‘Berdreyminn’, the sixth studio album from Iceland’s premiere anthemic metal exports Sólstafir, marks something of a new chapter for the band. The first release since the contentious departure of drummer and founding member Guðmundur Óli Pálmason, long term fans will be no doubt questioning whether this has affected the band’s signature sound. But perhaps the more pertinent question is whether we can even categorise that sound as ‘heavy metal’ at all.
Opener ‘Silfur-Refur’ opens with mournful, haunting grace. Light guitars and restrained drums set the atmosphere, the odd twang of gothic country vibes mingle around the bleak, sparsely separate instrumental layers. Chords waver and swell toward a galloping roll, a decent groove punctured by swelling organ tones and Aðalbjörn Tryggvason’s shouted vocals. Things peter out into ethereal guitars and hissing cymbals, a cinematic sweep of tempered riffs finishing things off. ‘Isafold’ dazzles with ’80s synth tones, a steadily building rhythm section shifting under a dual guitar line. There’s a satisfying mid-tempo stomp here, a driving bass run replete with punchy, skillful breaks. Waves of guitar and synth-pop overtones crash before ending with a tremble.
‘Hula’ (which is about neither a dance nor hoop based potato snacks) begins with droning noisescape and densely packed fuzz, before a dreamy, reverb drenched guitar line raises its head. It’s easily paced and meditative, distant clean vocals entwining with choral female voices and dramatic chords. It’s very well-orchestrated, like the soundtrack to a grey and bleak Northern European police drama. ‘Naro’ chimes with guitar echoes and sighed, wearied vocals, rolling with crunchy chords and a warm bass undercurrent. It eschews the lofty synths and strings of the other tracks here, seeming somehow ‘purer’ for its small band focus.
‘Hvit Saeng’ jangles with odd, almost ragtime piano before giving way to the main synth-soaked riff. Vocals sit a little too high in the mix here, but weighty toms dominate, and the distant straight groove will see this go down well live. ‘Dyrafjordur’ swells with wailing guitar sleaze, a processional pace and frail strings slightly let down by aimless piano and a focus on trudging repetition that borders on the tedious. ‘Ambatt’ with spectral wailing and a smooth, jazzy piano chord progression sounds eerily similar to Robbie William’s ‘Feel’. A noodling guitar solo locks into pounding bass, drums constantly shifting and skittering with fills under the looping riffs.
Final number ‘Blafjall’ resurrects the Gothic Americana found earlier in the record, steady kicks propelling burbling bass and strident, palm muted guitar galloping. There’s wafts of desert sand with bluesy guitars, interrupted by a dour organ vamp and an abrupt end. Despite being the finale, and having the second longest run time of the eight tracks, there really isn’t much variation or interest here.
For a band who have been plying their trade for over twenty years, there are some surprising areas of roughness in among Sólstafir’s latest offering. While nailing ethereal lightness, the sections at the other end of the dynamic spectrum lack true heft or darkness, leaving the record’s sound stranded in a palatable but sometimes unsatisfying middle ground. (This, perhaps, the core argument against their ongoing ‘metal’ status.) The extended run time of some tracks often sees them weakened through repetition, and leads to some sections seeming all too familiar as the album progresses. Tryggvason’s vocals too come in for scrutiny – occasionally too high in the mix, his cleans tend to err on the side of off-key, and his hoarse shouts sometimes sit in too high a contrast to the more mellow instrumentals beneath. All this said, when Sólstafir get it right, ‘Berdreyminn’ is a sumptuous, cinematic and evocative listen.
JAY HAMPSHIRE