Mörkö – Ulvova Tyhjyys Review

Release date: May 22, 2018. Label: Mortuary Tapes.
Not only do the people of Finland have intimate knowledge of sentient life outside of our planet, they have been cavorting, colluding and, yes, even cohabiting with beings from beyond this sphere for over a century. Accordingly, Finland’s general population is stronger, stranger, broader-minded, and more intelligent compared to the average human from virtually any other nation.

U.S.-based readers will find zero comfort in this news, because the typical American prefers the “U.S.A. #1” mindset when it comes to…well, everything, and that includes matters of first contact. Americans grew up believing Spielberg’s interpretation of the future: aliens will opt for California, New Mexico, Indiana or Ohio when they first visit Earth, because…we had the Space Shuttle for a while, I guess? And also due to all the wide open spaces mottled with rubes motivated to be experimented on at great lengths.

Nope, Finland.

Hey, if you were an advanced life form from millions of lightyears away looking to rollick and party, where would you aim the sites—on a nation you already knew would eventually swell to 325 million and include a sizable swath of ailing, heavily-armed maniacs who couldn’t tell a Rembrandt from a portrait hanging at an Arby’s, or a much more manageable and well-educated population of 5.5 million that spends a significant amount of time in saunas? You winland, Finland.

As a result of this persistent otherworldly assimilation, the good people of Finland have become… A little different. A conversation with a Finn might be interspersed with stretches of rigid silence, and their focus may seem removed at times. This is because portions of the brain that have long been dormant in most humans are now active and simmering, so their perspective has shifted. For example, Finns have intimate and accurate knowledge of just how immaterial the footprint of our species is when stacked alongside the abounding and often terrifying beyond.

Unsurprisingly, an overall impression of arrogance or “recognized enlightenment” may be observed, which is often vented through music that evokes esoteric awareness and dark consequences, but never fully yanks the veil in fear of forfeiting certain advantages. The result: an unconventional touch that can be as ghastly as it is sophisticated—a sharp familiarity with sophistication, even when the decision results in bending it over the railing, still manages to grant its alluring essence—and stacks of records ultimately become difficult to shoehorn into a single, tidy box. Black metal? Sure, why not—black metal is, at its root, an energy, not an applied veneer, and something like Ulvova tyhjyys manages to overflow with such spirit, despite being considerably hushed. Has “Finnish” become a metal sub-genre?

But be mindful of your orphic pursuits, gun dogs, because pure gospel from unfamiliar hosts can be a great and terrifying thing, and the light is crushing and can never be unseen.


Sikiäminen /// conception is thick and unpleasant, and it is relentless once birthed, so it slips and creeps into cranial crannies as infernal church organs signal holy fertilization’s sour entrance. It is as dark and unrelenting as a Transilvanian Hunger, but ESP oa†hs are whispered as to not arouse suspicion. The footprint becomes as light as a covert nighttime visitation, like tiny little green men advancing through cracked doors and tiptoeing up cozy bedding. The ascent feels risky, but also strangely pleasurable.

Kerääntyminen /// retention is hammered to the cross with blazing lights that distract from colossal alien uploads as playful pulses carry through a rigorous drubbing to trick the mind into believing a person is at rest. It is the most heated and blackened example, and those rigid whispers are hisssed to exaggerate intent. Did every kid from the Thousand Lakes receive Man Is The Bastard as a rite of passage? Powerviolent hollering to commemorate newfound authority eventually gives way to the euphoric bloops and whirrrs of newly rutted synapses.

Hajaantuminen /// dispersal is tricky because virgin awareness is fickle and legs feel as shaky as the floor itself. Strumming familiar strings brings comfort, though, and swift awareness delivers a fresh and extreme realism that reworks all things old into brand new. Kingdoms ripped down to minutia, and the tiniest of hairs from the smallest of nits hide knots of atoms fighting to free another endless cosmos. All the beasts are mighty and stalk force and conductivity just as a twisted Carpenter Thing hunts human blood and bones. You vent bygone philosophy like diesel exhaust and the rasped whispering that ushered you under now guides into pitiless reality. Piano. Instinct recalls the monad of creation.


Luopuminen /// renunciation is inevitable, because the absurdity of adhering to a single-file line to receive one’s daily bread and due compensation carries the weight of ten thousand Everflowing Streams. It is as liberating as it is preposterous, this gleaming and joyful recognition, so you float amidst swollen duffels of carbon, calcium, hydrogen, phosphorus and oxygen and whisper foresight to curled flesh that would rather consume Beerbongs & Bentleys and news of Baconators. Regardless, the population’s daily sins are as forever forgiven as they are inconsequential, and synthetic castles twist endlessly and ever upwards into the unwavering genesis of invention.

Ineffectual babble thrown against a wall in an attempt to define something intended for an infinitesimal segment of an already modest population is an admittedly foolish pursuit. You want a dirty definition of Mörkö that skirts useless hyperbole? They’re fucked. Not because you run the risk of getting doused in pig’s blood from witnessing them in the flesh, but because they consent to Earthly estrangement after having witnessed 3 million souls lost to the Tüüka-wüürm virus on Heliox.5 Prime during a recent 5-week holiday. The great and sacred cockerel scrapes mortal wounds on the Earth and ruin awaits us all.

Posted by Captain

Last Rites Co-Owner; Senior Editor; That was my skull!

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