Just to be clear upfront: Yes, I previously gave Faroese folk metallers Týr the dubious honor of crowning them “World’s Most Boring Band.” Having not heard any of the band’s albums since 2006’s Ragnarok, I may be somewhat poorly placed to cast judgment on their newest offering of mead-raising, warrior-bolstering heavy metal. Nevertheless, the time seems long since overdue to give this band another chance to win me over. And thankfully, the verdict on Valkyrja is much more positive than I feared, though not nearly as triumphant as I had hoped.
As far as I can tell, Týr’s formula remains largely the same: Each song is a polished, gleaming nugget of equally boisterous and languorous Scandinavian melodies, delivered with seemingly effortless professionalism. The typical Týr attack unfolds at a stately gallop, and offers a showcase for frontman Heri Joensen’s buttery clean vocals and the sparkling sheen of burnished dual guitar leads in the finest post-Priest/Maiden tradition. Much more so than many of their folkish peers, however, Týr seems basically like a hard-working heavy metal band that just happens to fall back on folk-derived melodies.
That Týr’s folk music is a graft on top of a more classically sound heavy metal foundation is evident in how often they end up sounding like someone else. The otherwise storming opening song “Blood of Heroes” cribs from the latter-day Amon Amarth playbook pretty hard, and the ascending chromatic riffing of “Mare of My Night” is awfully reminiscent of prime-era Megadeth. And of course, the specter of Iron Maiden lurks everywhere. None of this is a fatal flaw; it’s hardly a cardinal sin to be influenced by great bands.
Instead, the biggest problem here might just be personal: there is something altogether too smooth about this band, and the primary culprit for this is Joensen himself. Whether it’s the man’s natural vocal timbre, or something about the way his vocals are recorded, Joensen’s voice is altogether too clean, rubbery, and almost synthetic for my taste. On a different sort of album, that wouldn’t be such a devastating problem, but Týr is absolutely built to center around the vocal melodies. Individual riffs and instrumental motifs are occasionally stirring, and even allowed to take center stage, but when the album winds to a close, the listener is left with those vocal themes.
Still, Týr has tightened its songwriting up considerably since our last encounter, and a quick survey of their recent discography suggests that the days of albums more than an hour long are behind them. This was a much-needed adjustment, since Týr’s epic-length tracks never held up particularly well. Discounting the two cover songs, Valkyrja clocks in at around 45 minutes, which, truth be told, still stretches it a bit. Taken individually, every song has a rousing, infectious melody, but when you stack together a whole album of them, things start to bleed together.
But hell, this is Týr’s seventh album in just over a decade, and they seem to be riding an increasing wave of visibility and acclaim with North American audiences, so I am perfectly happy to concede that this might just not be the band for me. George Kollias (of Nile fame) provides the drumming for Valkyrja, and while his presence doesn’t particularly alter the character of Týr’s music, his powerful, double-bass-heavy performance suits the album’s general sturdiness well.
Finally, it’s important to note that even though Týr’s music doesn’t excite me like I wish it did, there’s something inherently likable about the band, even if that doesn’t extend to the music. Because, really, as each song plays, I can imagine the band shooting each other excited glances across the practice room. “Damn, guys, this is the coolest thing ever! And we get to play it!” The songs are bursting with an enthusiasm that, while I don’t share it, is more than a little contagious. Valkyrja hasn’t won me over for the band, but it’s definitely made me root for them. In a world of frequently interchangeable sound-alikes, that counts for something.
(Note: Valkyrja’s eleven songs are followed by two cover songs as bonus tracks, although it’s unclear to me if they appear on all versions of the album or not. [If they do, I’m not sure how they are a “bonus,” but that’s beside the point…] Týr’s cover of Iron Maiden’s “Where Eagles Dare” is extremely faithful to the original, and mostly serves to highlight how much the band’s core sound owes to Maiden in the first place. The cover of Pantera’s classic “Cemetery Gates,” however, while also rather faithfully rendered, is more than a little odd. But again, think about Týr as a few guys having a blast in their practice room, and maybe it’s not such a stretch. Still, the best I can say for the “Cemetery Gates” cover is that it got me super amped to dig out my copy of Cowboys from Hell.)
