Morketid

After what felt like an age adrift in the icy fjords of silence, Mortem have resurfaced with *Morketid*, a death metal offering from Peaceville Records that's as bleak and unforgiving as its title suggests. It's not a triumphant return; it's more of a hesitant re-emergence, like a glacier calving into a grey sea. The band haven't entirely lost their way, but *Morketid* is an album riddled with contradictions – moments of genuine brilliance suffocated by stretches of ponderous monotony.

The initial impression is one of oppressive atmosphere. 'Mørketid' itself unfurls like a funeral shroud, its slow, deliberate pace and cavernous production creating a palpable sense of dread. The guitars are thick and distorted, layered with unsettling textures that evoke the desolate landscapes of their native Norway. This isn't the frantic blast-beat frenzy of earlier Mortem; it's something more considered, more… glacial. But this very strength becomes a weakness as the album progresses.

The album feels like wading through treacle – occasionally beautiful, mostly exhausting.

Tracks like 'Skyggeånd' and 'Den Sanne Gud' attempt to build upon this foundation with intricate arrangements and unsettling vocal patterns. The vocals, guttural and echoing, are suitably monstrous, but they often feel lost in the mix, buried beneath the weight of the instrumentation. There's a clear ambition here, a desire to create something vast and epic, but it frequently collapses under its own weight. 'Mørkets Ormebol', for instance, feels like an exercise in self-indulgence – eight minutes of meandering riffs that ultimately lead nowhere.

The problem isn't necessarily the individual elements; it's how they coalesce. The songwriting lacks focus, often sacrificing momentum for atmosphere. While a certain level of repetition is inherent to death metal, here it veers into tedium. 'Blodvassen Grunn', despite its promising title, is just another slab of grey sonic wallpaper. It's not *bad*, per se, but it's utterly forgettable.

'The Mighty Odious' offers a brief respite from the gloom with a slightly faster tempo and more aggressive vocal delivery. It's one of the few tracks that genuinely ignites, showcasing a flicker of the old Mortem fire. But this spark is quickly extinguished as the album descends back into its morose introspection. 'Aftermath' continues this downward spiral, feeling like an extended outro to a song that never existed.

The production, while undeniably atmospheric, contributes to the album's overall sense of sluggishness. Everything feels compressed and muffled, lacking the clarity and punch needed to truly convey the brutality of Mortem's sound. It's as if the band are deliberately trying to bury their music under a mountain of reverb.

The score of 6.0 reflects this frustrating duality. *Morketid* isn't an outright failure; there are moments of genuine beauty and unsettling atmosphere lurking within its depths. But it's also an album that tests the listener's patience, demanding far more commitment than it ultimately rewards. It feels like wading through treacle – occasionally beautiful, mostly exhausting.

Ultimately, *Morketid* is a reminder that even legends can stumble. Mortem haven't lost their ability to create unsettling soundscapes, but they need to rediscover the visceral aggression that defined their earlier work. This album isn't a return to form; it's a tentative step in an uncertain direction – one that desperately needs more urgency and less introspection.

Perhaps future offerings will see Mortem fully reclaim their throne as masters of bleak Norwegian death metal, but for now, *Morketid* remains a murky affair, shrouded in shadows and weighed down by its own ambition. It's an album best approached with caution – and earplugs.