In recent years the Icelandic black metal scene has produced a stunning array of artists. From the dissonant majesty of Svartidauði, to the immediacy of Misþyrming and the psychedelic edge of Wormlust, the scene has truly blossomed. As it is usually the case, this tendency towards the extreme and experimental has not been isolated to the black metal form. Other specters have risen, and amongst them are the elusive act under the name NYIÞ. Of unknown origin, NYIÞ would fly under the radar throughout the ‘10s, releasing a series of excellent works of experimental majesty in DIY fashion. Finally, the majority of their self-released albums has now been packaged into a singular work, ᛬ᚢᛁᛋᚿᛁ•ᚼᛆᛏᛁ•ᚼᚱᛅ᛬, by Cyclic Law.
The identity and sound of NYIÞ are defined by flux. Throughout the years they did not settle into one particular mold, instead exploring the various dark corners of experimental music. The trip to the past, the point of origin, sees an intriguing introduction. “Decompose” moves in mystical ways, gloriously infusing the dark jazz elements that acts like The Mount Kilimanjaro Blackjazz Ensemble and the The Mount Fuji Doomjazz Corporation were proponents of. The saxophone here is intoxicating, feeling the air with its sharp tone. And yet it transforms for a more pensive breakthrough in “Hati þá guð og helgir englar allir”, and then combining the dark lounge tonality with no wave rock outburst for “Fjörbrot.”
All this is of course just the hoeur d'oeuvre, and soon things become stranger. “NYIÞ” makes the introduction to this bizarre, surreal circus world. It is a nightmarish essence that carries a funereal sense. Black metal screams echo through the darkness, merging with throat singing to put the final nail in the coffin. It is a mode that holds an unbalanced sense of grandeur. Something that is epic and structured, but has been put together with malice. This dark trip continues, “Hati þá guð og helgir englar allir” seeing the emphatic voice and doomed presence become more pronounced. It is the weird additions here that really take NYIÞ over the top, on one occasion being this dissonant accordion theme and then later on this hellish organ painting this infernal imagery.
The journey continues into the within, as NYIÞ descent into the dark ambient abyss. “Lilith” sees the first instance of that ritualistic push, once more the voices appearing like ghosts behind the veil of blackened feedback, becoming more and more brutal as time passes. Tribal representations arise through the repetitive chain sounds of “Til eru hræ,” before the mystical experience is plunged into minimal realms. The impressive sonic tapestry of “Rún” sees this quality, with NYIÞ creating an epic build up through unnerving melodies and beautiful lead work. It only takes a few turns of course to resume the ways of obscure witchcraft, with the hellish offering that is “Að engu gjört.” And for the finale, everything shifts for the cinematic, with the serenity of “Rót” and the oppression of “Iða.”
Ingesting the works and deeds of NYIÞ in a single go is an interesting experience. Yet, the manner in which NYIÞ have refused to let go of their protean form, always transforming and finding new intricacies, is what makes this compilation so exciting. And so, through dark jazz, ambient, minimal, folk leanings, cinematic landscapes and dark ambient overtures, ᛬ᚢᛁᛋᚿᛁ•ᚼᛆᛏᛁ•ᚼᚱᛅ᛬ stands a testament to the unsung greatness of NYIÞ.
