As 2025 winds to a close, the depleted promo pit growls with hunger, eager for the new year and a fresh bucket o’ chum.1 As I sift through the meager mid-December hopefuls, I detect a flash of black and silver. Snatching the promo, I discover clarinet-wielding Vittorio Sabelli and his project Dawn of a Dark Age, along with ninth album Ver Sacrum. Released between 2014 and 2017, the band’s first five albums examined The Six Elements. Ver Sacrum is the conclusion of a tetralogy that explores the Samnites, a Roman-conquered civilization with roots in modern-day central Italy.2 Dear Hollow found the first part of the tetralogy wondrous at its best, but undercut by a tedious, ill-conceived back half. Even so, I couldn’t resist the allure of clarinet metal. After nine albums and a bit of baggage, can Sabelli & Co. bring a warm light to dreary days, or are we left in the dark of a false dawn?

At its core, Dawn of a Dark Age plays avant-garde black metal with folksy instrumentation, and on Ver Sacrum they set aside the scathing hostility found on earlier works to hone mood and atmosphere. Though the speed varies throughout the album, proceedings mostly stick to mid-paced tempos. Sound-wise, Dawn of a Dark Age sits at a crossroads of influences, eliciting the tribal spirit of Wardruna, the wistful temperament of Primordial, and the post-black pangs of White Ward.3 While these comparisons help orient expectations, Dawn of a Dark Age’s milieu is uniquely their own, and despite some imperfections, the band clearly demonstrates lessons learned.

Ver Sacrum by DAWN OF A DARK AGE

In addition to supplying much of the instrumentation throughout Ver Sacrum, Sabelli surrounds himself with a strong cast. Drummer Diego ‘Aeternus’ Tasciotti returns, skillfully supporting Dawn of a Dark Age with subdued cymbals and calculated double-bass rolls. In fact, Aeternus’ subtle kitwork deftly boosts the drama as slower passages accelerate and guitars and bass frolic with clarinets and keys. I particularly enjoy the accordion’s role, conjuring vivid Arcadian imagery as its lilting wheeze plays counter to delicate bass grooves and acoustic strums. Most distinctive, though, are the clarinet and bass clarinet. Outside Van Halen’s “Big Bad Bill (Is Sweet William Now),” I don’t recall any clarinet-centric passages in metal, and Ver Sacrum gives the ol’ licorice stick headlining prominence. Mixing clarinets with metal isn’t a combination I’d ever considered, but on Ver Sacrum, Dawn of a Dark Age convinces me there’s plenty of room for its warm, sulky timbre. Atop the music, new vocalist Ignazio Cuga saunters in with a deep, resonant style that ably treads ground covering croaks, growls, and throat singing.4 All told, Ver Sacrum creates an evocative atmosphere that mostly enchants with its rustic drones and occasional black metal bursts.

While Dawn of a Dark Age sharply demonstrates invigorated songwriting and improvements on the pitfalls from prior outings, Ver Sacrum still encounters a few snags. The 40-minute album length is just right, but the tendency to linger on passages remains, drawing beguiling moments past their prime. And though the awkward transitions found on La Tovola Osca have been largely addressed, a few are present here. Aside from these, performances sizzle, the production suits the music, and the assorted instruments and pacing concoct an engaging, well-manicured experience. The only thing holding back Ver Sacrum from higher praise is the lack of standout moments. I sink into the music every time I spin it, yet once it’s over, I’m left with impressions of the overall sound, absent specific refrains to call me back. Multiple listens reinforce Dawn of a Dark Age’s understated grace, but transitioning away from passages earlier would help build bigger climaxes and elevate Ver Sacrum’s immediacy.

Over eleven years and nine albums, Dawn of a Dark Age has whetted an uncanny aptitude for creating diverse textures and ambiances. Despite my gripes, Ver Sacrum hits more often than misses, and stands as a solid release in a month where good new music is in short supply. Further, this is a must-listen for anyone who wants to like black metal but generally finds it inaccessible. Dawn of a Dark Age takes harsher components of the genre and softens the edges, creating a concise yet engrossing experience for anyone looking to dip their toes into befolkened black waters.

