Bryyn-In Shapes

Jenn Cohen | August 1, 2012 | 0 Comments

by: Sal Christ

Photo Credit: Bryyn

With guitar strumming as delicate as butter-yellow threads of wheat fingered under an-hour-before-dusk hued sky, Switzerland-anchored American expat, Bryyn, fashions together a cozy collection of indie acoustic auditory baubles on his newest release, In Shapes.

These are the tunes that travel to Anywhere and Nowhere, circa Anytime–familiar, warm, and emotive with every note tick and vocal inflection. Reminiscent of cotton soft-folk, meditative as a lullaby, and decorated with haunted but cutesy pop of Sufjan Stevens, every track is a three-prong conversation between the singer and his muse, and the eavesdropping audience for whom interpretation of every stanza is like reading a secret diary.

“What I Hope” is a deeper toned tune and immediately tethers itself to the ear with a steady seesaw beat, until a startling electronic zip-zip-zip intrudes in the second half of the song. “Fractals” and “Rounder than an Orange” flick about with happy swagger, paving the path in front of them, and the chummy feel of the prior leaves the listener with some aural deja vu. A lullaby in theory (if not lyrically), or at least a soundtrack for the streaking stars in a summer night to glide along to, “Giraffe” floats weightless on a twilight pond with gauzy female backup vocals, a trickling string line that a banjo might have rendered, and soothing piano.

In Shapes is an album for seasons of all time, with Bryyn’s plaintive voice and room-in-the-heart lyrics, ameliorating to both the hardest, coldest, softest, and sunniest of days. Whether it’s the tiny town of Vulliens, where Bryyn lives, or the likes of a force less tangible, something has most certainly dotted his music with that magic that is frisson–something that everyone needs more of.

Online: bryyn.com