Before I listened to Immortal's album At the Heart of Winter the only avant-garde music using animals sonically that I had been exposed to involved elephants, birds, or black people. I did not know what to expect from a metal album that made extensive use of toads and samples of Gene Kelly's tap dancing. There is of course the rumour that black magic was used to bring Gene Kelly back to life, but given that he is not credited in the album liner notes I think it's fair to say that Kelly's tap dancing which forms a great deal of the album's percussion is in fact sampled. Whether this will land Immortal in any legal trouble or is another matter entirely, and I am not here to judge. If some of the foremost toad vocalists of the world were willing to lend their vocals to the recording then I'm willing to give Immortal the benefit of the doubt. Besides, the tap dancing perfectly compliments the toad's croaky, soulful voices and Abbath's mastery of synthesiser and guitar.

The Metal Boys influence is immediately clear, but not in terms of sound. Naturally a French synth-punk pioneer is not going to influence a toad and tap dancing orchestra, but in terms of themes it's fair to say that At The Heart of Winter has a modern post-punk punk attitude that is clear from the onset. From drug addiction references such as those heard in the song "Tragedies Blows at Verizon" to the very personal and frustrated anti-establishment piece "Years of Silent Sorrow" which tells the story of Abbath's own struggles with the dome in the sky: an obvious, though nonetheless powerful, metaphor about society and perhaps more broadly the environmental disconnect between city and country.

Of course the Norwegian metal scene is rife with their racist acts, but Abbath quickly puts any allegations of racism to rest in the pro-equality anthem "Where Dark and Light Don't Differ" with stirring anti-racist lyrics such as: "the eyes; all see black in the end". True, and very poignant.

There are those that say the toads are unaware of what they are singing—naturally they do not speak English, but how many Norwegians can honestly say that their English is much better than that of a toad?—but this is a very shallow criticism because even if they do not understand the words that they are singing, they certainly understand the strong feelings of angst and desperation behind them. Perhaps more preposterous are the allegations levelled at the toads by people who are nothing short of speciesists. Thanks to The Wind in the Willows there is a stereotype that toads are nothing short of hedonistic Greek slobs, but nothing could be further from the truth. Really, it's somewhat insulting that an album with so many anti-racism themes is targeted by racists. But perhaps it's not surprising.

The truly wonderful thing is how it all comes together. The guitars, the synths, the tap dancing and the toads all form a dystopic-soundscape that you will have stuck in your head from the moment you first hear it. As you sit and listen to it with your eyes closed it will bring visions of Gene Kelly dancing with big, black, Orwellian boots on stomping on a hundred croaking toads. If you want to imagine the dystopic-present listen to Immortal's At The Heart of Darkness. Your face may have melted afterwards, but you'll be all the better off for it. It's the sort of dystopia that you can dissect and enjoy like a raw onion: layer by layer, peeled back, only you won't be left with something that will make you cry—unless it's with joy—instead you'll have yourself some caramelised, diced dystopian-goodness ready to form the basis of any great intellectual hotdog. If, of course, you have the courage to consume it.