A cellist and an Icelandic, Hildur Guðnadóttir has appeared on at least 18 albums, some solo, most in collaboration with others. Leyfðu Ljósinu is one of the solos. It was recorded in one take, say the album notes. No messing with it afterward.
The sound is ambient, humming, and claustrophobic, as though the studio is a small room and purposeful bees live there, in woolly scarves. This is an album in a definite space, and the cello sets out to cram that space. There’s singing too, hers, not a lot, and electronics.
Hildur Guðnadóttir is possibly most recognisable from her time with Múm, but she’s also done compositional arranging for Throbbing Gristle, and it’s that band that her music is closer to here, on this album, pounding, as she does, if cellos can pound – sawing then – getting louder and firmer through the 35-minute track that takes up almost all of Leyfðu Ljósinu.
At first I’m not convinced. Is it too minimal? Then decide: not if your object is ambient cramming. With Leyfðu Ljósinu, she “ambiently crams”, if you will, beautifully.