nexion #Review #Reviews #Sep25 #SulphurAeon #Sundrung

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Next Year’s Sátan Metal Festival in Iceland to Feature Misþyrming, Sign, and More
More bands to come at a later date. Next Year’s Sátan Metal Festival in Iceland to Feature Misþyrming, Sign, and More .

https://www.metalsucks.net/2025/07/09/next-years-satan-metal-festival-in-iceland-to-feature-misthyrming-sign-and-more/

#SátanMetalFestival #Misþyrming #Sign #IcelandMetal #Noctem #IcelandicMetal #MetalFestival #Iceland

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Iceland's Sátan Metal Festival Announces 2026 Lineup Featuring MISÞYRMING, SKITSYSTEM, HAMFERÐ & More

https://metalinjection.net/news/icelands-satan-metal-festival-announces-2026-lineup-featuring-misthyrming-skitsystem-hamferd-more

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Sólstafir – Hin helga kvöl Review

By Carcharodon

The review game is a funny business. I genuinely don’t recall liking Endless Twilight of Co-Dependent Love, the last outing by Iceland’s post-metal legends Sólstafir, as much as I apparently did. It was a 2.5/5.0. Surely. But, as I prepared to tackle their eighth album, Hin helga kvöl (The Holy Suffering), I was shocked to learn that I’d 3.5ed Endless Twilight. And, wouldn’t you know, I was right! Yes, Endless Twilight was far too long. No, the production wasn’t good. And yes, Aðalbjörn Tryggvason’s vocals were more love-em-or-hate-em than ever. But, somehow, it held together as a very good album, something I re-discovered afresh delving back in after a four-year break. Speaking about Hin helga kvöl, Tryggvason said that one thing Sólstafir tried was to make the songs shorter but it’s “somewhat harder to write good short songs, so that was a real challenge.” Was it one the Icelanders were up to?

While Hin helga kvöl is shorter than Sólstafir’s last outing, at 50 minutes, with six of nine tracks comfortably clearing the five-minute mark, it’s not exactly an EP. But it’s not all about the length, as they (allegedly) say. And it would be fair to say that several of these short(er) songs are good, a few fantastic. The title track could easily have come off Sólstafir’s debut, Í blóði og anda. Harsh, bleak black metal, a big bass groove and Tryggvason’s emotive voice at its least objectionable, all serve to conjure the Icelandic majesty that made the band its name in the first place. This vitality and intensity, much missed on recent Sólstafir records, is matched, in starkly contrasting ways, by the album’s closing duo, “Nú mun ljósið deyja” and “Kuml (forspil, sálmur, kveðja).” The former leans into that Icelandic black metal fury of the title track, building up melodic textures to create layers of stark beauty. Highlight “Kuml” is an altogether different beast, slow, atmospheric doom, building in gorgeous sax and huge, sepulchral, clean vocals, which border on a monastic chant.

In fact, the more time I’ve spent with Hin helga kvöl, the more I’ve found to enjoy. Mid-album cut “Vor ás,” which adds in haunting female vocals by Erna Hrönn Ólafsdóttir, is redolent of the more up-tempo cuts (like “Draumfari”) from personal favourite, Svartir sandar. However, Sólstafir also indulge in some of their more recent, uglier vices. Awful hard rock ‘anthem’ “Blakkrakki,” relies on multi-tracked, grainy vocals, with Tryggvason repeatedly shouting the song title over bland, repetitive chords and laboured bass. This simplistic songwriting is repeated on “Grýla,” albeit with somewhat more success. However, unfairly sandwiching it between languid, bluesy lament “Freygátan” and “Nú mun ljósið deyja,” only highlights the basic songwriting. The album’s longest cut “Sálumessa” does absolutely nothing to justify it’s runtime. Attempting, I think, to hark back to the forlorn beauty of Ótta, it succeeds only in making me want to listen to that record.

