[Cover art by Per Spjøtvold]
Want a fun way to acknowledge your own mortality? Think about how many years you’ve been listening to certain bands or albums. Of course, you, a distinguished devotee of this publication, surely engage in this practice, if only to demonstrate the temporal depth of your sagely wisdom. Math wizards might ALSO note that you can divide number of years listened by number of years lived to get a darling little percentage! You know what else is cute? The longer you stagger on with your silly life, that percentage only rises! Wowie, we are off with a bang here.
I’ve been listening to Lumsk for 23 years, which if you’ve been paying attention correlates to [REDACTED]%. This was a sobering realization. Admittedly my days of avid folk metal-dom are long since passed; I can’t deny spinning Åsmund Frægdegjevar and its stellar follow-up Troll a whole heck of a lot in the late mid to late-2000’s. Waning enthusiasm in the genre (coupled with an overwhelming interest in all avenues non-metallic) led me astray from third record Det vilde kor, and outside of the occasional dip back into their earlier material, Lumsk drifted into the deeper crevices of my mind for a bulk of those 23 years. Funnily enough, our arcs mirrored each other. Lumsk gradually tweaked their formula – the heaviness fader sliding downward, the self-imposed period of inactivity correlating with my detachment. Fremmede toner, then, was an interesting development. Armed with a new singer and a significant, yet not unearned nor unwarranted, course correction, Lumsk reemerged in 2023 a little lighter in tonnage but arguably heavier in character. Einsemda continues this trajectory to very welcome effect.
Einsemda is based on selected works of Tor Jonsson, an early 20th century Norwegian poet. His writing was primarily characterized by stark emotion, often returning to repressed feelings and, um, loneliness, natch. I will not pretend to know the author’s work with any more depth than could be gleaned from English-language searching, but the translated song titles should give you enough context – “The Dead Man’s Hill”, “Loneliness”, “I Am Life From A Woman’s Death” (Norwegian speakers, please chime in on the [in]accuracy of that last one). The song titles and the muted drama of the cover art combine to offer a telling first impression, and tonally Einsemda unfolds mostly as expected. The bulk of the material is solemn and quietly powerful, and true to their style no single item competes for your attention. Lumsk are masters at cajoling maximum force from minimal energy. There are shades of countrymen and fellow prog-rockers Anekdoten, to be sure, but if you are interested in a more traditional progressive rock album, perhaps look elsewhere. Think of the thready magic Tenhi wield in their skeletal compositions – Lumsk are tuned to a similar frequency.
“Daudmannhaugen” is Einsemda in a nutshell – take a few bits of material, in this case the opening arpeggiation/chord changes and the vocal melody, add instruments to drive the energy into new territory, and iterate on that main theme with clever accompaniment or phrasing to maintain interest. Voila, that’s the album. This description may come across as reductive, but Lumsk have the wherewithal to keep the formula ironclad, and dare I say, exciting! Earlier I mentioned their restraint, but restraint does not necessarily exclude exuberance, nor does it indicate a lack of required tension. Harmonically and melodically, Lumsk create music that is abundant with beauty, darkness, and soul, regardless of whatever trappings are entailed by their genre tags.
“New” vocalist Mari Klingen is perfectly attuned to the character of Einsemda. While she is not the technical powerhouse that was Stine-Mari Langstrand, I find her timbre and ability to capture the story of each track so much more fitting. Her work in “Eg er Liv av ei Kvinnes Død” is particularly excellent, especially considering that she doesn’t show up until almost five and a half minutes into the overall 6 minute and 40 second length! The entire track is built upon a simple scale descent, and from such a humble foundation Lumsk build something quite magnificent. Heartfelt, swooping string sections give way to satisfying syncopated grooves. Drummer Vidar Berg has a field day, giving it all he has to keep the song not only afloat but joyously buoyant. The guitar solo that leads into the main vocal is one of those where you can almost see the face of the person playing, full of feeling, hitting that sweet spot where the difference between improvisational training and an outpouring of the soul is imperceptible. The track culminates with Mari building upon the voice of the guitar, lifting everything that came prior into the stratosphere. This, for me, is the emotional peak of Einsemda, one of those sections that impart some potent, higher meaning into your terrestrial existence.
Memory has the devious ability to hijack firsthand experience. Einsemda is one of those strange records where when I’m apart from it, I can bullet point all the reasons why I’d describe it as a “good” album. What is not as easily transmissible within distance, though, is why I believe it is a great album. Further descriptions of tracks or moments or performances won’t do anything to change the fact that it is my duty to recommend you seek it out upon release. If there’s one good deed I can do for the band these past 23 years, it is that and that alone.
Photo by Sven Erik Knoff
