Amiina is sort of the perfect Icelandic post-rock/electronic/experimental band. They formed as an all-woman string quartet back in the 1990s, and went on to perform as the string section for Sigur Ros.
Here’s a description from Last.fm:
Amiina’s debut album, Kurr (2007), was performed on a disparate jumble of instruments—musical saws, kalimbas, music boxes and seemingly anything that could be plucked, bowed or beaten on—resulting in a work that ebbed and flowed “in a strange, powerful place between sophistication and innocence,” according to The Guardian.
While the above is equally true of Puzzle (2010), this time around the group’s sonic palette is broadened by the contributions of drummer Magnús Trygvason Eliassen and electronic artist Kippi Kaninus (Guðmundur Vignir Karlsson), permanent members of the group since 2009. Accordingly, the songs on Puzzle are more rhythmically rugged than amiina’s previous work and feature heavier use of electronics. amiina’s long-standing fondness for zero-g melodies and open-minded instrumentation, however, continues.
“Rugla”—the song embedded below—comes from Kurr, and is a very pleasant way to wake up on a Tuesday morning . . .
“Rambling Jack—what’s that?”
“A novel. Novella, I guess.”
“Yeah, it looks short. What is it, a hundred pages?”
“Sorta. It’s a duel language book, so really, only about… 50 pages total.”
“And this—what. . .
Many authors are compared to Roberto Bolaño. However, very few authors have the privilege of having a Roberto Bolaño quote on the cover of their work; and at that, one which states, “Good readers will find something that can be. . .
In Josep Maria de Sagarra’s Private Life, a man harangues his friend about literature while walking through Barcelona at night:
When a novel states a fact that ties into another fact and another and another, as the chain goes on. . .
César Aira dishes up an imaginative parable on how identity shapes our sense of belonging with Dinner, his latest release in English. Aira’s narrator (who, appropriately, remains nameless) is a self-pitying, bitter man—in his late fifties, living again with. . .
Originally published in French in 2007, We’re Not Here to Disappear (On n’est pas là pour disparaître) won the Prix Wepler-Fondation La Poste and the Prix Pierre Simon Ethique et Réflexion. The work has been recently translated by Béatrice Mousli. . .
Even though the latest from Jean Echenoz is only a thin volume containing seven of what he calls “little literary objects,” it is packed with surprises. In these pieces, things happen below the surface, sometimes both literally and figuratively. As. . .
Who is this woman? This is the question that opens Xiao Bai’s French Concession, a novel of colonial-era Shanghai’s spies and revolutionaries, police and smugglers, who scoot between doorways, walk nonchalantly down avenues, smoke cigars in police bureaus, and lounge. . .
For the past 140 years, Anna Karenina has been loved by millions of readers all over the world. It’s easy to see why: the novel’s two main plots revolve around characters who are just trying to find happiness through love.. . .
Linn Ullmann’s The Cold Song, her fifth novel, is built much like the house about which its story orbits: Mailund, a stately white mansion set in the Norwegian countryside a few hours drive from Oslo. The house, nestled into the. . .
Karel Schoeman’s Afrikaans novel, This Life, translated by Else Silke, falls into a genre maybe only noticed by the type of reader who tends toward Wittgenstein-type family resemblances. The essential resemblance is an elderly narrator, usually alone—or with one other. . .