Listening to Hin helga kvöl, I feel like a marionette being sharply pulled between different poles. Sólstafir has simultaneously written some of the best material I’ve heard from them since Ótta (title track and “Kuml”), and some of the worst I’ve heard from them full stop (“Blakkrakki”). They have then combined this with a few other tracks, ranging from the very good (“Freygátan” and “Nú mun ljósið deyja”) to the very mediocre (“Hún andar” and “Sálumessa”) seemingly at random. Only the transition from “Nú mun ljósið deyja” into album closer “Kuml” flows in a way that makes real sense in terms of album pacing. As well as the confused structure, the sound is bad. However, it’s hard to know how much to blame this on the production and how much on the 128 kbps(!) mp3 files that someone deigned to share with us.1 In the more stripped-back tracks (like “Kuml”), the production just about holds up, albeit the master is loud. In other places though, notably “Nú mun ljósið deyja,” it sounds crushed and a bit flat. Either way, just like on Endless Twilight, Tryggvason’s vocals are again way too far forward in the mix, offensively so on “Blakkrakki.”

Hin helga kvöl is so damn close to being the album I desperately wanted from Sólstafir. Ditch two tracks (which, incidentally, would shave almost 12 minutes off the runtime) and re-order the rest to give the album a logical flow, and you’d be looking at a record that could stand toe-to-toe with pretty much anything in Sólstafir’s catalogue. As an all-around album experience, Hin helga kvöl is fatally flawed but, I think, I maybe, kind of … love it? It’s complicated.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 102 | Format Reviewed: 128 kbps mp3
Label: Century Media Records
Websites: solstafir.bandcamp.com | solstafir.is | facebook.com/solstafirice
Releases Worldwide: November 8th, 2024

#25 #2024 #CenturyMediaRecords #HardRock #HinHelgaKvöl #IcelandicMetal #Nov24 #PostRock #PostBlackMetal #PostMetal #Review #Reviews #Solstafir

Morpholith – Dystopian Distributions of Mass Produced Narcotics Review

By GardensTale

Genre distributions from country to country are fascinating to me. You could devote entire studies to why certain sounds develop and proliferate more in one country (or part thereof) than another. Iceland is predominantly known for post-metal, black metal, and post-black metal, with varying degrees of folk. What it isn’t known for is doom metal, which might come as a surprise given the cold, isolation, and endless winter nights. Morpholith aims to break through the permafrost with their debut Dystopian Distributions of Mass Produced Narcotics (hereafter just called Distributions because the full title is several mouthfuls). Can the fledgling band make its mark?

Concerning heaviness, Morpholith is aiming for tectonic. Riffs are made up of giant, bottom-loaded chords, replete with crunchy distortion. They often create space in their strides by coasting on the final echoing thrum (“Hellscaper”) or approaching funeral levels of protraction (“Exoportal”), with only the shorter “Metabaron” and “Narcofactory” cranking the bpm into mid-paced levels. Though a few sources tagged Distributions as stoner doom, I disagree with the former half of that take; it’s too harsh, too dark, too icy, and despairing. Morpholith has more in common with long-form sludge doom like Ufomammut, viewed through a filter of Icelandic metal. This is particularly notable in the vocals, which surprised me with their versatility, using everything from moody cleans to burly roars to moist gurgling growls to vicious screams.1 It’s one of the best features of Distributions, and it’s unfortunate their potential is only partially fulfilled.

It appears to me Morpholith may be aiming for a kind of heavy hypnotism, supported by the occasional appearance of psychedelicisms like the bendy solos on “Dismalium” and “Exoportal.” But that type of quality is difficult to capture, and overshooting the target leads to understimulating repetitiveness. The majority of the tracks suffer from this one way or another, usually because of over-reliance on a single riff, droning on and on for minutes at a time. This wouldn’t really be an issue if the riffs themselves were more engaging, but they tend toward fairly predictable patterns captured in a handful of chords, seemingly putting more import on the droning, crushing aesthetic of individual notes than how they are strung together.

When Morpholith trends away from these issues, it reveals that underneath the excess of dirge is a band with the ability to write some killer tunes, but they often misallocate time and focus. The shrill solo early in “Exoportal” and the slow build across its second half are very good, but the solo is surrounded by too much empty space and the build takes too long to prevent sag. “Dismalium” has an excellent section where free-form chanting vocals overlay a torrential riff, but when the vocals start petering out, the riff keeps going for another several minutes. Early “Narcofactory” leans too heavily on a basic bass line, but the transition from morose clean vocals into nasty blackened screams is killer. And the production, in spite of the low DR score, has quite a nice and nasty sound, lending credit to the grim and cold dystopia Morpholith attempts to paint.

