Múm
Please Smile My Noise Bleed

THE REVIEW

I am cold.

I am alone.

Children are playing...

I look to the horizon and see a thin blue line separating the white of the snow from the blue of the night sky. I lift my eyes and small pieces of colored cardboard decorate the night like multicolored stars... there is only me... in the snow's nothingness, in the night... I should be afraid... I know I should at least feel uncomfortable... yet I have never been this relaxed. I start to hear children's voices coming from afar. I turn around and try to identify where they are coming from, but as soon as I turn my head, I find myself lying in a carved fir bed. A fluffy patchwork covers me up to the tip of my nose... the coziest of duvets.

Slowly, I let myself succumb to sleep while the children's voices grow more distant, and around me, streamers and pink elephants dance. There is no place where I would feel safer.

Listening to Mum is like going back in time. Your brain starts spewing out random information retrieved from your most forgotten thoughts. Listening to them, you'll find yourself recalling the face of your kindergarten classmate, remembering the color of her eyes; you will vividly smell the sweets your grandmother baked for you when you returned from a little soccer game at the park. I don't know where the magic of these Icelandic guys lies.

I know that one of their albums is worth more than a photo album.