#bindrune-recordings — Public Fediverse posts

What feelings come with an ending? Grief? Gratitude? Hope? As the Laurentian Trilogy comes to a close with Det Hjemsøkte Hjertet,1 the reflections on things passed which each album casts in a different light are at their most poignant. Panopticon turns from personal catharsis (…And Again into the Light) to metaphorical mirroring of individual crisis with that which devastates the natural world (The Rime of Memory), and now the very fabric of every one of us as people—bound inextricably to our experiences and environment. Mourning the loss of a loved one; memories of a people left behind by industrialisation; vanished caribou who once roamed the forests and the trees that grew old before the saw; a losing battle with time; isolation, love, joy. These fragmented, vivid, impressions of The Haunted Heart masterfully draw together an opus as potent musically as it is emotionally, five years almost to the date since it began.

Det Hjemsøkte Hjertet’s conclusiveness is tangible, its every note suffused with nostalgia and closure—even opener, “Woodland Caribou,” feels like a resolution. Drums boil and crash with anguish, tremolos are effervescent with feeling, and strings are more prominent and more stirring than ever before. But even in its finality of reprising themes and devastating climaxes, Det Hjemsøkte Hjertet reveals that everything does not truly end after all. With a chorus of guest vocalists,2 Austin Lunn tells a story of a life coming to a close in chapters that reflect not only on one person’s experiences, but those of a culture and a wilderness extending beyond them. It’s the most immediate Panopticon has ever been: lacking any preamble, moving faster and with assured ardour through every blackened arc, reaching deeper into your soul with every singing string refrain. Det Hjemsøkte Hjertet sees an infusion of characteristic folk, black metal, and magical atmosphere in a way that’s at once so heart-wrenchingly intimate and viscerally overwhelming it can hardly be described as less than perfection.

From the moment it begins, Det Hjemsøkte Hjertet has hold of you, most strikingly because of how breath-catchingly gorgeous it is. Some of the saddest, most profound melodies of Panopticon’s career (“Woodland Caribou,” “Blood and Fur Upon the Melting Snow,” “Ghost Eyes in the Firelight”) combine with some of the wildest (“The Great Silence, Extinct,” “The White Cedars,” “A Culture of Wilderness”). Even the heaviest moments dazzle in their dissonant devastation with mournful urgency (“The Great Silence…,” “A Culture…”). But what takes this beauty and rage into transcendence is how these tides of emotion are so tightly wound together, referencing one another, the refrains of The Laurentian Trilogy, and even all of Panopticon up until this moment. The soft sigh of a violin refrain (“Woodland Caribou”) sobs in precipitating a mid-album climax (“Blood and Fur…”), and the dancing tremolo-string swoops of “The Great Silence…” are mirrored in “Blood and Fur,…” and “The White Cedars.” The shuddering heaviness of “A Culture…” reawakens the gravity of “Moth-Eaten Soul”3 while untamed exuberance (“A Culture…,” “Blood and Fur…”) revives “An Autumn Storm”4 and the spirit of Roads to the North, and flute—accompanied only by the crackling of a fire—brings the acoustic introspection of the trilogy firmly to the forefront (“Lyset”).

But it’s the final act, “Ghost Eyes in the Firelight,” that pulls these threads—and one’s heartstrings—taut. Gracefully drawing in the elements from throughout the trilogy, it then softly and assuredly builds to a conclusion that hums ever more with familiarity. As the shimmering tremolos rise to a steady beat, you realise it’s the central theme of “…And Again into the Light” lifting upwards on their featherlight wings. All the lyrics on Det Hjemsøkte Hjertet sing with poignancy, but in this ascent that poignancy peaks,

The light from the window fades like the winter recently past.
Free of this mortal coil, free at last.
A slight pain in his chest grew as he laid down upon the melting snow.
Gazing upward into the night sky, he closed his eyes to the dark night,
but behind the blackness of his eyelids,
the stars remained
but behind the blackness of his eyelids,
the stars remained

