Review Skies Turn Black – Vreid

By Kirsty and Alastair Middlemist

Having somehow eluded my radar for over two decades, Vreid arrive as a new discovery to me—which makes the fact that Skies Turn Black is their tenth studio album all the more remarkable. Formed in Norway and long established within the black metal scene, the band’s name derives from an archaic Norwegian word meaning “wrath”. It is a fitting title, because wrath is precisely what they deliver here: unrelenting, unapologetic and thunderously loud.

From the opening moments, this album makes its intentions abundantly clear. There is no gentle easing in, no atmospheric preamble designed to soothe the listener. Instead, pounding drums crash forward with authority, quickly joined by serrated, melodic guitar riffs that slice through the mix. It is heavy in every sense of the word — sonically dense, rhythmically forceful and emotionally intense. This is not an album for quiet contemplation; it demands attention and rewards volume.

Black metal as a genre is often associated with icy atmospherics and abrasive textures, and whilst Vreid certainly retain those core elements, Skies Turn Black also reveals a broader palette. My initial impression of their sound was that if Rammstein and Ghost were to produce an unlikely offspring, raised with a healthy dose of Iron Maiden’s classic metal sensibilities, the result might resemble this record. There is industrial heft, theatrical darkness and, threaded throughout, a distinctly melodic underpinning that elevates the songs beyond sheer aggression.

What strikes most is the album’s energy. Track after track surges forward with muscular confidence. The drumming is relentless, driving the music at a pace that feels tailor-made for movement. It is the sort of record that would sit comfortably in a gym playlist — high-octane, pulse-raising and impossible to ignore. Yet despite its intensity, the musicianship remains tight and controlled. The guitars do not merely roar; they weave intricate patterns, balancing raw power with technical precision.

Vocally, the delivery aligns with expectations for the genre: harsh, commanding and brimming with conviction. However, the band avoid monotony by varying tone and pacing across the album’s runtime. There is a constant sense of propulsion, but not at the expense of dynamic interest. Even within the wall of sound, subtle shifts in tempo and arrangement prevent the record from becoming one-dimensional.

A particularly compelling moment arrives with “Loving the Dead”, which features guest vocalist Agnete Kjølsrud. Her contribution introduces a striking contrast to the dominant vocal style. Rather than the full operatic power often associated with symphonic metal — one might think of Nightwish — Kjølsrud brings something more ethereal, almost otherworldly. Her voice floats above the instrumentation with a distinctly Nordic mystique, lending the track an atmosphere that feels less bombastic and more spectral. It is a refreshing twist that broadens the album’s emotional scope without diluting its intensity.

Another notable departure comes in the form of “Echoes of Life”, the album’s so-called obligatory ballad. Slower and markedly more restrained than the surrounding tracks, it stands apart almost to the point of feeling slightly out of place. The shift in tone is pronounced; where the rest of the album surges and snarls, this track drifts and reflects. Its spacious arrangement and laid-back progression evoke echoes of Pink Floyd in their more contemplative moments. Whilst the change of pace is interesting, the transition can feel somewhat jarring within the context of such an otherwise ferocious record. That said, it demonstrates the band’s willingness to experiment and step outside strict genre confines.

Production-wise, Skies Turn Black embraces clarity without sacrificing weight. The instruments are sharply defined, allowing each element to cut through the mix even at full throttle. The guitars crunch with satisfying grit, the bass underpins the chaos with depth, and the drums hit with punishing force. It is an album clearly designed to be played loudly — preferably at maximum volume.

Ultimately, I found myself thoroughly enjoying this release. It may not be subtle, but subtlety is hardly the point. This is music built for release — of energy, of tension, of pure sonic force. I would happily exercise to it, letting its relentless drive fuel a workout, and I would certainly make the effort to see Vreid live should they tour the UK. One suspects their material would translate powerfully to the stage.

If you prefer your music gentle and understated, this will not be your cup of tea. However, if you like it loud, aggressive and metaphorically turned up to eleven, Skies Turn Black is very much for you. After more than twenty years in the game, Vreid prove they still have plenty of wrath left to unleash.