I thought this might be another one of Too Much Rock's "fish out of water" tales. Folk is not part of the website's DNA. But on Jona's insistence, I sheepishly emailed the leery promoter to call in a favor. Days later, I found myself slipping into The Granada on a Monday night for a self-described folk act. Although I puzzled over what might be beyond the club's double doors, once inside the room looked like any typical Viking metal show – the same bearded dudes in Eluveitie and Korpiklaani T-shirts, the same gals in flowing peasant dresses accessorized for use at Renaissance faires, and so many suspicious runic tattoos. Didn't the audience realize this wasn't going to be another European metal act nodding to their country's traditions by incorporating a fiddle alongside typical crushing electric guitars? And that, in fact, there would be no guitars at all? A hurdy-gurdy, of course. And sure, an Irish bouzouki. And a banjola, a nyckelharpa, a berimbau, bagpipes, all manner of flutes and pipes, and several hand drums. Turns out, they did understand that. I was the one who was wrong. I had assumed this assemblage of traditional instruments were the tools of folk ideologues bent on cosplaying a pure historical moment with period-correct instruments and bespoke costumes. Instead, the act's goal is to embrace Pagan Folk of multiple eras and bring it forward to modern audiences. To wit, one member of the touring quintet stood behind multiple laptops adding electronic ambiance and occasionally a big club-ready bass beat. Another member regularly retreated to a partially obscured assemblage of modern drums completely devoid of stretched aurochs skins. Okay, then. Here we go.

Faun is led by Oliver Satyr (nee Pade). He founded the Munich-based band in 1998, picking up Adaya De Baïracli Levy, Stefan Fauth, Alex Schulz, and Niel Mitra at various points in the journey. Each was a multi-instrumentalist, and most contributed vocals, with Satyr and Levy carrying the leads. The musicians moved about the stage with wireless gear and in-ear monitors. Bold lights crossed the rostrum highlighting the performers in greens and yellows. There were no stage props, just a large banner stretched across the back wall like those used by every touring act. This one bore the group's horned-goat logo. Satyr provided his banter in English spoken with a thick, melodious German accent. He engaged directly to the crowd, offering long introductions that explained the inspiration and source material behind the project’s songs. He occasionally proselytized, noting modern society could be better served by a Pagan, earth-first mindset. Even without double bass, the scene was very familiar.

The act's compositions – both the melodies and the lyrics – drew from broad pan-European traditions. Norwegian and Scandinavian tales were front and center, as was Celtic lore, but Germanic, Slavic and Baltic cultures also provided fertile ground for the band's songs. Lyrics were seldom in English, with various stages of German and Norse more prevalent. Other languages – all unidentifiable to my ear, and many long dead – were sung as well. Some tunes were realized as hushed nearly a cappella ballads highlighted by the thrum of Schulz's berimbau. Others were droning affairs ruled by Fauth's hurdy-gurdy or Satyr's nyckelharpa. The more exuberant numbers, driven by the buoyant bagpipes of Levy, were crowd pleasers. Satyr suggested that one of the latter should inspire the audience to take off their clothes and dance. I saw no nudity, but dancing was a frequent occurrence, especially by those in flowing dresses. Clapping in time was even more popular.

A half-hour into the performance I lost the storyline – this was no longer Too Much Rock at an unfamiliar folk gig, but rather Too Much Rock at a concert like any other. An hour later, when the band ended its two-song encore, bringing the party to its bacchanalian finale, I was left with a curious thought: you can remove the metal from folk metal, and you end up with exactly the same vibes. Although I came prepared for confusion, instead I discovered another facet of a scene Too Much Rock already knows well.