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The surrounding murk of plankton washes in mutedly tonal waves from which bubbles seem to rise. Slow motion movements really give that subaquatic feeling of deep immersion. fyrlykter's lovely, peaceful drifts are laced with riffles and crystallized tones which appear in doublets; deeper swells arise ominously as the piece flows onward. Low frequencies and volumes provide a breath-taking opening for rød dyphavsleire (8:28); lighter streams and slow pulsations thrum all around, yet worlds away. Brief radio voices are occasionally heard, muffled in the stunning hush.
Initially sputtering with raspy bursts, malstrøm swirls into smoother territories. The airy breezes and angularity of horizon suggest open seas as seen from a crow's nest view. Uncluttered almost to a point of minimalism,
lysbrytninger seems magically suspended on wafting chords.
sommer brings faint gull sounds, dreamy piano ripples, synth currents and a bassy undertow, all of which grows in power.
seil begins with sweeping synthwinds, then picks up plucky harp strings, a bubbly bass and semi-tribal percussion... it begins to sound as if we're sailing within earshot of some New Age islands, without actually drifting into those waters. The warmth of that most "musical" piece is followed by the most inhospitable; blown by chilling winds, the stark isolation of november foams with flotsam and jetsam. Dolphin-like cries are heard as the surface roughens dangerously.
Hissy ruffles and distant haze swallow
isbryteren in an impenetrable (though thoroughly enjoyable) fogbank; somehow primitive beats cut their way through, adding their resolute rhythms to the proceedings. under havet (5:05) is part golden rays from a setting sun and part animalistic cries... waluruses? (If the plural of fungus is fungi, then is the plural of walrus... walri?) Anyway, their frightful din is juxtaposed with those glowing evening tones, eventually overpowering all. Maybe they're happy, but they certainly sound intimidating...
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