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The most appealing thing about öð [øh] is how much movement Benjamin Djurhuus finds in acoustic music. Strings cascade, a banjo adds momentum, and spare passages make the fuller arrangements feel all the more generous. The Faroese producer and composer has made a debut with a strong sense of continuity, allowing playfulness, joy, and reflection to take their turns. I loved how naturally it moves between those moods without losing its character.
Djurhuus developed öð after years of producing, writing, and collaborating with other artists. The project brings together a string quartet, acoustic and Spanish guitars, banjo, mandolin, and dobro—a combination that gives its folk foundations considerable range. His interest in bringing musicians and listeners closer also extends to the concerts, where eight performers form a circle around the audience. That arrangement makes sense for music whose appeal depends so much on the relationships between its parts. Opener “Ávegis, framvegis” makes an immediate impression. I loved the acoustic textures and the slightly unfamiliar way the music flows. Cascading strings keep the piece in motion, while bends in the notes give its melodic lines an expressive looseness. There’s enough happening to hold attention, yet the arrangement feels comfortable taking its time. “Badihu” is particularly enjoyable, with banjo and swelling passages giving it an animated, sometimes outright joyful character. I loved the a cappella vocals, too; the change in texture adds another dimension to the ensemble’s sound. “Dorian Waltz” follows with a recognizable three-quarter-time sway. Its sparse arrangement gives the melody room, and its beauty comes through with little embellishment. Coming after “Badihu,” it demonstrates how effectively Djurhuus can adjust the scale of the music. “Søgade” is another highlight, its picked strings and sweeping passages bringing detail and breadth into the same piece. “Stúkukvartett” develops the orchestral side of the record, providing some of its most satisfying ensemble moments. By this point, the variety of string instruments feels central to the writing: changes in texture help each composition establish its own character. The playfulness of “Glintan” keeps the later stretch lively before “Sært meg so væl” introduces a more gradual development. That shift gives the closing sequence a welcome patience. “Harrans varðveitsla” finishes the album with a minimal arrangement that, to my ears, sounds like classical guitar. After the fuller ensemble passages, that smaller scale makes for an affecting conclusion. I hadn’t heard of Djurhuus before this album, and discovering his work has been a pleasure. I’d go as far as calling öð [øh] one of my favorites of the year. The acoustic playing first caught my attention, but the range of the compositions sustains it: the lively passages, the spare waltz, and the orchestral sections all contribute something worth hearing. For anyone drawn to expressive acoustic music, there’s a great deal here to appreciate.
1 Comment
Matt M
9/9/2026 08:37:46 am
Love this.
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