Jenny Hval
Iris Silver Mist
Boomkat Product Review:
Named after Serge Lutens' iconic fragrance 'Iris Silver Mist', composed by Maurice Roucel, Jenny Hval's second 4AD full-length brings out the aromatic base notes from its predecessor, balancing out tactile, exotica-hued art-pop with ASMR experiments and spritzed ambience.
'Iris Silver Mist' is fixated on longing, but this is Hval we're talking about - any feeling is always going to be embodied somehow. 2019's 'Classic Objects' dissected the anxiety of self-awareness during lockdown, while her classic 'Blood Bitch' set meditated on the stigmas around menstruation. Considering the absence of physical musical experiences, Hval began to remember the literal smell of stale cigarette smoke, club bathrooms and blinding stage lights, provoking an obsession with perfume that informs ‘Iris Silver Mist'.
When she debuted the album's songs live, she played alongside rice cookers that charged the venue with aromatics, and the title itself is a reference to a fragrance from celebrated French perfumer Maurice Roucel - a cold, funereal Iris soliflore that still somehow revels in multidimensionality. It's not easy to translate a scent into sound, but Hval uses the concept as a springboard, emphasising the physical connection to music that had eluded her in the last few years.
"A rose is a rose is a cigarette," she remarks on lead single 'To Be A Rose', singing over aviary sounds, swing-y, skeletal beats and even looser plastique brass half-fanfares. It sounds like a demo at first, as if Hval's reminding us of the writing process before complimenting the concoction with further bouquets - soaring pads, acoustic guitars and booming '80s drums. Even the album's more manifestly electronic moments, like 'I Want To Start At The Beginning', reject the sterility of contemporary DAW production. "In the parking lot outside my local burger place, I feel a longing," she mutters, manifesting Dale Cooper. Soft, tinny synth warbles are overlapped by cosmic, amp-crunched analog waves that sound as if they're waiting for Klaus Schulze's iconic drums. This isn't some neo-kosmische memory, it's a holistic appreciation of full spectrum sound that's usually misunderstood - the space and serendipity that creates a gulf between live music and algo-powered earbud doomscrolling.
Hval chews over Broadcast-style psych-exotica on the rapturous 'All Night Long', supplementing the narrative with a graceful, folksy interlude that odorises her incantations with steam train white noise, and it's these high-contrast juxtapositions that really ground the album's concept. Hval resets our senses with short, abstract interludes - like the crunchy 'Spirit Mist' or charming acappella 'Heiner Müller' - that add grain to her longer, more fleshed-out compositions, and connects everything together with carefully thought out reminders that listening can indeed be a tactile experience. When 'I Don't Know What Free Is' comes to a close, the tape speeds up before grinding to a halt and bleeding over into 'The Artist Is Absent', a brief, noisy electro-disco contemplation. Honestly, it's refreshing to hear an artist taking the album format so seriously and considering the lived experience of listening to something from beginning to end. 'Iris Silver Mist' is a record you want to spend time with - it'll remind you exactly what you've been missing, and has the best sillage too.
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Boomkat Product Review:
Named after Serge Lutens' iconic fragrance 'Iris Silver Mist', composed by Maurice Roucel, Jenny Hval's second 4AD full-length brings out the aromatic base notes from its predecessor, balancing out tactile, exotica-hued art-pop with ASMR experiments and spritzed ambience.
'Iris Silver Mist' is fixated on longing, but this is Hval we're talking about - any feeling is always going to be embodied somehow. 2019's 'Classic Objects' dissected the anxiety of self-awareness during lockdown, while her classic 'Blood Bitch' set meditated on the stigmas around menstruation. Considering the absence of physical musical experiences, Hval began to remember the literal smell of stale cigarette smoke, club bathrooms and blinding stage lights, provoking an obsession with perfume that informs ‘Iris Silver Mist'.
When she debuted the album's songs live, she played alongside rice cookers that charged the venue with aromatics, and the title itself is a reference to a fragrance from celebrated French perfumer Maurice Roucel - a cold, funereal Iris soliflore that still somehow revels in multidimensionality. It's not easy to translate a scent into sound, but Hval uses the concept as a springboard, emphasising the physical connection to music that had eluded her in the last few years.
