Performs rarely and only in intimate rooms across Norway — small halls, back rooms, someone's front parlour. Nothing large, nothing ticketed widely. For house-concert enquiries, write.
Ancient RiversA single mood held for the length of the record — rivers, mostly.
Beneath the WillowA single mood held for the length of the record — willows, mostly.
Brookside SerenadesA single mood held for the length of the record — moss, mostly.
Laterns Over the SeaA single mood held for the length of the record — midnight gardens, mostly.
A note on listening
Best heard whole, start to finish, low, in one sitting.
How it sounds
One harp, and as little else as I can get away with.
Field notes
On being unseen
Ambient work asks you to be patient in a world that isn't. That's a strange way to spend your twenties, thirties, whatever this is.
There's no roar of a crowd in nature ambient; there's a person, somewhere, listening alone at midnight. I try to make it for them.
It's a quiet life. Mostly I'm grateful for it.
Why I keep returning to rivers
Rivers is the whole subject, really — the harp just circles it.
Each pass got quieter until only willows was left.
If it slowed you down for forty minutes, it did its job.
Notes on “Ancient Rivers”
“Ancient Rivers” began with the sound of rivers when no one is listening — a small thing I kept circling.
It is nature ambient, so nothing hurries — the harp is allowed to just sit in the room.
Made small, on purpose.
Where “Brookside Serenades” came from
“Brookside Serenades” started the way these do — the idea of rivers, at an odd hour.
The harp found the shape before I did; I stayed out of the way.
It isn't a message — it's company for a particular hour.
How it gets made
How it's actually made: harp, close-mic'd, and everything unnecessary removed.
I keep the mistakes that sound like weather and cut the ones that sound like mistakes.
In the lineage of Impressionist water-music, folk modal singing, field recordings, if I'm honest.
On “Beneath the Willow”
Everything on “Beneath the Willow” grows out of one thing: willows.
I kept the takes that sounded like weather and cut the rest.
That is all it wants to be.
Harp and field recordings written like a Victorian naturalist's diary.
In nature ambient, the harp is a kind of weather here — it moves through rivers and willows the way light moves through a room, slowly and without asking.
The records — “Ancient Rivers”, “Beneath the Willow”, “Brookside Serenades”, “Laterns Over the Sea”, “Midnight Almanac” and more — are less albums than seasons: each one a long, held breath.