Review by Dominik on June 16, 2025.

There's something perversely comforting about Angantyr. The band is to Denmark what Grafvitnir is to Sweden: a reliable institution, something like a black metal hermit crab that's carved out a narrow little niche and barricaded itself inside with pride. For over two decades, Ynleborgaz – the one-man northern sentinel behind the band – has stayed the course, and "Indsigt" ("Insight"), the seventh full-length album, proudly continues the tradition of not surprising anyone.

Let's be clear: that's both a compliment and a warning. The songs across the Angantyr discography don't so much evolve as politely reintroduce themselves. You know what you're getting: raw-yet-melodic second wave black metal with just enough emotional frostbite to keep it interesting, but not enough to warrant changing the formula. The only notable variation from album to album tends to be the production – sometimes grittier, sometimes cleaner, always functional. Song structures, melodies, pacing – it's all comfortably familiar, like watching a glacier inch forward (or in today's world rather melting backwards). You either find this consistency admirable, or you're already halfway out the door looking for a jazz-influenced black metal trio from Kazakhstan.

"Indsigt" features five tracks ranging from six-and-a-half to over fifteen minutes. The quick and dirty summary? The shorter songs leave a stronger impression. The closing track for instance, "Et øjebliks Indsigt" ("A moment of insight"), clocks in at over a quarter of an hour and feels every second of it. As the minutes tick by, that "moment" of insight begins to feel like one of those existential blackouts where you forget why you entered the room. It opens with the usual Angantyr trademarks: raw, fast riffing, percussion that's there to keep order rather than innovate, and rasped vocals that communicate emotional pain and chronic throat problems in equal measure. Melodic undercurrents run through it – one of Angantyr's more underrated strengths – but the song ultimately shifts into a mid-tempo groove that starts to drag on like a funeral speech from someone who clearly didn't know the deceased. Yes, you might find yourself slowly swaying to it, but eventually it feels less like hypnotic trance and more like musical Stockholm Syndrome.

The album's standout moment arrives with "Magtløse Korskyssere" – a title that roughly translates to "Powerless cross-kissers", and sounds like an insult hurled during a witch trial. It's more compact, better structured, and boasts a memorable opening riff. It plays with tempo changes in a way that keeps the listener engaged. However, it also reinforces my earlier point: the songs, much like the vocals, offer little variation across the board. You either need time to fully immerse yourself in the album and uncover its subtle nuances—or you're easily satisfied being served the same meal over and over again and still wagging your tail in delight (which might mean you're a dog, but I digress). Sandwiching the highlight are "Værst Jeg Vælger" ("The worst thing I choose") and "Skinvandel" (something along the lines of "Appearance in behavior"). Both are among the stronger offerings on "Indsigt", and demonstrate that while variation is scarce, it isn't extinct. Especially the latter benefits from a subtle shift in vocal tone. Ynleborgaz briefly abandons his default "dying wraith in the woods" delivery and leans into something more desperate and imploring. It's not a full reinvention – this is still Angantyr, after all – but it's enough to briefly trick the ear into thinking evolution might be possible. The guitars try to follow suit, adding a bit more emotional weight to the mix.

Production-wise, "Indsigt" keeps things deliberately raw but listenable. Guitars and vocals are pushed forward, the drums sound natural and unpolished (which is fine), and the bass, as is tradition, went out to buy cigarettes in 2012 and hasn't returned. No polish, no unnecessary grime – just the right level of frostbite.

Listening to "Indsigt" is a reminder of why I haven't bothered to collect every Angantyr release. The lack of variety, the strict adherence to a decades-old blueprint, and the absence of risk-taking all make it hard to justify continued investment – financially or emotionally. But that doesn't make it a bad album. In fact, it's a well-crafted piece of black metal that does exactly what it sets out to do. It's just that it sets out to do the same thing it's always done. If you're already in the cult, this is another hymn to howl at the trees. If you're waiting for a revolution, you'll die waiting. Or worse – you'll buy the vinyl and realize it sounds eerily like the last one you bought.

Rating: 7.7 out of 10, because sometimes doing the same thing repeatedly isn't madness… it's brand loyalty.

