GISKE’s “The Sound of Birdsong” doesn’t so much begin as it seeps into the room, like the pale, perpetual twilight of a Norwegian summer night where sleep feels like a theoretical concept. This is a song for the space between the last page of a book and turning off the light; a four-minute float in that strange, conscious stillness when the world is quiet but your mind is not. The trio of Alex Rinde, Rune Berg, and Ronnie MAG Larsen have crafted something that feels less like a performance and more like an overheard private thought.
Rune Berg’s guitars are the key here, tracing patterns that recall the intricate melancholy of Nick Drake while shimmering with a Cocteau Twins-esque gloss. It’s a clean, hypnotic sound, a delicate loop that Ronnie MAG Larsen’s percussion nudges along without ever rushing. Upon this texture, Alex Rinde’s vocals are not a declaration but a confession, mapping out the geography of a shared dream—a sanctuary built of “wondrous places” and “exotic food” that feels infinitely more real than the waking world of “weary eyes.”
For some reason, listening to it brings to mind the strange stillness of a meticulously crafted ship-in-a-bottle. The song exists inside its own self-contained atmosphere, beautiful and detailed, but you can sense the fragility of the glass. The “lighthouse of your dreams” isn’t a destination; it’s a slow, sweeping beam that momentarily illuminates the tiny, perfect world inside, reminding its inhabitants that an outside exists.
With their next album still a distant light on the horizon of 2026, the final plea to “please don’t wake me” feels playfully pointed. Are we listeners also being asked to live inside this single, perfect moment, dreaming of what’s to come?
