GM013 - Pjusk - Tele - Glacial Movements Records - 2012

First Review

Two years since their well-received 'Sval' CD for the esteemed 12k, Pjusk present a third album of isolated dark ambient tones and space for Glacial Movements - following the label's last release by Scott Morgan of Loscil. From their cabin high int he mountains they paint wide, desolate soundscapes, linking one to the next in a manner reflecting the the Norwegian translation of the album title 'Tele' - meaning frozen underground water. They're accompanied by engineer/producer Andreas Nordenstam on the creaking electro-acoustic fidelities of opener 'Fnugg' and Frodebeats for the haunting 'Flint', but the rest of the album is their own work, tracing a icy vein of thru the subterranean cave sound of 'Skifer' to Global Communication-esque radio signals o 'Granitt', the droning harmonics of 'Bre' and leaving us stranded at the tectonic yawns of 'Polar'.


Second Review

A new Pjusk album finally hits the shelf. What seems like a bad pun depicts exactly the mood and the setting of Tele, a Norse term for describing underground water that is frozen. While their former works Sart and Sval of 2007 and 2010 respectively were dark and gloomy, the duo of Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik and Rune Andre Sagevik present a totally different approach on their third album by oscillating between the much-loved dark territory the band is known for, and unexpectedly glittering and bright inclusions without the risk of delivering an end product that is too mellow or joyful. Tele is released on the record label Glacial Movements, and it is a befitting surrounding for the frostiest album the duo has ever released. Almost all the time there is something popping, clicking and crackling, evoking the atmosphere of an organic landscape that is traversed by different kinds of ice, snow and rocks. The composition of what is usually simply called stone is another key element of the album. Several tracks concentrate on audio representations of schists, flints and granites, and the band surprises the connoisseur of their work many times. Without further ado, here‘s a deep analysis of Tele‘s 9 tracks.

As if the Tele was a reaction to the crestfallen heaviness of their previous album Sval, the opening track Fnugg begins with thaw. Foggy background synths, eerie sirens and the incessant sound of droplets and crackles display a kind of fragility that I did not associate with the band before. And as this short opener shows, the duo parries this train of thought by slowly modulating the strings and moving them into darker, machine-like territory. When Fnugg reaches its end, the formerly foggy strings have become densely quavering drones, thus exemplifying Tele‘s overarching confrontation of various fragile and murky elements in less than 2 minutes. Gneis is next and fades right into Fnugg, absorbing the drones for most of its time. I don‘t know whether I should put a spoiler warning into this review, because what happens right after 8 seconds can only be described as a medulla-emptying, blood-curdling and hair-raising blast – a tremendously forceful and abyssal drone sound cuts through the quiescence, and while it is remarkably similar to a low-pitched ship horn, there‘s a frightening element that falsifies this hypothesis, namely a shorter second note right after the sustained monotony. "It's just music," I'm telling myself, and yet this über-dark drone is terribly harrowing, a blissful disturbance! Howling wind noises in the distance, oscillating haze plus vault-like reverberations are ubiquitous companions in the first part of the track, while the second part introduces the sternly gleaming incisiveness of thonging synth pads, shifting the mood almost to cherubic timbres. Soon enough, however, the atmosphere reaches the freezing point yet again with muffled rattles, blurry clangs and sounds of waterfalls. During the end, a glowing but cold synth string illuminates the fog and fades out slowly, marking the end of Gneis. This is an absolutely gorgeous track, and when I‘m writing about a foggy atmosphere, it is not the kind of fog that peacefully damps everything in it. No, on this track, there‘s something going on all the time, little crackles, frizzles and echoey clangs, making this a towering example of an Ambient track that doesn‘t rely solely on the thickness of synths, but the surroundings as well. And Gneis is yet another track that displays the counterpoint nature of this album by presenting an intermingling of fragile crackles and monolithic deepness. Pjusk never sounded like this before, and this track has captured my heart by terrifying me and by giving me moments of tranquility at the same time in an icy area.

Up next is Flint, an ethereal track that slowly builds a moment with howling wind noises, dewing snow crackles, scary frizzles and trembling square lead pads. Gentle beats are added, and the glacial strings in the background are complemented by mercurial pulses and various bells. Even though the setup is serious and deep, the track also inherits a certain lightness due to the high-pitched elements and its organic pulses. Skifer follows and is a completely atypical Pjusk track with incredibly thick synth sounds as usual, but the presentation differs: a surprisingly lively and quickly-paced melody is played that is accompanied by rhythmical beats. The track is bright and – eureka! – joyful, bringing to mind snowy electro pop anthems of the Alpinestars or the heavier synth pieces of the lateKraftwerk. However, this is not meant as an insult, but is just a rather flippant remark. While the drones in Skifer are equally dark and a synth tempest is going on in the background, the brightness of the main melody defeats the darker elements. A successful, totally unexpected experiment! Krystallgives away the overall concept in its title already because crystal-like structures are easy to create with the help of synths. And indeed, the song is glaringly sparkling with sublime, monotonous background synths, a surprisingly hectical loop of glittering pulses and the addition of various hisses, some of them sputtering while others are mellow. Electric buzzes are playing in unison with hectical bass pulses. This track is a tiny letdown for me, as its name inoked a more dreamy, concentrated and pompous representation. That it is rather lively and thus not as deep as I thought it to be is no flaw of the song itself, but the strange correlation between title and expectation. It is, after all, a standout track due to its brightness. If you listen to Pjusk‘s two previous albums and then turn your attention to Krystall, you won‘t believe that this track is coming from the same group. If you like only the dark sounds of Pjusk, this song won‘t probably do it for you, but since I am fond of and fascinated by the even the tiniest scintilla in dark Ambient music, this song delivers an almost blinding brightness.

Granitt is the next rock stratum of Tele and is a distinctly rhythmical track with a bouncy percussion. The blithesomeness is soon accompanied by mesmerically blistering synth strings which are played in major, but are then played antithetically, in a more cacophonous way. Another element which I am fond of are the cascading bells that occur for a short moment as well as the snow-related crackles and pops which can be included thousands of times without sounding stale or boring. The percussion later wanes and makes room for computer noises and a more solemn and calmer atmosphere. The beatless Kram follows and brings back the melancholy and fogginess from the beginning of Tele. Serene synth howls, a cautious percussive loop and clichéd but attractive cave noises are played in a cavernous atmosphere. It is the last minute of this piece where the song truly shines and an unprecedented feeling of warmth and comfort is added in the form of clear-cut and sharp but polyphonous synth pads. The next song is a Pjusk song by the numbers: The rather short Bre is a terrifically mysterious and soothing beatless piece whose ambience consists of a compelling majesty that transports tranquility and sereneness with the help of slow synth strings, flittering and spectral synth fragments and galactic background synths. The last song is Polar which consists of two highly distinctive sections and is the clear brethren of my favorite Gneis, bringing back darkness and endangerment all of a sudden. The beginning, however, is delicately mysterious with powerful strings, deep bass rumbles and a gas stove-like drone sound. After the first minute, however, an incisively dark synth is introduced, reminiscent of the ship horn-like signal in Gneis. Suddenly, everything is eerily quiet and only the repeated ship horn is heard. After 3 minutes, the song shifts into its second section with glacial percussion and various bells and synth sparks. Any superstructure of darkness and fog has waned, making room for a devoutly blissful downbeat segmentation. The song almost moves into Synth Pop territory à la Depeche Mode or New Order, but without vocals or guitars. This segment features a curious juxtaposition of bright elements that evoke melancholy and reclusiveness notwithstanding.

To my surprise, Tele is as crystalline, icy and fragile as it is gusty, forceful and overawing. The constant interplay between the concepts of reposefulness and elemental forces has never been this differentiated on their albums before. Take their album Sval for instance, which is almost inconceivably gloomy, ethereal and quite heavy. The mood never strays into additional directions. OnTele, however, luminous fluxes destroy any melancholy and point their rays to the microcosmic structure of the glistening fissures and fractals of the stones, rocks and crags which are transcoded into music. These peaceful observations are then confronted with natural powers, deep bass drones and turbulent snowdrifts as in Gneis and Polar, for instance. I can imagine that Pjusk took quite a risk with this album, as there are always two fanbases for every band: those who want the sound to evolve by staying true to the style and formula the artist is known for, and those who want to be surprised and are embracing new directions more than the inclusion of formulae close to the hearts. Tele, as a result, is not as coherent as their previous albums. It is by no means a rollercoaster ride. The duo doesn‘t try something new and unexpected all the time. But it is crystal clear that the overarching strategy consists of the merging of clashing ingredients. I for one like the warmer sounds of the band as well as the cavernous mystique and the gorgeously intimidating bass drones. People who want the Pjusk sound they came to love should listen to the first half of the album, while the second half consists of more surprises and shifts in direction. This might be a coincidence, but I observed it this way. My absolute favorites are the aforementioned Gneis and Polar, while the warmth of Skifer andBre are equally important runner-ups. All in all, it‘s a very strong album that truly marries the icy ruthlessness of winters in Norway with gorgeously thick synths – and, as a surprise, with sparkles and sources of warmth.


Third Review

Per la prima release del 2012 del suo catalogo tematico improntato all'isolazionismo ibernato, la romana Glacial Movements si immerge nelle profondità delle terre del Nord, ospitando il nuovo lavoro del duo formato dai norvegesi Rune Andre Sagevik e Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik, dedicato alle formazioni sotterranee di ghiaccio, nella loro lingua denominate appunto "Tele".

I cinquanta minuti del disco, ripartiti in nove composizioni concise ma pienamente autosufficienti, proseguono il percorso delineato nel precedente "Sval", approfondendone in chiave "ghiacciata" la densità dark-ambient e i claustrofobici impulsi ritmici, residui lasciti delle esperienze techno degli anni 90 di Sagevik e Gjelsvik.
L'immaginario del concept d'ispirazione ricorre in buona sostanza anche nel contenuto di "Tele", i cui brani, ormai distanti dagli ossessivi cliché del genere, denotano plurime venature del loro substrato di correnti gelide e imponenti stratificazioni sonore. Se infatti la circolarità di persistenze spettrali di "Gneis" e le scarnificate modulazioni dub di "Flint" descrivono il consueto terreno delle esplorazioni di Pjusk, le modalità secondo cui sono sviluppate in "Tele" contemplano una vasta gamma di variazioni, dalle pulsazioni ritmiche sommerse dalla marea nera di "Skifer" ai continui fremiti di "Granitt", sfocianti quasi in accenni minimal techno.