Dystopian Distributions of Mass Produced Narcotics is a classic case of good ideas smeared out over too many minutes. Man-spreading riffs, spending too much time without switching gear, tracks that should have started later and ended sooner, all the usual suspects have come out to play. But Morpholith have a steel core beneath the overflowing mass, with their solid vocal array and a sweet solo or two. Hearing the Icelandic palette applied to psychedelic sludge doom is a damn promising premise. I hope Morpholith will deliver upon it in full next time.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Interstellar Smoke Record
Websites: morpholith.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/morpholith
Releases Worldwide: October 24th, 2024

#25 #2024 #DoomMetal #DystopianDistributionsOfMassProducedNarcotics #IcelandicMetal #InterstellarSmokeRecord #Morpholith #Nystra #Oct24 #Review #Reviews #Sludge #Ufomammut

Árstíðir lífsins – Aldrlok Review

By Twelve

Árstíðir lífsins seem to not believe much in fanfare. Since I discovered the Icelandic/German group via their very good fourth full-length Saga á tveim tungum I: Vápn ok viðr, I never learn about their releases until AFTER they show up. The followup to Saga I never reached the Angry Metal Promo Sump, and their most recent release, the enjoyable Hermalausaz, arrived quietly at the end of last year. Now they’re back with Aldrlok (“Death [of an age]”), their sixth full-length release, which follows the band’s familiar vein of mountainous black metal adorned with gorgeous folk passages and lyrics sung in Old Norse-Icelandic. It’s a super-potent combo, and these guys have the smarts to back up their premise, so how does that translate into eighty-three minutes of music?

Compared with recent releases, Aldrlok is familiar territory. This time around, the riffs feel heavier (“Stormr, hvítundit grand gundar gjálfrs”) and the orchestrations are more elaborate (“Er faðir kulda ok myrkrs hopar fyrir endalausum vegi Ránar”), creating a strong melodic black metal feel for the album. Of course, it’s as folky as ever, in that Old Norse sort of way that Árstíðir lífsins excel at. Marsél, credited as ever as the band’s storyteller, provides deep, intoning singing, guttural narrations (to superb effect on “Nú er lengstu miskunndir dalreyðar ná hátindi”), and vicious black metal rasps, while frequent acoustic and orchestral passages break up the black metal assaults provided by Stefán (guitars and bass) and Árni (percussion and string instruments) (both of whom also provide vocals). The sound is elaborate, dense, and well done. Aldrlok is the sound of a band that knows exactly what they are doing.

This also means that the strongest and coolest element of Aldrlok is the storytelling. The album tells a tale semi-mythological fiction, taking place in Iceland around 1040, during a period of societal upheaval, and borrows material from Skaldic and Eddic poetry. Through their music, Árstíðir lífsins transport the listener back in time. The album opener, “Hvítir hjǫrvar Heimdalls aldraðra fjallgylða,” takes the listener on a journey, opening slowly with deep chants that make way for passages of solemn vocal melody that evoke a great tale about to begin. When the black metal arrives, it does so climactically, being built up to grandiosity by a band that is more than happy to take its time. From here, the song—and indeed, the album—does a great job of balancing black metal, melody, and folk. “Nauð greyprs élreka” does the best job of striking this balance. A band with a keyboardist could certainly mimic the style, but Aldrlok asks: “why do with a keyboard what you could do with your own voices?” Suitably, the close of the song, where massive black metal riffing gives way to solemn, near-reverent chanting, is one of the best moments, not only on this album but on any Árstíðir lífsins release to date.

Of course, some will be put off by the lengths of both the individual songs on Aldrlok and the length of the whole. Nine songs covering eighty-three minutes is a lot of music. I do wish the mix and production favored the metal elements more, as they tend to be muted. I’m sure it’s a stylistic choice, but it’s hard not to think that more prominence for the drumming and a touch less distortion on the guitars could net a really heavy album in the vein of a contemporary like Mistur. On the other hand, the grand length of the album contributes to its “Norse epic” feel, emulating the poetry it’s based on. The long songs that often flow into one another create the feeling of a mythology told in two parts (“Nú er lengstu miskunndir dalreyðar ná hátindi” breaks up the album expertly, and is a terrific dark folk song), and while it is a lot to take in all at once, there aren’t any actual weak spots on Aldrlok.

