Label: Terratur Possessions
Origin: Trondheim, Norway
The alleys of black metal are overflowing with pedestrian attempts to mimic second-wave black metal legends. Countless groups have essentially booted up their musical computing systems, downloaded lo-fi productions and Satanic poetry, programmed blastbeats and distant shrieks, and hit the red button. Thankfully, Enevelde has developed a superior software of blasphemy: resonant growls drive dynamic riffs and deft transitions to keep the Enevelde microchip gigabytes ahead of the clunky floppy disk.
Hailing from Trondheim, a hotbed of black metal, Enevelde is the work of B. Kråbøl, who is also the vocalist of the aptly-named Misotheist. Enevelde springs from a different seed than the innumerate crops of Satanic symphonies reaped in the early 1990’s, despite being sown in the same field. The majority of this work is slow, with musical trace elements sourced from a variety of sub-genre hosts. Classic minor scales picked at tremelo-speeds are interspersed throughout, yet hooks rife with folk metal melodies and soundscapes conjuring funeral doom hydrate every track. Standout track, “Forringelse (Deterioration)” yields sinister guitar-work and punishing snare along with the voice of the unholy. Soaring leads in the background pay homage to the reprehensible origins of extreme metal, while churning power chords rip apart eardrums as the listener involuntarily cranks the volume. The song crashes to a halt as infernal growls ignite deliciously hellish guitars, absent of any drums to vanquish the flames. Enevelde absolutely glows in these slower sections; later in the track, another breakdown of pace allows a thunderous bass-line to lash out in vengeance at the down-tuned riffage, before this track comes to an anguished conclusion.
Forringelse (8:44 - 18:59) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RTWz7Et3j3o
The most dominant forces in Enevelde are Kråbøl’s demonic, cavernous snarls, tuned a hair lower than those of Behemoth‘s renowned orator, Nergal, and often as thick as coagulated blood emerging from a fatal wound. Evil and drawn out, in many cases supported by reverb, these relatively static growls also contrast the constantly oscillating instrumental pace and structure. Opening track, “Kroppens Mani (The Mania of the Body)” showcases this sensation well: intentionally choppy guitar-work with unhurried percussions lull the listener before the wound is ripped wide open, as Kråbøl’s steady narrative perseveres.
Other areas of Enevelde construct similar confusion, yet work with different tools. Third track, “Irrgangen (Labyrinth)” opens with a slowly progressing loop of distorted chords, sonically singular and lacking drums. The spell of the mesmerizing guitar-work is then broken by breakneck blast-beating, signaling a regression into classic black metal territory, but the listener is fooled again. The slow loop of eerie chords that launches the track into existence waver neither in presence nor pace, and the unique disparity between these chords and the drums is jarring and bold. Later in the track, a penultimate garrotting chord snuffs out the prior madness, stranding the listener in a pensive ocean of melancholic melody. This dichotomy occurs across the entire record, many times within the same song. Closing track, “Daukjøttet (Dead Meat)?” serenades with angelic chorals before flattening the choir with a non-stop freight train from Helvete. The pagan melodies gather their wings and, together with a reliable armory of drums, launch on a Bathory-themed, blood-soaked flight to Valhalla.
For a band to stand out, especially a black metal band from Norway, they need to conquer one of two challenges. Either they must worship their influences and endlessly practice musical perfection to achieve the classic black metal sound, or they must deviate from these traditional roots to cultivate a different sound, fertilized by other genres. Enevelde nails both of these challenges with their self-titled debut effort, and rises above the surrounding flora scrounging for innovative resources and decaying in the dirt of inadequate imitation, to firmly entrench themselves within the vast forests of Norway.
FFO: Behemoth, Bathory, Wolves in the Throne Room, Shape of Despair