Eight years in metal is practically a geological epoch. Bands rise, bands crumble. Trends devour themselves, and the internet screams into the void about a thousand records a week that nobody will remember by Friday. But Dimmu Borgir? Dimmu Borgir don’t do trends. They don’t do schedules. They don’t do anything on our terms. They do it on theirs.
GRAND SERPENT RISING
Grand Serpent Rising is, without a shadow of a doubt, the most complete, ferocious, and visionary album these Norwegian titans have ever committed to tape. I know how that sounds. I know the cynics are already rolling their eyes, muttering about hyperbole, about fanboy gushing, about the kind of breathless superlatives that litter metal journalism like empty beer cans after a festival weekend. But here’s the thing: Silenoz has spoken publicly about how, when mixing and mastering were done, Nordström delivered a verdict that stopped him cold. Fredrik told the band this was the best Dimmu Borgir album he’d ever worked on. That’s not a man known for flattery. That’s not a man who deals in empty compliments. When someone of his standing says something like that, you sit down, you shut up, and you listen.
What strikes you first, even before a single note plays, is the intent behind this record. Shagrath and Silenoz have spoken about returning to something more direct, more instinctive — fewer cooks, as it were, in this particular infernal kitchen. Following Galder’s 2024 departure to focus on Old Man’s Child, the creative core pulled back to its origins: two men, a shared vision, and a refusal to compromise on quality. The result is an album that feels hungry in a way that Dimmu Borgir records haven’t felt in years. Not hungry in a desperate, clawing-at-relevance way, but hungry in the way a wolf is hungry — purposeful, primal, entirely in command of its own power.
TRIDENTIUM
Every great journey needs a gate, and Tridentium is the one Dimmu Borgir have carved for this particular descent. A swelling orchestral overture drenched in ritual tension, it builds with the patient menace of something enormous waking from a very long sleep. Choirs breathe beneath walls of string arrangements, and a distant processed voice intones fragments of the album’s central philosophy.
The door is then ripped clean off its hinges. The second single and a flat-out assault, Ascent announces the album’s intentions without a moment of hesitation — a thunderous, deeply vicious piece of blackened metal that hits with the force of something that has been building pressure for eight years. Silenoz’s riff work here is some of his finest: a cascading, chromatic fury that folds back on itself before detonating into a chorus of such blackened majesty you’ll need a moment to catch your breath. Shagrath sounds possessed. Not in a theatrical, going-through-the-motions way, but in the sense that something has actually taken up residence in the man’s throat. The first time the chorus lands, you’ll be punching the air before you even realise what’s happening. An instant classic.
LAYERED & DELIBERATE
The album’s third track – As Seen In The Unseen peels back slightly from the opener’s full-bore assault to reveal something more layered and deliberately constructed. There is a recurring melodic motif here — insidious, looping, impossible to dislodge — that gradually accumulates weight as the song builds. In reaching its climax, you realise you’ve been pulled underwater so slowly you never felt it happen.
Mid-paced, churning, and possessed of a low-end menace that sits under your skin and stays there. The Qryptfarer is the album’s most claustrophobic moment: deliberately suffocating in its atmosphere, with Gerlioz’s keyboards deployed not for grandeur here but for unease. The riff that anchors its verse section is one of those beautifully simple, devastatingly effective ideas that sounds inevitable the moment you hear it.
Photo: Stian Andersen
LINEAGE & ANCESTRY
The album’s first single, Ulvgjeld & Blodsodel and the decision to open the campaign with this one tell you everything about the confidence these men bring to this record. Sung entirely in Norwegian, it wears its heritage like armour — ancient, uncompromising, shot through with genuine emotional weight. Thematically, it deals with lineage and ancestry, the weight of what is carried forward and what is left behind — a gravity that sets it apart from the broader album.
Repository of Divine Transmutation, the album’s most structurally ambitious track, shifting between blast-beat brutality and an almost progressive mid-section where orchestration takes centre stage in a way that recalls the finest moments of Death Cult Armageddon. Victor Brandt’s bass is audible, muscular, and present throughout — a quiet triumph of the production. The title is not a boast; the song earns every syllable of it.
The album’s second Norwegian-language track, Slik Minnes en Alkymist, carries the ancient weight of the first but deploys it differently. Where Ulvgjeld & Blodsodel is about lineage and legacy, this one feels colder and more introspective. It’s like something carved into stone before the first towns were built. Melodically, it reaches back to the most atmospheric corners of Stormåst while remaining unmistakably, defiantly now. The alchemist of the title is not named, but you feel his presence: patient, timeless, certain.
If Slik Minnes en Alkymist is the album pausing for breath, Phantom of the Nemesis is what happens when it stops being polite. Pure, unrelenting, gloriously vicious black metal played at the kind of tempo that makes your neck ache in the best possible way. Damage’s guitar work is a revelation throughout this record, but here especially — a man who has clearly found his footing and is absolutely making his presence felt.
THE EXONERATED
The Exonerated is one of those classic Dimmu Borgir trick moves. A deceptively gentle acoustic guitar opens the track before complete obliteration from a wall of distorted guitars. The verse shows restraint, however the chorus is anything but.
The album’s most experimental moment Recognizant is a brave placement at track ten. There are passages here that verge on the meditative — almost hypnotic in their slow, spiralling repetition — before the song reassembles itself into something darker and more urgent. It takes a couple of listens to give up all its secrets, and that is entirely to its credit. What initially sounds like restraint reveals itself as coiled menace.
At the Precipice of Convergence – The album’s philosophical centrepiece, and arguably its most ambitious track. Drawing directly on the esoteric Kundalini concept that threads through the whole record — the ascending sacred force, the divine awakening — this is Dimmu Borgir at their most cinematic and most strange. There are moments here that sound like nothing the band has attempted before: dissonant, spiralling guitar lines that feel genuinely unsettling, a vocal performance from Shagrath that spans from barely a whisper to full-throated roar within the space of a single phrase. When the choirs finally arrive, roughly four minutes in, it is one of the most spine-tingling moments on the record.
CLOSING AGGRESSION
The penultimate track does not ease you towards the finish line. It drags you forward by the collar. Churning, relentless, built around a grinding central riff that rewards patience, Shadows of a Thousand Perceptions is the album’s most nakedly aggressive statement. Daray’s drumming is a marvel throughout this record, but here he sounds genuinely ferocious — like a man who has been waiting to let this loose for eight years and is absolutely going for it. And here, at the end of over an hour of extraordinary music, the closer.
Named for the Norse mythological river that separates the living from the dead, Gjƫöll understands its own weight completely. Beginning with a reprise of Tridentium’s orchestral DNA, it slowly accumulates mass and momentum over its considerable running time, pulling every thread of the album’s thematic tapestry together into something that feels — and I don’t use this word carelessly — complete. When the final chord rings out, and the silence hits, you will sit very still for a moment. You will not reach immediately for the skip button. You will simply let it be over and feel the weight of what you just heard.
Grand Serpent Rising is the album that Dimmu Borgir’s entire catalogue has been building towards. It is the sound of a band who have shed every last layer of self-doubt, external pressure, and creative compromise to deliver something that operates entirely on its own terms. It is ferocious where ferocity is needed and beautiful where beauty is needed, and — crucially — it understands the difference. The serpent has risen. It is magnificent. Ignore it at your peril.
Dimmu Borgir: Official Website