Shrieking, synths, and orcs en route to Minas Morgul.
After Bathory, it felt only natural to dive deeper into the icy pit of second wave black metal. So here we are: Emperor.
Formed in 1991 in Norway by Vegard Sverre Tveitan (Ihsahn) and Tomas Thormodsæter Haugen (Samoth), Emperor quickly became one of the key bands of the second wave. They're also credited with kicking off symphonic black metal—a phrase that should sound contradictory but somehow works.
Between 1994 and 2001, they released just four studio albums. Since then? No new material—just a few reunion gigs and a cult-like reverence that’s refused to fade. Naturally, I had questions.
The Album That Changed Everything (for Some People)
Their debut, In the Nightside Eclipse (1994), is considered a black metal milestone. All the expected genre tropes are here:
- Lo-fi production
- Satanic lyrics
- Vocals that sound like someone screaming from a frozen tomb
- Tremolo riffs and blastbeats for days
But then come the symphonic elements. Keyboards. Choirs. Atmosphere. Actual melody. It’s like someone buried a pipe organ in a glacier and let it haunt the mix.
It’s widely hailed as the first "real" symphonic black metal album, and a direct influence on bands like Dimmu Borgir. So yes—I was excited.
Did I like it at first? Absolutely not.
Do I like it now? —Kind of.
Black Metal Isn’t Built for Beginners
The album opens with a chilly keyboard swell that sets the mood: bleak but theatrical. The first track kicks in with a strong melodic riff, and I was hopeful.
Then Ihsahn starts "singing."
Look, I was expecting black metal vocals. But this? This was next-level possession shriek. Technically impressive. Emotionally scarring. Not easy to latch onto.
Worse, I couldn’t tell the songs apart at first. No clear structures, no choruses, no handholds. Just a wall of noise and rage and weird grandeur. Turns out, black metal likes to tell stories, not repeat hooks. It’s Verse–Verse–Verse into the abyss.
And Then—A Horse Neighed
Track 9 on the 1999 remastered edition made me sit up. A Fine Day to Die—a cover of the Bathory classic. That’s where I knew the horses from.
And that familiar territory opened something up. Suddenly, the rest of the album started to make more sense. I wasn’t being thrown into a frozen cave anymore—I had a torch. A cursed, howling torch, but still.
Bathory’s Influence and That LOTR Cover Art
Once I had that point of reference, I started hearing Bathory’s DNA all over the album—especially in The Burning Shadows of Silence. That chord progression at 2:44? Quorthon says hi.
Also: shoutout to the cover art. I didn’t know what I was looking at at first, just that I loved it. Turns out it’s by Necrolord (Kristian Wåhlin) and depicts "a host of orcs en route to Minas Morgul."
Emperor x Lord of the Rings? Suddenly, everything made sense.
What Even Is My Favourite Track?
This album doesn’t lend itself to picking favourites. It’s a full experience—eight tracks of chaos that all bleed together.
You’ve got:
- Faust’s relentless blastbeats and cymbals
- Ihsahn’s otherworldly shrieks
- Samoth and Ihsahn’s layered tremolo riffs
- (and a bass player who may or may not exist)
The better I got at focusing on one layer at a time—synths, guitars, drums—the more it all clicked. The choir and ambient elements don’t soften the sound—they expand it. There's beauty buried under the frostbite, and you have to work for it.
The Majesty of the Night Sky (and Synths That Actually Work)
Take The Majesty of the Night Sky. The synth section at 2:23 lasts nearly two minutes and somehow doesn’t derail the track. It enhances it. Sets the scene.
The lyrics are abstract as hell, but this one hit:
| "Growing circles of grief and pain slides across the land // As an omen of the horror yet to come"
That’s the energy. This whole album is a slow-motion apocalypse wrapped in cathedral dust.
Inno a Satana, Opus a Revelation
BUT—and this is a big one—if I actually sit down, one track at a time, and really listen—to the layers, the individual instruments, the atmospheric threads weaving through the chaos—it all clicks.
The shrieking becomes texture. The synths become world-building. Beneath the frost and fury, there’s something weirdly beautiful.
What completely broke it open for me? Comparing Inno a Satana to the orchestral rework Opus a Satana on their follow-up Anthems to the Welkin at Dusk (1997). Hearing those melodies stripped of the storm revealed just how composed, intentional, and frankly stunning the original material was.
There’s a composer buried in Ihsahn’s chaos, and once you hear it—you can’t unhear it.
Thanks @Mike, you bastard.
The Majesty Beneath the Mayhem
Every track on In the Nightside Eclipse hides stand-alone synth passages—and honestly? They’re great. I know purists clutch their corpsepaint over this, but for me, the choirs, wind effects, thunder sounds, and keyboards don’t dilute the evil. They expand it.
They don’t soften the violence—they frame it. They create the blackened landscape these songs are meant to live in.
This album isn’t just blastbeats and shrieking. It’s a grim painting, full of cracks and cold light if you’re patient enough to look.
In the Nightside Eclipse showcases four musicians who knew exactly what they were doing. It's bold. It's majestic. And while it took effort, and a lot of very weird horse noises, I'm genuinely happy to know it now.