KLARA LEWIS - Openings

For “Editions Mego”, Klara Lewis delivers her coming-of-age album.
She'd left us with the weather-sensitive “Thankful”, a record capable of slotting in, after twenty minutes of neoclassical, two lo-fi ukulele pieces and two ambient electro-punk ravings dedicated to the late Peter Rehberg. She returns with a move back toward the sounds of her early work (“Too” and “Ett”), but enriched with a new and inspired compositional density. “Openings” is indeed able to absorb the Swedish artist's measured elegance and charge it with incandescent intensity. The tracks shape fury into dance, in controlled choreographies. The sonic body seeks the tension of tendon and nerve to find the perfect balance in the ecstasy of the figure.

Listening becomes a physical experience: you take part in the effort as sound expands and contracts in space as if fighting against resistance. The heavy use of reverse, backmasking and glitch amplifies a dramatic quality that reaches its peak in tracks like "Ta Min Hand", "Bud", or "Vaknar" (the finest moment on the whole record). In the supersonic rewind of a tape, strings swelling in crescendo desperately push a melody toward the surface. One gets the impression of a disaster of memory, an erasure at whose center something stoically wants to remain alive, a memory or a mirage of itself.

In other tracks, the liquid fall of the piano sets off ripples that, instead of radiating outward, contract on impact ("Hardcore"). Echo and delay soften the violent collapses of the synths ("Feel", "Small Harp") and carve out infinite depths for the sound to run through.
The more distinctly ambient tracks, on the other hand, are chromed electronic micro-accelerations and textural loops chasing each other in a glittering, slow-moving flood (the gorgeous "Tide"), or ones that burst out of dark regions of uncertainty ("Openings", "Small Harp") with incendiary violence into raw distortions ("City"). As if the dawn-lit hues of Harold Budd found, at the estuary, a sea in the jagged feedback of Fennesz.

Klara Lewis turns her fragile melodies into a phantasmagoria of electric lanterns, delivering a living, theatrical work capable of enchanting and moving the listener. It's the plastic depiction of a body wrestling with majestic forces, able, with lightness, to dance amid the ambiguities of time and space.

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08/10/2026