Rating: Good!
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: My Kingdom Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: December 12th, 2025

Änterbila – Avart Review

By Grin Reaper

Billed as blackened folk metal and boasting a sound that will remind listeners of the aughts-era Darkthrone, Änterbila1 returns with sophomore album Avart. Three years removed from their self-titled debut, the foursome from Gävleborg County, Sweden, retains the core sonic principles of Änterbila and dunks them into the muck, invoking a darker, grimier aura. Where the plight of peasantry informed Änterbila’s sensibilities, Avart looks to national folklore for inspiration. Rather than interpreting that folklore through the eyes of those who passed the stories on, though, Avart revisits lore from the perspective of the other side, the witch to Grimms’ Hansel und Gretel, imparting a sinister edge to the music. Is Änterbila’s latest platter sharp enough to brandish, or does it need more time with the honing rod?

The marriage of black and folk metal can take different forms, with folk infusions coming from instrumentation, melodies, and/or folk and pagan themes. Änterbila offers all of them, but presented disparately as stark components rather than fused together as an interconnected whole. Bookend instrumentals “Låt till Far” and “Eklnundapolskan” feature strings, a bagpipe, and choral harmonies between them, not unlike Saor or Summoning. These tracks conjure rustic firesides with an air of excitement as strange tales are told around them. Avart’s other six tracks are categorically different, hovering between pagan-leaning, late-eighties Bathory (“Kniven”) and the punky pluck of early Vreid (“Jordfäst”). I even catch a whiff of Bizarrekult (“Årsgång”) in the midst. None of the flavors are bad on their own, but without more cohesion, they’re a bit confusing on the same plate.

Avart is a lively affair, with snappy licks, punky riffs, and burbling kick rolls that whisk listeners through half an hour of sprightly black metal. Bandleader and founder Jerff wields axe and vocal duties, with Raamt abetting in six-string antics. The guitars trem pick their way through Avart, embracing an unadorned style that takes a few simple melodies, interchanges them every now and then, and rides through four or five minutes. There’s nothing inherently wrong with this stripped-down approach, but without more distinctive hooks or emotive vocals, the songs bleed together. Drop me in the middle of any of the songs, and I’ll have a tough time naming which one it is unless Jerff repeats the title several times (“Kniven,” “Jordfäst”). Another issue Änterbila grapples with throughout Avart is repetition. Even with such a compact runtime, there’s not always enough substance to justify track lengths. “Jordfäst” could explore its ideas in two-thirds the time, for example, but instead pushes them past optimal duration. As it currently stands, there’s enough material for a solid EP, but relentless refrains without variations make shallow wells, and drawing from them too often becomes tedious.

Änterbila’s strengths lie in creating a dangerously charming atmosphere and not overstaying their welcome. Avart’s old school production underscores its low-fi mood, perfect for settings of yore where things lurking within shadows go bump in the night. Even though the mix isn’t polished, it ably captures Svaltunga’s punchy bass and drummer Monstrum’s quadrupedal onslaught. There flows an energy in the music that crackles with roguish vigor, and it’s here that Änterbila excels. It’s a shame lyrics weren’t included as part of the press kit since dark folklore provides such fertile ground for music. Understanding what the (presumed) native Swedish translates to could have heightened my appreciation for what secrets Avart holds. Still, the runtime is trim and helps deflect some of the monotony of simpler song structures, keeping the overall package easily digestible.

Änterbila possesses all the ingredients for a rollocking good time, but fumbles with the recipe. The folk metal tag is a bit misleading, and given that the folk elements are so well-executed in the intro and outro, it’s disappointing that Änterbila didn’t incorporate them throughout the entire album. Doing so could have thwarted the uniformity across the remaining songs, adding dynamism and a through-line that brings everything together with reinforced congruity. Every time I spin Avart, I hope to find something I’d missed previously, because I want to like it more than I do. Avart seethes with potential, and while I don’t regret any of the time I spent with the album, I don’t expect to return to it, either. Hopefully, the next iteration delivers on the promise Änterbila has established here.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Nordvis Produktion
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: November 14th, 2025

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Liljevars Brann – Helja Kor Review

By Mystikus Hugebeard

They say that 75% of a Finnish park ranger’s job is finding black metal bands that got lost in the woods shooting album covers. Suppose the park rangers in Germany had a similar issue. In that case, I imagine they would have the hardest time finding atmospheric black metal newcomers Liljevars Brann, given how musically deep into the woods they seek to take us in their debut album Helja Kor. Written in a fictional blend of German and Norwegian languages and dubbed “mystical black metal with a folkloric edge,” is Helja Kor a strong debut that conjures grasping roots to drag you into the heart of the forest, or are these woods still too close to the parking lot?

