Besides crafting evocative digital compositions, the Baghdad-born, Barcelona-based artist Dania also serves night shifts as an critical care physician. Those nocturnal hours are the influence behind her latest album Listless: each of the seven tracks were composed and recorded in the early hours, and the artwork showcases the slender blossom of the Japanese snake gourd, a plant that only blooms at night. However, there is little trace of the chaos of her late-night schedule here: rather, the record embodies a quiet peacefulness that is sometimes blissful, sometimes eerie.
Converging somewhere between downtempo, ethereal rock and atmospheric, with a touch of pop, the textured songs glide hypnotically, driven by washes of synthesizers and, as a new element, drums. A new addition to the artist's typical setup, these drums add a soft downtempo kick to several of the tracks. Its meandering, hazy beat in the track Personal Assistant recalls the late-90s bands Scala and Seefeel, whereas Car Crash Premonition is the nearest things get to urgent. Written after an disturbing cab ride to her studio late one evening, it is simultaneously contemplative and dizzying, fit for a film montage.
Other songs, such as one titled I Know That and Write My Name, are closer in style of Dania’s past output: stripped back and formless. The final song, named A Hunger, has a underwater feel, with bubbling and beeping electronics that resemble hospital monitors, interwoven with altered voicemail-like vocals.
Dania’s gentle, murmuring vocal is featured across nearly the whole of the album. The words are hardly discernible as her vocals are floating, looped, stacked, sometimes barely there entirely. Having been raised in a household where singing was frowned upon, she has stated that it is an activity she’s consistently considered personal. But this is additionally an brilliant decision, augmenting the dream-like haze on this beautiful, personal record.
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