Tra beccheggi e ondulazioni, elemento saliente del lavoro rimane tuttavia l'incessante vitalità delle composizioni, enfatizzata dai tanti frammenti elettro-acustici biospheriani che, disseminati lungo tutta la durata del disco, trovano la loro consacrazione prima nell'inusitato calore degli sciabordii dub di "Kram" (in odor di Pan American) e infine nella complessa "Polar", le cui iniziali saturazioni si evolvono in rilucenti battiti acustici, che dischiudono a una flebile luce solare l'oppressione asfittica del ghiaccio sotterraneo.

Nel complesso, questo nuovo tassello delle esplorazioni della Glacial Movements conferma le qualità del progetto Pjusk nel plasmare il proprio suono, nonostante il risultato lasci talvolta l'impressione di essere ancora perfettibile dal punto di vista della capacità suggestiva.


Fourth Review

Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik i Rune Andre Sagevik to właściwie weterani norweskiej elektroniki. Pierwszy z nich zaczynał już na początku lat 90. tworząc techno w projekcie Neural Network, aby potem zwrócić się w stronę ilustracyjnego IDM-u w duecie Circular. Drugi zaczynał jako promotor klubowych imprez – i dopiero później zajął się tworzeniem własnej muzyki. Kiedy Gjelsvik usłyszał kiedyś w jednej z radiowych audycji nagrania Sagevika, zafascynowały go one na tyle, że skontaktował się z nim i zaproponował wspólną sesję. W ten sposób w 2005 roku narodził się Pjusk, który później trafił do amerykańskiej wytwórni 12k, nakładem której ukazały się dwa dotychczasowe albumy formacji – „Sart” i „Sval”. Mroczna i chmurna muzyka duetu spodobała się z kolei Alessandro Tedeschemu, prowadzącemu w Rzymie firmę Glacial Movements. Od nitki do kłębka – i oto po dwóch latach przerwy mamy trzecią płytę Pjusk.Jej początek przypomina wcześniejsze dokonania norweskich producentów – szeleszczące dźwięki otoczenia („Fnugg”) prowadzą nas do abstrakcyjnego kolażu mrocznych wyziewów przerywanych mrożącymi krew w żyłach rykami zawodzącego dronu („Gneis”). Chrzęszczące efekty poddane zostają glitchowej obróbce, w efekcie czego powstaje skorodowany minimal o niepokojącym klimacie („Flint”).

Ku zaskoczeniu słuchacza, wraz z kolejnymi kompozycjami, muzyka zaczyna się jednak… ocieplać. „Skifer” rozbrzmiewa głęboko zdubowanym basem, a w „Krystall” pojawia się chroboczący loop zapętlony w zredukowany podkład rytmiczny. Dźwięki te zostają zanurzone w strzelistych tonach ambientowych syntezatorów, oddających spokojny rytm życia skandynawskiej przyrody („Granitt” i „Bre”). Najbardziej urokliwy w tym zestawie jawi się „Kram” – subtelna kompozycja niosąca łagodną melodię podszytą ukrytymi w dalekim tle cyfrowymi defektami. Podobnie zresztą wypada finałowy „Polar” – bo i tutaj pojawia się bardziej wyrazisty motyw melodyczny, tym razem wprowadzony przez przestrzenną wariację syntezatorową rodem z klasyki kosmische musik.

Niezwykle ważnym elementem twórczości Pjusk jest… cisza. Norwescy producenci lubią zawieszać na moment prowadzoną przez siebie dźwiękową narrację – aby zyskała ona dodatkowy kontrapunkt w postaci niespodziewanej pauzy. Być może to dlatego, że Gjelsvik i Sagevik nagrywają swe płyty w odizolowanym od świata zewnętrznego studiu na dalekiej prowincji. W efekcie ich eteryczna muzyka staje jakby w poprzek współczesnego świata – zatrzymując na niemal godzinę jego galopujący puls.


Fifth Review

Alessandro Tedeschi's Glacial Movements make another inspired step forward with a new album from Pjusk. Entitled 'Tele' (the Norwegian word for frozen submerged water), it is a sum of two parts; at once deeply abstract and unnervingly dark, and yet, at once warm and gentle on the ear. Their soundscapes are wide and all-encompassing, freezing their Scandinavian landscape into an icy corporeal body of ambience.


Sixth Review

Third Pjusk album came out on Glacial Movements. And it's a killer. Interview with the duo about creating music, influences, past, future. And even more.
Pjusk first appeared on the American cult-label 12k, and with their debut album Sart they instantly became one of the finest pioneers of icy ambient music. This time none other than Alessandro Tedeschi, head of the excellent Glacial Movements approached the duo, and finally, Tele is out. And, as I said: it's a killer.Not only keeps it the cold atmosphere and high-tech sounding of tiny little details, but it also moves toward previously unexperienced brightness. This combination of the sometimes severe Pjusk sound and the airy and uplifting textures and melodies culminates in the revelation that Tele might be the best Pjusk album so far. I chatted with Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik, here it goes.


Seventh Review

I norvegesi Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik e Rune Andre Sagevik continuano nel loro percorso di esplorazione degli spazi con il progetto Pjusk. Due album all'attivo con la veterana 12k records, in entrambi i casi album delizioni con un sound design minimalista ed un occhio di riguardo alla cura del dettaglio. Un suono che ha convinto in tutto e per tutto la romana ed ormai solidissima label Glacial Movements, quel piccolo miracolo gestito e portato avanti da Alessandro Tedeschi (produttore per la stessa con lo pseudonimo Netherworld).

La sensazione che possiamo avvertire non appena concluso l'ascolto di Tele, questo il nome dell'album, è una variazione sull'asse portante della label, che fin'ora aveva offerto materiale con spazi molto più lunghi ed atmosfere così dilatate da apparire a volte inafferrabili.

I Pjusk invece lavorano su quello che è il concept stesso dell'etichetta, ovvero quello di sonorizzare panorami e distese immaginariamente ubicate in scandinavia, con un modo di operare diverso, ricorrendo (e qui la sorpresa più grande) ad una sonorizzazione ambient che ci riporta indietro nel tempo, in quel magico periodo che sono stati i '90 nel quale era ancora forte quel senso di appartenenza alla melodia, nel quale non si era soliti sottrarre ma se mai aggiungere. Certo, non siamo al livello di organicità di certe opere per sintetizzatori offerte in quel tempo ma è comunque forte il lavoro compositivo che riesce in tutto e per tutto a trovare l'equilibrio tra l'attuale design sonoro degli spazi ed una certa estetica evocativa.

La forza di questa musica è proprio nel connubio tra le scale melodiche, i tappeti di synth ed i potenti battiti dal basso che in un episodio come “Kristall” arrivano a toccare la musica celtica rendendola linfa nuova ed estremamente oscura. Un disco molto eterogeneo, con continui cambi di direzione che muovono pur sempre pedine dai toni di grigio. Il secondo brano, “Gneis” per esempio è una stanza chiusa e buia popolata da strati di suono messi in gioco per far salire la tensione mentre dalle pareti rimbalzano echi di suoni alieni che sembrano muoversi con molta lentezza.

I loro paesaggi devono averli visti sicuramente di notte, quando ad interrompere i silenzi ci sono tutte le voci ed i rumori delle ore tarde. Questa musica vive e risplende proprio in quei segmenti orari, liberando continuamente suoni differenti ma dal forte potere evocativo che visti dall'esterno e nell'ottica complessiva dell'album lo rendono uno dei capitoli più ricchi e succulenti dell'intera collana. Sicuramente ci troviamo di fronte ad un linguaggio che parla in maniera differente ma che tiene sempre in primo piano quello spirito evocativo che pervade l'ascoltatore capace di viaggiare con la mente.

Tele è un disco bellissimo, da ascoltare in cuffia, possibilmente al buio dei propri pensieri.


Eight Review

Pjusk, the Norwegian duo of Rune Sagevik and Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik, strives to avoid any contact with the typical. Their CD Tele (50'55") drifts the listener between actively engaging with this work's unique sound design and the dim inner realm of sleep. The nine tracks are presented across two sections. While the first sonic story is painted from a darker palette, the second still feels icy but somewhat brighter. Bestowing a solemn brittle coldness Tele maintains a complex kind of directness, as if straight out of a dream. Opening with several monstrous horn blasts, a marvelous unease is created and persists over the next few tracks. Null-time is created out of textural strangeness - the detailed sound collage flowing in multiple directions and speeds. The second half of Tele offers more in the way of rhythm, harmony and melody - all suppressed beneath a slowing arctic atmosphere. A lumbering tone pattern trudges along in machine precision below progressing clouds of chords. Ordered notes reiterate and feel constrained until the closing track. With its rolling metallic sequencer line and overlaid spacey guitar this piece nearly sings its boreal message. Pjusk's travels into the subconscious are no less imaginative, bizarre or groundbreaking than the frigid works of Irezumi, Biosphere or Aairria. With its cognitive distortion, small transformations, cold light and dark poetryTele is best suited for those who feel safest in solitude. To some this album may seem like a minimal sonic environment. But for those who care to listen closely there is an abundance of interesting shapes, forms and transitions slowly rising, churning, expanding then falling away. Predictability somewhat dulls music's impact. With work this inventive it all feels new.


Nineth Review

Friday morning at 8.30 AM is probably not the best time to write about a CD on Glacial Movements. They all seem to have the type of rolling ambient textures that you would imagine from the name of the label and are probably best enjoyed late at night with all the lights firmly off. This CD is by a couple of Norwegians who have recorded this in their harsh landscape and you can almost hear the snow moving on the mountainsides in its low-end drones and underwater synths. You can hear the ice cracking as the glacial plates shift in the sudden juddering crashes that from time to time interrupt the eerie silence. ‘Tele’ is the Norwegian word for ‘underwater ice’ and it’s rare that an album has sounded so much like its environment. Previously with releases on 12K this is music to be played in log cabins, late at night whilst the lansdcape outside is buried in snow.


