Black Sea Dahu
Everything
スイスのインディーフォークバンド
3rd
スイスということで、
あまり取り扱いがないが、
今作の内容はなかなか。
Black Sea Dahu’s third album, Everything, wasn’t written in the usual sense. It was unearthed — patiently, painfully, from the mossy soil of grief. It wasn’t recorded in a professional studio or written in one stretch of time. Created in the aftermath of losing a parent and the years of stumbling that followed, it grew like a forest after fire.
During years of relentless touring across Europe, Janine Cathrein collected lyrical seeds and small melodic fossils. After working on these sketches in the band room for several weeks, the band gathered in the mountains in Flims, Switzerland — a village wrapped in the murmur of a forest grown on ancient debris. During spring and autumn of 2024, in a house by the edge of the woods, they built a home studio in the living room. A world of cables and tea mugs, of morning jazz jams and the occasional breakdown.
For weeks, the band lived and breathed these songs. Friends came to cook, to hold space, to let time pass without asking questions. The place itself shaped the record. “The forest there is strange,” Janine says. “It feels alive, like it’s watching and listening.”
Paul Märki (CH) and Gavin Gardiner (CAN) joined the recording sessions and helped the songs find their final forms. They recorded the basic tracks of it live, as usual, chasing that delicate magic of imperfection: a reminder that music is a living thing, breathing through the players. It’s impossible to separate this music from the grief that birthed it. The death of Janine and Vera’s father left an invisible handprint. “Nothing ever leaves,” Janine says. “The dead stay. They live inside your voice, your hands, your dreams. Everything happens all at once.”
Musically, Everything is both stripped to the bone and magnificently alive. The band, sharpened by years of touring, plays as one living organism. There are moments when Janine’s voice stands alone with just a guitar, trembling and unguarded; and others where a brass section rises like sunlight spilling over mountains; a clarinet sighs; strings unfurl like roots searching for air and choirs rise like sap through trees. The cinematic arrangements move like shifting weather fronts. It’s music that asks you to listen with your skin.
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