Lyra Pramuk - Hymnal

A Closer Listen

A traditional hymnal is a collection of timeworn favorites, designed to be sung in worship.  Lyra Pramuk‘s set is decidedly modern, in some ways the antithesis of Johnny Cash’s My Mother’s Hymn Book and in other ways a companion piece.  The artist calls it “book of worship songs: for the Earth, the cosmos, and all life-forms, living and dead.”  The shared elements are a sense of wonder, a connection with nature and a deep spirituality.  The recording spaces – a Venetian cathedral and a cabin beneath the stars – lend themselves perfectly to such connections.

The form, however, is different.  Hymnal is best heard as a continuous mix; the songs segue into each other, the compositions are non-linear, and sparse phrases, rather than verses and choruses, occasionally rise to the surface, especially at the ending of each side.  These poetic phrases, written by  Nadia Marcus, represent the set’s “spiritual core.”  Pramuk’s layered voices take on the timbre of a choir before segmenting, dissipating and accumulating again.  The strings, arranged by Francesca Verga and performed by Sonar Quartett, are rearranged as samples.  As far as we are aware, the electronic sheen can be found in no other hymnal, traditional or modern.

The LP begins with strings, a six-note motif that quickly morphs as harmonic edges are added. Pramuk’s voices become new instruments, traveling between speakers, high and low, quick and slow.  One thinks of ecstatic, unplanned rituals, from spontaneous worship to speaking in tongues; although the final form of “Rewild” is planned, it retains an improvisational nature.  Immediately one gleans the album’s strengths: a feeling of transcendence coupled with a sense of the ineffable. The sounds swirl about like untamed angels, using syllables as blessings.  The choice to name a track “Babel” highlights the religious connection; according to the Torah, this is where Y*HW*H scattered the languages of the earth.  In contrast, according to the book of Acts, Pentecost was the day on which (certain) believers could understand each other again.  Hymnal contains a little of each: the fragmentation of phrases, strewn about in I Ching fashion, honors the first, while the coalescence honors the second.

“Gravity” is a flurry of strings, after which the album falls into its only silence.  While the spell is broken only momentarily, one realizes that one has been transported for nearly half an hour, and is about to embark on the second stage of the journey.  When the strings return, they are slower and more restrained, as if incorporating new wisdom.  One may feel as if one is communing with nature, with the Divine, or with Music itself; no matter how one regards the experience, it honors the holy, and in so doing, earns the title of Hymnal.  The closing words, “speak calm,” operate as a benediction.  The blessing is bestowed, the service is over, and the hymnal is closed, awaiting the next worshipper.  (Richard Allen)

The Guardian 0

(pop.soil/7K!)
Inspired by the intricate webs of creeping slime mould, Pramuk’s fascinating ideas can get lost in a primordial soup of genres and textures