For a few bars it seems like things might be straightforward, even pleasant. ‘Inni’, the opening track on Icelandic theremin virtuoso Hekla Magnúsdóttir’s third album, initially conveys the idea of a door slowly opening. But just when you’re expecting to walk through into a magical garden, deep bass notes build and it’s clear that anyplace lying beyond this particular portal is likely to be at best challenging, at worst downright terrifying.
And so it proves because, for starters, the music of Hekla has all of the spine-tingling qualities so associated with Leon Theremin’s marvellous invention. Give a cursory listen to a track such as ‘Í Ösku og Eldi’, for instance, and you could easily be forgiven, as a distorted backing track builds and melodic lines over the top invoke the idea of flight, for thinking you were listening to the soundtrack to a horror flick – possibly one involving angry bees.
Listen to Turnar two or three times, though, and it’s clear Hekla is doing something altogether different from trying to set the scene for a jump scare. While the music on the album often invokes a sense of dread, there’s an underlying formality and structure to the pieces here. And for all that Hekla’s soundscapes come across as densely layered, nothing seems superfluous. If anything, you often find yourself surprised at the economy of her music.
There’s also an underlying sense that, were it a priority, Hekla could write far prettier tunes. That’s especially true of the second track, ‘Kyrrð’, where organ player Kristján Hrannar’s deceptively simple contribution brings to mind church music, underlined by the way the track calls to mind the singing of a choir backing a soprano soloist. ‘Ókyrrð’, which is on at least nodding terms to the instrumental music Bowie made in his Berlin period, has a similarly meditative quality.
From here, though, the light leaks away. Instead, from fourth track ‘Var’ onwards (the closer on side A in old money), you’re offered music that’s far bleaker, which conjures a sense of the sublime in the way the romantics would have understood the term: a world of rainswept cliffs and big landscapes where it’s dangerous to get lost. Penultimate track ‘Gráminn’ is a particular highlight, as haunting as it is brutal.
If you hear the LP as a song cycle, ’Flækjur’ works as both summation and, as the track disassembles itself, an end to this particular phase of Hekla’s musical journey. Wherever she goes next, it will be fascinating to follow.
