Deep within the hailed land of Finland is a stewing majestic beautiful and dangerous woodland home of the unknown.  The treacherous and unmapped Forest World of Nifelvind is such a realm.  One can only find its hidden entrance with the assistance of the Troll King, Rivfader.  And once inside Nifelvind, the lay of the land is as much a mystery as its inhabitants.  I bartered five pints of warm Christian blood with Rivfader for my entry, but was still only taken as deep as Blodmarsch (Blood March)… and so my journey had begun.

The introduction to Nifelvind, Blodmarsch, is as gonzo dramatic as would be expected.  Rivfader faded back into the light of the other world, grasping his warm Christian blood in his giant troll hands.  I was on my own in a strange place.  I could hear the chants of the men and warriors all around me but saw nothing.  Slow and methodical, as if about to engage in a massacre of large sluggish things.  Swords scraped steel and tribal war drums droned on in a beat a bit quicker than the chanting.  The preparation for war was upon me with the rise of the tempo and the cadence of a massive string section about to erupt.  The limbs of the trees shook and the footsteps of an army vibrated the ground… and then silence, but for a second.

Solsagen (The Sun Saga) blasted in and with black speed metal ingenuity, whaled on by trumpets and quick snare shots.  I had lost my way already in the Forest World of Nifelvind.  I ran through the clearings of groove rhythm surrounded by open string and dynamic brass chirps and entire generations of such power.  The chants of a thousand Viking Warriors with wenches and hearty mead filled horns blared from the dark pixels of the corners of my searching eyes as I ran, the halls recanting the chant of the old Blodmarsch, but sped up drastically.  Not in preparation, but in VICTORY.  The cute little wood mice were running a muck up and down the xylophones and cups in unison slammed down hard on their long tails.  At two minutes and forty five seconds into my head charge came a RAD AS HELL heavy metal groove, clad in the green and brown fur of some unknown beast.  Massive oak sticks chased the cute little wood mice around the toms in a beating barbaric chant with victorious synchronized clapping.  I ran through and continued, not looking back.

I came upon a clearing by the name of Den Frusna Munnen (The Frozen Mouth) to the sight of elves banging away on odd little jungle drums.  Wooden blocks and such.  I heard remnants of Shock The Monkey, but assumed it had to be some disfigured sense of the auditory.  The sound gave an awkward pre-battle feel, but was soon enlightened by unseen creatures jamming hard and smooth on synthesizers high in the tree tops.  There was an array of orchestra themed rhythms and vulgar screams, all the while a progressive late- eighties groove fueled jam.  A real Peter Gabriel infused emoticon track ran around a dying fire just as the sherbert colored boars danced around the same smoke smiling and playing their flutes.  I walked on as the elves began to give me an evil look, most likely due to prancing around with the woodwind playing swine.

Approaching what I felt to be the heart of this epic woodland place, Ett Norrskensdad (A Deed Of The Northern Lights), I came to witness something undeniably fantastic.  A giant blind Luger Troll direct from my own land of Alterdom, ruled by Heaviathan.  He stood in still march like Angus Young, rockin’ extremely hard with a very simplistic near muted metal riff while an assortment of forest creatures slam-danced all around.  A black metal folk beat kept us all in unison.  Bunnies.  Deer.  Antelope.  Bears.  Raccoons and so on and so forth, all having an amazing time.  Fiddles and odd snare shots gave the whole jam a party feel, but the Luger Troll kept it all heavy.  An ancient synthesized organ built into a swaying oak tree was being played by Merlin, launching leads in between vocal spurts.  I couldn’t understand what the Deed Of The Northern Lights had been, but as we all danced around the bronzed Minotaur, it hadn’t occurred to me to even ask… I left that part of Nifelvind feeling upbeat, and moved on to what was beyond.

Silence, and something was waking.  The golden fairies that were still frolicking all around me quickly scattered in a trail of dust without a word and I found myself alone.  I Tradens Sang (In The Song Of The Trees) erupted into the first taste of true epic heavy metal.  Scary and sudden, with a true thrash sound.  Amon Amarth essence with the rage of Disposable Heroes.  A band of faceless men on fire played the jam with bleeding fingers.  They stomped the earth with pure dominance and the double bass continuum and blast beats shook everything to its core.  I ran from the gonzo forestry metal and the multitude of layered orchestral instruments falling all around me.  A pack of tusk wielding warthogs streamed right by me, running for their own swinish lives.  Scratchy fuzzed guitars took it from opening to close in brutal resonance.  A true feast of sound from beginning to end.  I escaped, but I believe it was simply because Finntroll let me.