"A rose is a rose is a cigarette," she remarks on lead single 'To Be A Rose', singing over aviary sounds, swing-y, skeletal beats and even looser plastique brass half-fanfares. It sounds like a demo at first, as if Hval's reminding us of the writing process before complimenting the concoction with further bouquets - soaring pads, acoustic guitars and booming '80s drums. Even the album's more manifestly electronic moments, like 'I Want To Start At The Beginning', reject the sterility of contemporary DAW production. "In the parking lot outside my local burger place, I feel a longing," she mutters, manifesting Dale Cooper. Soft, tinny synth warbles are overlapped by cosmic, amp-crunched analog waves that sound as if they're waiting for Klaus Schulze's iconic drums. This isn't some neo-kosmische memory, it's a holistic appreciation of full spectrum sound that's usually misunderstood - the space and serendipity that creates a gulf between live music and algo-powered earbud doomscrolling.
Hval chews over Broadcast-style psych-exotica on the rapturous 'All Night Long', supplementing the narrative with a graceful, folksy interlude that odorises her incantations with steam train white noise, and it's these high-contrast juxtapositions that really ground the album's concept. Hval resets our senses with short, abstract interludes - like the crunchy 'Spirit Mist' or charming acappella 'Heiner Müller' - that add grain to her longer, more fleshed-out compositions, and connects everything together with carefully thought out reminders that listening can indeed be a tactile experience. When 'I Don't Know What Free Is' comes to a close, the tape speeds up before grinding to a halt and bleeding over into 'The Artist Is Absent', a brief, noisy electro-disco contemplation. Honestly, it's refreshing to hear an artist taking the album format so seriously and considering the lived experience of listening to something from beginning to end. 'Iris Silver Mist' is a record you want to spend time with - it'll remind you exactly what you've been missing, and has the best sillage too.
Boomkat Product Review:
Named after Serge Lutens' iconic fragrance 'Iris Silver Mist', composed by Maurice Roucel, Jenny Hval's second 4AD full-length brings out the aromatic base notes from its predecessor, balancing out tactile, exotica-hued art-pop with ASMR experiments and spritzed ambience.
'Iris Silver Mist' is fixated on longing, but this is Hval we're talking about - any feeling is always going to be embodied somehow. 2019's 'Classic Objects' dissected the anxiety of self-awareness during lockdown, while her classic 'Blood Bitch' set meditated on the stigmas around menstruation. Considering the absence of physical musical experiences, Hval began to remember the literal smell of stale cigarette smoke, club bathrooms and blinding stage lights, provoking an obsession with perfume that informs ‘Iris Silver Mist'.
When she debuted the album's songs live, she played alongside rice cookers that charged the venue with aromatics, and the title itself is a reference to a fragrance from celebrated French perfumer Maurice Roucel - a cold, funereal Iris soliflore that still somehow revels in multidimensionality. It's not easy to translate a scent into sound, but Hval uses the concept as a springboard, emphasising the physical connection to music that had eluded her in the last few years.
"A rose is a rose is a cigarette," she remarks on lead single 'To Be A Rose', singing over aviary sounds, swing-y, skeletal beats and even looser plastique brass half-fanfares. It sounds like a demo at first, as if Hval's reminding us of the writing process before complimenting the concoction with further bouquets - soaring pads, acoustic guitars and booming '80s drums. Even the album's more manifestly electronic moments, like 'I Want To Start At The Beginning', reject the sterility of contemporary DAW production. "In the parking lot outside my local burger place, I feel a longing," she mutters, manifesting Dale Cooper. Soft, tinny synth warbles are overlapped by cosmic, amp-crunched analog waves that sound as if they're waiting for Klaus Schulze's iconic drums. This isn't some neo-kosmische memory, it's a holistic appreciation of full spectrum sound that's usually misunderstood - the space and serendipity that creates a gulf between live music and algo-powered earbud doomscrolling.
Hval chews over Broadcast-style psych-exotica on the rapturous 'All Night Long', supplementing the narrative with a graceful, folksy interlude that odorises her incantations with steam train white noise, and it's these high-contrast juxtapositions that really ground the album's concept. Hval resets our senses with short, abstract interludes - like the crunchy 'Spirit Mist' or charming acappella 'Heiner Müller' - that add grain to her longer, more fleshed-out compositions, and connects everything together with carefully thought out reminders that listening can indeed be a tactile experience. When 'I Don't Know What Free Is' comes to a close, the tape speeds up before grinding to a halt and bleeding over into 'The Artist Is Absent', a brief, noisy electro-disco contemplation. Honestly, it's refreshing to hear an artist taking the album format so seriously and considering the lived experience of listening to something from beginning to end. 'Iris Silver Mist' is a record you want to spend time with - it'll remind you exactly what you've been missing, and has the best sillage too.
