Label: Reykjavík Record Shop, 2021

Personnel - Tumi Árnason: tenor saxophone; Magnús Jóhann Ragnarsson: piano, Rhodes, farfisa; Skúli Sverrisson: electric bass; Magnús Trygvason Eliassen: drums.

The saxophonist Tumi Árnason, a native of Reykjavik, releases a unified, fully realized six-part opus envisioned as a reflection on climate change and its devastating consequences. Hlýnun, which means warming, reveals a compelling narrative where each track pours into the next with rivulets of sound that wash you over as if you were in the middle of a lucid, foreboding dream. The quartet is deeply attuned to this approach, creating an imaginary ecosystem that first comes to life with “I - Lungu”, where Árnason’s saxophone wails are in fine cooperation with the relentless cymbals of Magnús Trygvason Eliassen, the sustained bass expressions of Skuli Sverrisson and the intangible, mergeable keyboard sounds of Magnús Jóhann Ragnarsson. Together, they immerse themselves in a still, if tense, lake of mists. Things are softened up without discarding any experimental parameters, and we have spontaneous bass moves, cymbal screeches and scratches, and high-pitched sax laments cohabiting the final section.

The peculiarly titled “II - ‘Ō‘ō‘ā‘ā” shows the saxophonist assuming the lead via tessellated rhythmic figures and eruptive runs that transpire some Coltrane influence whether by intonation or expression. The avant-garde foray is given extra color with the arresting tonal shifts and curious sounds that stem from Ragnarsson’s keyboardic incursions.

“III - Svart Haf” is initially given some context by Sverrisson, who brings crystal harmonics into his enigmatic playing. His work is later complemented with brushed drums and piano remarks. At the time the bandleader interpolates his lines, we are already involved in this mysterious bubble of sound. The tones are lugubrious, and Eliassen makes a statement on top of this menacing demeanor, followed by the dark, clamant timbres of the tenor. The final section sounds eerily monastic on account of the organ, and things are really pushed to the dark side here.

“IV - Söngur úr svartholinu” evolves in a serene way, patiently morphing dynamics and textures with both surprise and precision. Some classical overtones are detected, also in the loop-like phrases delivered by Árnason, which happen right before an intermission that changes the group’s direction for the initial melodic path but with the piano at the center.

The last combined movements, “V - Um heimsslit; VI - Suð" address the end of the world, first through an airy ballad that momentarily clears the dark clouds out of the sky, and then by delivering an electronic-designed conclusion.

Árnason deserves credit for this project, cementing he’s not only a meritorious composer/saxophonist but also a conscientious citizen whose music mirrors his concern for a topic that needs urgent attention.

Favorite Tracks:
02 - ‘Ō’ō‘ā‘ā ► 03 - Svart Haf ► 04 - Söngur úr svartholinu