Sammal and Seremonia position themselves at the forefront of Finnish psych

Alongside metal, punk-noise and occasionally lending an understanding ear to such restlessly evolving veteran Finnish acts as songwriting master Kauko Röyhkä and gonzo-kraut sensation Circle, the label have an especially keen interest in vinyl reissues of choice selections from Finland's rich past of progressive rock and pastoral jazz excursions; it's this valuable cultural restoration work, via names such as Wigwam and Pekka Pohjola, that Sammal bow down to.

The band's MO, namely a relatively respectful update of Scandinavian prog from the original hippy era, remains essentially unchanged. They still look and sound like an act on Helsinki's legendary Love Records; music was serious business then, and it remains a cerebral undertaking not to be taken lightly for Sammal. Whereas the band's first two releases (a self-titled album and 2014’s EP No 2) were largely the work of singer Janu Kiviniemi and guitarist Jura Salmi, however, Myrskyvaroitus is a proper band album, with an equally prominent role for all five members; the drumming is especially fine, adding a deep rhythmic pulse to tricky templates that have historically often been about as groovy as polka.

This leads to a winningly loose, expansive approach that brings to mind (slightly) Midlake's wintry folk-rock opus The Courage of Others, particularly so with the gorgeously melancholy instrumental motif to "Sulle Haavan Tein" ('I wounded you'). As a result, Myrskyvaroitus ('storm warning') never fails to swing. This applies even on the rare occasions when the material edges dangerously close to the ponderous excesses of Sammal's vintage inspirations and the sprawling, ambitious material that sheds the band's usual mellowness to pack a surprisingly hefty punch to complement the lyrical themes of angst and confusion take Salmi to the edge of his comfortable register.

When the material hits the spot, Myrskyvaroitus is just about unstoppable. Most bands get hopelessly waylaid when they venture off- script. Here, "Aika on alkamassa" (‘time is beginning’) maintains a fierce momentum even as the more conventional verse/chorus format gives way to a lengthy, exploratory coda of what can only be described - in the most positive sense of the term - noodling, albeit of a singularly funky variety.

In the realm of Sammal, the forest is a place for solace and contemplation; in Seremonia's foreboding world, you venture into the woods at your own risk and primarily to swap your soul for some ungodly forbidden wisdom that you'll later pay for dearly. The occult themes that populate the lyrics (sung in Finnish), added to the none-more-black font and stark monochrome image of trees on the album cover, combined with Finland's madness for extreme metal, might make you mistake Kristalliarkki (‘the crystal ark’) for some sort of a Pagan black metal workout.

However, Seremonia's third album is much, much more compelling than that. This Black Sabbath-loving transmission from some imaginary commune that can't quite decide whether to consort with the demons or reject all that they stand for with extreme prejudice is very near to a jackpot: an album that takes a bundle of oft-handled referenced points (early 70's hard rock, The Stooges, meaner end of the hippie movement) and renders them in its own twisted image.

A bit like Sweden's mighty Goat but less self-consciously stage-y, Seremonia - now with Death Hawks' frontman Teemu Markkula for added guitar oomph - give a convincing impression of not being quite of this world. The constant themes of black magic, death, doom and demons could so very easily become laughable, but Seremonia maintain the spell throughout; winningly, whilst the performances are 100% committed - singer Noora Federley’s steely tones add the required icy authority - you're never quite sure whether all this dark and dreary stuff might be an elaborately staged - and artistically bountiful - piss-take.

The colossal non-album single taster "Hasiskultti" ('hash cult') packed a heady aroma of the heavier moments of early Black Mountain. Kristalliarkki isn't quite as obsessed with steel-coated riffs; instead, from the punk-oid fury of "Kuolema Voittaa" ('death wins') to the foreboding dark glam stomp of "Alfa ja Omega" and the stately and mournful “Jokainen Askel” (‘each step’), the album speeds through exquisitely crafted, totally convincing, muscularly rendered takes on what could be best described as occult-boogie, squeezing impressive amounts of light and (mainly) shade from the basic two guitars/bass/drums line-up in the process.

Saving the best until last, the gigantic title track alleviates the feeling that the band aren't cutting it quite as loose as the trouble-bound explorers who populate these tunes, and that the brief duration of much of the material places the five-piece on too short a leash. Clocking in at 15 minutes, the wonderfully weird "Kristalliarkki" (complete with a madly rushing HC punk coda) is the saxophone- and flute-riddled sound of a band hitting the fifth gear and not stopping there, an unhinged, positively sinister, slow-burning opus ala the B-side of Fun House (had that posited an alternative theory about the foundation of the world) which slithers enticingly like the snake that tricked Eve to munch on that infamous apple.