Gyða – Evolution

Figureeight

Since Gyða Valtýsdóttir‘s exit from Icelandic collective Múm, she has spent her time back at the conservatoire, studying the cello and attaining qualifications both in the classical style and also in free improvisation. Since then, after journeying with artists as diverse as Damian Rice, the Kronos Quartet and Jonsi; and releasing 2016’s Epicycle, in which she re-configured classical pieces plus some of a more esoteric nature into her own image, she has now found time to write some of her own compositions which have been gathered together here.

The first thing that is noticeable from opener “Rock”‘ is the sheer virtuosity of her cello playing. From the low mournful cry of the introductory sweeps, the instrument appears to be describing a mountainous ascent, the air feels cool and the terrain hard and restrictive. Gyða’s voice then joins the climb, assisting the journey by passing on help and guidance in a whispered, breathy manner. It flutters around your ears with a folky lilt, like swallows searching through the glistening landscape. Brushed cymbals add a drone-like backdrop as the voice draws you further up the mountain to whatever goal may be ahead. The vocals at times develop into an icy blast, as if passing round a perilous section and coming out of shelter.

It is a vivid and impressive opening that is dialled right back for “Nothing More”. Here it feels as if we are in an ancient clock tower, the hollow, metallic sounds of the mechanism moving around us in a comfortable, lulling manner as snow falls and people waltz around the frozen market place. There is a cocooned feel that is warming and quite gentle, and continues on into the next track, slowing the heartbeat with the addition of rhythmic bass drum from Julian Sartorius.

There are a number of guests here who add the subtlest of hues to the tracks and the recording engineers themselves certainly deserve a mention. Alex Somers, most well-known for his work with Jonsi and Sigur Rós, produces quite a few of the tracks here, and on the opening of “Sons And Daughters” you can make out the sound of the bow against the strings of the cello as a backdrop to the notes themselves. It is a gorgeous touch that places you right there in the room; it is the same with her voice, as if she were serenading you from the foot of your bed.

The album is divided into two sections; Atlas and Axis, and the opener of the second element, “Moonchild”, is perhaps the most straightforward song here, the addition of Aaron Roche‘s acoustic guitar giving a more familiar, folk-inflected feel that moves at a pretty pace, Gyða’s voice is utterly lovely, but somehow distant, as if there is a gauze that separates her from the real world. The addition of the ukelin on “Kind Human” (I can only imagine this is a cross between a ukulele and a mandolin) really brings an unexpectedly disturbing element to the album. It is a little discordant and rather odd and, allied to some wild vocalising from Gyða that brings to mind some of Miranda Sex Garden‘s more outré moments, is a tantalizing glimpse of what could happen if she really went for it.

The lumbering “I Annarn Vidd” has drums by from both Shahzad Ismaily and Julian Sartorius, but still sounds incredibly leaden to start with, like the weight of the world is lying on the beat until the cello sweeps everything up. With help from a dramatic snare attack, we are once again whisked into action, Gyða’s double-tracked vocals whispering in our ears. The long drawn-out instrumental “Imago” sees Evolution out with us once again being given an opportunity to experience Gyða’s more experimental side as the cello continually spirals upwards into silence.

This album is a lovely thing that demonstrates how many moods and styles the cello can show us when in the right hands. Gyða is an impressive artist, and one for whom this is merely the beginning. Let us hope there is more to come.

-Mr Olivetti-