Between London and Oslo, BirdWorld – Gregor Riddell on cello, bass, guitar, vocals, piano and Juno and Adam Teixeira on drums, percussion and synths – crafts a sound rooted in collaboration and discovery. The duo first met during residencies at the Banff Centre for the Arts, where their shared improvisations merged with field recordings collected from the surrounding environment. With a setup centered around cello, drum kit, kalimbas, and hand percussion, their music also relies heavily on the subtle electronic textures.

During the pandemic, they worked remotely to develop their second album, Nurture, while navigating the shared experience of becoming fathers.

BirdWorld's new album, Nurture, will be released in spring 2025 on the Norwegian label Dugnad. The release will be followed by a tour across Scandinavia and the rest of Europe.

The album starts with Coroico built around the contrast of subtle piano, synth and cello textures with the determination of the muscular bass part. However, neither of the two forces wins, with the track growing more anxious and chaotic as it progresses. The last notes that we are hear are quiet and serene. However, we are left to believe this is only a moment of calm before the storm.

Opposite Hinges recorded with renowned Norwegian violinist Sara Övinge only hints on the storm coming. The never-resolving marimba riff fills the thick air with tension, and dissonant clusters of string notes and buzzy synth textures hang over the musical landscape like rain clouds.

But maybe the storm is not going to come after all? Maybe what seems like calm from our angle is the real storm, if you look from the bird's eye view. And the only thing that's left for us, standing in the middle of that invisible storm, is learning to navigate through it.

Pinball Flare Lights might be perceived as the illustration of this worldview. Ambiguous string textures set the scene – are they sad or hopeful, jarring or subtly comforting? Too much confusion in the world. Maybe the best way to navigate through that confusion is to start dancing. About two minutes in, the composition provides an irresistible groove that might help. The impeccable contribution from saxophonist Maria Dybbroe feels like the perfect illustration of the dancer's soul.

But different dancers have different souls – and bodies! Some are feverish and driven by emotions, as portrayed by the solo drumming on Lay of the Land. Some are introspective, while constantly going through millions of mood nuances, as showcased by the solo cello playing on At Her Whim.

Let Sleeping Babies Lie, one of the album's pre-release singles, provides a moment of rest from the fervour and melodic generosity of intense soloing, relying on textures rather than grooves and melodies.

Abdul ('Peregrina') greets us with the familiar dissonance that feels like a recurring theme on the album. What will emerge from the chaos seed this time? A different beast again.

The string layer, ticking like a metronome, feels like the embodiment of severe headache, which, surrounded by brooding textures and emotional drumming, serves as a beautiful metaphor for sickness in all of its senses – physical, emotional or the sickness of the world itself.

Siðe introduces textural chaos again, finding beauty and hope in its balance of movement and stillness, in the shifting of form, so slow that it's indistinguishable from stability.

Oisín Part I features some of the most memorable melodic moments on the record and is also notable for the masterful use of cymbals to create a special atmosphere. And then we get even more beautiful (and hummable!) melodies, courtesy of Harpreet Bansal who joins the duo for Til Liv.

Aisha is a postmodernist take on the shapes and moods of jazz – more traditional than most of what we get on this record. The cello part here sticks to the realm of what's expected a bit closer than the drums, with the latter going as imaginative as they can.

Should You Ever Listen is centered around Gregor's intimate and vulnerable vocal performance, accompanied by reverberated guitar, getting beautifully melodic when the vocals step out of the spotlight.

The album as a whole feels like an exploration of relationships between our souls and bodies and the world outside, which is a natural direction for a band that started out by playing around with field recordings. If field recordings played a more prominent role on Nurture, the nature of these relationships (or, rather, the way the musicians see it) would feel more evident. However, the album takes one step deeper, and sometimes it's hard to tell where the border between us and the world even lies.

The record's strong points are the beautiful musicianship, both from the band itself and their collaborators, and the richness of the album's palette of timbres, tempos, textures and playing styles. Along with the emotional deepness and overall fresh approach, these are the reasons why I will be sure to revisit Nurture years and years after release.