Liljevars Brann weaves together slow-tempo black metal with winding acoustic guitar passages. It worked when heavier bands like Panopticon or Ulvik did it,1 and it works here in Helja Kor. Melancholic guitar riffs plod beneath high-pitched harmonizing guitar wails like a reborn The 3rd and the Mortal with a harsher, black metal edge, regularly interspersed with panoramic acoustic sequences. Liljevars Brann excels at folk music; the guitars have a satisfying pluck and pace that happily reminds me of Uaral. The vocals, by frontman Sjelvindur, are one of the most compelling parts of Helja Kor. His clean vocals marry a mysterious folksiness with a warbling gothic cadence, and some of the album’s best moments come from Sjelvindur’s percussive intonation in the outro of “Helja Kor” and the somber shakiness of the beginning of “Krieglande.” Between the winning combination of black metal and folk music with the added edge of Sjelvindur’s unique vocals, the components of a great album are all here.

Unfortunately, Helja Kor struggles to truly find its footing due to meandering songwriting that begins to drag early on. Low intensity is one thing, but Helja Kor is also low energy, which makes it difficult to stay engaged. From the opener “Helja Kor” to the second-to-last “Krieglande,” every song is in the same torturously slow 3/4 time signature with minimal evolution or differentiation between songs. Even the rare black metal sections of the primarily acoustic “Sjelvind” feel melodically identical to those of the more predominantly heavy “Krieglande.” A 3/4 time signature isn’t an issue by itself, but after 40 minutes of overtly similar riffs in a stagnant tempo, it’s impossible not to crave variation. That comes in, blessedly, in “Brannstjeringen,” which ends the album on a miraculously high note through dynamic songwriting in a refreshing 4/4 time signature. “Brannstjeringen” builds towards an exciting, emotionally charged apotheosis that highlights how the remainder of Helja Kor lacks meaningful direction in its song structure, devoid of stirring peaks that move me like “Brannstjeringen” does.

Helja Kor touts a mystical, woodsy atmosphere, and this atmosphere is strong enough to partly compensate for what the songwriting lacks. The folk guitars are effectively paired with Sjelvindur’s vocals, and they just ooze arboreal mysticism. It’s a shame that an excess of melodic/harmonic repetition and languid structure permeate Helja Kor, because by themselves, the guitar harmonies in “Dansa Mej Brodar I Fyre” and “Krieglande” are enjoyable. It boggles the mind, then, how much the drums clash with Helja Kor’s atmosphere through a distracting mix that fails to effectively integrate them. The strength of Liljevars Brann’s acoustics is frequently undone in “Helja Kor,” “Dansa Mej Brodar I Fyre,” and “Sjelvind” by the incessant ting-ting-ting of the cymbals. Even towards the end of “Brannstjeringen,” the drums leave a stain on the song’s highest point with loud, off-tempo blast beats. It’s clear that Liljevars Brann has put a lot of thought into the unique atmosphere they want to create, but it unravels at almost every turn through songwriting that doesn’t support it and a mix that dilutes it.

Helja Kor is the type of record where it’s easier to appreciate what Liljevars Brann is trying to do than enjoy its execution. There are glimpses of a compelling folkloric atmosphere to be found, but Helja Kor flounders in excessive repetition, frequently dissatisfying structure, and irritating production choices. And yet, I abhor the thought of abandoning Liljevars Brann for good because there is a real vision here, and I want to see it realized. Helja Kor has enough individually solid aspects—Sjelvindur’s vocals, the Uaral-esque acoustics, the black metal harmonies, the peaks of “Brannstjeringen”—to compel me to keep my eye on Liljevars Brann in hopes that their next release finds me more lost in the woods than a mere park ranger can handle.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s CBR MP3
Label: Argonauta Records
Websites: facebook | bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: September 27th, 2024

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