A musical exploration of reciprocities is being offered to us by the London & Vienna-based duo Bara & Isa on their debut album titled “(ii)”. Within this offering, the “I” is multiplied, and when the opening track of the record suggests that “I see your life in my eye”, the tone is being set for us to indulge in the mist(ification) and dissemination of selfhood as well as the reciprocity of its constitution. In fact, it is already the cover artwork that situates the listener tangled in the polychromatic web of relations between several orbicular spheres. There, that’s where the (ii) might reside, yet to be defined and unitised, rather evaporating and permeable, seeking to find its interconnection. This condition, conspicuous in our isolating and alienating times, evidently can evoke feelings of disorientation and overwhelm us. Hence, on the second track, “apwbs”, Bara & Isa harmonize, squeak, and scream a wishful: “Take me out of myself, to a place we both share”. A collage of distorted field recordings, a drawn-out wistful melody played on an electric organ, delicate chimes, and varying layered vocals intensify until the tune culminates with the words “there is so much confusion, we need to find a resolution”, leaving us with gently decaying bells. Interestingly, the first line of the track’s lyrics on Bandcamp reads “longing for cessation of self”, yet these words remain inaudible, or at least unintelligible, throughout the whole song. A call for new modalities of being, a longing that transgresses hegemonic individualism and seeks to be unbound in mutuality.

Next, we are met with foley sounds that comprise the base layer of “Lover Organ”. These could’ve easily been recorded as a voice note on a phone, which makes sense if you consider the fact that the duo primarily produced this album through digitally exchanging stems, ideas, and compositions between London and Vienna. This digitality hauntingly manifests itself across “(ii)”. Although analogue instruments form the album’s core, with an ever-present archaic earthiness, the eerie digital sound processing firmly situates the record in the now. Avant-folk tunes that complexify notions of purity through their use of more disruptive elements and frankness towards the digital. While listening to “(ii)”, traces of New Age might come to mind; however, Bara & Isa don’t make music for the background or neoliberal stress management. The duo rather pushes this condition and its sounds to the fore. Painful realities are being dealt with and sung about, yet always highlighting nuances and the counteractive, just like they do on “Hollow Bone”: “A togetherness is forming, a dance of full abandon”.

Imagery of nature is negotiated sonically as well as lyrically. These references reminded me of seeing Bara & Isa perform live at Flucc Deck in Vienna this summer. While they were playing their airs, a summery thunderstorm broke out, pouring rain clashing on the clear window fronts next to the stage and growling thunder inserting itself into the soundscapes. It felt like the duo’s music was grounding the audience within the circumstances, holding and carrying us with their delicate arrangements. Bara & Isa sitting face to face, singing to and with each other, displaying enchanting emanations of empathy while haunting echoes of chimes embraced the crowd.

Towards the end of “(ii)”, feelings of acceptance begin to be the predominant sentiment. Almost like a resolution is about to be found, yet overlayed by the unsettling. After hearing the repeated reassurance, “it’s okay, okay, don’t you worry”, we enter two instrumental tracks, “Bellsong” and “dedication 2”, holding space for reflection. The drony “dedication 2” is subtitled the “bridge of hope”, aptly capturing the emotional and narrative transition it conveys. Eight and a half affective minutes of hollow drones married with bawling flutes, pipes, and quiet hums lead us to the closing of the album, an acoustic version of “it’s o.k”, which already initiated the ending earlier in the track list. Stripped-down lyrics and minimal instrumentation form a tender lullaby. While themes of painful love, the precarity of selfhood, and disconnectedness keep lurking in the back, “(ii)” ends on a hopeful note. Diligently crafted, Bara & Isa managed to create a compassionate piece of sonic care.