#dimmuborgir — Public Fediverse posts

In general I'm fond of both Shagrath and Nergal as vocalists, but this In League With Satan cover just released, not 100% there...

#Behemoth #DimmuBorgir #Metal

Walg appeared out of nowhere in 2021 with a debut filled with tenacious riffs, creative melodies, and impassioned performances. They have attained a sort of cult status in the years since—not quite widely known, but fiercely beloved by their fans. Their energetic fervor has swept up a few writers here at AMG, including Gardenstale, Grin Reaper, and me.1 Walg have been prolific since their debut, releasing one album per year—sometimes there’s just no stopping the creative juices from flowing. On the flip side, such a prolific release schedule risks snuffing out the candle of passion by falling into the trap of formulaic songwriting. Walg continue to conjure that amazing, infectious energy, but once you’ve heard it 3 or 4 or 5 times, it’s difficult to create that original magic. So what will it be for this sixth go-around? Will the bellows continue to feed the flames of passion, or have the flames dwindled to mere embers?

On VI, Walg still tenaciously cling to the passion that drove them on their debut. “Nevel” starts things off with your typical Walg guitar lead—energetic and catchy as hell. Subtle symphonics enhance the music and bring their style of meloblack closer to the likes of Dimmu Borgir, Old Man’s Child, and …And Oceans. Yet Walg also sound fiercely like their own beast. VI does have a slightly different vibe compared to the earlier records; it’s missing those spontaneous moments of sudden passionate melodicism that surprised and delighted on prior records. The tunes here feel more deliberately crafted and controlled. A tenacity on past works has given way to a little more restraint. Of course, they still play with hunger and deliver many exceptional melodies. They also pause more frequently for moments of quieter beauty, as on “1597” when Robert Koning sings his plaintive cleans amidst some gentle tremolos.

That Walg wildness still remains, though, and it largely comes out in the vocal performance of Yorick Keijzer. He snarls and rasps like a wounded animal. While his deranged delivery gives the impression of a record careening out of control, there’s a method to his madness. His cadence sometimes brings to mind that of Maurice Wilson (Antrisch), and it adds a distinctive character to the heart and soul of the music. While the songs themselves have more constrained structures to offset Yorick’s wildness, there is one exception. The six-minute “De Eenlonkster” is an uncaged beast that is among Walg’s most creative. From arpeggios and riffs with a country twang, to a gently sung portion accompanied by the sound of lapping waves, to a brief moment when it nearly dives into death-doom territory, “De Eenlonkster” kicks and bucks, leaving you with whiplash and a purple bruise around your eye, but you’ll be grinning, missing teeth and all, when the tune rolls to its end.

Having written dozens of songs in the six years of their existence, it’s safe to wonder if Walg are running out of ideas, especially when they deliver, at 34 minutes and 8 songs, their shortest album to date. And yet they have meticulously crafted something fabulous, still full of the Walg zeal and spark. It’s true, though, as Gardenstale pointed out in his review of V, that the veneer of their formula is starting to wear thin. There’s a sense of déjà vu when a band releases material so frequently and consistently. On VI’s weaker tracks on the back half of the record, “Stil Geboren” and “De Nacht Behoort On Allen Toes” (which are still plenty fun), the repetition is more obvious than on other tracks. The back half does have a couple of winners, however. “Het Klooster Van Ter Apel” has some creative percussion work along with a sweet riff line, while “Erfvloek” takes a more subdued route with a beautiful trem melody that provides VI a rather lovely conclusion.

