Black Metal: Evolution of the Cult

by Dayal Patterson

  By 1991, Fenriz would be considered something of a fellow veteran and the two bands became closely associated, the members sharing many philosophical and musical ideas, and spending time together at Helvete, among other places. All the same, while Mayhem might have had a degree of influence, Fenriz is keen to correct the widely held perception that Darkthrone were somehow “converted” to the black metal cause by Euronymous.

  “How would he do that?” he laughs. “We all have free wills. That’s one of the most amusing rumors, but after a while it’s repeated so much it’s like a half-truth. The thing is that Mayhem were well into doing new stuff and we had on tape the Live in Leipzig show. It wasn’t released until later but we had it on tape, that was one of the stuffs [sic] we listened to and it was very, very good. Top-notch black metal. But it was never like Euronymous would say, ‘Hey, why don’t you change to black metal?’ That’s ridiculous, we don’t do it like that in the area that I’m from, it’s just not done. We have very strong free wills.”

  Another opinion the two musicians shared was of the importance of Satanism within black metal. It is an attitude that Fenriz maintains today, and though he is not active in what might be thought of as a religious sense, he nonetheless argues that a belief in the Christian conception of Satan and hell was integral to the genre.

  “That’s a good part of black metal. If we didn’t have any sort of belief in that, a lot of it would feel wasted. Certainly that belief in a real hell and a real devil would be one of the things that pushed black metal to become what it became, and make it worshipped. I think if everyone thought it was really cartoonish it would never even be… I mean it would have no one worshipping, say, a Bathory album. You get a good demonic feeling in a lot of this stuff. I don’t think that, say, a really high-level atheist would start off something that would end up coming as black metal, there had to be something there.”

  Despite not taking part in the criminal aspect of the Inner Circle, Darkthrone were thus very much in alignment with many of its beliefs, and as a part of the scene Fenriz increasingly became friends with both Euronymous and Varg. However, he is again keen to put his relationships with both figures into perspective.

  “I’ve never really been good friends with anyone,” comes the surprising explanation. “I’m a loner basically, and that has to do with coincidences with living arrangements, where parents would move and not move. He was Euronymous, you know? He was the guy who had the best network in Norway together with Metalion so it would be very natural to hook up with those people as fast as humanly possible, and I already did that in ’87, so by ’91 I was already one of the old guys in their eyes I reckon. [Concerning Varg] again what I see of friendship is what you see on TV, you hang with persons for a lot of periods throughout your life. Well I never did that, so I think it’s different. We were musical persons, we were strange and maybe the strangeness kept us together, the interest in what we knew was a deviant music style. Apart from that you’d say hello, say a few words and not so much more, go about what you were doing. It’s typical Norwegian, we have a lot of space here and we keep to ourselves a lot.”

  Whatever the nature of their personal relationships with the band, both Euronymous and Varg were very supportive of Darkthrone. Period interviews see them frequently paying respect to the band, and there’s no doubt that A Blaze in the Northern Sky did much to launch the Norwegian scene. However, it was, to put it mildly, somewhat less enthusiastically received by the band’s label Peaceville, and specifically its owner Hammy. Not only was the album a far more primitive-sounding affair than the technical death metal album that was hoped for, swapping challenging time signatures and complex arrangements for simple, catchy riffs and a genuinely demonic atmosphere, but the production was now icy and lo-fi in the extreme.

  “Hammy is from England, and most of the metal albums coming out of England in the eighties had really shabby sound,” ponders Fenriz, “so I figured he would be used to shabby sound. But maybe he tried to move away from that, ’cos he was actually the producer for the first Paradise Lost album and they’ve said he tried to make it too clean. So we finally had an organic sound—we would bring Black Sabbath albums to the studio guy and say we didn’t want modern sound, that we wanted sharp and cold guitars—and Hammy went totally ballistic, he wanted us to rerecord.”