Árstíðir lífsins are consistently releasing interesting, well-researched, and very good black metal. I would argue that Aldrlok is their strongest yet, but it will be very familiar to you if you’re a fan of their recent work. It takes you back into the past in a way that most art struggles to do, and continues to fill a unique space in the world of metal. It demands a certain mood, but if you’re in it, this album will bring you back in time.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Ván Records
Websites: arstidirlifsins.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/arstidirlifsins
Releases Worldwide: May 31st, 2024

#2024 #35 #Aldrlok #ArstidirLifsins #BlackMetal #FolkMetal #GermanMetal #IcelandicMetal #May24 #Mistur #Review #Reviews #VanRecords

Kati Rán – Sála Review

By Twelve

Neofolk is a special style of art. It encompasses the achingly simple to portray stunning complexity. Everything is done with earnest emotion, and often the onus is on the artist not to simply entertain, but to transport the listener, through time, through places, and through very states of being. When I first learned of Kati Rán and her debut full-length release Sála, I was heartened by a single line in its promo copy: “Recorded in a barn in Húsafell, Iceland”—and I didn’t read further. Authenticity is at the heart of every excellent neofolk album, and “recorded in a barn in Iceland” is arguably as authentic as it gets. How does Sála deliver on this promising foundation?

Sála is an expansive album, both in size and scope, which allows Kati Rán plenty of opportunity to showcase her exceptional abilities as a musician and songwriter. Dense layers of traditional instrumentation (I’m aware of a cello, nyckelharpa, and kravik lyre, but there is surely more than that) make way for soaring vocals and choruses, while rhythmic percussion propels the listener forward into its oceanic tales based in Norse mythology. Certainly, this is the case for the album opener and title track, a seven-minute foray that’s almost cinematic in its vision, thanks in no small part to exceptional choral singing, a feature that will be a recurring theme throughout the album. Sála also sees several guest appearances, including members from Gaahls Wyrd, Heilung, Gealdýr, and Völuspá. The result is an album that is incredibly ambitious, but again, with a very promising foundation.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the best moments of Sála are the most emotional ones, and it’s here that Kati Rán’s vocal performance shines. In particular, “Himinglæva” is a stunningly beautiful showcase of her talent, both when singing in English and Icelandic. It treads the fine line between “too slow” and “too emotional” expertly, and acts as an album highlight. On the slightly speedier side of things, “Kólga | 16” uses phenomenal acoustic touches to augment another cinematic performance that takes the listener straight into the stories that inspired it. At its fastest pace, “Segið Mér” chants, pounds, and orchestrates its way into some of the most memorable moments of Sála, at times reminding of Eluveitie’s Evocation albums. Across the album, Kati Rán demonstrates more and more sides to her sound, keeping the listener guessing and alert right through to the last song.

I’ve talked a lot about how Sála is brilliant and expansive in its scope, but its size is another story. With thirteen tracks, there is already a lot to digest here, but the fact that the album clocks in at eighty minutes makes it a lot to take in, and unfortunately prone to wandering. In particular, “Blodbylgje” slams the brakes on Sála’s exceptional start—sixteen minutes long and slow, the song itself is lovely, but awkwardly placed in terms of the album’s flow. The ten-minute-long “Unnr | Mindbeach” is less of a culprit, but does have some meandering moments as a result of its similarly comparatively slow pace. There is a truly exceptional album inside Sála, but as it is presented, it’s hard not to think that there was an opportunity for a leaner, more focused journey here.

