Amorphis – Halo
Release Date: 11th February 2022
Label: Atomic Fire Records
Order/Stream
Genre: Melodic Death Metal
FFO: Insomnium, Omnium Gatherum, Dark Tranquillity.
Review By: Kira L. Schlechter
At the height of their powers 30-plus years into their career, Finland’s Amorphis keeps upping the ante. Not content to coast after brilliant efforts like “Circle” (2013) or “Under the Red Cloud” (2015) or “Queen of Time” (2018), they instead expand and contract their sound, adding, then taking away.
Their latest, “Halo,” is whittled down – shorter, heavier songs with a more progressive bent, with their folk and orchestral elements intact, if pared back.
Singer Tomi Joutsen, guitarists Esa Holopainen and Tomi Koivusaari, keyboardist Santeri Kallio, bassist Olli-Pekka Laine, and drummer Jan Rechberger draw on Finland’s national epic, the Kalevala, as interpreted by longtime lyrical collaborator Pekka Kainulainen to create tracks that effortlessly relate the mythical or ancient to the modern human experience.
Its music is by Esa and Santeri mostly (the final track was written by Tomi K), and it’s sung mostly in Tomi’s bear-like growls with only touches of his rich clean vocals. They’ve got plenty of grief in recent years for moving away from the pure death metal of their youth, but A. they do what they do extremely well, and B. why should they not explore the richness and depth of their native culture and their own musical backgrounds? And hell, C. what’s wrong with change?
“Northwards” is the perfect example of the musical trademarks of Amorphis’ songwriting. Santeri’s lovely lilting piano establishes the melody, then Esa’s guitar takes it over and expands it to make it the song’s backbone. Thematically, this is the perfect beginning to the story – it’s about the settling of harsh lands, Tomi’s harsh vocals perfectly echoing the difficulties of this migration (“Many men did lose their lives/Taken by Tuonela’s river”) and the constant, haunting fear that accompanies it (“Crouching, cowering companions”), but also the rewards that result, like family (“I found my spirit kith and kindred/My sisters and my brothers”). The grinding quality of the verses emphasize the struggle, and the clean singing in the brief chorus reflects the gradual progress the settlers make in claiming a home. The instrumental bridge, these sections that go off on flights of fancy, is one of their great songwriting gifts – here it’s Santeri’s Jon Lord-esque organ and Tomi’s tender vocals, this time in thanks for what the new land is giving them (“Game is good and plentiful here/Happy is … the life of man”). His interpretation of Pekka’s words, his deep understanding of them on a spiritual level and deep respect for them, is, as always, flawless.
“On the Dark Waters” is a more fantastical tale, of the “ship of bone” sailing the “dark waters of Tuonela” (the land of the dead in Finnish mythology), which takes the dead to their final rest. Esa’s twisting lead melody and Tomi’s bedrock rhythm guitar power the verses, as Tomi grimly narrates the arrival of the dread vessel. The tone of the chorus, prefaced by Jan’s resonant pounding, is almost one of salvation, as death is, of course, part of life. The details of the ship’s appearance are so carefully chosen and so visual and visceral (“No oars there were to be seen/No sails hoisted on its mast”), as is the description of the mourners, “A people sullen, silent/Baying for that ship to take/Their dead downstream.” The bridge (which features the same sitar guitar effect used in “Death of a King”) is the ship picking up the dead, young and old, both “the nameless unborn” and “the naked bodies of the elders.” The resolution is the dead finding peace (“And the people woke astounded/To the dawn of their new life”) and the music brightens beautifully to reflect this, Tomi’s voice sliding upwards in wonder.
The atmospheric, evocative first single “The Moon” is set by Santeri’s initial melody fleshed out again by Esa to glorious effect, the rhythm changing slightly as the song gets under way in earnest. It modulates down in the chorus beneath Tomi’s soaring clean vocal, and the bridge changes it yet again. This is testament to what thorough musicians they are, to never allow a signature melody to grow tedious or monotonous but to take it instead to different places throughout a song. Even Jan’s drumming mimics it, as does Tomi’s gutturals. The story here at least initially could make reference to Odin (“the one-eyed figure stands”), but it’s the sheer beauty of the chorus that places this in the canon of their best tracks, regardless of its deeper meaning.
“Windmane” begins with a rhythm that will appear later in the chorus, with barren guitar and a drift of flute as introduction before the pummeling, hectic verses begin. When that beginning rhythm meets the vocal one, they go at tantalizing, intriguingly slippery cross purposes. The bridge escalates into a thrilling headlong tumble, courtesy of Jan, with Esa and Santeri trading licks, one set of solos melding seamlessly into the other. Lyrically, this is reminiscent of “The Golden Elk,” with themes drawing from myth (a character summons a mysterious creature “blacker than night” with a “mind the tongue of burning flame”) and nature (“On the misty meadows of spring/On the parched roads of summer/On the chequered paths of autumn/On winter’s snowy trails”). And again, the guttural verses propel the action, while the clean chorus is meditative, reflective – the way this band uses vocals to tell stories is unparalleled, never random, completely planned as to what type of singing best matches the lyrics.