I caught my breath in Tiden Utan Tid (The Time Without Time) to the sound of the chants of the ancients.  Old scrolls read to the distorted tribal beats of circling cycloptic manbeasts, oversized fauns with large cloven hooves, and unspeakable monstrosities.  The song around me became slow and large… a ship quietly rising from the deeps of the sea.  It was a true spell of progressive doom.  Graceful and heavy.  I found myself hiding behind a wall of dead nature in wait, clamoring for fresh air, choking on the stale heat of this place.  I peeked over my ledge and as I heard screams of triplet blasting velocity, the redeemer caught my eye with his mystical sparkling cape of a master of ceremonies.  The jam became visions of the nightmarish circus days of old.  Freaks and exposed organs in traveling life.  Footstepping in methodical bounty across the world with the living and the dead.  I was spellbound with the sounds of this piece.  A Dethklok throwback with epic pipes and a much higher caliber than anything I’d heard or seen as of yet.  Deep vocal growling and spine chilling organs and the screams of the dying all about the land.  I was in tears behind my wall… truly in The Time Without Time.  I crept on to the next stage of my journey.

The canopy of Nifelvind took upon a life of its own accord and let in the sunlight of Northern Europe.  Mandolins and acoustic guitars played by men in relaxing straw hats told the tale of Galgasang (Gallow Song).  I was warmed by the rays and the sound of beauty.  Not a word I couldn’t understand meant anything anyway, but the strumming of emotion and tone of the seriousness in the men’s strong voices lent me the understanding of a thing larger than the sum of us.  I embraced the peace for quite some time before moving on.

The beast of Mot Skuggornas Varld (Towards The World Of Shadows) came upon me sudden and looming in its size.  I ran straight and fast toward the blackness, which could have been the only way out.  Epic string massacres played violently by the angel demons flying high above the entire scene gave way to the uprooting of massive oaks by this doomed cursed beast.  Orchestral interloping of a hundred instruments blasted from the shadows of what came to be the darkest and most brutal piece of Nifelvind.  Screams of agony at the back of my neck and his sweeping hand brushing the back of my hair.  I was genuinely frightened and leaping in huge strides over the holes created by the Mot Skuggornas Varld’s sword wielding clashes against the iron of the ground. The wood mice ran a muck somewhere in the dark, between the trees, up and down the xylophone once again.  An army of orcs at the rear of their creator all brooding in loud unison with the upbeat.  A language I couldn’t decipher, yet I head “Kill! Kill! Kill!”  I ran as fast as I could.

Under Bergets Rot (Under The Roof Of The Mountain) was a wild woodland piece like nothing yet perceived.  A woman screamed and a man laughed.  Flutes played wildly and frantically all about me.  I slowed my run to a brisk walk and took everything in, fearing nothing, but taking note of the insanity of this place.  The orcs were still all about playing layered quick guitar riffs and speed metal drums interlaced with a slick quick funk measure.  A man of massive proportions, antiquity fueled with shield and long flowing blonde hair, screamed and laughed frighteningly through his beard and smiled a horrendous smile.  Merlin, obviously drunk from whiskey and wine, played the oak organ with the tenacity of a warring battle scene.  He was all over the place and obviously in charge of the sound scope of it all.  Eerie whistling was abound and then two minutes or so into this ride, the insanity began to blow my fucking mind.  The black metal funk groove became its own dynamic.  Double bass epic heaviness woven in between dancing organ pops and screaming and PURE GONZO BLACK METAL FUNK GROOVE! INSANE, and then it all ended with the bearded man laughing as he shoved me out.

I walked through Fornfamnad (Embraced By The Ancient) hearing a much less intense version of the woodland piece I was just in.  The insanity was still present, but I didn’t feel rushed or overwhelmed by its superb banquet of groove.  I became bored with it, so I walked on to what became the defining sound and vision of Nifelvind.

The final piece of Nifelvind was its largest section.  At a seven minute walk through Drap (Manslaughter), my journey came to an end and I began to recant every doubt and discerning notion concerning Finntroll.  The heavy metal opening was abound with orchestra stabs and doom laughter in the deepest howls of this land.  A wolf monster of some kind poking his massive head between the trees simply to yell in torment at me as I walked through his land.  Xylophone usage in its final hour was plentiful and masterful.  An amazing explosion of this heavily used instrument became radical to the fullest extent as the song pushed forward.  Thrash metal rhythm and triplet bass drum skips progressively grow and morph into an evil speed demon closing the world of Nifelvind.  Somewhere in between, I felt that had I not run to exit and continued to walk, I would be stuck in this world for the rest of my days.  I ran and ran and just as Alice was chased from Wonderland by everything she had come to know, I was pursued just as she was.  Trolls and wolves.  Progressive fading of sound.  Giants and Minotaurs.  Screaming howls of dissent.  Monsters and demons and fairies and freaks and unspeakable things.  I escaped and left Nifelvind behind as I fell into a clearing somewhere out in the land of Finland.

Label: Century Media – Rating:

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For the fan of this breed of Finntroll, I highly recommend Enslaved, Satanica by Behemoth, Korpiklaani, Eluveitie, The Lord Of The Rings Soundtrack, Dethklok, and Stormwarrior.  Enjoy that warm Christian blood.