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ULVER LIMINAL ANIMALS PRESS RELEASE NOVEMBER 2024
At the end of the roughest year in their history, Ulver is proud to release their thirteenth studio album, titled Liminal Animals.
Spin back one year. Almost out of nowhere, Ulver starts to drop new songs, sometimes one, sometimes two at the time, like the spectre and its cruel shadow. They are on a roll, doing whatever they want to, and with no immediate or strict concept other than to keep the beast alive.
“Quite liberating in these twilight years”, they said.
But as the pieces are laid out, the songs start to shape a world of their own. Creatures abound. Ghosts and spiders, gods and sheep. Flocks, swarms, and sensations. (See The Senseless Seven, Austin Osman Spare’s drawn self-portrait on the album cover.)
There’s something in the air.
Liminal Animals is permeated by the smell of disaster and documents, with deep concern, a dark and troubled place in a dark and troubled time. Yes, in the vast Ulver catalogue, now dating back 30 years, it wouldn’t be hard to argue that Liminal Animals can be seen as a continuation of its acclaimed predecessors The Assassination of Julius Caesar (2017) and Flowers of Evil (2020). This time around, though, their reflections on the overwhelming confusion and conflict seem to have become more pronounced and explicit, as if the songs were born out of the acute intensity of the current situation.
What in the world is happening now?
Musically, the album opener ‘Ghost Entry’, which broke the silence almost one year ago, could indeed be seen as taking a lead from their previous albums. But Liminal Animals soon reveals itself to also be a reflection on their deeper history. The guitar and bass driven second track, ‘A City in the Skies’, might hint at the rockier moments of their Blood Inside album (2005), whereas the soothing, melancholic ‘Forgive Us’, featuring world-renowned trumpet player Nils Petter Molvær, and the smouldering ‘Locusts’ could have been relics from the years between Shadows of the Sun (2007) and Wars of the Roses (2011). Similarly, the album’s two haunted nocturnes could have been secret transmissions from Ulver’s earlier electronic ambient oeuvre or the stellar experiments on ATGCLVLSSCAP (2016).
And one could go on like this, and never really hit the mark. What about the B-side opener, the infectious and anthemic ‘Hollywood Babylon’, or the final single ‘The Red Light’, both showcasing Stian Westerhus’s inventive guitar work, and among Ulver’s catchiest moments?
Liminal Animals feels and sounds like a record made by a band being on a threshold.
Set in a perfect storm.
There’s no way around this: as the making of Liminal Animals commenced in 2022, Tore Ylvisaker, sound wizard, keyboardist, and a core member since 1997, had gradually drifted away from the pack. Initially to pursue other endeavours, before removing himself completely from the workings of the band. Everyone still reading knows what happened in August, as the rest of the pack was about to end the recording sessions. The absence of brother Tore, to whom Liminal Animals is dedicated, will forever haunt these tracks.
There’s a final song in here, too. ‘Helian’, a dark and intoxicated, 11-minute track, recorded in September, and featuring Jørn H. Sværen’s reading of the dreamlike and on the verge of delirious long poem by Georg Trakl (1887–1914). It is the eulogy no one could have expected, revealing Ulver’s continued exploration of groove, repetition, and texture. It is, I think, the inevitable rite of passage, a journey to the borders of language and the disintegrating form. Into the unknown.
As the intense flow of words ceases and the crackling beats and sounds recede, ‘Helian’ feels like the fulfilment of a promise. Wolves Evolve.
Where to go from here?
Tore Engelsen Espedal, Via Francigena, November 2024
ORDER AT HOUSE OF MYTHOLOGY
IN MEMORIAM TORE YLVISAKER (1970–2024)
Where to even begin? Our friend for the better part of our adult lives is gone. He chose to leave life on what would be his 54th birthday, 16 August 2024. It is excruciating.
Rewind: We – Kris and Jørn – met Tore in 1997, Endless Sound Studio, 3rd floor, Grønlandsleiret 14. Immediate bonds were formed, and Ulver began metamorphosing into the bastard it has become. First with the Blake album, a process that took well over a year, with Tore and Kris living in the studio, literally, and growing ever closer. Then came Perdition City, soundtracks and silence. When Endless ended, we moved up to Tore’s apartment on the 5th floor. Blood, sweat and tears.
