Picture vast battlefields with ravens soaring above them. Now picture the forest nearby. Therein skulk the oppressed heathens of the barren North. The brazen sons of the earth fighting against the scourge from the West.
The constant fear slowly turns into anger against the invaders. The anger in time escalates to raging hate. Then the time of silent waiting is over - it is time to take action. The harbingers of the false god must be driven away. Leaving their homes behind, their cattle to slaughter the Finnish men pack up their belongings and head to the fight - knowing that this may be the last time they walk on familiar soil. Some will never return, but venture to the dark halls alone. So be it, think the northern sons.
Alongside man stand the beasts; the bear-hunter and the bear, united against a common enemy: the lying messengers of the White Faith. Heroes rise amongst common men, and they shall be revered in songs echoing through ages. Even against a superior number of foes, the proud Finns do not falter, and before their scalding hatred the enemy is stricken back. There shall be no peace before the last man on either side falls.
During their journey of nearly ten years Moonsorrow have gained prestige as advocates of the pagan ways. Telling credible tales of the struggle of the tribes of the northern heathens, and combining this with their recognizable brand of epic folk metal. On each album, encompassing the poetic lyrics, the band's music has evolved into something more extravagant - their preceding album Kivenkantaja being even mightily progressive. This time it's different.
Retracing their steps, but yet going forth into something completely new Moonsorrow now deliver their heathen metal in larger dosages. Losing some of the progressive elements, this new epoch entitled VerisÃ¤keet is the band as epic as it gets. At their peak performance the band made an album that is their darkest and harshest to record. Both lyrically and musically.
The bodies of their enemies lie in pyres, or are left for the scavengers to feast on, and the bloodied protectors of their beloved fatherland disappear yet again into the woods. Leaving nothing but death and dead-like silence in their wake.
As night draws nigh again, the weary men gather around a campfire, which soothes their aching bodies in the chill of the coming winter. And soon a song sung to the old gods, the animals and spirits of the forest; to brethren, living and dead, can be heard echoing across the woodlands - declaring that they are not yet beaten. The heritage of the free northern men lives on in blood.