In the Võro language of Southern Estonia, Ilmamõtsana means “in the wood of the world”, an apt title for an album that captures the stillness, mystery and majesty of a northern forest. It’s the third from Estonian singer <person>Kalkun</person>, and a step sideways from her previous band-led offering, 2015’s Tii Ilo. Since then <person>Kalkun</person> has built a studio in her farmhouse where she recorded Ilmamõtsan almost entirely solo, matching her melodic voice to instruments running from zither, accordion, harmonium, chimes and bells to “boiled sweets” and “bone spinner”.
The result is a mesmerising record steeped in a sylvan atmosphere. The songs are original but rooted in her homeland’s folk tradition, some entirely personal, like her farewell to her father, The Snow’s Sleep, others referring to environmental collapse or the mass deportations inflicted by the Soviet regime during and after the second world war. <person>Kalkun</person>’s singing is at the heart of things; joyous and lamenting by turns, but always poised and melodious, her poeticism apparent even without translation. There is an excursion into urban multitrack (Linnaitk) and a parping brass band finale, but the mood of place, of awesome nature, is omnipresent. A magical creation.