KATE HAVNEVIK - Melankton

Sometimes pop is like a capricious child trying to flee toward its own imaginary home, suddenly hiding away in some remote corner of the house, in search of a fanciful diversion that might alter its classic outlook and real shape, until the excess of play transfigures everything into something compromising; other times, instead, it's simply a child in search of itself, aware of its personal space and the whole familiar surroundings, happy with its own toys, always careful not to bend the rules of the game.

If it were a child, "Melankton" would have both of these infantile attitudes (?). A metaphorical parallel of intent that perhaps unknowingly troubled the beautiful Kate Havnevik during the recording of her debut album. A compositional restlessness that holds within it years of independent glitchiness and classically-tinged melodic swooning. It's no coincidence that this beautiful Norwegian woman insisted on having the Bratislava Symphony Orchestra at her disposal, tasked with the onerous job of shaping the record's instrumental fragrance, while she herself oversaw the tricky logistics between Oslo, Bratislava and London.

Before analyzing the individual tracks in detail, one clarification is necessary: "Melankton" is not the usual disposable pop record from a girl at the start of her career, it's not the usual carefree fare that clutters the shelves of the indie bargain bins, easily lumped in with 80s pop or, if you like, 90s flower-and-rose pop - it's quite the opposite. In fact, it already has its own little spot in the secret drawer of this new millennium, perhaps tucked low, hidden among all the tiny lights of the disposable cauldron (and not only that), crouched with the same harmonic craving as the child mentioned above.

A handful of melodies eager to surprise, from a spirit wide open and stretched toward beauty, trembling with eager impatience; the colours, pouring out impetuously as the songs unfold, paint an imaginary, ethereal atmosphere. A little curiosity for lovers of coincidences: production was entrusted to Guy Sigsworth, Imogen Heap's partner in Frou Frou, the outfit that became a hit a few years back with the single "Breathe In".

The emotions flow with sinuous conviction right from the start, coinciding with "Unlike Me", a gem that stands out from afar for its shine, embellished by a sumptuous string section. Kate, right from the off, reveals extraordinary vocal potential, somewhere between the warmth of a jazz crooner and a soul singer. What's more, her tonal shifts in interpretation adapt to the electronic contours that often surround these tracks. A risky choice, this. To highlight the value of this record, we can turn to the many examples of electronic experimentation paired with classical elements which, to our dismay, often get tangled up in results of dubious artistic worth. But, as we know, there are exceptions too. "Melankton" is undoubtedly one of them, because while it's bold and sufficiently convincing vocally, compositionally it leaves no room for escape. The interweaving of electronic hysterics, enveloping orchestral scores and stories muffled by the wind combine into a surprising result.

Solo piano counterpoints kick off "Don't Know You", which goes: "I know the stars, falling from the sky, falling for you... And I know the wind, combing your hair, caressing your chin.. but I don't know you, will show me, who you are?". Frescoes of autumnal poetry that give vent to violent personal shifts, shattered by the repetitive beat of some unknown object, in which the interventions of a detuned horn reveal a mysterious, decadent charm.

A turmoil akin to the wind stitches together another dream made music ("Not Fair"), piecing memories together with the aid of despair, drops of melancholy falling from the sky, like a longed-for parachute hovering among the clouds ("You're like a parachute descending from the sky", "Nowhere Warm").

Words that carry a sense of dreamlike drift in "You Again" ("I can't go anywhere, without feeling strange, I can't see anyone, everything has changed"), framed by plastic sounds bouncing with resolve; amid a none-too-convincing horn and playful electronic flourishes, an intoxicating sweetness for the listener is inevitable.

The eruption of a breeze, at times barely perceptible, takes shape in "Serpentine", even more laden with operatic movements; a violin in particular, icy and precise, appears with surgical punctuality, never left to its own devices, nor passive, but accompanied by intricate melodic inlays. The following "Kaleidoscope" is perhaps the track that best sums up the essence of Kate's music: strings again, masterfully measured, a voice that reverberates tremulously like lapping waves, an electronic arsenal that calls upon seemingly absent scenes like down-tempo and trip-hop, proving, if proof were needed, their absolute relevance to this day.

Not to be forgotten are these words: "You cut me out in little stars, and place me in the sky. [...] A tingle travels up my spine, a cluster of colours and twine, as we melt into wine".

"Sleepless" could make Sylvian of the secret hives green with envy: its Sakamoto-esque gait recalls the celestial digressions that accompanied Captain Yonoi's dramatic turmoil in Sakamoto. "Suckerlove" tells of a sick, tormented love, amid tangled reflections and impertinent uncertainties; "Se Meg" stands out as an avant-pop episode in which the electronic component disappears entirely to make room for airy string arrangements; the crystalline voice, never so admirable elsewhere on the record, expands, touched with angelic purity.

The signs of a progressive stripping-down of the underlying structure are reaffirmed at the close of the album. Indeed, "Someday", with its beguiling manner, stakes everything on a pace dictated by the orchestra and the lyrics, bringing out elements that were previously somewhat obscured, such as the presence of a battery of percussion, or certain diluted inflections in Kate's voice.

The concluding act of this splendid work belongs to "New Day", seven minutes of ochre-coloured darkness that seem to rise slowly, with no awareness of the feelings it stirs in whoever approaches it for the first time. It's a work of electronic refinement of rare precision and skill: rhythmic hiccups crumble alongside a sonic griminess that sounds like sweetened glitch music, keyboard notes chase one another leaving a trail behind them, moments of panic painted with a vocal loop lend a dark touch to the final seconds of music.

And, after the ending, there's room for one last reflection. The opening of flowers is the birth of life, a singer's debut is the beginning of a dream; fulfilling it carries a double meaning depending on who embodies it: satisfaction and artistic gratification for whoever writes the songs, wonder and overflowing happiness for whoever listens. She has already fully realised her fantasies; we, as smitten listeners, hope the enchantment never ends.

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30/04/2026