…and again into the light

As cymbals judder and guitars perform a final flourish, the haunting calls of loons signal the completion of this circle, the spilling in of the light to the serenade of violins to a devastating reprise, filling your chest with its warmth and your eyes with tears.5 A more perfect way to end things could not exist. My heart clings longingly to the place evoked by Det Hjemsøkte Hjertet‘s consuming atmosphere and touching humanity. I cry with the empathy of its creator, crying for time gone, for those no longer here, for the lost wilderness, for the empty homes and hearts and the silent forests. But I also cry with a kind of transcendent joy. Because in closing, things begin anew. Just as the final whining strings lead into the beginning of …And Again into the Light, they blur too into that of “Woodland Caribou.” A ring, the renewal of hope. The darkness does not last. The fire will not burn out.

Rating: Iconic
DR: ? | Format Reviewed: Stream
Label: Bindrune Recordings | Nordvis Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: May 8th, 2026

Black metal and the violin go together like peanut butter and jelly, which makes it particularly exciting when an artist who is accomplished in both steps forward. Weft is the solo endeavor of Charlie Anderson, the live violinist for Panopticon. His debut album, The Splintered Oar, is one of two releases by Bindrune Recordings on the weekend before the beginning of Listurnalia 2025.1 Nevertheless, this is a record that should not go unnoticed during the time of year when many of us have adopted either a backward- or forward-looking mindset.

Weft integrates the violin in a variety of clever ways that will sound comfortably familiar to fans of folk/black metal. The obvious comparison is Panopticon, particularly in the sublime acoustic guitar and violin pairing of the intro track “Leaves.” It also dances with the electric guitar in a wild, rugged manner like unto Windfaerer and Saor (“The Hull”). At the same time, Weft doesn’t allow the violin to become too overwhelming or dominant. Rather than solely relying on the customary trem-picking, the fierce guitar riffs and chord progressions of The Splintered Oar often prefer to wander into progressive death metal territory. Another surprising musical influence is Americana, featured briefly in “The Hull” and prominently in “Dream of Oaks.”

The Splintered Oar by Weft

Once things get going, the bulk of The Splintered Oar is quite exhilarating. “False Kingdoms,” the first full song, opens with a great buildup, facilitated by Austin Lunn’s purposeful tom rhythms. After this point, the intensity ebbs and flows, but rarely lets up completely. The demonic violin lines and frenzied shrieks in “Red Dawn” cut through the listener’s defenses like wind chill. Anderson’s deep growls are usually effective as well, though they sometimes lack force and come across as more of a croak. Andrea Morgan’s guest vocals in “The Hull” help compensate for this, joining with the soothing strings in a manner reminiscent of Dzö-nga, which is a very good thing.

What holds The Splintered Oar back the most is a shaky beginning and ending. “Leaves” would have been a much more effective intro if it hadn’t repeated itself and dragged out its runtime to 5 minutes. On the other hand, 12-minute closer “Dream of Oaks” struggles to remain coherent. The entire first half is dreamy Americana, which later morphs into sleek Opethian prog and then death/doom before finally resuming Weft’s signature violin-driven black metal. These individual components are enjoyable enough on their own, but they become confusing when considered together. “Dream of Oaks” might have been an epic conclusion if it had the same degree of cohesion between The Splintered Oar’s disparate musical influences that the preceding tracks display.

Weft is a rare example of what is possible when a violinist creates black metal. Charlie Anderson’s compositional versatility is immediately obvious. While it doesn’t quite stick the landing—or the launch—The Splintered Oar’s midsection is very promising and even goosebump-inducing at times. If the less conventional musical genres can be consistently integrated in a potential sophomore record, Weft will be a force of nature to behold.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Bindrune Recordings
Websites: weftmusic.bandcamp.com | instagram.com/weft_music
Releases Worldwide: December 19th, 2025

Panopticon – Laurentian Blue Review

By Mystikus Hugebeard

With the mammoth1 Panopticon ranking and the electrifying Månegarm review behind us, we can now look towards the album that the ranking was made in anticipation of: Laurentian Blue. What we weren’t quite expecting was that Laurentian Blue would be an unusual album to follow the ranking. After ten albums of post-black metal, this is the first standalone Panopticon work of purely dark, folksy Americana.2 It goes without saying that Americana has ever been a key component to the Panopticon soundscape, so do not mistake “unusual” for “unwelcome.” After all, Laurentian Blue is unquestionably a Panopticon album, for it embodies the same soul of Panopticon’s music that Thus Spoke eloquently illuminated in her introduction to the ranking: “an immense sense of drama, emotional intensity, and an unpretentious, honest heart.”

