⛧
Burzum (1992)
One gloomy night years ago, my best friend visited and handed me a CD that included a variety of bands. Most of the songs are a blur, but one stood out: "Black Spell of Destruction" from Burzum's self-titled debut. The dark, melancholic melodies matched my mood perfectly, but when I heard the vocals, it was unlike anything I'd encountered before. The raw, tortured screams weren't just screams, they were a message I could feel in my bones.
"Feeble Screams From Forests Unknown" starts with fast tremolo riffs and blastbeats, but as the song progresses, it slows, drawing you deeper into the abyss. The transition between speed and haunting, slow sections is chilling, especially when only the guitar and Grishnackh’s tortured screams remain. The first few tracks capture an intense, cold atmosphere, and the song ends on a melancholic riff, hinting at the journey ahead. The album’s riffing is often minimalist, but there’s a precision to how it’s constructed. Each riff might seem simple at first, but its repetition builds tension, and the way it’s layered creates a suffocating atmosphere. The drumming is similarly sparse, with a strong reliance on simple patterns that highlight the rhythm section’s role in supporting the overall atmosphere instead of drawing attention to itself.
Next, "Ea, Lord of the Depths" opens with a steady drum beat and a dark guitar melody that digs into your subconscious. Grishnackh, playing all instruments himself, creates a cohesive, eerie sound, demonstrating his skill and vision. The atmosphere is heavy, the vocals seethe with hate, and the riffs repeat, leaving an imprint on the listener. Grishnackh’s decision to record everything himself, with no collaborators, no compromises, gave Burzum an unparalleled purity. The result is an album where every sound, every moment feels undeniably tied to his personal vision and emotions.
"Black Spell of Destruction" is the darkest track on the album. It's slow, ominous, and filled with hopelessness. The bleak melodies and desperate vocals create a suffocating sense of despair. This song isn’t just a track—it’s an experience. The agonizing screams and mournful guitar draw you into the depths of misery, leaving you craving release. The atmosphere is oppressive, and by the end, it feels like you're trapped within your own skin. The minimalist approach isn’t just a stylistic choice, it's an intentional embodiment of hopelessness, where every note seems deliberate, emphasizing a sense of suffocation and isolation that bleeds throughout the album.
"Channeling the Power of Souls Into A New God" is a brief ambient piece that offers a fleeting moment of relief. The somber tones feel like your spirit wandering through time and space before the battle resumes.
"War" brings a burst of energy with its Bathory-inspired, fast-paced rhythm. It’s short, raw, and simple, a sharp contrast to the heavier tracks that came before. The brief solo by Euronymous adds another layer of aggression. The production is lo-fi, but it doesn’t feel like a limitation—it enhances the album’s rawness.
"The Crying Orc" is an instrumental that calms the listener with its sorrowful guitar melody, fading in and out. It offers a moment of quiet before the storm, leaving a lingering sense of sadness.
"Side Winter" is next, continuing with the melancholic "A Lost Forgotten Sad Spirit." I prefer the re-recorded version from the Aske EP, but this original version has its moments. The faster pace feels off at first, but eventually, it slows down into familiar territory. The original mix, though, doesn’t quite capture the same atmosphere as the later version. Still, it’s an intense ride, filled with grief and desolation.
"My Journey to the Stars" builds into one of the best tracks on the album. The tremolo-picked notes set a dark, eerie tone, and after a minute of build-up, the drums kick in. The song’s length and structure make it one of the most epic pieces on the album, with several tempo changes that bring fleeting moments of hope only to be crushed by overwhelming grief.
"Dungeons of Darkness" ends the album with a somber, ambient piece. It’s a fitting closer, letting the listener fade into the void after the intense journey through darkness.
"Feeble Screams From Forests Unknown" starts with fast tremolo riffs and blastbeats, but as the song progresses, it slows, drawing you deeper into the abyss. The transition between speed and haunting, slow sections is chilling, especially when only the guitar and Grishnackh’s tortured screams remain. The first few tracks capture an intense, cold atmosphere, and the song ends on a melancholic riff, hinting at the journey ahead. The album’s riffing is often minimalist, but there’s a precision to how it’s constructed. Each riff might seem simple at first, but its repetition builds tension, and the way it’s layered creates a suffocating atmosphere. The drumming is similarly sparse, with a strong reliance on simple patterns that highlight the rhythm section’s role in supporting the overall atmosphere instead of drawing attention to itself.
Next, "Ea, Lord of the Depths" opens with a steady drum beat and a dark guitar melody that digs into your subconscious. Grishnackh, playing all instruments himself, creates a cohesive, eerie sound, demonstrating his skill and vision. The atmosphere is heavy, the vocals seethe with hate, and the riffs repeat, leaving an imprint on the listener. Grishnackh’s decision to record everything himself, with no collaborators, no compromises, gave Burzum an unparalleled purity. The result is an album where every sound, every moment feels undeniably tied to his personal vision and emotions.
"Black Spell of Destruction" is the darkest track on the album. It's slow, ominous, and filled with hopelessness. The bleak melodies and desperate vocals create a suffocating sense of despair. This song isn’t just a track—it’s an experience. The agonizing screams and mournful guitar draw you into the depths of misery, leaving you craving release. The atmosphere is oppressive, and by the end, it feels like you're trapped within your own skin. The minimalist approach isn’t just a stylistic choice, it's an intentional embodiment of hopelessness, where every note seems deliberate, emphasizing a sense of suffocation and isolation that bleeds throughout the album.
"Channeling the Power of Souls Into A New God" is a brief ambient piece that offers a fleeting moment of relief. The somber tones feel like your spirit wandering through time and space before the battle resumes.
"War" brings a burst of energy with its Bathory-inspired, fast-paced rhythm. It’s short, raw, and simple, a sharp contrast to the heavier tracks that came before. The brief solo by Euronymous adds another layer of aggression. The production is lo-fi, but it doesn’t feel like a limitation—it enhances the album’s rawness.
"The Crying Orc" is an instrumental that calms the listener with its sorrowful guitar melody, fading in and out. It offers a moment of quiet before the storm, leaving a lingering sense of sadness.
"Side Winter" is next, continuing with the melancholic "A Lost Forgotten Sad Spirit." I prefer the re-recorded version from the Aske EP, but this original version has its moments. The faster pace feels off at first, but eventually, it slows down into familiar territory. The original mix, though, doesn’t quite capture the same atmosphere as the later version. Still, it’s an intense ride, filled with grief and desolation.
"My Journey to the Stars" builds into one of the best tracks on the album. The tremolo-picked notes set a dark, eerie tone, and after a minute of build-up, the drums kick in. The song’s length and structure make it one of the most epic pieces on the album, with several tempo changes that bring fleeting moments of hope only to be crushed by overwhelming grief.
"Dungeons of Darkness" ends the album with a somber, ambient piece. It’s a fitting closer, letting the listener fade into the void after the intense journey through darkness.
(7 Sept. 2008)
Aske (1993)
Aske was released in March 1993 on Deathlike Silence Productions, recorded in August 1992 at Grieghallen Studios, with Count Grishnackh and Pytten handling production. What sets this E.P. apart is the appearance of a session member—Samoth of Emperor, who plays bass here. At this time, Count Grishnackh was reportedly thinking about forming a full lineup and playing live. Despite being the second official Burzum release, Aske was actually recorded after Det som engang var, which was intended to be released first. The cover features a photo of the Fantoftkirke ruins, the church burned in 1992 by Count Grishnackh himself.
While Burzum set the foundation for Grishnackh’s vision, Aske takes that vision further into more atmospheric realms. The songs are slower, more contemplative, with fewer moments of aggression. It shows a deeper sense of despair, using sparse, dissonant riffs that feel more unsettling than anything truly evil—it’s an album of isolation, not just rage.
The E.P. opens with "Stemmen fra tårnet", which immediately grabs your attention. It starts with a mid-paced gallop, with Count’s harsh shrieks cutting straight through. The song’s atmosphere calls to mind images of a dark, fantasy landscape, maybe something out of a Tolkien novel. While it maintains that trademark dark atmosphere, it’s arguably the fastest, most upbeat Burzum track recorded. The title translates to "Voice From the Tower", and the lyrics seem somewhat optimistic, presenting an escape from the grimness of the world. But, as abruptly as it begins, the song fades away, the dream vanishing in an instant.
Next is "Dominus Sathanas", a somber, atmospheric instrumental with one chilling scream. Recorded in April 1992 (around the same time as Det som engang var) this track could easily have fit in on that album. It's a haunting return to the abyss of Burzum’s debut, pulling you back into that suffocating darkness.
The E.P. closes with a re-recorded version of "A Lost Forgotten Sad Spirit". Apparently, Count Grishnackh wasn't satisfied with the original version, and this interpretation is slower and longer, allowing the atmosphere to build much more effectively. The hypnotic quality of the track is stronger, with the melodies pulling you into a trance, making the music feel more immersive. This song showcases more direct black metal riffing, with cold, hateful vocals. After a few minutes of this, it slows down, the mournful atmosphere returning. As the longest track on the E.P., it lingers with a calming, almost peaceful feeling. The pace picks up again toward the end, fueling the last bit of intensity, and the song moves closer to its bitter conclusion. Count Grishnackh’s tormented shrieks, as always, speak directly to the soul—like an urgent call for release from the misery of life. As the track ends, the sense of despair remains, leaving you with nothing but the desire for the suffering to cease.
