Brzmi w Trzcinie #6: Antonina Nowacka, ehh hahah, Bartosz Kruczyński, nath, and more

Presenting the albums that defined our summer, plus a playlist of 2024 highlights

Artwork by Martin George for Polje Nieuk’s self-titled LP

Summer came and went, but sunny days still can’t seem to beat it where (at least one of us) is writing these words, meaning it might not be too late to reflect on the mesmerizing, heart-wrenching, world-building, or simply fun music from Polish artists we’ve enjoyed between the months of June and September. Read on for write-ups on glimmering electronica, sweeping experimental vistas, bedroom R&B, heart-on-the-sleeve indie rock lyricism, and a whole lot of kosmische reverence. And, check out a Spotify playlist of some of our 2024 favorites so far.

Antonina Nowacka, Sylphine Soporifera (Mondoj)

Sound artist Antonina Nowacka follows her breakthrough collaboration with Sofie Birch, Languoria, with a grand and dazzling, multihued album that sees her imagination run wild while still carrying music that just about anyone would want to hang their ear on. Sylphine Soporifera’s strengths come from its composer’s extraordinary skill at rendering her influences in high definition: sharp and sensory and relatable. You don’t need to know that the album was inspired by the landscape of Paracas, Peru—where the desert meets the sea—because you can hear it in the way Nowacka’s meandering, operatic voice whooshes high over open space and strikes against unexpected obstacles, forever reshaping them upon impact. You don’t need to read about the joy she felt when first hearing the sounds of old Italian ocarinas and Nepalese flutes during her travels, because the album’s mosaic arrangement will have you experience surprise and awe at every step of delving into its intricate fabric. Equally elaborate and jubilant—like an annual festival in the times of antiquity—Nowacka’s record succeeds in a rare feat: the ability to match the richness of its concept with the immediacy of its delivery.—Patryk Mrozek

ehh hahah, nigdy nie jest dobrze (wojtek) (BFF Music)

Producer and meme creator ehh hahah (born 2000) records exactly the kind of music that makes increasingly middle-aged guys like myself use phrases like “zoomer aesthetics”—glitchy electronics, haunted shopping mall keyboard tones, 16-bit JRPG soundtrack vibes, and probably a whole lot of other references that fly over my head. Now with extra chicken sounds. But surprisingly the closest point of reference I find for nigdy nie jest dobrze (wojtek), his first proper album in four years, is millennial experimentalist James Ferraro's Far Side Virtual. ehh hahah's music, however, seems both more chaotic and more emotional. The song titles suggest some kind of reckoning with early adult-life drudgery, and, uhm, Polish hip hop; the music suggests a surprising reggaeton influence that I'm particularly curious about.—Łukasz Konatowicz

Bartosz Kruczyński, Dreams & Whispers (Balmat)

Bartosz Kruczyński’s first LP for Spanish imprint Balmat (a relatively new offshoot of Lapsus Radio) is as confident as it is mercurial. The veteran Warsaw producer, better known as Earth Trax and The Phantom, and as half of the duo Ptaki, tends to save his birth name for his most toned-down, pastoral soundscapes: “ambient at its most timeless,” as the press release would have it. This is true of Dreams & Whispers as well, but in the hands of someone who’s cut their teeth on techno, acid, IDM, and trip-hop-adjacent collages of ‘60s Polish pop hits, timeless becomes progressive. The album’s A-side (“dreams”) offers a crash course in classic ambient tropes of kosmische arpeggiation, vibraphone magic, and straight-up Reichien minimalism, and yet it is joyously bouncy and melodic to the point of being catchy. The B-side ("whispers”) disrupts that groove with somber moods, deconstructed tempos, and occasional acoustic instrumentation. Together, the two halves follow a rather bipolar trajectory, structurally recalling post-rock—in reverse. In fact, it is unusual for an album to be bursting at its seams and yet still perfectly worthy of the ambient label; but if ambient music is supposed to reflect the natural and human world, isn’t this exactly what it should sound like in times marked by unpredictability and overstimulation?—Patryk Mrozek

