The fifth song on “Sol Austan, Mani Vestan,” Burzum’s 10th
album is so breathtaking and angelic, it’s hard to fathom the guy who wrote it
is deranged and delusional. How could someone so vile create such beauty?
Varg Vikernes, the sole member of the black metal band
Burzum, is a murderer and church-burner, a racist and paranoid man who
shouldn’t be idolized, and yet I can listen to his music and be so swept up in
its emotionality I sometimes forget it’s the music of a disturbed individual.
This central conflict, the man versus the music, is tough for me to wander
through. Burzum brings me emotional releases I’ve never felt before, and does
so in ways I haven’t gotten from similar bands. I know people who won’t listen
to Burzum, who don’t want to support a violent and anti-Semitic individual.
Which makes perfect sense. I agree with this view, and I respect people who
avoid listening to Burzum on these grounds. Yet I can’t bring myself to
actually turn the music off.
A presupposition I’ve accepted as a fan of Burzum is this,
to put it simply: VARG VIKERNES IS
A FUCKED UP, AWFUL HUMAN BEING WHO DESERVES NO SYMPATHY BECAUSE HE IS A
MONSTER. Clear enough? I’m not writing in defense of Varg (who I honestly
believe has severe mental health issues that have aided in his atrocities), I’m
writing more so to understand with why I can’t turn the music off.
I can vividly remember the moment when I first listened to
Burzum. I had just finished watching “Until the Light Takes Us,” a fascinating
documentary on the Norwegian black metal scene of the early 1990s. The title
itself is an English translation of Burzum’s third album, “Hvis lyset tar oss,”
which Varg explains in the film to mean being sucked up and ensnared by
Christian society (the “light,” in this case). Varg would rather embrace the
dark, where he sees true freedom and spirituality to be. (Note: Varg’s also
very anti-Christian. He burned churches because he believes Christianity
uprooted the ancient Norse culture that existed before Christianity reached
Scandinavia. He thinks his actions are therefore symbolic. I think he’s full of
shit and that church-burning is disgusting).
Since the documentary took its name from that album, I chose
it as my starting point for delving into Burzum. I had never liked black metal
before that point, as it seemed to me as nothing more than semi-organized
noise. Lo-fi production, cringe-worthy vocals, with nothing memorable about it.
Yet when the drums kicked in at the 2:48 mark, I found myself in a whole new
world. That drumming pattern may likely be permanently engrained into my
memory. The following riffs and overlain synths built up with incredible
atmosphere of despair and angst. Soon the vocals follow, screeching,
animalistic, incomprehensible howls. Pure, unfiltered, unrestrained, raw, bare.
The essence of ennui.
This was strange and new to me. I dug more into Burzum’s
discography, with the same results. Burmum’s black metal has impacted me more
than any other BM band (though that could change as the blackgaze scene
continues to develop). With the exception of “the “Aske” EP and half the songs
off “Daudi Baldrs,” I don’t think Burzum has a single bad album (note: I
haven’t listened to “From the Depths of Darkness,” because he just re-recorded
old, pre-imprisonment songs that I don’t think need to be re-recorded). “Sol
Austan, Mani Vestan” is another triumph, in my eyes. A bit long and repetitive,
but its quiet minimalism relative to those charging drums and shrieks (SAMV is,
like Burzum’s two other ambient works, an instrumental album) of “Hvis lyset
tar oss” is a part of that.
Ambient music (specifically dark ambient) has been a part of
Burzum since it began. Moody synthesizers fill the background of most Burzum
songs, and there are a handful of entirely ambient songs sprinkled throughout
most of the pre-prison album. “Daudi Baldrs” was the first attempt at a complete
dark ambient album (though at that point he’s recorded enough ambient material
for his pre-prison work to fill up a whole record), and given that recording
whilst imprisoned is probably going to make the process quite challenging, it
was pretty hit or (a very wide) miss with each song. “Hlidskjalf,” the second
prison-made dark ambient album, was, on the other hand, a masterpiece.
“Sol Austan, Mani Vestan,” is another haunting, dark ambient
masterpiece. This time recorded post-prison, the album quietly yet strongly
evokes images and feelings of walking slowing through bare trees in a snowy
wood, the moon overhead, with the silence of the chill air wrapped around you.
There’s so much emptiness in the scene: the plants have died along with the
leaves, all the birds have gone south, and the stillness from the lack of
anything alive is baiting, But it quickly fills up with wonder about how
there’s still so much beauty left, despite being bereft of life. It’s strange
to feel so comfortable in such a place. This is the essence of what I
emotionally achieve from the music of Burzum.
I can identify with the ennui/angst Varg no doubt feels, but
not their causes. Am I allowed to do that? Is it ok to twist and reinterpret
his music to suit my own wants? Is it immoral to listen to Burzum no matter
what? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. And I don’t like that I don’t
know.
I haven’t justified listening to Burzum, not to myself or to
anyone else. I simply put it off and keep listening. Don’t take this writing as
my trying to justify listening to Burzum and/or supporting Varg. It’s not
meant to be. Varg is a monster who does not deserve to have his views supported
or promoted. How can someone so
monstrous make something so angelic and beautiful? I don’t know why I can’t
turn the music off.