While Burzum set the foundation for Grishnackh’s vision, Aske takes that vision further into more atmospheric realms. The songs are slower, more contemplative, with fewer moments of aggression. It shows a deeper sense of despair, using sparse, dissonant riffs that feel more unsettling than anything truly evil—it’s an album of isolation, not just rage.
The E.P. opens with "Stemmen fra tårnet", which immediately grabs your attention. It starts with a mid-paced gallop, with Count’s harsh shrieks cutting straight through. The song’s atmosphere calls to mind images of a dark, fantasy landscape, maybe something out of a Tolkien novel. While it maintains that trademark dark atmosphere, it’s arguably the fastest, most upbeat Burzum track recorded. The title translates to "Voice From the Tower", and the lyrics seem somewhat optimistic, presenting an escape from the grimness of the world. But, as abruptly as it begins, the song fades away, the dream vanishing in an instant.
Next is "Dominus Sathanas", a somber, atmospheric instrumental with one chilling scream. Recorded in April 1992 (around the same time as Det som engang var) this track could easily have fit in on that album. It's a haunting return to the abyss of Burzum’s debut, pulling you back into that suffocating darkness.
The E.P. closes with a re-recorded version of "A Lost Forgotten Sad Spirit". Apparently, Count Grishnackh wasn't satisfied with the original version, and this interpretation is slower and longer, allowing the atmosphere to build much more effectively. The hypnotic quality of the track is stronger, with the melodies pulling you into a trance, making the music feel more immersive. This song showcases more direct black metal riffing, with cold, hateful vocals. After a few minutes of this, it slows down, the mournful atmosphere returning. As the longest track on the E.P., it lingers with a calming, almost peaceful feeling. The pace picks up again toward the end, fueling the last bit of intensity, and the song moves closer to its bitter conclusion. Count Grishnackh’s tormented shrieks, as always, speak directly to the soul—like an urgent call for release from the misery of life. As the track ends, the sense of despair remains, leaving you with nothing but the desire for the suffering to cease.
(8 Sept. 2008)
Det som engang var (1993)
Det som engang var was recorded in Grieghallen in April 1992, shortly after the release of the self-titled debut. Like that album, it was produced by Count Grishnackh and Pytten. Though initially intended as the second official Burzum release, its release was delayed until August 1993, and the Aske E.P. ended up coming out first. By this point, Grishnackh had a falling out with Euronymous and decided to start his own label, Cymophane Productions. If he couldn’t rely on others, he would handle things himself and ensure they were done right. In interviews from early 1993, he expressed frustration over the delay, worried the album would be outdated by the time it was released. But the truth is, Det som engang var was far ahead of anything else in the scene at the time.
After experiencing the brilliance and power of "Black Spell of Destruction", I scoured the earth for any Burzum album that I could find. While I was unable to locate the first one, I did manage to get my hands on Det som engang var. In between hearing that first song and acquiring this album, I had also recorded the song "Burzum" from "The Haunted Mansion". At this point, I had no real idea of what the trademark Burzum sound was, other than certain riff patterns. The vocals from the self-titled album and Filosofem are quite different, so I didn't know what to expect when the second album arrived in the mail.
The album opens with "Den onde kysten", a two-and-a-half-minute intro that sets the tone by picking up where "Dungeons of Darkness" left off. The atmosphere here is thick with darkness and dread. The title translates to "The Coast of Evil," and it nails the feeling of being isolated in a place devoid of light or hope.
Following this, "Key to the Gate" bursts forth with an unrelenting, chaotic energy that hits like a shock to the system. It starts fast, then shifts into a thrash riff that feels straight out of early Destruction, only to shift back and forth between the two for a while. But then everything halts, leaving only guitars and Grishnackh’s tortured shrieks. The track then builds into a slow, dirging riff, backed by desperate howls that sound almost like the Count is begging for death. It’s sorrowful black metal at its peak. As the track builds again, we’re hit with a haunting guitar solo that seeps into your soul, pulling you towards oblivion. As always, Grishnackh nails it with this track, starting the album with nothing less than perfection.
With tracks like "Key to the Gate", there’s an intentional ebb and flow between intensity and restraint. The song structure isn’t linear, and while this could be frustrating in lesser hands, here it serves to create a much more natural, organic progression. The long stretches of silence or clean passages between heavy sections give the album a pacing that feels almost cyclical, like it’s being pulled in and out of darkness.
"En ring til å herske" is a mid-paced track that is the most atmospheric of the whole album. From the start, there's an undeniable primal force in the vocals—a forcefulness and rage that set it apart from the countless imitators that followed. You can feel the anger and raw intensity of the Count's voice. This track has the same kind of power as "Black Spell of Destruction", the way the sounds somehow reach into your chest and tear at your heart. About four minutes in, the drums recede, leaving a haunting calm. The bass holds a low, steady presence as the arpeggios ring out, their icy notes creating a sense of suffocating despair. Anguished screams pierce the stillness, and you can feel the weight of every syllable. Then, the drums return and the tension builds and gnaws at you until it’s almost unbearable. It’s in this moment that the track reaches its peak, before the final release—Grishnackh shrieking the lines, "Barn av tidens krefter, Barn av den mektiges sønner". The music culminates in a release of pain, leaving you with nothing but the haunting echo of his voice and the emptiness that lingers.
"Lost Wisdom" presents an intriguing mix of contrasts. The main riff, almost upbeat and oddly catchy, could easily be mistaken for something more uplifting, but it’s precisely this unexpected quality that sets the track apart. As the song transitions into its slower, more melancholic sections, the atmosphere shifts dramatically—creating a feeling of deep despair. It's as though the upbeat riff, initially brimming with an almost naive energy, gradually gives way to the crushing weight of hopelessness. This shift between light and dark gives the song a unique texture, where the initial brightness is ultimately overshadowed by the track’s desolate and haunting mood.
"Han som reiste" is a somber instrumental that captures the feeling of sorrow and nostalgia. The song truly feels like it embodies the meaning of the album's title, "What Once Was." In fact, I played this song over and over while reading The Hobbit—it strangely fits the story perfectly. It's very similar to, and was the inspiration for, Isengard's "In the Halls..." from the Vinterskugge album.
"Når himmelen klarner" is another instrumental, though it’s a more traditional song just without vocals. The first minute or so is just guitars, and it calls to mind "Dominus Sathanas." The title translates to "When the Sky Clears," and like "Han som reiste," it has a dark beauty that lets your mind wander.
Then comes "Snu mikrokosmos tegn," which ends the calm atmosphere created by the previous tracks. It opens with fast tremolo riffs, blasting drums, and Grishnackh’s inhuman vocals that drip with cold hatred and misanthropy. There’s an urgency to the melodies here, a final assault before the end. After a few minutes, the pace slows again, and the vocals convey the feeling of a slow, agonizing death. Everything fades, leaving only the guitar’s open-arpeggio riffs, adding to the song's haunting atmosphere. Clean vocals emerge in the background, adding a subtle yet powerful layer. This is black metal at its most organic—no keyboards, just raw, emotional power. The pain builds until you feel it creeping into your chest, like an icy hand tightening around your heart. Relief seems so near, but death is still just out of reach, and you welcome it.
The album ends with a bleak, obscure outro—similar to the intro, but more complex. It’s a final, haunting melody that feels like the end of a long journey. As the song fades out, all remnants of the world are wiped away, leaving you with nothing but emptiness.
Given the album’s troubled release history and Grishnackh’s departure from DSP, Det som engang var is as much a statement of independence as it is a musical evolution. The Count wasn’t just pushing Burzum’s sound forward—he was shaping the narrative of what black metal could be, carving out a space that rejected commercial influence in favor of something far more personal and bleak.
After experiencing the brilliance and power of "Black Spell of Destruction", I scoured the earth for any Burzum album that I could find. While I was unable to locate the first one, I did manage to get my hands on Det som engang var. In between hearing that first song and acquiring this album, I had also recorded the song "Burzum" from "The Haunted Mansion". At this point, I had no real idea of what the trademark Burzum sound was, other than certain riff patterns. The vocals from the self-titled album and Filosofem are quite different, so I didn't know what to expect when the second album arrived in the mail.
The album opens with "Den onde kysten", a two-and-a-half-minute intro that sets the tone by picking up where "Dungeons of Darkness" left off. The atmosphere here is thick with darkness and dread. The title translates to "The Coast of Evil," and it nails the feeling of being isolated in a place devoid of light or hope.
Following this, "Key to the Gate" bursts forth with an unrelenting, chaotic energy that hits like a shock to the system. It starts fast, then shifts into a thrash riff that feels straight out of early Destruction, only to shift back and forth between the two for a while. But then everything halts, leaving only guitars and Grishnackh’s tortured shrieks. The track then builds into a slow, dirging riff, backed by desperate howls that sound almost like the Count is begging for death. It’s sorrowful black metal at its peak. As the track builds again, we’re hit with a haunting guitar solo that seeps into your soul, pulling you towards oblivion. As always, Grishnackh nails it with this track, starting the album with nothing less than perfection.
With tracks like "Key to the Gate", there’s an intentional ebb and flow between intensity and restraint. The song structure isn’t linear, and while this could be frustrating in lesser hands, here it serves to create a much more natural, organic progression. The long stretches of silence or clean passages between heavy sections give the album a pacing that feels almost cyclical, like it’s being pulled in and out of darkness.
