Album Review: Bjørn Göring Wold Armens Lange Lov Tid For Verdier by Pøbelvelde Mi
Alright, buckle up, because this one’s a wild ride. Bjørn Göring Wold Armens Lange Lov Tid For Verdier (say that five times fast) is the kind of album that smacks you in the face with raw energy and doesn’t apologize for it. Released in 1994 under Norway's X-cluded Music label, this punk-hardcore hybrid feels like someone took all the frustration of mid-90s Scandinavia and cranked it to eleven. Spoiler alert: they probably did.
Let’s cut to the chase—this isn’t some polished pop-rock nonsense. Tracks like “Tyven” and “Lakei” are where the band really lets loose. Take “Tyven,” for instance. It starts off with Magnus Rinnan screaming his lungs out over Espen Hernes’ jagged guitar riffs, while Christian Larsen’s drumming sounds like he’s trying to break his kit into submission. You can practically smell the sweat-soaked basement rehearsals just listening to it. The track has this chaotic charm that sticks with you—not because it’s perfect, but because it’s so gloriously imperfect. Every shout feels personal, every note slightly unhinged. By the time it ends, you're left wondering if your ears will ever recover—and honestly? That’s a good thing.
Then there’s “Lakei.” Oh man, this song hits different. Eirik Eiglad takes over on vocals here, delivering lines with venomous intensity. Paal Beis’ basslines rumble beneath Kim Besil’s scorching guitar work, creating a wall of sound that makes you want to punch something—or maybe hug a stranger, depending on how you roll. What makes “Lakei” unforgettable is its refusal to play nice. There’s no filler, no fluff—just pure, unadulterated rage wrapped up in three minutes of sonic mayhem. If you don’t feel at least mildly agitated after hearing this, check your pulse.
The credits read like a DIY dream team, with different musicians handling various tracks. This patchwork approach gives the album an unpredictable edge, though it also means consistency isn’t exactly its strong suit. But hey, who needs consistency when you’ve got passion? Trude Midtgård recorded the first half, Craig Morris handled mixing and mastering duties for the second, and somehow it all holds together—like duct tape on a busted car door.
What’s fascinating about Bjørn Göring Wold Armens Lange Lov Tid For Verdier is how unapologetically Norwegian it feels. There’s no pandering to international trends; instead, Pøbelvelde Mi doubles down on their local roots, channeling the grit and grime of Oslo’s underground scene. Sure, the production quality wavers more than a drunk sailor, but that only adds to the charm.
In the end, this album reminds me of those old VHS tapes you’d find at garage sales—scratched-up, barely watchable, yet oddly compelling. Listening to it feels like discovering a secret piece of history, one that wasn’t meant for mainstream consumption. And maybe that’s the point. After all, not everything needs to be shiny and polished to leave a mark.
So, would I recommend this album? Absolutely—if you’re into loud noises, existential angst, and music that sounds like it was made in someone’s garage during a particularly bad breakup. Just don’t expect to come away from it feeling zen. Unless, of course, chaos is your version of zen. In which case, welcome home.
Final thought: I bet Bjørn Göring himself would approve. Or sue them. Either way, it’s a win-win.
