Last night, I finished the five-episode run of a Swedish crime-drama series titled Huss, which follows a Gothenburg police trainee who just happens to be the daughter of the department’s deputy chief, legendary cop Irene Huss—who fans of crime fiction may remember from Helene Tursten’s book series or, perhaps, the well-received film series that ran from 2007 to ’11. It’s well worth the watch.
One reason why I enjoy such shows a little more than their American variants: Same basic plots, but cooler scenery. Even grimy industrial areas look nice. Another: the subtitles force me to put down my phone. While multitasking isn’t a synonym for multi-distracting, it should be; it scatters focus, leading to plot developments being missed. In my case, when watching English-language TV, I inevitably glance at notifications when they pop up on my phone, often clicking through to read them in full, or—when not—digging into the credits of an on-screen actor I recognize from another movie or TV show. Who knew that Harry Potter’s Dolores Umbridge, aka Imelda Staunton, was once amongst Peter’s Friends?! Subtitles cause us to either put off such inquiries until after the film or episode ends—or press pause.
In a similar vein, much of how we experience music now comes while distracted. We listen while we work, exercise, read and/or write, scroll through social media or various web sites, and almost always when in the car. Songs become background noise for our overly busy lives. We’re forever crunched for time. Am I right? In essence, we embrace the many colored beast, grow weary of the torment, and wonder why we have no peace.
The other day, in just such a moment, two tunes floated through the ether from my stereo’s speakers and wrapped themselves around my heart: the Wandering Hearts’ rendition of Neil Young’s “Helpless”; and “The Journey Home” from acclaimed harpist Alina Bzhezhinska and Ibiza-based producer Tulshi (aka Scottish producer, DJ, and mix engineer Jonno Rogers), who Google tells me is known for his “minimal, deep tech, dubby techno, and ambient sounds.” The former led me to stop what I was doing and listen. The latter left me agog.
Whispers of Rain, the album home of that track, is a melodic odyssey that creates the ultimate illusion: stopping time. The pair, who met in 2022, came together at Tulshi’s home studio on Ibiza, the picturesque Spanish island in the Mediterranean Sea known for its party scene—and, as evidenced in their collaboration, natural beauty. The Bandcamp description of the album explains, “The album delves into the architecture of memory and human emotion, using rain as a central metaphor for life’s cycles: the cleansing of loss, the blossoming of renewal and the profound inner strength cultivated in moments of serene introspection.”
Around these parts, especially of late, rain rarely whispers. Rather, it screams from the darkened clouds of slow-moving storms, almost as if buckets of water are being emptied on Earth. Flood alerts and severe weather warnings are common. Yet, that admission aside, the seven tracks exude a peaceful, easy feeling throughout, with Bzhezhinska’s harp cascading from the heavens to a soft bed of electronic textures. It’s a seductive, hypnotic listen.
The album, which was released in mid-July, can be streamed from the usual suspects and also purchased (on vinyl, CD or digital) from Bandcamp; Apple Music, and—as the YouTube clip I embedded above shows—the other services also feature a “continuous mix” version that blends the seven tracks into a 37-minute excursion that’s well worth the voyage.
The Old Grey Cat 
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