Talking to the Trees
The essence of nature and a tale of humanity.
A Collaboration With SASHA BARYSHNIKOVA
Join Mel·lif·lu·ous on a sonic journey with “Talking to the Trees,” inspired by a walk in the forest where Lara’s friend Sasha highlighted the danger ivy poses to trees. Sasha’s dedication to saving the trees inspired the project’s unique blend of sound and poetry.
All the sounds in this project are taken from nature and transformed through innovative effects on the voice and violin.
Music Residency in Japan
Mel·lif·lu·ous has been accepted into a music residency in Japan next year to develop a visual experience and show for “Talking to the Trees.” This opportunity will deepen her exploration of music and digital art, blending her unique sound with immersive visual elements.
This project continues her legacy of defying musical conventions and pushing the boundaries of artistic expression.
Talking to the Trees transcends being just an album; it’s a conversation with nature, a harmonious blend of sound and symbolism, and a lovely walk with a dear friend through a park.
Days are getting longer,
Can’t stay inside the house.
A path through indian plums
Swells with first green leaflets.
Salmon berry trembles with fervor,
Eager to engorge on photons.
I run through the last year foliage,
Piles of delectable brown salad.
I don’t know who I am
And whether I am enough,
I know I want to be
Where Alder Girls laugh.
I am entering the forest’s mind.
My thoughts are forest’s dreams.
I flow with mysterious waves
Through synapses and pathways.
In the opening by the creek,
I see them in a circle of light.
The tea is ready. My girlfriends
Are waiting for me.
I don’t care who I am
And whether I am enough.
I am learning from Alder Girls
How to laugh.
There is something about the steam
Raising over our cups.
There is something about the air
And music of this place.
At once,
time goes in every which way.
Space warps
Into a cluster of cones in my hand.
I don’t need to know who I am
And whether I am enough.
I grow, I grow
Along the dimension of love.
I travel as a ray of sunrise, Moving
through the trees,
I paint in red the branches
of a Douglas fir
To have a robin alight
On a circle of warmth.
I touch robin’s delicate feet,
Fluffy feathers of neck,
Tiny strands of his crown.
Reluctantly, I go on.
Who knows what I’ll see beyond.
I move above
the city’s geographic shapes
Above expanse
of water spread Through troposphere, out,
Into unblinking constellations,
Timeless chill,
The Big Bang memories and such,
Carrying with me the orange hue of the sun,
And the robin.
Now you only come as a guest,
A rare visitor, you stand on a single toe
On our front yard.
God forbid you drop a branch,
Flood a gutter with needles –
No one tolerates such rude acts.
On our front yard.
I close my eyes and see them, colossal spirits,
Walking on one foot, mist in the hair.
They murmur in wisps of scent.
Fog descends as they dream.
You, standing on my lawn, seem tame enough.
CHORUS
Your hair is chopped,
Tongues – beaten out.
You are lost as any unloved child.
You are as easy to fall as any unloved child.
Yet, in your wooden bones you feel
Your aunts and grandmothers,
Their strength pulses through you,
Year after year, it swells in a layer.
It knows what you must become.
May you watch the concrete crack.
May you free yourself
And roam this land, that is yours,
The way only unicorns are meant to roam.
The sun came through the drapes
With its tendril like a pea shoot
Stitched itself to my wall,
Wobbled with sudden wind.
Outside, wild roses shook their ear rings,
Red beadwork, garnets on long limbs.
Outside, the light moved fast.
Long shadows rushed east-west.
Short winter day.
Juncos, like a splattered paint,
Splashes of black and white,
Shimmer on a carpet of brewed leaves.
The sun travelled across my wall,
Stirring a pot of life before turning red,
Leaving everyone to wait
For another splash of sluggish photons.
And we,
Juncoes, wild roses and I,
We will wait.
Katsura, my sister,
How long has it been?
Remember how we played tricks, –
One glimpse and we’d laugh –
In the garden full of bees
And a smell of burnt sugar.
Katsura, my sister,
We knew each other’s thoughts,
We spoke in a secret tongue
Our inmost dreams
As we waited for a right wind
And a smell of burnt sugar.
Katsura, my sister,
Remember how we drowned,
How we gasped for help?
But we shed our leaves,
And pushed through with new shoots
And a smell of burnt sugar.
Can I stay next to you,
Gold on the blue?
No need to leave traces
Only a hint of sweetness
Katsura, my sister,
We are made of light,
We’ve become shimmering shapes,
Grooves of knowing,
Radiance of love
And a smell of burnt sugar.
Also check out Spákonufell
For two months earlier this year, I had the wild privilege of traveling to the small town of Skagastrond, Iceland, as a part of an artist residency. Each day, I woke up and looked out my window to see a breathtaking view of the mountain Spákonufell.
I am delighted to announce the release of my album, “Spákonufell,” which was written and recorded in in the freezer of an old fish factory located in this town. This is also the mountain that graces my album cover in artwork by the massively talented Lena J. Fahlén.