Tenth Review

Like a whole swathe of ambient music, Pjusk‘s work relies on a scaffold of cues for the imagination to add a representational dimension to the raw sounds. Once one has learned that Pjusk are Rune Sagevik and Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik from the west coast of Norway, that their music is composed in a small cabin high in the mountains, and that their characteristic one-word track titles translate as “twilight”, “fog”, “hollow”, and the like, it is nigh impossible not to hear the murky atmospheres and dank rhythms of their music as evoking contemplation of a lonely landscape wreathed in mist and locked in a stasis measured in geological time. These associations are woven more literally than ever on their newest release, Tele. The album is released on the Glacial Movements label, a label that is single-mindedly dedicated to “glacial and isolationist ambient” and offers a growing series of releases that set out to evoke “places that man has forgotten…icy landscapes…fields of flowers covered eternally with ice… The cold and silent night that falls upon the glacial valleys…” The album’s title, Tele, is a Norwegian word for frozen underground water, and the track titles this time have also moved down into the cold earth, invoking gneiss, flint, slate, granite, crystal. It is thus not too big a surprise that the album’s opening is the most darkly monolithic of the Pjusk catalog to date; the surprise is that it ends with one of their brightest moments.

This is an album that seems to me to require some patience, and to be best taken as a whole. It takes some time for its rock-slow drama to unfold. The opening track, ‘Fnugg’ (a Norwegian term for something small and weightless), is a brief collection of atmospheric noises: cracks and drips and eerie electronic echoes. While it serves an obvious thematic, scene-setting function, it also helps set a dramatic arc, hinting (if my reading of the album has any merit) at the thaw and movement that might mark the boundary of the subterranean cold. This opening wisp of movement accents all the more the deep, dark stasis of ‘Gneis’, a track constructed from cavernous atmosphere and the portentous blast of buried foghorns that begin with a brassily confrontational sound but gradually sink into muffled oblivion and stillness. It’s a bleak opener, from which the faint wisps of rhythm that open ‘Flint’ begin a gradual ascent. Characteristic Pjusk accents emerge here and continue in “Skifer”: a slowly pulsing synth tone amid shifting, other-worldly atmospheres, haunting notes smeared slowly across the foreground, a lugubrious (and, on good speakers, thunderous) bass line so insistently sluggish that it drags the music viscously forward.

The album continues in familiar Pjusk territory, with hypnotic, half-submerged rhythms constructed from pulses of bass and swallowed synthetic gurgles wreathed in mysterious creaks, rumbles, and subtly shifting breaths of sonic mist in higher registers, the whole teasing the listener tensely and relentlessly forward without ever offering resolution, sounding now like a torpid electronic didgeridoo, now like some monstrous subterranean steam engine grinding away two caves further down (“Granitt” evokes both images for me). At the same time, the wispy, piping notes that drift over the surface keep the overall atmosphere, despite its darkness, from descending into mere creepiness; this is a darkness shot through with mystery, more Lord of the Rings than Nightmare on Elm Street. If the Pjusk sound speaks to your ear, as it does to mine, the results are hypnotically compelling.

As the album seeps towards its conclusion, the tracks have been becoming imperceptibly more rhythmic and subtle shades lighter, as we are gradually, tectonically raised back toward the surface. “Kram” (“Wet”) brings a shift of both tone and title, evoking not another stratum of rock but the slow swell of water. It settles into a gently meditative ebb and flow and ends in a subdued shimmering that offers a faint promise of light. In the brief “Bre” (“Spread”), the synth notes swell amid percussive cracks and windy rumbles, before the closing track, “Polar” sends the clearest message that we have been listening to an ordered whole, not just a sequence of atmospheres. Early in the track the deep foghorn-like blasts of “Gneis” re-emerge from the depths, persisting this time until they are overtaken by perhaps the brightest, most upbeat rhythm of any Pjusk track to date. While the sound palette remains consistent with what has preceded, we have emerged into lighter, somewhat gentler realms. Heard in light of the link to the album’s opening created by the recurrent foghorn motif, the brightly chiming rhythm evokes for me the world of drips and crystals where the frozen underground stasis meets the surface sunlight. No-one would mistake this destination for the Bahamas, but it has a glistening hopefulness accented by the contrast with the frozen dark from which we have emerged.

As I said earlier, the album requires patience. There are no dramatic changes of direction, thrilling crescendos or hummable melodies. To hear Pjusk requires a willingness to be drawn into mesmerizing rhythms and textures and probe their mysteries. This third Pjusk release, even more than Sart and Sval, unfolds gradually, unhurriedly. It invites the listener to slow down to the patient pace of its geological journey and recover a sense of the slow mysteries of the earth. Pjusk have carved out a distinctive and compelling niche for themselves in the world of ambient electronic music, and with Tele they have added another tensely beautiful piece to their haunting catalog.


Eleventh Review

With previous releases by Rapoon, Lull, Skare, Bvdub, Loscil and Stormloop,the Glacialmovements label (founded by Alessandro Tedeschi) has become a sort of quality trademark in itself. A trademark for"glacial and isolationist ambient".

Pjusk's "Tele", the label's latest release, firmly establishes this reputation.

For non-norwegians, "Tele" may not have the right associations: it is the Norwegian wordt describing frozen underground water.

"Tele is a journey of snow, ice and cold."
...and the beauty within, I might add.

Pjusk (Rune Sagevik and Jostein Dahl) create their music from a cabin high up in the Norwegian mountain, "framed by snowy peaks and the sound of cold streams".

Previously, Geir (Biosphere) Jenssen also found his inspiration (for PolarSequences) from the very same landcape, and in fact the music is somewhat linked in mood and atmosphere.

Starting slow and quiet with glacial sound effects, the mood is soon set with the sound of what seems to be a gigantic fog-horn. From there, the journey continues deep into the harsh Norwegian landscapes.
Slowly building up the underlying rhythms, then deconstructing them again until returning back to the sound of the foghorns in the closing track "Polar" .

The 9 tracks on "Tele " are carefully crafted and ordered in such a way that the sequence feels like its telling a story. The story of a Norwegian round-trip, maybe.

If for you, "Snow", "Ice" and "Cold" are words with mainly negative connotations, listen to this release and think again.
And, if possible, book a trip to Norway!


Twelve Review

Není žádným tajemstvím, že Alessandro Tedeschi na svých Glacial Movements records ve slunné Itálii upřednostňuje kraje (pokud možno věčného) ledu, polárního záření a mrazivé tišiny. Do této scenérie se mu náramně hodila tvorba dvojice Pjusk, pod jejímž jménem se ukrývají Rune Sagevik a Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik, konkrétně album Tele (pozor, to není český název! – vyjadřuje zamrzlou podzemní vodu), už třinácté v pořadí „ledové edice“. Oba jmenovaní hudebníci žijí na západním pobřeží Norska v jakémsi bungalowu na horách a jejich inspirací je právě drsná norská příroda, sníh, led a chlad, což kromě jiného osvědčili i předtím na albech Sart (2007) a Sval (2010, obě na 12k).

Hned vstup do alba připomene zvukovou reportáž z krajiny zahalené do mlhy, kterou provívá hučivý vichr, kde zaslechneme vzdouvání vod a praskot ledu a kde tušíme sněhovou metelici. Prostě tu mrzne, až praští – což je i slyšet. Atmosféričnost devíti záběrů, které se překlápějí jeden do druhého, vyznačuje povlovnost, valivost, křišťálová zvonivost, zdánlivě nevzrušená vzrušivost, chorovod ledové tříště, protkávaný takřka morseovkovými sděleními. Z minimální rozdílnosti mezi jednotlivými zastaveními, jako je Krystall neboPolar, se pouze občas vynoří náznak přitvrzenější rytmičnosti, rozdílnost proláklin a vrcholení, dráždivost (která není podrážděností).

Samozřejmě jde o ambientní pojetí, které je předurčeno lokalitou a které můžeme procítit, pokud se poddáme jeho tu (většinou) tlumenějšímu, tu výraznějšímu znění a pokud se ztotožníme s postupy Sagevika a Gjelsvika. Jestliže nás mine, můžeme tuto hudbu pojmout jako pouhé podmalování prostoru, jako zvukovou kulisu. Ale v tom už bývá dvojpólovost ambientu a je třeba doznat, že Pjusk s ohledem na rozmezí edice náleží spíše k těm příznivějším dílkům; sice občas ukolébává, ale většinou neztrácí na intenzitě, proudnosti, hloučení zvukových meteorologických anabází i vnoření do dechu dálav (to pro nás středoevropany, pro tvůrce alba jde o každodenní realitu jejich okolí).


Thirteen Review

In uscita per Glacial Movements Records, etichetta italiana di Alessandro Tedeschi, “Tele” dei Pjusk è un percorso elettronico tra le calotte gelate nel Mar del Nord. Rendere visibile in ogni ascoltatore l’immagine gelida e artica della Norvegia potrebbe essere l’intento diJostein Dahl Gjelsvik e Rune Andre Sagevik.
L’ambient per antonomasia dipinge scenari naturali, regalando una tradizionale idea paesaggistica: “Tele” dunque non smentisce tale definizione. Con Krystall (in norvegese “cristallo”) l’immagine predominate è il ghiacciaio, suggerita dalla possibile riproduzione strumentale di fragili bicchieri appena riempiti d’acqua, che rilasciano vibrazioni variegate e vitree, aggettivi associabili alla comune percezione che la traccia tenta di trasmettere.
Alcune composizioni prendono il nome da materiali rudimentali come “Skifer” (“Ardesia”, pietra sedimentaria),“Granitt” (Granito) che ipnotizza con i suoi ripetuti fremiti, “Flint” (Selce) o “Gneis” (Gneiss o Beola) e i suoi acuti sinistri. Qualsiasi strumento utilizzino i Pjusk, riescono a eseguire suoni atmosferici fedeli, talvolta scontati, ma immediati e viscerali, senza rifletterci troppo. Non è semplice riprodurre le note perfette della Natura, legittima e dovuta è l’influenza minimal techno. “Kram” (Bagnato) forse fatica un po’ a rendere l’idea (almeno a primo ascolto) dell’umido a cui siamo abituati. Nessun rumore di pioggia, solo fruscii e soffi indefinibili. “Tele” è’ un album soggettivo-riflessivo, difficile da descrivere se non per la diretta e diffusa ispirazione nordica. Così come questo ultimo progetto può essere spunto per ripercorrere immagini personali, lasciando all’ascoltatore la libertà di associare idee più o meno attinenti al contesto/titolo.
Discorso a parte va fatto per “Polar”, ultima delle nove track; il titolo assomiglia ad una premessa, vi si ritrova lo stesso boato di “Gneis”, somigliante alla sirena di una rompighiaccio in uno spazio immenso, dove si libera l’eco che, al contrario di “Gneis”, cresce e decresce durante la traccia. Al minuto 3:11 vortici di ignote e nette percussioni liberano e portano alla conclusione l’ultimo loro “rigido” lavoro.


