REVIEW

The second album from Icelandic artist Gísli Gunnarsson.

Gísli builds on a post-classical foundation while incorporating elements of post-rock, shoegaze, and black metal, shaping expansive soundscapes that evoke the Icelandic landscape. His approach has been compared to the serene minimalism of Ólafur Arnalds and Sigur Rós, fused with the melancholic, overwhelming intensity associated with Alcest.

The previous record, “Mementos,” leaned heavily into collaboration, centering on delicate post-classical and post-rock textures. In contrast, this album is shaped by Gísli’s personal experience of being displaced by volcanic activity and losing his home. In portraying the threat and awe of nature, as well as the memory of a lost homeland, the contrast between the quiet elegance of piano and strings and the dramatic surge of distortion is brought more sharply into focus.

Opening track #1 “Heima” reflects the former state of Grindavík, the fishing village where Gísli was raised. Its weighty yet graceful strings guide the listener into a vast, nature-filled soundscape. #2 “Lúpína,” built around acoustic guitar, piano, and strings, unfolds gently, rendering a vividly illuminated scene with careful detail.

On #3 “Andlitin í Berginu,” Gísli’s soft vocal delivery anchors a slow progression that eventually erupts into distorted guitars, suggesting a volcanic outburst. Drums are performed by Winterhalter—known for his work with Alcest—adding depth and dimensionality to the arrangement.

#4 “Aska” channels the despair of a home consumed by fire through earthquake-like drone textures. The suffocating heaviness suggests a profound sense of helplessness. From this point of irreversible collapse, the perspective turns inward, delving deeper into personal emotion.

#6 “Söknuður” begins with a classical, string-led passage before bursting into a wave of melancholic distortion. It conveys a sense of loss akin to wandering through an inescapable fog in a frozen, lifeless world. #7 “Þjófagjá,” which introduces heavy distortion from the outset, suggests an approach that edges toward post-metal or doomgaze, with a sorrowful melody underscoring a stark, isolating atmosphere.

The closing track, #10 “Þar sem vindurinn þekkir nafn mitt,” carries a tone of resignation: the place once called home has been reduced to ash, and only the wind seems to retain its memory. Yet within the dense wall of sound, a faint melodic light hints at renewal. As the piece transitions into softer strings toward the end, it quietly concludes while suggesting the possibility of new life emerging from the ruins.

In earlier times, distant ancestors are said to have perceived divinity within natural phenomena beyond human comprehension. Even in a modern age shaped by scientific progress, humanity remains insignificant in the face of nature’s overwhelming force. “Úr Öskunni” stands as a dignified and elegiac work—one that appears to be dedicated to all that has been lost under that force.