Review by Dominik on July 19, 2025.

A few days ago, I indulged in one of modern civilization's great shames: fast food. While cruising toward the nearest sodium-drenched temple of culinary decay, I happened to be listening to Muvitium's 2024 album "I Skogens Karga Dunkel" ("In the forest's barren gloom")—a fitting soundtrack to that moment of spiritual erosion. A release that clocks in at 43 minutes but insists on calling itself an EP anyway, perhaps out of modesty or sheer irony. Either way, somewhere between the lukewarm fries and the second artery-clogging bite, I decided this release deserved two reviews. One for the fast-food crowd—quick, salty, regrettable—and another for those who insist on nuance.

So, here we go with the shorter version: the band hails from Sweden. The workaholic Swartadauþuz (active in about twenty other bands) is responsible for everything except the drums, which are handled by Häxanu's L.C. in a session role. The sound, music, and atmosphere aim to be very "trve". The EP is padded out by an overlong ambient intro and outro. The quality of the actual songs is average, with tracks 3 and 4 leaving a slightly better impression. Recommended for every maniac craving primal black metal sounds. Rating: 6.9/10.

Anyone else in need of more refinement and nuance may continue reading here. Muvitium is Swedish, which should trigger all the usual expectations—icy tremolos, melancholy, corpsepaint worn in earnest—but oddly, the sound isn't particularly "Swedish" in the classic sense. Instead, it's a whirring blur with guitars throwing a melodic web onto everything, a brew that leans closer to Nightbringer than Dark Funeral. All compositions are the product of the hyperactive mind of Swartadauþuz—a man apparently determined to populate an entire Bandcamp Friday with his own discography, as his resume includes more bands than most people have functioning relationships. He handles everything except the drumming, which is supplied by L.C. of Häxanu in a session capacity—like a hitman brought in to do the wet work and leave no fingerprints. The fact that the sole band member (let's set the session drummer aside for now) seems to suffer from creative ADHD isn't particularly helpful. Most of the material feels rushed — as does the production which tries very hard to sound "trve", and succeeds to a degree: it's gritty, raw, and sounds like it was recorded inside a mossy thermos. Unfortunately, it also lacks punch, which means that while the atmosphere is intact, the impact feels like getting slapped with a wet pine branch—symbolic, yes, but not exactly breathtaking.

I won't spend much time commenting on the intro and outro. This ambient material drifts along with all the urgency of a dying flashlight—there but barely—and does nothing to elevate the actual content. I've long since stopped pretending these aimless wanderings add "mystique". If anything, they feel like stalling tactics for projects that don't have quite enough meat on the bone and usually are the sonic equivalent of someone pacing in circles, muttering to themselves while waiting for their therapist to arrive. As for the four actual tracks, they're competent but rarely exceptional. The songwriting tends to recycle familiar structures: fast blastbeat-driven passages alternate with slower, moodier breaks, all built around melodies that lean into desperation rather than grandeur. Swartadauþuz's vocals are convincing enough—he sounds like a particularly malevolent gnome with a sinus infection—but thankfully avoids tipping over into self-parody. He sounds committed, at least.

For the most part, the tracks walk a razor's edge between hypnotic repetition and getting lost in endless, monotonous loops. "I Nattens Portar Vida" ("At the Wide Gates of Night") flirts dangerously with the latter but manages to stay on the right side. "Askhimmels Väckelse" (something like "Awakening of the Ash Sky") and "Av Ensamhetens Vision" ("From the Vision of Lonliness") work best in my opinion — especially the latter, which convinces with a strong and memorable first minute and delivers just enough unpredictability to stand out among its peers. The last "real" song "Formlösa Röster Dovt Eka" (more or less "Formless Voices Echoes Faintly") unfortunately drags on for over nine minutes, meandering like a black metal soundtrack to someone alphabetizing their vinyl collection. The occasional spoken-word segments attempt to inject variation, but by then the spell is already broken.

To sum it up: there's something to admire in the sheer productivity of Swartadauþuz. The man is a machine, churning out projects with a zeal normally reserved for cult leaders and caffeine addicts. While I may applaud him for flooding the scene with an endless stream of creative output, I also feel inclined to condemn him for releasing anything that passes through his mind unfiltered as the quality inevitably suffers. Perhaps someone should occasionally whisper "less is more" into the artist's prolific ear—before he drops another ten projects by next Tuesday. "I Skogens Karga Dunkel" isn't terrible and definitely not a product of commercial calculation —but it feels more like a reflex than a revelation. A shrug, not a scream.

Rating: 6.9 out of 10, because despite everything—the repetition or the ambient fillers—there's a glimmer of authentic madness here. Also, let's agree that 69 is the perfect score for something that leaves you unsatisfied, but vaguely entertained.