A good wall can come
from old stones
if you lay them well
and make them fit in.
So wrote the Norwegian poet Olav H. Hauge in ‘Wall’, from his 1966 collection Drops in the East Wind (translated by Robin Fulton). This simple concept of making something good from something old by applying a bit of pressure could pertain to Black Hauge, the new collaboration between writer Erlend O. Nødtvedt and the Erlend Apneseth Trio. It works because the good is already there, in the old. The group use samples of Hauge reciting his own poetry, but in a way that is playfully experimental, in keeping with their own approach to traditional music.
Hauge (1908-1994), along with compatriots like the lumberjack-poet Hans Børli, was the embodiment of a distinctly Norwegian synthesis of land and literature, one that emphasised work and stewardship rather than the romantic ideal of a landscape as something to be admired and then retreated from. Nødtvedt’s relationship with Hauge’s poetry – like Hauge’s own relationship with the Norwegian wilderness – is a working one. He realises that poetry, like traditional music, does not always stay the same. A poem can be subject to outside forces; its meanings can shift over time. And in the Erlend Apneseth Trio, he has found the perfect group of musicians to embody these shifts.
What this means in concrete terms is an album that fuses an experimental, improvisatory form of Norwegian folk music with vocal snippets, samples and recitations that are often cut up or processed with destabilising, uncanny or even humorous results. In opener Draumen, a skittering fiddle and soft, synthesised beats trade places with warped spoken samples that sound eerily like the backwards language spoken in the Black Lodge in Twin Peaks. The focus on the rhythmic aspects of Hauge’s poetry creates pieces that sound almost like songs, albeit alien ones. Draumen (The Dream) appears in three separate parts across the album. Part II begins with Hauge’s words sped up beyond recognition, before a clattering, chaotic musical accompaniment kicks in, while the lengthy third part features a section of chanted vocals, seemingly with one foot in Arvo Pärt-esque holy minimalism, which morphs into a crushing finale, channelling black metal vocals and distorted psych guitar.
The techniques on show here owe something to plunderphonics and musique concrète, though the sometimes dehumanising effect of those genres is notably absent here. The sonorous cadences of Papiret (Paper) revel in the possibilities of the human voice, while Apneseth’s spiralling Hardanger fiddle and Stephan Meidell’s electric guitar give the song an exploratory free-folk feel. Vegan (Road) could pass for an objective piece of recorded history until, halfway through, the recording begins to slip, skip and stutter, and a ghostly shimmer of music appears from the background. It is oddly moving, bringing into focus the fact that you are listening to a poet who died thirty years ago talking about a way of life that may have died with him. It brings up unbidden questions about things like climate change, societal upheaval and rural depopulation.
The repetitions of Elvi (River) have a soothing, rocking motion, while Hanen (Cockerel), with its multitracked vocals, sounds both discursive and mysterious. At times, the dry, sandblasted electronics give off an almost postapocalyptic feel, heightened (for non-Nowegian speakers) by the strange and inscrutable nature of the language. But surprisingly, for an album based on poetry, what is being said is perhaps less important than how it is being said. Beyond the noble endeavour of bringing an important but often overlooked poet to wider attention, the Erlend Apneseth Trio and Erlend O. Nødtvedt have created a stunningly original album that combines elements rarely seen together. Black Hauge may be made of old stones, but they are varied and valuable ones nonetheless, and they have certainly been well laid.
Black Hauge (November 28th, 2025) Sheep Chase Records
Order: https://orcd.co/blackhauge