SUSANNE SUNDFØR - The Silicon Veil

If a simple oxymoron were enough to decode music, then the fifth album by Norwegian singer-songwriter Susanne Sundfør would be a burning crystal.

The glacial atmosphere of “The Silicon Veil”, mixed with violins and harp chimes, poised between experimentation and classic pop piano ballads, in fact conceals a reckless, scorching soul, like the wild heart of the icy lands she comes from. That the barren soil of the coldest countries on the planet proves especially fertile when it comes to sonic art is hardly news: we're reminded of that by Röyksopp and Flunk, Sundfør's fellow countrymen, or by Icelanders Bjork, Sigur Ròs, Mùm and so on. Yet among such illustrious names, this young singer steps forward anything but timidly. Two years after the excellent “The Brothel” and one after the orchestral work “A Night At Salle Pleyel”, following her first two somewhat muffled, understated early records, “The Silicon Veil” is clear proof of Sundfør's artistic maturity, and she would deserve wider international recognition, standing out as one of the most interesting voices not only in Norwegian pop but in contemporary alt-pop at large. Absolutely crucial to this dazzling result is the contribution of multi-instrumentalist Lars Horntveth of Jaga Jazzist, Sundfør's faithful artistic companion already on her breakout 2010 album.

The spectral romanticism of the lyrics, the dizzying flights of a voice that indulges in heavenly virtuosity in the upper register, à-la Regina Spektor, never stop surprising across a forty-four-minute tunnel of cosmic introspection, swinging between claustrophobic nightmares and liberating fantasies. The end result is a delightful harmonic embroidery, at once icy and intricate, always ready to take the harder road and reject the most obvious melodic solution. As in the whirlwinds of Icelandic elf Bjork, the pop here sheds conventional structures to chase, seemingly, nothing but emotional flow. Poised between the influences of the aforementioned frontwomen of Röyksopp and Flunk, and less obvious references to figures of the stature of Cat Stevens and David Sylvian, Sundfør's identity nonetheless comes through sharply defined. Her singing speaks of death, solitude, existentialism: and yet it does so with the exuberant, unsettling swagger of a social misfit who is aware of, and proud of, her outsider status.

Moments of pure light come in the electronic empire of “White Foxes”, the ode to the human voice that is “Diamonds”, and the seraphic insomnia of “Rome”. The title track deserves separate mention: “The Silicon Veil”, whose video is pleasantly unsettling, is an exquisitely delicate crescendo, a house of cards that, quickly forgetting the hinted harp notes, rises to brush against the sun, losing itself in the stratospheric heights of superb synth-pop. A must-listen.

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28/12/2012