By Jessica Valentine - The Incinerator - 12/29/2007
Hearing the sounds of howling wind and rainfall to introduce a black metal album is in no way unexpected. Being confronted a minute later with the growing sigh of an electric cello, however, is -- that is, unless you’ve already taken a peek at the insert art of Vhernen’s self-titled debut full-length album. I must say, the surprise is a pleasant one.
A one-man effort from the Faroe Islands, Vhernen is self-classified as “Funeral Black,” and the label fits. The album feels like black metal filtered through a snowfall that would do ice-loving Abbath of Immortal more than proud. Constant long-bowed strokes of the cello with very little vibrato cast the already misty guitars into a bleak near-monotone. The drum programming is conservative, and even where mid-paced blasts are used, they seem to create an eerie reverb effect that only adds to the hypnotic pulse of the music. Even the razor-sharp vocals are dulled by the oppressive ambience from which they only partially manage to emerge.
The structure of each song tends to be as ethereal as any other aspect of the music, the slow and largely unvaried progression communicating a sense of mournful tedium which has resulted in many sources describing Vhernen as “Black / Doom.” Nevertheless, guitar, cello, and synth-led melodies stretch rather than plod through the thick atmosphere; frequently, one instrument rises unhesitatingly to first seamlessly intertwine with, then subtly replace another for the lead. The result is a startling, face-forward plunge into apathetic coldness.
The album’s last track, “Lopransfjordur/Ende,” is an interesting denouement to such a charged musical experience. Nearly ten minutes of minimal ambience followed by five of a relatively tentative, classical-feeling, and repetitious yet in the end unresolved melody add a touch of poignancy to an otherwise uncompromising album.
In the end, what is so successful about Vhernen is its simplicity. With no one structural or compositional element prominent or easily graspable, he stops no short of and goes no further than creating an atmosphere of palpable bleakness. Maybe after years of living on a tiny island in the middle of the Norwegian Sea, mournful solitude becomes second nature; in any case, it certainly does sound good.
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