01. Nuortta silkkit (Northern silk) 02. De juoiggas (Hear the sound of the yoik) 03. Cálkko-Niillas (They said he was a noaidi) 04. Gádjá Nillá (He was rich and famous) 05. Ládjogahpir (The traditional Sámi hat) 06. New York 07. Inger-Mari (The wedding yoik for Inger-Mari and Sudhir) 08. Njuvccat bohtet (The return of the swan) 09. Riddu badjána (The storm is coming) 10. Odda áigi (Modern times) 11. Áigi vássá (Time doesn’t stop) 12. Máttaráhku askái (In Our Foremothers‘ Arms)
The primal sound of the joik is simply undeniable. It goes straight to the gut and the heart, evoking the sense of icy plains, the nomad Saami wandering. Atmospheric without every becoming New Agey, Pirttijarvi and her band weave a fine spell, her voice ringing, sometimes soft, sometimes brutal, over a basic rhythm (not too dissimilar to a Native American sound) with colors and textures provided by the instruments. It’s Nordic, chilly, and stunningly beautiful. Even the normally warm cello takes on frozen overtones here, and the soprano sax whips away like a blizzard. It’s not the fevered rush of Wimme or the woman warrior of Maire Boine; Pirttijarvi has her own contribution to the genre, and it’s as haunting as Northern snow.
