Had I read the contextual blurb about Jenny Hval's latest album first, I might have assumed it was a perfume company collaboration. The album is named after a fragrance created by renowned perfumer Maurice Roucel for French house Serge Lutens, a connection that initially seems tenuous.
This olfactory obsession, it turns out, developed during lockdown when Hval found that scent filled the void left by the absence of live music. It's an unusual concept for this contemplative work, yet perfectly aligned with Hval's experimental approach, which curates ethereal soundscapes, spoken word, and fragmented arrangements into a deconstructed narrative about performance.
The title track "To Be a Rose" immediately establishes the album's core themes. Beginning as a poem set to percussion and animalistic keyboard elements, it evolves from monotone delivery into a chorused melody. The lyrics about cigarette smoke and crumbling stages invite deep listening, exploring themes of yearning and reality's transformative evaporation.
"I Want to Start at the Beginning" presents as a theatrical poem set against sunset-warm synths that pool and layer with whispers and punctuated words. "Lazy Down" and "You Died" share similar conceptual electronic elements with sustained synth chords creating a distinctive retro metallic sheen.
"All Night Long" stands out as a journey merging Hval's bell-like soprano with fragmented poetry. The central performance metaphor culminates in a jubilant crescendo that's easy to envision as a captivating live experience.
Throughout the album, environmental sounds create textural complexity – birdsong intermingled with intimate domestic noises: computer game sounds, zippers, opening doors in "You Died"; breaths, footsteps on gravel, and vintage TV show buzzers in "Spirit Mist." These elements contribute to a surreal, slightly sinister atmosphere.
It’s a slippery, fluid body of work – “The artist is absent” has a belting rhythm and great tambourine action that drifts off into layered murmurs of discordant sound. I’ve rolled into “The gift” (a mishmash of sound that’s like being drunk and backwards on a merry-go-round”) without even realising I’ve heard “Huffing my arm”.
Did I fully comprehend it? With considerable effort toward interpretive openness, perhaps. The album challenges conventional listening, but rewards engagement. Did I enjoy it? Yes, in parts – there are moments of striking beauty amid the intentional complexity. Does it make me want to experience Hval's live performance art? Absolutely. Her fearless experimentation continues to push boundaries in ways that demand to be witnessed firsthand.
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