‘Think big, girl, like a king. Think king size.’
Jenny Hval orders herself, hushed and authoritatively, through cracked and filtered spoken word, atop the randomly rhythmic percussion of movement and shifting heavy objects in the background, occasionally accompanied by ambient and sporadic synthetic organ stabs and contortions. Though, Hval is as much commanding herself inwards as she is advising outwards. So continues the opening, and very much introductory, track ‘Kingsize’. Prosaic beat poetry and abstract composition.
It’s a striking start to a striking album that leaves you very much struck once it’s over; the spacious and spiritual sprawl of epic end-track ‘Holy Land’ dissolving away, until only Hval’s frantic and tantric – though, possibly panicked – pants and gasps remain. That’s definitely the best way to listen to it too – start to finish, open to close – so as to ingest it whole, and steadily follow the flowing progression of each song bleeding sonically from one to the next.
Though, this is not to say there is no distinction between tracks, but that they all occupy the same soundscape, very much sitting with one another, albeit very separate from one another too. For example, the obscure performance art of ‘Kingsize’ is followed by the ethereal and haunted ‘Take Care of Yourself’ that gradually fills itself out with a dense tension in its synths and drones, treading the line between clashing and harmonious, whilst Hval switches seamlessly between breathy, angelic song, and acerbic, spat spoken word, both delivered with wavering emotional fragility.
‘Take Care of Yourself’ is followed by the beautiful ‘That Battle is Over’, which is a somewhat more straightforward track that carries itself on a soulful groove and really emphasises Hval’s singing prowess. As if uncomfortable with the sincerity of ‘That Battle is Over’ and its more conventional musical stylings (including a nod to ‘Happy Christmas (War is Over)’), Hval throws a curveball and a spanner in the works by way of ‘White Underground’s multilayered vocal and ambient experimentation. Now that your suitably off balance and distracted, Hval can dizzy you with ‘Heaven’ and it’s blending of hushed minimalism, glitchy electronica atmosherics, church organ, twinkling heavenly harps, and her vocals skipping around between whispers, percussive spoken word, robotic poetry, and her up in the rafters singing style.
Working with renowned noise producer Lasse Marhaug, and having gathered a little ensemble to help out along the way, including bandmates Håvard Volden and Kyrre Laastad, as well as Thor Harris (Swans), Øystein Moen (Jaga Jazzist/Puma), cellist Okkyung Lee, and harpist Rhodri Davis – all well-established improvisational experimenters – Hval has been able to craft a sonic dimension that unites the album as a whole, but is able to be navigated fluidly between experimental electronica, ambient drone music, art pop, abstract performance poetry, dreamy indie, noisy psychedelia, and the sound of a soulful singer-songwriter.
However, whilst much can be said of the music and the compositions here, there’s a lot to be said for Hval’s vocals in their performance and their content. As I’ve already mentioned, Hval displays a vocal dexterity when it comes to her delivery, the breadth of which can be found throughout the album and on more than one occasion in a single song. It’s a considerably impressive performance on her part, but that’s not to say it’s an act (it’s driven by too much passion to be), more so that Hval knows the tools best equipped for giving her passion, and its message, the most weight and precision.
Speaking of passion of message, Hval’s lyrics throughout are likely to cause a stir somewhere about your person, and in some cases they make some people uncomfortable. This won’t be because there are a couple of cocks and cunts thrown about the place (though, that probably won’t help), but more so because Hval’s lyrics are as confrontational as they are confessional, working through the personal and the political, dealing with introspection, body image, gender, sexuality, subculture, society, and more (‘That Battle is Over’ alone drops some touchy subject ‘ism’s over its runtime). All the of which arrive masked or exposed or somewhere between in abstract absurdism, grounded imagery, stream of conscious outpouring, and upfront plainly spoken honesty.
It’s a striking album, and I was struck.
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