Kensington’s genteel atmosphere is disrupted with sounds woken from an age that sleeps far beneath the pavement. That can only mean one thing; WARDRUNA have come to the Royal Albert Hall. The band is only at the beginning of a long-haul odyssey across the globe, dragging their ritualized spectacle from one ancient leyline to the next. Tonight, here in Britain’s classiest concert hall, they stand in support of Birna, their latest offering. A record so staggering it effectively ruined the rest of 2025 for any other album that had the misfortune of following it. Most of that album is sung from the perspective of a she-bear having to navigate the destructive legacy of modern humankind. Now, on spring equinox eve, she has finished hibernating and has crawled out of her cave, starved, and ready to hunt.
And what a strange hunting ground this is. The Royal Albert Hall is not your typical venue for the type of crowd it is hosting tonight; it is too sensible, bathrooms are far too nice, and there are actual ushers. The regular smart-casual getup of the clientele is gone, and in their place band tees and battle jackets galore. It looks like a metal show, smells like a metal show, but Wardruna is no metal band. Alas, this is a legacy of Einar Selvik’s far-gone stint in black metal band GORGOROTH. It has been a long time since Wardruna had the likes of Gaahl within their ranks, And yet, the spectre of black metal still shadows over them, an unholy ghost refusing to be exorcised.
But first, the precursor to the ritual. The antecedent performance is provided by the wonderful London-based cellist, JO QUAIL. For a venue that also hosts Songs of Praise on Sundays, it is a fantastic contrast to see her with something that looks less like a cello and more scavenged from bones of a long-extinct beast. It is a bizarre, skeletal beast, but Jo demonstrates that it doubles as an entire orchestra as well. Using percussive techniques and a loop pedal, she layers sound upon sound, crafting towering compositions that surge to fill the hall. It’s the perfect invocation for the night ahead.
Then—a raven’s caw. The hall plunges into darkness. What begins with simple strings soon unveils into a warm, resonant cascade. This is ‘Kvitravn.’ The Royal Albert Hall is a Roman amphitheatre. The crowd roars, the music swells – the overwhelming feeling of “this is going to be good.” With pulsing lights matching pulsing drums, ‘Hertan’ follows, transforming the venue into the very heart of Kensington itself. The crowd sways, entranced, caught in some kind of shamanist ecstasy. As it ends, ‘Skugge’ begins and the lighting shifts. Suddenly, Einar Selvik is not just a man on stage, but a shadow god. His silhouette stretches across the ceiling, immense and looming like some Norse-feratu, delivering a fable to us lowly mortals in Midgard. And from there, time loses all meaning.
‘Solringen’ summons an eclipsed sun on the backdrop through a prayerful chorus of voices. ‘Heimta Thurs’ builds up then unleashes in a mighty crescendo. A great snow-capped peak rises through the dirge of ‘Lyfjaberg.’ Einar himself becomes the background for a quieter skaldic tune on ‘Voluspá.’ Then comes ‘Tyr,’ and out comes the lurs - gigantic Bronze Age war horns, vestiges of violence from the 6th century BC, so thunderous and bass-heavy they rattle your insides. For ‘Isa,’ the lights penetrate behind Einar as he is bathed in white light, drumming out a melody that has the whole crowd in the palm of his hand. ‘Himmindotter’ unravels into a simulated lightning storm, light and sound crashing together in a cacophonous fever dream. By ‘Fehu,’ the band is giving all that they have, instruments from bygone eras are pounding away and the energy reaches its lofty height. Lindy-Fay Hella, who has been delivering spectral dirges and hypnotic movements all night, spirals through the music. And then, silence.
For a moment, nobody moves. Nobody speaks. The spell lingers in the air with the smoke. Then Einar begins to speak. He lays it out, Wardruna’s real philosophy: that it does not serve to “relive” any particular era, but to revitalise the motifs and traditions of the past to create something new. “The cultural pissing contest is irrelevant,” he says. It’s a blunt, slightly bizarre moment. Wardruna has always been honest about their goals, that is to invigorate traditional music and themes, and not to rehash the past. Admittedly, it feels like it leaves no ambiguity on their mission statement, and seems to be to ensure those in the audience that still believe that Vikings shaved the sides of their heads don’t confuse their music with the real sagas. While it is about as subtle as a shotgun shell to the family jewels, it does invoke a sense of openness and maturity about the consumption of art within context that is rarely displayed within the metal sphere. They then give two encores in the form of the torch-laden and haunted ‘Helvegen’ and the quiet bear-lullaby of ‘Hibjørnen’ before it all ends with a shower of applause.
What makes a Wardruna live show so special is not just about the spectacle. While it is indeed amazing to behold, what sets them apart from similar (possibly lung-related) groups is their bonafide devotion to authenticity. Many groups go for accuracy, wanting to portray the things they sing about in a manner that satisfies the historian. Yet, there is nothing that satisfies the historian more than bringing history to life. Wardruna songs may not be lifted from an ancient saga, but the feelings evoked throughout must be analogous to those felt in eons past. Instruments pulled from the past are used in new, exciting ways. The inner historian gets giddy at the savvy usage of an instrument such as the lurs.
Several times during the show you would find yourself experiencing a skaldic trance, realising that the transferral of knowledge through songs and ritual instrumentation is how humanity experienced stories for a vast majority of their history. It is a timeless feeling. Wardruna brings that ancient phenomenon back into the fold, treading the line between the phenomenal and illusory worlds through the powerful medium of song. At its core, this is a celebration of humanity, of all the madness, triumph, and sorrow that got us from the first fire-lit gathering to wherever the hell we are now. And right now, Wardruna is at the absolute peak of their power. There’s never been a better time to catch them on the road.
Words: Kiarash Golshani
Photos: Ollie Hayman
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