Ekin Fil’s music emerges from some muddy darkness and carries the wet must of its source on its trail, which curls and billows; an unlit path, evaporating; a black veil, dissolving, which sweeps through undergrowth perpetually shadowed by endless eves. Literally, but also that evening of memory dampened by her dripping voice and made to mildew, guaranteeing its decay. A blooming mold.
I think of those nutrients and clay surfaces in the early waters of the earth. Listening through KOMA feels akin to rolling around in them. Through them, through time, onto dark green algal mats, into which I sink, clammy and cocooned.
The sea once outside of us moves inside, makes us. And this music that diffuses to completely permeate as mist, rain, moodiness, shame. It immerses me, keeps me there, and in time releases me, sobbing and sopping, closing as a warm hand around cold toes. Whispering intangible words of comfort against my ear.
These songs elicit layers upon layers of emotional and corporeal experiences, reaching a personally high compositional peak in “Dogs”, where a barely wavering drone casts a wide net over sounds that creep and knock and toss, trickle, hang like heavy air. The title track “Koma” is another highlight for the way that this sonic palette forces itself from ethereal abstraction into something like frustration, budding anger, disbelief. Irresolute and unresolved.
Perhaps one day I’ll forgive you fully. Perhaps I can’t. I’ve already reached catharsis, but I still remember. I can try to forget, and then I feel it again. When will this end? How? Somehow…
Ekin Fil has previously released on Root Strata and Students of Decay. The KOMA LP is out now on Stockholm’s Possible Motive.
More about: Ekin Fil
