Inspired by the heartbeat of a hibernating bear – a mere 9bpm – Wardruna use grand, lumbering drones, played on traditional stringed instruments such as the talharpa, to evoke a cinematic sense of centuries passing. Birna (“she-bear” in Old Norse) follows the Nordic-folk group’s previous Kvitravn (white raven) in centring a symbolic creature within animist traditions – and it’s stirring stuff.

Band leader Einar Selvik’s craggy voice, intertwined with Lindy-Fay Hella’s elemental ad-libs, strides across a dramatic landscape of primal percussion and tumbling bone flutes as he sings of the birna’s “awakening”, possibly to wreak revenge on the destroyers of her habitat. Yet, stretched over lengthy, cyclical tracks, all this grandeur starts to feel numbing rather than visceral, with repetitive lyrics that restrain these epic tracks from real adventuring. After a languorous first half, mid-record Himinndotter’s thrilling rhythmic shake-up is an essential injection of spring-like energy, while Hibjørnen’s stark, acoustic storytelling is a welcome respite from all the thunder.

Selvik has composed for TV show Vikings and Assassin’s Creed Valhalla, drawing new fans to Wardruna’s specialised style of historical reinvention, and there’s much of Birna that feels more OST than album. Field recordings of chirruping birds and surging seas are obvious choices, adding little – although ominous reel Skuggehesten and its whinnying horses will surely become a live highlight. Luckily, Birna’s eight-minute finale Lyfjaberg is pitched just right: drowsily psychedelic, it rises and falls with real menace and relief, in an ode to a mountain which “mends all those who climb”.