Winning '11: 3 - Einar Stray

Einar Stray - Chiaroscuro

This first album from young Norwegian Einar Stray reminds me at least as much of Sufjan Stevens (when constructing delicate, intricately pretty chamber pop arrangements) and Hope of the States (when exploding them into an angry mess) as it does of Sigur Rós. Yet the feeling of listening to Chiaroscuro reminds me very much, and very specifically, of listening to Ágætis Byrjun for the first time. It has the same effect of almost overwhelming beauty and the same magic feeling that a strange new music and world is being created in which anything is possible (the latter being both the more unusual and what Sigur Rós have lacked since, it all now tending to feel a bit too forced and planned).

The album has three key songs which between them make up the bulk of its time and which it all hangs on, and it's perfectly structured around those peaks. They sit at the start, middle and end of its seven tracks. In between are two pairs of songs which are lighter, but bring their own joy on a smaller scale, and are a welcome breather to ensure that epic fatigue doesn't set in.

The three, then. "Chiaroscuro" deals in vivid wild elemental forces - its few lyrics sketch us in as 'rockets fall to the ground like snow' and Einar urges us to 'Make a red, red, riot/Make a big, bright fire'. We tour through great clouds of violin, a wilderness of whistled wind, molten rivers of feedback, the enthralling journey held together by a few elegantly recurring motifs sung and on piano. "We Were the Core Seeds" at the album's centre starts off with urgent plucked strings and skittering drums but emerges as a gentle and expansive lament for opportunities glimpsed and lost (note that whatever Core Seeds are, it's We Were, not We Are). It is though plainly backed up by a heart of steel that only completely emerges in the words 'They said trust the Bible/Trust the bankers' over crashing cymbals, the last word practically snarled. It's a terrifically startling moment in an album that exists so often in a reality of its own.

At the end, "Teppet Faller" is an instrumental and the album's big concession to the standard post-rock build and release format. But what a build and release! A piano tentatively emerges from the gloom and plays solemn notes, first obscured by the speaking of strange voices and then backed up by strings. It settles into a loop, growing in power, strings squeaking around the edges like a great old rusty machine being reluctantly forced into action again. The sound continues to grow imperceptibly until a bass rumble announces that everything is just about to kick off and then... nothing does. Everything grinds to a halt. There's a terrific unresolved tension. But it starts again, and this time the strings are squealing and the bass is becoming a ferocious roar and BOOOM. The strings go mental, the drums kick in like they've been restrained for the last ten minutes and are free at last. It's a life affirming bit of barely controlled noise that the whole track, probably the whole album, has been working up to and the pay off is worth it.