Welcome my fellow black metalheads, Sean here at the Black Metal Archives, and tonight I’m fucking alive, blasting Möhrkvlth’s A-dreñv Ar Vrumenn ‘til my ears bleed and my neighbors pound the goddamn walls. I stumbled across this beast in a haze of whiskey and despair, and it hit me like a war axe to the skull—raw, mystical, and fucking relentless. This seven-track ritual dropped July 2, 2018, via Asgard Hass, from a pack of Breton savages—Hiron spitting vocals like a possessed druid, Vox-T and Sven shredding guitars, Tan-Gi rumbling bass, and Tnemelc bashing drums into oblivion. It’s a Celtic black metal storm that’s got me raging and reverent—let’s rip this motherfucker apart!
Möhrkvlth clawed out of Brittany, France, in 2015, a feral crew led by Hiron and Vox-T, hellbent on fusing Scandinavian frost with Celtic soul. Singing in Breton, they’re a pagan fist in the face of modernity, and A-dreñv Ar Vrumenn is their first full war cry, unleashed in 2018.
“Bardo Thodol Part I (YAR – GIY – ZANG – THAL – CHEN – PO)” storms in like a ritual chant from beyond the grave, guitars slashing with icy, melodic fury that’s got my blood boiling. Hiron’s vocals are a goddamn banshee wail—high-pitched and haunting—while the drums pound like a death march through fog-shrouded moors. The bass growls low, and those riffs? Fucking hypnotic, pulling me into some Tibetan-Breton mindfuck I can’t escape. It’s a brutal opener that sets my soul ablaze—pure pagan chaos.
“Goulou Yen Un Heol Skuizh” keeps the fire raging, and holy fuck, it’s got me grinning like a mad bastard. The guitars weave this shimmering, frostbitten melody—bright yet bleak—while Hiron’s shrieks cut through like a blade. Tnemelc’s drums blast with relentless fury, and the bass thumps like the heartbeat of some ancient beast. It’s fast, it’s fierce, and it’s got me headbanging ‘til my neck’s a wreck—sunlit despair never sounded so goddamn good.
“Kan An Anaon” slows the pace but cranks the weight—this shit’s a dirge that hits like a fist to the gut. The guitars churn out mournful, epic riffs, dripping with Celtic sorrow, while Hiron’s voice howls like a lost soul on the wind. The drums roll with a thunderous grace, and Tan-Gi’s bass is a deep, pulsing wound. It’s a hymn to the dead that’s got me swaying, lost in its grim fucking beauty—pure black metal poetry.
“Disheol” is where I fucking lose it—a beast that rips my heart out and stomps on it. The guitars blaze with this raw, triumphant fire—think Burzum’s early chill meets a Celtic war cry—while the vocals snarl and soar, dripping with mystic rage. The drums and bass lock in, driving this bastard hard, and I’m screaming along, fists raised, ready to burn the world down. It’s a standout that’s got me hooked, a fucking anthem for the shadows.
“C’hwezh Ar Gwad” drags me deeper, a ritualistic banger that’s got me entranced. The guitars strike with this eerie, melodic venom—layered with choral chants that hit like a pagan spell—while Hiron’s voice cuts deep, raw and commanding. The rhythm section thunders like a storm over Stonehenge, and I’m banging my head, caught in its unholy grip—fuck, it’s alive.
“A-dreñv Brumenn An Istor” keeps the chaos rolling, guitars weaving this tortured, melodic web that’s got my skin crawling. The vocals are pure anguish, spitting Breton fire, while the drums blast with savage might. It’s a history lesson in blood and fog, and I’m fucking reveling in its dark, epic sweep—can’t get enough of this shit.
“Klozadur” seals this bastard shut, and goddamn, it’s a finale that floors me. The guitars roar with dissonant, atmospheric fury—riffs crashing like waves on a cursed shore—while Hiron’s shrieks tie it all together, a beacon of chaos in the storm. The whole band goes full throttle, and I’m left wrecked, screaming into the night, fucking exhilarated by the ride.
Möhrkvlth’s sound on A-dreñv Ar Vrumenn is a goddamn force—Vox-T and Sven’s guitars are twin serpents, spitting frostbitten riffs and Celtic soul, while Tan-Gi’s bass is the deep, throbbing pulse that keeps me raging. Tnemelc’s drums are a fucking war machine, pounding with primal fury, and Hiron’s vocals are the raw, mystical heart—wild, pained, and perfect. Synths and chants weave in, adding that pagan sheen that lifts this shit to the ether. In the black metal genre, these fuckers dance with the atmospheric elite—Ulver’s early rawness, Emperor’s melodic chill—but they’ve got a Breton edge that’s pure Celtic frost, unpolished and alive. This album’s a fucking ritual, a blast of mystic rage that’s got me hooked—crank it loud, let it rip, and join me in this goddamn abyss.
You wonderful fucks reading this, tell me in the comments how this album fucked you up—I wanna hear your grim tales! You can blast the full album on Bandcamp, so get your ass over there and dive into the frost!
Stay grim, you filthy bastards, and keep the black flame burning!
