Witchcraft, Melody, and the Comfort of Something Done Properly
En afsked
i månens blanke skær
med formløs væren
forsonet gennem røgens slør
fra aske til intet.
The song titles on Trolddom form a small poem when read together. It’s a simple idea, but a strangely effective one—and I don’t think I’ve encountered this particular approach yet here on the blog. There’s something quietly charming about it. Before a single note is played, the record already feels intentional.
This isn’t a loose collection of songs. It’s one idea, explored from different angles. Trolddom translates to "Witchcraft"—yes, I know, hardly uncharted territory in (post-)black metal. Stay with me. Because they manage. Lysbærer manage to steer clear of the obvious pitfalls. This is witchcraft without the cheese, without leaning on candles-and-forest-mist aesthetics or using the theme as genre wallpaper. Instead, the album approaches the witch burnings of the 18th century from an emotional and psychological angle. We go from loneliness to persecution, accusation, destruction, fire, farewell, release and lastly—nothingness.
Step One. Set the Mood, Do Not Panic
The opening track, En afsked (A farewell), gives us just over three minutes to settle in—and it uses them wisely. Ethereal synths set the tone before acoustic guitars and a gently present bass enter, soon joined by electric guitars and drums. This doesn’t linger in formless ambience. All instruments come together early, establishing structure and purpose.
There’s less "let’s drift for a bit and see what happens" and more of the feeling that this is the beginning of something that already knows where it’s going. The melodies are wide and open, distinctly post-metal in spirit, carrying wistfulness rather than dread. Still, the final seconds quietly guide us into darker territory.
I Am, Quite Shamelessly, a Sucker for This Melody
i månens blanke skær (in the moon’s pale glow) was the first song sent to me. And I loved it immediately. No slow burn. No "it grew on me". Just instant, shameless affection.
After a few cold-picked notes, the melody erupts—and it’s a killer. Not revolutionary. Not trying to redraw genre boundaries. Just effortlessly familiar in the best possible way. You hear it once and your brain already knows how it continues. It settles in straight away. Warm. Lived-in. Like a memory you didn’t realise you’d been carrying around.
The song is epic without being bloated. The drums feel urgent, the guitars purposeful—always moving forward, never drifting. At this point I’ll admit I was quietly bracing myself for the vocals, praying they wouldn’t ruin what had been built so perfectly.
They don’t.
Instead, we get a restrained black metal shriek—not overwhelming, not abrasive, just right for the song. Beneath it all, the guitar melody keeps flickering, blast beats surge in bursts—and underneath, I can constantly follow the bass. This makes me unreasonably happy, because it shouldn’t be this rare. The arrangement actually allows the bass to matter, to move, to be more than a suggestion buried under guitars.
At nearly eleven minutes, the track never drags. It shifts pace and texture often enough to keep you on your toes, moving between furious, blast-driven sections and more restrained passages. The vocals don’t change much in their delivery but are sometimes joined by some backing vocals.
Around the seven-minute mark, the guitars slip into some genuinely exceptional rhythm work, and for a moment I got very strong classic heavy metal vibes. And when I say classic, I mean The Crimson Idol.
No, Blackie Lawless was not an influence.
Yes, I checked. With the source.
Anyway—I heard it. And I was chuffed.
Please do go and listen to it yourself and tell me I'm completely wrong. Go ahead, I'm curious.
And then the melody returns.
This is the part where I actually whooped. Out loud. The song has taken enough turns by this point that you’ve almost forgotten where it began, and when it brings that opening theme back, it lands with a level of satisfaction that should be illegal. It doesn’t feel lazy or circular—it feels like coming home. It works especially well because it doesn’t simply repeat itself: nearly clean, post-metal vocals appear for the first time here, adding something new to something familiar.
i månens blanke skær is the heartbeat of the album for me.
No hesitation. No qualifiers.
This is a great song. Full stop.
