Review by Ben for Burzum - Hliðskjálf (1999)

Another failed attempt to produce the spirit of Burzum, with none of the means necessary to do so.

After the bitter disappointment that was Dauði Baldrs, the news that Varg had recorded another album from prison didn’t exactly fill me with excitement. The first attempt had been an exercise in tedium, made worse by the inadequate MIDI based sound that the keyboard he used produced. I did however gain a significant boost in confidence when I heard that his second attempt had a full keyboard sound rather than MIDI, but it was yet to be seen whether Varg could produce anything close to his black metal work while recording under such circumstances. Composed during the summer of 1998, Hliðskjálf would once again find the man formerly known as Count Grishnackh attempting to convey stories from Norse mythology through instrumental music alone. This time however, the tracks do not seem to follow a common theme or story, with each of them appearing to tell small disparate tales. Since I found that the tone of the tracks on Dauði Baldrs often failed to match the sections of the story they were supposedly portraying, I really hoped that this time Varg might get that right. I purchased Hliðskjálf on release in 1999 and decided to leave my apprehension behind. I would delve into this Burzum album as though Dauði Baldrs had never happened and try to find the magic that had never failed to be present within his work prior.

The first thing to notice about Hliðskjálf is the album cover. Tanya Stene, who produced the wonderful Ulver trilogy covers as well as some of the inner sleeve artwork for Dauði Baldrs, once again shows her talent by creating a vivid and evocative piece of work that perfectly captures the spirit of Burzum. Her use of shadow and the realistic three-dimensional quality of the forest scene are a real advancement over previous works I’ve seen by her. The meaning behind the name of the album has been surprisingly difficult to nail down. On the one hand, Varg seems to suggest in interviews that the word Hliðskjálf refers to a “hidden opening to Asgarðr” (one of the Nine Worlds and the supposed capital city of the Norse Gods). My own studies however point to Hliðskjálf being the name of Odin’s throne where it is said he sat to survey all lands. Given the complexity involved in the subject matter, combined with Varg’s extreme dedication to Norse mythology in general, I highly doubt that he’s incorrect. I can only assume that the throne also acts as some sort of gateway, therefore making them one and the same. Maybe someone out there can clarify the true meaning of Hliðskjálf and how it relates to the album (I can’t really see any connection), to put my mind at ease.

Hliðskjálf begins reasonably enough with the step up in sound quality obvious from the very first moments. Tuistos Herz (which translates as Tuisto’ Heart) speaks of a god named Tuisto who draws a figure on a rock that has a large penis, before admiring his own offspring. Strange story aside, this opening track contains an eerie sound that raises the shackles on the back of my neck. There’s no real structure to be found and it’s just Varg playing around on his keyboard, but I like it for some unexplainable reason. Der Tod Wuotans (The Death of Wotan) continues Varg’s tradition of writing about the final moments of the gods of Norse mythology. The track is supposed to portray an epic battle complete with war drums, before the death of Wotan causes “the universe to hold its breath”. I have to say, more than any other track Varg created from behind bars, this is the one that not only stands up as worthy of the name Burzum, but also nails the atmosphere to suit the subject matter. The shifting layers, moving melodies and even the unrealistic sounding horn combine well to create a track that touches me more than the entire Dauði Baldrs album put together. Unfortunately, this pleasing start to the album just drops off dramatically, with things starting to go downhill rapidly from there.

Third track Ansuzgardaraiwô supposedly translates as Warriors of Ansuzgarda, but it probably should be called Varg Bangs Together Some Pots and Pans and Records the Results for Our Listening Pleasure. The clattering sound he produced for this track would have been annoying if it went for ten seconds straight, but after four and a half minutes, I’m ready to smash my CD to the same monotonous rhythm. Maybe the Warriors of Ansuzgarda defeated their enemies through torturous acts of noise pollution. If that’s the case, then Ansuzgardaraiwô is sheer genius! It’s obvious Die Liebe Nerþus' (The Love of Nerthus) was strategically placed after the abovementioned racket to calm the listener down. When I first heard the track, it immediately made me think of a bunch of villagers dancing around a maypole. As it turns out, that’s exactly the scene that Varg was attempting to describe, as Die Liebe Nerþus' tells the tale of happy men and women dancing through the woods on a sunny day with not a care in the world. What this overly cheerful and not-particularly-Burzum-like tune fails to communicate to the listener, is that these contented individuals are willingly strangled and lowered into a lake while onlookers cheer and clap. It’s a harmless and forgettable sort of track that could have done with a little bit of the creepiness that the story suggests.

Into the second half of Hliðskjálf we go, but it’s worth pointing out that a quick look at the tracklisting advises that there are only about thirteen minutes remaining. Frijôs einsames Trauern (Frijo's Lonesome Mourns) takes up over six of them too, in the most tiresome fashion imaginable. It really does sound like a twelve-year-old is knocking out a repetitive tune on a glockenspiel while the family looks on with fake admiration. It’s shocking to read that this track apparently depicts the extreme loss that a mother feels for her dead son. I can only assume that this son performed just as badly on the glockenspiel, as I don’t get the impression that this mother is all that fussed that he will no longer be around. Mercifully, Einfühlungsvermögen (The Power of Empathy) brings some real darkness back to proceedings, but I can’t help questioning whether Varg has any idea about the power of empathy, otherwise he wouldn’t be such a racist twat. Regardless, the man in this little tale has had his hand horrifically removed, but still feels empathy for a dying wolf that has been defeated by two gods. It’s a beautiful piece of music that relies only on ominous background tones and what sounds like perfectly placed beats of a Nordic war hammer, yet it easily joins Der Tod Wuotans as the obvious highlights of this inconsistent album.

There really isn’t much to say about either Frijôs goldene Tränen (Frijo's Golden Tears) or closing track Der weinende Hadnur (The Crying Hadnur). Both pass innocuously by without raising even the slightest interest. Both focus once again on loss, with the former portraying Frijo’s tears for her husband who has gone to battle, while the latter speaks of Hadnur the Blind’s regret that he accidentally killed his brother Beldegir with an arrow fired at random. Both tracks are relatively short, have simplistic (or non-existent in the case of Frijôs goldene Tränen) melodies, and contain none of the darkness that pervades the better material found on Hliðskjálf. They are very clearly filler material, padding out what is still a very short album at only thirty-three minutes in total. So, after a promising start, Varg’s second attempt to produce Burzum work from behind bars has ended up being just as much of a disappointment as the first. It may be a slightly better experience due to the superior sound quality, and there’s no doubt that Varg learnt from some of the mistakes he made the first-time round, but the end result is still an album I wouldn’t go near if it didn’t have Burzum splashed across the cover. Hliðskjálf has higher highs than Dauði Baldrs, but also lower lows, so I will give it the same rating.