Fourteen Review

ROCKERILLA (April 2012)

Fifteen Review

Norwegian duo Run Sagevik and Josten Dahl Gjelsvik, produce music that is one hundred per cent based on the experiences they endure from where they reside. If we are to believe the press blurb, they actually collaborate together in a cabin high up in the mountains situated between the small villages from where they live and Pjusk is their take on the climate and landscape that surrounds them.

‘Tele’, is the Norwegian word describing frozen underground water and in musical form the two have tried to describe the essence of such a vision; without a doubt, there is nothing warm about this release, it is cold, unforgiving and sets the scene effectively the moment you hit play.

Pace is a key weapon in Pjusk’s arsenal; like snow drifts in an unrelenting wind that soars above the underground caves, you can almost imagine yourself sat in the cavernous dark depths with nothing but the pale ghostly walls of ice for company.

Blissful pad work is utilised effectively on this release, offsetting the truth that lies within such an environment; for when a place is as harsh as this, you cannot argue that there is a beauty and purity that accompany the vast emptiness of civilisation.

Best taken in one sitting for maximum effect on the senses, ‘Tele’ is the soundtrack to a silent documentary of an environment that few will ever witness.



Sixteen Review

Though it might seem odd to say it, Tele is one of Glacial Movements' coldest releases. Consequently, the argument could be made that it most fully realizes the label's fundamental concept. The album title is a Norwegian word that, translated, refers to frozen underground water, and there's certainly something subterranean about the brooding moodscapes that make up the album's fifty-one minutes. Background details about the release prove telling: Pjusk members Rune Sagevik and Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik hail from small villages on the west coast of Norway and take their inspiration from the harsh weather and landscapes of their home turf Tele takes as its specific inspiration the arctic wilderness). Even more telling is the fact that the two create most of their music in an old cabin situated high up in the mountains, such that the snowy peaks and icy terrain surrounding them can't help but profoundly affect the music they produce.

Nine tracks are indexed, but in this case the album presents itself as more of a singular whole, especially when each setting flows into the next without pause. A visually suggestive travelogue that takes the listener across barren, depopulated lands of snow and ice, the album lurches slowly, accompanied along its journey by a discomfiting array of geological rumbles, gaseous emissions, muffled foghorns, and ice-cold vocal exhalations. The album isn't without musical moments; during “Krystall,” for example, a weave of IDM-styled synths and beats surfaces in a way that suggests a typical Plaid track slowed to a crawl. The later “Kram” exploits the hypnotic potential of its synth melodies for all they're worth, such that its deathly sleepwalk is offset by its musical slow-burn, while the eight-minute “Polar” ends the album on a livelier note with a colourful mix of breezily swaying rhythms and bubbly IDM atmosphere. There's an elemental and primal character to Pjusk's soundscaping, with the focus obviously less on standard melody and song-based structure than on atmosphere and flow. So while no one will come away from Tele whistling any tunes, there's no disputing the fact that the duo's material is powerful on evocation grounds.

April 2012


Eighteen Review

With previous releases by Rapoon,Lull, Skare, Bvdub, Loscil andStormloop, the Glacial Movementslabel (founded by Alessandro Tedeschi) has become a sort of quality trademark in itself. A trademark for”glacial and isolationist ambient”. Pjusk‘s Tele, the label’s latest release, firmly establishes this reputation. For non-norwegians, Telemay not have the right associations: it is the Norwegian word describing frozen underground water. “Tele is a journey of snow, ice and cold.” …and the beauty within, I might add. Pjusk (Rune Sagevik and Jostein Dahl) create their music from a cabin high up in the Norwegian mountain,“framed by snowy peaks and the sound of cold streams”. Previously, Geir (Biosphere) Jenssen also found his inspiration (for Polar Sequences) from the very same landscape, and in fact the music is somewhat linked in mood and atmosphere. Starting slow and quiet with glacial sound effects, the mood is soon set with the sound of what seems to be a gigantic fog-horn. From there, the journey continues deep into the harsh Norwegian landscapes. Slowly building up the underlying rhythms, then deconstructing them again until returning back to the sound of the foghorns in the closing track“Polar”. The 9 tracks on Tele are carefully crafted and ordered in such a way that the sequence feels like it’s telling a story. The story of a Norwegian round-trip, maybe. If for you, “Snow”, “Ice” and “Cold” are words with mainly negative connotations, listen to this release and think again. And, if possible, book a trip to Norway!


Nineteen Review

I norvegesi Rune Sagevik e Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik sono i Pjusk: il progetto (l’avrete letto mille volte per altri mille casi, ma tant’è…) nasce per descrivere i paesaggi incredibili del luogo dove vivono. L’etichetta che per prima ha creduto in loro è stata 12k, quindi si parla di elettronica minimale. Ora è il turno, quasi scontato, di Glacial Movements, alla quale portano in dote un lavoro meno austero del precedente Sval, anzi, proprio illuminato da una luce diversa. A dire il vero, all’inizio l’utilizzo sempre più marcato di suoni su basse frequenze fa pensare alla classica discesa in qualche luogo buio (coerentemente col titolo, termine norvegese che indica ghiacci sotto il livello del mare). Giunti al termine di questa discesa o si risale oppure si scopre un mondo nuovo, ma in ogni caso i synth – attraverso melodie solo accennate – suggeriscono che qualcosa sta nascendo e schiudono panorami davanti ai quali provare una sensazione di beatitudine, non di paura. Anche l’uso dei battiti (il contesto è rigorosamente downtempo) richiama quei documentari dove si esplorano le profondità del mare, trovandoci comunque la vita, il movimento: in questi casi, di solito, il curatore delle musiche cerca attraverso la ritmica di simulare qualcosa che pulsa ed è rallentato rispetto al caos della superficie, ma non è morto. Tutto insomma concorre prima a immergerci e poi, attraverso svolte inaspettate, generare la meraviglia. Gli ingredienti sono – come sempre – laptop, field recordings e sintetizzatori, ma la loro combinazione a tratti è commovente. Quel tanto che basta per porre Pjusk al di sopra della sovrapopolata media.


Twenty Review


Nouveau pensionnaire du label italien Glacial Movements, le duo Pjusk semble indiquer que la relève de l'ambient electronica nordique est bien là. C’est sur la côte ouest de la Norvège que leur troisième album a vu le jour et plus précisément dans une cabane de montagne avec vue panoramique sur de majestueux sommets enneigés. Inspiré par la nature sauvage arctique et par le bruit des courants froids, ce troisième album (intitulé d'ailleurs "Tele", ce qui signifie 'eau souterraine gelée' en norvégien) progresse sur des trames narratives sombres, derrière lesquelles se dessinent des paysages glacés arides propices à la contemplation. Caractérisé par un assemblage délicat de boucles analogiques, de bruits environnementaux et d’étranges échos électroniques, cet album n'est pas sans rappeler l’univers cinémato-climatique de Biosphere.


Twenty-one Review


GO MAG (Spain)

Twenty-two Review

BLOW UP nr. 168

Twenty-three Review


Twenty-four Review


Révélés par la compil’ Blueprints de 12k en 2006 avec deux titres dont les exhalaisons de givre et les pulsations suspendues aux confins de l’électronica et de l’ambient-jazz cristallisaient déjà en une poignée de minutes toute l’éphémère beauté des étendues arctiques menacées par la fonte des glaces, les Norvégiens de Pjusk avaient transformé l’essai dans la foulée sur le label new-yorkais avec deux albums, Sart et Sval,qui reprenaient les choses là où le Biosphere de la grande époque les avait laissées en rivalisant d’élégance mouvante et de grâce engourdie.

Si Rune Sagevik et Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik devaient un jour faire une infidélité à la prestigieuse écurie de Taylor Deupree, ça ne pouvait donc que se passer du côté de Glacial Movements, label ambient "isolationniste" de l’Italien Alessandro Tedeschi (Netherworld) en passe de devenir l’un des incontournables du genre (cf. ici) et dont le parti-pris affiché de cartographier en musique les territoires inexplorés des pôles ne pouvait assurément pas laisser indifférents nos deux bonshommes, influencés par le climat extrême de leurs villages d’origine au Nord-Ouest de la Norvège et la beauté sauvage des montagnes d’où ils enregistrent aujourd’hui leur albums.Le mot Tele décrit en Norvégien les eaux souterraines gelées. On pourrait ainsi s’attendre à ce que Pjusk nous entraîne dans les entrailles de son royaume de glace, de boyaux en excavations, à la façon claustrophobe et magnétique à la fois des Italiens de dont le nouvel album à paraître chez Glacial Movements le 19 mai fait déjà l’objet d’une chroniqueici streaming à l’appui... et c’est exactement l’impression que donnent d’emblée Fnugg et Gneis, descente verticale à la torche dans un gouffre sans fond dont les parois suintantes nous renvoient l’écho de basses fréquences grondantes et autres réverbérations opalinesToutefois, Flint a tôt fait de déjouer nos prévisions d’aventures spéléologiques à l’issue dramatique : la musique des Norvégiens, malgré la prééminence de son spleen anxieux et de ses textures organiques, n’a pas tiré un trait sur ses qualités d’abstraction et en fait de piolet c’est un microscope qui pénètre la glace pour en épouser le mouvement à l’échelle atomique, sombre jeu de respirations et de transformations de ses cristaux rendus instables par des conditions de température et de pression fluctuantes. Ainsi de Skifer dont les basses résonnent et pèsent sur la délicate structure, de Granitt dont l’horloge naturelle des programmations savamment enchâssées entame l’inéluctable fonte ou de Kram qui en organise la lente fusion dans un silence quasi religieux, tandis que Kristall, divine chorégraphie de battements diastoliques, de glitchs hypnotiques et de nappes évanescentes, insuffle à la glace une vie propre.

