Eivør has released Tungl, a ten-track album that places her unmistakable voice inside one of the broadest musical frames of her career. Issued on 16 October, the record is her first for Nuclear Blast and arrives with “Og Mánin Græt / And The Moon Cried,” a new video that makes the album’s lunar imagery immediately visible.
The Faroese word tungl means moon, but the title does more than establish a nocturnal atmosphere. Across the album, the moon becomes a way to think about distance, repetition and change: a familiar object that looks different depending on where the listener stands. That idea suits an artist whose catalogue has always moved between ancient tradition and modern production without settling into a single genre.
A record built around contrast
The official release description places rock, pop noir, jazz, electronica and Faroese folk in the same orbit. On paper, that list could sound overextended. In practice, Eivør’s voice is the organising principle. Its clarity can carry a spare melody, while its force can cut through dense percussion and amplified arrangements. The music does not need to choose between intimacy and scale because the vocal performance gives both sides a common centre.
That balance also explains why Tungl can appeal beyond the usual boundaries of metal and alternative music. There is weight in the arrangements, but heaviness is used as colour rather than as a permanent setting. Electronic textures widen the horizon, folk elements preserve a sense of place, and the darker pop writing keeps the songs concise enough to hold their emotional focus.
“And The Moon Cried” as a doorway
The new video for “Og Mánin Græt / And The Moon Cried” functions as a visual entry point to the album. Its bilingual title immediately connects Faroese identity with an international audience, while the image of a grieving moon turns a private emotion into something elemental. Rather than explaining the album, the song establishes its vocabulary: weather, darkness, distance and a voice capable of making those images feel physical.
For listeners discovering Eivør through her recent collaborations, soundtrack work or heavier live appearances, the track is a useful reminder that atmosphere is not an accessory in her music. It is the structure. Silence, pulse and vocal dynamics carry as much narrative weight as the lyrics.
A release designed for the stage
The album launch is tied closely to live performance. Three release concerts were announced around the launch window: two in Tórshavn on 16 and 17 October and one in Reykjavík on 23 October. A North American tour follows in late October and November, with a wider European and UK run planned for 2027.
That schedule matters because Eivør’s music often changes shape on stage. Delicate passages can become communal and percussive; electronic layers gain physical force; songs rooted in Faroese tradition reach audiences far beyond the islands without losing their identity. Tungl appears built to support that movement, with enough space for the voice to lead and enough rhythmic depth for the songs to expand in a room.
A new chapter without a reset
A first album for a new label can be framed as a reinvention, but Tungl feels more like a widening of an existing path. The core elements remain recognisable: the North Atlantic landscape, the dramatic vocal language and the refusal to separate the ancient from the contemporary. What changes is the scale of the frame around them.
For metal listeners, the album’s attraction may begin with its intensity and atmosphere. For folk and experimental audiences, it may be the way Eivør treats tradition as a living material rather than a museum object. Both readings can coexist. Tungl is not asking listeners to choose a category; it is asking them to follow the light as it moves.
Source: Nuclear Blast — official album release announcement (16 October 2026).
