Hi, yeah, darkwave music just called. It said it wants to get way, way darker. Oh yeah, and it changed it’s name to Dulvitund. I wouldn’t argue with it. It sounded pretty damn serious.
Dulvitund is a one-man musical representation of the dark arts. It is the thing that goes bump in the night. It is the countless doubts that fill your head day after day. It’s the fear of the unknown, but also, just as importantly, the fear of the known. “The human condition and crippling depression is the main theme, along with the cold hard reality that we all face,” according to its Facebook page.
The vinyl slab that is Lífsins Þungu Spor is, fittingly, black. Black like the depths of despair from which the music rises and bursts forth, like a black amorphophallus titanum, blooming once a decade to infect the world with its smell.
It’s the most poignant and effective dark music I’ve ever heard.
The music is darkly beautiful, at times stark, at others scrapping into industrial territory. But it is the vocalizations (it wouldn’t be right to call it “singing” any more than to say that someone screaming in torment is singing) that will send an icy shiver down your soul, that will make you question your humanity, that will make you reach for the volume knob… why?… to turn it down… or… to turn it up…? The sounds will cover you like a heavy blanket, but without the warmth, just the weight, and without keeping the cold out.
If you’ve ever been into an old church, or better yet an old cathedral, you know the sensation. The eerie stillness. That odd damp quality that exists even during the hottest day in the midst of the driest summer. The musty smell. The sheer weight of it all. And how absolutely creepy an organ can sound in that space if it wants to. That is the sound of Lífsins Þungu Spor. The music has a visceral quality. It feels like something… other. Something of this world, but outside of the normal experience. The current of a jet black river that runs underneath the so-called real world, a world that isn’t real at all. The siren song of Cthulhu that beckons you to wade into to the waters, knowing full well what awaits you there. The piercing cold of the water that takes your breath away. The feeling of the tentacles tightening around your ankles before it all goes dark…
You can listen to this album in its entirety for free HERE. That is, if you’re willing to risk your soul. And you can buy the vinyl there too – it’s a limited edition of 200 hand-numbered copies, so it’ll be gone fast. I can’t recommend Lífsins Þungu Spor to you enough – you NEED this album.