Antler Anthem by Runagrim

We carved something vital with *Antler Anthem*, a sound pulled straight from the peat and etched with mammoth bone, a story that felt like it demanded to be told. This album isn't just a collection of tracks; it's us diving headfirst into the mists before memory, searching for the very first whisper of identity. We started with the simple, unsettling truth of a tribe waking to nameless throats, adrift. You can hear that nervous quest in the steady tom rolls and the pulsing mouth-harp of "Birth-Word Hunt," a tension that never quite breaks free, a yearning to trap lost names in carved marks and shared breath. It’s a journey from that uncertainty to a swelling unity, a warmth that feels almost like tears.

From there, we explore the weight of belonging, the trials of initiation like a young hunter binding sinew to antler, learning that burden and pride are twin flames. "Antler Sinew" carries that resolve, mid-tempo double-kicks surging then settling, pushing through doubt into a chest-thumping strength. Then comes the deep resonance of "Stone-Sayer," where an elder teaches that language isn’t just sound, but grooves in grit carrying breath across generations. Here, the tremolo-picked lines simmer, refusing to fully erupt, holding that reverent quiet before it turns to raw power.

As the narrative pushes into "Fenborne Gallop," you'll feel the clan marching, feet drumming a path for those not yet born, those voices of the unseen kin urging them forward. The mouth-harp stag-stomp from the start returns, now doubled by didgeridoo, a surging momentum that moves from grit-teeth grind to an open-hearted roar. "Breathforge" is where grief and pride are hammered together, a furnace-like roar of mixed-gender chants escalating, building in layers until the air itself vibrates with rebirth. It's that moment when sorrow transmutes into unstoppable strength.

The album's heart, its deepest secret, unfolds as we reach the crest. "Children Upstream" brings the voices of distant heirs through drum-skins, guiding the living with lullabies that feel like marching orders. The female alto vocals, piercing and clear, intertwine with the baritone, creating a fierce duet driven by relentless triplet picking and surging tom patterns. And then, the detonation: "Origin Cry." The revelation that our steps weren't just echoes of the past, but guidance whispered from the future. The arrow of history flips, and everything ignites. This is the chorus we built for every throat, every hearth, every arena—a sky-splitting triumph that shouts: "We are the return becoming origin." It’s pure, shaking joy, belonging made undeniable.

We didn't just want to tell a story; we aimed to bend time itself, to show heritage not as a dusty relic, but as a living feedback loop, a wild current. We pulled sounds from obsidian and bog-sunk timber, from the primal pulse of bone flutes, mouth harps, and animal-hide drums, fusing them with blackened riffs and driving folk melodies. This blending, this deep dive into neolithic pagan metal, isn't just about conjuring ancient imagery; it’s about a profound, cyclical understanding of identity, where the future informs the past and every heartbeat is a refusal to be lost.

In the settling glow of "Ember Passing," after the roar, elders pass a warming coal, a vow renewed, proof that memory is a living fire shared hand to hand. And finally, "Hearth Remembered." Around the ring of warmth, the names we hunted at the start are sung again, sealed with shared breath, a lull that still shakes the ribs. That hook, "We are the return becoming origin," returns softly, anchoring a glowing certainty. This isn't just music; it's a testament to what we carry, what we become, and what we leave behind—a primal heartbeat refusing to be lost, and a song meant to last, sung as one.

From the frozen mist, we summon the old ways. Bone-crushing rhythms, throat-chants, and hide drums call forth primeval hunts beneath winter skies. Our melodies echo mammoth tracks. Join our forgotten feasts—where horns clash and ancestors roar.