Review by Dominik on June 16, 2025.

There's something perversely comforting about Angantyr. The band is to Denmark what Grafvitnir is to Sweden: a reliable institution, something like a black metal hermit crab that's carved out a narrow little niche and barricaded itself inside with pride. For over two decades, Ynleborgaz – the one-man northern sentinel behind the band – has stayed the course, and "Indsigt" ("Insight"), the seventh full-length album, proudly continues the tradition of not surprising anyone.

Let's be clear: that's both a compliment and a warning. The songs across the Angantyr discography don't so much evolve as politely reintroduce themselves. You know what you're getting: raw-yet-melodic second wave black metal with just enough emotional frostbite to keep it interesting, but not enough to warrant changing the formula. The only notable variation from album to album tends to be the production – sometimes grittier, sometimes cleaner, always functional. Song structures, melodies, pacing – it's all comfortably familiar, like watching a glacier inch forward (or in today's world rather melting backwards). You either find this consistency admirable, or you're already halfway out the door looking for a jazz-influenced black metal trio from Kazakhstan.

"Indsigt" features five tracks ranging from six-and-a-half to over fifteen minutes. The quick and dirty summary? The shorter songs leave a stronger impression. The closing track for instance, "Et øjebliks Indsigt" ("A moment of insight"), clocks in at over a quarter of an hour and feels every second of it. As the minutes tick by, that "moment" of insight begins to feel like one of those existential blackouts where you forget why you entered the room. It opens with the usual Angantyr trademarks: raw, fast riffing, percussion that's there to keep order rather than innovate, and rasped vocals that communicate emotional pain and chronic throat problems in equal measure. Melodic undercurrents run through it – one of Angantyr's more underrated strengths – but the song ultimately shifts into a mid-tempo groove that starts to drag on like a funeral speech from someone who clearly didn't know the deceased. Yes, you might find yourself slowly swaying to it, but eventually it feels less like hypnotic trance and more like musical Stockholm Syndrome.

The album's standout moment arrives with "Magtløse Korskyssere" – a title that roughly translates to "Powerless cross-kissers", and sounds like an insult hurled during a witch trial. It's more compact, better structured, and boasts a memorable opening riff. It plays with tempo changes in a way that keeps the listener engaged. However, it also reinforces my earlier point: the songs, much like the vocals, offer little variation across the board. You either need time to fully immerse yourself in the album and uncover its subtle nuances—or you're easily satisfied being served the same meal over and over again and still wagging your tail in delight (which might mean you're a dog, but I digress). Sandwiching the highlight are "Værst Jeg Vælger" ("The worst thing I choose") and "Skinvandel" (something along the lines of "Appearance in behavior"). Both are among the stronger offerings on "Indsigt", and demonstrate that while variation is scarce, it isn't extinct. Especially the latter benefits from a subtle shift in vocal tone. Ynleborgaz briefly abandons his default "dying wraith in the woods" delivery and leans into something more desperate and imploring. It's not a full reinvention – this is still Angantyr, after all – but it's enough to briefly trick the ear into thinking evolution might be possible. The guitars try to follow suit, adding a bit more emotional weight to the mix.

Production-wise, "Indsigt" keeps things deliberately raw but listenable. Guitars and vocals are pushed forward, the drums sound natural and unpolished (which is fine), and the bass, as is tradition, went out to buy cigarettes in 2012 and hasn't returned. No polish, no unnecessary grime – just the right level of frostbite.

Listening to "Indsigt" is a reminder of why I haven't bothered to collect every Angantyr release. The lack of variety, the strict adherence to a decades-old blueprint, and the absence of risk-taking all make it hard to justify continued investment – financially or emotionally. But that doesn't make it a bad album. In fact, it's a well-crafted piece of black metal that does exactly what it sets out to do. It's just that it sets out to do the same thing it's always done. If you're already in the cult, this is another hymn to howl at the trees. If you're waiting for a revolution, you'll die waiting. Or worse – you'll buy the vinyl and realize it sounds eerily like the last one you bought.

Rating: 7.7 out of 10, because sometimes doing the same thing repeatedly isn't madness… it's brand loyalty.