Album Review: Eivør - Tungl (Nuclear Blast Records, 2026)
25 minutes ago
6 min read
Written: 7th October 2026
Faroe Islander Eivør is one of the most beguiling and bewitching artists of the last twenty years. Across eleven previous solo albums, numerous collaborations and soundtrack work for productions including The Last Kingdom and God of War, she has forged a fiercely individual musical identity that draws upon folk, rock, jazz, electronica and Nordic tradition. If previous album Enn (review here) hinted at a darker direction, Tungl – from a Faroese word for Moon - feels like a natural continuation of that journey. Eivør states, “Tungl explores the ever-changing cycles of life – its songs move between moments of tenderness and heartache, love and loss, and the emotional tides that shape us.”
Seven of the ten tracks are sung in Eivør’s native Faroese. First track Og mánin græt (And The Moon Cried), has deep, elongated beats that create a processional feel. While Eivør’s songwriting has developed in different directions with each passing album, her singing remains central to everything that makes her music so distinctive. She has the ability to draw us closer with every syllable. Heavily inspired by the chain dance – a form of a cappella hymn originating in the middle ages – Og mánin græt echoes a time where this was kept alive in Faroese tradition where a ring of dancers would form, feet would be stomped, and tales would be told of Viking battles and valour. The compelling rhythms and bursts of guitar make for a potent combination. It is an exquisitely atmospheric and emotionally resonant opener, cloaked in a sense of portent.
Drekafljóð (Dragon Maiden) raises the tempo and allows the electronic undercurrents that have become an increasingly important part of Eivør's music to assume a more prominent role. Driven by a pulsating beat, it moves forwards with a striking sense of direction and purpose. She comments, “Dragon Maiden is about trusting your intuition, embracing uncertainty, and finding the courage to surrender to life's unfolding. Sometimes the strongest thing we can do is stop trying to control everything and simply allow ourselves to be carried forward. I hope this song encourages people to reconnect with that part of themselves.” The song is another reminder of Eivør's ability to unite seemingly disparate influences within a coherent whole. The quieter central section blends her ethereal vocals with the energetic rhythmic structures before building towards a stunning climax during which her voice reaches for the stars. A spine-tingling moment.
Verjugarðar (Walls) – which Eivør states took her a few years to write before everything fell into place - blends the electronics of Drekafljóð with the darker aspects of Og mánin græt to create a poignant ballad. She describes it as being about two people who have lost what once bound them together behind walls of silence. Nú kvirran krýpur gjøgnum sprekkur / Vaknar duldar kenslur / Túsund tár / Gev ljóð nú, trín í ljósið aftur / Sig mær, at tú saknar meg (Now that stillness creeps through the cracks / Hidden emotions awaken / A thousand tears / Make a sound now, step into the light again / Tell me that you miss me). A mid-paced song, it moves with an unhurried grace that allows us to fully immerse ourselves in the mesmeric musical patterns and the sense of longing that slowly rises to the surface.
There is an undercurrent of unease flowing beneath much of Tungl, surfacing in different forms from song to song. On Spøkilsir (Revenants), Eivør achieves this through unusual sonic interjections, dream-pop embellishments and vocal passages which draw out the notes, lending the track a distinctly spectral character. As its title suggests, the song feels inhabited by unseen presences, creating the disquieting impression that something is steadily closing in from the shadows whilst remaining just beyond sight. “I think we all carry ghosts,” says Eivør. “Things in the past we would have liked to have handled differently or little flaws within ourselves we try to hide from the world. But often when we learn to fully embrace each other’s flaws, quirks and darker sides, they become endearing.” It is among the clearest examples on Tungl of Eivør's ability to transform atmosphere into something almost tangible.
Initially, Hinumegin (The Other Side) strips back the electronics and adopts an eerie, ambient nature. However, the distant percussion and subtle shifts within Eivør's vocal performance gradually morph the song into something far more cinematic than its initial arrangement might suggest. Positioned at the heart of the album, it demonstrates just how much emotional weight Eivør can carry with the lightest of touches. The percussion never arrives with force or grandeur; instead, it resembles a distant storm gathering on the horizon, beautiful and awe-inspiring, yet carrying the unmistakable suggestion of something more dangerous lurking within. Few moments on Tungl feel quite so profoundly affecting.
