After more than a decade spent away from the recording studio, Ólöf Arnalds quietly returns with the hauntingly intimate Spíra.
Release date: December 5, 2025 | One Little Independent Records | Bandcamp | Instagram
Some artists have this particular, ethereal presence that feels like a chance encounter with a rare, mythological creature that has come forth from its dwelling for reasons beyond our human comprehension. There’s almost always an element of whimsy to their presence, but also an intangible gravitas that imbues their work with a strong dichotomy of meaning; an infinitely momentous sense of levity, if you catch my drift. One could argue that Icelandic singer-songwriter Ólöf Arnalds is the epitome of this trope.
Throughout her career, be it her own path as a solo artist or as a member of múm, Arnalds has always been this singular, borderline mystical entity, whimsical but deeply serious at the same time. Drawing from the richly imaginative cultural background of her Icelandic heritage, it seems like her work is full of the very same fairies, trolls, and assorted creatures that hide just beyond the thin veil of perception to haunt and intrigue our everyday life, which has been stripped of anything remotely fantastical or magical by the unstoppable forces of progress. And yet, there’s a deeply felt humanity to it as well, firmly tethering her sensitive but self-assured compositions to the real world as opposed to some imaginary cloud-cuckoo-land.
One trait the artists I delineated above have in common is that they rarely need an excess of means to make themselves heard; more often than not, their voice and a singular instrument of choice will do to cross the divide between their imagination and the listener’s attention. Arnalds, at least with her solo work, excels at this minimalist approach; rarely does she ever venture beyond her chosen array of assorted string instruments (guitar, koto, violin, and charango) to tell her softly treading tales. Yes, this feels like a continuation of a lineage that contains greats like Joanna Newsom and Vashti Bunyan, both legendary voices in contemporary folk music, but the comparison does Arnalds the disservice of not taking her at face value instead of reaching for notable reference points to understand the work at hand.
Spíra (Icelandic for ‘sprout’) is her sixth album under her own name, and it was produced by her husband, the great Skúli Sverrisson, who also contributes bass and guitar to the recording. Composer Davíð Þór Jónsson also appears on the album, lending piano and guitar tracks to Arnalds’ quietly sprawling vision. This collaboration lies at the heart of what is Arnalds’ first record in over a decade. Theirs is a connection guided by trust and music, and it shines through in the sparse but densely populated magic of Spíra’s nine tracks.
The intimacy of the live, one-take recordings is matched by Arnalds’ lyricism, delivered entirely in her native Icelandic, that connects the deeply personal, innermost emotion with the mysteries and wonders of everyday life. Nature, especially flowers, is a big anchor point for her, becoming a launching pad for mundane observations and poetic asides alike. The biggest thematic throughline is the range of loves one may experience in life – be it familial, romantic, platonic: you name it, there’s a song about it on Spíra. Uncles, sons, and long-time friends are lovingly immortalised in song, telling their stories in relation to Arnalds’ life and times.
Where darkness is transformed from a scary, intimidating presence into an opportunity for fearless self-reflection and -expression, you know you found a wholesome space to rest your world-weary head for a while. Spíra quickly envelops you with its sparse riches to become a warm, nourishing space for you to exist in, with no thoughts of the past or future to snag you away from the pure moment. Ólöf Arnalds is a very special artist, and once again, she’s turned out a very special record.
