Altari – Kröflueldar Review

[Cover art by Altari guitarist K.R.Guðmundsson]

In the press materials for Kröflueldar, the full length debut from Iceland’s Altari, the band jokes that because the record took nine years to make, they named it after the Kröflueldar eruptions, which lasted for nine years. But there’s certainly more to it than that (which the press copy also states). Those “Crab Fires” never resulted in a Mt. St. Helens or Vesuvius type of eruption, but rather a long series of lava flows, landslides, and subsistence that altered the land over that nearly decade-long period.

This is quite fitting, because despite Altari’s roots clearly belonging to black metal, this record never explodes into fury and destruction, but simmers with a slow burn, keeping most of its threats just below the surface. Altari’s subdued approach and extremely nuanced performances allow their clearly wide array of influences to peek through. From the aforementioned black metal and progressive terrains to neo-psychedelia and post-punk, Altari maintain a strong taste and knack for viiiiibe, man. It’s as eerie and spaced out as it is welcoming and oddly fun.

The album’s subdued approach begins with the drumming. From the first seconds of the opening title track, the drums are played with a jazzlike lightness and touch, utilizing completely natural tones to give the record a real lived-in feel. The drumming manages to be playful and punchy with the snare and hi-hat while knowing the few appropriate moments to add a level of bombast (the pounding middle passages of “Vítisvilltur,” for example). A lot of metal bands give credit to their drummers for keeping the clock and setting the intensity. By contrast, Altari’s drummer ‒ who unfortunately cannot be credited due to a dearth of band member information online ‒ keeps the clock set, sure, but crucially sets the limit of the intensity. The band’s name dropping of Blue Öyster Cult as an influence feels apt; the drumming here absolutely carries Albert Bouchard’s ability to keep a laid back and sophisticated touch in a heavier setting.

The rest of the performances come together to form a lush and gorgeous fever dream existing somewhere between Oranssi Pazuzu, Virus, The Cure, and even Hawkwind. Or rather, it references those bands, but the fever dream is all Altari’s own. Guitars might play spooky clean parts or trippy tremolo lines, provide exercises in dissonance, or weave all around each other to expand an already very deep sound; the layering of rubbery backing riffs and narrative leads in “Djáknahrollur” is particularly effective at the latter approach. The vocals of Ó.Þ.Guðjónsson (whom can be credited) likewise provide variety. While he usually sticks with a gruff, blackened half-growl, there are moments of both chanting and weird ritualistic singing that really accentuate the band’s overwhelming strangeness.

All that flexibility means Kröflueldar covers a lot of ground in just 35 minutes, all without leaving that strange space in which Altari seems to be living. Sometimes their psyched out, layered black metal feels like Värähtelijä combined with Space Ritual, at other times they’d rather be dank and greasy (“Leðurblökufjandinn”), and sometimes they’d rather up the beauty factor (the ghostly approach of “Sýrulúður,” with Gyða Margrét singing). They find some of their best success employing a big heap of depressive rock on closer “Grafarþögn.” The “leads” here ought to remind many a metalhead of the ultimately gray and distant feel of Discouraged Ones, but employed within Altari’s strange blackened lushness. It’s a stunning finish to an album that often feels constructed as one piece.

More than anything, Kröflueldar is rather insidious… in a good way, of course. If feels like a subtle, indirect album, and compared to so many more is more is more metal albums we all hear, it certainly is that. But there are hooks and catchy melodies to be found, and they will become embedded in your brain should you give them the time. Like those Icelandic volcanos, Altari might threaten to explode in fury and destruction, but they realize that sometimes maintaining that threat is the best approach.

It’s almost a creepy type of lounge metal, if such a thing exists. Or it’s metal for a dingy, dark, smoky bar where you feel completely at home but only about 85 percent safe. More than anything, it’s neato.