Style: free folk, experimental ambient, drone, white voice (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Wardruna, Natural Snow Buildings, Bulgarian State Radio & Television Female Vocal Choir, Maddie Ashman
Country: Portugal
Release date: 22 January 2026

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Of the various responses to music, perhaps none is so sublime as frisson, the physical chills associated with intense reactions to musical beauty. Biologically, they’re a fear response to surprise from unexpected stimuli; musically, this takes the form of sudden dynamic shifts, abrupt modulation of sustained chords, spacious soundscapes, or choral textures. The awe that induces frisson requires the terror of the unknown and magnificent, as if standing in front of a pantheon of oak, a citadel of stone.¹ Frisson is a sacred, religious experience for music fans lucky enough to be susceptible to it, and it’s rare for me to experience at this point, jaded from hearing as much new music as I do—not much surprises me.²

Cláudia Simões’ ethereal voice drones in a simple, four-note repetition for the entirety of “Luz”, the first track on the Portuguese multimedia artist’s new album under the moniker Alga,³ Terceiro Solstício. She slowly incorporates several layers of background droning—both of her voice and of creaking strings—throughout the loop, to haunting effect. The song progresses glacially; sudden changes do not exist. And yet, each quartet of notes from Simões voice is frisson-inducing. The reason is clear—the third note and fourth notes are microtones—but an extremely minimalist song creating such a visceral response to the droning track is incredible. The continual release of dopamine from “Luz” makes the track physically exhausting to listen to, overstimulating my brain: a surreal experience.

The unusually effective drones persist throughout Terceiro Solstício, although Simões becomes a spectral presence hovering in the background, together with the hushed sounds of running water and wind. On “gélida” and “monte,” gentle electric guitar takes the lead. The former consists of a subdued yet incessant change between a single small interval, with a chord change every dozen or so iterations of the repeated, microtonal dyad. Because of the fluttering guitar hovering in a condensed range above a groaning violin, the track “gélida” is eerie, feeling like somebody is watching from beyond the mist. “(d)o” and “em flor(es)” revolve around the strings, sustained cello and violin, holding out the same ghastly note for minutes at a time. Much in the vein of the most subdued post-rock, Alga’s songwriting itself is textural, and each track relies on shifting instrumentation entering the background and unhurried changes in dynamics to build tension. The unease from the unusual intervals and minimalist instrumentation culminates in the final few minutes of “em flor(es),” as Simões begins a primal wailing that is eventually overcome by deafening guitar feedback to conclude the album. After forty-five minutes of restrained pressure, the release is euphoric, even if the climax is so brief. 

The inebriating atmosphere on Terceiro Solstício comes from another plane of existence. Like the bow that slowly runs out of space on the strings or like Simões lilts fluttering just off the dodecaphonic scale, the album is in abeyance—I never have been able to understand the repetition, even if I feel I should. The layered instrumentation slips beyond comprehension. Thematically, too, Alga wishes to capture a liminality just outside the grasp of human remembrance: the time within our mothers’ wombs, floating suspended in amniotic fluid. That pink room where bones, teeth, and skin form, where consciousness is born. An unsettling, magical place shared by humankind. Knowing this, Terceiro Solstício’s mercurial drones take on new meaning, as Simões’ hushed call becomes maternal and as the tension is the knitting together of life. 

The birth of Simões’ creation was partly spontaneous: Alga improvised the enchanting looped soundscapes of Terceiro Solstício at a live performance in late 2025. The way the gorgeous record manifested in real time may have been as surprising to her as the recorded version is to me—many artists say the act of creation itself is a spiritual experience. Regardless, her performance haunts me, leaving me burdened with unexpected, powerful emotions, my brain convulsing with frisson.

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Recommended tracks: Luz, monte, em flor(es)
You may also like: Maud the Moth, Heinali, David Hykes, Galya Bisengalieva, Alora Crucible
Final verdict: 8/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Instagram

Label: Colectivo Casa Amarela

Alga is:
– Cláudia Simões (everything)

1.  That Agalloch line from “In the Shadow of Our Pale Companion” is my favorite lyric of all time. ↩︎
2. This paragraph is partly summary of an argument David Huron makes throughout his book Sweet Anticipation: Music and the Psychology of Expectation. ↩︎
3. Alga is her audio-only project. ↩︎