"En ring til å herske" is a mid-paced track that is the most atmospheric of the whole album. From the start, there's an undeniable primal force in the vocals—a forcefulness and rage that set it apart from the countless imitators that followed. You can feel the anger and raw intensity of the Count's voice. This track has the same kind of power as "Black Spell of Destruction", the way the sounds somehow reach into your chest and tear at your heart. About four minutes in, the drums recede, leaving a haunting calm. The bass holds a low, steady presence as the arpeggios ring out, their icy notes creating a sense of suffocating despair. Anguished screams pierce the stillness, and you can feel the weight of every syllable. Then, the drums return and the tension builds and gnaws at you until it’s almost unbearable. It’s in this moment that the track reaches its peak, before the final release—Grishnackh shrieking the lines, "Barn av tidens krefter, Barn av den mektiges sønner". The music culminates in a release of pain, leaving you with nothing but the haunting echo of his voice and the emptiness that lingers.
"Lost Wisdom" presents an intriguing mix of contrasts. The main riff, almost upbeat and oddly catchy, could easily be mistaken for something more uplifting, but it’s precisely this unexpected quality that sets the track apart. As the song transitions into its slower, more melancholic sections, the atmosphere shifts dramatically—creating a feeling of deep despair. It's as though the upbeat riff, initially brimming with an almost naive energy, gradually gives way to the crushing weight of hopelessness. This shift between light and dark gives the song a unique texture, where the initial brightness is ultimately overshadowed by the track’s desolate and haunting mood.
"Han som reiste" is a somber instrumental that captures the feeling of sorrow and nostalgia. The song truly feels like it embodies the meaning of the album's title, "What Once Was." In fact, I played this song over and over while reading The Hobbit—it strangely fits the story perfectly. It's very similar to, and was the inspiration for, Isengard's "In the Halls..." from the Vinterskugge album.
"Når himmelen klarner" is another instrumental, though it’s a more traditional song just without vocals. The first minute or so is just guitars, and it calls to mind "Dominus Sathanas." The title translates to "When the Sky Clears," and like "Han som reiste," it has a dark beauty that lets your mind wander.
Then comes "Snu mikrokosmos tegn," which ends the calm atmosphere created by the previous tracks. It opens with fast tremolo riffs, blasting drums, and Grishnackh’s inhuman vocals that drip with cold hatred and misanthropy. There’s an urgency to the melodies here, a final assault before the end. After a few minutes, the pace slows again, and the vocals convey the feeling of a slow, agonizing death. Everything fades, leaving only the guitar’s open-arpeggio riffs, adding to the song's haunting atmosphere. Clean vocals emerge in the background, adding a subtle yet powerful layer. This is black metal at its most organic—no keyboards, just raw, emotional power. The pain builds until you feel it creeping into your chest, like an icy hand tightening around your heart. Relief seems so near, but death is still just out of reach, and you welcome it.
The album ends with a bleak, obscure outro—similar to the intro, but more complex. It’s a final, haunting melody that feels like the end of a long journey. As the song fades out, all remnants of the world are wiped away, leaving you with nothing but emptiness.
Given the album’s troubled release history and Grishnackh’s departure from DSP, Det som engang var is as much a statement of independence as it is a musical evolution. The Count wasn’t just pushing Burzum’s sound forward—he was shaping the narrative of what black metal could be, carving out a space that rejected commercial influence in favor of something far more personal and bleak.
(8 Sept. 2008)
Et hvitt lys over skogen (1993)
In the early '90s, Count Grishnackh was a whirlwind of creativity, recording the material that would become Burzum's classic albums at an astonishing pace. Yet, despite the sheer volume of work, the quality never faltered. This wasn’t about generating revenue or impressing anyone—it was driven by his singular passion for his craft. Grishnackh set high standards for himself, and as a result, some material took longer to surface, while other pieces never made the final cut. One such piece is Et hvitt lys over skogen.
For years, I was completely unaware of this bootleg’s existence, despite having collected every official Burzum release. Once I read about it, however, I was obsessed with tracking it down. Not to a psychotic level, since the demo material was less-than-impressive, but with average expectations. Upon hearing it for the first time, I was floored by the fact that this track was never included on one of the official albums. I initially assumed it was recorded during the Hvis lyset tar oss sessions, but research places it in the summer of 1992, during the Aske session. Regardless, this song felt like a gift from the past—a piece of Burzum that had been lost in time.
The song is nearly ten minutes long, and true to its era, it embodies the classic Burzum sound. Recorded at Grieghallen, the guitar tone is immediately recognizable, though the track sounds a little rough, as if it wasn’t properly mastered. Despite this, Et hvitt lys over skogen carries the same energy as the material from that period. The main riffs are surprisingly catchy—something that’s always been a hallmark of Grishnackh’s songwriting. The pace is mid-tempo, even somewhat upbeat, but it’s the tortured shrieks that elevate the track, creating a sense of deep misery and hatred.
When listening closely, it’s easy to see why this song was never included on an album. The repetition here feels more pronounced than in other Burzum songs, and the overall atmosphere isn’t quite as dark or immersive as what we hear on the more polished tracks. Without the mystique of its long-lost status, Et hvitt lys over skogen might be considered just another average track in Burzum’s catalog. That said, it does get more interesting as it progresses, though it takes a bit too long to get there. With more work, it could have made for a great song on a later record—shortened, focused, and reworked—but that never came to pass.
On the B-side, we find "Lost Wisdom," but as it’s already been covered in the review for Det som engang var, I’ll spare the details here. The title track is where the real intrigue lies.
Et hvitt lys over skogen offers a rare peek into Burzum’s past, a piece of music that most fans thought lost to time. While it’s not the most iconic song Grishnackh ever created, it stands firmly in the middle range of his work. For those who appreciate Burzum’s early sound and style, it’s definitely worth a listen—perhaps more for its historical significance than its musical brilliance.
For years, I was completely unaware of this bootleg’s existence, despite having collected every official Burzum release. Once I read about it, however, I was obsessed with tracking it down. Not to a psychotic level, since the demo material was less-than-impressive, but with average expectations. Upon hearing it for the first time, I was floored by the fact that this track was never included on one of the official albums. I initially assumed it was recorded during the Hvis lyset tar oss sessions, but research places it in the summer of 1992, during the Aske session. Regardless, this song felt like a gift from the past—a piece of Burzum that had been lost in time.
The song is nearly ten minutes long, and true to its era, it embodies the classic Burzum sound. Recorded at Grieghallen, the guitar tone is immediately recognizable, though the track sounds a little rough, as if it wasn’t properly mastered. Despite this, Et hvitt lys over skogen carries the same energy as the material from that period. The main riffs are surprisingly catchy—something that’s always been a hallmark of Grishnackh’s songwriting. The pace is mid-tempo, even somewhat upbeat, but it’s the tortured shrieks that elevate the track, creating a sense of deep misery and hatred.
When listening closely, it’s easy to see why this song was never included on an album. The repetition here feels more pronounced than in other Burzum songs, and the overall atmosphere isn’t quite as dark or immersive as what we hear on the more polished tracks. Without the mystique of its long-lost status, Et hvitt lys over skogen might be considered just another average track in Burzum’s catalog. That said, it does get more interesting as it progresses, though it takes a bit too long to get there. With more work, it could have made for a great song on a later record—shortened, focused, and reworked—but that never came to pass.
On the B-side, we find "Lost Wisdom," but as it’s already been covered in the review for Det som engang var, I’ll spare the details here. The title track is where the real intrigue lies.
Et hvitt lys over skogen offers a rare peek into Burzum’s past, a piece of music that most fans thought lost to time. While it’s not the most iconic song Grishnackh ever created, it stands firmly in the middle range of his work. For those who appreciate Burzum’s early sound and style, it’s definitely worth a listen—perhaps more for its historical significance than its musical brilliance.
(24 Sept. 2011)
Hvis lyset tar oss (1994)
Hvis lyset tar oss was the last Burzum album I picked up. In a lapse of judgment, I almost passed it by, thinking it was just an E.P. due consisting of just four tracks—who would go through the hassle for so little music? Thankfully, a friend introduced me to the album on a long car ride one night. Some time later, when I found myself face to face with this masterpiece in a Swedish record store (Sound Pollution), I did not hesitate to pick it up.
Recorded in Grieghallen Studios in September 1992, it's astounding that Burzum’s first three albums and an E.P. were all created within the span of eight months, yet there’s such remarkable progression in the music. Released on Misanthropy Records, Hvis lyset tar oss arrived during a time when Count Grishnackh was imprisoned, and he dedicated it to Fenriz and Demonaz. The album’s artwork, Fattigmannen (The Pauper) by Theodor Kittelsen, is a perfect match—beautiful yet sorrowful, much like the music itself.
Widely regarded as the peak of Grishnackh’s creativity, Hvis lyset tar oss refines Burzum's formula: the signature tremolo-picked riffs and power chords remain, but now they’re more focused, with the emphasis clearly on quality over quantity. These riffs are brilliant, and the songs flow seamlessly, each repetition deepening the sense of introspection. The music almost serves as a vessel, guiding the listener through their own thoughts and visions.
The album opener, "Det som en gang var," starts with a long guitar intro and subtle keyboard layers. Unlike other bands where keyboards might dominate the atmosphere, here they only enhance it, adding a chilling coldness without overwhelming the core sound. As the drums kick in, you're drawn into a journey of dreams and memories, with the title translating to "What Once Was." As a nostalgic person, few things evoke such emotion as mourning that which is gone forever. The anguished screams in this song are perfectly fitting—each one is like a knife piercing through you. The harmonies are haunting, chilling to the bone, and the song's melancholy mood is relentless.
