BANG. Satan’s Harley-Davidson backfires. Lord Sauron burps after a feast of Hobbits and Elves. A new Ihsahn album rises from the frozen lakes of Mars.
‘Arktis.’, Ihsahn’s sixth full-length solo effort, will further propel him into the high esteem of people with ears, but also deeper into the smelly, puerile pits of disdain belonging to those who just want him to play Emperor demos. You want riffs? He’s got all the riffs. You want prog? There’s prog. You want electronics? Yep, them too. Saxopho...of course there’s saxophone.
‘Das Seelenbrechen’ was a deliberate side-step from the Norwegian nonconformist, and ‘Arktis.’ is the polar opposite of that. Ihsahn’s donned a turtleneck, grown a glorious beard and created what is, essentially, his version of pop music.
Disassembled grinds along with Opeth-esque riffs and ‘70s Hammond-style organ, while the chorus is like something Iron Maiden might have written if they wanted ‘The Book Of Souls’ to have more than, like, two choruses. It’s instantaneous, catchy metal that hooks you in like an eagle with metal feet.
And Mass Darkness just keeps that shit going. Gnarled riffs attack like a proper metal song should, the guitar solo goes all over the place but somehow stays within the confines of its pompous, lusciously orchestrated borders and Ihsahn trades lines with Trivium’s Matt Heafy to fortify an already stronger-than-Arnie chorus.
This is unclassifiable. To just call it metal does it a great disservice – it must have been created in a spaceship. South Winds has Ihsahn whisper atop a pulsating synth line like Nivek Ogre, dropping into some downtuned riffs that Meshuggah would need a cold shower after hearing. Celestial Violence builds and builds and doesn’t stop until it breaks through the roof; its haunting keys and acoustic verses dripping with pain thanks to the rich tones of Leprous’ Einar Solberg.
Pressure flings itself into an extreme metal assault that sounds like Cradle of Filth’s ‘Darkly, Darkly, Venus Aversa’ at its fiercest. Until I Too Dissolve’s main riff is more ‘80s than a bottle of hairspray shoved down Axl Rose’s pants. Jørgen Munkeby’s sexy sax pours you a glass of wine and pulls your chair out for you on Crooked Red Line, with Ihsahn nigh on crooning throughout.
Ihsahn has done a Devin Townsend. Over time, he’s worked hard to distance himself from the trappings of his previous band, creating a sound that is not only batshit but also catchy and unique. ‘Arktis.’ is the auditory equivalent of Ihsahn breaking into someone’s house, raiding their condiment cupboard, shrugging, murmuring ‘fuck it’, throwing all the ingredients into a litter tray and subsequently conjuring a meal worthy of the Ritz.
This is stronger than the riff-based stuff he was doing on his first two solo outings. This is more diverse than the proggy, weird bits he tried with the following three records. ‘Arktis.’ is the best Ihsahn album to date.
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