I am a man of words.

I have been ever since I started writing terrible poetry when I was 12, and after 40 years of honing my craft you can imagine how important language is to me. So can someone please explain to me how Evolve IV-VIII by Hjort, a purely instrumental record, is the closet thing I’ve ever found to a voice that speaks so fucking directly to my soul?

This shouldn’t be.

Oh, it would be fine if it was just a really good album, but this reaches me on a level that not even Bukowski in the deepest depths of his despair or Kerouac high on the mountain air of Big Sur has ever managed.

It is as beautiful as a moon drenched shore off the coast of a tropical island, as desolate as the ice tortured tundras of the coldest reaches of this earth, and as grand in scope and scale as any canyon you care to mention. It is vast, so vast in fact that it could fill a million Opera Houses at once, yet at the same time so intimate that you want to horde it too yourself for fear that letting anyone else hear it would expose a part of you that you’re not sure you want anyone else to see.

It is impossible to explain how much Evolve IV-VIII means to me on a personal level, but it is as if Hjort somehow climbed inside my heart and recorded all the darkness and tragedy that they found there. And yet, within all this sadness, anger, and self doubt that lurks within this album, there is a sense of hope.

Moments that are uplifting, that speak to you of possible salvation, a light at the end of the tunnel, and these passages, woven so intricately together by a master weaver, shows the savant brilliance of Hjort.

Evolve IV-VIII is a complex piece of work that sounds simple, it is a series of emotions made flesh, it is an exposed nerve that you never want healed, and it is a fucking masterpiece.

Evolve IV-VIII by Hjort isn’t available to the general public until 24th of January but I emplore you, when it is get to Inertial Music and buy yourself a copy.

Everyone needs this record in their lifes.