There is a real risk that this extraordinary debut album from Icelandic heavy music’s freshest creative force will vanish in the inevitable pre-Christmas frenzy. On the other hand, Múr is utterly magnificent, and denying the world a chance to hear it for another month or two would be a disgusting abuse of power. Anyone who loves epic, powerful and fervent, ingenious metal needs this in their ears immediately.
Like many of the intriguing bands that have emerged from Iceland over the last 20 years, Múr sound monstrous, windswept and fiendishly hard to define. Broadly speaking, these songs occupy a sweet spot between cinematic post-metal and a refined strain of progressive death, and there are certainly moments that take a more direct approach, with giant riffs redolent of Gojira’s fluid brutality.
But the sum of these parts is something else entirely: a churning maelstrom of leftfield heaviness wherein hypnotic, shoegazey melodies and textures nestle up against icy, concrete-clad aggression, and a dense atmosphere of elemental dread. Keytar-wielding frontman Kári Haraldsson snaps seamlessly from a haunting, angelic croon to diaphragm-mincing growls from tormented depths, as his thick, sonorous synth surges underpin every abominable wall of riffs, frequently dragging the results into blearily lysergic realms.
But this is more than an exercise in otherworldly atmosphere. These songs resonate on a profound emotional level, too. From the slow-burn, riff-driven grandeur of opener Eldhaf to the glowing embers of sumptuous finale Holskefla, Múr is a punishing whirlwind of beautiful melancholy with melodies like thunderbolts. And when the quintet get straight to the point on the snappy, four- minute Messa, they still conjure soul- stirring multitudes. Best exemplified by the episodic, disorientating, elemental dread of the sprawling Heimsslit, this is a fearsome statement of intent, and the most unforgettable debut album of 2024. Don’t miss it.