My journey with VI contained moments of ups and downs. Admittedly, my initial spins left it wanting—something felt different that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Eventually, however, it clicked, and I began to again appreciate Walg’s songwriting magic. There’s a duet here between a gentle beauty and repellent wildness. Walg still sound like Walg, yet there’s a subtle evolution. They have managed to craft a very enjoyable record, and this brief package shows that Walg remain a wrecking ball force of nature in the realm of melodic black metal. However, one can hope they’re able to take a further step in their evolution on the follow-up to VI—VII.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: Stream
Label: Self-Released
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

Now here’s a band with pedigree! Norway’s black metal squad Mortem have been around since 1987, right at the forefront of the infamous second wave. Though their heyday produced only the Slow Death demo and their debut record, Ravnsvart, took until 2019 to release, their individual band members have kept themselves busy. Consisting of guitarist/keyboardist Steinar Sverd Johnsen, vocalist Marius Vold, drummer Jan “Hellhammer” Blomberg, and newcomer bassist Tor Stavenes, Mortem’s genealogy traces lines through the likes of Mayhem, Arcturus, Thorns, 1349, Emperor, and way too many other bands. Now, almost forty years since their inception, Mortem are unleashing their sophomore album Mørketid, promising in their promo “eight tracks of savage, eerie, and often epic black metal.” Will Mortem’s collective experience translate to top-shelf black metal, or will Mørketid’s time under the sun be short-lived?

“Mørketid” is the Norwegian word for polar night, where the sun stays below the horizon for weeks during the winter months. It’s an eerie time that Mortem capture well on Mørketid. Between the persistent tremolos and rasps across Mørketid, an unsettling and understated melody gives the project an uncanny feel. Mortem’s keyboard presence does a lot for Mørketid’s texture, bestowing a creepy music box melody to “Aftermath” and a beefy Dimmu Borgir symphonic gothicness to “Ditt Ødes Ære.” But overall, if you’ve heard Mayhem’s early stuff, you know what to expect from Mortem. Buzzsaw guitars, phlegmy rasps, and drawn-out staggering through the dark are the name of the game here, highlighted on songs like “The Mighty Odious” and “Mørkets Ormebol.” Mortem have been around long enough to get these fundamentals down pat.

Though Mortem clearly put in the work, there are yet few standout performances on Mørketid. Outside of some surprisingly shreddy solos across Mørketid’s back end (“Den Sanne Gud,” “Aftermath”), Johnsen’s riffs are murky and standard-issue black metal, and while I appreciate Stavenes’ pronounced bass presence and the punchiness that comes with it (“Skyggeånd”), it nonetheless stays too firmly in the pocket. Similarly, Vold’s rasps are thick and gritty but rarely venture off from his slow-n-low mode, making his vocal presence seep into the background. Johnsen’s keyboards and Hellhammer’s drumming deserve note, however, as spidery key runs on “Mørketid” and “Mørkets Ormebol” do the heavy lifting in building mood and identity on their tracks, and shifting grooves and blasts all across Mørketid are its most varied and exciting asset. Mortem’s songwriting approach likely contributes to the muted performances: they’re hellbent for murk. But Mortem have ludicrous talent in their ranks, and I think a few more standout moments would’ve easily elevated Mørketid.

And therein lies Mørketid’s biggest issue: memorability. Besides “Blodvassen Grunn,” where Mortem open the blinds a smidge for a touch of lightness in their style, Mørketid is monotonously dark. Over-repetition plagues many of Mørketid’s tracks, watering down the vitality of songs like “Mørkets Ormebol” and “Skyggeånd” while inflating Mørketid’s runtime. None of Mortem’s songs are extraordinarily long, sitting around four to six minutes on average, but I often found myself checking the time halfway through each song anyway. Production owns some of the blame here; though everything’s clearly audible, everything sounds crushed and undynamic, wearing on both the ears and mind. There are times when Mortem flirt with variety, like the darkly groovy second half of “Aftermath” and the time “Den Sanne Gud” gets quiet and threatens to veer into an Iron Maiden epic,1 but these are few and far between on Mørketid. I don’t think I can give high marks to something I can’t remember after many listens.

