Split by Broder, Urr: A Dark Sonic Dive into Denmark’s Metal Depths
Let’s cut to the chase—Split by Broder, Urr isn’t your run-of-the-mill album. Released in 2016 under the gnarly banners of It Was Gnarled and Taarnet Tapes, this Danish duo (or trio? The credits are kinda wild) delivers a two-headed beast of Black Metal grit and Doom Metal gloom. If you’re into music that feels like trudging through a foggy forest at midnight while questioning all your life choices, then buddy, you’ve hit the jackpot.
First off, let’s talk tracks—or rather, two tracks because that’s all there is on this little gem. But don’t sweat it; both pack more punch than a caffeine-fueled squirrel in a nut factory.
Take “Hjertets Kulde,” for instance. This one’s got teeth. Composed by Jesper Moeslund and Alexander Kjærsgaard Pedersen, it’s like someone took all your worst nightmares, cranked up the reverb, and turned them into soundwaves. The guitars buzz with an almost insect-like persistence, while the drums lumber along like they’re daring you to keep up. What sticks with me most? That haunting atmosphere—it’s not just music; it’s an experience. Like walking into a horror movie where YOU’RE the main character who didn’t read the warning signs.
Then there’s “Bjærget,” which is basically what would happen if mountains could scream their feelings. Written by Erik Bagger Hviid and Jesper Bagger Hviid (yes, those Hviids again), this track leans heavier into the Doom side of things. It’s slow, crushing, and unapologetically bleak. Imagine standing at the edge of a cliff during a thunderstorm, except the storm is inside your soul. You can practically feel the weight of existential dread pressing down on you—but hey, sometimes we need that catharsis, right?
Jesper Bagger Hviid deserves a shout-out here since he mixed AND mastered the whole thing. Dude clearly knows his way around audio engineering, making sure every screech, growl, and doom-laden chord hits exactly where it should—in your face. Or maybe your spleen. Hard to tell with this kind of music.
Now, here’s the kicker: despite its raw intensity, Split doesn’t try too hard to impress. There’s no flashy gimmicks or overproduced nonsense. Instead, it’s refreshingly honest, like a drunk friend telling you exactly what they think about your questionable life decisions. And honestly? That’s why I dig it.
So, if you’re looking for something that’ll make your neighbors question whether you’ve joined some sort of secret cult, give Split a spin. Just don’t blame me when you start hearing whispers from the void. Oh, and fun fact: Denmark has some killer metal bands. Who knew frosty weather made people so good at crafting sonic despair?
Final thought? Listening to this album felt like finding a hidden cave full of treasure—except instead of gold, it’s filled with darkness and self-reflection. Worth it? Absolutely.
