Icelandic composers Benni Hemm Hemm and Bára Gísladóttir explore death on their collaborative album Gufa.
Sometimes the most idiosyncratic and intense Icelandic music comes out of sudden collaborations. Both Benni Hemm Hemm and Bára Gísladóttir have respectively rich scopes of work, and though they are not miles away from one another musically, Gufa reveals the earlier unseen (or unheard, if you wish) facets of their sonic worlds.
With his capacity for impeccable harmonies, Benedikt H. Hermannsson — Benni Hemm Hemm — has created some of Iceland’s best chamber pop albums, such as his 2006 self-titled release. Meanwhile, double bass player and composer Bára Gísladóttir has been shaking the habitual with her experimental electro-acoustic ambient drone.
Death poems
Though featuring only three tracks, Gufa comes across as a complete concept album. With its cover depicting a cardiogram pattern resembling a flat line, the work is inspired by existential motifs, particularly the subject of death, both in global and personal contexts. Having pondered over the subject while working on other creative projects, Benni had the idea of writing a direct death poem.
“It’s about looking for death somehow,” Benni explains. “I did a project two years ago which was called Death Moves Closer. We were researching a lot of stuff related to the subject. When you look at death, it becomes an easier and much lighter subject than it normally is.”
Gufa’s still waters run deep. It opens with a vocal improvisation akin to a Gregorian chant. While its misty, reverb-y background sound and muffled distant thunderclaps of double bass, Benni’s voice is like a flickering flame illuminating a dark and desolate place. The imagery translated through its music reflects the venues where the album was recorded.
The two started working at Neskirkja, a church in Vesturbær conveniently located across the road from Hagaskóli where Benni teaches music. The second part of the recording sessions — which altogether lasted for one day — took place at an abandoned fertiliser factory in Gufunes. The contrasting atmosphere of these two venues helped to achieve the sound the two wanted – bright and ethereal meets murky and overwhelming.
“I remember myself being shy because I’d been following Benni since I was a teenager,” Bára says vivaciously while rocking her five-month-old daughter. “Then he reached out saying, ‘I’m listening to your music and it’s great.’ I was afraid that I’d let him down but then it was very easy when we started — a very easy flow.”
An improvisational collaboration
The mutual appreciation of each other’s music revealed a creative bond. “I work in general without thinking about what I’m doing and I only know what would be the next thing for me to do,” Benni ruminates on the result of the collaboration.
“I was listening to one of Bára’s albums, I think I was here at the school and heard the imaginary choir on top of her music. I thought that would be the next thing for me to do, then I reached out to Bára and said, ‘I was listening to your music and imagining this choir.’”
The sonic imagery led to a specific approach involving a minimum of equipment and relying on improvisation. “I was very surprised that what came to Bára’s mind was that I would be singing,” Benni remembers. “And then Bára was very clear that we wouldn’t be writing anything — just finding a space and improvising there. And in the meantime, I was in Venice and wrote these words that I’m singing,” he continues.
“The night before we recorded, I realised we were going to record it and Bára would be in charge of the instrumental side and I would do the improvised singing which, at first, made me very anxious. But somehow it felt completely natural,” he describes.
“It was a very cool experience to record at these two contrasting places,” says Bára. “At Neskirkja, there are bright vibes and the reverb is clean. We didn’t have to add any extra reverb. Especially, for example, with what’s happening at the factory, with these raw industrial vibes.”
With its sound juxtaposing the light and darkness, Gufa is cinematic. Describing the spooky-looking barren concrete of Gufunes, Benni compares it to Chernobyl. Naturally, a score to the eponymous film comes to mind. Still, unlike Hildur Guðnadóttir, Benni Hemm Hemm and Bára Gísladóttir are not tied to any specific narrative, either historical or imaginary.
Gufa sounds as vast as Hans Zimmer’s piece accompanying the picturesque desert scenes of Dune. It encompasses the multifaceted nature of death as the end, beginning, transition and ultimately a celebration. Finally, visualising the subject, Benni comes up with a metaphor that echoes Brian Eno’s “On A Faraway Beach”.
“The poem suggests that death is like a beach, and you are peeking through bushes and seeing the shore and having the courage to go further through the bushes to get there.”
Listen to Gufa now on available streaming platforms.
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