★★★★☆ (4/5)
“Tungl proves that music doesn’t need to be heavy to feel powerful.”
An immersive and deeply atmospheric journey where Eivør’s extraordinary voice, layered electronics, and organic melodies create a world of their own. A record that invites you to get lost in the unknown, yet somehow makes you feel completely safe.
In a world where our differences seem to divide us more than ever, music still holds an extraordinary power to bring us together. It doesn’t matter where we come from, what language we speak, or what kind of music we listen to. There is something almost instinctive about the way we connect with a melody, a voice, or an emotion.
During Bleeding Metal’s recent interview with Eivør, the Faroese artist reflected on how much it means to her to look out from the stage and see people from completely different backgrounds and musical tastes gathered in the same room, united by the simple desire to enjoy music.
And indeed, Eivør is not an artist who can easily be confined to a single genre. Her music moves between traditional Faroese folk, electronica, rock, and cinematic soundscapes, creating a sonic universe that seems to know no boundaries.
That same sensitivity lies at the heart of Tungl, her new studio album, set for release on October 16 via Nuclear Blast. Its title means “moon” in Faroese, a fitting name for an album that explores the cycles of life, personal transformation, and the ways we learn to navigate between light and darkness.
To better understand Eivør’s musical universe, perhaps we need to look at where she grew up. Born and raised in Syðrugøta, a small coastal village in the Faroe Islands, she recalls a childhood surrounded by nature, gazing out at an ocean that seemed to separate her small world from everything she dreamed of discovering.
That relationship between the vastness of the outside world and our own inner universe seems to run through much of her music.
My first encounter with Eivør was about three years ago, when I saw her opening for another artist at London’s Royal Albert Hall. Until then, I wasn’t familiar with her music, but it only took a few minutes to realize I was witnessing something extraordinary. I remember being so captivated by her performance that, for a moment, I genuinely felt there was no need for a headliner after that. Her presence, and above all her voice, had that rare ability to leave you completely overwhelmed, in the best possible way.
That feeling has stayed with me every time I’ve had the chance to see her live or explore her subsequent studio releases.
After Enn, her previous album, I expected a continuation of its darker, more intense soundscapes. However, Tungl takes a different path. Rather than becoming a heavier record, it invites us to slow down, observe, and surrender to the experience.
Listening to it feels like wandering into an unfamiliar forest or slowly sinking beneath the sea, eyes wide open, without the fear of drowning. Everything moves around you: layers of electronica, melodies that emerge and fade away, subtle sonic details that reveal themselves with each listen. There is no rush to get anywhere, because the real beauty lies in simply existing within that world for a while.
On my first listen, I found myself returning to several songs, trying to figure out whether I was hearing a collection of individual compositions or something meant to be experienced as a whole. Five listens later, I’m leaning toward the latter. Tungl has a remarkable sense of cohesion, an organic narrative that doesn’t need to be understood word for word to communicate something meaningful. There is a strange sense of comfort in letting her music carry you, as though you could venture into unfamiliar territory knowing you’re in safe hands.
Eivør possesses an extraordinary vocal range, but what fascinates me most is not simply her technique. It’s the way she uses her voice to shape emotions and atmospheres. She can sound fragile and intimate one moment, then expand into something almost overwhelming the next. Her vocals intertwine with electronic arrangements, heavy riffs, and melodies, creating an experience in which every element seems to breathe together.
In the end, I find myself returning to something Eivør shared during the interview: music has the power to bring together people who might never have crossed paths outside a concert venue.
With Tungl, that connection seems to reach even further. We don’t need to share a language, a background, or even understand every word to recognize ourselves in the emotions her music conveys.
We may not know what awaits us beyond the horizon, but when Eivør invites us to sail into the unknown, even the vastness of the ocean feels like a safe place.