I’m not sure exactly who it was that drew such rigid lines around metal. While pioneers like Sabbath and Maiden were wide open to other influences, somewhere along the lines, metal shored itself up and went to war with other music. It’s not just softer styles either—metal fans and hardcore fans often come to blows with one another. Even subgenres within metal itself have split into warring factions.

But there is a growing movement in heavy music in the last decade or so to lay down the purity tests and elitism and infuse a wider range of influences into their work. One of the most exciting acts in this realm that I’ve discovered is the Danish quintet MØL. While they might lazily be tossed under the blackgaze umbrella for lack of better categorization, there’s a lot more going on here than Alcest worship.

From the opening moments of “Fraktur,” you can tell you’re in for something special. A synth arpeggiates a bass line while a bouncy guitar slathered in delay plays a riff that wouldn’t be out of place on a Phoenix record. You might think this is going to be an indie rock record until it explodes into blast beats and black metal shrieks. But for all of the sonic violence, it sounds optimistic and life-affirming, guitars shredding a major key. With different vocals, it might even pass for pop punk. But then, it shifts darker, embracing a more traditional black metal tonality for a few measures before returning to a triumphant major key for the song’s closing section.

“Photophobic” is almost an inverted emotional journey, opening with dark brutality and transitioning to a more anthemic chorus. But the bridge, with jangling guitars, a deep bass groove, and harmonized clean vocals, is one of the most beautiful moments to come out of metal in a while.

And while I usually make a note of highlight tracks, this whole thing is highlights. Each song winds through an epic sonic sojourn with similar twists and turns, but they each take different routes. Throughout the record, they infuse their blackish metal palette with the shoegaze and post rock you’d come to expect from any band with a “ffo: Alcest, Deafheaven, My Bloody Valentine” sticker on it, as well as alt rock, indie, punk, and other metal subgenres, crossing the battle lines into thrash, NWOBHM, prog, and even some deathy moments.

But despite the massive G-force of their bobbing and weaving through styles and moods, it never feels abrupt or whiplash-inducing. Each shift is expertly conceived and masterfully executed. Take for instance the moment “Tvesind” ceases the brutal assault of its opening verse and moves seamlessly into an anthemic major chorus. By the same token, there are a lot of bands writing similarly acrobatic songs (e.g., Loathe, Rolo Tommasi, Svalbard), but Diorama never feels like they’re taking cues from anyone else. Every song presents a fresh journey through their cornucopia of influences. And just when it seems like they couldn’t add any more surprises, the largely-clean-voiced title track gives the record a spellbinding conclusion.

And if I can pull back the curtain a bit, this record has sat on my To Review shelf for quite a while, waiting for me to finally get through my backlog to the M’s (like…over a year now). I’ve put it on several times in that time, and each time I found more to be surprised by—even as I’ve gotten more familiar with it. Now that I’m finally filing it away with the rest of my collection, I’m confident that I’ll return to it often.