En Fin Tid, by contrast, is far more consciously epic—a mantle Dyrdahl wears well. There are lots of details to bear down on here, but the overall feel of the thing is what matters. It's less of a collection of songs (or tracks, sure) and more of a suite, which isn't to say it lacks definition—each of the eight cuts sprawls in its own distinct way. It's less cute than the debut, though it still twinkles brightly. The album's title translates in English to "a happy time," so score one for truth in advertising. Even when things get a little "dark"—the ominous organ chords that saturate the first two minutes of "Bastard Alliance," for example—a sprightlier keyboard hook chimes in and sets things back on path.
"Bastard Alliance," like much of En Fin Tid, has a simple brightness that doesn't so much belie all the cosmic synth quasi-futurism Dyrdahl puts on display as offsets it charmingly. The aptly titled opener "Reset and Begin" shifts gear a lot (the limpid keyboard lines are out-liquefied by percussion so heavily treated it can seem tongue-in-cheek), as does the closing inner-space flight of "Nattestid," which sounds like something Carl Sagan thought up in a dream. The blips that make up the tune (and a good part of the rhythm, though lord knows the handclaps do their part on that end) of "Big Flash" have some texture to them for sure, but they're excitants first; ditto the rubbery 303s on "Rosenrod." It's a head-turning piece of work.