Womb by Kajsa Lindgren

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Cocoon kicks off Womb, the latest underwater record from Stockholm composer Kajsa Lindgren (Hyperdelia; LP/DL). With tape hiss, and tiny rustling, the sound here is somewhat unsettled, it’s buoyancy not initially apparent. It stays within short range on the minimal The Garden, and builds a cascaded synth wall that could likely be shielded from all angles. Here, you can somewhat hear the voluminous nature of certain depths, lapping waves and the blurred buzz of a motor (perhaps the filtration system). Its slow and ambient, with light hints of marine life. The static sounds like the very last embers after a forest fire.

BREAKING THROUGH THE SURFACE: The Inanimate World Pt. 1 (part two is the conclusion of the album) has an austere harmony with a barely audible bleary voice and a soft rotating percussion. The collage-like watercolored coverart by Cathrine Bowitz starts to float on the mind, becoming a beautiful melange of metaphor for its contents. The theme seems like a new look back at an old Western flick. Plenty of cool space with a heartbeat that leads to All The Other Children. As a conversation emerges, it’s a sea creature being observed from many leagues, or something like that. Various birds sing over a darkened shape-shifting drone on the impeccably coordinated Far (to reach me). It’s an enigmatic track that recedes into the darkness, with an amplified tone that sounds like electronic throat singing.

Womb Inspelning

INTO THE DEPTHS: With so many subtle effects the sense of groundlessness is only reinforced but those tiny chirps, heartbeat pulse, drips and other fine noise. This weaves itself into the culmination of a hive-like wall of sound of low-fi impact on Forest. Rather than building in volume, it tapers off into other layers of crackle, hiss and quiet harmonies that sound like brass wind instruments, but are also quite ambiguous. A symphony of well oiled, skillful and moody field recordings, shaped so dramatically. She concludes with The Inanimate World Pt. 2, and here the timbre of H2O is apparent. In what is akin to the constant sound of a waterfall, the rush of layers pours down here. It’s a doleful orchestral breakdown. In the end a woman’s voice talks her childhood memories of opening doors and there being magic just beyond, the possibilities, the mystery, the hope.

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