Knive

Hailing from the damp, blood-caked shores of Norway, it is only natural that Erik K. Skodvin would be beckoned toward the dark side. As we all know, Norway is the most evil country in the north of Europe; they invented black metal and have a liberal government that actually works -- there's got to be something wrong. It was only a matter of time before Skodvin felt the call of his pagan ancestors and smelted Knive, a dusty anthology of surreal and doom-laden paeans to the ancient ones. The troubled artist was set on his ashen path after a fated trip into the winding forests of rural Norway, during which he was shaken into exploring the darkest caverns of his mind to explain the bizarre forces that were making themselves known to him. He was spoken to by spiritual entities only rarely seen and set on a path of experimentation with the new influences flooding into his brain. Instead of reveling in pain and suffering though, Skodvin looked to the skewed world of the Dadaists feeling that their bug-eyed outlook would meld perfectly with his odes to the inky lords of Norwegian caliginosity, and the result is nine tracks of menacing abstraction and surreal, nauseating horror.