New music, infused with brutal majesty, dripping with tribal gore.
Four thousand years ago a distracted musician by the name of Einar Hugleikr mixed warm sand, boiled reptiles and a few petals of a now-extinct arctic meadow rose into a noxious potion. His friends, of which he had at least one, persuaded him to drink some of it, and the effects were meteoric and unexpected. Archaeologists in Norway have only recently revealed it was on that day in history when not only throat singing was invented, but Einar’s experiment was also a definitive first step in cryogenic mummification.
A few years ago, a sensational treasure was found, chiselled from the magnificent rocks of the Norwegian archipelago. It was New Music, infused with brutal majesty, dripping with tribal gore.
Listen, not only with your ears but also with your blood. Sounds will become artfully smelted bronze beaten with the bones of long-forgotten enemies. Voices soar where raptors glide and sink and grind, becoming absorbed into a listener’s vital organs. Spirits ascend as if intoxicated by several glasses of akvavit warmed beside the flames of a pine-wood fire. The experience will abandon you on the brink of an ancient time.
To listen and understand is to know the bass masculine power of the sword as a means of persuasion. But remember, it is the blade that causes the most damage, and the blade’s singing edge is feminine.
By RODERICK JARLAITH McRIVEN March 2021
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© Rivenrod 2021