It’s not often that my jaded ears prick up at a song simply because it’s so downright unusual, but today I’m skipping the preamble and getting right to the chase, because Sturle Dagsland did just that.
And what was so unusual about Seward – their unique application of sound and language into music – is also the devastatingly enthralling trait in Sturle Dagsland’s terrifyingly brief Mokèlé-mbèmbé.
Well. Here’s a unique song.
It begins with a scream and ends with a flurry of sweet, rich noise. In between, over the course of a minute and a half, dish after dish of aural delicacies are placed unceremoniously onto this particular feasting table.
It’s rare to find a song that sounds so different, so unusual and so appealing all at once. It occurred to me at one point that this might be what poking your head into an alien nightclub sounds like.
Is all of Sturle Dagsland‘s music like this? No. It couldn’t possibly be. But this is brilliant and enthralling.