Un enchantement de l’infiniment petit que Polar transcendera finalement par une mise en abîme à double tranchant, d’abord remontée ténébreuse à échelle humaine vers une surface tant redoutée avant que la lumière du monde extérieur et son ballet de reflets irisées sur un champ de glace à perte de vue ne vienne déjouer nos craintes de crépuscule musical au fil d’un long travelling de percussions solaires digne de Cliff Martinez, et donner tout son sens à cette expédition au coeur même de la matière sonore. Magistral.


Twenty-five Review


Twenty-six Review

J’ai beaucoup aimé l’album que Pjusk a publié chez 12k il y a quelque temps. J’attendais donc avec impatience ce nouvel opus du duo et il remplit toutes mes attentes. Musique ambiante expérimentale. Neuf pièces présentées en une suite continue, un voyage musical qui vous bercera à bas volume et qui offrira une expérience méditative immersive à volume élevé. Tout l’album semble mener à ou découler de “Krystall”, pièce centrale, la seule ayant une rythmique appuyée. Pour le reste, c’est une successions d’ambiances léchées, de boucles suaves, et de tons de bleus clairs et de gris.
I loved Pjusk’s album for 12k a while ago, so I was eagerly expecting the duo’s new opus. And it lives up to my high expectations. Experimental ambient music. Nine tracks presented as a continuous suite, a musical voyage that will lull you at low volume and provide an immersive meditative experience at high volume. The whole album seems to be leading up to and deriving from “Krystall”, the linchpin, the central track, the only one with a well-affirmed beat. The rest is a succession of sophisticated ambiences, quiet loops, and shades of light blue and grey.



Twenty-seven Review

Pjusk is a deep ambient project by Rune Sagevik and Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik, both residing on the Norwegian west coast. 
The music of "Tele" (which is also Norwegian for frozen underground water) is inspired by the hard, enduring and harsh weather conditions found in Norway, its vast arctic wilderness and remote landscapes covered with snow and ice. 
The 50-minute soundscape, meant as the follow-up and natural progression of Pjusk’s 2010-release "Sval", is a psychedelic and rather abstract-oriented sonic canvas pulling the listener toward the deep end. "Tele" is no easy nor mellow excursion, but a slow morphing and pulsating entity of layered, buzzy and sampled sounds along clicks, cracks and assorted guitar treatments. 
All these ingredients deliver an organic, foggy and dark-flavoured outcome, occasionally brightened up by crystalline sound bites or shortly taking on a floating, hypnotic shape. Of the nine pieces, the most accessible is the final track "Polar", where it almost seems Erik Wøllo is paying the duo a short visit by delivering some fine melodic guitar work. 
The icy and gloomy atmospheres reigning on the biggest part of the album are counterpointed by warm undercurrents and strange rhythmic structures, making "Tele" a deep-listening affair for the experienced and adventurous ambient music fan. Headphone-listening will deliver an extra dimension to this Norwegian electronica exploring themes of ruthless elemental forces and unforgiving nature.


Twenty-eight Review

Tele è una parola norvegese che indica la formazione sotterranea di ghiaccio. Il termine descrive particolarmente bene il senso di questo lavoro di Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik e Rune Sagevik, duo norvegese che dal 2005 ha dato vita al progetto Pjusk. “Tele” è il loro terzo album, realizzato a cinque anni di distanza dal debutto“Sart” e a due anni dall’ottimo “Sval”, prodotti entrambi dall’americana 12k. Con “Tele”, il duo norvegese dà ulteriore prova della capacità di esplorare le forme più gelide dell’ambient, attraverso percorsi che erano già stati battuti in precedenza dal conterraneo più affermato Biosphere. L’album è stato pubblicato dalla Glacial Movements di Alessandro Tedeschi, una etichetta romana nata con l’intento di catalogare le sonorità piùglaciali ed isolazioniste dell’elettronica e dell’ambient. Decisamente meno compatto e cupo del precedente, “Tele” si presenta come un album fotografico di paesaggi e stati d’animo, in cui la frequente presenza di ghiacciai e di condizioni estreme costituisce una metafora di un mondo affascinante ma decisamente inospitale.


“Tele” si apre con Fnugg (che in norvegese significa qualcosa di piccolo e senza peso), una sorta di avvio cupo e glaciale che introduce atmosfere rigidissime. Le sonorità si fanno ancora più rarefatte e distaccate nella successiva sequenza di brani, ognuno dei quali descrive un particolare tipo di roccia. Gneis (gneiss), Flint (selce), Skifer (ardesia), Krystall (cristallo) eGranitt (granito) costituiscono un campionario di strutture sonore rigide ed incomprimibili, che esprimono le condizioni di una esistenza limite, che affascina ed inquieta allo stesso tempo. Negli splendidi brani Skifer e Krystall si avvertono deboli variazioni di tema, quasi uno squarcio nelle atmosfere cupe e gelide dell’album. Kram è un risveglio lentissimo da una ibernazione mentre Polar chiude il lavoro con sonorità che evocano i tempi lenti dei viaggi delle navi rompighiaccio nei mari del Nord. “Tele” è davvero un grande album. Tra le cose più belle di questo avvio di 2012. 


Twenty-nine Review

Ayant quitté (momentanément, apparemment) 12k, c’est sur le label italien GlacialMovements Records que Pjusk sort son troisième album. Comme les fois précédentes, nous sommes à nouveau en présence d’une ambient opaque et anxiogène mais cette dimension se trouve encore plus poussée que sur les précédents disques du duo. De fait, sur Tele, aucun des neuf morceaux n’échappe à cette caractéristique, opérant dans un registre délibérément inquiétant, fait de conjonctions de nappes sombres, de souffles rauques et de traitements grinçants. Pour ajouter à cette entreprise, les Norvégiens ont convié Joe Scarffe pour réaliser des « glacial sound effects », aptes à travailler dans cette même direction.

Quelques pulsations légèrement réverbérées peuvent également être intégrées (Granitt) afin que Rune Sagevik et Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik concoctent une rythmique qui vient se fondre impeccablement aux côtés des autres éléments utilisés. Ainsi, le sentiment inquiétant ne se fait jamais trop marqué bien que le propos général n’évolue pas forcément une fois mis en place et saisi par l’auditeur. Pour son prochain album, Pjuskannonce un retour sur 12k et à l’ambient de ses débuts. Dans l’attente, cette incursion plus expérimentale et obscure aura constitué un intermède intéressant.


Thirty Review

"Tele" is the 3rd album by Pjusk, a Norwegian ambient project featuring Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik and Rune Sagevik. While Pjusk's first two albums came out on US label 12k, their newest work was released during March 2012 on Italian label Glacial Movements, the connoisseurs of arctic dronescapes. Gorgeous images on the digipak look really impressive (executed by Erika Tirén and Noah M/Keep Adding), so let's explore the sonic visions of these Norwegians. Shorter intro "Fnugg" dives strightly into mysteriously subterranean worlds, where remains also the next composition "Gneis", assembled with shadowy soundscapes and occasionally invading heavy weight drones, all precisely interacting with distant metallic rumblings and deeply cavernous organic sounds and covered by haze and eeriness. Absolutely awesome journey!!! "Flint" moves into strange glitchy terrains, with more experimental, oddly colored structure, but towards the end reaching slightly more relieving aura, announcing the next escapade entitled "Skifer". Floating in subterranean territories and hauntingly enriched by cascading intense, nearly cinematic passages and rather slower, hypnotic groovy pulses. "Skifer" is another, truly fascinating sonic revelation evoking spectacular images of immense northern landscapes and presenting Pjusk at its most distinctive soundscaping, loaded with pure adventure and virtuosity!!! Misty groovy heartbeats can be explored also through "Krystall", but this time heading into celestial realms, painted with angelic choir-like washes, assorted sonic disruptions and polished languid rhythms. More minimal and tranquil, but beautifully mesmerizing and evocative!!! "Granitt" delves into more active terrains, dominated by mid-tempo rhythms, enriched by factory-like noises and carefully integrated with organic and cinematic soundscapes. Hugely stirring and immersing!!! "Kram" sinks into deep cavern with more relieving and meditative mood, attractively colored with secretly shimmering sound injections. Shorter "Bre" remains safely in these shadowy zones, while the closing composition "Polar" is invaded by the monstrously frightening flood of heavy drones, the grand finale is here!!! Soon the high-tech metallic grooves steal the journey and icy panoramic sceneries are permeated by warmly mesmerizing and elatedly uplifting images. Wow, these Norwegian guys are phenomenal!!! Not to forget, additional guest list include Andreas Nordenstam (mastering and album arrangements, co-composer and co-producer of "Fnugg"), Frodebeats (modular sound design, co-composer and co-producer of "Flint"), Tor Anders Voldsund (guitar treatments) and Joe Scarffe (glacial sound effects). No questions here, "Tele" is not only another groundbreaker by Pjusk, magnificently illustrating unique, dramatic and one of the earth's most scenic winter environments, but also another highly sophisticated sonic pearl in the growing Glacial Movements catalogue!!! To me, "Tele" is a magnum opus by Pjusk!!!


Thirty-one Review


On their third release, this Norwegian duo of Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik and Rune Andre Sagevik continue to channel an organic warmth that would stick out so blatantly in their cold homeland, mixing unidentifiable sounds with bits of traditional sounding music.  Tele sounds like the natural follow-up to 2010's Sval, fleshing out the concepts there with a greater sense of polish and experience.

