<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Emperor on vo.rs</title><link>https://vo.rs/tags/emperor/</link><description>Recent content in Emperor on vo.rs</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en</language><copyright>This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.</copyright><lastBuildDate>Sat, 12 Nov 2022 09:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://vo.rs/tags/emperor/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Emperor: Black Metal's Grandest, Live at Inferno</title><link>https://vo.rs/encore/emperor/</link><pubDate>Sat, 12 Nov 2022 09:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>https://vo.rs/encore/emperor/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;Most black metal wants to sound like a blizzard in a car park. Emperor wanted to sound like a cathedral catching fire. That single ambition, held from a Norwegian mining town in the early nineties, is why they remain the genre&amp;rsquo;s grandest act three decades on — and why watching them reassemble on a Norwegian stage is such a strange, freighted experience.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Emperor formed in Notodden in 1991, a small industrial town in Telemark with more waterfalls than nightlife. The two constants were Ihsahn — born Vegard Sverre Tveitan — on vocals and guitar, and Samoth, Tomas Haugen, on guitar and later drums. They were teenagers with keyboards and a very serious idea about what heavy music could be. Where most of the early Norwegian scene prized rawness and speed above all, Emperor reached for scale: layered synths, tremolo guitar lines stacked like organ pipes, and a sense of composition that owed as much to Romantic classical music as to Bathory. The result was a sound that felt vast, ceremonial, almost liturgical.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>