Sentrum Scene, Oslo, Norway – 8 and 9 April 2026
Brixton Academy, London, England – 23, 25 and 26 April 2026
Pre-amble
‘Orthostatic Intolerance’ sounds like one of those Dragon New Warm Mountain songs that you don’t put on quite as often as ‘Certainty’. But it is, in fact, the reason my insane plan to see 12 Big Thief shows on the Somersault Slide tour became somewhat derailed (and why my fabled Hollywood Bowl pilgrimage last year bit the dust, and why everyone is so far away in these photos). Can’t stand up, you see. I’ve had health stuff since I was a teenager, but this is new. Hopefully temporary.
Life still has wonders in it, though, like five nights with my favourite band, squinting from my seat in the gods or on the accessible platform. It was, I’ll admit, a very different experience, and often a lesser one, but that’s OK. Nothing was ever going to match the Ireland shows from 2024 anyway, and two of these five nights were nevertheless spectacular. Big Thief are a live band if ever there was one.
This piece includes unpublished quotes from my recent i Paper interview with Adrianne and co.
***
Oslo: first night
The first show of the tour, in Oslo, pinned me to the wall. It was, simply, and even in row 11 of the circle, one of the most exciting gigs I’ve ever been at. You know the drill, and the quirks, and even if this tour didn’t quite prove it all true again (since the fabled lottery of the setlist would draw from a smaller pool), the first show seemed to – and in the most exhilarating way. “That was absolutely bananas,” I wrote in my notes afterwards, with my usual high-minded eloquence.
Adrianne kicked off, solo, with the live debut of the greatest of her new songs, ‘What I Only Dream Of’ (later retitled ‘Cruel and Beautiful World’, though I prefer the original, more singular name). And, yes, there is still no feeling in life remotely comparable to Lenker unspooling some new song that sounds as old as the rocks, and feeling so miraculously blessed that you are among the first to ever hear it. (I, personally, would not have gone to grab another beer during such a moment, but there’s no accounting for the men of Oslo.)
“What I only dream of is waiting...,” sings Lenker with that slight catch in her throat, and I find that I have one too, as I always do in that pin-drop silence where the only sound on earth is her voice, backed by the gentlest of guitars, casting truth into the air.
When I interviewed the band last year, Adrianne explained her sense of composition as a multi-layered thing that has not altered, merely ascended. “I feel like I’ve always had these multiple different veins of writing: the simple and the small and the big and then the cosmic and then the literal, the physical, the macro and the micro… There’s all this going on simultaneously. I’ve just grown to a new level of it.”
In her online songwriting course earlier in 2025, she talked about the ‘key’ to her songs: not a musical key or a way to understanding them, but a key that she turns partway through, moving the subject matter from the intimate to the infinite. “Strangers’ eyes bring me alive,” she sings in ‘What I Only Dream Of’, grasping the key and turning it, “as I wade through the terrible wonder, the wonderful cruel and beautiful world.” It is an astonishingly beautiful song, just a touch short of her two greatest ballads, ‘Sadness as a Gift’ and ‘Already Lost’ (both, it is worth reiterating, heard best in their live solo iterations: perhaps at the Hammersmith and Edinburgh band shows of 2023).
Such majesty merely kicks off the night’s revelations, though when you open with a song like that, you’re erecting a glorious prism through which to see everything that follows.
The band are touring Double Infinity, an overproduced record of great songs, and eventually they’ll remember that, but tonight they include just one track off the album (the lead single, ‘Incomprehensible’, to close the main set). They play six newer songs, three of them for the first time. You could put this down to an appealing perversity, but I think it is simply a sign of an artist questing endlessly forward, and hewn to such folky, folksy maxims as Lenker’s oft-expressed, “If you write a song on tour, you have to play it.”
She follows the opener with ‘Forgive the Dream’, written during the North American dates, which can’t help but pale next to what came first, but casts a slighter spell of its own. It’s an elusive mood piece that conjures images of wintry industry and crushed expectations, as Lenker’s voice purposefully strains in and out of key, which isn’t my favourite thing she can do with it, but is always a gamble I admire, when being recorded for all eternity or else in front of a thousand people. As, indeed, is tossing out songs that your audience has never heard before.
I bumped into Dylan Meek, the brother of Big Thief guitarist, Buck, and support at three of these shows, at Brixton, and he told me Adrianne was putting aside a dedicated two hours for writing, every day of the tour. I tried to articulate to him what I wrote here about the feeling I get hearing those songs for the first time, and he said he gets it too. “And then you might never hear that song again,” he said, “or only four years later.”
Which brings us to ‘Wait a While’, a song I’ve written about several times, as it’s one of my favourites. It assumed a fabled place in the Big Thief narrative, after they debuted it in Bristol in 2022, played it four times (including Adrianne's heartstopping version during the famous Shepherd’s Bush run) and then put it back in the drawer. It poked its head out briefly once more when Buck joined Adrianne for one of her solo shows in 2024, and then suddenly here they were, playing it in Oslo. The gorgeous possibilities of what Adrianne's voice can do to the word “Hilary” are no longer apropos, since the chorus has morphed into the clunkier, “Wait a while, wait a while, don’t HU-rry" (perhaps because there is too synonymous a Hillary). Yet even with that dab less ethereality, being serenaded with it was the most glorious surprise.
From the stage, Lenker promises a setlist of “new songs, old songs and some inbetween”, which seemed to show how the song that she most wishes she’d written, Townes Van Zandt’s incomparable ‘High, Low and In Between’ (which she covers here) has invaded not just her writing – since there is barely a line of that song, nor a feeling within it, nor an idea, that does not find an echo in her work – but even her everyday chatter. (Incidentally, when we chatted about the artists whose songs have moved her most deeply, she named her friends Steve Fisher and Twain, along with “some of the greats”: namely Leonard Cohen, Joni Mitchell and Nina Simone.)
‘Certainty’ is next, with Lenker and Meek gazing across the stage at each other throughout, these “deep friends” who once felt this romantic love for one another, and now feel it for other people, and wrote this masterpiece to capture the feeling.