Some of the tracks on Tele are less about music but seemingly more about experimentation and sound art.  The microscopic percussive fragments of "Fnugg" and textural pops of "Gnesis" exemplify this: while the former is too brief of a piece to develop much, the latter works in deep, bassy pulses and bellowing, horn-like sounds that are less about melody and more about collage.  "Flint" also resembles a layering of bizarre sounds and effects in a more experimental context, complex but not messy.  The deep blurps of sound and slightly noisy leads stand out, however, giving it a slightly different quality.

Things differ on "Skifer," with its low thump and ambience almost resembling conventional music, which is only increased by what sounds like clanging guitar here and there. "Granitt," also, with its rhythmic almost synth-like line, feels more musical, despite the abstract sounds and layers around, resulting in a varied, yet consistent singular piece.

Everything is encapsulated in the closer "Polar," which opens with a barren, industrial hum and a distant, bellowing foghorn.  For the first half it sticks mostly to the open-ended, abstract pastiches of sound until a clanging and metallic, but melodic sequence pops up, bringing some guitar with it.  While it in no way sounds conventional, the guitar and melody comes together to end the piece (and the album) on a much more musical note.

If there is a weakness to this album, it is a minor one.  There does not feel like a consistent theme or feeling that brings all nine of the tracks together, so it does not feel like it completely gels.  Now, that is not to say that this comes across like a random collection of sounds or tracks, because that is not the case either.  Instead it is in some middle ground, not disjointed, but not overly cohesive either.  Tele nicely balances the worlds of abstract, deconstructed sounds of unknown origin with some actual, albeit subtle, concessions to music and melody.  What it lacks in overall cohesiveness, it makes up for in consistency.


Thirty-two Review


Pjusk est un duo norvégien, composé de Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik et Rune Andre Sagevik, qui a fait ses premières armes sur le label 12k de Taylor Deupree. Pas des moindres, car Sart et Sval sont des pépites ambient givrées comme il en existe peu. On les retrouve aujourd'hui sur le label italien Glacial Movements, à l'identité aussi parlante que marquée. La rencontre ne pouvait donc que se faire, tant les univers respectifs creusent le même sillon : hermétique et glacé. Si la chronique ne paraît qu'aujourd'hui, c'est parce qu'il a fallu longtemps à cet album pour arriver dans nos mains dans son enveloppe physique et glacée . Tele veut dire en norvégien "eaux souterraines gelées". Vaste programme peu adapté à la période presque estivale. Encore que.
Si Fnugg et surtout Gneis semblent entamer une descente sans cordes ni baudrier vers les profondeurs d'un glacier, l'ensemble à venir sera loin de se montrer aussi isolationniste et claustrophobique qu'on voudrait bien le croire. Avant tout parce que cet album est habitée d'une lumière blanche et aveuglante, comme on en trouve aux abord des glaciers qu'abritent les montagnes norvégiennes. L'atmosphère et les textures sont friables et suintantes. Il est recommandé de se jeter les poumons grands ouverts vers l'air pur hébergé dans ces sous-terrains. De s'abreuver des eaux qui ruissellent au creux des noeuds de stalagmites.
L'ambient pur, si il ne veut pas sombrer dans la chienlit rythmique absolue, se doit de déployer un soundscaping enivrant et enchanteur. Il peut alors s'appuyer sur des drones rugueux et massifs ou un sound design "cryogénisant" en clair obscur, comme sur le radical et oppressant Flint.
Si on pouvait déceler certaines ombres opaques d'un jazz abstrait sur Sart ou Sval, on note cette fois-ci que le duo a opté pour des echos plus dubbés, et pour une démarche gentiment psychédélique, comparable à celle de certaines oeuvres d'une autre référence ambient : le label lyonnais Ultimae.
Si les infra-basses vertigineuses de Skifer installent un climat plus déséquilibré, ce titre signe aussi dans les glaces l'épitaphe des textures oppressantes de la première moitié de l'album, pour asseoir un peu plus la dominante immaculée des textures à venir. Comme pour Krystall, où une pulsation quasi cardiaque, fera office de beat qui respire au milieu du dédale spéléologique au pays des fjords.
Granitt, et son beat inquisiteur induit une fausse piste mais ouvre la voie du contraste et des atmosphères fragiles et friables qui font la beauté de cet album, rappelant ainsi une autre réussite ambient de cette année : Floods de James Murray (ici).
Le souffle terrestre de Kram, agrémenté de guitares traitées, se joue des silences et rappelle le goût des contrées sauvages à notre bon souvenir. Il est temps de revenir à la surface ou de succomber à la sauvagerie des profondeurs comme le Jacques Mayol interprété par le sémillant Jean Marc Barr dans Le Grand Bleu. Un interlude de 2'13 suffira pour que vous fassiez votre propre choix. Le somptueux Polar, à s'y ensevelir pour une hibernation éternelle et sereine au sond des drones échappés d'un sémaphore, sur un lit de percussions exotiques et digitales. Un nectar pour l'esprit et le corps, aux vertus curatives pour ceux qui souhaitent traiter leur claustrophobie potentielle.
Si je devais faire un maigre reproche à cet album où rien n'est à jeter, je dirais que le mastering trop harmonieux ne laisse pas suffisamment de place à des micros éléments du second plan, qui auraient ajouté un certain contraste à l'ensemble. Pjusk signe ici une oeuvre limpide et radicale qui comptera parmi les plus belles réussites ambient de l'année. De quoi surveiller également de près les prochaines sorties de Glacial Movements. C'est pour très bientôt, avec la chronique du tout aussi abouti Descending Into Crevasse des italiens de


Thirty-three Review

Come può non essere credibile questa coalizione sonora a due menti: nati in un villaggio scandinavo sulle lunghe, frastagliate coste che, sinuose, annaspano fino alle pittoresche isole Lofoten per poi proseguire cristallizzandosi fino all’Artico, alle sue leggende, ai suoi colori notturni e boreali, un quadro che solo chi lì è nato può dipingere.


Nelle nove tracce di “Tele” i ‘pennelli’ sono utilizzati da Rune Sagevik e Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik e tutti i colori del ‘whiteout’ diverranno suono, ogni forma percettiva di freddo anche cromatico avrà un filtro sonico; nove tracce ma noi “Tele” lo vogliamo come unica suite progressiva, evoluzioni continue di stasi e riprese, sbalzi d’umore e fronti mutevoli.

Nasce cupo e notturno: “Fnugg” è ovattato, il suono è assorbito dalla coltre bianca fino al momento in cui inizia liquida la stesura di “Flint”, un ritmo periodico e minimale, elementale perché richiama le quattro forze principali di una Natura estrema e viva, apparentemente statica.

Siamo all’interno di una forma di new-age profonda, uno yoga sonoro da meditazione che vi invita a respirare profondamente seguendo i singulti del Pianeta nel suo volto selvaggio, affinità importante con altri maestri del suono per rilassare ogni muscolo come Steve Roach, un’immersione, qui sotto il pack, altrove sottocute.

“Granitt” o “Bre” sono manifestazioni di un Pianeta che davvero respira attraverso i musicisti, incredibilmente (purtroppo apparenze…) sano, almeno ad alcune latitudini.

Percussioni profonde ed ‘imbottite’; ogni traccia preserva l’ascoltatore da impatti violenti, l’abbandono è dovuto e nemmeno troppo difficile, ciclico nella sostanza, “Tele” ancora una volta risponde sincero con la convinzione dei due musicisti scandinavi alla domanda di poter disporre sempre di sonorità ‘frenanti’, composizioni empatiche per contrastare la folle velocità di questo giovane, inverosimile secolo.

Ancora un centro in casa Glacial Movements!


Thirty-four Review


Tele by Norwegian duo Pjusk sounds like a grimier, more opaque version of Maps and Diagrams at their spaciest. It’s this spacy element that gives Tele its appeal, a hark back, in part, to the cosmic ambient of the FAX catalogue or even aspects of early The Orb, smudged and obscured with the help of contemporary processing power, and the addition of Scandinavian field recordings and an isolationist background.

The nine pieces of Tele seem densely packed with myriad elements, low end throbs, creaking wood, anonymous whoosh, yet held tightly together like a snowball, the airy twinkle clinging to most pieces making it more like a Christmas bauble. The brassy bass blasts of ‘Greis’ threaten to crack speakers, until the weighty drone calms and light, shimmering vistas are exposed. ‘Flint’ is all spacecraft hum, dotted with the fizz and clamour of a crumbling satellite. Pjusk are best where the lighter elements are brought to the forth: ‘Krystall’, a choir of ringing glasses, albeit dusty and old; the looped bliss of ‘Kram’, which recalls Aphex Twin’s finest ambient moments; and the stunning ‘Polar’, gently chugging like a wispy form of dub techno, made of marshmallows and adorned with pastel sparkles.

Joshua Meggitt


Thirty-five Review

Impressionante la capacità della Glacial Movements di andare a scovare progetti di altissimo livello utili alla causa ambient isolazionista, portata avanti con eccellenti risultati ormai da sei anni. Stavolta è il duo norvegese Pjusk a dar voce a ghiacci e venti gelidi, traendo ispirazione dalla natìa Norvegia. Il progetto, giunto al suo terzo lavoro, imbastisce drones lenti e rilassati, spesso basati su strutture minimali o su una ripetitività che mima da vicino lo spostamento impercettibile di un iceberg. Importante il lavoro svolto su rumori e ritmiche, che forniscono sfumature particolari: si va dal glitch di "Skifer" alla lieve meccanicità electro-dub di "Krystall" e "Granitt", per finire coi misteriosi tribalismi della magnetica "Polar". "Tele" ha la capacità di unire toni al tempo stesso morbidi e gelidi, riuscendo a mescolare inquietudine, mistero e meraviglia davanti a scenari naturali. Il mood di base è fortemente cinematografico, sebbene relazionabile di diritto al filone ambient. Lo stile dei dieci componimenti rimanda sia ad autori minimal come Steve Reich che a certi nomi della drone music degli anni '70, ma non mancano passaggi segnati da una forte oscurità come "Gneis", che ricorda alcuni progetti della Cold Meat Industry tipo Morthound, o ancora derive IDM post-moderne e pacate evidenti soprattutto in "Kram". Album sottile, costruito con grande maestria: seducente anche per chi non segue abitualmente il genere.