It’s crazy to think that a band whose line-up is as storied as Mortem’s could struggle with a sophomore slump this far into their career, but here we are. Mørketid isn’t a bad record, but one that’s played too safely to truly stand out. Production issues and monotonous songwriting knock it down a notch further. Mortem occupy a space in metal’s history where a subpar record isn’t going to blemish their legacy. They were instrumental in founding one of its most iconic sub-genres. But Mørketid wasn’t released in 1987, and so has to stand up against the scores of other black metal releases from the decades since then. Sadly, it doesn’t.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps MP3
Label: Peaceville Records
Websites: facebook.com/mortemnorway | bandcamp.com/album/morketid
Releases Worldwide: July 3rd, 2026

After reviewing Crotaline1 in April and Dimmu Borgir’s Grand Serpent Rising earlier this month, 2026 is shaping up as the Year of the Snake—at least for me. Now at the end of May, Battleground, Washington’s Serpent Lord emerges from a protracted brumation to deliver a dose of venom fermenting for over twenty years. After recording a split and two demos between 2003 and 2004, one-man band Jake Superchi (Uada, Ceremonial Castings) shelved the project for a couple decades. Now Superchi has resurrected his defunct sobriquet to record The Once Forgotten Ways of Old, Serpent Lord’s long-gestating debut LP. After an extended incubation period, does Serpent Lord rejuvenate the Ways of Old, or should the act have remained Forgotten?

Like Uada, Serpent Lord falls under the broader umbrella of black metal. Rather than expansive meloblack, though, Serpent Lord basks in the light of pagan gods, eliciting forlorn calls to umbral deities scoured from memory by the winds of time. Rhythmic grooves and hypnotic guitar refrains lay the foundation for The Once Forgotten Ways of Old, imbuing the album with enough ritualistic zest that you may catch faint whiffs of incense and petrichor while listening. Three of the album’s six songs push past the eight-minute mark, and it’s these moments where Serpent Lord best embodies heathen incantations. In particular, “Aries Ram” and the title track conjure visions of enigmatic and arcane rites, evoking mystical practices that lurch and brood in the dark.

On The Once Forgotten Ways of Old, Serpent Lord summons inspirations and reshapes them into a well-developed and distinct character. Most immediately, Serpent Lord reminds me of Rauhnåcht without the folk instrumentation, particularly when the slower, plaintive guitar leads slither above swirling riffs and unyielding drums (“A Pagan’s Spell,” “Enter Serpentagram”). Superchi’s vocals cover an array of deliveries, ranging from frenetic, blackened barking and rasping (“Constrictor”) to droning harangue, where the latter strikes similarities to Mayhem’s Attila Csihar’s cleaner stylings (“The Once Forgotten Ways of Old”). The sermonizing works well, but the harsher vocals occasionally blur with the cascading guitars in the mix, obscuring Superchi’s voice and packing too much sound into too narrow a band. The harsh deliveries work better when there’s room to breathe, like the back half of “Forever on the Grounds of Battle” (which features guitar work recalling Alice in Chains’ “Whale & Wasp” midway through). Regardless, the star performances belong to the guitars and drums, which pack a potent, two-pronged punch as they wend and weave through The Once Forgotten Ways of Old.

For all that Serpent Lord achieves, The Once Forgotten Ways of Old proves a slippery and elusive beast. Despite the many things done well, I struggle to remember most of it once the music fades from my speakers, and the snippets that stick drive me back to the inspirations more than the Ways of Old. Serpent Lord nails the aesthetic of pagan black metal, and The Once Forgotten Ways of Old is a record I feel like should resonate more than it does. What ultimately undercuts Serpent Lord’s success is the lack of fulfilling climaxes.2 Superchi does a fabulous job of orchestrating tension through the give and take of guitars and drums, yet few moments capitalize on that buildup. This songwriting oversight is most telling at the ends of tracks, as four of the album’s six songs close with a fade. Concluding a song this way isn’t one of my pet peeves, and I typically don’t notice them, but their abundance here stands out and suggests the opportunity to finish with a bang every now and again.

The Once Forgotten Ways of Old convinces me that Serpent Lord seethes with potential, but will need to shed its current approach to actualize it. I spent a lot of time traversing The Once Forgotten Ways of Old, and while I enjoyed them, I recognize the album doesn’t offer enough for me to return once the proverbial ink dries on this review. Even so, a few minor tweaks would rid this danger noodle of musical impotence, and I look forward to listening to Serpent Lord’s next worship service if and when it comes.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Eisenwald Records
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: May 29th, 2026