Album Review: Trhä's: "ducel ëf ∂acet’asde§ den alëcaáhabna ë∫ igatenamëc. já sjaboj. já qá§mëna. ëmat’alsob nimëde eh enΩëcunnab nipi¶e"
by Austin Krentz
Trhä is somewhat of an enigma. It is one of many projects/aliases of Damián Antón Ojeda; a 27-year-old living in the Chicagoland area. Little is known about Ojeda outside of their music output. They have only done a few interviews, have almost no social media presence, and their releases almost always come with no descriptions. The only insight comes from the music itself; and there is a lot of it.
As Trhä, Ojeda has released more than 30 albums since 2020, but that is only a fraction of their total output. Roughly estimating: Ojeda is in around five bands and releases solo music under around 20 monikers; all adding up to at least 150 total releases to their name since 2013.
They are perhaps best known as Sadness: their most prolific and highly regarded project. Their 2019 album I Want to Be There is perhaps the poster child of their music. Lo-Fi, meditative, and pathetic; each song is a tragedy of layered guitars, reverbed vocals, and cathartic explosions. The only other Sadness release I have heard is 2021’s motionless, watching you—some of the best sounding Lo-Fi Metal music I have ever heard (a lovely contradiction). They also released a series of five Screamo demos under the alias Life that have reached relative acclaim.
This presents the trouble with Ojeda’s music: it requires an incredible investment of time and effort to hear all of it, or even a fraction of it. Of Sadness’s 50-ish albums I have heard two. Of the total current discography of Damián Antón Ojeda, I have heard less than 15 releases. Therefore, their music is hard to characterize, and it is difficult to understand which releases actually stand out from the crowd. Fortunately: most of what I have heard has been good. And some of it, like the newest Trhä album, has been great.
Consistent with Ojeda’s prolific nature, Trhä released three albums in February of 2025. The first of which, ∫um’ad∂ejja ∫ervaj, is succinctly emblematic of the Trhä sound. Every guitar note is picked at max speed, the drums are pounding and consistent, and the vocals are unintelligible growls (the lyrics are also in a hodgepodge of various scripts for added obscurity). Each song is a lengthy poem of shifting tempos and harmonies held together by an overarching moody and cerebral sound. This album is a hefty bundle of intense and brainy Black Metal, much like I’m sure every Trhä album is. The biggest issue with this one is a lack of drama. When comparing two Lo-Fi Black Metal songs to another (or perhaps 200 to one another) the defining characteristic is psychic impact; whether from intensity, complexity, emotional dynamism, or what have you. The first track here, “Alnú£a,” is borderline thrilling on these fronts, but the remainder of the album is stagnant.
The second album, ∫um’ad∂ejja mºoravaj, is a near immediate upgrade. Immediate in the sense that the opening track, “já qá§mëna já sjaboj”, is an exhilarating and breathless nightmare. The song is so full of emotion and creativity that it can hardly last more than 10 seconds before completely changing its impetus or ideation (and this lasts for the entirety of its near 10-minute runtime). The rest of the tracks are no slouches either. The third, “qosdëcet,” is throttling and humorous and proves that Odeja understands each aspect of Black Metal: intensity, mutilation, passion, and kitsch.
The third release, ducel ëf ∂acet’asde§…, is an album of weight. Through the prior two releases (and many past ones), Odeja has proved they can write complex and emotional tunes all day with varying levels of success. ducel ëf ∂acet’asde§… almost takes a step back. The songs are not bursting from the seams with ideas, but instead are churning and honing each idea into as polished of a beast as they can become. Each key change, each tempo shift, each microscopic transition feels beloved and composed to a borderline Classical degree. The first track, “sjabajΩ mëdeh,” has it all. Blissful and uplifting guitar melodies, enchanted vocal wails, delirious riffage, and a three-minute long Ambient synth section to end it all. Each instrument has discernable parts opposed to the brick of sound that constituted most prior Trhä albums. “i mon jecan në§teanë’ºi” even has a tuneful main guitar riff that’s not just frantic strumming (along with a tender interlude followed by a magnificently emotive climax). The final track, “also ëmat,” is a ballad of pure peace. The album is so thrilling that it unfortunately makes me want to listen to every existing and future Odeja album.
While daunting and of varying degrees of quality, Trhä’s music is full of exhilarating bits of Black Metal. At a high volume it is perfect for head banging and at a moderate volume it can be great for reading.
Austin Krentz is a farmer and music lover from Berlin, Wisconsin.