Lost Girls - Menneskekollektivet Review

BILLIONS ASCENDING AS ONE

To get a better understanding of Menneskekollektivet, one must learn the definition of that inexplicably-complex Norwegian word. It translates to "human collective," an idea that shapes Lost Girls' five excursionary tales here. One half Jenny Hval, the treasured and visceral experimentalist. The other, her longtime bandmate Håvard Volden. Together, they contort bodies and shape minds. On Menneskekollektivet, compatibility ushers in a new era of Electronic music, one morphed by improvisational patterns through the exploration of paired, human psyche. Lost Girls treat club-goers like ants dedicated to their queen, indebted to movement of sound as a form of growth and sustenance. With Hval's dreamy vocals, delicate and dawdling, unfurling words of wisdom both difficult to consume, yet logical in belief, and Volden's hypnotic percussion and penetrative synthesizers, Lost Girls achieves conceptualized euphoria on the dance floor. A feat worth applauding.

Though spontaneity apparently played a large role in Menneskekollektivet, one can hardly tell. Yes, these songs - especially the title track and 'Love, Lovers' which eclipse a dozen minutes each - unravel like a butterfly undergoing metamorphosis, but their attention to detail and exhausting care contradict matters. This, of course, due to the human element. Lost Girls are perfectionists, even when it comes to personifying impulses. Pacing jungle rhythms compete with whipping winds and lingering strings on 'Menneskekollektivet,' as Hval contemplates the meaning of humanity. These monumental concepts, when paired with mesmeric rhythms both earthbound and celestial, provide a thought-provoking escape for those itching for something more on the dance floor. The multi-layered rhythms of 'Love, Lovers' - apart from bearing a striking resemblance to Black Country, New Road's 'Science Fair' - is exquisitely paced, as liquid drops and twirling cascades surround Hval who, alone and in solitude, questions her oppositional nature. The words are limited, yet intrinsic to Volden's build. Like how you can't have dance music without dancers, or dancers without dance music. The 15-minute trek is a mightily-ambitious foray into nocturnal Pop, much akin to Perfume Genius' 'Eye In The Wall.'

Though the three other tracks work in density rather than exodus, they by no means falter under the twin tower weight. In fact, 'Real Life' is a personal favorite, with its pulsating Tech House thrusts providing the emotional frailty artists like Kelly Lee Owens and DJ Seinfeld thrive under. Here though, an isolated and displaced guitar wreaks havoc on the silence between breaths. It's such an odd contradiction, but one that institutes a greater distinction and gravity. This, helped tremendously by Hval's frail quilt vocals; elegant and mellifluous. Harmonizing layers and a cogitative sense of satisfaction conclude Menneskekollektivet, an album that strives to define the undefinable.