And then things get heavy. A ferocious ‘Shoulders’ (a song I like but which Adrianne likes more) is followed by ‘Real Love’, which climaxes with an explosive, spitting guitar solo, though its real revelation is the way Lenker transforms this early rocker by singing it in a conversational tone, and in the fragile voice she usually reserves for her solo records. Throughout this show, she takes risks with that most mesmerizing of instruments: rolling the dice on improvised melodies, in heady communion with her muse and in tandem with Meek’s Texan quiver and Krivchenia’s unstudied high harmonies. ‘Real Love’ is followed by a relentlessly cyclical ‘Real House’ – ‘Fools Gold’ via Henry the Human Fly – which explodes into the live debut of the cathartic ‘Christmas Day’, being another chunk of confessional domestic sadness depicting the early life of Adrianne Lenker, though this one coming with a cacophonous chorus.
That’s topped by the best of her new rock songs, the rampaging ‘Beautiful World’, which has some of the most phonetically satisfying moments in her recent writing (not just the rhyme of “coffee and a bagel” with “Winnebago” but the glee with which she belts it out), and is the closest thing she’s ever written to a protest song. There are some curiously clunky lines in its third verse, but its balance of whimsy, humanism and rage, and the way it turns the key to shift us from a “fucked up world” to “a beautiful world”, while retaining the rest of the chorus (“Why must everything be conquered?”), is a very definite vision of genius. Its author’s conception of politics never seems to have strayed beyond the childlike, but the innocence at the centre of her art is an essential part of its iridescence. Townes Van Zandt had it too: “I don’t know why we can’t be brothers here,” he wrote in ‘High, Low and In Between’, “I know we should be.”
The band follow that with the live debut of ‘Mr. Man’, and the best of the five versions they'll play across these five shows. It’s a bit riot grrrl, a bit Belly, a bit Breeders, Lenker pouncing on the Iran crisis, backed by her insouciant slacker riff, though finding more profundity in an ellipticism that hints at solidarity or at life’s obstacles (“Could you get past two, could you get past three?”) than in the more literal later passages (“Hey, Mr. Man, with a plan, what’s the confusion/Trashing the land, ‘cause you can, just for amusement”). Directness in her work is so often a virtue, and tonight immediacy is a godsend, it’s just when you hear the song on four other nights that it seems to fall short of sustained greatness.
'Muscle Memory’ is the final new song, in which Adrianne articulates the blank adolescent feeling of post-orgasm clarity. Around it, she does ‘not a lot just forever’ with the band, and ‘anything’ without. She plays a conventional ‘Not’ and a new arrangement of ‘Vampire Empire’, then ends the set with ‘Incomprehensible’, which sounds great though will be even better by London. Last year, Lenker described the song to me as “like a journal entry or something”, and introduced it tonight by saying, “It’s a big time right now. And I suppose in some small way this song is just a call to be the wild thing that I am.”
The encore is ‘Change’, her incomparable song about life’s very meaning lying in its finite nature, which survives a stumbling start that almost serves to accentuate the song’s miraculousness, then turns first into a singalong, and then into an experiment in revised phrasing and spontaneous falsetto, before the familiar jam of the mundane-to-cosmic ‘Spud Infinity’ closes the show, the key in the lock once more.
Adrianne said she was almost “vibrating with nerves” but even by her standards she is sensational on this first night of the tour. She told me last year, “The most comfort I’ve felt from music in my life is through playing.” I felt that tonight. She would hit a similar but different peak on the Saturday in London.
***
Oslo: second night
It happens again.
Not the whole thing. But the first thing. Adrianne opening a show solo, with a sad song you’ve never heard before (and, at the time of writing, no-one has heard since), and it feeling like nothing else on Earth. She must know, right?
This time, it’s one we’ll call ‘Leaving Her’, since its chorus goes, “Leaving her gets harder every time.” (If we’re ranking the songs written since her last visit, I’d have it third after ‘What I Only Dream Of’ and ‘Beautiful World’, alongside ‘These Are the Days’). Fingerpicked arpeggios, a Karen Dalton-ish melody, and Lenker at her most sincere (“I am helpless in your glow”, she sings at one point, before simply crooning the words, “I love her, I love her”). Once more she is drawing a contrast between emotional pain and the illimitable beauty of creation, which extends to me and you.
She adds a delicate ‘heavy focus’ and a pleading ‘anything’, before plunging into an even heavier show than the previous evening. ‘Christmas Day’ is a grunge anthem tonight (weren’t they predominantly a country band the last time we saw them?); ‘Real Love’, ‘Not’ and ‘Vampire Empire’ all end in solos of squalling feedback; and a rampaging ‘Beautiful World’ is even better than the previous night, with Adrianne vocally inhabiting the alpha psychos of her first two choruses, prior to the song’s simple yet profound shift.
Four of the first five songs tonight are new, though such mixing-it-up will not be sustained, this evening or across the tour, as the last album creeps towards centre-stage. Double Infinity’s problem as a record – that it is overly busy – is almost instantly solved by the simple expedient of it being played by a four-piece band. (Meek told me last year that for him the key word to understanding the album was “play”: they invited a big group of musicians to come together, who heard the songs for the first time in the studio, at their microphones, “and everyone was responding intuitively and responding to each other and self-arranging very quickly, and just recording that”.) I wonder how many of Big Thief’s minor musical missteps have had to do with the politics of their bassist’s departure, and of an innate and ever-present desire for intra-band harmony. There was no real reason for them to record this record with a ton of musicians, nor for them to play festival shows in 2024 with two drummers, except to shield their new live bassist (Joshua Crumbley) from being the only new member; Big Thief have released just one poor song: ‘Grandmother’, off Double Infinity, which has the unfortunate distinction of filtering Adrianne's singular worldview through the chords of Status Quo and the generic fixations of Kiss, but presumably made the album because it was a full-band collaboration, and the limelight tends to fall on Lenker, which can’t be simple for any of them. We heard that song in Gunnersbury Park in 2025, where it took up a sixth of the set-time, and I thought something similar might happen with these shows, but no: we didn’t hear it once. Its position was arguably taken by an expansive ‘No Fear’, meditative to the point of rambling, more of which later.
