Jenny Hval - ’Cemetery Of Splendour’ & ’Classic Objects’ (Live)

’Cemetery Of Splendour’ & ’Classic Objects’ are taken from Jenny Hval’s 2022 album ’Classic Objects’. Buy and stream here: Video credits: Directed and edited by Jenny Berger Myhre Cinematographer Sigurd Ytre-Arne Music recorded by Magnus Skavhaug Nergaard Mixed by Kyrre Laastad Video concept by Jenny Berger Myhre, Jenny Hval, Annie Bielski Artwork and additional footage by Annie Bielski Performers Vocals Jenny Hval Keys and vocals Jenny Berger Myhre Bass Håvard Volden Keys Johan Lindvall Drums and percussion Kyrre Laastad Guitars Daniel Meyer Grønvold Filmed at Flerbruket, Hemnes, Norway September 11-12, 2021 Special thanks to Flerbruket & Natali Abrahamsen Garner, Cleo the Finnish Lapphund Lyrics: Cemetery of Splendour When you call my name breath fills a shut-down space. Mouths were opened here once. There was a band on. Hear the buzzing of the empty halls, or all rooms that are empty at any point in time, sigh, aaah. Once you played in empty bars. Performing for the beer tap and the pool tables. Nobody is giving you their card because you have potential. Almost nothing interrupting ideas jittering in the jiggers. They sound like the way to another. Now you go to the afterlife. You’ve heard good things about it. But the embers are cooling, and the spirits are just names plus one. And you see tagged-over posters with faces out of frame, boarded up windows that watch you walk away. All things abandoned are following your steps, associating from space to emptiness. When you are sleeping, time glows. Classic Objects There was a painter in my first studio space. I remember she used to attach her own hair to her paintings. Left out in the hallway, versions of her face, desperate, but hopeful. A row of death masks fusing life and death together, I mean life and art, or is it death and art, or maybe it’s just me? At times I have been obsessed with connecting to materials and textures, and I dreamed of having a face made of marble. How do you kiss a piece of marble? Or a piece of gold? I’ve always tried to prove that I’m the living, connecting dead parts. Once I tried acting, I was the virgin in the cast, like I wasn’t quite human. Performing alabaster, an empty canvas, the shape around the others, in a silent pageant, away from emotion. Now I rearrange objects that my friend made for my show. I’m not sure if these are art or just stuff, she made for me, but I rearrange them on the countertop ike I’m examining stage plot, working on my performance, examining the borders, living my text. Two dead parts. Two still lives.