At 14 minutes, "Det som en gang var" feels like the most epic song Grishnackh has ever composed, yet somehow, it still feels too short. Halfway through, the greatest riff on the album arrives—piercing the heart with sorrow and liberation. When the song quiets, leaving just the guitar and vocals, the desperation becomes palpable. Then, the song swells again, building to a final, anguished cry:
"Inn i slottet fra droemmen" (Into the Castle of Dreams), also around eight minutes, takes a similar approach to the title track but is far more droning and hypnotic. It’s like a long, exhausting journey through a bleak, mist-covered landscape. The song doesn't allow you to breathe until halfway through, when Grishnackh's screams break the tension. It’s one of the most memorable moments on the album—an emotional shift that leads into the latter part of the track, where the song’s theme of life’s journey comes to an end.
The album closes with the 14-minute ambient piece, "Tomhet" ("Emptiness"). The track paints a bleak landscape of forgotten lands, ominous mountains, and the ever-present threat of death. The sense of hopelessness grows stronger with each step, and by the time the song quiets down, the overwhelming feeling of emptiness is almost unbearable. But at the darkest point, a faint light appears: memories of better times, long forgotten, surface. Yet, this fleeting hope only adds to the torment, as it reminds you that those times are gone forever. The true evil is not in the realm of demons, but in the emptiness within the human spirit.
Recorded in Grieghallen Studios in September 1992, it's astounding that Burzum’s first three albums and an E.P. were all created within the span of eight months, yet there’s such remarkable progression in the music. Released on Misanthropy Records, Hvis lyset tar oss arrived during a time when Count Grishnackh was imprisoned, and he dedicated it to Fenriz and Demonaz. The album’s artwork, Fattigmannen (The Pauper) by Theodor Kittelsen, is a perfect match—beautiful yet sorrowful, much like the music itself.
Widely regarded as the peak of Grishnackh’s creativity, Hvis lyset tar oss refines Burzum's formula: the signature tremolo-picked riffs and power chords remain, but now they’re more focused, with the emphasis clearly on quality over quantity. These riffs are brilliant, and the songs flow seamlessly, each repetition deepening the sense of introspection. The music almost serves as a vessel, guiding the listener through their own thoughts and visions.
The album opener, "Det som en gang var," starts with a long guitar intro and subtle keyboard layers. Unlike other bands where keyboards might dominate the atmosphere, here they only enhance it, adding a chilling coldness without overwhelming the core sound. As the drums kick in, you're drawn into a journey of dreams and memories, with the title translating to "What Once Was." As a nostalgic person, few things evoke such emotion as mourning that which is gone forever. The anguished screams in this song are perfectly fitting—each one is like a knife piercing through you. The harmonies are haunting, chilling to the bone, and the song's melancholy mood is relentless.
At 14 minutes, "Det som en gang var" feels like the most epic song Grishnackh has ever composed, yet somehow, it still feels too short. Halfway through, the greatest riff on the album arrives—piercing the heart with sorrow and liberation. When the song quiets, leaving just the guitar and vocals, the desperation becomes palpable. Then, the song swells again, building to a final, anguished cry:
"Det som en gang var".Yet, the true meaning of the song is finally understood with the final two lines, not just in realizing what they mean but in the manner in which they are conveyed: the anguished screams of a being trapped between life and death.
"Vi døde ikke... Vi har aldri levd"Following such a masterpiece is no easy task, and the title track, "Hvis lyset tar oss", offers a stark contrast. It's one of Burzum's most straightforward black metal tracks, yet its hypnotic pace creates an eerie trance. The feeling here is one of sorrow and hatred for the world, or at least, what it's become.
"Inn i slottet fra droemmen" (Into the Castle of Dreams), also around eight minutes, takes a similar approach to the title track but is far more droning and hypnotic. It’s like a long, exhausting journey through a bleak, mist-covered landscape. The song doesn't allow you to breathe until halfway through, when Grishnackh's screams break the tension. It’s one of the most memorable moments on the album—an emotional shift that leads into the latter part of the track, where the song’s theme of life’s journey comes to an end.
The album closes with the 14-minute ambient piece, "Tomhet" ("Emptiness"). The track paints a bleak landscape of forgotten lands, ominous mountains, and the ever-present threat of death. The sense of hopelessness grows stronger with each step, and by the time the song quiets down, the overwhelming feeling of emptiness is almost unbearable. But at the darkest point, a faint light appears: memories of better times, long forgotten, surface. Yet, this fleeting hope only adds to the torment, as it reminds you that those times are gone forever. The true evil is not in the realm of demons, but in the emptiness within the human spirit.
(8 Sept. 2008)
Filosofem (1996)
After discovering the brilliance of "Black Spell of Destruction" all those years ago, I embarked on a search to find any Burzum album I could. Back then, it wasn’t easy—finding Burzum records took far longer than I anticipated. In the meantime, I recorded my first Burzum song from the college radio show "The Haunted Mansion". The track was titled "Burzum."
[Contrary to popular belief, this is the official title of the song, not "Dunkelheit," as many seem to think. I don't know why the German translations were listed on the back, but it’s clearly a mistake. There isn’t a word of German on this album—its lyrics are in English and Norwegian.]
The word Burzum means “darkness” in the black speech of Mordor, a language created by J.R.R. Tolkien. This song was Varg Vikernes' first composition, both musically and lyrically, and marked the moment he changed the band name from Uruk-Hai to Burzum. Initially intended for an earlier album, it was ultimately not included due to poor recording quality.
Filosofem was recorded in March 1993 at Breidablik Studio. The album sounds rawer than its predecessors, particularly the vocals. Rumor has it that Varg intentionally chose the worst possible microphone for recording, and it shows. This rawness, while part of the charm, is also the album’s major flaw. Many consider Filosofem the definitive Burzum album, but I can’t shake the feeling that the loss of the unique vocal delivery from previous records hinders its full potential. It's also the last black metal album Burzum recorded.
"Burzum" begins with Varg’s signature sweeping guitar riffs and sparse drumming. The atmosphere is as cold as ice, with the song maintaining a mid-paced rhythm throughout. Keyboards are used sparingly, blending seamlessly with the music rather than dominating it. The vocals are heavily distorted and raspy but more intelligible than in earlier works. While this adds to the grim tone, it lacks the same emotional impact. Later in the track, Varg introduces clean vocals for a spoken-word passage. The mood here is dismal, almost trance-inducing, as the arpeggios repeat endlessly, evoking a sense of hopelessness.
"Jesu død" begins with fast, tremolo-picked riffs, building suspense for a minute or so before unleashing the full fury. The raw production suits this track, with the guitars taking center stage, their distortion sharp and abrasive. The screeching vocals fade slightly into the background, allowing the listener to focus on the layers of melody within the guitars. The intensity of this song is relentless, with Varg displaying impressive stamina as he drives the track forward.
"Beholding the Daughters of the Firmament" slows things down significantly, creating a primitive, sorrowful atmosphere. Once again, the vocal approach detracts from the potential of the song, but it still manages to convey the cold, mournful feeling the band is known for. The general consensus is that the album’s momentum falters here, but I disagree. The shift in mood is intentional, and I feel it contributes to the album’s overall progression.
The atmospheric piece "Decreptitude I" abandons traditional song structures, enveloping the listener in a melancholic, haunting atmosphere. Varg sounds as though he’s dying—a fitting reflection of the track’s name. While it’s one of the more atmospheric moments on the album, I can’t help but wonder how much more powerful it could have been with his signature screams. Despite this, I consider it an essential part of the album’s atmosphere, even if many listeners might consider it an afterthought.
"Rundtgåing av den transcendentale egenhetens støtte" is a 25-minute ambient piece that serves as the spiritual successor to Hvis lyset tar oss’s "Tomhet." It’s a minimalist composition that some listeners may struggle with, but it’s well worth the investment. When I listened to this song while reading The Lord of the Rings, it became a perfect soundtrack for the experience. The slow, drifting melodies evoke a sense of longing and remembrance, particularly with the recurring motif from "Det som en gang var," which gives the impression of revisiting a distant memory in a dream-like state.
"Decreptitude II" closes Filosofem with another ambient outro. It’s a somber track, more atmospheric than musical, with fuzzy guitar riffs and a return to the melody from "Decreptitude I." While it may not feel like a proper conclusion to the album, it contributes to the overall sense of desolation and emptiness that defines the album.
Some listeners complain that the second half of the album is hard to get into or that it tries their patience. Honestly, these complaints seem to come from listeners who crave instant gratification and aren't willing to engage with music that requires time and thought. This album challenges its listeners, and that’s part of what makes it great. That is why this music is so difficult for them; it challenges them to think, and that's what many people fear the most.
[Contrary to popular belief, this is the official title of the song, not "Dunkelheit," as many seem to think. I don't know why the German translations were listed on the back, but it’s clearly a mistake. There isn’t a word of German on this album—its lyrics are in English and Norwegian.]
The word Burzum means “darkness” in the black speech of Mordor, a language created by J.R.R. Tolkien. This song was Varg Vikernes' first composition, both musically and lyrically, and marked the moment he changed the band name from Uruk-Hai to Burzum. Initially intended for an earlier album, it was ultimately not included due to poor recording quality.