In our interview, Adrianne described the latest album as “floaty, shimmery, uplifting, and faster than other records we’ve made”, saying that thematically it covered the same themes with which she was always preoccupied but “there’s a feeling that ties everything together”. On this second night, we get a thumping version of Double Infinity’s title track and its soundalike, ‘Los Angeles’, which highlights Lenker’s Lorenz Hart-like facility with a rhyme (“Los Angeles/You sang for me’), a current predilection of hers. When she explained the title track to me, she said its central phrase, “At the bridge of two infinities”, was “almost Orange-ish” in its obscurity, then half sang a snatch of that Two Hands album track: “Orange is the colour of my love…’”
‘Muscle Memory’ has extra verses tonight, apparently improvised. Then Lenker does ‘Simulation Swarm’ which is always ‘Sim Swarm’ on the setlist, such shorthand implying its centrality to Lenker’s own conception of her person as an artist, its lyrics alluding half-cryptically to the half-brother she’s never met, and its licks signalling to her status as one of our best living guitarists. It’s given a stunning reading tonight, flipping out into an insane second solo.
‘Real House’ might have been hypnotic but still doesn’t quite seem to work as a purposefully persistent dirge, though in any incarnation, it’s surely never going to approach her tear-streaked version in Kilkenny. While it’s an intensely personal song, she observed in our interview that “it’s funny how sometimes the more micro you get, the more macro it is. The more detailed you get, the more universal it is.”
Night two: Not.
For a while, Lenker and Krivchenia have been experimenting with a drum-and-vocal section in ‘Not’: creating that automatic rush of adrenalised exhilaration as the guitars rush back in. Tonight they try it in both ‘Not’ and ‘Vampire Empire’, but both feel slightly muted. Lenker may never write a more perfect song than ‘Not’, a thunderous Cole Porter-ish list song that makes its point through endless negation, but for the more obsessive fans, it needs (like a good cover version) to be something extra or something different, since we’ve heard it so many, many times. Here it’s neither, for the longest while, only for its heavy, formless solo to turn into an almost laidjack, Layla-ish jam full of gentle noodling, which is really nice, and gives the song some closure to go with its catharsis.
‘Mr. Man’ sounds ever more like Lenker proving she can do what boygenius do, 10 times better with her eyes closed (they offered her the chance to join, she does not appear to have taken them up on it, but then would Springsteen have joined McBusted?). Last night it was Adrianne inhabiting the bolshie spirit of riot grrrl, but tonight Buck gets more involved, coming in with loud vocal harmonies and a sprinkling of sparkling notes (remember when he tossed those onto ‘Ruined’ at Hammersmith in 2023, and how good it sounded? He'd do the same to 'Sim Swarm' too, on the first night at Brixton).
Just as great is a gorgeous ‘Promise Is a Pendulum’, a song in which Lenker edges towards the twee and repetitive but somehow falls into some space of wonder through sheer sense of conviction. She wraps the main set once more with a brilliant take on ‘Incomprehensible’, even better than the first night, its prelude (‘Incomprehensible... incomprehensible... incomprehensible... Let me be’) suddenly seeming to hint at a debt to Macca. Her talent stretches the farthest way, further than any songwriter still working, then occasionally snaps or falls over. Here she is toying around with the melody, finding brilliant new nuances in her delivery, then strains too far, her vocal turning flat and discordant. She goofs off to cover her embarrassment, as the others race in to obscure her blushes. The encore is ‘Forgive the Dream’, b/w ‘Masterpiece’, the latter pitched somewhere between the anthemic and conversational readings that Lenker will usually choose between.
“How was it?” texts a friend. “First night: 11/10. Tonight: 9/10,” I reply, then tell them some of the above.
***
London: first night
An absolutely gorgeous show, with highlights I mostly hadn’t seen coming. A rampaging ‘Beautiful World’ (which I had admittedly been singing beforehand; all day), a spacious, spacy ‘Incomprehensible’, and ‘anything’ with a hushed mid-section performed to rapt silence, in the rudest of all places to see a show: London. (It is city that has so many virtues but often makes its inhabitants feel as if they are the main character in their own movie.) Plus ‘What I Only Dream Of’, just a touch less personal second time around, with Adrianne accompanied only by Dylan Meek on portable keys.
I had griped to myself in Oslo that ‘Vampire Empire’ was like Suede’s ‘Beautiful Ones’ or the Manics’ ‘If You Tolerate This’: a great band’s signature song that to me feels not just mannered and shallow alongside their best work, but essentially unillustrative, being resented by some diehards for that reason and by others because it’s emblematic of the jump to arenas, and the distancing that creates. Yet tonight, suddenly, the song works. I’ve never heard it even half as good, nor half as triumphal. It is, after all, and for all of ‘Not’’s off-kilter profundity, the band's first howl-it-at-the-sky anthem, their first anthem in any conventional, mass-appeal sense, and despite that seeming like the sort of thing I wouldn’t like at all: how I did. Lenker clearly loved the spectacle of those five minutes too, turning fleetingly into one of those pop princesses who lets the audiences do half the work.
‘Sim Swarm’, ‘Not’ and an explosive ‘Real Love’ get heavy solos, though ‘Not'’s ambient jam, that lengthy Clapton-ish outro, remains. ‘Pterodactyl’, premiered in Paris, is given an outing, and though it’s hard to make the words out, they do seem rather literal. Yes, that is indeed what it would be like to be a pterodactyl. The band play four off the latest album, three of them in the encore, accompanied by the 83-year-old Laraaji, who guests on Double Infinity, and is one of those vaguely mystifying figures with whom Big Thief surround themselves.
If the show lacks the profundity of that first night of the tour, the experience still shimmers in the South London air.
