Live Review: Olafur Arnalds, Anatole

Anatole, an upcoming producer from Sydney gets the evening started with a 30-minute set of soft, dreamy electronic soundscapes. Abstract washes of sound texture are layered under the gentle sway of electronic strings. It’s all too easy to close your eyes and drift away to this kind of music. Thrilled to be touring with Olafur Arnalds, Anatole has announced that he has already collaborated with Arnalds with the results buried deep in the mix of tracks that he presents this evening. An emerging talent, it will be interesting to watch Anatole establish a career for himself in the coming years.

After a short break, Olafur Arnalds takes to a darkened stage featuring moody lighting and starts to play on a large grand piano what feels like a loose improvisation. In the darkness, a string quartet arrange themselves around the piano and once in position the simple motif Arnalds plays expands into a very beautiful version of Arbakkinn that in the absence of Einar Georg leaves out the poem he wrote for the piece.

Tonight’s show is a showcase for Arnalds' latest album Re:member. Accompanied by a string quartet and drummer, Arnalds very successfully manages to bring the majesty and beauty of this album alive. Sampling the crowd singing a single note and turning it into a drone that underlies an epic version of Brot offers a brief moment of intriguing audience participation. "Don’t worry, everyone in London of all places totally messed it up," laughs Arnalds by way of encouraging us to contribute. The success Arnalds has experienced with his music in recent years sees him shifting from delivering a simple presentation of his music to a more stage savvy approach that comes with dramatic lights that are intended to accentuate the vibes he is creating.

From here on in, Arnalds makes it very easy for the audience to sink deep into their seats and simply drift away to the sound of these luscious soundscapes. They seemingly just wrap themselves around us to create a listening experience that feels immersive. The set shifts from the drama of Only The Winds to the warm reassuring glow of Re:member. The bittersweet Beth’s Theme from the Broadchurch soundtrack acts as a well-chosen prelude to the stunning and somewhat austere beauty of Verses, Arnalds' collaboration with Alice Sara Ott. When Arnalds' string quartet comes into full bloom, the effect is dazzling. They transport listeners through time and space to connect with memories and dreams that this music conjures in the mind’s eye with ease.

After an extended set of tunes, Arnalds reaches for the microphone and, turning on the charm of his bedside manner, asks in a deep voice, "How do you feel after that?" Mesmerised by the music, most of the crowd seem woozy and a touch spaced out. Bringing us back down to earth, Arnalds talks about the genesis of Nyepi in Bali where the arrival of the new year is celebrated by observing a strict silence for the day. Across this tune, Arnalds effortlessly combines a sense of celebration with deep, bittersweet melancholy.

The evening seems to quickly slip away as fluidly as Arnalds' songs. The crowd are determined for an encore, clapping loudly as they enthusiastically jump to their feet. Eventually Arnalds returns to play Lag Fyrir Ommu at an upright piano. It’s a soft, elegiac song that celebrates the life of his grandmother and her influence on his music. The strings are played from backstage and their diminishing volume makes them sound as though they are walking away from us down a corridor. When the song ends Arnalds sits in silence at the piano. There is a palpable sense of emotion in the room and our thoughts turn to death, loss and mourning. Yet when Arnalds turns around to face the audience with a smile, it does feel like he has engaged in a well-rehearsed theatrical move designed to tug at the heartstrings. In so many ways this is exactly what Arnalds' music is crafted to achieve.