Ljungblut is a pseudonym for Kim Ljung, the Norwegian songwriter, lyricist and bass player of Seigmen and Zeromancer. This is the second in a planned trilogy of solo EP releases in a limited release of cassette and digital formats. Since the series revolves around nostalgic reflection of places from Ljungblut’s youth, that use of the cassette format is a clever tie-in to the same period. The series began with the exquisite Sauda, which is the name of a tiny village in the Norwegian fjords where Ljung spent childhood time. In the early ‘90s, as was the vogue then (and maybe still is), Ljung headed off backpacking, accompanied by his friend Harald Rosenløw Eeg (now a well-known novelist and script writer) and ended up in Vietnam. The memories of their experiences there are the inspiration for this current EP.
The first piece is an instrumental that is called Etterklang – which means echo in English. It’s an ambient piece of music, very static musically and without any real defined structure or themes. As an introduction, it’s OK, but apart from the use of oriental bells, it’s difficult to see any obvious association with Vietnam.
Something more typical of Ljungblut’s solo work follows with Ut Til Munkene which interweaves rhythmic acoustic guitar supported by muted piano chords and a strong melody. The title translates to Out To The Monks, and the song tells the story of the intrepid travellers’ six-hour trip to an isolated cave-like monastery of Buddhist monks – where apparently, they were welcomed by the monks as their first ever Western visitors. Unfortunately, the local police were suspicious that the foreigners were spying and Ljunt and Eeg were duly deported! The direct references to Lung’s experiences continue in the more reflective Lyktene ved Miss Loi (the lanterns of Miss Loi), although this time the story is a little more mundane since Miss Lio was the owner of the guest house where they regularly stayed.
Up to this point, I admit that I was disappointed with the absence of the delicate fragility that marked Sauda, but things improve in Tamarind. It begins in slightly upbeat manner, the pace slows down and a fine melody is introduced, supported by light acoustic guitar work and mellow horns. Mimosa, the next song, continues in a similar mood, and is the closest the album gets to a memorable hook line as Ljung repeatedly sings the word Vietnam. The final track is called Forord (which translates rather oddly, given its position in the track order, to Foreward). This is the one song where I felt Ljung repeated the magic of Sauda. It’s simple enough – a rising piano theme and a beautiful almost spoken melodic line – and yet seemingly filled with a heart-rending longing (for times and places to which we cannot return?).
I’ve never been to Vietnam, and that may be the reason I struggled sometimes to feel an affinity for this music. Sauda seemed infused with a universal sense of nostalgia, whereas Vietnam doesn’t quite hit the mark, failing at least to trigger any images of Vietnamese culture in my mind. There’s still plenty of good music though for fans of Kim Ljunt to enjoy.
It will be interesting to see what the subject-matter of the final part of this trilogy will be. Also, while the cassette format is a nice touch, and will be welcomed by those who have maintained or reinvested in this technology, it is a limit for those of us who prefer hard copies of our music on CD or vinyl. I’m hopeful that the duration of circa 25 minutes of each EP creates the premise for releasing a single CD of the trilogy in due course.
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