REVIEWED: Inferno Festival 2026 @ Rockefeller, Oslo (Part I)

With the brutal, marrow-chilling grip of winter finally beginning to relent into the lush and verdant territories of spring, much of the western world is already awash with all the prerequisite, garishly commercial trappings of the season - a diabetes-inducing plague of painted eggs, chocolate bunny-rabbits and religious iconography inundating every imaginable corner of the continent. Here in the historic, strikingly grandiose environs of central Oslo, however, we find ourselves situated in altogether more wintry circumstances as a vast, icily engulfing swathe of half-frozen rain rips through the capital like some mythic beast hellbent on mass destruction. Indeed, this decidedly Nordic calibre of cold is rendered all the more biting and pervasive by the staggering volume of extreme metal talent set to feature over a whopping four days of darkly engulfing carnage as Inferno Festival once again flings open its doors to some 1,600 genre fanatics.

As much as Norwegian black metal forms the undisputed focal point of this weekend’s delectably frostbitten festivities, Icelandic aggressors FORSMÁN instantly ensnare our attention with the bone-shatteringly expansive and primal strain of sonic extremity for which their ethereal homeland is becoming increasingly renowned. And here, buried deep in the cavernous, sparsely lit gloom of iconic basement club John Dee, the band’s face-melting blend of colossal, weightily pulverising blasts and icily lacerating riffery is nothing short of electrifying. Through an indescribably caustic intermingling of gnarly, tremolo-laden textures, larynx-corroding shrieks and reverb-laden riffs whose sleekly entwining motions abound with deathly magnetism, theirs is an onslaught audibly teeming with torment. Hurling themselves bodily into every eardrum-rupturing percussive blast and scabrous groove in a frenzy akin to the violent throes of religious ecstasy, Forsmán manifest a presence potent and all-consuming enough to swallow us whole. Yet for all the wondrously unhinged abandon that characterises their instinctual, frantically bludgeoning craft, there’s no mistaking the intelligently layered composition at play here as myriad strains of intricately spiralling fretwork cascade forth in a gleaming profusion of melancholic beauty.

SVARTTJERN

From near-illegible logos and unflinchingly graphic cover art to musical arrangements reminiscent of some post-apocalyptic hellscape, extreme metal has long been purpose-built to alienate, frighten and confound the overwhelming majority of the human population. And with their rough-hewn amalgam of scabrous, old school black metal, crust-ridden hardcore punk and stomach-churningly grisly, B-movie-esque visuals, SVARTTJERN provoke no small measure of morbid fascination and unease in tonight’s unsuspecting audience. Before a vast telescreen bestrewn with luminous, arcane symbols and looped footage of a carcass teeming with maggots, the Norwegians let loose a primal, muddily cacophonous onslaught that aligns itself with a decidedly nostalgic calibre of carnage - one that’s stripped bare of refinement and tangibly blistering with hostility.

Via an eardrum-puncturing collision of murkily pulverising snares and viciously contorting riffery whose lethally angular, frost-stricken edges bristle with malevolent intent, ‘Ancient Shadows Revelation’ is a bloodcurdling, supremely caustic beast of a standout. With his coarse, maniacal screams of abject torment channelling a more than substantial whiff of GG Allin’s notoriously unhinged, bodily fluid-soaked presence, frontman Hans Fyrste dominates the stage like the proverbial man possessed. Splicing in generous lashings of frantically careening punk whose barrelling pacing and sinewy grooves leave the synapses crackling with adrenaline, the traditionalist, if rather well-trodden, sonic territories Svarttjern favour make for a solidly entertaining live spectacle.

THE CROW BAR, OSLO

With the iconic live music behemoth that is the Rockefeller pulling in a frankly bewildering volume of internationally celebrated bands on this most heady and frantically paced of festival weekends, it’s easy to overlook the sizeable wealth of lesser-known talent scattered about Inferno’s altogether more bijou and cosily intimate small venues. Replete with a rather tantalising craft beer menu, charmingly nostalgic, bar-side memorabilia and exquisitely rendered corvid taxidermy, Oslo’s Crow Bar and brewery proves an enticing new addition to Inferno’s celebrated festival circuit.