***
London: final night
You feel like a privileged and ungrateful dick saying it to anyone who could only make this show, but it does all seem a little anticlimactic after Saturday (I’m juggling the chronology here, since who wants an anticlimax?). I am up on the balcony, and feeling pretty woozy, so perhaps that is a part of it. “Not sure if I was tired or they were tired or everyone was tired,” a friend says afterwards. It feels to me like the band is trying to capture the intensity of the previous night, and failing, so has taken to miming it, and hoping some chemical reaction might result.
It’s certainly true that the setlist is largely shorn of surprises, which I hope is to do with the demands of a new bassist and a guest star, rather than a sign of relative conformity to come. Travelling home, it occurs to me that, so far on the tour, and accounting of course for music’s utter subjectivity, across these five shows they haven’t played either of the two best songs on the most recent album (‘All Night All Day’ and ‘How Should I Have Known’), just as Adrianne didn’t play two of Bright Future’s most revolutionary numbers (‘Evol’ and ‘Ruined’) across the UK and Ireland tour that shared its name.
When I asked the band about the process of concocting their setlists (traditionally a task led by Krivchenia), Meek described it as “pretty somatic”, and Lenker said it was “based on how we feel”, with Krivchenia adding, “Which could be anything: a specific mood we’re in, or just people throwing out songs, saying, ‘That one would sound good next. It’s intuitive.” In Meek’s words: “Sometimes it’s what we feel like that town or that crowd is wanting that night, then it becomes something reciprocal, or sometimes it’s just for us: ‘Whaddo we wanna do tonight?’ I think we’re just trying to be present and play what we wanna play … set ourselves free.”
On the balcony tonight, the demand is for the Spotify Top Songs. During the show that I’d missed, Adrianne had reportedly led a plodding 15-minute version of ‘No Fear’ that seemed to enrage not only the casual fans but several of the diehards. It was inevitable, given that reaction, that she would try again. Not, I would imagine, as an act of aggressive contrarianism, but because she had had an artistic idea that hadn’t yet come off. In her 2025 online songwriting course, she talked about the idea of ‘drone’ songs, where the artist forces us to meditate on a single phrase. This is her clearest expression yet within that subform (in our interview, Meek and Krivchenia compared the song to ‘Happy with You’, in the sense that adding words would have diluted its meaning), and it promptly proceeds to lose most of the crowd, as much as one can tell a thing like that. Knowing the intention does help, though, and after being at first intrigued by the concept, and then amused by how incredibly bored the people around me have become (some gazing about themselves in the hope of finding something more entertaining upon which to fix their attention, some simply leaving), the song begins to work its loping and cyclical magic upon me.
Despite departing with a vaguely unsatisfied feeling that I’m not sure I’ve ever had from a Big Thief show before, this one is still worth it a thousand times over for the echoes of ‘Change’ and ‘Time Escaping’ from the previous night, for the Beach Boys’-ish ‘Casual Touch’ (which worked despite Adrianne playing the majority of in the wrong key; she likes the song, as she said), and one of those instances of alchemy with which live music in general and this artist in particular can suddenly floor you: a deeply beautiful, solo ‘not a lot just forever’, a song I’ve heard countless times live, but never loved like I do tonight. Amid a little plodding and a fair amount of repetition, those four minutes are just breathtaking.
***
London: third night
What is this, a concert venue for ants?
Life doesn’t have to be linear, you know. Nor writing. Why not climax with how night three made us feel?
The idea of the ‘guitar god’, beloved to rock magazines of a certain vintage, who use phrases like ‘of a certain vintage’, is one that has never meant much to me. Perhaps briefly near the end of ‘Shoplifters of the World Unite’, or whenever I hear the Hammersmith Odeon version of ‘Sultans of Swing’. But give me voices, and words. This evening, though... well.
Because Big Thief on the Saturday at Brixton is hereafter the ‘guitar god’ show. Adrianne is, in the urban parlance, on one tonight. “Euphoric,” says my mate Peter, which says it. There are astounding versions of ‘Incomprehensible’ and ’Words’ to open, the latter spiked with blasts of six-string. (In our interview, she described the song as referencing “this whole other world that’s with you that is non-verbal … this whole universe that is wordless”.)
Lo-res, sure, but clock the atmosphere.
There is the new metal coda to ‘Christmas Day’, a frenzy of headbanging. There is the fingerpicking that dances around the duelling voices on the Fleetwood Mac-ish ‘These Are the Days’. An exuberant ‘Sim Swarm’, its second solo now scraping the ceiling with fuzz. My favourite version of ‘Change’ since the legendary one (when Adrianne walked back on alone at the end of the Shepherd’s Bush run in 2022 and sang it solo, and I never felt afraid of death in the same way after that). During it, she raises her arms to dance, and touches her heart. There’s a stunning ‘Time Escaping’, a ‘Beautiful World’ that comes marauding out of the traps, and a ‘Vampire Empire’ in which Lenker pulls away from the mic to encourage the crowd to belt out entire verses: maybe it’s the “falling” that brings the crowd to this song, maybe it’s the articulation of the soft butch experience, or of mystifying seesaw relationships more broadly. Whatever it is, the place crackles.
And when you take as many risks as they are tonight, things fail too. You experiment by adding Laraaji’s incongruous murmurings to ‘anything’ and it doesn’t work. You embark on a frenetic ‘Not’ and find that you’ve twice misplaced the words. You select ‘Red Moon’ for the encore, giving solo spots to a couple of the band’s brothers, only to find it’s a self-indulgent, haphazard, under-rehearsed mess. You start a guitar break and your ex-husband has to wander across the stage and flick the switch on your amp. You start some freeform experimental poetry in the calm after ‘These Are the Days’ and, yes, you’re the greatest living writer but this isn’t much of anything at all. Yet more often than not you’re in this space where you aim for the heavens and find them far beneath your feet.
Jake Tilson wrote the next day: “Adrianne’s solos were really on fire. When she starts, you never quite know if she’ll land on that perfect moment, you can sense her feeling it out, looking for it, that slight worry draws you in – and OMG did she find it last night.” So she did.
She seemed happy too, but to have much unfinished business. “Take care of each other out there,” Lenker said to close, “we have a lot of work to do in this world together. Let’s keep going.”
