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Solefald: Pills against the ageless ills

15/10/09 || Euthanatos

I think it’s absolutely shameful that there is only one review for Solefald’s work on GD. Shameful, I tell you. Solefald is one of the most unique, brilliant, cock-slapping bands of all contemporary metal and, fuck, people hardly know them. That’s despicable. Deplorable. A god damn heresy, is what it is.

Are you a man? I mean, a real man’s man, a teflon don, big-cock, cocaine sniffin, take-no-shit-and-no-prisoners kind of man? Well, picture a vagina. Big, juicy vagina. Oh, you’re a woman? Or a fag? Who knows, you could be a fag. No biggie. Picture a cock, then. Fat, tender, hard-ass and veiny cock. The instrument of perfection and lust, no matter your side in the game. That’s Solefald’s music. It’s bliss. Bliss on tap. Bliss on a line. Bliss on a yogurt. It’s sweet and soft and good. It is all things holy and divine. That’s Solefald for you. Except they’re pagan. So, nothing holy or divine there. But you understand.

I came across the band when they released “Red For Fire”, the first part of an Icelandic epic (I will be reviewing that one soon, so stay tuned). Naturally, that made me think they were Icelandic. Fuck me, no, they’re Norwegian. Norwegian are fine folks. They haven’t much to do, so horribly cold all the time, everyone so fucking uptight. Can’t even drink for long, bars will close, alcohol banned. God damn savages, those Norwegian politicians are. So that leaves the good viking folk of Norway to do one thing; hard drugs and black metal. And thank Satan for black metal. Anyway, that album truly surprised me in every possible sense. It features some serious boundary pushing as far as black metal went, with a myriad of exotic sounds, spoken passages, it even has a fucking saxophone. And it sounds great! How can you top that?

I’ve told you in the past about ingeniously innovative bands like Dodheimsgard, right? Well, here’s another one. Solefald does not make your run-of-the-mill-I-hate-God-and-all-humanity black metal. No, this is your pretentious, pompous, stick a dildo up my ass black metal. Terribly avant-garde. But all the pretentiousness is good, in this case. It’s glorious.

Fact, only 2 guys make up Solefald. That’s pretty damn impressive, if you ask me, because the music on their albums is incredibly rich. This particular album here is a little concept epic about Pornographer Cain and Philosopher Fuck, two lovely brothers in one of the most fucked up storylines ever. Again, how to top that? What’s not to like?

My favorite part about Solefald, though, is not the creative songwriting and many, many different elements and instruments they use; actually, it’s the vocals. The vocal lines are surely the most imaginative I have ever listened to, and the layers are so rich, it boggles the mind how these guys do it. It’s a true testament to the voice as a musical instrument.

“Photographer Cain” and “Fuck Talks” are two great examples of the length these guys will go to to make great music, but in all actuality, I’m only recommending them if you need some samples of their greatness. The entire album is really fucking good. Scratch that, their entire discography is goddamn marvelous.

If you don’t agree with me, you’re going to hell. So there.

The cover: Kinda shitty, do not like. They got better as the years went by. BUT THAT IS ANOTHER STORY.

Information
Released: 2001
Label: Century Media
Website: Solefald MySpace
Band
Cornelius: vocals, guitars, bass
Lazare: vocals, synthesizers, drums

Tracklist
01. Hyperhuman
02. Pornographer Cain
03. Charge of Total Effect
04. Hate Yourself
05. Fuck Talks
06. The Death of Father
07. The USA Don’t Exist
08. Anti-City Strategy
09. Hierarchy

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