That said, from the moment VILLMARK commence their folk-steeped, achingly mournful conjurations, our present surroundings fast become largely incidental as a psychically crushing pall of blackly reverberating violin pervades the sudden, death-like silence of the formerly bustling bar with a presence far removed from this earthly realm. Meanwhile, a hooded figure clutching a pitchfork looms into view in the thick of the densely packed throng of punters, advancing with menacingly unhurried purpose toward the darkened stage. With a slew of colossal, intensely ritualistic beats ramping up this intensely cinematic spectacle to a veritable knife-edge of tautly-wound anticipation, there’s but a momentary breath of silence before the humbly proportioned stage erupts in a blaze of bludgeoning, abject chaos.

Amid an immersive backdrop of Blair Witch-esque woven charms and lavishly embellished animal skulls, this intensely theatrical collective amass a veritable inferno of howling, frantically writhing energy, the extreme dynamics of their sound imploding out of the mix with bone-splintering percussive impact. Accelerating through an exhilarating onslaught of sinewy, tombstone-weighted blasts, intricately snaking tremolo riffing and a vocal repertoire caustic enough to melt flesh from bone, these compositionally adept Norwegians showcase meticulously orchestrated placement of their innumerable composite parts. And within a seamless array of nightmarish, frequently entrancing compositions in which the most airily transcendental of gossamer-fine strings meld and intermingle with a searing artillery of second wave influences, Villmark have here harnessed the stuff of pure, darkly transporting sonic alchemy.

DER WEG EINER FREIHEIT

As a sonically colossal entity spanning everything from the most lethally angular and pulverising facets of extreme metal to sweepingly grandiose soundscapes that glimmer with infernal fire, DER WEG EINER FREIHEIT are one of those rare, untouchably gifted breeds of bands. A compositionally elevated calibre of artist purpose-built for the most epic and darkly exhilarating live performances. And certainly, factoring in the beguiling, post-apocalyptic tour de force that is genre-obliterating 2025 opus ‘Innern’, it’s no surprise the Germans have pulled in a more than sizeable crowd this evening as the stage lights dim and a breathlessly suspenseful lull descends upon the Rockefeller. And yet, as great columns of blinding platinum light pour down upon the ink-black expanse of the stage and an eerie flurry of coldly entrancing synths dissipate ghoulishly into the ether, it’s abundantly apparent that what we’re about to witness will far surpass all conceivable expectations.

With its seismic expanses of densely rumbling percussion and lithe, ghoulishly ornate orchestrations taking generously unhurried time to amass a world-ending enormity of sound, ‘Marter’ comprises a breathtakingly grandiose inroad into tonight’s utterly magnetic repertoire. Via a sound barrier-shattering implosion of livid, throat-cauterising howls, bludgeoning hyperblasts and lethally whirling flurries of knife-edged riffery, the myriad shades of alternately anguished, wrathful and heartrending feeling contained within this deathly epic are nothing short of incalculable. Melding together its myriad strains of ripping, jaggedly abrasive ultra-violence, hypnotic electronic symmetries and hauntingly sombre clean verses into an exquisitely layered tapestry of genre-twisting sonic energies, mind-bending 2021 standout ‘Immortal’ displays sophisticated command over its composite parts. But, as meticulously constructed and mesmeric a sonic puzzle as this may indisputably be, the veritable ocean of distortion-drenched fretwork and intangibly delicate ambient trappings that preside over heartrending closer ‘Forlorn’ is quite possibly one of the most limitlessly affecting feats of modern sonic extremity known to the genre and beyond. Seldom indeed does compositional skill and soul-baring evocative intensity coalesce to such completely entrancing effect.

Stay tuned for Part II of our Inferno Festival coverage, coming soon...