Ben Beaumont-Thomas 

Susanne Sundfør: Blómi review – timelessly classic songwriting

Ignore the baffling spoken word bookends and focus on the spectacular songwriting, as the Norwegian star harks back to the likes of Laura Nyro and Carole King
  
  

Evolving her craft … Susanne Sundfør.
Evolving her craft … Susanne Sundfør. Photograph: Janne Rugland

The romance and life force of 1970s singer-songwriters such as Joni Mitchell, Laura Nyro and Carole King – as well as their burned-fingers wisdom – are embodied here by Susanne Sundfør, one of Norway’s most successful singers who continues to evolve her craft upwards from her earlier synthwave and pop-folk.

There’s also a touch of Disney or musical theatre to the way ballads such as Ashera’s Song and Rūnā search out their next cadences; the latter has the same tentative-then-certain feeling as Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah but done with a Julie Andrews-ish positivity. You may need to re-notch your threshold for corniness.

But the songwriting here is often very good, even timelessly classic. Fare Thee Well is a waltzing breakup song that is a model of ending things well: Sundfør takes stock of her relationship with firmness (“I won’t come back”) and grace, expressed in a melody that is certain but gentle. Another waltz, Alyosha, is conversely a statement of eternal love: “They say life’s no point, so why bother? / Love yourself more than any other,” she sings, but then, with soaring voice and moving determination: “But that is not what I will live for.” These are big emotions painted with clarity.

The spectacular Leikara Ljóð deserves special mention: beginning with the sound of birdsong, Sundfør sings the wordless refrain – the album’s very best melody – casually as if hanging out some washing. But to a backing of handclaps and multitracked vocals, it builds into a song of gospel intensity as she demands more from a lover: “Gimme gimme gimme shock treatment / Break the ice and drown me.”

The album is bookended by two totally different tracks: bits of ambient processing thrum and burble as Sundfør speaks on the unity of spirit and body like a mindfulness podcaster whose editor has taken the day off. She finishes with an excruciatingly twee Rupi Kaur-style koan destined to be spray-stencilled on to Airbnb walls: “The word in the heart is yes.” But even though these are skippable failures, they do help to carry this beguiling album off into a strange, singular category.

 

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