There are wonderfully few moments of clarity in Hildur Victoria's music. Each glimpse of daylight proves fleeting, only deepening the mystery of what lies beneath the surface, between the lines. A mother runs her finger in the dirt, lamenting having used her child's name in vain; a specter hovers over a lake, its form steaming over the ice-cold water, then bursts into flames; a despairing lover, seemingly on the verge of oblivion, says wistfully, "If it's not what it's not,... More >>>