Not only is Laurentian Blue a dark folk/americana album, it is unapologetic about it. Laurentian Blue is confidently written and deliberate in its minimalism. The instrumentation is kept strictly to the bare necessities: Lunn picks and strums away at his guitar as he sings with the warmth of a crackling fire, with sparse, harmonizing violins as accompaniment. The consecutive exceptions come in the twang of “An Argument with God” (which is also the only song with any percussion) and the bluegrass “Irony and Causality,” which serve as welcome jolts to the pacing, but the bulk of Laurentian Blue is the sort of somber Americana in “Ever North” and “This Mortal Coil’s Rusted.” It reminds one of the Appalachia iteration of Osi and the Jupiter, with a stronger country lilt heard most clearly in “Down Along the Border.” While the guitarwork in Laurentian Blue is enjoyable, whether it takes the form of wistful melodies (“The Poetry in Roadkill”) or steely strumming (“Ever North,”) the focus cannot help but rest on Lunn’s voice and lyrical work.

As always, Lunn is a commanding songwriter fluent in the emotions he wants a song to convey. Nary a note or a word wasted, cutting straight to the heart of what he wants to express. Laurentian Blue is resolute in its deeply depressive lyricism, which becomes inescapable due to the music’s minimalist nature.3 Lines like “And if I needed you to watch me slip away // I’ll find you on the other side some day” (“Down Along the Border”) and “the lie that I forced myself to believe // that I never wasted a breath…” (“Ever North”) carry a catharsis that engulfs you, further strengthened by the preternaturally well-timed violins. Sparse though they may be, they’re beautifully implemented, often swelling at just the right moment like in the chorus of “The Poetry of Roadkill.” With focus this unhindered, lyrics that fail to connect are a greater danger to a song’s impact. The Hemingway-esque bluntness of “And morality ain’t dogmatic // but instead practical // and an individual // type of thing” is compelling, but it lacks the poetry present in the rest of the album, and the accompanying music doesn’t sustain the six-minute runtime.

Through the poetic lyrical work and musical minimalism, Laurentian Blue is emotionally consistent, yet therein lies what also makes it a more challenging album. Lunn’s voice is kept adamantly deadpan throughout, indifferently asking you to engage with Laurentian Blue according to its own terms rather than manipulating your emotions. This can create a disconnect; as the violins swell and the notes ascend when Lunn sings the first “Look for me // ever north,” (“Ever North”), I selfishly feel unfulfilled when the notes dispassionately descend in the second. Other times, his singing style makes for some compelling friction. “Irony and Causality” is easily the most energetic song, and is a fascinating backdrop for the deadpan delivery of “Nothing matters when you die // you can only hope time flies // and someone will visit your grave.” Maintaining such a somber tone across the album is a deliberate choice, one that works through Lunn’s songwriting finesse. But it’s a sadness that’s more aptly felt when you’re already predisposed to such feelings.

Laurentian Blue will not be for everyone. It’s a singular emotional work that doesn’t guide your feelings, but rather presents its own emotions with understated grace and indifference. But it’s only natural that the appeal of a work this personal will ultimately come down to personal preference. Regardless of one’s taste for Americana and dark folk, Laurentian Blue is nevertheless a well-written collection of songs by a well-proven songwriter with a strong connection and understanding of the genre. You might need to be in the right mood for Laurentian Blue, but if that mood should find you, then Laurentian Blue will be a knowing, empathetic embrace.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 12 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps
Label: Bindrune Recordings
Websites: facebook | bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: August 15th, 2025

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