Filosofem was recorded in March 1993 at Breidablik Studio. The album sounds rawer than its predecessors, particularly the vocals. Rumor has it that Varg intentionally chose the worst possible microphone for recording, and it shows. This rawness, while part of the charm, is also the album’s major flaw. Many consider Filosofem the definitive Burzum album, but I can’t shake the feeling that the loss of the unique vocal delivery from previous records hinders its full potential. It's also the last black metal album Burzum recorded.
"Burzum" begins with Varg’s signature sweeping guitar riffs and sparse drumming. The atmosphere is as cold as ice, with the song maintaining a mid-paced rhythm throughout. Keyboards are used sparingly, blending seamlessly with the music rather than dominating it. The vocals are heavily distorted and raspy but more intelligible than in earlier works. While this adds to the grim tone, it lacks the same emotional impact. Later in the track, Varg introduces clean vocals for a spoken-word passage. The mood here is dismal, almost trance-inducing, as the arpeggios repeat endlessly, evoking a sense of hopelessness.
"Jesu død" begins with fast, tremolo-picked riffs, building suspense for a minute or so before unleashing the full fury. The raw production suits this track, with the guitars taking center stage, their distortion sharp and abrasive. The screeching vocals fade slightly into the background, allowing the listener to focus on the layers of melody within the guitars. The intensity of this song is relentless, with Varg displaying impressive stamina as he drives the track forward.
"Beholding the Daughters of the Firmament" slows things down significantly, creating a primitive, sorrowful atmosphere. Once again, the vocal approach detracts from the potential of the song, but it still manages to convey the cold, mournful feeling the band is known for. The general consensus is that the album’s momentum falters here, but I disagree. The shift in mood is intentional, and I feel it contributes to the album’s overall progression.
The atmospheric piece "Decreptitude I" abandons traditional song structures, enveloping the listener in a melancholic, haunting atmosphere. Varg sounds as though he’s dying—a fitting reflection of the track’s name. While it’s one of the more atmospheric moments on the album, I can’t help but wonder how much more powerful it could have been with his signature screams. Despite this, I consider it an essential part of the album’s atmosphere, even if many listeners might consider it an afterthought.
"Rundtgåing av den transcendentale egenhetens støtte" is a 25-minute ambient piece that serves as the spiritual successor to Hvis lyset tar oss’s "Tomhet." It’s a minimalist composition that some listeners may struggle with, but it’s well worth the investment. When I listened to this song while reading The Lord of the Rings, it became a perfect soundtrack for the experience. The slow, drifting melodies evoke a sense of longing and remembrance, particularly with the recurring motif from "Det som en gang var," which gives the impression of revisiting a distant memory in a dream-like state.
"Decreptitude II" closes Filosofem with another ambient outro. It’s a somber track, more atmospheric than musical, with fuzzy guitar riffs and a return to the melody from "Decreptitude I." While it may not feel like a proper conclusion to the album, it contributes to the overall sense of desolation and emptiness that defines the album.
Some listeners complain that the second half of the album is hard to get into or that it tries their patience. Honestly, these complaints seem to come from listeners who crave instant gratification and aren't willing to engage with music that requires time and thought. This album challenges its listeners, and that’s part of what makes it great. That is why this music is so difficult for them; it challenges them to think, and that's what many people fear the most.
(9 Sept. 2008)
Belus (2010)
This has to be one of the most anticipated albums in recent memory, comparable to the feeling that preceded the release of the last Dissection album. However, unlike Jon Nödtveidt, Varg Vikernes was repeatedly denied parole, thus his incarceration dragged on. It seemed as if it would be endless. Then, last year, he was finally free. He had been speaking for the past few years, with regard to a new Burzum release, stating that it would most likely sound like Filosofem. Regardless of which album was preferred, most fans were relieved just to hear that he intended to return to the black metal sound of his early works. While Dauði Baldrs and Hliðskjálf certainly warrant attention, they simply weren't the same. And so, in the winter months, Varg returned to Grieghallen to record his first album in over a decade. For many of us, this had been a near-unbearable wait. For others that had only just discovered the band, there was still a great deal of interest. Could the album possibly live up to the expectations that everyone had for it? Some were ready to praise it, no matter what it sounded like, out of loyalty to Burzum. Others were prepared to lambaste it, before even hearing it, because they dislike Vikernes as a person. For better or worse, many had shifted their attention to Belus, released on 8 March.
The album begins with a pointless little intro that fails to prepare for what is to come. Afterward, "Belus' doed" begins with an eerily familiar melody. This first song is a reworking of the track "Dauði Baldrs", and Varg has done an incredible job of maintaining the dark feeling present in the original and adding so much more to it. The first thing to notice has to be the vocal performance. Many people seem to have a difficult time with the vocal style from the early albums, though I actually prefer that sound to anything else that he has done. Incredibly, Varg himself looks back on these previous performances with some amount of disappointment. At any rate, there was much speculation regarding how he would sound, all these years later. Thankfully, the extremely distorted style used on Filosofem does not return. The vocals are similar enough to the old albums that one can instantly tell who this is, but they are a little deeper and more controlled. With that said, the vocals are very powerful and filled with conviction, matching the dark atmosphere of the song. The brief spoken word parts also add another dimension, accentuating the dismal mood. The production is a bit fuzzy and definitely not overdone, though the digital recording removes the openness that was present on the early albums. This mid-paced track is dominated by brilliant tremolo melodies that play over somewhat thrashy rhythm guitars. The bass is audible, though seeming to follow the main theme. If certain elements of this album have to grow on the listener, through a few listens, this song is absolutely the exception to this. The melodies and vocals are haunting and they permeate your subconscious on the very first listen. You will hear the death of Belus in your dreams.
"Glemselens elv" is next, and the title translates to "The River of Forgetfulness". It begins with a tremolo riff alongside a loud bass line, before the drums and another guitar enter and carry the song forward. This is a nice way to build some tension and anticipation. As one would expect, this song is also rather mid-paced yet the tremolo melodies weave in and out of your mind, lulling you into a trance. At nearly twelve minutes, this is the longest song on the album and maybe the most hypnotic as well. The vocals feature a combination of harsh and clean, simultaneously, though the clean vocals are a bit lower in the mix. Everything about this screams Burzum, from the drumming patterns to the riffs, themselves. It's long been said that Varg has been one of the most copied musicians, ever, and yet no one has ever been able to recreate the magic in the same way. One can imitate the overall style, attempting to match the guitar tone or the vocal style, but not one single band has ever even come close. After about four minutes, the pace changes and another brilliant tremolo melody arises from the blackened depths. There's a refrain of clean vocals, used almost in a chant-like manner. The feeling is abysmally dark and dreary. A few minutes later, another soul-murdering riff emerges from the shadows and brings to the listener a slow death. On the first listen, this song was a bit difficult to sit through, as I was eager to get to the rest and hear what I'd waited for, for a decade. After repeated listens, the brilliance has unfolded, lured me in and enveloped all. It is also worth noting that, on this album, all of the lyrics are in Norwegian. In the past, of course, Varg utilized English as well, but it seems that he has rejected the use of the "international language".
The next song, "Kaimadalthas' nedstigning", starts out with great intensity. The riffs are fast and thrashy, though still repetitive and somewhat droning. This continues the trance-like feeling present on the previous track. The energy level has increased and the urgency found in the vocals adds to this. There are calmer moments, with a single line spoken in a grave and serious tone. There is nothing uplifting about this. The sombre atmosphere of darkness and dread is ever-present and the cold hand of doom stretches out from the shadows, reaching for you. As the song progresses, the pace slows down and the riffs possess a cold and dreary feeling. You can feel the empty black hole growing within. As the song concludes, one line is repeated again and again, in an eerie manner.
The next song possesses one of the best riffs of the entire album. "Keliohesten" slowly rises from the nothingness, and then unleashes a brilliant tremolo melody upon an already exhausted listener. The drumming is fast-paced, suiting the main riffs, and the vocals are lethal in execution. The lyrics tell a depressing story, as the snow melts and winter is fading away. The horrible summer spirits celebrate their triumph. The cold riffs convey a deep sorrow, or perhaps they bring this to the surface; that which already resides in the dark recesses of your spirit. By the middle of the song, there is a thrashy riff that only serves as a transition back to the cold and deathlike atmosphere of the main theme. Though the sound isn't very similar, the structure of this song is somewhat reminiscent of that found on Hvis lyset tar oss, to a small degree.
And, finally, the album reaches its end with "Belus' tilbakekomst (Konklusjon)", which is an instrumental that features very simplistic chords and riffs, yet it builds on the desolate feeling created by the previous song. It's very droning and repetitive, serving as the final journey into the endless graveland. Your corpse is dumped into the cold earth, forgotten and nameless, as your spirit is consumed by the great abyss of suffering and eternal torment. This isn't the end. This isn't the beginning of the end, yet the end of the beginning.
Belus may be the final death cry of the legendary Burzum, as Varg Vikernes may opt to disappear into obscurity. However, it may very well be a rebirth. While the overall feeling is undoubtedly Burzum, the sound is not identical to the classic albums. It seems, very much, like a time capsule from an earlier period and is about as close to the old output as any of the Norwegian bands are likely to get. Forget about the legions of bands that have attempted to imitate this style, over the years. Burzum has returned.