After Shadows – a eulogy in itself – we headed from Grønlandsleiret to Crystal Canyon, 2nd floor, Gøteborggata 27B, and the band became bigger. Different. A collective, as many call it. This was, in retrospect, maybe a sign that we had been churning down the rabbit hole for so long, a decade in the machines, we needed some air and new impulses. We started to play live, we travelled, we had lots of fun under the sun. We also had some problems around this time, but we got through.
Since Canyon the constellation has been more mercurial, involving more people, all stars in their own right: Ole Alexander Halstensgård, Anders Møller, Tomas Pettersen, Daniel O’Sullivan, Ivar Thormodsæter, Stian Westerhus, Chris Fullard, Kristin Bøyesen and countless others. It has felt like one big family, and now one of its elders is gone.
Tore was always there, either with the vacuum cleaner or some vintage synth, patching or programming things. The wizard, the caretaker. He cared so much for the processes and mechanics of it all, and his technical expertise was and is unsurpassed, both studio and stage. He was a pro, and we are so glad to have been around him when he was in his element, happy and sparkly. Full of zest, and with this big grin that could make anyone feel like you were his best buddy, just like that.
So many have been touched – blessed – by Tore’s presence, his enthusiasm and knowledge. In more recent years also through GOBS, Gamle Oslo Backline Service, which he established around the time we assassinated Caesar. Polishing drum skins, rigging up and down hardware, driving around Oslo with gear and equipment to various venues or festivals. Self-sacrificing, down-to-earth, a man of the people!
Easy to love. One of a kind. And endlessly kind.
But there have been hard times too, of course. Differences. Wear and tear. Friction. Sadly – and it makes this hurt even more, and may come as a surprise to many – we did not have much contact these last few years. We only bring this up because, well, people be complicated, and bands even more so.
In the end we are human, all too human. Marked by age and ennui, family and duty, love and loss. Where did the good times go? Ouch, my back! Where are my glasses?
It is not easy.
Autumn falls.
We were relieved when we heard Tore had moved up north, to spend time with and take care of his old folks, and to find space and focus on making music again, music that would be “just him”. This is something he had talked about for years, and we thought – perhaps naively – that maybe this was exactly what he needed at this point. We always figured we would find together again, like we have before, and, with time, become those old morons sitting on the porch of the retirement home, sipping sherry and pretending it’s a tour bus.
Oh, how we will remember our insane jargon, the parties, the places, the people. The shared life, as brothers in arms. Just thinking about all the weird shit we’ve been through together, through thick and thin, for 25 years as close friends, companions and co-conspirators.
We will remember Tore as the gentle, genuine, generous and, eh, “weird motherfucker” he was – we all agree on this terminology, and probably he would as well. The feelz that could only come from our very own mad professor, his unique approach to chords, scales, his inherent musicality – fingerspitzgefühl – which has defined too many of our songs and releases to mention.
Let it be said and heard: Ulver would never be what it is without him. Everyone knows this, and feels it deeply. We loved him. Love him.
It is painful to think of our brother now, his last days. Lord knows what was going through his mind. Tore leaving us like this is a crushing reminder that all good things come to an end. Sometimes sooner, more sudden than we are ready for.
That death is part of this life.
We all know this. But it is hard to accept. We will never see our friend again. It’s totally absurd.
It hurts.
Thank you so much, all of you who have written, reached out, sent flowers and shared your memories with us these last days. We are moved and grateful. It is testament to how much Tore has meant, mattered.
As many have already said: he will live forever in the music.
We are glad to be in touch with Tore’s family, all of whom are the warmest and most wonderful people. Solid wood, as we say up here north. Our deepest sympathies go to them. They have told us that there exists some music from Tore’s final days, Hemingway-style in an old house up in Elsfjorden. We will look into this in due time, in cooperation with them and his love of over a decade, Ingrid dearest.
As for the rest of us, we have been together this last week, reminiscing and comforting each other, and we believe that the only sane response at this time is to carry on. We have no choice. We have to keep living, howling, holding on to the things that give our lives purpose. Music. Even without Tore.
Now and forever a big black hole in our hearts.
Farewell, dearest brother. You are legend. We miss you deeply.
Ulver, Oslo, 26 August 2024
Photo: Ingrid Aas 2020
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See HISTORY for the past, and FACEBOOK for shorter updates and curiosa.
Visit BANDCAMP, HOUSE OF MYTHOLOGY (UK), SPKR (EU) and INDIEMERCH (US) for music and merch.
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