There will always be a strong contingent of fans imploring Ulver mastermind Kristoffer Rygg to stay sequestered in some dark, Norwegian wood, blessing his acolytes with abundant black metal masterpieces. And who could blame them? After all, the chameleonic outfit are responsible for two of metal’s greatest albums: 1995’s folk-steeped, hellish Bergtatt, and 1997’s *Nattens Madrigal: atte hymn til ulven i manden—*a searing, lo-fi suite devoted wholly to the mighty Canis lupus ("Sopranos" fans might recognize its cover art from a poster in Meadow’s room). By the end of the '90s, the band moved on from black metal to albums influenced by Wagner, Massive Attack, prog futurism, and modern classical, belying their sole stylistic constant: inconsistency. Rygg’s restless, morbid creative spirit has enabled Ulver to expand their dark horizons outward and mine sorrow from any style they choose, teaming up with such disparate collaborators as Mysticum and Norway's Tromsø Chamber Orchestra along the way.
Ulver's 16th album, ATGCKVLSSCAP, provides proof of their initial ferocity, even after countless incarnations. After 2014’s plodding Sunn O))) collaboration Terrestrials, Ulver have sprung back to life with a krautrock-leaning collection derived from several live improvisational pieces the band performed at various shows two years ago. Gone are the classically-inspired arrangements and sound effects resembling dying flies; in their stead stand waterlogged bells, torrential percussion, and frog noises. Spiritual energy abounds; the album’s centerpiece, "Om Hanumate Namah," pays tribute to a powerful Hindu monkey god with a meditative structure that becomes more and more animated with each recitation of its mantra.
With plenty of thrills tucked away inside ATGCKVLSSCAP’s Can-y first half—"Glammer Hammer"’s cinematic crescendoes and anxious keyboards; the metallic, clanging drums that stamp out "Moody Stix"; and the rugged psychedelic freak-outs of "Crogmagnosis," to name a few—it’s a shame that the album’s static, drone-intensive second half wipes out the guitars, bass, and drums that made the first six tracks so rich-sounding. "Desert/Dawn," "D-Day Drone," and "Gold Beach" make for nice background music, but seem weak and uninspired when compared to the record's energetic upswing.
Over the last decade, Rygg’s taken on a more prominent vocal presence in Ulver, showcased most recently on 2011’s War on the Roses. His impressive bass register and haunting tone work well within the band’s grim palette—and yet, he’s got but two opportunities to show off his pipes on ATGCKVLSSCAP, just as the album nears its conclusion. "Nowhere (Sweet Sixteen)" marks the closest the band’s come to pop so far: a seething ballad peppered with spoken-word passages and trembling guitar chords. On the following song, "Ecclesiastes (A Vernal Catnip)," Rygg surrounds his tenor with bongos, pianos, and synths, but without a clear structure, the frontman's left to wander about aimlessly. As a result, the late-album arrangement of these two outliers feels unnecessary and out-of-place. Two steps forward, one step back: such is the dance of courting other genres, even if the risks have helped keep Ulver vital.
