Lifelover — a powerhouse revered as one of the greatest and most influential black metal bands in the history of the movement. In fact, I would dare to state that they rank among the best groups of all time regardless of genre distinctions, which they so artfully transcended. Founded in 2005 by frontman Kim “( )” Carlsson and Jonas “B” Bergqvist, Lifelover came to an end with B’s tragic passing in 2011. Yet, the legacies of Lifelover, B, and other members continue to snowball as new generations of fans and musicians fall under the spell of the group’s individualistic magic.
A tireless creator, Carlsson fortunately has not ceased to compose and perform on albums belonging to a range of projects. Carlsson’s offerings take us into the crux of both beauty and brutality while awakening every sort of emotion imaginable and providing spiritual experiences. His authenticity, power, and charisma are simply unmatched. Carlsson’s fellow Lifelover legend 1853 is likewise an incredible talent. A lyricist and vocalist whose words resound with great authority, his contributions always mesmerize.
Together, Carlsson and 1853 constitute the enigmatic entity that is Ritualmord. After unleashing three phenomenal EPs, the time has come for their full-length debut: This Is Not Lifelover. The playful and provocative title couldn’t be any more fitting. It simply becomes too much of a blessing for Lifelover fans to handle when considered in combination with the main photo — a recreation of the iconic cover of Lifelover’s groundbreaking debut, Pulver (2006), one of the most striking metal images ever, as snapped by Carlsson, an outstanding visual artist.
Pulver depicts a nymph-like nude female model covered in blood and lying among the white wood anemones. This time, however, Carlsson himself takes her place as the star of the show in the Swedish forest, as he reclaims his history. What an unbeatable gift to fans, arriving on International Women’s Day, no less. This scorcher is undoubtedly the ideal way to commemorate the 20th anniversary of Lifelover’s founding, an occasion that Carlsson’s ingenious band Kall is marking at the likes of Prophecy Fest.
Although we never thought that a celebration like This Is Not Lifelover would happen, we dreamed that it would. Granted, Ritualmord is clearly a distinct endeavor. This Is Not Lifelover reflects who Carlsson and 1853 are as musicians today. To pretend, however, that present, past, and future do not engage in constant dialog would be to lie. Thus, as a perfect representation of Carlsson and 1853’s enduring essences, the elements that imbued Lifelover with its special allure indeed shine here. Ritualmord, in part, builds upon and acknowledges the excellence of the pair’s already-released victories, rather than repeating them.
Of course, all is cohesive; all is seamless; all is masterfully executed. Belgium’s masterful Déhà assisted Carlsson in manifesting the miraculous compositions. Their chemistry is supernatural. Black metal may have been invaded by posers, but Ritualmord has taken the movement’s spirit, which they embody as a lifestyle, and puts it to its highest use. Like Lifelover, the creatively unlimited Ritualmord smashes preconceptions regarding genre distinctions and music in general with their innovative nature, as they conquer uncharted territories. This Is Not Lifelover stands apart from all else. Within the totally cohesive macrocosm, original styles emerge, serving as unique mirrors of the band’s multifaceted identity.
Therefore, the morbidly sexy This Is Not Lifelover proves a highly varied record that delivers everything we could possibly want: From the darkly meditative inhalation that is “Inandan,” to the entwined despair and comfort of “Stonerpop,” to the piercing fright induced by “Tjära,” the album constantly surprises us. We could say that we hear aspects of dark rock, post-punk, folk, ambient, electronic, classical, and so forth, but, again, it’s best to just embrace what Ritualmord has presented us with as something that rises above all labels and cannot be reduced to a mix of components.
The absolutely hypnotic atmospheres birthed contain the optimal interplay between the natural, otherworldly, and inhuman. Narcotic warmth melts us and hypothermia seizes us. The horrorscapes often drag us directly into the void, sometimes with the same type of eeriness as brought on by an overdose. The album’s sound and all of its glorious textures are supported by stellar a production that enhances the rawness and splendor alike. Audio samples are wonderfully placed and often amplify our anxiety, sometimes nourishing a sense of mystery, sometimes bringing a sense of conviction: “Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing.”
I shudder at the mere thought of having to discuss the vocals, which stand beyond praise. In all of their manifold forms, they demonstrate Ritualmord’s ideal attention to both strength and subtlety. Ritualmord incorporates spoken word, whispers, heavy breathing, howls, piercing shrieks, etc. The overpoweringly truthful performances here put what I’ve heard on the stages, whether of New York or Moscow, to shame. The poetic lyrics can be attributed to both 1853 and Carlsson. Phrases come to echo in our heads like mantras.
This Is Not Lifelover is maximally emotive and transportive. This is so much the case that it counts as one of the few records that has actually made me carry out acts of destruction. In other words, This Is Not Lifelover buries itself beneath the skin, disrupting what lies beneath the surface; it will infect your body, allowing your true feelings and other demons hidden within the subconscious to come to the fore.
Evoking startling images with the clarity of a successful acid trip, This Is Not Lifelover is a cinematic nightmare that will likewise haunt your dreams with its psychedelic vibrations. Hopefully, one day, we’ll hear Ritualmord in a film soundtrack, except it would be a challenge to find a director who would be worthy of using the band’s divine output.
Accordingly, embarking upon this gorgeously terrifying and terrifyingly gorgeous journey verily amounts to an exercise in courage; This Is Not Lifelover has become one of the few albums I fear listening to at night, knowing the inner storms it summons, even if it also helps quell that same violent passion by prompting direct confrontation with it.
Yes, the product of evolved and noble souls, This Is Not Lifelover fosters introspection. Moments like the gently ominous “All tid rasar samman,” which precedes the final two epic and impossibly gripping masterpieces, allow us to reflect; all transitions work perfectly, as Ritualmord masterfully plays with suspense and alternates between different types of energies.
Although I’ve mentioned certain songs, I will not discuss highlights here; for each of the compositions is a complete world and very special elixir in itself. Thus, This Is Not Lifelover’s momentum never loses an iota of its force. By the end of this intensely rewarding and transformative bloodletting ritual, our minds have been blown wide open, and it’s as if we are left staring at the abstract art that our splattered innards have left on the wall.
Fortunately, the appeal of the thrilling and cathartic This Is Not Lifelover will never wane. Rather, the record’s carefully incorporated nuances will continue to unfold with each play. This Is Not Lifelover simply delivers too much overwhelming brilliance. Some things never change — the superiority of the musicians behind Lifelover never fails. They remain among the best and most artful sonic translators of pain while likewise giving us much cause to rejoice.
Rating: 5/5
(Visit Ritualmord’s Bandcamp here and Carlsson’s YouTube channel here.)