Michele Viali


Thirty-six Review

After two releases for 12K, Norwegian ambient duo Pjusk have moved to Italian isolationist imprint Glacial Movements for their latest sonic excursion. Steered by Rune Sagevik and Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik, both hailing from a small village on the West coast of Norway, Pjusk find the inspiration for their work in the long and harsh Nordic winters and in the nature that surrounds them. The pair are said to work in isolation, using a cabin high up in the mountains to record, a far cry from their earlier incarnation as techno artists. The pair met in the early nineties and have been involved with a number of projects since, together or separately, with releases on labels such as Beatservice or Origo Sound amongst others.

Pjusk’s fascination for the vast landscapes and wild nature of their native country often transpires through their work by the use of field recordings, although it never represents the bulk of their compositions by any means. The pair create slow progressive soundscapes and loops which spread over each of the album’s nine compositions. The sound structures assembled by Sagevik and Gjelsvik teem with minutes details and events, a world away from the desperately bleak isolationist atmospheres that have become synonymous with Glacial Movements’s outputs. The opening sequence of Fnugg for instance is filled with miniature environmental noises, which could as easily be a recording of someone trying to get a small device to work as amplified thawing ice. These eventually get covered over by stark drone-like forms as the concise piece slides into the much more sombre and ominous sound world of Gneis, but while the mood remains arid and desolate for the duration, glimmers of milky light progressively creep in as the drones become less oppressive. Below the surface, there are hints of activity which, while remaining diffuse and distant, pierce through the dense soundscape enough to reveal their presence.

Toward the end of Flint, a shimmer of electronics denotes a slight change of tone as a throbbing bass, a relic of the pair’s techno past perhaps, sets Skifer, and the rest of this album, on a different course. Although Sagevik and Gjelsvik retain some elements of the early pieces, they now work a series of slow loops around warm synths soundwaves.Krystall and Granitt which follow are further signs that the pair are progressively moving towards more hospitable grounds as they introduce more prominent rhythmic components and widen their soundscapes somewhat drastically. If the last three pieces, Kram, Bre andPolar return to more stripped down structures, the outlook is pretty different at this point of the record. Unlike the oppressive nature of the opening pieces, there is here a feeling of serenity which renders these last moments in a series of pastoral hues, as if, following a severe winter, spring was opening up to a whole new life.

Tele (Norwegian for frozen underground water) is conceived as a sonic journey, with pieces fading into one another to create a seamless flow from start to finish. It is impossible not to think of Biosphere’s seminal Substrata when listening to this album, but this in no way devalues Pjusk’s work. While there are some obvious similitudes, the pair’s music relies less on field recordings and more on how they assemble their electronic sounds and textures to evoke the Norwegian landscape and weather.


Thirty-seven Review

The record label Glacial Movements should get a Truth in Advertising award—rarely has a label’s name given so accurate an idea of what kind of music to expect from its releases. All of its artists lean towards music that can more accurately be described as “sound sculpture” (a cliché, but an accurate one in this case). Instead of purposeful chord progressions and the tension-and-release patterns of tonal music, you generally get very large floes of sound and texture that move slowly and inexorably, and often quite beautifully. That’s certainly the case with this release from the Norwegain duo Pjusk, whose music on Tele varies from nearly subliminal to lusciously (if icily) beautiful. “Fnugg,” the album’s opening track, was so bereft of audible sound that I found myself ascribing ambient noise to it—at one point I thought I was hearing a sustained pitch, only to realize that it was a vacuum cleaner running elsewhere in the building. Somewhere John Cage was smiling, but I was beginning to wonder whether this disc offered enough musical content to be worth the purchase price. Then, with “Gneis,” the sound world began to open up—and to drop into a quietly terrifying abyss. Sudden, booming orchestral chords suggested the arrival of an army of monsters, while distant echoes defined a huge and nearly empty space. “Krystall” introduces more explicit musical content, with a gently pulsing rhythm and floating clouds of shifting, non-tonal chords, while”Granitt” fades in with the strongest musical gestures to that point in tht program: a techno-industrial riff, dubwise echoes, glitches and pops that bounce off of those faraway cave walls or propagate riffles of gray-and-white noise. Here, for the first time, there is something that feels like a chord progression, and it’s quite lovely. The same is true of the strangely soothing “Kram.” Most musical of all is the melancholy and beautiful “Polar,” which ends the program like a benediction, percussion and shimmery tones dripping like snowmelt after a long winter. Track divisions seem almost arbitrary; this disc plays like a single (though subtly variegated) theme, one very long and very glacial movement. 


Thirty-eight Review

Rune Sagevik and Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik’s origins on the West coast of Norway and the provenance of their music from a small mountain cabin are typically invoked to surreptitiously sneak in ambient credentials. Spurious promotional moves aside, it effectively sets up a representational scaffolding for Pjusk’s glacial synthesis, shadowy atmospherics, and naturalistic rhythms. With Tele, though, semiosis is simple. The title refers to frozen underground water, then there are, variously, “twilight,” “fog,” “hollow,” and geological forms (“Granitt,” “Flint”), backed with a scree of scrunch and static. Secondary signification comes by association with kinsman, Biosphere, whose works are drawn from the same landscape (cf. Polar Sequences), linked in audio-culture. Their compositions create affordances for the travelling-without-moving school of inner-voyagers. Development evident between debut, Sart, and follow-up, Sval, continues on Tele:“…a natural progression from Sval on 12k to explore further the themes of elemental forces and unforgiving nature.” From the off “Fnugg” is permeated by a viscid timbrality, one of liminal environmental otherness, before it’s rent by a huge reverberant hornblast, heaving the ominous “Gneis” forward; discomfiting geo-rumbles and eerie audio halation effects predominate. “Flint” sustains the tenebrous tenor of near-dark ambient field recording until towards its end when an electronic switch is flicked, signalling an upward shift seguing through “Skifer.” Bass pulse and a re-formed psy-chill synth figure, residue perhaps of a previous life as techno-kids, re-orient proceedings; progression from here is through slow looping motifs and warmer synth textures, opening up to rhythm, harmony and melody, and lighter atmospheres, albeit remaining in arctic light. “Krystall” is a similarly tooled synth + beats cousin of the cerebral ‘ambient groove’ once the preserve of em:it, or, more recently, the intelligent psy-trance of Ultimae. The trio of “Kram,” “Bre” and “Polar” are an effective closing gambit. The first is a highpoint with its Biospher-ical hypnagogue synth recursions, while the last reprises the foghorn leitmotif, less ominous, to a creeping headnod pulse and atmo, sequencer on stun, and spatial guitar. The foreboding of the early sections is largely dissipated, a feeling of pacificity presiding, as if harsh winter were ceding to the apertures of spring. The duo’s Jekyll and Hyde sides are clear to hear, as they shift from familiar tenebrous terrain earlier to more unwonted lighter lands later. They offer: “We actually feel the album pushing in two directions. One being more abstract and perhaps darker, the other being warmer and slightly easier on the ear. This is a conscious experiment and something that automatically leads to a less homogeneous sound. Nevertheless, hopefully we are not distancing us too much from our origins.”


Thirty-nine Review

I Pjusk sono un duo proveniente dalla costa occidentale della Norvegia costituito da Rune Andre Sagevik eJostein Dahl Gjelsvik. 
I lavori di questa coppia di composers elettronici traggono fortemente ispirazione dal paesaggio norvegese reso indiscutibilmente suggestivo dalle condizioni climatiche dell’estremo nord. Dall’ambizione di dare un suono a ghiacci perenni, nevi e stalattiti nasce “Tele”, termine che in lingua norvegese sta a indicare l’acqua sotterranea congelata, e che segue a due anni di distanza il precedente “Sval”.
L’album è diviso in nove composizioni minimali di electronica/ambient per un totale di cinquanta minuti in cui il duo scandinavo fabbrica trame sonore che simboleggiano gli incantevoli scenari glaciali nei loro dettagli. Ne scaturisce una gelida e oscura distesa sonora solenne che non è scalfita da null’altro se non da qualche profondo drone del nord, frattanto che il suono emerge in una beata assenza di tempo nel più incondizionato astrattismo elettronico.
“Tele” è in piena sintonia con la politica che sta portando avanti l’etichetta romana Glacial Movements Records di Alessandro Tedeschi, nell’avvincente progetto di propagandare musica ambient “glaciale e isolazionista”, proposta affascinante che sta gradualmente portando questa label italiana a essere un punto di riferimento nel vasto cosmo dei composers ambient-elettronici.


Forty Review

»Tele« steht hier nicht für die griechische Vorsilbe, sondern im Norwegischen für gefrorenes Grundwasser. Das erklärt, warum Pjusks drittes Album weniger weit und offen klingt als vielmehr Enge und Dunkelheit assoziiert. Titel und Design verweisen auf Gesteine (Gneis, Schiefer, Granit, Kristall, Feuerstein), und was wir zu hören bekommen, entführt uns in einen gespenstischen Raum zwischen dichtem Nebel und Höhlenexpedition. »Tele« ist also sowas wie ein Konzeptalbum und mit seiner eisigen Gesamtästhetik natürlich bestens aufgehoben beim italienischen Ambient-Label Glacial Movements. 
Das norwegische Duo bietet hiermit also so etwas wie den idealen Soundtrack für winterliche Skandinavientrips - selbst für die Sparversion mit Kopfhörer zu Hause im eigenen Wohnzimmer bei offenem Fenster geeignet. Doch so schwer und bedrückend »Tele« beginnt, spätestens im Mittelteil, mit »Krystall« schimmern auch mal lichte Klänge, »Granitt« wartet gar mit richtigen Beats auf, und das abschließende »Polar« mündet schließlich in einen zart tänzelnden Rhythmus. Eine atmosphärisch dichte CD, so fröhlich wie sich bei Nebel auf einem Gletscher zu verirren


Forty-one Review


After two praiseworthy albums on New York imprint 12k – 2007’s Sart and 2010’s Sval – it seems only fitting that Norwegian ambient duo Pjusk should have been approached by Alessandro Tedeschi, head of Italian label Glacial Movements, for a third offering that follows in the footsteps of its predecessor by exploring the themes of nature and glacial solitudes, both topics dear to their newfound home.