Healer – the first single from the album and one of three songs performed in English – unfolds slowly, a quality that proves central to its appeal. The careful accumulation of instrumental textures forms the backbone of the piece, whilst its gentle clockwork pulse serves as a subtle reflection of the song's meditation on the passing of time and personal growth. “Healer is a conversation with my younger self - the one who once doubted everything and didn’t feel like she was enough.” The song's closing lyrical repetition takes on an incantatory quality, the recurring phrases feeling less like lyrics and more like words of reassurance. In doing so, Eivør acknowledges that healing is seldom linear, reminding us that progress often requires patience, resilience and the willingness to keep moving forwards even when certainty remains elusive.
Further variety on Tungl comes in the shape of Eon. Sung in English, it is a piano-led composition whose understated strings broaden its scope. There is a gentle warmth that permeates the song as it unfolds. Nothing is hurried; instead, Eon drifts forwards with a delicate inevitability that makes it feel intimate, as though Eivør were performing solely for the listener. Its flowing, unforced nature only heightens the effect, resulting in one of the album's most graceful and quietly luminous compositions. Tann tú saknar (The One You Long For) breaks our reverie and reintroduces the electronic elements with a throbbing bassline that makes it one of the most energetic moments on Tungl. The effectiveness of the transition also highlights just how carefully sequenced the album is. Each change in mood feels purposeful, with songs illuminating one another through contrast, and nowhere is that more apparent than here.
Penultimate song Fangað (Trapped) – which finds Eivør collaborating with her sister Elinborg – harbours a subtle return to throat singing in a similar vein to Upp Úr Øskuni from Enn. More broadly, it brings together many of the ideas explored throughout Tungl, from its haunting rhythmic patterns and evocative percussion to the interplay between electronics and more organic instrumentation. The sisters' voices intertwine effortlessly, lending the song a powerful focal point, whilst its shifting arrangement creates the impression of moving through unfamiliar terrain without ever quite finding a clear path forwards. The sheer breadth of sounds at Eivør's disposal is striking, yet everything coalesces with remarkable ease, revealing fresh details with each listen.
Album closer Everyone But Me was composed with Danny Saul, with whom Eivør worked with on the soundtrack for The Last Kingdom: Destiny Is All. It is a song of which she is extremely proud. “It’s one of my favourite songs that I’ve written in a long time. It’s a song about navigating; you’re out on this big ocean called life and you're trying to figure it out. It’s scary, but it’s also a beautiful thought. You know you need to go into that dark to find all the treasures, all the magic.” Eivør's voice remains the focal point throughout, guiding the listener through a composition that gradually reveals its full character. Such slow-building songs can easily lose their way, yet here the ascent feels entirely natural. As the narrative unfolds, the track becomes ever more absorbing until the closing passages arrive in a tranquil wave of shimmering synthesisers and hopeful choral vocalisations. The effect is transportive, as though we were slowly drifting skywards towards a glorious but distant sunrise, filled with equal measures of anticipation and possibility. An absolute showstopper.
Reflecting upon the album, Eivør states: “Like the moon that inspired its title, Tungl serves as a gentle guide through life’s darker passages, illuminating the beauty, resilience, and transformation found along the way.” It is difficult to imagine a more fitting summary. The shadows that drift through much of the album are never presented as something to be feared; instead, they become places of discovery and reflection before the closing majesty of Everyone But Me. As ever, Eivør's voice remains the defining presence but the instinctive understanding shared between her and the musicians around her is equally important in bringing these songs to life. With each release Eivør's audience seems to grow, a trajectory she richly deserves. Tungl rewards patience, revealing its finest qualities gradually rather than immediately but the rewards are considerable. Another remarkable chapter in the career of an artist who continues to follow her own path.
Tungl is released on 16th October 2026
Eivør online
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