Burzum
Hvis Lyset Tar Oss

Uh-oh! They pointed out to us that this review also appears on icedtears.com

The year is 1994, when, after the imprisonment of Varg Vikernes, due, as is well known, to the brutal killing of Euronymous, 'Hvis Lyset Tar Oss' sees the light, published by Deathlike Silence, the small record label that belonged to the late MayheM leader.

With this album, Burzum, deviating more decisively from the typically thrash influences of Bathory and Celtic Frost, embarks on a quest for a sound that, while undoubtedly comparable to that of the aforementioned MayheM and Darkthrone, focuses more on the perception of the atmospheres it has been able to evoke.

The album therefore opens with the masterpiece Det Som En Gang Var (which registers a duration of 14 minutes), in which a cold and repetitive guitar slices through the silence immediately annihilating the dimension of the real world, and the listener’s mind just has time to surrender to this tormented reminiscence before a dark drum passage introduces the exasperating riff that characterizes much of the long excursion. The keyboards enter immediately, creating very simple chords that nevertheless shape the structure of the song, giving rise to an agonizing melancholy. The Count's screams are the terrible laments of this chilling departure. The finale is immense, boasting Varg's last piercing scream (“Vi doede ikke… Vi har aldri levd”).
The beautiful title track follows, shorter than the previous one also because it is more violent and direct, although always accompanied by cryptic lyrics that are poetry. The Count's desperate cry is immanent; the distortion of the guitars, together with the dark and tomb-like rhythmic session lends itself well to convey the blind rage of the song, of which the subsequent Inn I Slottet Fra Droemmen is nothing but a continuation, perhaps just slightly subdued.

It almost comes naturally, at least to the writer, to fondly remember that sense of discomfort and alienation that Burzum manages to convey, and compare it, with the necessary distinctions, to the legendary Abruptum and their noisy, unlistenable, and sulfurous atmospheres, expressions of primordial evil. The end of the album is sealed by the immense Tomhet, entirely composed on the keyboards: a track that does anything but offer a pleasant relaxation to the listener, because the exasperating repetitiveness and the empty silence that serves as a backdrop to the very minimal structure only serve to evoke an agonizing melancholy, right up until the very last note.

Truly a masterpiece, which still has a lot to say today.