The album begins with a pointless little intro that fails to prepare for what is to come. Afterward, "Belus' doed" begins with an eerily familiar melody. This first song is a reworking of the track "Dauði Baldrs", and Varg has done an incredible job of maintaining the dark feeling present in the original and adding so much more to it. The first thing to notice has to be the vocal performance. Many people seem to have a difficult time with the vocal style from the early albums, though I actually prefer that sound to anything else that he has done. Incredibly, Varg himself looks back on these previous performances with some amount of disappointment. At any rate, there was much speculation regarding how he would sound, all these years later. Thankfully, the extremely distorted style used on Filosofem does not return. The vocals are similar enough to the old albums that one can instantly tell who this is, but they are a little deeper and more controlled. With that said, the vocals are very powerful and filled with conviction, matching the dark atmosphere of the song. The brief spoken word parts also add another dimension, accentuating the dismal mood. The production is a bit fuzzy and definitely not overdone, though the digital recording removes the openness that was present on the early albums. This mid-paced track is dominated by brilliant tremolo melodies that play over somewhat thrashy rhythm guitars. The bass is audible, though seeming to follow the main theme. If certain elements of this album have to grow on the listener, through a few listens, this song is absolutely the exception to this. The melodies and vocals are haunting and they permeate your subconscious on the very first listen. You will hear the death of Belus in your dreams.
"Glemselens elv" is next, and the title translates to "The River of Forgetfulness". It begins with a tremolo riff alongside a loud bass line, before the drums and another guitar enter and carry the song forward. This is a nice way to build some tension and anticipation. As one would expect, this song is also rather mid-paced yet the tremolo melodies weave in and out of your mind, lulling you into a trance. At nearly twelve minutes, this is the longest song on the album and maybe the most hypnotic as well. The vocals feature a combination of harsh and clean, simultaneously, though the clean vocals are a bit lower in the mix. Everything about this screams Burzum, from the drumming patterns to the riffs, themselves. It's long been said that Varg has been one of the most copied musicians, ever, and yet no one has ever been able to recreate the magic in the same way. One can imitate the overall style, attempting to match the guitar tone or the vocal style, but not one single band has ever even come close. After about four minutes, the pace changes and another brilliant tremolo melody arises from the blackened depths. There's a refrain of clean vocals, used almost in a chant-like manner. The feeling is abysmally dark and dreary. A few minutes later, another soul-murdering riff emerges from the shadows and brings to the listener a slow death. On the first listen, this song was a bit difficult to sit through, as I was eager to get to the rest and hear what I'd waited for, for a decade. After repeated listens, the brilliance has unfolded, lured me in and enveloped all. It is also worth noting that, on this album, all of the lyrics are in Norwegian. In the past, of course, Varg utilized English as well, but it seems that he has rejected the use of the "international language".
The next song, "Kaimadalthas' nedstigning", starts out with great intensity. The riffs are fast and thrashy, though still repetitive and somewhat droning. This continues the trance-like feeling present on the previous track. The energy level has increased and the urgency found in the vocals adds to this. There are calmer moments, with a single line spoken in a grave and serious tone. There is nothing uplifting about this. The sombre atmosphere of darkness and dread is ever-present and the cold hand of doom stretches out from the shadows, reaching for you. As the song progresses, the pace slows down and the riffs possess a cold and dreary feeling. You can feel the empty black hole growing within. As the song concludes, one line is repeated again and again, in an eerie manner.
"Jeg reiser til mørkets dyp der alt er dødt.""Sverddans", meaning sword dance, tells the tale of winter coming under attack from the foul and disgusting summer. This song has its origins in the pre-Burzum project, Uruk-Hai. Clocking in around two and a half minutes, this one is the shortest proper song on the album. Some seem to feel that it is out of place, though it appears to make perfect sense, regarding its placement. The album has built in intensity, over the course of the previous songs, reaching sort of a climax with this track. Similar to "War", from the debut album, this merely adds another dimension to the album and displays yet more versatility on the part of the musician.
The next song possesses one of the best riffs of the entire album. "Keliohesten" slowly rises from the nothingness, and then unleashes a brilliant tremolo melody upon an already exhausted listener. The drumming is fast-paced, suiting the main riffs, and the vocals are lethal in execution. The lyrics tell a depressing story, as the snow melts and winter is fading away. The horrible summer spirits celebrate their triumph. The cold riffs convey a deep sorrow, or perhaps they bring this to the surface; that which already resides in the dark recesses of your spirit. By the middle of the song, there is a thrashy riff that only serves as a transition back to the cold and deathlike atmosphere of the main theme. Though the sound isn't very similar, the structure of this song is somewhat reminiscent of that found on Hvis lyset tar oss, to a small degree.
"Når snøen smelter gråter vi,Just when you feel safe from the utter black and the freezing emptiness of absolute oblivion, "Morgenroede" comes to plague you with such a life-draining and hopeless feeling that death soon calls your name. The song marks the slowing of the overall pace of the album, as it now makes its funeral march toward the end of all things. There is a sense of urgency in the first riffs, then turned to emptiness and sorrow with the coming tremolo melody. The pulsing of the bass is almost like that of the heart beating for its final moments, pumping out the remaining blood and bringing on lifelessness. Nothing lasts forever. All that which one finds meaningful in this wretched world will succumb to decay and death, in one form or another. Just like the snow will melt and winter recedes, all hope will fade to nothingness and emptiness prevails. After a few minutes, the final words spoken on this album then give way to a new riff, one filled with utter despair. The drumming reminds of that found later in "Tomhet", yet the atmosphere here is similar in its desolate and miserable feeling. The riffs become very repetitive, building the sorrowful aura and draining you of any and all life. One sees through illusions of optimism and positivity. There is none. These things are not real. They never were. They are but creations of man, much like gods, to try to trick ourselves and to avoid facing the bleak and harsh reality that is existence. It is meaningless and empty. The melodies found in this song are like freezing knives, carving the listener more viciously than the subject of an autopsy. You are laid open and bathed in misery and the horrible truth of the world.
vinteren har blitt beseiret"
And, finally, the album reaches its end with "Belus' tilbakekomst (Konklusjon)", which is an instrumental that features very simplistic chords and riffs, yet it builds on the desolate feeling created by the previous song. It's very droning and repetitive, serving as the final journey into the endless graveland. Your corpse is dumped into the cold earth, forgotten and nameless, as your spirit is consumed by the great abyss of suffering and eternal torment. This isn't the end. This isn't the beginning of the end, yet the end of the beginning.
Belus may be the final death cry of the legendary Burzum, as Varg Vikernes may opt to disappear into obscurity. However, it may very well be a rebirth. While the overall feeling is undoubtedly Burzum, the sound is not identical to the classic albums. It seems, very much, like a time capsule from an earlier period and is about as close to the old output as any of the Norwegian bands are likely to get. Forget about the legions of bands that have attempted to imitate this style, over the years. Burzum has returned.
(23 March 2010)
Fallen (2011)
Fallen is the eighth studio album from the legendary Norwegian black metal band, Burzum. Recorded and mixed during two weeks at Grieghallen Studios, it comes just a year after Belus and somewhat continues the sound that was established on that album. Varg Vikernes returned to his old ways of being very productive, and it should be no surprise to those familiar with the classic Burzum albums since they were all recorded in a short span of time.
In the press release, it was stated that the new record would have more influence from the debut album and Det som engang var, though this does not seem to be the case. Fallen feels more experimental and less grounded in the classic Burzum formula. The increased use of clean vocals, especially in the spoken word sections, disrupts the flow of several tracks, and they rarely offer the same dark intensity that fans expect.
"Budstikken," however, is a rare highlight. The final song begins with somewhat of an epic build-up, with the mournful tremolo riffs accompanied by thunderous drums, before the song truly breaks free and moves forward at a faster pace. Somehow, this is slightly reminiscent of "My Journey to the Stars", and it is at this point where one can really feel the connection between new and old. The bass, which has been rather audible throughout the entire record, seems to stand out the most on this track, adding a layer of misery to the atmosphere. Strangely, this song is sorrowful while also being the most upbeat of the whole album. The clean vocals bring things back to a somber place, as the guitar riffs shift back to something darker and more life-draining. In a sense, the music gives the feeling of going off to war, to fight in a battle that you know will be lost, yet one that you must fight anyway. However, by the end, you simply wish for a cold grave to swallow your lifeless body and to be forgotten for eternity. The old ways are gone and the world is crumbling. All that we possess are fading memories of a dead age and the knowledge that what once was is forever lost. The roots of Irminsûl are rotten and dead. Existence is pointless and life itself seen as a curse.
The rest of the album, unfortunately, is largely forgettable. Tracks like "Jeg faller" and "Vanvidd" attempt to replicate the atmosphere of earlier works, but the overuse of clean vocals weakens their impact. Instead of the haunting, visceral experience that made Burzum iconic, Fallen often feels disconnected, as if the album is unsure whether to cling to the past or move forward into more experimental territory.
Ultimately, Fallen is a disappointing follow-up to Belus. While it shows Varg's continued creative energy, the album never quite reaches the heights of its predecessor. The only track that truly stands out is "Budstikken," while the rest of the material fails to leave a lasting impression. For those hoping for a return to Burzum’s darker roots, Fallen misses the mark.
In the press release, it was stated that the new record would have more influence from the debut album and Det som engang var, though this does not seem to be the case. Fallen feels more experimental and less grounded in the classic Burzum formula. The increased use of clean vocals, especially in the spoken word sections, disrupts the flow of several tracks, and they rarely offer the same dark intensity that fans expect.
