The enigmatic aura that undercuts everything Iceland’s Samaris have produced returns on June 10 for the third time. The muddled haze that creeps up in a minimalist fog has become the staple point of the group. From winning the Icelandic Músíktilraunir and Kraumur Award in 2011 for their earliest material, they went on to release their debut self-titled album, a compilation of their early EPs in 2013 and followed this up with their sophomore release and their first LP proper, Silikidrangar in 2014. Their material has always meshed together downtempo rhythms, a blend of complete sparsity and utter immersion into an otherworldly soundscape. The beauty of their natural environment has always blanketed their music, in a similar fashion to the likes of Sigur Rós, Fever Ray and Jònsi, the blend of the Northern Hemisphere has always laid vivid landscapes and dense imagery. With their previous two albums, Samaris have turned to 19th century Icelandic poetry for the basis of lyricism. This added an additional layer of fog for their English speaking audience; it wrapped the minimalistic music within a foreign language thus giving a simple gratification of complete escapism. If it could not be understood and laid beneath an impenetrable sound, it emerges more as utter alienation. A perfect situation for perhaps quite a niche audience.

As Samaris return in 2016, two years on from their last release, they have made the decision to record in English for the first time. For various reasons, perhaps the relocation of each of the three members: Þórður Kári Steinþórsson relocating to Berlin to take part in the city’s burgeoning techno scene, Áslaug Rún Magnúsdóttir (clarinet) to The Hague to study a specialised Sonology course and Jófríður Ákadóttir (vocals) caught in a state of wanderlust, travelling to experience new places and the musical cultures within them. This relocation may have shifted a cultural stone that previously stuck within Iceland. When you examine the lyrics of Sigur Rós and Bjork, particularly in her early material, there has always been a strong identity that they stringently stick to when writing. Lyrics are always most prevalent when written in their native tongue, arguably this adds to the visual soundscapes that accompany the music, giving it the aforementioned sense of alienation. Nevertheless, as Samaris choose to opt out of Icelandic for their third album, they find themselves hinting at a larger audience, even if they do shed a few older fans along the way. Similarly, the extensive touring and understanding of the world has perhaps widened the context in which Black Lights was written. No longer constrained by the intensity of the Icelandic horizon, the world has now become their oyster.

There are few words that can describe the sound of Samaris, each track sticking to the terms but offering a slightly different sensual shift each time. Ethereal, fragile and Elysian – each term outlines the dainty fashion in which the sonorous, wandering music transcends through your emotional system. Immersing you within complete emotion, be it anger, love, lust or isolation, the way that Samaris music floats through you is completely unique to their sound. The young trio have really begun to find their groove on Black Lights and the fraught sound from ‘Wanted 2 Say’ sets the marker from the start. Listening to the album in full from start to finish is the recommended method, the floating vocals of Ákadóttir cut through the centrepiece of the song with programmed drums deflecting throughout. Steinþórsson’s programming leads as a platform for the entire song to float upon, with the stripping of clarinet through much of the album, emphasis is on the washing melodies produced through internet-age systems. The often-abrasive lyricism of Ákadóttir conflicts with this, while the attacking nature of ‘Wanted 2 Say’ leads for quite a cathartic feel, an expressing of various emotions that are released in this confusing, angst-ridden linguistic battle.

‘Black Lights’ follows this up, continuing on the same vein of finding the beauty in the alienation, the song ravels itself closely to the 80s-fuelled dance rhythm. It becomes apparent that the shedding of their previous hazy tones outlines much of this album’s strengths and similarly, its new direction, opening towards a much wider audience. When the album slows down, it finds sincere beauty, particularly that which allowed for their earlier releases to find such success. ‘Gradient Sky’ omits delicacy where the opening tracks opted for pulsating dance rhythms. The salient bounce of ‘T3mp0’ drips anxiety of love, questioning of your other half, questioning of your situation and what on earth this relationship lark is all about. The ferocious, nursery rhyme feel of Ákadóttir’s breathed lyrics outline an uncanny shadow upon the song. There is something intimidating and haunted about it, much like the tense creak of a window in the nighttime, it is not a song to relax to. ‘I Will’ continues this with its obscure dub feel, it is not a million miles from Blue Lines-era Massive Attack, and the threat of ‘Girl I Love You’ lingers within the programming of Steinþórsson’s bass-heavy rhythm section.

Black Lights finds its soliciting in the slither as opposed to the electronic stomp that opens the album. When it leaves Ákadóttir’s voice in a naked beauty, it brings about dense human emotions, there is something that we like as humans about the vulnerable sometimes. The unmasking of security, the attraction towards feeling isolated and at risk of the manic leaves for a psychological openness. As the back end of Black Lights opens up, Samaris throw you within the murky depth of their deepest and darkest. ‘R4vin’ mimics this psychological trauma better than anywhere else on the album. From the shadowed lyrical copying at the start to the stuttered and delayed vocals that swarm the rest of the song. It is claustrophobic and intense in the way voices layer over one another, all upon the intense programmed drums below.

The washing synths of ‘T4angled’ act as the bidding farewell from Samaris in 2016. As they gear up for the final track, the meander of ‘T4angled’ puts forth desolate mallets of bass that puncture at varying intervals, intersecting the delicacy of Ákadóttir’s vocals with a throbbing pulse. ‘In Deep’ closes the album and finds the group at their most musically potent. It leaves little for vocal contribution and acts more as the obvious curtain call, whether it is relevant on the album or not is undecided as it slowly regurgitates hints of electronic house and IDM that it thrusts underneath a plethora of clarinet and washing synth. Has Samaris’ Black Lights opened the doors to a new audience? Of course. The music is certainly more accessible to larger audiences and they demonstrate a sincere understanding for electronic dance music than their previous efforts suggested. It is a step aside from the ambience that previously swept through their music and is sure to isolate some of their previous fans, nevertheless, they are available for a new base now.
Tom Churchill

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