Polar wastelands and sub-arctic horizons are themes that have already been covered with more or less success by other proponents of the dark ambient genre, mostly with the help of a sonic tapestry that is now familiar: deafening easterlies freezing the soul, monstrous blocks of blue ice crashing against each other, the mighty sound of waves in the midst of a raging tempest or the distant sonar of a blue whale migrating South. The Big Wide North seems to lend itself naturally to a kind of grandiosity (or, one could say, pomposity in the case of some grimly frost-bitten black metal acts) that calls for a larger-than-life aural framework.

Tele (a Norwegian word meaning frozen underground water), on the other hand, is an album that exhibits a decidedly subtler approach, one in which Rune Sagevik and Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik ensnare us into a twilight of meditative numbness that is as far removed from the above-mentioned grandeur as is conceivable without venturing too far off. Here, the listener is not so much fighting its way against the raging elements as contemplating them from a distance through some icicle-covered window while a log fire crackles in the back. Granted, the reflective mood that prevails throughout is interrupted at intervals by deeper and darker passages that seem to hint at what lies out there in the cold, starry night (Gneis) but, rest assured, they prove nothing more than faint reminiscences and are never strong enough to actually make you want to leave the safety of your log-hut.

In what seems a very intelligent move, the Norwegian duo has decided to appeal to the listener’s imagination rather than force-feed them pre-conceived recipes that might work for a while but wouldn’t give the album a long-lasting quality which already manifests itself after a couple of cursory listens. True, sonically, the album is on the whole gentler and warmer than some might like given the topic at hand but it should be given a chance if only for its refreshing take on a badly beaten horse and those on the look-out for more abstract emotions and not afraid to tread lesser-explored paths would therefore be well-advised to devote some of their time (and hard-earned cash!) on this release, available in both digital and physical formats.


Forty-two Review

Normally I don't write about single tracks, but this one is 53 minutes long and fills an entire CD. Pjusk consists of Rune Sagevik and Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik, a pair of Norwegian electronic musicians familiar with the howling winter winds of the North Sea. They specialize in what the Glacial Movements label does best: slow moody soundscapes that rise slowly out of the still waters of a fjord, shake off clinkers of ice, and slowly traverse frozen landscapes, conserving energy by avoiding the repetitive energy consumption of rhythm. I'm not sure this sound can be transcribed by Western musical notation; it seems better set down with nonlinear differential equations and spectrograms highlighted in glowing green magic marker.

It does feel like there are individual songs in this track, but exactly where they start and stop is subject to debate. No silence separates them, and anything as crass as a "shave and a haircut, five cents" ending would undoubted trigger a global thermal catastrophe of Scandinavian Death Metal proportions. I'm scanning Google images, looking at penguins and ice bergs and yes, I know there are no native penguins in Norway but if you're going for iconic sound, go with the iconic imagery. The soundscapes evokes an avant-garde art gallery opening taking place in the dark, a science fiction galaxy montage in a short film festival, or a slow-motion flight of geese heading for colder climes. Come for the relaxation, but bring a coat and some organic walrus blubber.

INK 19

Forty-three Review

Je ne reviendrai pas sur la position que peut ou doit accorder celui qui écoute, ni sur la difficulté de la critique pour poser un jugement valable sur un système discret, et s’adressant au plus aventureux, élitistes diront certains, qui échappe comme de la fumée à toute transcription objective. Cette musique, électronique s’expérimente dans son corps et sa tête. Sa position, on la recherche comme si on devenait ces sonorités, s’étirant dans le temps. Encore un peu, et je me prendrais pour un sapin moi ! Cependant, difficile d’y aller par quatre chemins, "Tele", troisième album de ce projet Norvégien, a frappé directement mon crâne. Son premier son, son premier field recording, ses percussions de basses surpuissantes et progressives font apparaître des fjords millénaires, le froid et la beauté, expurgée du trop de trop, direct à l’essentiel. Bienvenue en hiver ! Et cet hiver, il n’est pas gris du bitume, sa neige ne bloque pas les transports, ralentissant la vie sociale.


Posée, contemplative, la musique de Pjusk est travaillée dans les moindres interstices, chaque détail est diaboliquement pensé, de la moindre modulation de reverb ou d’écho, à la création d’un espace cartographique fantasmé, nature surnaturelle, texturale. Ardu d’y apposer un autre terme. Les craquements de glace, on les capte, le vent, on le sent, comme une respiration embuée qu’on s’imagine déformée par l’environnement. Le froid, cette réalité, est palpable. Avant qu’une armée de bouclier ne se lève comme si j’étais moi-même Spartacus ! Oui, cette musique est très proche de celle d'un Biosphere, mais je dirais plus, de toute une école, ainsi que d’une approche purement nordique du son. Mais là où le célèbre norvégien se plante dorénavant à chaque sortie, Pjusk arrive à faire renaitre cette atmosphère de plénitude, mais aussi d’angoisse sourde, qui me semblait avoir disparu chez Biosphere.


Pure expérience de la solitude, "Tele" aurait bien pu ne provoquer qu’un vague remous. À mes oreilles, il ravive au contraire une flamme, une délicatesse de propos, bien qu’en ajoutant sa propre image des faits, des glitch bien sentis ou une rythmique minérale et autres tintements (comme sur "Granitt" par exemple). "Tele" représente ce que j’attendais, la chute de flocons sur un fond textural, sans tricherie, sans fainéantise d’exécution que je retrouve malheureusement bien trop souvent ailleurs, camouflé dans un sophisme de bas étage, pour rester poli.


Vue aérienne… Glacier… Tellement simple… Evident…

Jérémy Urbain (8,5/10)


Forty-four Review

Of all of the Glacial Movements releases I’ve heard, Tele is the one that stirs most potently within the label’s chosen aesthetic. The album was predominantly recorded in a cabin in the mountains and inspired by the harsh weather of Norway, and it’s almost as though the duo have merely dragged the surrounding landscape and chilly temperature directly into the realm of audio – slithers of synthesiser resemble streams gushing gracefully through frozen rock, while notes bend as they pass through bitter, sub-zero winds. The label terms itself as “glacial and isolationist ambient”, and Pjusk exist very explicitly within both key terms – it’s a record that shimmers through cascades of powder crystal, while weighing heavy with the solemn contemplation of loneliness.

The album emerges gently – opening with the unnerving wobble of wooden panels, as if such a noise has awoken the band from slumber – and Pjusk begin to musically assemble the sounds plucked out of the wintery ether. Earlier tracks float delicately through the endless horizons of bleak white frost, with sounds seemingly imagined onto the landscape’s relentless emptiness. Later on, low frequencies are used to create anchoring loops, allowing for the rest of the soundscape to fall mercy to the erosion and movement brought about by the aggressively imposing weather. Where “Krystall” implements subtle bass thuds and melodies tumbling in on themselves, “Granitt” is (as its title aptly implies) much more firm in its rhythmic insistence, ticking through an ominous, droning techno resting state, with strung out horn tones rubbing up against hydraulic hisses and gorgeous momentary rushes of arctic gale. Perhaps the most noticeable aspect of the record is how it demonstrates Pjusk’s manipulation of sound as shape – a fact that manifests in the almost tangible bubbles of ambience drifting through “Kram”, but also in the conjuration of the detailed, immersive landscape as a whole.


Forty-five Review

Het Italiaanse Glacial Movements label van muzikant Alessandro Tedeschi (zelf in Netherworld en Liquid Ghosts) richt zich op de meer experimentele ambient en specifiek op de ijzige en isolationistische ambient. Wie daar eens een goede compilatie vol van wil horen, moet maar eens naar het geweldige Ambient 4 Isolationism(1994) luisteren. Maar goed, ik dwaal af, wat overigens wel bij het genre past dat dit Italiaanse label uit wil dragen. Onder meer Loscil, Lull, Rapoon, Bvdub, Oophoi, Francisco López, Celer en zijn eigen projecten hebben er sinds 2006 hun heil gevonden. Wie de genoemde artiesten kent, weet ook hoe groot en breed het ambientuniversum is en kan concluderen dat Glacial Movements een bijzonder en gevarieerd label is. Om dat nog eens extra te onderstrepen, zal ik de nummers 13, 14 en 17 uit de catalogus bespreken. De eerste twee nog van vorig jaar en de laatste gloeit nog na, zo vers. Verder een ijzig drieluik kan ik alvast verklappen.
Het Noorse duo Pjusk weet natuurlijk uit eigen land wat ijzig en desolaat kan betekenen. Dat ze die termen ook om weten te zetten in muziek, hebben ze al bewezen op hun albums Sart (2007) en Sval (2010). Rune Sagevik en Jostein Dahl Gjelsvik (ook Circular, Neural Network) wonen dan beide ook in kleine dorpen met uitzicht over wilde, weidse landschappen. Hierbij creëren ze de muziek meestal terwijl ze omringd worden door besneeuwde bergtoppen en het geluid van koude waterstromen. Op hun eerste twee prachtalbums, beide uitgebracht op 12K, gaan ze zeer minimaal te werk maar weten daarmee wel een groots, tot de verbeelding sprekend effect teweeg te brengen. Dit mede door de vele bijzondere geluiden, die haast wel van ijs gemaakt lijken. Hun derde album Tele vervolgt die weg. De beide heren weten alleen nog meer diepgang aan te brengen in hun geluid, waardoor je vanaf het eerste moment al onder hypnose raakt. Je reist door mistige, koude en vooral desolate klanklandschappen vol darkambient, die ze hoofdzakelijk met hun synthesizers neer weten te zetten. Hierdoor duiken allerlei ijzige geluiden, pulserende beats, gitaarklanken en andere, minder eenvoudig te duiden elementen op. Dit geeft de muziek, die verder lijkt te kabbelen over permafrost, toch een warm en menselijk karakter. Het is een fascinerend, overrompelend en bovenal breekbaar hoorspel geworden dat ergens tussen Labradford, Thomas Köner, Biosphere en de latere Kraftwerk uitkomt. IJzingwekkende, betoverende pracht.