"Budstikken," however, is a rare highlight. The final song begins with somewhat of an epic build-up, with the mournful tremolo riffs accompanied by thunderous drums, before the song truly breaks free and moves forward at a faster pace. Somehow, this is slightly reminiscent of "My Journey to the Stars", and it is at this point where one can really feel the connection between new and old. The bass, which has been rather audible throughout the entire record, seems to stand out the most on this track, adding a layer of misery to the atmosphere. Strangely, this song is sorrowful while also being the most upbeat of the whole album. The clean vocals bring things back to a somber place, as the guitar riffs shift back to something darker and more life-draining. In a sense, the music gives the feeling of going off to war, to fight in a battle that you know will be lost, yet one that you must fight anyway. However, by the end, you simply wish for a cold grave to swallow your lifeless body and to be forgotten for eternity. The old ways are gone and the world is crumbling. All that we possess are fading memories of a dead age and the knowledge that what once was is forever lost. The roots of Irminsûl are rotten and dead. Existence is pointless and life itself seen as a curse.
The rest of the album, unfortunately, is largely forgettable. Tracks like "Jeg faller" and "Vanvidd" attempt to replicate the atmosphere of earlier works, but the overuse of clean vocals weakens their impact. Instead of the haunting, visceral experience that made Burzum iconic, Fallen often feels disconnected, as if the album is unsure whether to cling to the past or move forward into more experimental territory.
Ultimately, Fallen is a disappointing follow-up to Belus. While it shows Varg's continued creative energy, the album never quite reaches the heights of its predecessor. The only track that truly stands out is "Budstikken," while the rest of the material fails to leave a lasting impression. For those hoping for a return to Burzum’s darker roots, Fallen misses the mark.
(12 March 2011)
From the Depths of Darkness (2011)
From the Depths of Darkness is not a new full-length Burzum album. It is a compilation of re-recorded tracks from the self-titled L.P. and Det som engang var. These represent Varg's favourite songs from those releases, and this effort is merely a reinterpretation of those early works. Of course, the decision to revisit this material has generated a considerable amount of controversy. Some people have labeled this as a cash-grab, while others are simply angry that the classic songs are going to be tampered with. Naturally, such powerful and influential music is going to elicit strong reactions from fans. In my view, there is nothing wrong with this release, in itself. The problem with re-recordings comes when an artist attempts to use them to replace the original material, thus robbing future generations of the opportunity to experience them as they once were. However, countless bands have gone back and revisited their early days by making updated versions of classic songs. Ultimately, it is the band's right to do whatever they wish, so long as the original music remains available, as well. That way, if people disagree with the latest interpretation, they are free to enjoy the original. In the case of Burzum, it would seem that Varg is a perfectionist and, rather than trying to give the music a modern feel, he just wanted to correct things that he felt to be mistakes and to present his songs as he meant for them to be heard, in the first place.
He has done this before. The Aske E.P. features a re-recording of "A Lost Forgotten Sad Spirit", since he thought the version from the debut album did not turn out as it was supposed to. It is quite likely that, had he not lost so much time in prison, Varg may have included more re-recorded songs on his albums, throughout the years. Given that he recorded the early Burzum albums at a young age and with little experience, he may have felt strongly about this material the entire time. It is both a gift and a curse of the perfectionist to find fault with everything that they create, eventually, whether or not they act on those urges. Released in November 2011, From the Depths of Darkness is the product of such impulses.
The material on this compilation remains true to the originals, as much as possible. The faster sections are hardly any different than before, though the slower parts are where one can see the most disparity between old and new. In general, the pace is slowed down even more and the atmosphere takes on an increased sense of dreariness and morbidity. Anything that was remotely catchy or upbeat has been completely neutralized and rendered even more cold and lifeless than before. This really gives the songs a darker vibe and unleashes the untapped potential that some of them had, long ago. While immersing yourself in something so abysmal and unforgiving, those lighter moments almost make it seem a little more safe. This time around, there is no sanctuary from the utter black that is set to consume your very soul. This is most evident on "Spell of Destruction". Predominantly, the playing is a little tighter, which is really neither good nor bad, as the previous approach suited the music just as well as this does. In other words, the somewhat sloppy feeling that was on the first couple of records, at times, worked just fine within the context of the album just as much as the tight sound benefits the newer versions. Everything is really crisp and precise, leaving no room for errors. That said, the music still has a lot of feeling and has not been drained of all emotion. Regarding actual changes, they are so minor and infrequent that it is not much of a concern, except in the case of "My Journey to the Stars". This track is butchered, to an extent, due to a handful of alterations that seem to make no sense. While the overall structure endures, there are enough small differences to kill the spirit of the song. There are times, especially during "Key to the Gate", where you can hear how much the old stuff inspired Varg as he was writing the material for Fallen. Actually, it was during the process of creating that record that he took a break and entered the studio to record these songs. Overall, the music stays true to the spirit of the originals, from the intense opening riffs of "Feeble Screams From Forests Unknown" to the hypnotic and mournful atmosphere that is present as "Snu mikrokosmos' tegn" reaches its conclusion.
Contrary to what many would expect, the production is not as plastic and modern as some seem to imagine. Obviously, it possesses a bit of an improved sound, compared to the originals, but it is not overdone in any way. The guitar tone is still frigid and morose, carrying the listener off to another world. In fact, the mix is slightly more appropriate in that the drums are buried a bit more and thus allow the guitars to remain the primary focus. This is how metal should be, anyway, but especially in this case.
One of the most glaring differences is found in the vocal department. To the grief and despair of many fans of the early Burzum records, Varg's voice is nowhere near what it was back then. Any hopes that he would return to the anguished screams and tormented shrieks of the past were shattered from the very beginning, though this should not have come as a surprise to anyone. Varg's voice is quite similar to what is heard on later albums, such as Belus and Fallen, and it is a shame that he has no fondness for his previous vocal style. It added so much more to the overall atmosphere and was one of the truly unique things about Burzum, in the first place. Perhaps, it also came from him no longer being able to get such a sound to emanate from within and choosing to change instead of offering up some pathetic attempt at recreating that sound. On the old albums, he sounded as if he was dying in agony, whereas his current voice sounds like it has been dead and bereft of life for quite some time.
A lot of fans will be disappointed in From the Depths of Darkness, since most people despise change and metal fans are usually even worse about this. Though the changes are minimal, with the exception of the vocals, the truth is that the original spirit of the songs has been honoured and there are even some points where the alterations of timing or pace actually improve upon the old versions. While the majority will still prefer the originals (myself included), this is a fascinating release and offers a unique re-interpretation of these songs that have meant so much to so many for such a long time. For those that disapprove, there is always the option of ignoring the existence of this compilation and continuing to listen to the old records. However, if you have even the slightest bit of an open mind, it is quite likely that you will find something enjoyable about these new versions. Out of all of the musicians that came from the Norwegian black metal scene, as much as he would like to distance himself from it, Varg Vikernes has remained true to his roots much more than the rest.
He has done this before. The Aske E.P. features a re-recording of "A Lost Forgotten Sad Spirit", since he thought the version from the debut album did not turn out as it was supposed to. It is quite likely that, had he not lost so much time in prison, Varg may have included more re-recorded songs on his albums, throughout the years. Given that he recorded the early Burzum albums at a young age and with little experience, he may have felt strongly about this material the entire time. It is both a gift and a curse of the perfectionist to find fault with everything that they create, eventually, whether or not they act on those urges. Released in November 2011, From the Depths of Darkness is the product of such impulses.
The material on this compilation remains true to the originals, as much as possible. The faster sections are hardly any different than before, though the slower parts are where one can see the most disparity between old and new. In general, the pace is slowed down even more and the atmosphere takes on an increased sense of dreariness and morbidity. Anything that was remotely catchy or upbeat has been completely neutralized and rendered even more cold and lifeless than before. This really gives the songs a darker vibe and unleashes the untapped potential that some of them had, long ago. While immersing yourself in something so abysmal and unforgiving, those lighter moments almost make it seem a little more safe. This time around, there is no sanctuary from the utter black that is set to consume your very soul. This is most evident on "Spell of Destruction". Predominantly, the playing is a little tighter, which is really neither good nor bad, as the previous approach suited the music just as well as this does. In other words, the somewhat sloppy feeling that was on the first couple of records, at times, worked just fine within the context of the album just as much as the tight sound benefits the newer versions. Everything is really crisp and precise, leaving no room for errors. That said, the music still has a lot of feeling and has not been drained of all emotion. Regarding actual changes, they are so minor and infrequent that it is not much of a concern, except in the case of "My Journey to the Stars". This track is butchered, to an extent, due to a handful of alterations that seem to make no sense. While the overall structure endures, there are enough small differences to kill the spirit of the song. There are times, especially during "Key to the Gate", where you can hear how much the old stuff inspired Varg as he was writing the material for Fallen. Actually, it was during the process of creating that record that he took a break and entered the studio to record these songs. Overall, the music stays true to the spirit of the originals, from the intense opening riffs of "Feeble Screams From Forests Unknown" to the hypnotic and mournful atmosphere that is present as "Snu mikrokosmos' tegn" reaches its conclusion.
Contrary to what many would expect, the production is not as plastic and modern as some seem to imagine. Obviously, it possesses a bit of an improved sound, compared to the originals, but it is not overdone in any way. The guitar tone is still frigid and morose, carrying the listener off to another world. In fact, the mix is slightly more appropriate in that the drums are buried a bit more and thus allow the guitars to remain the primary focus. This is how metal should be, anyway, but especially in this case.
