Martyrdöd's first LP is a storm landing just after spring's first thaw, despoiling the promise of renewal with its shroud of jagged ice, turned gray by the blackened sky. For years, I thought the excellent "In Extremis" was their debut, but after following the soot-streaked snow trail that eventually leads to "Paranoia," I came to know of their savage and impetuous origin. Given to us by the same madmen who brought Asebia into this world, "Martyrdöd" is a lost classic of righteous conviction smothered in a haze of Scandinavian bleakness.
"Dear bicycle, I shall not call you bike, you were green, like so many of your generation, I don't know why. It is a pleasure to meet it again. To describe it at length would be a pleasure. It had a little red horn instead of the bell fashionable in your days. To blow this horn was a real pleasure, almost a vice... What a rest to speak of bicycles and horns."