Boomkat Product Review:
Named after Serge Lutens' iconic fragrance 'Iris Silver Mist', composed by Maurice Roucel, Jenny Hval's second 4AD full-length brings out the aromatic base notes from its predecessor, balancing out tactile, exotica-hued art-pop with ASMR experiments and spritzed ambience.
'Iris Silver Mist' is fixated on longing, but this is Hval we're talking about - any feeling is always going to be embodied somehow. 2019's 'Classic Objects' dissected the anxiety of self-awareness during lockdown, while her classic 'Blood Bitch' set meditated on the stigmas around menstruation. Considering the absence of physical musical experiences, Hval began to remember the literal smell of stale cigarette smoke, club bathrooms and blinding stage lights, provoking an obsession with perfume that informs ‘Iris Silver Mist'.
When she debuted the album's songs live, she played alongside rice cookers that charged the venue with aromatics, and the title itself is a reference to a fragrance from celebrated French perfumer Maurice Roucel - a cold, funereal Iris soliflore that still somehow revels in multidimensionality. It's not easy to translate a scent into sound, but Hval uses the concept as a springboard, emphasising the physical connection to music that had eluded her in the last few years.
"A rose is a rose is a cigarette," she remarks on lead single 'To Be A Rose', singing over aviary sounds, swing-y, skeletal beats and even looser plastique brass half-fanfares. It sounds like a demo at first, as if Hval's reminding us of the writing process before complimenting the concoction with further bouquets - soaring pads, acoustic guitars and booming '80s drums. Even the album's more manifestly electronic moments, like 'I Want To Start At The Beginning', reject the sterility of contemporary DAW production. "In the parking lot outside my local burger place, I feel a longing," she mutters, manifesting Dale Cooper. Soft, tinny synth warbles are overlapped by cosmic, amp-crunched analog waves that sound as if they're waiting for Klaus Schulze's iconic drums. This isn't some neo-kosmische memory, it's a holistic appreciation of full spectrum sound that's usually misunderstood - the space and serendipity that creates a gulf between live music and algo-powered earbud doomscrolling.
Hval chews over Broadcast-style psych-exotica on the rapturous 'All Night Long', supplementing the narrative with a graceful, folksy interlude that odorises her incantations with steam train white noise, and it's these high-contrast juxtapositions that really ground the album's concept. Hval resets our senses with short, abstract interludes - like the crunchy 'Spirit Mist' or charming acappella 'Heiner Müller' - that add grain to her longer, more fleshed-out compositions, and connects everything together with carefully thought out reminders that listening can indeed be a tactile experience. When 'I Don't Know What Free Is' comes to a close, the tape speeds up before grinding to a halt and bleeding over into 'The Artist Is Absent', a brief, noisy electro-disco contemplation. Honestly, it's refreshing to hear an artist taking the album format so seriously and considering the lived experience of listening to something from beginning to end. 'Iris Silver Mist' is a record you want to spend time with - it'll remind you exactly what you've been missing, and has the best sillage too.
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Boomkat Product Review:
Named after Serge Lutens' iconic fragrance 'Iris Silver Mist', composed by Maurice Roucel, Jenny Hval's second 4AD full-length brings out the aromatic base notes from its predecessor, balancing out tactile, exotica-hued art-pop with ASMR experiments and spritzed ambience.
'Iris Silver Mist' is fixated on longing, but this is Hval we're talking about - any feeling is always going to be embodied somehow. 2019's 'Classic Objects' dissected the anxiety of self-awareness during lockdown, while her classic 'Blood Bitch' set meditated on the stigmas around menstruation. Considering the absence of physical musical experiences, Hval began to remember the literal smell of stale cigarette smoke, club bathrooms and blinding stage lights, provoking an obsession with perfume that informs ‘Iris Silver Mist'.
