Dungeon synth has undergone a startling metamorphosis since it emerged from the deepest catacombs of the internet sometime in the early 2010s. The term was coined to refer to a sound that was, for all intents and purposes, already post-mortem: an obscure genus of dark ambient music with roots in the atmospheric synth intros and outros of vintage black metal. And that might have been the end of it—except the genre’s rising profile inspired a new generation of musicians to pick up and carry the torch, and in their hands, dungeon synth has grown into something if not entirely new, then broader and more varied than before.
Which brings us to Fief, the Salt Lake City-based project that has become perhaps the most influential force in a new wave of fantasy-leaning dungeon synth. VII, Fief’s seventh album, constitutes a further honing of his sound: a shimmering medieval fantasia designed to inspire deep contemplation and adventures of the imagination.
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Escapism is a fundamental quality of dungeon synth. Genre forefathers like Mortiis and Depressive Silence sought escape through themes of darkness, isolation, and despair. Fief’s music, though, reaches for a tone that is lighter and more rarified. His stated inspirations are largely fictive—Arthurian romance, Tolkien, and swords-and-sorcery novels from authors like Poul Anderson and Michael Moorcock. On VII he renders such tales in musical form, using digital simulations of period instrumentation to weave enchanted worlds in sound.
VII has an out-of-time quality. These wistful, ethereal instrumentals suggest medieval or Renaissance court music for lute, harp, harmonium, and recorder—noble of poise, though not entirely averse to the occasional dip into whimsy. But you wouldn’t mistake Fief for genuine music of the period. A latent influence on contemporary dungeon synth has been the soundtracks to computer RPGs, which suggest immersion with yearning emotion and stirring drama. Another touchstone might be new-age music and the way it renders older spiritual traditions through contemporary tools. Fief, likewise, reimagines earlier musics through the interface of a modern digital audio workstation. It’s all there on magisterial opener “Pastourelle”: a finely wrought medieval simulacra, bright like the blade of a polished sword and intricate as a chain-mail vest.
“Holy Ecstasy of the Cellarer,” “Maiden in Her Trellised Bower,” “The Lovelorn Knight”: VII’s titles are as baroque as the music, which is to say very. In common with other outsider forms, dungeon synth can be successfully made with rudimentary tools or talent. But Fief is undeniably a virtuoso—a talented melody writer with a fondness for elaborate layering. Listening to “My Peerless Blade” unfold is like watching a skilled weaver at work, distinct melody lines interlacing in ornate and evolving patterns. (Though the comparison might seem counterintuitive, dungeon synth is often reminiscent of early grime—made with what often sound like DAW presets, with strong melodic toplines and parts that evolve every eight bars; some enterprising dungeon synth artist ought to undertake an album of Ruff Sqwad covers.)
It’s not clear if VII has an actual narrative in mind, but its shifts in mood and tone land like story beats, giving the sense of an epic tale unfolding. “Meet Me When Turrets Notch the Setting Sun” starts in a place of serene calm, as if walking the halls of a monastery at dusk. But gradually the mood shifts, dancing harp and recorder introduce a tone of intrigue, and the pace quickens: Something is afoot. In places, Fief accompanies his playing with subtle sound effects—the crackle of flames or the cry of livestock—that heighten the suggestion of verité. A bard entertains thirsty drinkers in a bustling city tavern (“Song of Some Deed or Other”). A village gathers by torchlight to mourn the passing of an elder (“Peasant’s Vigil”). Album centerpiece “Echoes of the Apse” foregrounds a somber choir, and Fief’s input appears to be minimal, his gentle gusts of keyboard swirling across the floor like mist. But all this is done lightly. It doesn’t matter if the scene in your mind’s eye isn’t precisely what its creator has in mind; VII remains loose enough that you can choose your own adventure.
