Konvent - Call Down The Sun

170 days until W:O:A 2023. Not that I’m counting.

Let’s talk about Danish death-doomers Konvent—an all-female quartet from Copenhagen who have been churning out deliciously slow despair since 2015. The current line-up is Rikke Emilie List on vocals, Heidi Withington Brink on bass, Sara Helena Nørregaard on guitar, and Julie Simonsen on drums. They dropped their debut Puritan Masochism in 2020, and then doubled down on the gloom two years later with their sophomore album Call Down The Sun.

And yes, I binged both albums back to back last week.

Let’s not pretend anything else is stealing the spotlight here. List’s voice owns this album. It doesn’t lurk—it domineers. A massive wall of guttural growls, accented with the occasional black metal screech, she’s not just singing—she’s dragging your soul through mud.

Yes, the performance is relatively repetitive. But that’s the point. This is doom. If it’s not slowly crushing your hope under the same relentless riff for seven minutes, are we even doing this right?

Also: pleasant surprise, I could actually understand a decent chunk of the lyrics. Which is rare at these frequencies.

Behind List’s vocals, the rhythm section does the heavy lifting—literally. The bass hits low and thick, anchoring everything in this dragging undercurrent of gloom. Drums are slow and deliberate, locked into that classic death-doom crawl. And the guitar? A relentless churn of distorted riffs that circle around you like a stormcloud that never quite breaks.

It’s repetitive by design—not lazy, but ritualistic. This is doom. You’re not here for catchy choruses. You’re here to be swallowed whole. And on that front, Call Down The Sun delivers.

Why would you listen to this, you ask? Honestly—I don’t know. You definitely have to be in the mood for it—and that mood is somewhere between existential dread and a strong need to feel something.

But on the right day, it hits just right. The music is stoic, stomping, and slow—yet still manages to be brutal and, somehow, epic. It doesn’t rush. It doesn’t flinch. It just keeps going, dragging you with it. And sometimes that’s exactly what you need.

The final track, Harena, is one of the most melodic moments on the record—and also one of the most affecting. It features guest musician Felix Havstad on violin and cello, adding a mournful layer that cuts through the heaviness like a cold wind.

It’s still bleak, obviously. This isn’t suddenly happy doom. But there’s a flicker of something—maybe hope, maybe surrender.

The first four tracks set the tone—and they set it low.

Grains stands out as mentioned above. Into The Distance opens with eerie church bells and List dragging out “Cliiiiiimb” in a way that somehow manages to feel both commanding and doomed. Sand is King brings the menace, heavier and more immediate. And In The Soot? That one hits hard—especially the lyrics. It sounds like someone giving up with style.

| This

| This was my last attempt

| I'll be damned if I try again

| Now, I am done and I will call down the sun

| Take out this pile of sticks I thought could build my wings

| Burn every branch and each board never carried and never soared

| I'd rather walk on the dirt than to try again and be hurt

| Has left me full of contempt

| When will I learn to quit and not return?

| My fault

| I thought I could

| But it's oh so obvious

| Now, I am done and I will call down the sun

| Winged fire tall

| Stay on the ground for good kicking the soot

Relatable. Tragically so.

Not every track is a standout, but none feel like filler. The album holds together as a full, immersive listen—a solid 45-minute descent into stylish despair. And sometimes that’s exactly what the day calls for.

So if you’re feeling brave, light a candle, stare into the middle distance, and let Konvent take you under. It’s miserable in all the best ways.