SILJE NES
- AmesRoom
(CD/digital,
Fat Cat)
Some years ago I went to see Coco Rosie play
live, but after a couple of songs I retreated to the bar to get me some beer
and whiskey. Even though I like Coco Rosie’s records, their live posture
was too artsy and too artificial for me, their dreamyness seemed faked and I
had the impression that they tried to be something they are not. Strangely
enough, sitting at the bar, alcohol slowly warming my bloodstream, the
sounds drifting in from the adjoining room were really great, soothing and
heartwarming. Why the heck do I start a review about Silje Nes with a memory
of Coco Rosie? Fair enough, I shouldn’t do that, because it is not fine
manners, but after all this review got started by a stream of connotations,
connections and associations that finally led to this memory and the many
paralelles in between. Some of them are completely arbitrary or at least
random, but that is something you have to face as an artist, if you give
away your music. But let me explain.
Dreamy, ephemeral double female vocals over softly
strummed guitars and arrangements with a slightly askew edge always make me
think of Coco Rosie. Silje Nes is only one singer / songwriter, though, but
she is constantly doubling her voice on the recordings, so it sounds like
two women singing to each other, in a very intimate and warm manner. Silje
Nes’ songs are also straighter and more to the point than those of the
twins from Coco Rosie, which – as I offered in the first paragraph –
would probably not make me leave the room where she is playing, but keep me
perched up right in the front row. Or close to the soundman, wherever the
sound is better. Her songs are also going straight to my heart, and when I
came home all angry and pissed about work and all the trouble involved,
“Ames Room” took me by surprise and soothed my soul like not a lot else
is able to. Not even alcohol needed. And on top of all that, I popped this
album into the player, and then rummaged through the adjoining rooms (that
sounds as if I am living on 250 square meters…), but nevertheless the
songs gripped me, drew me into the room where the player and the
loudspeakers are, where I sat myself down and rested for another half hour
just listening.
The songs on “Ames Room” are not all easy listening
or soft or mellow. Some have a big distorted bass (“Searching White”)
while others have a wonderful Harvest-like westcoast-beat to them (“Bright
Night Morning”), but on the most of them, Silje Nes jangles like a lost
dream through an enchanted forest, with all kinds of spooky-friendly noises,
a picked guitar and an overall fragility that makes you grab someone to
hold. The atmosphere is intimate and close, perhaps because almost all of
the songs were recorded at her home in Bergen, Norway, all by Nes, playing
all the instruments from drums to electronics as well. Actually, she plays
them while she is recording, making up words and melodies while she puts
layer and layer of recording on top of each other. Amazingly, the songs
don’t sound controlled or unfinished, but like carefully constructed
miniatures of fine grace and detail.
Music and songs like these always make me wonder about
the personality of the author. Would Silje Nes really be a soft and
enchanted spirit, drifting through her world full of impressions only she
can see, but able to transfer a little of that magic to the other world,
where the rest of us dwells? Most of the times these assumptions are
completely wrong and, even more important, utterly useless on top. Anthony
Haggerty turned out to be a lively, funny person full of energy, for
instance. Howard
Stelzer is academic avantgardist dwelling in complex theories but
a hands down music lover and avid record collector. And so on. Maybe that is
also the reason why I rarely want to meet artists, whose work I like a lot,
in person, because they never are what I expected them to be. That is
neither meant judging nor blaming. Nevertheless, if Silje Nes should ever be
able to make it close to somewhere, where I am, then I’ll probably be
there, first row, holding my breath.
