Engaging ambient music, if this is not a misnomer, can sometimes teeter on the edge of too “nice’ (read insipid). An album that in one mood appears calming and meditative may reveal itself as hackneyed and trite under different listening conditions.
Icelandic bedroom producer Þorsteinn Ólafsson’ debut effort under the Prince Valium moniker should NOT be listened to in the car, on the freeway. This is what could be referred to as not giving an album a “fair go’ (supposedly a defining characteristic of the Australian national psyche). This is an album made for headphone listening, or on a quiet Sunday morning when the world is at peace. Under such conditions, Andlaus grew on me—I had been initially inclined to dismiss it as pseudo-new-age massage music.
Stylistic comparisons could be made with label-mate StafrÅ“nn Häkon’ releases—occupying a sugary space where the melodies and atmosphere almost need a good kicking to give them a bit of attitude, but are nevertheless compelling. The Kranky label’s releases by Labradford and Roy Montgomery inhabit a similar space to Andlaus.
The opening three tracks are wonderful, especially the single vocal track of the album “Crying Hearts’. The remainder of the album drifts by in ambient shoegazing mode. Small nuances and effects come to the surface only to be wrapped up in the aural equivalent of fairy floss. Which, depending upon your mood, could be a good thing.
Oliver Laing
