Review by Benjamin on February 14, 2024.

There are relatively few albums in this listener’s collection that were purchased directly from the band. This one, however, was received directly from the hands of Ole Pedersen Luk, vocalist, guitarist and sole composer behind Danish black metallers Afsky, in return for some cold, hard British cash. Luk received his reward following an absolutely spectacular support slot with Panopticon, a performance good enough to render impossible the task of leaving the Boston Music Rooms (subsequently renamed Downstairs at the Dome) without a physical copy of the songs that Afsky had replicated so brilliantly onstage. It was difficult to reconcile the diminutive and softly-spoken frontman with the fearsome singer spitting so much bile into the microphone just minutes before, although in some respects, this was the perfect representation of both the beauty and the ugliness paradoxically present at the heart of Afsky’s music. Om Hundrede År (or, In A Hundred Years, when translated, hopefully accurately, into English), is the band’s third full-length, following the well-regarded Ofte Jeg Drømmer Mig Død, and entrances the listener straight away with a classical intro, picked out fingerstyle on acoustic guitar. This immediately recalls any number of metal classics that commence in similar style, not least Metallica’s "Ride The Lightning" and "Master Of Puppets", and Iron Maiden’s "Seventh Son Of A Seventh Son", the band placing themselves in the company of masters, as well as affectionately acknowledging a well-worn tradition that deserves to be maintained. This introduction also serves to generate a level of intimacy, bringing the listener closer to music that deserves undivided attention, and in some respects suggests that there is no artifice here, that what follows will be totally authentic and utterly sincere.

As the delicate acoustic tones complete the coda that precipitates an avalanche of frigid minor chords, savagely tremolo-picked against half-time drums, a sparse, but full, tone thickened by a pleasingly audible bass, Afsky’s curious approach to black metal slowly reveals itself, a blurry image through a telescope gradually coming into focus. Although the band are ostensibly black metal in tone and approach, there is almost nothing that can be described as a conventional riff to be found, with the primary mode of attack revolving around baroque, long-form melodies subtly moving through a wall of sound created by the chromatically moving chords. Small changes in these guitar lines, as they repeat through numerous hypnotic phases become fascinating points of interest, and Afsky’s music demands total attention if these are to be fully appreciated. The note choices may be quite different, but the band’s songwriting is frequently reminiscent of Agalloch, seen through a storm of static. The overall effect on a track such as the opener, 'Stormfulde Hav' (Stormy Seas), is highly atmospheric, but atypically for black metal, not in the kind of externalised manner that bands such as Winterfylleth and Wolves In The Throne Room utilise to evoke scenes of wild and untamed nature. Instead, the landscape here is internalised, the steep mountainous crags and plummeting depths travelled an emotional journey through one’s own dreams and nightmares, unsettling and ecstatic in equal measures. Throughout this track, and much of the rest of the album, Afsky delight as they transform what is often a sad and mournful sound into something more triumphant, moving through major key progressions, and betraying a melodic sensibility that suggests an affinity with some of the key Swedish bands of the mid-late 1990s, most obviously Sacramentum, with a dash of Viking-pagan era Bathory. These changes in feel could be jarring in clumsier hands, but the transitions mostly feel natural and satisfying, and this is a testament to the skill of a band that utilise few moving parts to create a symbiosis way beyond what should be possible with such a simple approach.

‘Frosne Vind’ (Frozen Wind) follows a similar pattern to the opener, although it plumbs even more corruscating emotional depths, while also increasing the richness and complexity of the harmonic layers that build another slow-burn masterpiece. Luk’s vocals come very much to the fore here, his orc-like screech recalling Varg Vikernes on the early Burzum albums, a wounded, despairing howl that pierces the icy heart of the listener. Filosefem-era Burzum is, in fact, an apposite comparison for Afsky. Luk’s compositions are a little more sophisticated, and show a greater inclination to add classic metal phrasing to the guitar work, but the trance-inducing nature of the almost cyclical chord progressions is similar, as is the overall feeling evoked by the disconsolate atmosphere. Not for Afsky the individualistic majesty and power of Emperor or Immortal, or the necrotic filth of Darkthrone or Beherit. Instead, the band appear to operate in their own hermetically-sealed world of internal pain and suffering, with their music a cold reflection of an inner turmoil. ‘Frosne Vind’ is almost unbearably intense, as a tidal wave of minor chords threatens to set the listener adrift on a stormy sea, but an infectiously simple arpeggio provides a life-raft, a point of focus to hold on to as a route out of the roiling waters is found, moments before everything goes black.

Afsky are the sound of what this listener imagined Depressive Suicidal Black Metal (DSBM) might resemble, prior to a note being heard, and in some respects their music is more affecting than that niche and perhaps sometimes contrived form of the sub-genre. There is something unutterably uncompromising about Afsky’s music, a sense that not only is it something that they want to create, but that it is something that they need, an essential outlet for emotions that might become dangerous were they repressed. At no point is there any indication that they are making music with anyone but themselves in mind – any audience that they do have has found them, rather than the other way round, and no concessions are offered to anyone that might find the longform nature of their music difficult to swallow. At times, Afsky’s are almost overwhelmingly melancholic, the band wallowing in an overflowing pool of sadness, filled by a never-ending waterfall of sorrow. On the best track, 'Det Der Var' (What Once Was), a harpsichord melody is added to follow the guitars, which adds an intriguing texture to the band’s sparse, but all-encompassing sound, threatening a slightly more progressive future for the band. Small motifs are gradually added and subtracted as the track progresses, and, a little like Der Weg Einer Freiheit’s most recent effort "Noktvrn", Afsky develop a narrative that it is impossible not to follow, pulling the listener through to a breathless conclusion.

Despite the scintillating quality of every song on the album, one can observe that there is still scope for Afsky to improve further. The drum patterns, while not detrimentally affecting the songs, are occasionally monotonous, and a more dextrous and dynamic performance could add an additional dimension to the band’s sound. In addition, although the majority of the transitions between sections are well-managed, some are not quite as fluid as they might be, exposing the internal structure of the song a little too transparently, and it will be fascinating to see if the band can render those joins a little less visible in future, without losing the slightly lo-fi charm of their core sound. For the most part though, the small flaws are easy to ignore. Om Hundrede År is a wonderful, mesmerising album, and one which only improves with every listen. Small details, miniscule changes to guitar lines that appear on the surface to be simple, but in reality weave a circuitous path around the pounding rhythm section, continue to reveal themselves long after one believes oneself to have got the measure of the record, and it practically implores the listener to continue to return, in search of another heart-wrenching harmony, or vocal inflection. Typifying the ugly beauty of black metal, Afsky’s music is caustic and even awkward at times, but it contains a seductive majesty, an enchanting spell at its heart, that cannot avoid bewitching those who return to it to feel, once again, the unbreakable emotional connection that the album cannot help but forge.

Rating: 8.4 out of 10