One of the most glaring differences is found in the vocal department. To the grief and despair of many fans of the early Burzum records, Varg's voice is nowhere near what it was back then. Any hopes that he would return to the anguished screams and tormented shrieks of the past were shattered from the very beginning, though this should not have come as a surprise to anyone. Varg's voice is quite similar to what is heard on later albums, such as Belus and Fallen, and it is a shame that he has no fondness for his previous vocal style. It added so much more to the overall atmosphere and was one of the truly unique things about Burzum, in the first place. Perhaps, it also came from him no longer being able to get such a sound to emanate from within and choosing to change instead of offering up some pathetic attempt at recreating that sound. On the old albums, he sounded as if he was dying in agony, whereas his current voice sounds like it has been dead and bereft of life for quite some time.
A lot of fans will be disappointed in From the Depths of Darkness, since most people despise change and metal fans are usually even worse about this. Though the changes are minimal, with the exception of the vocals, the truth is that the original spirit of the songs has been honoured and there are even some points where the alterations of timing or pace actually improve upon the old versions. While the majority will still prefer the originals (myself included), this is a fascinating release and offers a unique re-interpretation of these songs that have meant so much to so many for such a long time. For those that disapprove, there is always the option of ignoring the existence of this compilation and continuing to listen to the old records. However, if you have even the slightest bit of an open mind, it is quite likely that you will find something enjoyable about these new versions. Out of all of the musicians that came from the Norwegian black metal scene, as much as he would like to distance himself from it, Varg Vikernes has remained true to his roots much more than the rest.
(25 Nov. 2011)
Umskiptar (2012)
Released in May 2012, Umskiptar is the ninth full-length album from Burzum. This record is somewhat unique within the discography of Varg Vikernes, and it is something that may take a little time for some to fully digest. Surely, this has very little connection to the realm of black metal that initially gave birth to this musical project. With that said, there is a clear line of evolution from the old to the new, as Umskiptar picks up from where Fallen left off and continues to develop further away from the old sound. All the while, the everything contained on this album is unquestionably identifiable as Burzum.
This album has been described by its creator as "skaldic metal", and the lyrics were taken from the Völuspá. Due to the nature of the lyrical content, it would be easy to assume that this represents sort of a loss of the personal touch that previously existed, but of course that discounts that it was still Varg who chose what elements of this poem to focus on. Musically, what we have here is a rather stripped-down record of down-tempo pieces that imbue the listener with feelings of sorrow and loss. There has always been a melancholic element found on Burzum albums and Umskiptar is no exception, though the approach is rather different. Though there are a handful of fast-picked riffs, that actual tempo as dictated by the percussion goes from mid-paced to a doom-like crawl. "Jóln" is probably the most active and dynamic track on here, despite being rather subdued by previous standards. There is nothing in the vein of "Feeble Screams from Forests Unknown", "Snu mikrokosmos tegn" or even "Keliohesten" on this record. In fact, as the album goes along, it seems to get slower and slower, with the guitar playing a less prominent role and fading into the background. The trio of "Alfadanz", "Hit helga Tré" and "Æra" represents the strongest and most conventional segment of the album and are comprised of moody and sombre guitar melodies that would not have been out of place on the last couple of releases. "Hit helga Tré", in particular, is built on primitive riffs with strong doom tendencies, featuring a haunting tremolo melody that flows throughout as Varg's almost corpse-like voice is infiltrated by moments of humanity. This may be the most memorable song on here. The experimentation continues, as later songs feature no harsh vocals at all, for the first time ever. Some of these are hit-and-miss. The vocals, especially, seem somewhat disconnected from the music. At some points, it feels like the music is just background noise for some spoken-word pieces."Heiðr" is a good example of this. That is not to say that all of the clean vocals are done in this manner. "Galgviðr" actually utilizes clean singing, not just speaking, throughout its entirety. Still, there are moments when one may wish for one of the trademark instrumental tracks from Burzum's past. "Surtr Sunnan", for one, sounds very reminiscent of the older material and would have been more enjoyable without any lyrics. Regardless of whatever complaints I may have with some elements of the album, everything still flows together very well and Umskiptar is rather cohesive and solid. The whole thing comes together, very well, in dragging the listener into another world. By the time "Gullaldr" arrives, you get the feeling that the life is slowly draining out of you. Unlike in the past, there is hardly any sense of suffering or anguish here. It almost puts you in a dreamlike state and the main feeling is one of relief, as the cold winds of death carry you away.
The production suits the music. Nothing about this sounds modern, really. The guitar is rather dominant in the mix, at least during the tracks that really highlight it as the most important instrument. Later in the album, it seems to fade a bit, though this is likely due to the nature of the compositions. Everything is rather clear, allowing for the various melodies to stand out and to be easily recognizable. The sound is certainly cleaner that even the previous album, which was not all that harsh by any stretch. One complaint would be that the vocals are a little too clear, at times, as even the moisture on Varg's tongue can be heard. This is quite distracting.
Umskiptar is certainly a unique album and it is one that many, myself included, may not immediately be able to wrap their head around. That would seem to directly contradict the claims of some that Varg only resurrected Burzum to cash in on its name value (if so, why would he stray from the tried and true formula of past albums to experiment so much, if not for artistic purposes?). For those that are interested in music on a deeper level, rather than seeking only instant gratification, this is surely worth the time to explore. Whether you want to consider this some sort of black, folk or skaldic metal (or something outside of metal, completely), one cannot argue that this is very genuine and atmospheric music that speaks to something inside of us in a way that words often fail to do. Though I would say "Hit helga Tré" and "Gullaldr" are the best songs on here, it is best for you to just immerse yourself into the whole album and see where it takes you.
This album has been described by its creator as "skaldic metal", and the lyrics were taken from the Völuspá. Due to the nature of the lyrical content, it would be easy to assume that this represents sort of a loss of the personal touch that previously existed, but of course that discounts that it was still Varg who chose what elements of this poem to focus on. Musically, what we have here is a rather stripped-down record of down-tempo pieces that imbue the listener with feelings of sorrow and loss. There has always been a melancholic element found on Burzum albums and Umskiptar is no exception, though the approach is rather different. Though there are a handful of fast-picked riffs, that actual tempo as dictated by the percussion goes from mid-paced to a doom-like crawl. "Jóln" is probably the most active and dynamic track on here, despite being rather subdued by previous standards. There is nothing in the vein of "Feeble Screams from Forests Unknown", "Snu mikrokosmos tegn" or even "Keliohesten" on this record. In fact, as the album goes along, it seems to get slower and slower, with the guitar playing a less prominent role and fading into the background. The trio of "Alfadanz", "Hit helga Tré" and "Æra" represents the strongest and most conventional segment of the album and are comprised of moody and sombre guitar melodies that would not have been out of place on the last couple of releases. "Hit helga Tré", in particular, is built on primitive riffs with strong doom tendencies, featuring a haunting tremolo melody that flows throughout as Varg's almost corpse-like voice is infiltrated by moments of humanity. This may be the most memorable song on here. The experimentation continues, as later songs feature no harsh vocals at all, for the first time ever. Some of these are hit-and-miss. The vocals, especially, seem somewhat disconnected from the music. At some points, it feels like the music is just background noise for some spoken-word pieces."Heiðr" is a good example of this. That is not to say that all of the clean vocals are done in this manner. "Galgviðr" actually utilizes clean singing, not just speaking, throughout its entirety. Still, there are moments when one may wish for one of the trademark instrumental tracks from Burzum's past. "Surtr Sunnan", for one, sounds very reminiscent of the older material and would have been more enjoyable without any lyrics. Regardless of whatever complaints I may have with some elements of the album, everything still flows together very well and Umskiptar is rather cohesive and solid. The whole thing comes together, very well, in dragging the listener into another world. By the time "Gullaldr" arrives, you get the feeling that the life is slowly draining out of you. Unlike in the past, there is hardly any sense of suffering or anguish here. It almost puts you in a dreamlike state and the main feeling is one of relief, as the cold winds of death carry you away.
The production suits the music. Nothing about this sounds modern, really. The guitar is rather dominant in the mix, at least during the tracks that really highlight it as the most important instrument. Later in the album, it seems to fade a bit, though this is likely due to the nature of the compositions. Everything is rather clear, allowing for the various melodies to stand out and to be easily recognizable. The sound is certainly cleaner that even the previous album, which was not all that harsh by any stretch. One complaint would be that the vocals are a little too clear, at times, as even the moisture on Varg's tongue can be heard. This is quite distracting.
Umskiptar is certainly a unique album and it is one that many, myself included, may not immediately be able to wrap their head around. That would seem to directly contradict the claims of some that Varg only resurrected Burzum to cash in on its name value (if so, why would he stray from the tried and true formula of past albums to experiment so much, if not for artistic purposes?). For those that are interested in music on a deeper level, rather than seeking only instant gratification, this is surely worth the time to explore. Whether you want to consider this some sort of black, folk or skaldic metal (or something outside of metal, completely), one cannot argue that this is very genuine and atmospheric music that speaks to something inside of us in a way that words often fail to do. Though I would say "Hit helga Tré" and "Gullaldr" are the best songs on here, it is best for you to just immerse yourself into the whole album and see where it takes you.
(17 Mar. 2013)
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