Kvelertak - Meir (25/07/2013)
If you find yourself reading this review at a time in your life where understanding Norwegian is particularly tricky for you, do please Google Translate heavy metal outfit Kvelertak’s name to English (or any other tongue that takes your fancy) and you’ll see just how fittingly their moniker captures the glorious fury and meticulously organized aural chaos pervading the band’s self-titled first album (SPOILERS: it means strangle hold/ choke hold).
Although a violent title, it wasn’t so much a ‘kvelertak’ in the way that you’d receive one in a genuine bar fight, but more one my WWII veteran Pa applied on the grand kids for a laugh when we were much younger; it hurt a bit, but it was mostly a bucket load of fun, and no one was ever in any real danger of dying (also my Nan hated every minute of it).
Kvelertak’s second LP Meir (translated to ‘Mine’, in English) finds the Scandinavian metallers continuing to thunder out their ball-tearing sound in a way that only six men from a country that was founded during a two-hundred-year-long Viking raid can.
Rather welcomely, however, is the band’s inclusion of a more tempered and intricately paced sound ebbing and flowing throughout the album. It adds a level of depth that demands multiple listens to Meir, and proves that these folk-lore loving head-bangers are more than a half-joke, one-trick pony band destined to fade away as quickly as they exploded in to the global rock n’ roll scene back in 2010.
Opening track Åpenbaring: (Revelation) is exactly as the title implies. A hypnotic riff uncharacteristically trudges along uninterrupted and slowly building for nearly two minutes before lead vocalist Erlend Hjelvik (file under; the awesomest name ever) unapologetically roars in with his weighty and raspy shout. I have no idea what the fuck he’s saying, but it’s powerful as all get out and probably very, very important. The song promptly explodes, leaving no doubt that Kvelertak have not lost an inch since their last release.
Spring Fra Livet (Spring From Life) is another severely appropriate song title. The second track retains much from the first album in all the best shredding, hammering, gut-wrenching wonderful ways, although presumably not as entirely focused on Scandinavian folk lore.
Trepan (a type of hole-saw used by surgeons to perforate the skull) is a bleak and operatic track that jumps in pace wonderfully, forcing the listener to pay attention to the speed at which they are banging their head. Sparing choral backing vocals work a treat, and sludge-bass bridge on the shores of a winning solo from whichever of their four guitarists decided they’d like a turn rounds out one of the more thoughtful tracks on the CD.
Bruane Brenn (The Bridges Are Burning) was one of the singles from Meir, assumedly because it’s slightly more universally approachable than a lot of the band’s other ear-denting material. Not to worry, it’s still an absolute ripper, but with a catchier chorus and slightly less unrelenting tempo, it sits in a more familiar hard rock category than a lot of Kvelertak’s forays in to thrash-punk-paced speaker-runiers.
Evig Vandrar (Eternal Youth) starts with an acoustic guitar riff that sounds like a lot of those shit mid-album Jimmy Eat World songs. “What the fuck is this shit?” internally sputters your reviewer, and quite probably many other first-time listeners. It’s relaxing then, when Elrend angrily coughs and sputters over the top of it around ten seconds in, then promptly screams as long and loud as he mother fucking can. Evig Vandrar is perfect protest music, with it’s military-march tempo ever-quickening in to a blistering winner of a track that not only justifies the acoustic guitar jingling away throughout, it makes it absolutely necessary. Up the punx, you wonderful Norwegian bastards.
Snilepisk (I could not, for the life of me, find what the title of this song means. If its sound is any indication, it means “Fucking Awesome Norwegian Hardcore Song”). It’s involved, blistering songs like this that justify every bit of praise Kvelertak have received since their debut.
Månelyst (Moon Bright/ Bright Moon) This song is 80’s as all get out, but with way less wank and way more guts. Heavy, simple, rhythm guitar jogs along nicely, while the high pitched lead both echoes and choruses with the Erlend’s trademark shouting. Male Kvelertak fans who were brought up on Iron Maiden and/or Anthrax beware; you may get a boner listening to this song’s climactic solo.
Nekrocosmos (Again, not sure what this one literally translates to, though I reckon a safe punt is DEATH UNIVERSE). A thrashy, non-stop, six-and-a-half-minute ear bleeding opus that stops dead in it’s tracks half way through to completely change pace. Nekrocosmos turns very quickly in to a lyric-less prog-metal journey that epitomises the new ground on which parts of Kvelertak’s Meir so assuredly treads.
A prevailing riff from Nekrocosmos is quietened and couples with a jaunty, ominous piano, leaving very little time to come up for air before Meir’s ninth track, Underto, rages to the surface. Indicative of the second half of this album, the song is more of a wailing epic than anything Kvelertak have done previously. Sprawling and anthemic, Nekrocosmos and Underto are better received as a couple while you undertake the multiple listens required to gather their full effect.
Tordenbrak means ‘mostly brackets’ in Norwegian. Whether this is metaphoric of the four-and-a-half minute gradual build to a wall of sound that the band constructs in the second half of this song, or if there’s a lyrical sign post that signals otherwise is unclear. Either way, it’s massive and uncompromising, confidently executed by a band who are structurally capable of much more than many jaded listeners would have originally given them credit.
