Wyrdwraak is a new Dutch Black Metal act from Kerkrade, emerging in 2026 with their debut EP ‘Schimmenheim’ on Zwaertgevegt. The project is built around two long‑time collaborators who have been making music together for 18–20 years, previously active in or closely connected to Suttungr, one of the Netherlands’ notable pagan Black Metal bands.
Wyrdwraak began as a shared creative outlet between two musicians whose partnership stretches back nearly two decades. Their background in Suttungr and earlier projects (including Paramite, a pre‑Suttungr rehearsal-era act) provided the foundation for a new direction: Dutch‑language paganistic, melancholic, misanthropic Black Metal.
The band operates as a self-contained unit, meaning all recordings, mixing, mastering, artwork, and logo design are done by the duo themselves.
The drummer from their earlier collaborations now handles vocals and keyboards, while drums are programmed for this first release, a choice noted by reviewers but executed convincingly.
Their aesthetic is rooted in cold, inward‑wandering atmospheres with melancholic and heroic riffing, Dutch pagan themes and musically a blend of Finnish, Norwegian, French, German, and early‑2000s Dutch Black Metal influences (Fluisterwoud, Liar of Golgotha).
The impurity of this tape reminds of the glory days of the infamous Sadolust Records.
What unfurls here is a bleak, cutting current of Black Metal, a pestilent wind that carries both frost and feeling. After the EP opens with its dimly glowing Dungeon Synth incantation, ‘Schaduwbloed’ tears the veil apart. The riffs descend like ashen snow, heavy with melancholy, and that sorrow clings to the entire recording like a persistent winter fog.
As the tape spirals deeper, Wyrdwraak reveal a more heroic, iron‑clad face. The dual‑guitar passages rise like ancient banners in a storm, sharp and triumphant. The ethereal keyboards, used with restraint, shimmer like ice crystals on dead branches, adding depth to the gloom. At times they hover a little too brightly in the mix, and when they drift out of step with the drums, the spell flickers, but never breaks.
The praise outweighs the quibbles. The rasping, venom‑soaked shrieks, wrapped in just enough reverb to echo through the ruins, strike with conviction. The Dutch lyrics cut through surprisingly clearly, like curses whispered in a frozen chapel.
Trying to pin down Wyrdwraak’s lineage is like tracing shadows in torchlight. Their sound is a cauldron of Finnish frost, Norwegian austerity, French mysticism, and German severity, with fleeting apparitions reminiscent of Dutch ghosts from the old days, Fluisterwoud, Galgeras, Gotmoor, flickering at the edges. The title track ‘Schimmenheim’ closes the EP in a haze of dreamlike keyboards and drifting sorrow, a final breath of cold air. More of this, always.
The verdict stands: this is Black Metal carved precisely in the shape I crave. Give these two a flesh‑and‑blood drummer and a touch more production refinement, and Wyrdwraak could become something truly formidable. For now, those are the only shadows cast over an otherwise striking debut.
Recorded in a short, fevered burst, ‘Schimmenheim’ feels like a ritual of self‑definition, a first glimpse of the full‑length already stirring beneath the surface. And with real drums… Wyrdwraak may very well claim my entire devotion.
‘Schimmenheim’ appears on tape through Zwaertgevegt. Highly recommended.
