“…in the heart of life itself, a deep, sacred day is burning with tranquil humming flames.”
This is a careful thing but also one that at times feels wonderfully unanchored. För alltid… forever… and there is a sense that this could go on in infinite cycles, which seems apt for an album about time itself. These compositions seem somehow swayed by outside forces – moving with graceful power like the tide of a calm sea; but they are also controlled, deliberate, and exacting -their understated patterns offering a strangely embracing soundscape to become enveloped by. Old Amica has crafted something utterly beguiling here. The instrumentation throughout is sparse but delicate – shimmering like raindrops upon an already opaque frame. Some pieces take on winter hues – a sense of time sharpened by shortened hours. But there is hope here too- concepts of impermanence offering respite as well as remorse – and sometimes songs shed light on a world where the days feel longer – where the sun can still be felt dappling the edges of the water.
The use of subtle field recordings that permeate these minimalist explorations is key and they tie the whole thing to its surroundings – sounds which feel reflective of the natural world but are more often defined by a very human presence. And it is important to listen carefully to this music – it requires attention- there are minute gestures and evocative details present here – in composition, in performance and in production- even when the fizz of static nearly bleeds out all else or drones undulate almost imperceptibly- there are still whispers that must be heard. Headphones are required should you wish to feel fully embraced by Old Amica’s visions. And you should wish this most vehemently.
These field recordings though, also remind you of the power of the present, the now, and in an inevitable way, the act of listening itself- and thus make that sonic infinity all the more conflicting and strange- the curious irony of what recorded music offers us (a maddening snapshot of a moment never to be exactly repeated). No two people read the same book- but the same book can be read by one at different points and be seen in myriad ways. So too can these sounds reflect their listener’s changing state. This sort of dialogue cannot be avoided here- time changes everything but not in ways that we can predict.
Gavin Bryars feels like a reference point at times (particularly in those creaking Sinking of the Titanic recordings) – but there is something more dreamlike at play here too- despite the visual, cinematic quality of many of these half-sleeping sounds; this feels like memory interpreted by the unconscious, hypnagogia residing in the meadows of the mind where bird song or crashing waves catch you as you wake. It’s beautiful. The use of the human voice is also important here and when its choral presence makes itself known, it often feels overwhelmingly melancholic – weary and mournful. But on the final track, Till Dig a lone voice whispers spoken secrets a-top the creaking tide of sound- it’s an unbelievably intimate moment on an album filled with such subtle wisdoms. Despite initially not knowing what is said here (the words in fact a reading of the beautiful poetry of Karin Boye) – you feel like you have caught a fragment of something significant – something once distant but yet now close enough to feel its breath on your skin.
This music hums like some time-degraded transmission from a lost past and in its fractured beauty reminds me of the sublime, memory-entwined recordings of Ian William Craig – where radio static and fragments of voices intertwine in new shapes, both warmly ancient and coldly dystopian. But Old Amica is their own magic force- a force you will, I’m sure, be soon transfixed by.
För alltid is out now… take some time getting to know it well.
Written by M.A Welsh (Misophone)
Music | Misophone (bandcamp.com)