When she debuted the album's songs live, she played alongside rice cookers that charged the venue with aromatics, and the title itself is a reference to a fragrance from celebrated French perfumer Maurice Roucel - a cold, funereal Iris soliflore that still somehow revels in multidimensionality. It's not easy to translate a scent into sound, but Hval uses the concept as a springboard, emphasising the physical connection to music that had eluded her in the last few years.
"A rose is a rose is a cigarette," she remarks on lead single 'To Be A Rose', singing over aviary sounds, swing-y, skeletal beats and even looser plastique brass half-fanfares. It sounds like a demo at first, as if Hval's reminding us of the writing process before complimenting the concoction with further bouquets - soaring pads, acoustic guitars and booming '80s drums. Even the album's more manifestly electronic moments, like 'I Want To Start At The Beginning', reject the sterility of contemporary DAW production. "In the parking lot outside my local burger place, I feel a longing," she mutters, manifesting Dale Cooper. Soft, tinny synth warbles are overlapped by cosmic, amp-crunched analog waves that sound as if they're waiting for Klaus Schulze's iconic drums. This isn't some neo-kosmische memory, it's a holistic appreciation of full spectrum sound that's usually misunderstood - the space and serendipity that creates a gulf between live music and algo-powered earbud doomscrolling.
Hval chews over Broadcast-style psych-exotica on the rapturous 'All Night Long', supplementing the narrative with a graceful, folksy interlude that odorises her incantations with steam train white noise, and it's these high-contrast juxtapositions that really ground the album's concept. Hval resets our senses with short, abstract interludes - like the crunchy 'Spirit Mist' or charming acappella 'Heiner Müller' - that add grain to her longer, more fleshed-out compositions, and connects everything together with carefully thought out reminders that listening can indeed be a tactile experience. When 'I Don't Know What Free Is' comes to a close, the tape speeds up before grinding to a halt and bleeding over into 'The Artist Is Absent', a brief, noisy electro-disco contemplation. Honestly, it's refreshing to hear an artist taking the album format so seriously and considering the lived experience of listening to something from beginning to end. 'Iris Silver Mist' is a record you want to spend time with - it'll remind you exactly what you've been missing, and has the best sillage too.
Pearl/Northern Lights colour edition.
Available To Order (Estimated Shipping between 7-14 Working Days)
This item is to the best of our knowledge available to us from the supplier and should ship to you within the time-frame indicated. If there are any unforeseen issues with availability we will notify you immediately
Boomkat Product Review:
Named after Serge Lutens' iconic fragrance 'Iris Silver Mist', composed by Maurice Roucel, Jenny Hval's second 4AD full-length brings out the aromatic base notes from its predecessor, balancing out tactile, exotica-hued art-pop with ASMR experiments and spritzed ambience.
'Iris Silver Mist' is fixated on longing, but this is Hval we're talking about - any feeling is always going to be embodied somehow. 2019's 'Classic Objects' dissected the anxiety of self-awareness during lockdown, while her classic 'Blood Bitch' set meditated on the stigmas around menstruation. Considering the absence of physical musical experiences, Hval began to remember the literal smell of stale cigarette smoke, club bathrooms and blinding stage lights, provoking an obsession with perfume that informs ‘Iris Silver Mist'.
When she debuted the album's songs live, she played alongside rice cookers that charged the venue with aromatics, and the title itself is a reference to a fragrance from celebrated French perfumer Maurice Roucel - a cold, funereal Iris soliflore that still somehow revels in multidimensionality. It's not easy to translate a scent into sound, but Hval uses the concept as a springboard, emphasising the physical connection to music that had eluded her in the last few years.
"A rose is a rose is a cigarette," she remarks on lead single 'To Be A Rose', singing over aviary sounds, swing-y, skeletal beats and even looser plastique brass half-fanfares. It sounds like a demo at first, as if Hval's reminding us of the writing process before complimenting the concoction with further bouquets - soaring pads, acoustic guitars and booming '80s drums. Even the album's more manifestly electronic moments, like 'I Want To Start At The Beginning', reject the sterility of contemporary DAW production. "In the parking lot outside my local burger place, I feel a longing," she mutters, manifesting Dale Cooper. Soft, tinny synth warbles are overlapped by cosmic, amp-crunched analog waves that sound as if they're waiting for Klaus Schulze's iconic drums. This isn't some neo-kosmische memory, it's a holistic appreciation of full spectrum sound that's usually misunderstood - the space and serendipity that creates a gulf between live music and algo-powered earbud doomscrolling.