***
Setlists:
***
Thanks for reading. The headline this time comes from the lyrics of 'Leaving Her'. Previous tour diaries are here: 2020, 2022, 2023, 2024
Saturday, 2 May 2026
The world is full of wonder: Big Thief on tour, 2026
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Sunday, 1 March 2026
“It is His office to save us”: Susanne Sundfør at Palmehaven, Trondheim
28 February 2026 (evening)
We are, somewhat incongruously, in a hotel restaurant when Susanne Sundfør makes another dart towards the eternal.
Norwegian pop music’s errant genius has done many confounding – and utterly apposite – things since swerving away from the fame game in 2018: going back to school to study psychology, performing behind her audience during the now near-mythic ‘church shows’ of 2024, and treating Oslo’s sunny Piknik i Parken festival as the ideal setting in which to reintroduce us to the malevolent throbbing of her song, ‘Insects’. But a forthcoming album in which she sets the 14th century religious writings of Julian of Norwich to music is, I think we can safely say, not what many of the other leading figures of the 2010s electro-pop scene are currently working on.
It gives us five minutes of breathtaking beauty at the heart of this show, in the shape of ‘Blessed Wounds’.
For me, hearing – and listening to – Sundfør’s voice is a religious experience. I don’t mean in the evasive secular sense, whereby art and human beauty are meant to replace God. I mean that I find her voice and the idea of God indivisible. I feel God’s hand in her music, glimpse him in the places she goes. Her voice does many things during this show, but ‘Blessed Wounds’, adapted from Revelations of Divine Love, finds her miraculous gift at its clearest and most simply beautiful. “It is His office to save us,” she sings, lifting you way above. Then her voice starts to soar too.
I work in a venue and see quite a lot of shows. Last year I bopped to Annie Lennox, shadow-boxed to Public Enemy, grooved to BANKS. But for me, while the effect of most gigs is pleasant, even rousing, it's also on some level superficial. The two artists who bless me with transcendence, who drag me out of the mire and drop me onto some higher plane, like an eagle nicking a baby in an early silent film, are Susanne Sundfør and Adrianne Lenker. They don’t actually have much in common, aside from an initial acquaintance with the folk milieu, and a quicksilver connection to the vastness of existence. But one has a turn of phrase akin to having the back of your head unscrewed. The other can do things with her voice that make Roy Orbison sound like Damon Albarn.
Today that voice is filling Palmehaven, which is as handsome as a hotel restaurant is ever likely to get. It has a sunken floor with a central fountain, a mock skylight filled with glittering stars, and palms that appear to be getting in some people’s way. For this show, an obligatory three-course meal is provided with every ticket (I was granted an alternative to the reindeer main). I can, with force of will and a favourable wind, zone into an experience and live there, but the bass pulsing through to the venue from the hotel bar next door, and the occasional clatter of crockery being collected, still seems an odd way for the world to interact with incalculable beauty. It’s like if Robert Kennedy’s Aeschylus peroration upon the death of Martin Luther King had been interrupted by someone playing Mambo No. 5 on their phone.
For this show, the final one of a short run of four dine-then-listen concerts, Sundfør is joined by her husband, jazz musician André Roligheten, who will play around her melodies in apparently semi-improvised style, slipping into keys and flights of avant garde fancy that I can enjoy without even beginning to understand them on anything but an emotional level.
Sundfør starts the concert, appropriately enough, with the words, “Holy, holy, holy one”, the opening salvo of ‘ashera’s song’, from 2023, which she wrote for their young daughter. Along with ‘When the Lord’ – the only song proper that Sundfør released during her five-year hiatus from 2018 – it seemed to point to a new spirituality, and the flowering of another side of her artistry, and person. She writes in her hymn to Roligheten (‘alyosha’) that he is “a man of faith”, and of quiet prayers. I wouldn’t presume to know, and actually don’t think it’s important, whether her devotional music is underpinned by specific religious convictions of her own. What’s critical is the questing sincerity that flows through it like a river.
For its part, ‘ashera’s song’ gives a lie to the (awful! Sexist! Kid-phobic! ‘70s-coded! Farcically still expressed today!) idea that parental odes are a baneful chore for the listener. This one is an elusive slip of a song that snakes past, showering you with sparks. Sundfør’s shows always have a narrative built into their setlist and heightened by performance, often travelling (as single songs like ‘Mountaineers’ and ‘Trust Me’ do) from something unresolved in theme and tune to a place of escape. At sit-down, scaled-down, stripped-down shows like this one, she always loves playing ‘Bedtime Story’ from Music for People in Trouble (2017). Synths are for summer festivals. Here the business is to rip away everything, to the point of purity, then complicate what remains with free jazz flourishes. Starting the show at the grand piano, dressed comfortably all in black, her hair back to its natural dusty brown, Sundfør's latest reading of the song hurls its dynamics in wild new directions. Her voice is climbing in a way it never previously has while telling this bedtime story, rendering its tale misleading, and its narrator lofty and cunning. She lollops languidly into a postmodern playfulness on “You know the chord before it’s played”, before signing off in wearily philosophical style. That’s the cue for Roligheten to break into a clarinet solo with shades of the 2018 full-album tour, where such semi-improvised pieces linked the songs, and turned the record into a suite.
That tour was also a memorable showcase for ‘The Sound of War’, which comes next in Trondheim. Sundfør wrote it after watching a BBC documentary on Gaza, and of late has been programming the song relentlessly, and performing it with startling urgency. As in 2018, she accompanies herself solo on guitar, but here the inflections flirt with Flamenco. It is such a formally clever song, especially in this detailed arrangement (necessarily absent the sonic explosions punctuating the full-band version). Her vocal trills oscillate between notes that call to mind the ‘red blinking Zion’ of its climax, yet that later part is built instead around a drone sound – emitted in Palmehaven by her collaborator – unlike the section that deals explicitly with drone warfare. It is a showcase for almost every part and virtue of her voice. She falls onto a blue note on “the snow… falls down”, pins you back with slow-mounting power, then flies into her head voice.