I cannot stress enough, however, that there are no bad songs or moments on Sála—or, indeed, that this is one of the strongest debuts I can remember hearing in a while. Kati Rán absolutely delivers in creating a moving, powerful, and memorable album that stands among those of her most talented contemporaries. It is clear that this is the result of a long effort of care and devotion, and I can only hope that the journey does not end here. I need more of this music in my life.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Svart Records
Websites: kati-ran.com | ranarvegr.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/ran.musician
Releases Worldwide: May 24th, 2024

#2024 #35 #DutchMetal #Eluveitie #GaahlsWYRD #Gealdýr #Heilung #IcelandicMetal #KatiRán #May24 #Neofolk #NotMetal #Review #Reviews #Sála #SvartRecords #Völuspá

Drungi – Hamfarir Hugans Review

By GardensTale

I love ‘for fans of’ or ‘related artists’ shorthands. In lieu of the endless genre discussions, it’s a great shortcut to match potential fans with new music. It has its shortcomings, of course; for one, you need to actually know the bands to get a feeling for whether it might be up your alley. Furthermore, bands can abuse it by referencing a bunch of popular bands, even when their style is only tangentially related. Case in point: the promo sheet for Drungi’s self-released debut Hamfarir Hugans included such a baffling spread in their FFO, I was immediately skeptical. Sólstafir, Skálmöld, Black Sabbath, Gojira and Manowar. What on Earth could possibly sound like all of those at the same time?

Against all odds, Hamfarir Hugans actually manages to tick most of those boxes in one way or another, without losing any cohesion. The first reference is the nearest kin: Sólstafir’s bleak mood and post-folk-metal textures are recognizable right away. But instead of despondent icy landscapes, Drungi uses that palette to draw crude cave paintings of primitive war and dark rituals. The coarse vocals recall their countrymen’s typical style of black metal, but the staccato delivery, occasional cleans and female backing vocals give a more tribal, primal vibe. As do the riffs, which are relatively simple and straightforward, but contain a marching, warlike spirit that fit perfectly with the band’s sonic aesthetics. The band doesn’t neatly fall into one genre or another, containing elements of traditional-, epic doom-, folk- and black metal, conglomerating into a sound that might appeal to Hangman’s Chair fans in addition to all the above.1

Of course, the most important is whether Hamfarir Hugans is any good, and I can happily confirm that once more! Opener “Alda” serves as a kind of microcosm for the album at large, serving a somewhat repetitious riff with enough verve and spirit to stave off the threat of repetitiveness, including whispers and female chants for atmosphere, and a more traditional-hewing solo that breaks up the track nicely. This kind of simple but mature songwriting is key across the record, along with a consistency in the performances that implies the band members have much more experience making music than their empty Metal Archives histories account for. A hazard of a young band with a very particular sound is over-reliance on the sound without accounting for variation between tracks, but Drungi know to compensate for that. Mid-paced stompers like the opener contrast with higher charges like “Skjálfti” or “Ófærð,” and the melodic solos provide a nice change of pace.

Even so, the band never dips into either outright doom- or speed metal pacing, keeping a tight grip on the reins. Perhaps a bit too tight, as my sole nit to pick with Hamfarir Hugans would be an unadventurous spirit. That may sound odd when I’ve spent so much time building up the band’s unique sound, but my gripe is less with the album as a whole as it is with the progression of each track individually. It’s a consequence of the focus on that primal sound, where each track is primarily centered around one central riff that varies little as the song goes on, keeping the pacing, energy and atmosphere largely stagnant from the beginning of the track to the end. That’s part of what makes the solos so effective a break, too. There’s evidence Drungi is aware of this flaw; “Kvika” introduces a nice break in the middle and builds toward the solo from there, but then returns to its main riff unnecessarily at the end.

Still, it’s a petty complaint, especially for a band who have managed to dig out a niche of their own with a unique yet cohesive sound and solid performances for their first and unsigned album. It speaks of a combination of lethal talent, inspiration, and a hell of a working ethic. I hope Drungi is willing to dig deep and mine the most out of its style, because this outfit has the potential to go very far indeed. Hamfarir Hugans is just the first step.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-released
Websites: drungi.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/drungiiceland
Releases Worldwide: April 5th, 2024

#2024 #35 #BlackSabbath #DoomMetal #Drungi #FolkMetal #Gojira #HamfarirHugans #HangmanSChair #HeavyMetal #IcelandicMetal #Manowar #Mar24 #Review #Reviews #SelfReleased #Skálmöld #Solstafir