Musical Dreams Under a Midnight Sun

Seven years ago, she got my attention with a bass clarinet. Something about the low, ascending notes in triple time that introduce her Cast Anchor EP won me over, and I've been a fan of Hanne Hukkelberg ever since. A version of the following review originally appeared in the June 2009 issue of Nordic Reach, the Scandinavian lifestyle quarterly. Not many bands find inspiration above the Arctic Circle. Fewer still pick up and move to northern latitudes in search of their muse. Yet that’s what Hanne did following the release of her sophomore album: she relocated to Norway’s attic to write new material on the rugged, forested island of Senja. Seven months later she returned to Oslo with songs that would become Blood From A Stone, roughly forty-five minutes of challenging, yet bizarrely polite rock music. After two charmingly quirky albums assembled from found sounds, off kilter rhythms, and her mesmerizing vocals, the melodies here seem somewhat less playful and the tones she and producer Kåre Vesterheim coax from their instruments often come across as otherworldly—at times unsettling even. On “No Mascara Tears” for instance, cryptic lyrics accompanied by a log drum and an eerie saw could serve as an incantation, an ancient chant adapted for today’s urban youth, while the funereal “Salt Of The Earth” might be a dance club dirge, choreographing steps around an impending doom. Once again vocals are at the heart of her third full-length, but gone are traces of the “dusty jazz” that characterized Little Things, and to a lesser degree, Rykestrasse 68. “Bandy Riddles” is one such example of this stylistic shift. Growing steadily louder as several guitars and then melancholy cello are added to the mix, the song barrels headlong towards its conclusion, propelled by the tempo of a Vaseline box, bicycle spokes, kitchen percussion, and tambourine. Repeated listens uncover a method beneath the sonic madness however. Beat by beat, chord by chord, the compositions slowly build on each other, as if Hukkelberg wants to lead her audience to a musical precipice. Are we meant to see something from the zenith of the final track “Bygd Til By?” Is it the flying saucers, ghostly forest creatures, and strange, colorless terrain that appear in the artwork? Or perhaps the landscape of a remote island, alien and mysterious? Cooing over the measured strumming of an electric guitar, Hukkelberg hints at an answer with the album’s opening line: “You and me and everyone, walking in the midnight sun.” Hanne plays a SXSW send-off show with Pirate Love and Megaphonic Thrift at Santos Party House on Monday.

Back to the Future

Looking back over my playlist for 2009, I can't help but notice that quite a few inspired recordings found their way to my ears during the past twelve months. One of my favorites was an understated album performed and produced by a pair of soft-spoken Norwegians.

Writing for Nordic Reach, I described their newest release as "part introspection and part frivolous fun," and listening to it again today, I think that first impression holds true. But at a time when nearly everyone seems to be giving their work the remix treatment, what appeals to me most about the Kings of Convenience is their simplicity.

The songs they compose are short, straightforward, uncluttered, and all the more indelible as a result. For instance, tracks like "Mrs. Cold" and "Me In You" serve as a reminder that capable musicians can still write taut, danceable grooves with memorable hooks using little more than a pair of acoustic guitars.

Of course, the other end of the spectrum also has its rewards. Laptop pop makes for enjoyable listening, too. Case in point: Don't Stop, the second album from another Norwegian songwriter with the easy-to-remember name Annie. In the January 11th issue of The New Yorker, Sasha Frere-Jones uses the Scandinavian singer to investigate throwback trends, America's aversion to Euro-pop, and the future of music creation and consumption.

In a way he seems to be saying that she's been exploiting one trick—relieving some of the heaviness of house with sweet yet cool vocals sung against bright, synthesized sounds that recall the eighties—just long enough to seem retro and brand new at the same time. Comparing Anniemal, her previous full-length, against this batch of new songs, I'm inclined to agree. "All I know is who I am and I'll never be afraid to show it" she coos on the title track, and as the icy synthesizer melody pulses toward its eventual fade out, the only thing you want to do more than move, is believe.

Photograph of Kings of Convenience by Åse Holte

The Bard From Bergen

I don't think I've ever seen someone use an echo pedal as a comedic prop before. And yet that's exactly what Sondre Lerche did on Tuesday night at the Bowery Ballroom. You rarely count on humor from musicians with such earnest lyrics.

Touring in support of his newly-released album Heartbeat Radio, he exuded confidence and excitement as he debuted songs such as the catchy title track and "I Guess It's Gonna Rain Today" alongside older favorites like "Two Way Monologue" and "Days That Are Over." As he switched back and forth between a Gretsch hollow body and an acoustic guitar, he played both instruments with verve and versatility, covering up occasional mistakes with quips and non-sequiturs: "Try to look cool and you'll end up with an out of tune guitar and a broken heart."

In faded jeans and a plaid shirt he did in fact look cool and seemed comfortable on stage, pausing at one point to casually run a hand through hair and inquire about what the audience had "been up to." Judging by the number of Norwegian bands passing through New York this month, I'm guessing that many Scandinavians spent their summer vacations honing their musical chops. I missed my chance to see Kings of Convenience tonight, but I do still plan to catch Hanne Hukkelberg, an artist I wrote about for a forthcoming issue of Nordic Reach.

She was bewitching when she stopped in Brooklyn on her first US tour last year, but I must admit, I appreciate performers that don't take themselves too seriously. And I'd put Sondre in that camp now. "I contemplated playing that 'She Wolf' song tonight," he admitted at one point in his set, "then I realized it was no good without the video."
Photo of Sondre Lerche by Isabell N. Wedin

Words and Guitar

"How's the sauna?" the tall, bearded man asked the crowd that had squeezed into a Brooklyn basement on a rainy night in early May. He smiled, maneuvering his lanky frame around the microphones and vases of cut flowers assembled on stage to sit at a toy piano. To his left, a small woman in bright red dress put down a glass of wine and positioned herself on another stool.

And then Ólöf Arnalds began to sing. The forty or so listeners fell silent at once, leaning forward on their wooden benches so as not to miss a single lyric or a passing note struck by her nimble fingers as they moved across the fretboard of her acoustic guitar. She sang in Icelandic, she sang in English, and during the second song, she sang in unison with the audience, heightening the intimacy of the candlelit performance space beneath Sycamore.

I wasn't entirely sure that I'd like Ólöf when I boarded a Q train bound for Ditmas Park, but her delicate folk music and friendly banter won me over. "I don't want to talk about politics and all that boring stuff," she promised at one point during her set. Keeping true to her word, she introduced a new song entitled "Surrender," by explaining that it was about women. While I found the vocal melody memorable and especially plaintive, my favorite numbers were actually another original called "Crazy Car," and a somewhat rough but still charming cover of Caetano Veloso's "Maria Bethania." Oh, and speaking of Scandinavian songwriters, my review of Theresa Andersson's television debut appears in the current issue of Nordic Reach.
Photo by Brittney Bush Bollay for KEXP