The Place I Go When It’s Too Loud
I’m staying in Iceland with Sólstafir. Spiritually, sonically, emotionally—fully relocated. I tried picking just one album to write about for this post, but it felt wrong. Sólstafir doesn’t work like that. You don’t dip a toe in. You wade out until you can’t see the shore anymore.
Their music isn’t about one album, or even one story. It’s about atmosphere.
Feeling. Disappearing.
Music to think to. Music to vanish into. Music that builds worlds and then quietly leaves you in them.
A Beginning in Blood and Spirit
Formed in 1995 by Aðalbjörn Tryggvason (guitar, vocals), Halldór Einarsson (bass), and Guðmundur Óli Pálmason (drums), Sólstafir didn’t release their debut album until 2002. By then, Einarsson was gone and Svavar Austmann had taken over on bass.
Their first album, Í Blóði og Anda ("In Blood and Spirit"), is still rooted in black metal. Cold, dissonant guitars, crashing cymbals, shrieked vocals—all the expected trademarks are there. But the shift is already audible.
Tracks like The Underworld Song stretch and breathe in ways black metal usually doesn’t. The melodies start to unfurl, unashamed. Bitch in Black opens with something that almost feels like a folk lullaby, clean vocals and all, before erupting into something far harsher.
It’s not an easy album. But on a walk through the woods with headphones on and no one to talk to, it’s the perfect companion.
Masterpiece of Bitterness: Where the Ice Cracks
Their second album, Masterpiece of Bitterness (2005), is where everything begins to unravel—in the best way. It opens with I Myself the Visionary Head, which runs for just under 20 minutes, because of course it does. This is not music built for playlists.
It’s less about metal now, and more about mood. Long, hypnotic passages that loop and swell like waves you can’t quite stand up in. The riffs repeat like mantras.
Time gets weird. There are still eruptions—flashes of distortion, shouts that jolt you out of the haze—but the sharp edges are now balanced by an overwhelming sense of space. This isn’t music you throw on to feel better. This is 70 minutes of slow emotional erosion. It doesn’t hold your hand. It just stands next to you in the rain and waits.
Svartir Sandar: The Shift into Wonder
I skipped Köld (2009) for now and moved straight to Svartir Sandar (2011). By this point, metal is more of a flavour than a foundation. There are moments that sound like post-rock. Others that lean into vintage '70s psychedelia. Some parts don’t sound like metal at all—and don’t need to.
Take Fjara, for example. The track got a music video and became something of a phenomenon in Iceland. It feels like standing on a cliff and realising you’ve been crying without noticing.
It gave me the same feeling I had the first time I heard Alcest. There is a sense of wonder about how beautiful music can be and how easily it can touch your soul. That’s the moment. That’s what this band does.
Berdreyminn: Fog and Memory
Their sixth album, Berdreyminn (2017), caught my attention with its cover art alone. Inside, it’s even more cinematic.
It was their first album without founding drummer Guðmundur, who’d been replaced by Hallgrímur Jón Hallgrímsson. The difference is subtle but felt—there’s a shift in rhythm, in tone, in patience.
Silfur-Refur and Hula are standouts for me. This whole record feels like wandering through a dream you’re not sure is yours. Horns, violins, piano, operatic vocals—everything layered just enough to blur the edges of reality. Like all their albums, it’s less a collection of songs and more a place to sit inside.
The Point (If There Has to Be One)
Sólstafir, like Alcest, became one of those bands I didn’t just like. I needed them.
Not just one album. Not one song.
The entire presence.
Their music is an escape hatch. A grief ritual. A quiet scream into a frozen landscape.
You don’t listen to Sólstafir casually. You let it sink into your bones until the outside world shuts up for a while.
I’m counting down to Wacken.
And when Sólstafir takes the stage, I know it’s going to hurt—in the best possible way.