I genuinely don’t know if I adore this album or if I despise it with every inch of my being, because Disse Fugle Får Ingen At Se is not a record you simply throw on, nod along to, and call it a day.
It’s not friendly, it’s not warm, it doesn’t care about your comfort. This is a bastard of a record — cold, unforgiving, and seemingly designed to make you question why you even bother listening to music in the first place. And yet, beneath all the suffocating density and deliberate obfuscation, there’s something here that I can’t let go of.
Something that keeps dragging me back no matter how much I think I want to walk away.
From the very first moments, it feels like standing in the middle of a storm that has no beginning and no end. The songs don’t just start — they emerge like shifting fog, enveloping you in layer after layer of guitar, atmosphere, and raw tension.
Riffs aren’t presented clearly; they writhe and dissolve, slipping through your fingers just as you think you’ve grasped them. Melodies do exist, but they feel like ghosts — flickering at the edge of your perception before vanishing again into the abyss. The whole thing is overwhelming, borderline hostile.
And maybe that’s the point.
This is not music that gives a fuck about the listener’s need for accessibility or catharsis. Where other Black Metal bands eventually let their walls of sound break into some glorious release, Morild refuse.
They tighten the noose. They coil the tension until it’s unbearable. You wait for the big sweeping payoff, and instead you’re shoved into another section of chaos, another wall to claw at. It’s fucking maddening. But when the fog does momentarily clear — when you finally get that fleeting moment of clarity or beauty — it feels earned in a way few albums ever achieve. It’s not given, it’s stolen, torn out of the chaos like a flash of sunlight breaking through endless storm clouds.
The production only adds to the alienation. Cavernous, raw, almost cruel, it often feels like the record itself is trying to push you away, as if it doesn’t want to be understood. It’s not clean, it’s not polished, and it sure as hell isn’t concerned with letting the listener feel comfortable. It’s an active act of resistance, an album that dares you to keep listening even as it tries to grind you down.
Compared to Morild’s debut, this is even less forgiving. Whatever fragile points of entry they once left have been stripped away, leaving nothing but raw endurance. It feels less like a collection of songs and more like a trial.
You don’t just listen to Disse Fugle Får Ingen At Se — you survive it. And survival is the only way to get close to what it hides.
And that’s the paradox: I hate it, I love it, I resent it, I admire it. This record frustrates me to no end, yet it haunts me when I try to leave it behind. It lingers in my chest, in my nerves, in that uneasy space where beauty and ugliness coexist.
Whether you end up worshipping this album or throwing it against the wall, it won’t let you go untouched. And maybe that’s the highest compliment you can give: it fucking matters.
Disse Fugle Får Ingen At Se is available now.
CHOICE CUT: Træt
RATING: 3.5 OUT OF 5
RATING SYSTEM:
- 0: Fucking Shit
- 1: Shit
- 2: Not Bad Shit
- 3: Pretty Good Shit
- 4: Amazing Fucking Shit
- 5: The Best Shit You Will Ever Hear
PRESS SOURCE: Cátia C./Against PR.