  “We had done something fresh. I don’t think Soulside Journey was that fresh and we can see which has stood the test of time. And it was a mistake that he couldn’t see the fire in Darkthrone at that time. He only stuck by it ’cos I was like, ‘Fuck the contract, we’ll release it on Deathlike Silence Productions.’ ’Cos it wasn’t important for us at that point to have money, we had entered the zone, where nothing mattered but to make ugly black metal, primitive stuff. We weren’t businessmen. What I remember is he said if a young band would just leave his label he would lose face, like some Japanese thing,” he laughs and adopts a stern Japanese accent, “‘No! We lose face, we cannot do it!’ So he released it anyway, everyone’s happy.”

  Like Hammy, bassist Dag Nilsen was also less than thrilled with the new direction the band had taken and departed after the recording of the album, having only stayed on as a session member for the band’s convenience since he knew the bass lines. It was as a trio that the band recorded their third album, 1993’s Under A Funeral Moon, the first Darkthrone album Fenriz considers entirely black metal, since all material had been written specifically for the record. The difference is clearly audible, and where the previous album had made use of chunky Frost-influenced riffs, the successor leaned more toward a Bathory/VON/Burzum approach, introducing a more minimal, dissonant style, fast tremolo melodies, droning, hypnotic song structures, and higher-pitched, raspy vocals.

  Equally importantly, the album made use of a shockingly raw production. In itself that was nothing new within black metal, but here was a signed, established band choosing to go with the most primitive sound possible, and it was an important aesthetic decision that would prove hugely influential. Indeed, since that time there have appeared many new bands who place a high value on lo-fi production—despite the increased ease with which one can now attain a “professional” production—and argue, like Darkthrone, that this can be as integral to the aural experience as the composition of the songs themselves. It is a creative decision that is sadly much derided by those outside of the genre who fail to understand that what makes a production “good” or “bad” is entirely subjective, and that a clean, dynamic sound is not always the best medium for metal, nor the most effective way to achieve a powerful atmosphere.

  Under a Funeral Moon would also mark the last appearance of Zephyrous, whose departure from the band coincided with his move away from Oslo, a relocation soon echoed by Ted, who was also tiring of life in the city.

  “We started making songs for Under a Funeral Moon and everything went hunky dory until Ted decided that the whole Helvete scene was becoming a bit of a boy’s club and moved pretty far away,” recalls Fenriz. “I think Zephyrous was starting to think that too—these guys, especially Zephyrous, were the true misanthropes. They moved away and stopped rehearsing just ’cos they thought, ‘Ah fuck, this is becoming stupid.’ They were like the hummingbirds in the coal mine shafts—if the air got bad the hummingbird died and the people get the hell out. We should have got the hell out of the black metal party at that time, but no, people just kept coming.”

  “That’s how I felt with the thrash metal party, I got into it a bit late then lots of idiots came and I thought, ‘Fuck this, there must be something else.’ Then I went to the death metal party, ‘Yeah, this rocks,’ then all the idiots started gate-crashing that. Anyway [their move] started to make it a bit difficult to hang out as a band and rehearse, but we finished the album, then we didn’t do anything else. For the first time we didn’t start rehearsing new material after coming out of the studio.”

  While his bandmates were deserting the Oslo social scene, Fenriz went the other way, finding an enthusi
asm for alcohol and bar life in general for the first time. “As of 1991 I decided to quit the loner life,” he explains. “I had been very involved in the tape-trading scene from ’87 to ’90 and I needed a break, I needed to have my first beer, ’cos I didn’t have a normal youth period where I would hang round with the gang and drink beers underage. I would just be Fenriz in the underground and I needed a break and the break was fifteen years chugging beers and socializing.”

  Neither geographical challenges nor busy social lives could hamper Darkthrone’s creative streak, and in early 1994 the band released their fourth album, the iconic and infamous Transilvanian Hunger. Though following a similarly hypnotic and discordant approach in terms of composition, it also employed a sound that—amazingly—proved even colder and more primitive than its predecessor. If the two previous albums had been lo-fi in comparison to Soulside Journey, this opus was lo-fi in comparison to just about anything, boasting a gloriously hideous non-production that would have seemed rudimentary even on a demo.