The final song on this album is short, sweet, and self-titled. On the back of what are arguably the three most complicated, conscious, and involved songs from the band, Kvelertak (the song) serves as a decent reminder that Kvelertak (the band) are still capable of a punchy, beer-drinking, viking-loving, party-starting heavy metal winner.
Todd Gingell
Although a violent title, it wasn’t so much a ‘kvelertak’ in the way that you’d receive one in a genuine bar fight, but more one my WWII veteran Pa applied on the grand kids for a laugh when we were much younger; it hurt a bit, but it was mostly a bucket load of fun, and no one was ever in any real danger of dying (also my Nan hated every minute of it).
Kvelertak’s second LP Meir (translated to ‘Mine’, in English) finds the Scandinavian metallers continuing to thunder out their ball-tearing sound in a way that only six men from a country that was founded during a two-hundred-year-long Viking raid can.
Rather welcomely, however, is the band’s inclusion of a more tempered and intricately paced sound ebbing and flowing throughout the album. It adds a level of depth that demands multiple listens to Meir, and proves that these folk-lore loving head-bangers are more than a half-joke, one-trick pony band destined to fade away as quickly as they exploded in to the global rock n’ roll scene back in 2010.
Opening track Åpenbaring: (Revelation) is exactly as the title implies. A hypnotic riff uncharacteristically trudges along uninterrupted and slowly building for nearly two minutes before lead vocalist Erlend Hjelvik (file under; the awesomest name ever) unapologetically roars in with his weighty and raspy shout. I have no idea what the fuck he’s saying, but it’s powerful as all get out and probably very, very important. The song promptly explodes, leaving no doubt that Kvelertak have not lost an inch since their last release.
Spring Fra Livet (Spring From Life) is another severely appropriate song title. The second track retains much from the first album in all the best shredding, hammering, gut-wrenching wonderful ways, although presumably not as entirely focused on Scandinavian folk lore.
Trepan (a type of hole-saw used by surgeons to perforate the skull) is a bleak and operatic track that jumps in pace wonderfully, forcing the listener to pay attention to the speed at which they are banging their head. Sparing choral backing vocals work a treat, and sludge-bass bridge on the shores of a winning solo from whichever of their four guitarists decided they’d like a turn rounds out one of the more thoughtful tracks on the CD.
Bruane Brenn (The Bridges Are Burning) was one of the singles from Meir, assumedly because it’s slightly more universally approachable than a lot of the band’s other ear-denting material. Not to worry, it’s still an absolute ripper, but with a catchier chorus and slightly less unrelenting tempo, it sits in a more familiar hard rock category than a lot of Kvelertak’s forays in to thrash-punk-paced speaker-runiers.
Evig Vandrar (Eternal Youth) starts with an acoustic guitar riff that sounds like a lot of those shit mid-album Jimmy Eat World songs. “What the fuck is this shit?” internally sputters your reviewer, and quite probably many other first-time listeners. It’s relaxing then, when Elrend angrily coughs and sputters over the top of it around ten seconds in, then promptly screams as long and loud as he mother fucking can. Evig Vandrar is perfect protest music, with it’s military-march tempo ever-quickening in to a blistering winner of a track that not only justifies the acoustic guitar jingling away throughout, it makes it absolutely necessary. Up the punx, you wonderful Norwegian bastards.
Snilepisk (I could not, for the life of me, find what the title of this song means. If its sound is any indication, it means “Fucking Awesome Norwegian Hardcore Song”). It’s involved, blistering songs like this that justify every bit of praise Kvelertak have received since their debut.
Månelyst (Moon Bright/ Bright Moon) This song is 80’s as all get out, but with way less wank and way more guts. Heavy, simple, rhythm guitar jogs along nicely, while the high pitched lead both echoes and choruses with the Erlend’s trademark shouting. Male Kvelertak fans who were brought up on Iron Maiden and/or Anthrax beware; you may get a boner listening to this song’s climactic solo.
Nekrocosmos (Again, not sure what this one literally translates to, though I reckon a safe punt is DEATH UNIVERSE). A thrashy, non-stop, six-and-a-half-minute ear bleeding opus that stops dead in it’s tracks half way through to completely change pace. Nekrocosmos turns very quickly in to a lyric-less prog-metal journey that epitomises the new ground on which parts of Kvelertak’s Meir so assuredly treads.
A prevailing riff from Nekrocosmos is quietened and couples with a jaunty, ominous piano, leaving very little time to come up for air before Meir’s ninth track, Underto, rages to the surface. Indicative of the second half of this album, the song is more of a wailing epic than anything Kvelertak have done previously. Sprawling and anthemic, Nekrocosmos and Underto are better received as a couple while you undertake the multiple listens required to gather their full effect.
Tordenbrak means ‘mostly brackets’ in Norwegian. Whether this is metaphoric of the four-and-a-half minute gradual build to a wall of sound that the band constructs in the second half of this song, or if there’s a lyrical sign post that signals otherwise is unclear. Either way, it’s massive and uncompromising, confidently executed by a band who are structurally capable of much more than many jaded listeners would have originally given them credit.
The final song on this album is short, sweet, and self-titled. On the back of what are arguably the three most complicated, conscious, and involved songs from the band, Kvelertak (the song) serves as a decent reminder that Kvelertak (the band) are still capable of a punchy, beer-drinking, viking-loving, party-starting heavy metal winner.
Todd Gingell