One miraculous thing about Sundfør as an artist is that restless imagination and invention: that sheer reluctance to ever sing a line the same way twice (something she has in common with the great jazz and soul vocalists, and in the folk world with Sandy Denny). That comes to mind especially in the case of ‘Can You Feel the Thunder’ (always just ‘Thunder’, on her printed setlist). This portrait of a matador was a decent album track in 2012 that in its recent live iterations ranks with the greatest songs ever written. You could argue that her performance at the Drammen church show was definitive, but the more profound joy lies in the fact that, like any Sundfør gig, each one is the greatest in a different way. Built here around insistent, driving piano arpeggios, it spotlights The Silicone Veil’s smirking refusal to simplify any tune into the straightforwardly pretty, yet its jagged magnificence gets its estoque into you. It is a stunning version: her voice at its most metallic, the aural equivalent of licking aluminium, before it flashes silver and morphs into gold.
She follows it with ‘blómi’, the title track of her last record, and a song of which she’s clearly proud, performing it at climactic moments in each of the six shows I’ve seen her play since she released the album. Each time she teases out different inflections, different meanings from now familiar lines. How many different ways can a woman sing the words “in love”, which here are flushed with warmth? She wrings such emotion from the cryptic promise “that the ladies in black will wear white again”, by first landing on and then tossing off this outrageously unexpected succession of notes. Yes, as an audience member you are an emotional wreck, but also sit slack-jawed in amazement. Now she’s scatting, and clearly in the moment, dancing in and out of her accompaniest’s melody. The audience reaction is explosive, and she closes the song with a satisfied and knowing smile.
It's at this moment that Sundfør invites Julian of Norwich up onto the stage, in a manner of speaking. Hearing a new Sundfør composition for the first time is such a special feeling, and ‘What Are We’ – the title track of her upcoming record, and the first of the night's two new songs – shows the extraordinary potential in marrying these words to this artist. It is also the first number of the night to combine only clarinet and voice, the arrangement seeming to resemble the mic stand in front of Sundfør, with her vocal strong and straight, and the brass notes twining around it like a cord. The music industry is calculating and money-minded at the best of times, and one gets the impression that after the gold records and domestic awards of Sundfør's early years, it had a path all mapped out for her. She has followed her instincts instead; one is tempted to say her heart.
'What Are We's glimpse of a shimmering future is followed by the first two songs from Sundfør's 2017 album (in the end, nine of the night’s 11 songs come from her last two records or her next one). ‘Mantra’, also performed to clarinet accompaniment, has swelled over time to become one of my favourite Sundfør songs, her increasingly esoteric line readings pulling a simple folk song of crows and meadows into this surreal and irregular jazz world populated by weird pauses and melodic leaps into the unknown. She sings it with her eyes closed, in a version that seems to levitate. (See opening image above.) As on the album, ‘Reincarnation’ comes next. “'K,” says Sundfør with an audial shrug, after retuning, before casually casting off a heartstopping version. “Oh I’m a bad girl,” she unforgettably intones, “’cause I turned the bad world into a crystal pearl”, a piece of deadpan sensuality that identifies her artistic virtue, having elliptically misstated the conclusion. Her fingerpicking accompaniment has these sixth-string bass notes that roll in with the inevitability of a punchline, though it’s the final verse that takes the song somewhere new: a reimagined melodic line in which she proves that she can hum twice as well as anyone else can sing. I’ve tried to express this in more high-minded ways so far, but it’s worth saying it plainly: imagine being this talented, what the fuck.
This feeling is further compounded by the introduction of ‘Blessed Wounds’, an astonishing new song. Sundfør introduces it by squinting at the handwritten lyrics on the piano rack and explaining that without them she’ll risk having to break into “la la la”s and “yeah yeah”s (famously not canon for Julian of Norwich). Such music-hall business gives way to a performance of virtuosic ambition. A showstopper that is also church music. A song of wonder and profound spiritual clarity, two pianos beneath a hand that is reaching across centuries. I feel my soul ascend. It seems wholly inappropriate to holler loutishly in response, so I refrain, but the applause is endless.
Once it finally abates, Sundfør closes the main set with ‘fare thee well’, which took years to get how she wanted it, before premiering in 2023. It is perhaps the most conventional singer-songwriter material in her oeuvre, nodding to the Roud folk ballad, but in the clothes of a ‘70s West Coast anthem. Again, she has her eyes shut tight. It can be hard for nosy journalists to penetrate Sundfør’s armour of self-deprecation and resistance to easy sentiment (she has previously framed music as variously a scientific experiment and a type of play), yet it is just as hard for me at moments like this to believe that she does not feel to her very bones the emotions that she is raising in us.
Since there is no natural backstage area in what is, and I can’t stress this enough, a hotel restaurant, our performers thank the audience and then loiter in a corner for a few moments, before coming back.
Their encore is ‘Trust Me’, the final ballad on Sundfør’s greatest record (and one of my two favourite albums of all time, along with Suede’s Dog Man Star): 2015’s Ten Love Songs. As ‘Mountaineers’ would later, it rises from squalor to catharsis, fearlessness and release. “Nothing’s ever easy when you take ecstasy,” Sundfør opens conversationally this evening, before moving through defiance (“You cannot erase me … like they do in the movies”) to profundity: “Baby you can trust me/Send for the saint/Send for the doctor/And save yourself.” At Union Chapel in 2017, when the song was also her encore, she proceeded to head for the heavens. This time she gives us that incomparable head-voice before sliding back down into chest to tease out the strangeness of the song’s climactic offer. Throughout, she sits with her eyes closed, and the hands in her lap shaping the words: fashioning the complexity of the emotion, or else being buffeted by it. They spasm in tandem with the delicate frenzy of performance… perhaps. But I think the purpose is to lift her voice. The one that lifts us way above.
*** SETLIST:
ashera's song
Bedtime Story
The Sound of War
Can You Feel the Thunder
blómi
What Are We
Mantra
Reincarnation
Blessed Wounds
fare thee well
Encore:
Trust Me
***
Thanks for reading.