Bałtyk, Hope You Can Hear Me Now (self-released)

Over the last five years, Michał Rutkowski has quietly released five home-recorded albums that pack as much emotional punch as the complete discographies of much, much better-known artists; Hope You Can Hear Now might just be the crowning achievement of this impressive legacy. Rutkowski’s voice has range and tint and often sits uncomfortably close, and—not unlike Sade’s—has the tendency to startle and pitch like an airplane during turbulence; you can never tell when it’s going to suddenly lift 10,000 feet into the air. His music amalgamates ‘90s and aughts lo-fi rock, alternative country, twee, folktronica, and various waves of emo in a way that merges the precise reference points into a hypnagogic aftertaste of a sort of timeless loner pop. His lyrics “straddle the thin line between what's cathartic for the author to write about and what's too painful for them to share”; deeply personal and unflinchingly honest, Rutkowski’s declarations of selfhood, self-doubt, and self-realization take root in hyperspecific life experiences and sprout into reflections on universal hopes and predicaments. Whether it’s your thing or not, it baffles me that this project still exists completely under the radar.—Patryk Mrozek

nath, RODOPSYNA (self-released)

A highly recommended and largely slept on latest release from one of the most consistently interesting young Polish artists. From the quiet storm, almost Sade-like opening of “7am” to inky, minimal “dobranoc,” the selection of beats on this EP is immaculate. There are no rap features this time, leaving nath to take all the spotlight with her half-singing half-rapping, which still provides some surprising variety. She can rise to almost anthemic heights in '“puzzel” or go all textural in “weneckie.” For all the insecurities she explores in her lyrics, she's by now a very confident vocalist in all of her styles, with songwriting skills and range to match.—Łukasz Konatowicz

Polje Nieuk, Polje Nieuk (self-released)

Originating in Melbourne, Australia, Polje Nieuk showcases a democratic, process-driven collaboration between Dylan Marelić and Polish expat Grzegorz Dalmata. To paraphrase their words, the duo strives to weave rich tapestries out of fragmented strains of field recordings, synthesized drones, electro-acoustic clatter, and the human voice. To that, I would add an almost dub techno rhythmic undercurrent that creeps to the surface when you least expect it. Their success with this approach is apparent in the sheer luxuriance of themes and moods that fill the record, and yet they never fully manage to intertwine them together too perfectly—to strip them off their individuality—the end result being music that’s very much driven by the distinctiveness of its many textures. While it’s best described as ambient—at times lethargic and sweltering like a Romeo Poirier record, and at other times full of nostalgia à la Endless Summer—it is always somehow reflective of a post-human environment: one where all the clicks and bleeps and synthetic textures are all part of a new lived reality.—Patryk Mrozek

Wojtek Kiwer, Disconnect EP (okla records)

Launched in February by a trio of creative polymaths—musician Bartosz Szturgiewicz, artist/promoter Michał Wiśniowski, and designer/photographer Michał Kęskiewicz—OKLA Records "focuses on leftfield music: ambient, drone, field recordings, and all manner of experimental sounds." So far, the imprint’s six releases—issued in small-run tape batches and unified by a strong visual identity in their packaging—have already delivered on the press release’s promise of eclecticism. In fact, sound artist and film music composer Wojtek Kiwer’s contribution somehow manages to fit all these descriptors into its six tracks, smoothly transitioning from modular-synth-driven pieces that verge on minimal techno ("PRIMS") to airy, opulent ambient panoramas ("KOI") and jagged IDM abstractions ("ORCA"), all while sprinkling the entire EP with found sounds. Somewhat evocative of the album’s cover, the tonal palette Kiwer has chosen for this project is rather cold, dominated by shades of gray, black, and silver. However, through buoyant, soulful arrangements and imaginative composition, these tones reveal a surprising depth of emotion. Disconnect is like the inner mechanism of a music box: an unimposing, austere-looking jumble of metal that’s heartfelt and brilliant when put in motion.—Patryk Mrozek