Refusing to Do the Obvious Thing
There’s a seamless transition into med formløs væren (with formless being), which basically functions like a bridge but actually belongs together with forsonet gennem røgens slør (reconciled through the veil of smoke).
The guitar fades out and is picked up by synths, shifting the atmosphere. What starts out dreamy soon becomes unsettled, disrupted by static and ominous textures. I kept waiting for the storm to break. It doesn’t. Instead, clean electric chords emerge, joined by drums and bass in a restrained echo of the intro. Urgency builds quietly. Something is preparing itself, but it refuses to arrive on cue.
Forsonet gennem røgens slør begins colder. Bleaker. More openly hostile. This isn’t as immediately graspable as i månens blanke skær. There’s less melodic comfort here, less to latch onto—and that feels entirely intentional.
The bass once again cuts through with purpose, anchoring the track as everything around it grows more volatile. The drums alternate between fury and moments of restraint, slipping back into post-metal spaces where they hold room for the guitars to wander. The vocals are cold, shrieking, angry—occasionally joined by choir-like accompaniments and post-black backing voices. Towards the end, both vocal lines recite the lyrics together, almost sounding like an invocation. A layered spoken section follows—voices, audio fragments—taken from a Danish movie from 1943. A scene depicting a witch burning. Church bells toll. A boys’ choir sings religiously. And then her scream cuts through as she is pushed onto the pyre before we fade back into the synths from med formløs væren, closing the circle. It’s deeply unsettling. And perfectly placed.
The Long Way Out
fra aske til intet. (from ashes to nothingness) is the longest track on the album, coming in at nearly fourteen minutes. And it starts beautifully. Wistful, melancholic guitar work—the kind that makes you exhale automatically. After the tension of the previous song, this feels safe again.
Not for long though.
The track doesn’t lose itself here. We’re pulled back into shrieks, blast beats, and coldness. This is the first moment on the album where I found myself wishing for a different vocal colour sooner. The urgency ramps up: drums blast, guitars soar, vocals shriek. The bass is, once again, clearly audible. We are very obviously building towards something.
But instead of a big, obvious release, the song pulls back into itself. The guitars turn more introspective, and after one long, harrowing shriek, everything shifts into something more trudging and dirty. There’s even a nice little "blergh" in there. The atmosphere grows angry and dense, while still carrying the faintest whiff of release and revelation in the background—quietly threaded through the guitar melodies.
And then, finally, it pays off.
Halfway through the track, the drums roll like war drums. Guitar picking turns soft. The vocals become clean and ethereal. We’re back in post-metal waters now, and for a brief second this almost feels like Alcest. Nicely done. We’re allowed to drift at last. The toil is over. "Jeg er fri".
The vocals leave the shrieking behind completely and settle into the post-metal delivery I might have craved from the very start of this song. I genuinely love the final three minutes. So many threads are being woven together here: the different vocal styles—shrieks, nearly growled backing vocals, clean post-metal lines—the bass still present, the drumming holding everything together without overpowering anything, the guitar melody returning.
Everything comes together into something uplifting that truly feels like release.
This Is the Good Part of the Genre
What I came away with was a very simple feeling: this is a really, really well done album.
Lysbaerer was yet another band I didn’t know before. And once again, I’m grateful that music has started finding me—that people reach out, trust me with something they’ve spent time and care on, and let it go out into the world. So thank you, Thomas, for doing exactly that.
I love knowing that there’s this pockethole of grandiose music being made by people who do it on their own terms. Not because it’s lucrative. Not because it’s fashionable. But because they want to. Because they need to. Because they can. That’s one of the things I value most about this corner of the genre.
Of course, this also means there’s an abundance of music dropped into inboxes, capable of doing all sorts of things to your ears, your mind, and your nerves—not all of them good. Luckily, Trolddom is not one of those incidents. It is considered, patient, and exceptionally well executed. It knows what it wants to do and commits to it fully. This is a release that absolutely deserves your time—and definitely your affection.