As befits the title, the music of “A New Land” is bright and optimistic. A sitar break between sections darkens things up a bit, as does a solo section rooted in Tomi’s foreboding rhythm guitar. We meet our travelers again on their progress north and Pekka’s descriptions of the land’s bounty are phrased like epic poetry – “Deer were wailing in the woodland/Grunting fiercely in their fervor/Bears clambered back to their caves/Grouses slept under the snow.” Granted, this is not raise your fist/sing-along stuff, but that’s not Amorphis – they are cerebral, primal, aboriginal, preferring to engage your heart and imagination. There’s a certain amount of suspending your disbelief with them, and doing so heightens your appreciation of them. The chorus is in two parts almost, harsh and clean, mirroring both the difficulty of the quest and the hope for a brighter future.
That staccato delayed guitar they do so well marks the opening of “When the Gods Came”; Jan’s drumming delivering the mighty swing the track retains throughout and reprises at the end. The riffing of the rhythm guitar bounces the vocals along in the verses, and you’ll hear the opening keyboard melody drifting underneath – there’s that attention to detail again. Here we establish religion, or a creation myth more accurately, with references to evolution (“As worms upon the forest floor” to “eagles soaring to the sky” to “the honeyed paws of bears”) before the exuberant chorus reveals our enlightenment (“Came the gods to our people/Told us how a man should be”).
With a sweeping melody, at once dense and open, “Seven Roads Come Together” gets its earthy power from Jan’s drumming – he’s so light when it calls for it and pummels when he needs to. The prechorus builds and builds with the orchestration until the chorus releases the pressure to soar. Along the lines of “Sacrifice,” this speaks of offerings made to the gods to gain knowledge (“Place your gifts on that stone/With a drop of your blood … Offer a gift of honey/Give the fruits of your ghost”) in a sacred place (“When the sky arches above you/And the wood rustles and sighs”), one that will bring you peace in troubled times, in a lovely bit of metaphor (“When the shadows of the forest/Have led you astray/Remember that you’ve been in this place”).
Acoustic guitar at the outset of “War” builds to a raging, forceful electric melody, with organ keening beneath and a relentless 6/8 grind. As the title implies, this is the ravages of conflict, the devastation of profound grief, when your home is destroyed and death would be less painful than living (“Pull the hair out from my head/Peck the eyes from shiny skull … Shove me down into the sea”). Tomi inhabits this scenario so convincingly, going from roar to scream in the verses as he vents his rage and sorrow, to crooning in the chorus, where he’s numb, almost sing-song, as he mourns, “Black is my hearth and my home/Ravaged my abode/All my hopes burnt to cinder.”
And if this is conceptual, this is a turning point in the story – the settlers’ idyllic time is over and a few are left alone to grieve and rebuild.
The title track, though, is a gleaming moment of hope, guitars joining in a blissful melody reminiscent of “Amongst Stars” in its unapologetic joy. Done predominantly in clean vocals, Tomi’s voice is beautifully intimate in the mix, almost confiding, as he describes a ritual (“I put together a halo/Out of pieces of amber/Carved my own marks/With a knife of bone”), one that seems to bring peace of mind.
“The Wolf” is a scene of man versus nature, wolf and human after the same prey, both hungry and desperate, and the music echoes that, as stinging and tense as the previous track was expansive. Tomi narrates the battle in very wolf-like growls, but as he sings the chorus, cataloging the change inherent in the seasons, he foresees “hope a-stirring.” The solo guitar in the bridge, treated with slight wah effects, is throaty and emotional as the story shifts to something perhaps a bit prophetic (“Through grey borders of sleep/I saw a wolf lie by our cave/Seeking me night after night”).
It’s hard to overstate the impact of “Halo”’s exceptional last track. Achingly poignant acoustic and cello hint at the chorus melody to come in “My Name is Night.” And indeed this is the character at the end of his life (“My sword has been bent and broken … My life’s been sung away”) – it’s the perfect, devastating close. A guest vocal by Petronella Nettermalm of the Swedish band Paatos in the first verse hints of going back to nature (“I’ll lay my head on red earth/On dark twigs of spruce”); later she melds with Tomi as if they were two sides of the same singer. As he sings the very slight, unexpected shifts in the melody, Tomi will ruin you – his sensitivity, his restraint, his ability to BE this character, is extraordinary. Likewise, the solo guitar is wrenched, agonizing, the melody simple but the emotion unmistakable.
To keep musical quality at this level for this long, as Amorphis has and continues to do with “Halo,” is exceedingly rare. They are masters of their domain. 
(5 / 5)