We are, somewhat incongruously, in a hotel restaurant when Susanne Sundfør makes another dart towards the eternal.
Norwegian pop music’s errant genius has done many confounding – and utterly apposite – things since swerving away from the fame game in 2018: going back to school to study psychology, performing behind her audience during the now near-mythic ‘church shows’ of 2024, and treating Oslo’s sunny Piknik i Parken festival as the ideal setting in which to reintroduce us to the malevolent throbbing of her song, ‘Insects’. But a forthcoming album in which she sets the 14th century religious writings of Julian of Norwich to music is, I think we can safely say, not what many of the other leading figures of the 2010s electro-pop scene are currently working on.
It gives us five minutes of breathtaking beauty at the heart of this show, in the shape of ‘Blessed Wounds’.
For me, hearing – and listening to – Sundfør’s voice is a religious experience. I don’t mean in the evasive secular sense, whereby art and human beauty are meant to replace God. I mean that I find her voice and the idea of God indivisible. I feel God’s hand in her music, glimpse him in the places she goes. Her voice does many things during this show, but ‘Blessed Wounds’, adapted from Revelations of Divine Love, finds her miraculous gift at its clearest and most simply beautiful. “It is His office to save us,” she sings, lifting you way above. Then her voice starts to soar too.
I work in a venue and see quite a lot of shows. Last year I bopped to Annie Lennox, shadow-boxed to Public Enemy, grooved to BANKS. But for me, while the effect of most gigs is pleasant, even rousing, it's also on some level superficial. The two artists who bless me with transcendence, who drag me out of the mire and drop me onto some higher plane, like an eagle nicking a baby in an early silent film, are Susanne Sundfør and Adrianne Lenker. They don’t actually have much in common, aside from an initial acquaintance with the folk milieu, and a quicksilver connection to the vastness of existence. But one has a turn of phrase akin to having the back of your head unscrewed. The other can do things with her voice that make Roy Orbison sound like Damon Albarn.
Today that voice is filling Palmehaven, which is as handsome as a hotel restaurant is ever likely to get. It has a sunken floor with a central fountain, a mock skylight filled with glittering stars, and palms that appear to be getting in some people’s way. For this show, an obligatory three-course meal is provided with every ticket (I was granted an alternative to the reindeer main). I can, with force of will and a favourable wind, zone into an experience and live there, but the bass pulsing through to the venue from the hotel bar next door, and the occasional clatter of crockery being collected, still seems an odd way for the world to interact with incalculable beauty. It’s like if Robert Kennedy’s Aeschylus peroration upon the death of Martin Luther King had been interrupted by someone playing Mambo No. 5 on their phone.
For this show, the final one of a short run of four dine-then-listen concerts, Sundfør is joined by her husband, jazz musician André Roligheten, who will play around her melodies in apparently semi-improvised style, slipping into keys and flights of avant garde fancy that I can enjoy without even beginning to understand them on anything but an emotional level.
Sundfør starts the concert, appropriately enough, with the words, “Holy, holy, holy one”, the opening salvo of ‘ashera’s song’, from 2023, which she wrote for their young daughter. Along with ‘When the Lord’ – the only song proper that Sundfør released during her five-year hiatus from 2018 – it seemed to point to a new spirituality, and the flowering of another side of her artistry, and person. She writes in her hymn to Roligheten (‘alyosha’) that he is “a man of faith”, and of quiet prayers. I wouldn’t presume to know, and actually don’t think it’s important, whether her devotional music is underpinned by specific religious convictions of her own. What’s critical is the questing sincerity that flows through it like a river.
For its part, ‘ashera’s song’ gives a lie to the (awful! Sexist! Kid-phobic! ‘70s-coded! Farcically still expressed today!) idea that parental odes are a baneful chore for the listener. This one is an elusive slip of a song that snakes past, showering you with sparks. Sundfør’s shows always have a narrative built into their setlist and heightened by performance, often travelling (as single songs like ‘Mountaineers’ and ‘Trust Me’ do) from something unresolved in theme and tune to a place of escape. At sit-down, scaled-down, stripped-down shows like this one, she always loves playing ‘Bedtime Story’ from Music for People in Trouble (2017). Synths are for summer festivals. Here the business is to rip away everything, to the point of purity, then complicate what remains with free jazz flourishes. Starting the show at the grand piano, dressed comfortably all in black, her hair back to its natural dusty brown, Sundfør's latest reading of the song hurls its dynamics in wild new directions. Her voice is climbing in a way it never previously has while telling this bedtime story, rendering its tale misleading, and its narrator lofty and cunning. She lollops languidly into a postmodern playfulness on “You know the chord before it’s played”, before signing off in wearily philosophical style. That’s the cue for Roligheten to break into a clarinet solo with shades of the 2018 full-album tour, where such semi-improvised pieces linked the songs, and turned the record into a suite.
That tour was also a memorable showcase for ‘The Sound of War’, which comes next in Trondheim. Sundfør wrote it after watching a BBC documentary on Gaza, and of late has been programming the song relentlessly, and performing it with startling urgency. As in 2018, she accompanies herself solo on guitar, but here the inflections flirt with Flamenco. It is such a formally clever song, especially in this detailed arrangement (necessarily absent the sonic explosions punctuating the full-band version). Her vocal trills oscillate between notes that call to mind the ‘red blinking Zion’ of its climax, yet that later part is built instead around a drone sound – emitted in Palmehaven by her collaborator – unlike the section that deals explicitly with drone warfare. It is a showcase for almost every part and virtue of her voice. She falls onto a blue note on “the snow… falls down”, pins you back with slow-mounting power, then flies into her head voice.
