Falling somewhere between the glacial soundscapes of Sigur Rós and cinematic musings of Jóhann Jóhannsson, Ólafur Arnalds creates small-scale, intimate creations meant for quiet contemplation. Not one to take the path of least resistance, and head straight for the obvious theme, Arnalds cleverly sculpts the nine mini-compositions of "...And they have escaped the weight of darkness" into understated gems, eschewing melodramatic excess and allowing them to slowly unravel over time. Opening with the barely there track "Þú ert sólin" and continuing with "Þú ert jörðinn", the first two songs act as a prelude to his dimly lit world, which finally explodes into fruition with "Tunglið", a piano-driven piece that builds to dizzying string and percussion-filled heights. The album's start for all practical purposes, it's well worth the wait.
While a stunningly mature modern-classical outing, it's album centerpiece "Hægt, kemur ljósið" that truly shows what Arnalds is truly capable of creating, and with any luck will act as a bridge to future work. Packed with an album's worth of emotional resonance, the track is a multi-movement gem, where Arnalds makes good on "...And they have escaped the weight of darkness"' promise, tenderly leading his listeners into a melancholy dawn. - Laura Studarus
On "Eulogy for evolution", Icelandic composer Ólafur Arnalds' piano takes center stage. But as the elegiac legato drips and drops that hug its predominantly 4/4 time are never adventurous, the first half of the album must seek the familiar risk of avant-garde composition elsewhere -- and it doesn't find it. The strings are expressive but expected, and the occasional flurry of electronica only shuffles around quietly in the background. It isn't until album standout and fan favorite "3055" that Ólafur finds his groove, adding a rollicking drumbeat that actually favors the time signature, calling those lethargic piano lines to life in an emotional, fast-paced ending. He finally comes down in between the common time lines in the emotional string-driven build up, and even makes time for some tinkling arpeggios in its conclusion. He finds blissful dissonance in strings on "3326", and album closer "3704/3837" is a screechingly beautiful firestorm of electric guitar and machine gun drums that sputters out as a sublime organ drones softly until its completion.
As an album it works well: it's one seamless work with the story-arc of a movie that plods along, contentedly melancholic until it explodes into a riveting climax and satisfied fall. And he's at his best when he embraces the haywire beauty of discord and calamity. But I have to wonder whether the contemplative beginning makes the end worth the wait. "Evolution" is only his debut, so we'll have to see. Maybe Ólafur is just resigned to float between continents in the indie-Atlantic, trying to find the elusive balance between artistic risk and the simple beauty inherent in avoiding it. Maybe that's not such a bad thing. - Nathan Keegan
Ólafur Arnalds
Ólafur Arnalds
