Style: Dark folk, neofolk (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Empyrium, Vàli, Ulver’s Kveldssanger, The Moon and the Nightspirit
Country: France
Release date: 7 March 2025
Songwriting in dark folk is a particularly tricky balancing act: too few elements and pieces come across as bland and stilted, and too much going on leads to a feeling of claustrophobia antithetical to the genre’s chthonic sensibilities. Additionally, a formula for success is somewhat unclear as compositions are often based in simplicity, atmosphere, and ‘vibes’. So what does a successful dark folk record sound like? Let’s discuss Sous l’Orage Noir – L’Astre et la Chute (Under the Black Storm – The Star and the Fall), the latest release from French multi-instrumentalist Wÿntër Ärvń, as a case study: will it bear a garden of earthly delights, or will we be left to fend for ourselves Under the Black Storm?
With a lighter and more gossamer approach to dark folk than 2021’s Abysses, Sous l’Orage Noir’s tracks are acoustic guitar-led pieces with a considerable use of woodwind, strings, and gentle percussion as accentuation. Every so often, though, Wÿntër Ärvń delivers a black metal twist through raspy bellows that cut through its misty aura. Along with harsh vocals, tracks like “Ad Vesperam” (In the Evening) even introduce brief moments of squealing dissonance in its backing instruments. Compositions often begin decidedly spacious, with “Appellé à l’Abîme” (Called to the Abyss), “Un Voile sur l’Azur” (A Veil over the Azure), and “L’Astre et la Chute” leaving plenty of negative space for their motifs to reverberate against. Pieces are wont to ebb and flow in layers, filling the emptiness with embellishments and texture without ever cresting too high in intensity.
A hallmark of dark folk is the relationship between natural beauty and sadness, and Sous l’Orage Noir’s compositions successfully culminate in a gorgeous and pastoral atmosphere that underlies a touch of darkness. “Ad Vesperam” exemplifies this the most bluntly, beginning with hypnotic and repetitive guitar work accentuated by warm cello swells. Near its end, though, the cellos turn quite sour, ruminating on dissonant bowing and backdropping Wÿntër Ärvń’s harsh vocals, conjuring a feeling of torment as the sun sets on a dying field. Opener “Une Voile sur l’Azur” takes a more subtle approach, gingerly moving from idea to idea in a way that gives an ineffable delicateness to its composition. In its first moments, “Une Voile” establishes evergreen imagery around spacious guitarwork while infusing an airy plaintiveness into its melodies. Subtle percussion builds in prominence over its runtime, but never overtakes the guitars. Later on, flutes and bagpipes reprise the central guitar idea, coming together like an ornate and fragile fabergé egg.
The interaction between guitars and any number of other instruments is strikingly prominent across Sous l’Orage Noir. “Appelé à l’Abîme” has a distinct focus on counterpoint between slowly tremoloing guitars and more languid picking to create a sense of simultaneous stillness and motion. Later in the track, the slow picking drops out to make room for earthen female vocals to gracefully coil around the tremolos. Closer “Ad Umbras” (To the Shadows) also features heavy interplay, entwining the guitars with a contemplative woodwind section before the reeds drop out in place of a deep and lurching choir. “Vingt Ans de Brouillard” (Twenty Years of Fog) features some of the most beautiful guitar work, a simple motif slowly encouraging along an array of clarinets and subtle choirs that intermittently respond to the guitar’s ideas. Any of these elements could stand on their own, but when brought together, it’s like watching wisps of smoke slowly dance around each other, urging a stillness in yourself to avoid disturbing its gentle swirls.
Sous l’Orage Noir is without a doubt an excellent showcase in both independence and synergy between instruments along with anguish and beauty, but where is there left to go after ‘beauty’? While every track is lovely—many of them touchingly so—there is a lack of through-line that ties each piece together, leaving a feeling that each track is an unrelated vignette. To Wÿntër Ärvń’s credit, there is a vague nautical theme in some of the song titles and album art, but a bit more effort to tie everything together or utilization of motifs across each track would help to create a more cohesive package. Additionally, each use of the vocals—whether it be cleans, harshes, or chanting—is magnificent, and Sous l’Orage Noir could stand to use them a bit more liberally. Tracks like “Ad Umbras” and “Vingt Ans de Brouillard” use vocals for a split-second or solely as a backdrop, and could benefit from bringing them to the forefront, similar to their use in “Appelé à l’Abîme”, “Ad Vesperam”, and “Sous l’Orage Noir”.
I walk away from Sous l’Orage Noir – L’Astre et la Chute with a sense of quietude: the record is an effortless listen with endless replayability, forging nuanced interactions between instruments while exhibiting a unique spin on dark folk through the use of harsh vocals. Despite its more intense elements, there is a fragility to its compositions that evokes a diaphanous tapestry to be cherished and held lightly. With an overall package that could be a touch more thematically related and a bit of underutilization of its vocals, Sous l’Orage Noir falls just short of being a dark folk landmark, but its blemishes aren’t going to stop me from indulging in its texturally and melodically rich vignettes.
Recommended tracks: Ad Umbras, Vingt Ans de Brouillard, Un Voile sur l’Azur, Appelé à l’Abîme
You may also like: October Falls, Ulvesang, Liljevars Brann, Sangre de Muérdago + Judasz & Nahimana
Final verdict: 8/10
Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram
Label: Antiq Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website
Wÿntër Ärvń is:
– Wÿntër Ärvń (guitars, vocals, percussion)
– Judith de Lotharingie (vocals)
– Laurene Tellen’Aria (harp)
– Geoffroy Dell’Aria (bagpipes, tin whistle, shakuhachi)
– Raphaël Verguin (cello)
– TAT (guitar)
– Vittorio Sabelli (clarinet)
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