Review by Dominik on November 14, 2025.

Denmark belongs to Scandinavia. It has strong historical, cultural and linguistic ties to Sweden and Norway (forget for a minute that the broader view of "Nordic countries" includes Finland and Iceland as well). Yet, while Norway and Sweden pump out black metal like it's a mandatory state service, in Denmark for some reason, black metal seems to evaporate at the Danish border as if the country is surrounded not by water, but by a protective circle of social welfare. Why is that so? Try as I might, I could only come up with two halfway plausible reasons. One: sharing a border with Germany may have spiritually neutered Danish grimness. It is hard to summon the dark forces of the forest, when your neighbor keeps sending polite reminders about noise regulations and recycling sorting rules (no, corpse paint is not compostable!). Two: Denmark is flatter than most pancakes, including gluten-free ones, what leads to "low atmospheric spookiness". Black metal thrives in mountains, fjords, and eerie forests. Denmark's highest "mountain" is basically a curved hill. So it's hard to scream into the abyss, when the abyss is a cow pasture.

Naturally, Danish bands face the challenge of suppressing these influences to create something truly Scandinavian in spirit. Which finally leads us to Frelser (applause encouraged; it only took about 200 words to get here). The band has appeared almost like a genie released from a dusty bottle—one that had been sitting behind a barn—storming the scene with their debut album "Afgrundsprofeti" ("Prophecy of the Abyss"). Clearly, Frelser ignored the cow pastures and managed to locate a real abyss somewhere.

From the first minute, it's obvious that the band looked firmly towards Norway for inspiration, while adding their own twists. Think "De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas"-era Mayhem, but less refined, darker, and with a modern edge. The vocalist in particular sounds like Attila Csihar's slightly less talented younger brother. The one who was told to "just try something weird" and took that as medical advice. Less operatic, and occasionally giving off a constipated vibe as if each syllable demands significant abdominal effort, but as the album unfolds, he shows more depth than the first impression suggests. However, calling Frelser a cheap knock-off would be doing them a disservice.

The album opens with the nine-minute title track, a proper monster. Winning you over with fancy melodies or constant variation is clearly not on Frelser's to-do list. For the first five minutes, the band simply beats the listener into submission with a looping aggressive riff, blast-beats, and vocals that could charitably be described as "unfriendly". The production suits the atmosphere and is raw (or authentically filthy), slightly muddy, and radiating absolute joylessness. Mid-song, the band allows a brief reprieve, probably because even they needed oxygen, before returning to the original sonic whirlpool to finish the job.

The following tracks don't always maintain that same level. "Transcendence" occasionally trips over its own aggression and speed, entering the chaotic zone where even the drummer seems to briefly wonder what song they're playing and the band lost steering for a moment. Meanwhile, "Knivene Hvisker" ("The Knives Whisper") frequently slows things down what is not inherently a bad decision, but the mid-tempo approach feels a bit off here. Slower isn't worse, mind you, but Frelser's natural habitat seems to be "gates wide open and storming through them". You admire the ambition, but you mostly want them to go back to sprinting and killing things.

Luckily, the middle section makes up for it. "Frelser!" (yes, exclamation mark included) impresses with a simple high-speed riff, and even flirts with a black'n'roll bounce around the chorus. It shows the band's natural strength: destruction first, questions never. If they had to describe themselves with one word, this track suggests the correct answer is: wrecking ball. "The Measure Of Man" keeps the storm raging, with vocals front-and-center—imploring, menacing, and sounding like a man angrily confronting humanity after reading one too many YouTube comment sections. The audible bass guitar deserves praise for adding depth and darkness; more black metal bands should follow suit.

The flow is then interrupted by an acoustic interlude which isn't bad at all. It just feels as though it accidentally wandered in from another album and nobody questioned it on entry. The final stretch wobbles slightly, but the closer "Amor Fati" reaffirms the band's potential and reminds you why you made it this far. It begins with a memorable bass-driven mid-tempo stomp before accelerating again, with the vocals showing more range than earlier. Three minutes in, the track abruptly shifts: acoustic break, new dynamics, and then a final rush that throws everything Frelser considers part of their sound into one cauldron. The alternation between tempos and multiple moods hints that the band may, in the future, deliver a more varied yet equally gripping approach.

Rating: 8 out of 10, because Denmark has produced a black metal album that feels genuinely abyss-ridden and for a debut, that's a very good sign.