Sólstafir
Svartir Sandar

After the honestly false step of "Köld" (of which, however, I obligatorily point out and save the wonderful title track), the Icelanders (yes, from there, the most remote place on the planet after Greenland)

• Svavar "Svabbi" Austmann (bass)
• Guðmundur Óli Pálmason (drums)
• Sæþór Maríus "Pjúddi" Sæþórsson (guitar)
• Aðalbjörn "Addi" Tryggvason (guitar, vocals)

return, creating a sort of double album (at least it is officially published this way, probably due to the average length of the twelve tracks, roughly around nine minutes), this "Svartir Sandar", which in my approximate Norse might mean "black sands," released by Seasons of Mist.

Well, one immediately notices that the Radiant Sunbeams (I repeat, seemingly curious name, but try taking a trip where the lands are sunlit for a few months almost all day, and vice versa during the long, cold, night winter) have returned to the levels of "Masterpiece of Bitterness": long theories, obsessive marches, dragged metal, roaring, scratched to the bottom of the barrel of madness... dreamy and granite-like. The sound of Sólstafir does not change. In fact, in my opinion, it finds greater maturity compared to MOB and the devastating debut "Í Blóði og Anda", the one where Tryggvason literally shouted into the microphone with all the breath he had in his lungs. Perhaps it loses some traces of freshness (if it ever had any, compared to MOB), of iciness (compared to "Í Blóði og Anda"), but the result is noteworthy, and, needless to say, it is respectable and entirely worthy of respect.

The album literally reeks of despair. The first section has a name: "Andvari." Almost like those elevated books divided into parts, each appropriately named. It starts with a terrible duo, the long "Ljós í Stormi" and the subsequent "Fjara." The atmosphere is heavy, but not oppressive, and the sound progresses unstoppably. Iceland's average three degrees and that damn darkness of three in the afternoon in December around Akureyri are strongly felt. At times, they recall the Hilderog, albeit with less pomp and with that indescribable malaise that Tryggvason's voice (or harsh voice) can't help but inspire. There's always a constant oscillation between the impression that our man can’t sing even remotely and that the Icelandic are a cognitively, emotionally, and artistically superior lineage. Senseless chills. Almost tears.

It proceeds with "Þín Orð" (Your Words), more modest in its ambitions, but conforms to the style. It's part of the discourse with honesty, but I wouldn't dwell too much on it for the purposes of reviewing the entire album. More characteristic is "Sjúki Skugginn," sung with a clean, almost recited voice. Noticeably atmospheric, it serves as a conduit towards "Æra", with dynamics at times almost operatic, certainly intentional and not left to chance. The aforementioned "Æra" picks up the discourse of the previous tracks, opening with the unmistakable, perpetual roll of the guitar buzzy yet pompous, and everything else. It ends with "Kukl," which marks the descent of the first section of the work into a temporary pause before "Gola," and does so with a delicate reflection, swaying and dreamy. It must be two o’clock here, and one lingers to observe the sea and the clear, bright sky during the few available hours of light.

"Melrakkablús" opens "Gola," twelve minutes in which semi-acoustic segments alternate, skillfully though somewhat crudely, it must be said, with far too obvious mini-scores, more attractive and significant, not neglecting some forays towards five in the afternoon and that penetrating despair I mentioned earlier.

The album subsequently enters a phase of stasis, though dynamic: the interlude "Draumfari" is pleasant to listen to, does not fail to offer pleasant sensations, but seems placed there to give vent to an impromptu electric chord in passing; "Stinningskaldi," well... if I actually understood Icelandic, I could tell you what it’s saying, but there's really nothing more I can offer.

"Stormfari" seems to continue this kind of news bulletin, but soon Sæþórsson wakes up from his lethargy and throws around some good notes, warning that they are about to start scraping inside again, reawakening some of that annoyance we were beginning to miss.

Finally, concluding, the masterful "Svartir Sandar" - second only to "Fjara" - and the endless "Djákninn," this, truth be told, on a slightly lower register.

Ultimately, a good work worthy of listening and "friendship", especially this time of year, even though it sometimes leaves one perplexed or even dissatisfied.