- I remember, from when I was much younger and rather poorly informed, listening to a Chelsea Wolfe record from the height of her neofolk period and thinking “where’s the metal?” Danish artist Amalie Bruun, the woman behind the Myrkur moniker, has evoked that question throughout her entire career, though she has much less reason to than Wolfe. Her blending of folk -a folk so trad you can’t really call it neofolk- with black metal, is very individual and uncompromisingly disparate.
Across her discography you’ll hear folk verses and metal choruses and no desire to blend the two. Her long-term signing to -admittedly weird- heavy stalwarts Relapse Records pushes the boundaries of even that label’s stable and, apparently, it’s driven some of the so-called fandom to distraction. I’ll say it in the strongest possible terms: if music like this is causing you to make death-threats against the performer, you are a ****head and you need to seek professional, psychological help. Myrkur, however, appears to be immune to such idiocy. She’s very serious about what she does and completely unafraid to tread exactly her own path. On her latest full-length, Folkesange, that path leads back into a long, folk heritage. Featuring no metal at all, Beelzebub only knows what kind of froth this is going to drive the unholy prayer-bead clutching purists into. You should leave your preconceptions behind and take this record on its own terms, you’re almost certain to be rewarded.
It’s not like the folkcentric approach is a total bolt from the black, anyway. Myrkur’s live shows have long featured tracts of folk and these have already culminated, in a way, when she released Mausoleum, a live record, reimagining a large portion of the songs from her 2015, debut full-length, M. In doing so she employed the services of the Norwegian Girls’ Choir: an inspired choice, as it turns out, producing a uniquely rich harmonic sound in all of her output.
Folkesange is different, largely trading out the choral harmonies for an equally rich accompaniment. It’s mostly performed by Bruun herself, on a really rather winning, traditional Swedish instrument called the Nickelharpa. I’ve heard it described as the missing link between a violin and a hurdygurdy. That’s not a bad analogy, but the pitch is actually closer to a merging of the cello with a viola and it gains extra warmth and timbre from the use of a rather baroque style bow. Actually, all the instruments are performed by Bruun, who is one of those rockers for whom her classical training really took: all sorts of exotic sounds from mandolas and lyres abound, you’ll also hear a glorious blending of piano and choir on closer, Vinter; almost certainly a teasing evocation of Mausoleum.
More than a few times I’ve heard people refer to Folkesange as a work of deep warmth, a really rejuvenating listen, but it doesn’t really hit me that way. Rich, certainly, but also -hit was the right word I think- the sound strikes you, brittle and bright in a way that is intoxicating but eerie and otherworldly; often as disturbing as it is inviting. Myrkur doesn’t give away much about her process. Bar a couple of concessions, most of the album is not in English, but I’m not sure what language it is in; Myrkur is the Icelandic word for darkness, but I believe she’s working, largely, in her native Danish here. Given my ignorance it’s very easy to work personal interpretations on what's being heard, but the English numbers steal back the creative control. Leaves Of Yggrdasil is a story of men leaving for battle and women holding the torch aloft for them, beneath the leaves of the undying world tree; it will persevere even if love is doomed. Similarly House Carpenter is a tragic story of the return of an old flame and the inevitable temptation, which leads to abandonment and grief. The brightness of Folkesange seems more like the fey flames which burn over peat bogs and mires: entrancing but treacherous and no relief from the unrelenting chill.
On another note, I’m not sure how much of Folkesange is Myrkur’s original work and how many covers there are. House Carpenter, for instance, is a Norse folk-tale that was often set to music in the ‘60s, lines which Myrkur follows, contributing to a distinctively more modern sound on that song than much of the fare here.
I’ll be honest, Myrkur’s unrelentingly serious approach, her darkness which -even here- clings to her songcraft: this is my jam. If you need the easygoing warmth of The Seekers you are flat out of luck here. Similarly, if you’re after black metal, well you’re probably already moaning on a forum somewhere. If you embrace a bright, icey, individual, uncompromising approach to trad, Nordic folk, then this is for you, too.
- Chris Cobcroft.