There’s a fine line between provocation and prophecy, and Evan Zorn Von Berg doesn’t so much toe it as set it ablaze. On ‘Return’, the fiercely unconventional new EP from Von Berg and his conspirators Edward Clutterbuck and Seymour Fleming, nostalgia becomes rebellion, heritage becomes scripture, and tradition is a war drum.
This is not a gentle listen. ‘Return’ demands your full attention. And for all its audacious declarations and archaic fixations, it pulses with an uncompromising vision rarely seen in the landscape of modern indie music.
The opener ‘Revert Back’ reads like a manifesto cloaked in minor-key mourning. Delivered in Clutterbuck’s unvarnished vocal tone, it’s a dirge to a fractured world where intimacy is traded for influence, and connection replaced with competition. There’s fury here, but also desperation, as Von Berg’s lyrics weave through accusation, grief, and a final, stubborn call for restoration. The track drips with tension, musically and thematically, its stark instrumentation leaving little to shield the listener from the rawness of the message.
‘British Isles Bop’ is perhaps the most outwardly celebratory of the three, but don’t be fooled, it’s joy with its teeth bared. Fleming’s delivery lands somewhere between folk revival and pagan ritual, channelling ancestral memory into something that feels ancient and pulsing. The guitars are loose, almost ritualistic in their phrasing, invoking not so much a national pride as a near-mythic remembrance. It’s a hymn for the bloodline-bound, a song that insists the past never ended.
Then comes ‘Ash’, the slow-burning finale and perhaps the EP’s most haunting track. Over synths that sound like the dying breath of a once-mighty cathedral, Clutterbuck croons Von Berg’s grandest lament; a funeral for monarchy, legacy, and the divine right to rule. It would almost come off as satire, were it not for the chilling sincerity in the delivery. Von Berg doesn’t posture as royalty; he genuinely believes he’s been robbed of it by the march of democracy. “I am an ancient ghoul and you are a fool” lands not as a joke, but as an accusation.
In less capable hands, ‘Return’ could crumble under the weight of its own conviction. But it holds because it refuses to pander. This is outsider music in the truest sense: dense, discomforting, and steeped in lore. It’s not trying to fit into playlists or scenes. It exists in its own pocket of time, defiantly disconnected from the present.
Love it or loathe it, ‘Return’ is impossible to ignore. It’s an invocation. A ritual. A snarling whisper from the crypt of old Europe, carried forward by three men convinced the modern world got it wrong.
Whether you see it as madness, myth, or misunderstood genius, one thing’s clear: Evan Zorn Von Berg doesn’t want your approval.
