Review Summary: Glimmers of brilliance are overshadowed by Hin Helga Kvol's weary formula.
For the past decade now, I have thoroughly enjoyed every second of Sólstafir’s journey. 2017’s
Berdreyminn has gradually worked its way up to being one of my favourite albums from the 2010s, because of how captivating it is. The record’s vivid songwriting is drenched in this gloomy wild west aesthetic and is perfectly married with the band’s most alluringly gorgeous artwork to date. Partner these efforts with their mesmerizing Floydian-meets-rock ‘n’ roll songwriting style and you’re in for a wildly unique peregrination. As for 2014’s
Otta and 2020’s
Endless Twilight of Codependent Love, they aren’t as perfectly synthesised as
Berdreyminn, but they are extremely enchanting albums. The former’s cold, windswept presentations make it a perfect autumnal experience, as you traverse the beautiful Icelandic vistas being described to you, and the latter, while lacking in the same kind of absolute character-defining qualities as its predecessors, takes the celestial concept to impressive heights. On the whole, these Icelandic legends have been methodically carving out a sound for themselves for just over two decades now (all done in a way that distinguishes them from their peers, experimenting inchmeal with new elements to harness the modern Sólstafir sound you hear today), but the last decade in particular has proven to be rather fruitful for them.
Which is why it’s a shade saddening to report that
Endless Twilight of Codependent Love’s follow-up,
Hin Helga Kvöl, is a little bit disappointing. All of the ingredients are present –
Hin Helga Kvöl still has the band’s signature tortured-post-punk-rock feel to it, but the effect isn’t as potent or as streamlined as previous outings. At times the record demonstrably proves it has some of their heaviest and darkest material to date, but when push comes to shove,
Hin Helga Kvöl lacks the magic needed to bring it all together cohesively. The album starts off promising enough, with "Hún andar 1"'s high-octane introduction easing you in with a banquet of poignant swells and haunted earworm guitar melodies, all being brought together with the band’s bread and butter rock ‘n’ roll bravura. This is then followed up with the album’s strongest number, “Hin helga kvöl” – a ferocious love letter to their formative years, chock-full of black metal goodness. Blast beats, tremolo-picked guitars and stonking, fuzzed-out grooves are the order of the day here: an excellent mixture of black metal and classic rock riffage driving the song along, giving off Motorhead vibes if Lemmy implemented the Norwegian darkness into his heart. It’s a refreshing approach, since the band has been playing lethargic dirge numbers mixed with bluesy guitar licks and galloping 70’s rock grooves for so long now; which makes it all the more unfortunate the song’s style is anomalous next to the rest of the tracklisting.
From here on out, the album becomes a mixed bag. There’s nothing bad on
Hin Helga Kvöl, it executes what the band has done before diligently, but the caveat with this approach means it can, and does, become predictable and stale. Coming off the sashaying punk track “Blakkrakki” is where the problems begin to manifest. “Sálumessa” is the longest number on here and is by far the most formulaic track they’ve written in years – a soporific slog that drags the album’s momentum to a complete standstill; “Freygátan” feels like a ballad caught in the yolk of Guns ‘N’ Roses’ “November Rain”, which, frankly, did absolutely nothing for me; and while “Vor ás” and “Grýla” display some legitimately nice ambient segments, the ideas being presented aren’t anything we’ve heard from them before today, or indeed, done better on previous works. “Grýla” in particular feels like a patchwork job with an extremely jarring and lacklustre conclusion to it, building up to an explosion before abruptly ending because the band didn’t know how to wrap it up properly. It’s a shame really, because there are some great ideas on
Hin Helga Kvöl, it’s just that it fails to seize and convert the best parts into something forward-thinking and fresh. Where “Hin helga kvöl” sounds heavy and thrilling, the only other time we get lateral thinking on this scale is on album closer “Kuml”, which takes their psychedelic sensibilities to innovative and exciting places. The track feels like a Lynchian nightmare with its eerie, melancholic brass section and imposing incantations. There’s a powerful spirituality to the song that has gravity, as well as this unsettling darkness to it. Unfortunately, both of the aforementioned tracks fail to influence the rest of the record in any meaningful way and as such, what you’re left with is a few scintillating gems buried in the murky waters of an album majority-led by mundane ideas. It’s not bad by any stretch of the imagination, but when you know what these guys are capable of,
Hin Helga Kvöl is at odds with their last few superb LPs.
