AMON AMARTH – The Allfather Awakens

From streaming to guttural, the transition to Kvasir's Blood is steeped in regency and reverence. Starting as a song of praises for the wise god, the chorus is bombastic and catchy, a rip roaring testament to Amon Amarth's gift of taking ancient stories and transforming them into a surprisingly modern, immersive format. We Rule The Waves extends on that sentiment. There's moments of literal imitation of the natural crests and crashes of the waves on harsh rocks. It's far from heavy-handed, though; the musical bridge sees percussion drop out and a gradual rebuild of textures and of confidence in where the ship is headed.

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Upphaf sees a moment of soft reprieve, a quiet breath where songwriting and a deep drone star alongside delicately picked acoustic guitar. Vocally, Johan Hegg doesn't compromise on his distinct articulation. It is the acoustics shifting around him that showcase the depth of his delivery.

The trance is shattered with the aptly named A War Cry. Tremolo guitars drive the tension to the heavens, guttural growls over chugging rhythm guitar and the memorable chorus phrases the band have nailed the formula for over their 13 studio albums. It is, however, a slight point of overiteration throughout The Allfather Awakens; many of the tracks employ the same structure and meticulous employment of addition and subtraction. The title track, and Oden's Hunt fall into this trap at points, with the bridges being the primary, but compelling, point of differentiation. The Allfather Awakens carries heavy namesake expectations. If there's one thing Amon Amarth know how to do, it's galvanise an audience (rowing pit, anyone?). Direct calls to "raise your heads / stand and fight" are the most overt call to arms in this album. The bridge of Oden's Hunt centres drums harsh like flint on stone, and there's renewed sense of urgency after the stately uprising of the preceding track.

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Sandwiched between the two less-impactful tracks is Raven God. Written from the perspective of Odin himself, setting twin ravens Hughinn and Muninn free into the sky, Raven God sees Amon Amarth seek loftier heights. The guitar solo is spacious and waltzy, before diving back into the infinitely chantable chorus. It marries easily to the closing title, Ascending Like an Eagle, where the guitar is ethereal and spiralling and gradually brought down to earth by dense columns of rhythm. Amon Amarth wield refreshing introspection on the adversity overcome, and

the unknown of the path ahead; despite the fear, the only way forwards is unwaveringly through. Or, perhaps, as the fading refrain suggests, upwards.

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SCORE 8/10

Reviewed by Charlie Fern