  Still, if the sound qualities caused some controversy, it was nothing compared to the furor initiated by other aspects of the release. Within the black metal community itself the album caused no little antagonism, since the lyrics for the latter half of the record were penned by the recently jailed Varg Vikernes, not a popular figure in a community still reeling from the death of Euronymous. Particularly aggravated were sections of the Swedish scene, including Jon of Dissection and It of Abruptum, who had been particularly vocal in his support of Euronymous and his hatred for Vikernes, and a few thinly veiled threats were issued via Slayer Magazine.

  “When Varg was jailed he had no means of communication,” explains Fenriz. “And I would say, ‘I have half the lyrics for my album, how about I give you the other half and you do what you want?’ and he wrote back and said ‘Yes, okay I’ll do it.’ And it came back without any message or anything like that, which was cool. Some people would say, ‘Hey, you gotta be careful, some guys are pretty angry with you,’ but nothing happened. Maybe I was just lucky, you know you always hear some rumor that some crazy guy has started on a journey from another country to get you, blah, blah, blah, but it never happens, just talk.”

  Far more problematic—at least to the wider metal world, now increasingly picking up on both Darkthrone and the Norwegian black metal scene—was a provocative statement that the band requested accompany the album, which read:

  “We would like to state that Transilvanian Hunger stands beyond any criticism. If any man should attempt to criticize this LP, he should be thoroughly patronized for his obvious Jewish behavior.”

  Taken aback, label Peaceville made a public statement distancing themselves from the band and then refused to promote or advertise the album, while nonetheless refusing to censor the band or cancel the release.

  “I regret it,” admits Fenriz. “The statement actually meant: ‘If you don’t know where black metal comes from, why the hell would you try to review it in your magazine? Are you doing it because you need the money?’ That is what I should have said. But I was young and my language was disgusting and flamboyant and very, very angry. As usual that [the word ‘Jewish’] would be the prejudice you would use in jokes, but then it’s quite okay for the press that some people aren’t politically correct as long as they don’t express it. After this we lost distribution in most parts of Europe, and we didn’t have it back until many years later. They would boycott Transilvanian Hunger… now why is it not still boycotted do you think? Why would something be boycotted, and then not boycotted anymore? Again, the money, let’s just leave it at that, again just seeing people running for the money.”

  Seemingly surprised by the storm surrounding them, the band released the album without the offending statement, and quickly issued a two-page press statement that seemed to dig them even deeper. The statement explained:

  …Darkthrone can only apologize for this tragic choice of words, but PLEASE let us explain this. You see, in Norway the word ‘Jew’ is used all the time to mean something that’s out of order. It’s always been like this… WHY it is impossible to say, because Norwegians have always liked Jews and racism is not a big issue in Norway. You could actually ask the entire Norwegian nation for an apology, because the ‘Jew’ expression is used negatively everyday in Norway… Also it must be said that NONE of our albums have ever contained any racism/fascism or Nazi slant at all. Everyone can check this out by simply reading our lyrics… Darkthrone is absolutely not a political band and we never were. We ask everyone involved to look to our albums for the final proof that we are as innocent as humanly possible…

  Darkthrone play live (for what is likely to be the final time) in Oslo, 1996.

  Pictured is Nocturno Culto. Picture: Nihil Archives.

  For his part Fenriz has since explained that he was going through a phase of being “angry at several races,” after the left-wing phase of his early youth, which apparently once saw him arrested at an anti-apartheid march, and he has since lost interest in politics altogether. Rightly or wrongly, the apology failed to convince many of the band’s intentions, especially since interviews with fanzines at the time had seen Fenriz claiming that the band were “fascist in outlook.” The Varg connection also probably didn’t help dispel the far-right accusations, and there was also the fact that the album sleeve carried the phrase “Norsk Arisk Black Metal,” which translates to “Norwegian Aryan Black Metal.”