Hval chews over Broadcast-style psych-exotica on the rapturous 'All Night Long', supplementing the narrative with a graceful, folksy interlude that odorises her incantations with steam train white noise, and it's these high-contrast juxtapositions that really ground the album's concept. Hval resets our senses with short, abstract interludes - like the crunchy 'Spirit Mist' or charming acappella 'Heiner Müller' - that add grain to her longer, more fleshed-out compositions, and connects everything together with carefully thought out reminders that listening can indeed be a tactile experience. When 'I Don't Know What Free Is' comes to a close, the tape speeds up before grinding to a halt and bleeding over into 'The Artist Is Absent', a brief, noisy electro-disco contemplation. Honestly, it's refreshing to hear an artist taking the album format so seriously and considering the lived experience of listening to something from beginning to end. 'Iris Silver Mist' is a record you want to spend time with - it'll remind you exactly what you've been missing, and has the best sillage too.
Available To Order (Estimated Shipping between 7-14 Working Days)
This item is to the best of our knowledge available to us from the supplier and should ship to you within the time-frame indicated. If there are any unforeseen issues with availability we will notify you immediately
Boomkat Product Review:
Named after Serge Lutens' iconic fragrance 'Iris Silver Mist', composed by Maurice Roucel, Jenny Hval's second 4AD full-length brings out the aromatic base notes from its predecessor, balancing out tactile, exotica-hued art-pop with ASMR experiments and spritzed ambience.
'Iris Silver Mist' is fixated on longing, but this is Hval we're talking about - any feeling is always going to be embodied somehow. 2019's 'Classic Objects' dissected the anxiety of self-awareness during lockdown, while her classic 'Blood Bitch' set meditated on the stigmas around menstruation. Considering the absence of physical musical experiences, Hval began to remember the literal smell of stale cigarette smoke, club bathrooms and blinding stage lights, provoking an obsession with perfume that informs ‘Iris Silver Mist'.
When she debuted the album's songs live, she played alongside rice cookers that charged the venue with aromatics, and the title itself is a reference to a fragrance from celebrated French perfumer Maurice Roucel - a cold, funereal Iris soliflore that still somehow revels in multidimensionality. It's not easy to translate a scent into sound, but Hval uses the concept as a springboard, emphasising the physical connection to music that had eluded her in the last few years.
"A rose is a rose is a cigarette," she remarks on lead single 'To Be A Rose', singing over aviary sounds, swing-y, skeletal beats and even looser plastique brass half-fanfares. It sounds like a demo at first, as if Hval's reminding us of the writing process before complimenting the concoction with further bouquets - soaring pads, acoustic guitars and booming '80s drums. Even the album's more manifestly electronic moments, like 'I Want To Start At The Beginning', reject the sterility of contemporary DAW production. "In the parking lot outside my local burger place, I feel a longing," she mutters, manifesting Dale Cooper. Soft, tinny synth warbles are overlapped by cosmic, amp-crunched analog waves that sound as if they're waiting for Klaus Schulze's iconic drums. This isn't some neo-kosmische memory, it's a holistic appreciation of full spectrum sound that's usually misunderstood - the space and serendipity that creates a gulf between live music and algo-powered earbud doomscrolling.
Hval chews over Broadcast-style psych-exotica on the rapturous 'All Night Long', supplementing the narrative with a graceful, folksy interlude that odorises her incantations with steam train white noise, and it's these high-contrast juxtapositions that really ground the album's concept. Hval resets our senses with short, abstract interludes - like the crunchy 'Spirit Mist' or charming acappella 'Heiner Müller' - that add grain to her longer, more fleshed-out compositions, and connects everything together with carefully thought out reminders that listening can indeed be a tactile experience. When 'I Don't Know What Free Is' comes to a close, the tape speeds up before grinding to a halt and bleeding over into 'The Artist Is Absent', a brief, noisy electro-disco contemplation. Honestly, it's refreshing to hear an artist taking the album format so seriously and considering the lived experience of listening to something from beginning to end. 'Iris Silver Mist' is a record you want to spend time with - it'll remind you exactly what you've been missing, and has the best sillage too.
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