Peter Margasak: "Norwegian bassist Adrian Myhr has been a model of harmonic support and collective invention across a broad swath of his homeland music’s scene for decades, increasingly straddling jazz, folk, and experimental music in a way that mirrors a growing openness between those practices in Norway. Over the last decade I’ve heard him in numerous contexts, but I didn’t really begin to notice his own aesthetic priorities until I heard him perform with Oker, a fantastic quartet that leans toward a minimalist, experimental sound. The group also includes the harmonically inquisitive guitarist Fredrik Rasten, shape-shifting trumpeter Torstein Lavik Larsen, and impressively subtle drummer Jan Martin Gismervik. I’ve also appreciated his role in Hardanger fiddler Helga Myhr’s Andsyning project, which is rooted in Norwegian folk, but routinely spills outside the lines of trad orthodoxy. He’s a key presence in the elegant, stately piano trio led by Johan Lindvall, too. There are loads of other projects he’s been involved in, but suffice to say he’s an admirable team player who deploys his warm tone and precise articulation in service on ensemble approaches."
"Last fall he stepped out more explicitly with a couple of recordings under his own name, including Sing Nightingale (Mappa), an intimate collaboration with his partner, the percussionist Michaela Antalová, that inhabits a variety of folk traditions within and beyond Scandinavia. But the record that’s most germane to this week’s newsletter is Kokong (Øra Fonogram) [...] The music on Kokong is subtle and it took a few listens for me to fully appreciate the intimate connections occurring within the music, which routinely elides any specific tradition. 'Begnynnelse,' the album’s opening track is a levitating meditation built around Myhr’s arco playing, as Martin lays down a rich harmonium drone and Kjorstad weaves in and around the bass patterns on violin. In a certain sense not much happens, but the interaction between the string players establishes a heightened sensitivity that gains resonance the more I’ve listened, with both of them operating within a tight intervallic range that makes each motion feel profound. Gismervik sticks to harmonium on the following tune, 'Spirer,' too, while Myhr’s pizz lines impart a comparative drive, a kind of muted danced rhythm around which Kjorstad also solos. Halfway through the harmonium shifts from long tones to the same melodic scheme of the other two, thrusting it into more explicitly into folk terrain. Below you can hear 'Svale Skygger,' one of my favorite pieces on the album, where the drummer toggles between what he calls a 'hanging vibraphone' and quiet little percussive patterns that lend a chamber feel to the pretty unison lines plucked on bass and violin. The album eschews bald virtuosity in favor of a group interplay that’s ultimately more rewarding and no less demanding on the part of the musicians."