Néfur - The Water, The Lover

A Closer Listen

We begin in 2021 with the release of a series of field recordings from the Sólheimajökull glacier lagoon, which attracted the attention of the BBC.  Along with Francesco Fabris (Vakning), Néfur went on to record the sounds of other glaciers across Iceland.  These field recordings are now the basis of The Water, The Lover, which contains only glaciers and voice; an earlier single, Vulgia, is not found on the album but provides a preview of the sound to come.  Earlier this year, we reviewed Kerrie J Robinson’s Submerged, which transformed waves, seaweed and melting snow into electronic forms; by adding vocals, Néfur takes it to the next level, suggesting a time after instruments, or perhaps more accurately, a time before.

Néfur’s particular concern is the intersection between nature and the body.  She molds her words around the sounds of the glaciers, altering cadence and layering lyrics in an occasionally non-linear fashion, allowing for a conversation between the two. The glaciers become co-contributors, in like manner as Ludwig Berger & Vadret da Morteratsch. In the opening moments, onomatopoeia is melded with natural sounds; then Néfur addresses the origins of the universe.  Even if she were not from Iceland, one would compare her to Björk, thanks to shared inflections, a sense of wonder and a twin fascination with nature and technology.  One alternately digests the words and zeroes in on the field recordings, imagining glaciers calving, floating, washing up on the shore.  When voice exits, the sound of the earth surges forward.

Midway through “The Mermaid,” dance beats begin to bleed through, along with wave-like drones. Wordless vocals are filtered through the backdrop, reverently ceding space to the natural rhythms of rocks and waves. To the artist’s credit, the field recordings are just as often left pure, threading through these pieces like soundwalks; “The Human” begins with footsteps on snow.  Mid-piece, a blustery wind blows through the sonic field; then a choir comes to the rescue, setting everything aright.  “The Mirror” is playful and percussive, building to an a cappella ending: “love is the only possible narrative.”

In the end, the set circles back to its origins.  “Sources” is all field recordings, the album’s longest track and a reminder of the earth’s sonic allure.  One can hear tempos, timbres, the inflections and cadences of water as it drips and flows.  The piece builds to waterfall strength, at first rustling, then hammering, exuding primal power.  Words are no longer needed; the message has been delivered, and the original author breathes and bellows, whispers and shouts, stunning the listener into an awestruck silence.  (Richard Allen)