  “Again, it’s the same youthful insanity,” Fenriz comments of the sleeve design. “I had been protesting always against the major streams and this was a totally disgusting… a vulgar display of opinion, very vulgar. It’s not something you bring up when you speak to your mother. But I think most people in their lives have been young and in an extremely fucked situation and said very bad things. For me it was unluckily an idea to put it on a record cover as it was the only means of communication I felt I had. I can also say maybe some of the statements were colored by the extreme situation we were in [following the death of Euronymous and the trials] and having your backs to the wall you end up lashing out against almost anything.”

  The band’s next album, 1995’s Panzerfaust, was free of political content but confirmed that the band were in no mood to play it safe, once again featuring lyrical contributions from Varg (this time on a single song entitled “Quintessence”) and taking its name from an anti-tank weapon developed in Germany during World War II. Stylistically it followed neatly from the raw black metal sound of Transilvanian Hunger, perhaps not surprising since Fenriz wrote the entirety of both albums and, in the case of Panzerfaust, also handled all instruments. The album would be the first released on Moonfog Records, the band parting ways with Peaceville after their contract expired; not surprising, since things hadn’t ended on a good note.

  Fenriz also collaborated with Satyr in a project called Storm in 1995, blending black metal with traditional Norwegian folk music, something he would also do with the previously death metal-oriented solo project Isengard, which also released its second full-length album, Høstmørke, in 1995. As if that wasn’t enough, in 1995 Fenriz also released Transmissions From Empire Algol, the second album of his ambient project Neptune Towers, played bass on Kronet Til Konge by Dødheimsgard, and played drums in Moonstoned, the debut album of Vallhall, another Norwegian black metal act.

  Many of these efforts had been recorded in 1994, a year that Fenriz reports brought about both the end of his marriage and the beginning of the end of his love affair with black metal. Burnt out and disheartened by the direction the movement was taking, Fenriz found himself resentful of a scene that was suffering, as he saw it, from an influx of new bands and a move toward a more commercial sound.

  “I think it got lost when too many people started becoming interested in the style. I mean all the bands that had something black metal in them up to ’92/’93, all of them were great, then all the shit started to happen. But that happens to every scene, the poor guys who come along later, they can’t see what�
�s cool and what isn’t. They were just there at the right time, which is not to be the creator of the scene but rather when it gets streamlined, that is where to be successful.”

  Perhaps unsurprisingly, 1996 heralded something of an end of an era for the band, seeing the release of sixth album Total Death, a record on which Fenriz relinquished all lyric writing, the void filled by Nocturno Culto and the vocalists of various Norwegian acts such as Emperor, Satyricon, Ulver, and Ved Buens Ende. The much-delayed Goatlord—the aborted second death metal album—was also released soon after. A hiatus then took place in the Darkthrone world, with Nocturno taking a break to spend time with his young family, and Fenriz hitting a period of depression which, combined with a general sense of disillusionment with the black metal scene, left him loath to continue with Darkthrone.

  Darkthrone would continue, however, and in 1998 a resurrection of the group took place, primarily instigated by Nocturno Culto, who approached the band with a new drive, even taking over the non-musical responsibilities. For his part, Fenriz became far more vocal following the group’s resurrection, giving more regular interviews, since by this point a great deal of myth and legend had built up around the band. This is perhaps unsurprising given that fans only had a few words and a few demonic-looking photos from which to draw their conclusions.

  “Around 1994 the ‘blackpackers’ started coming from all over the world to Oslo, not even with an appointment, just coming to Elm Street [an Oslo bar frequented by musicians in the scene] to meet black metal people,” he complains. “Then they would act all strange because you were not living like a caveman. They would be like, ‘What, you’re laughing?’ Yeah. And you would hear a lot of strange rumors, so we started doing a lot of interviews in ’98, ’99, ’cos I wanted to set the record straight. The horrible thing about being in a band is it’s like being in a house and you are trying to explain what’s in there. People in bands aren’t very good at communicating and when people aren’t communicating at all, that’s where the myths start. ‘What do they have in the house? What are they building in there?’”