The Norwegians use the word "trolsk" to describe the dark magic that sets in when you're wandering in the forest after sundown and find yourself seized by a desire to surrender to the id, slinking off like a wolf into the forest. In the early '90s, this untranslatable fury fueled the country's burgeoning black metal scene: a radical, violent offshoot of the misanthropic havoc wreaked abroad by Bathory and Venom. Trolsk imbued Per Yngve Ohlin, Euronymous and Varg Vikernes with the fierce energy they needed to achieve worldwide acclaim—and notoriety—with their respective bands, Mayhem and Burzum. In time, the same forces would lead to their downfall—and inspire musicians and fans to stab men and set churches ablaze.
In Oslo 1993, away from the spotlight, 17-year-old Kristoffer Rygg (known to most by his nickname, Garm) quietly formed Ulver with his friends: Sigmund Andreas "Grellmund" Løkken (who died the same year), Robin Malmberg, Hävard Jørgensen, Carl-Michael Eide, and Ali Reza. A lifelong disciple of black metal, Garm was as enamored with the necrocosms as anyone else, with some exceptions: while his peers were indulging LaVeyan power-trips, the teenager espoused rebellious romanticism, recasting black metal as a dissonant, gloomy cousin of Norwegian folk music, rather than a form love-letter to Baphomet. They crystallized this vision on their first three albums, which are also their loudest:'*95'*s Bergtatt – Et Eeventyr I 5 Capitier, '96's Kveldssanger, and '97's Nattens Madrigal-Aatte Hymne Til Ulven I Manden. A trifold rebuttal to black metal formalism, the records presaged the disintegration of heavy music's stylistic boundaries, laying the groundwork for everyone from Windhand and Horseback to Drudkh and Deafheaven.
Ulver's debut album Bergtatt – Et Eeventyr I 5 Capitier (typically shortened to Bargtatt) derives both its title and inspiration from a Norwegian folk tale centered around the aforementioned trolsk. Lost in the wilderness and enticed by the mythical creatures lurking in the twilight, the album's female protagonist clambers into the mountains, never to return. Accordingly, Bergtatt's five chapters see Ulver dragging Norwegian folk into the black-metal void. The nearly seven-minute “Capitel II: Soelen gaaer bag Aase need” opens with a graceful flute solo that flits about, only to get snapped up by the blast-beats after the first minute. Garm’s phantom croon drifts in to fill the vacant space, guiding the melody through the web of misery. Just when it seems like a truce has been reached and all's at ease, the frontman flips back to black-metal mode, unleashing more punishing death growls. Ulver are a crafty bunch, but they’re not afraid to flex their muscles once in a while.
Bergtatt's massive arrangements are majestic on their own, but the album's esteemed reputation is owed to stylistic diversity, rather than pure aggression. Ulver were among the first to integrate folk into the genre's thorny framework, illuminating the pitch-black racket with haunting, clean melodies and acoustic arpeggios. The razed thicket gave outside listeners an access point into a sound that had catered to diehards, breaking open black metal's hostile niche. Simultaneously, the stylistic juggling paved the way for future crossovers by proving that metal bands could expand their stylistic palette without compromising on their abrasive integrity.
A little over a year after Bergtatt made Ulver heroes in their scene, the band torched their laurels on the follow-up Kveldssanger ("Twilight Songs.") The 14-track album does away with the debut's black metal trappings entirely. In other words, it's an entire album of "Capitel IV"s. Garm's icy tenor has been largely replaced by somber, choral vocals, frequently presented a cappella as if they're sourced from some sacrilegious church service. Unless you're a sucker for medieval chants or Norwegian folkways, you'd be wise to skip over tracks like "Ord," "A Capella (Sielens Sang)," and "Kledt I Nattens Farger" and stick to the instrumental requiems, which reprise Ulver's mournful, multi-faceted approach to melody. Flutes feature prominently on the hypnotic "Naturmystikk," twirling atop the spindly chords like landing snowflakes; they deepen this wintry mood on "Hiertets Vee," situating the woodwinds within a howling blizzard. Devoid of the guitars' molten heft and the drums' thunderous pulse, Kveldssanger can't capture the heft of the previous album; It's an enjoyable folk record, but ultimately underwhelming.
The band completed their Trilogie in 1997 with Nattens Madrigal-Aate Hymne Tip Ulven I Manden ("Madrigal of the Night – Eight Hymns to the Wolf in Man.") The eight-part record reprises the same hyper-focused approach as its predecessor, but its palette's the polar opposite: a riotous return to black metal, stripped clean of all traces of Ulver's folk favoritism. Once again, the group found their muse in the trolsk: more specifically, its animal emissary, the wolf. "It [the wolf] indisputably holds a strong position as the Devil's herald in Norwegian myths and conceptions," the band revealed in an interview with Slayer. "[Nattens Madrigal] glorifies this fiery crossroads and describes both the pain and pleasure by giving in to and recognizing the beast within."
True to their muse, Ulver frame Nattens Madrigal as a show of musical lycanthropy: not just with regards to its animalistic themes and fanged arrangements, but also its ramshackled, lo-fi production. Fans have come up with some crazy origin stories to explain the record's divergence the from the first two albums' sterling presentation. According to one popular (and sadly, debunked) legend, Ulver recorded the epic in a Norwegian forest on an 8-track recorder after blowing their entire recording budget on drugs, cars and Armani suits. In actuality, the cramped sonics have nothing to due with logistics; rather, the album's compressed presentation is an extension of its return to nature, far from the comforts of a cushy studio.
Inhospitable as their presentation may be, Nattens Madrigal's eight hymns unfold with the same grace as the first two records, provided that you're willing to dig through the din to uncover that wild beauty. Within the monstrous core of "Hymne V," for example, Jørgensen and Pedersen's guitars weave together subtle harmonies that lend the song's mammoth arrangement some much-needed breathing room. "Hymne I" and "Hymne VII" are unexpectedly nuanced as well. Even as Garm growls his throat to shreds, barreling down his devolutionary path in time with the blast beats, his bandmates resist the temptation to transgress. Instead, the guitarists' pointed, victorious solos muzzle the feral roar, ensuring that the tug-of-war between man and beast never gets too one-sided.
Ulver left the woods for good following Nattens Madrigal, but their fascination with the arcane has yet to fade in the 19 years since the Trilogie. From industrial reinterpretations of William Blake to sludgy takes on Greek mythology, they've peered into the darkness through every imaginable prism. Listening to January's sophisticated kraut-rock offensive ATGCLVLSSCAP, it's hard to believe that these three albums came from the same band. Certainly Ulver will go down in history for crafting two of black metal's greatest achievements—but it's that unparalleled polymorphism that marvels so many years later.