One miraculous thing about Sundfør as an artist is that restless imagination and invention: that sheer reluctance to ever sing a line the same way twice (something she has in common with the great jazz and soul vocalists, and in the folk world with Sandy Denny). That comes to mind especially in the case of ‘Can You Feel the Thunder’ (always just ‘Thunder’, on her printed setlist). This portrait of a matador was a decent album track in 2012 that in its recent live iterations ranks with the greatest songs ever written. You could argue that her performance at the Drammen church show was definitive, but the more profound joy lies in the fact that, like any Sundfør gig, each one is the greatest in a different way. Built here around insistent, driving piano arpeggios, it spotlights The Silicone Veil’s smirking refusal to simplify any tune into the straightforwardly pretty, yet its jagged magnificence gets its estoque into you. It is a stunning version: her voice at its most metallic, the aural equivalent of licking aluminium, before it flashes silver and morphs into gold.
She follows it with ‘blómi’, the title track of her last record, and a song of which she’s clearly proud, performing it at climactic moments in each of the six shows I’ve seen her play since she released the album. Each time she teases out different inflections, different meanings from now familiar lines. How many different ways can a woman sing the words “in love”, which here are flushed with warmth? She wrings such emotion from the cryptic promise “that the ladies in black will wear white again”, by first landing on and then tossing off this outrageously unexpected succession of notes. Yes, as an audience member you are an emotional wreck, but also sit slack-jawed in amazement. Now she’s scatting, and clearly in the moment, dancing in and out of her accompaniest’s melody. The audience reaction is explosive, and she closes the song with a satisfied and knowing smile.
It's at this moment that Sundfør invites Julian of Norwich up onto the stage, in a manner of speaking. Hearing a new Sundfør composition for the first time is such a special feeling, and ‘What Are We’ – the title track of her upcoming record, and the first of the night's two new songs – shows the extraordinary potential in marrying these words to this artist. It is also the first number of the night to combine only clarinet and voice, the arrangement seeming to resemble the mic stand in front of Sundfør, with her vocal strong and straight, and the brass notes twining around it like a cord. The music industry is calculating and money-minded at the best of times, and one gets the impression that after the gold records and domestic awards of Sundfør's early years, it had a path all mapped out for her. She has followed her instincts instead; one is tempted to say her heart.
'What Are We's glimpse of a shimmering future is followed by the first two songs from Sundfør's 2017 album (in the end, nine of the night’s 11 songs come from her last two records or her next one). ‘Mantra’, also performed to clarinet accompaniment, has swelled over time to become one of my favourite Sundfør songs, her increasingly esoteric line readings pulling a simple folk song of crows and meadows into this surreal and irregular jazz world populated by weird pauses and melodic leaps into the unknown. She sings it with her eyes closed, in a version that seems to levitate. (See opening image above.) As on the album, ‘Reincarnation’ comes next. “'K,” says Sundfør with an audial shrug, after retuning, before casually casting off a heartstopping version. “Oh I’m a bad girl,” she unforgettably intones, “’cause I turned the bad world into a crystal pearl”, a piece of deadpan sensuality that identifies her artistic virtue, having elliptically misstated the conclusion. Her fingerpicking accompaniment has these sixth-string bass notes that roll in with the inevitability of a punchline, though it’s the final verse that takes the song somewhere new: a reimagined melodic line in which she proves that she can hum twice as well as anyone else can sing. I’ve tried to express this in more high-minded ways so far, but it’s worth saying it plainly: imagine being this talented, what the fuck.
This feeling is further compounded by the introduction of ‘Blessed Wounds’, an astonishing new song. Sundfør introduces it by squinting at the handwritten lyrics on the piano rack and explaining that without them she’ll risk having to break into “la la la”s and “yeah yeah”s (famously not canon for Julian of Norwich). Such music-hall business gives way to a performance of virtuosic ambition. A showstopper that is also church music. A song of wonder and profound spiritual clarity, two pianos beneath a hand that is reaching across centuries. I feel my soul ascend. It seems wholly inappropriate to holler loutishly in response, so I refrain, but the applause is endless.
Once it finally abates, Sundfør closes the main set with ‘fare thee well’, which took years to get how she wanted it, before premiering in 2023. It is perhaps the most conventional singer-songwriter material in her oeuvre, nodding to the Roud folk ballad, but in the clothes of a ‘70s West Coast anthem. Again, she has her eyes shut tight. It can be hard for nosy journalists to penetrate Sundfør’s armour of self-deprecation and resistance to easy sentiment (she has previously framed music as variously a scientific experiment and a type of play), yet it is just as hard for me at moments like this to believe that she does not feel to her very bones the emotions that she is raising in us.
Since there is no natural backstage area in what is, and I can’t stress this enough, a hotel restaurant, our performers thank the audience and then loiter in a corner for a few moments, before coming back.
Their encore is ‘Trust Me’, the final ballad on Sundfør’s greatest record (and one of my two favourite albums of all time, along with Suede’s Dog Man Star): 2015’s Ten Love Songs. As ‘Mountaineers’ would later, it rises from squalor to catharsis, fearlessness and release. “Nothing’s ever easy when you take ecstasy,” Sundfør opens conversationally this evening, before moving through defiance (“You cannot erase me … like they do in the movies”) to profundity: “Baby you can trust me/Send for the saint/Send for the doctor/And save yourself.” At Union Chapel in 2017, when the song was also her encore, she proceeded to head for the heavens. This time she gives us that incomparable head-voice before sliding back down into chest to tease out the strangeness of the song’s climactic offer. Throughout, she sits with her eyes closed, and the hands in her lap shaping the words: fashioning the complexity of the emotion, or else being buffeted by it. They spasm in tandem with the delicate frenzy of performance… perhaps. But I think the purpose is to lift her voice. The one that lifts us way above.
*** SETLIST:
ashera's song
Bedtime Story
The Sound of War
Can You Feel the Thunder
blómi
What Are We
Mantra
Reincarnation
Blessed Wounds
fare thee well
Encore:
Trust Me
***
Thanks for reading.
Labels:
2026,
Blessed Wounds,
concert,
Julian of Norwich,
live,
Mantra,
Music for People in Trouble,
Norway,
Palmehaven,
review,
setlist,
Susanne Sundfør,
Ten Love Songs,
The Sound of War,
Trondheim,
Trust Me,
What Are We
Location:
Trondheim, Norway
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