Yölariis is a Swedish dialectical word referring to the
laser-like sounds that ice makes as it is forming and breaking down. If you’ve never heard it (what we might
refer to as “ice yowling”), here’s an explanation: in a lake, as
ice continues to freeze, it expands, stressing the structure of ice that has
already formed, until it cracks. These
cracks take a moment to work their way down the sheet of ice, causing
vibrations along the way. The ice sheet
rings with these vibrations, and the ring rises or falls in both pitch and
volume quickly, as the frozen plates creating the tones get continually shorter. The resulting sound is similar to that of the
lasers in the movie Star Wars. The
process of ice “singing” through growth and change is a suitable metaphor for
the nature of the band, as they present sounds and knowledge acquired on their continual
journey as musicians.
Like water, a portion of the tunes on the Yolariis album flow from one into
another, in a style reminiscent of the great progressive
rock/art-rock concept albums from the 60’s and 70’s.
With other moments, such as the ethereal jam
session at the end of “Blommorna P
å Marken,” it isn’t a stretch of the
imagination to liken the diversity of their sound to Rush, King Crimson, or Yes
in their heydays.
Aside from great organization and experimentalism, the
instrumentation and composition of the songs shows wonderful execution and
clever writing. “Nakenbad” and
“Sandhem,” two tunes based in three beats, mix both triplet and sixteenth-note
feels, resulting in a tune that moves and builds in two different ways. Apart from that, several songs include
“flexions” in the note values (durations), rhythm, and/or the actual notes,
giving the tune emotional nuances in places where simple repeats are common
practice. These small changes are not
just an individual player’s articulations, but a function of the composition
itself that everyone is playing.
The common form of much northwestern European folk music
follows the structure of AABB: one melodic passage (A), then the repeat of that
passage, followed by a different melodic passage (B), and its repeat. However, Yolariis often makes modifications
to the passages in their repeated portions.
For example, in “Nakenbad,” the first time A is played, one note is made
natural, as indicated in the green notes:
 |
| First A Part |
 |
| A Part Repeat |
|
|
In the repeat of A, the first note is brought back into the
key signature (first red note), and a subsequent note elevated to a different
one within the scale (second red note).
The result is a change in feeling, with the former leaning towards
confidence and ease, and the latter seeming more distressed. Small changes like this exist in note values
as well. In “Sandhem’s” repeat of A:
 |
| First A Part |
 |
| A part repeat |
|
|
Although the actual tones that are played don’t change,
their values do, yielding a different syncopated feel toward the end of the
measure. As a careful listen to some
traditional polskas from Orsa or a Norwegian Springleik illustrates,
syncopations like these are marks of the Scandinavian tradition. These features of their writing indicate wise
craftsmanship, giving the tunes a wider range of emotive character, as well as
longevity for the listener.
Perhaps not as intensive and front-and-center as in past
projects, Jens Ulvsand's playing on this album is still notably great in its
variety. His solo and lush open-stringed
chords in “Sandhem,” plus his technique in “Brist Hjerta” are highlights of the
album. Ultimately, it’s his
lighter-hearted tune, “April Dust,” that brings the album to a close. The month of April is hardly harvesting time,
but the tune makes a perfect sonic backdrop for a harvest, and is a bit of a
relief after such a decent chunk of weighty (but wonderful) material.
Although his work here is not as pronounced as that of an
Alla Fagra album, the essence of Dan Svensson’s playing is a reminder of an
important and often forgotten aspect in percussion: texture. From the sweeping of hands over the head of
the drums that mimic the sound of the ocean, to the occasional ring of chimes,
and in being highly-selective about what moments to accent with cymbals,
Svensson’s work never lets the atmosphere stagnate or be too busy. Although the album’s liner notes give no indication
of the specific percussion instruments, it is apparent that he used no less
than the Persian zarb/tombak, African udu, hang drum, congas, perhaps toms or
djembe or cajón, as well as shakers, chimes, cymbals and bells. All of those are aside from his playing of
chordophones (cittern and tenor banjo) and aerophones (melodeon) on select
tracks. In a way similar to what Terje
Isungset’s work does for Groupa, Yölariis
wouldn’t have the mystique and range of sounds it does without Dan.
Per Knagg’s electric and acoustic bass work provides a bottom
end to the music. One doesn’t realize
how much bass instrumentation is missed in Scandinavian folk ensembles until an
album like Yölariis. The bowed electric bass sound in “Brist
Hjerta” gives Ulvsand’s racing bouzouki chops a sense of grounding, resulting
in a pleasing mix of deep earthiness and movement.
His playing does more than just sustain a “bottom end,” and
he often migrates between holding sustaining root tones, playing the main
melody, and bringing out interesting harmonies.
Given the low register of the instrument, what he plays is easily
audible and not invading of the space of other players. His bass chords and melody sections in
“Jordemor” give the tune a rich nature not common in Scandinavian folk, and
prove that, when given the opportunity, the bass guitar can be just as emotive
an instrument as any others.
Anna Elwing’s voice soars on top of the “Brist Hjerta’s”
arrangement, breaking clear tones with glottal stops, much akin to the
qualities of other folk singing styles around the world: Mongolian, Native
American, the Kurdo-Persian tradition, or that of their own Scandinavian
Sámi. Aside from this world voice, she
can evoke the angel, as in “Nakenbad,” and also stay true to the roots of Scandinavian
folk singers.
There is a wonderful sense of balance in her singing. She is not the over-projection that is common
in singers of western classical tradition, where there is great loss of the
character of one’s own unique voice through the emphasis of volume and
tone. Conversely, she is not the
superlatively-faint, breathy, or frail-sounding trend of folk singers that
occasionally emerges, where a listener might wish them to stop singing, and
offer a glass of drinking water instead.
Her fiddle playing is lovely throughout; from the very faint, tight
articulations during her lead in "Jordemor," to the psalm-like nature
with which she simmers "Brist Hjerta's" energy down.
Elwing’s voice
is not the only vocal highlight, however.
Great singing comes from all members of the band, most easily
demonstrated in the beautiful confluence of timbres during the 4-part harmony
in “Vår.”
When you’re coming from a largely rhythm-based folk music,
such as American bluegrass, old-time, or Irish folk, a step into the nature of Scandinavian
music is a breath of fresh air. There is
a freedom in the way a large number of Scandinavian tunes (traditional or modern)
are composed: a story-telling quality where each moment of the tune is unique
to itself. More-western traditional music
can have a tendency to keep a very consistent pulse throughout the course of
the whole tune, seeming comparatively formulaic. In addition to the actual tunes, YÖLARiiS has a range of musicianship and
application that can make it appeal to a wide array of listeners, and in that
way, it makes for a great “bridge” for those whom might otherwise find the
idiosyncrasies of traditional Scandinavian music a bit off-putting at first. In all these ways, YÖLARiiS is thoroughly great, and the album should prove to be a
treasure for all who find their way to it.
-Seth Premo
