Late last winter, three musicians drove to the end of a narrow, unlit road in a Swedish forest, where they found a desolate, snow-covered cabin. They unpacked their instruments, stumbled through the darkness, and were never heard from again. Just kidding! Far beyond the reach of civilization, surrounded by heavy snow and the creaking of winter trees, they created a pocket of calm in which they recorded this album.
Inside, Studio Glasfågeln is warm and welcoming, a cabin of contemplation. In one sense, it represents an escape, while in another it offers the opportunity to record without distraction ~ a welcome break for these kindred composers. The album is a celebration of ordinary pleasures and memorable moments, a series of days distilled into a sonic diary.
The first experience: “waiting for boris,” which inadvertently recalls Waiting for Godot. As one musician’s flight was delayed, the others began laying down a track, accompanied by trombonist and “keeper of the cabin” Gustav Davidsson, who throughout the week would continue to stop by, check on the trio and contribute musical parts. Their waiting is a fragile thing: a hum, a rustle, a strange animal noise, and then piano, echo, crinkle, howl. The piece sounds like wind whistling through the pines, the trombone a lone, lost wolf calling out to the pack.
The title track is populated by breath, a slow measured intake and exhale of air, lungs filled with cold, yearning for a warm fire. Vargkvint sings like a snow maiden, calling travelers out into the vast white expanse. The music builds like a winter storm, tilting slightly toward post-rock in the manner of The Cure’s more instrumental excursions. Lindhagen’s final ivory notes melt into the drifts. The breath returns in the subsequent piece like a parenthesis.
“ginger tea” is one of the shortest tracks yet one of the warmest, a celebration of small comforts. One can imagine the hands cupped around ceramic, the aroma of ginger, the pocket of steam, the lips blowing across the water, making small ripples as the flavors unfurl. “making dinner” is even shorter, a mere minute that makes an indelible impression. “time to leave now” arrives too soon, an extended goodbye, laced with wishes that one could stay forever. Rogowski’s loops and echoes create such a suspension of time that one almost thinks an eternity is possible; but all good things must come to an end. The piece rises to another post-rock climax, after which the trip will unfold in reverse: the musicians will leave the secluded cabin and travel again the narrow road until it grows wide and fierce, until the world is filled again with noise. Their souvenirs include this soft set and a centering calm. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 