Of all the beings prowling the wilds of the northern hemisphere, none have been given greater reverence than the bear.
A beast of savage majesty and atavistic gravitas, it has stalked the dreams of humankind since we first huddled around campfires and shivered under the stars. Consider the findings at Basura Cave in Savona, Italy: scientists uncovered the ancient remains of a cave bear, encircled by ritual pellets and carved stalagmites, evidence that Neanderthals may have exalted it as a guardian spirit, a deity who ruled the space between man and nature. The Sami people of Finland believed bears could understand human speech, have a language entirely of their own, and act as divine intermediaries between gods and humans. Even the word “bear” itself is a linguistic dodge – originally a Proto-Indo-European euphemism meaning “the brown one”. Born from the ancient terror that uttering its true name might summon the beast, an omen of swift and brutal destruction.
Fast-forward a few thousand years to our current world, the bear has been coldly demystified. Our so-called 'kinship' with this ancient creature has been hacked apart and indexed into sterile taxonomic tables and evolutionary charts whilst we destroy their habitats, oblivious to the raw, pulsating life force that still thrums beneath nature’s surface. This is the vision rousing Einar Selvik who stands as the spiritual nervous system of Wardruna, the Norwegian dark folk ensemble that stands defiant against the soul-numbing tide of modernity. Emerging in 2003 by Einar and Gaahl (both formerly of Gorgoroth) as a method of creating new compositions with old instruments to construct raw and ritualistic soundscapes. In the present, Gaahl has vanished into legend, and Selvik remains at the helm, forging ahead with a very prolific back-catalogue including the TV series 'Vikings' and 'Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla'. 'Birna' in particular poses the question: why have we shunned our oldest god? More than merely asking, Wardruna chants, howls, and drums it into the marrow of our bones.
This album, like all of Wardruna's works, defies conventional review. It does not beg to be dissected track by track; it demands immersion, flowing as a cohesive whole like an ancient river cutting through ice-bound fjords. Sure, tracks can (and will) be marked, but that misses the point entirely. This is music that will ideally be consumed in the midst of fog-laden forests or beneath a leaden sky on an early winter’s morn, when the earth breathes impurities of the ground from mist, and something ursine stalks in the heart of the woodland.
The opening track, 'Hertan' (Heartbeat), sets the stage with visceral force. It crawls beneath your skin, its primal rhythm echoing the pulse of earth itself. A recurring heartbeat motif thrums throughout the entire album, securing the listener into a primal and strangely maternal force. Layered with an eclectic cacophony of primeval instruments and vocals that beckon like a dirge rising from the depths of time, it creates a cocktail of exhilaration that would have driven Norse berserkers into frenzied battle in some forgotten, blood-soaked century.
By the second track, 'Birna' (She-Bear), the tempo transfigures into a more solemn melody. A lament for the hibernating bear, it feels like a funeral procession winding through a snow-draped forest, questioning whether she will ever rise again. It’s mournful, meditative, and beautifully heavy. By 'Ljos til Jord' (Light to Earth), the sensation of being enveloped by nature becomes almost overwhelming. The forest closes in and curls around as the melodies are invoked with hermetic precision. Every note, every whisper of sound is as the very order of nature itself - nothing wasted, everything in its place. By the time 'Dvaledraumar' (Dormant Dreams), a sprawling 15-minute odyssey, arrives, the self has dissolved completely. No longer a spectator – the listener becomes part of the ritual. It is a slow, entrancing plunge into icy water, evoking the shadowy grandeur of Wardruna's iconic 'Yggdrasil' album.
The experience continues with 'Jord til Ljos' (Earth to Light), a personal favourite, where rain-soaked atmospheres build into an expansive, confident soundscape punctuated by throat singing. The lyrics speak of returning light, of longer days and cold rains, of waiting. And then comes 'Himmindotter' (Sky Daughter), a hymn to the ancient bears, echoing with Tolkien-like melancholy and resolve: “Show me who I was when I roamed widely, before mankind’s path turned.” It is a plea for lost dignity, a cry for the forgotten wild. 'Skuggehesten' (Shadow-Horse) abandons the bear motif in favour of a metaphor of a dark horse, complete with more whinnies than the hundred acre wood. With thunderous drums it charts the journey of a warrior overcoming darkness, emerging into light. It’s a standout - a fragment of the album as ferocious as it is ominous. Finally, the album closes with the breathy, ritualistic duo 'Tretale' (Voice of Trees) and 'Lyfjaberg' (Healing Mountain). The latter, a four-year-old composition, finally finds its place here, rustling with leaves and echoing ancient chants, as if the Ents march once more to war. By the end, the repeat button begins to look awfully tempting.
Wardruna's latest ursine offering is more than just another notch in their already formidable discography, it is an audio-ritual realized with obsessive precision and atavistic reverence. Wardruna does more than resurrect a world we have forsaken – we are reminded that it never truly went away. It waits in the misty forests, in the silent, watchful eyes of creatures we no longer fear. The question is not just whether the bear will rise again, the question is whether it will forgive us when it does.The skalds are not looking to the past on 'Birna', but fixing their eyes on the future and our place within nature. Not merely an album, but a truly transformative experience that ensures 2025 is off to a roaring start. Anyone with an open mind, a love for nature, and the magic of pre-electric folk sounds must give this a try as Wardruna continues to go from triumph to triumph.
‘Birna’ releases on the 24th of January via Music For Nations/Sony.
Words: Kiarash Golshani
Photo: Morten Munthe
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