“Sculptures From Under the City Ice is a sort of longing, I think,” Christian Winther says of his third full-length solo record. This statement is cryptic but somehow poignant, poetic, and also a little weird. And so is Sculptures From Under the City Ice.

Winther is a highly sought after guitarist and tireless collaborator in the Norwegian avant garde scene. His previous solo release was awarded album of the year by Klassekampen in Norway. He has toured extensively throughout Europe, Japan, and South America both solo and with various rock bands and experimental ensembles.

Sculptures From Under the City Ice however stands apart. Shimmeringly beautiful, intertwining and deft guitar lines search over the metric pulse of Hans Hulbækmo’s spare drums, all sensitively shepherded by celebrated producer Lasse Marhaug. At times one may feel one is listening to Television in a slow motion dreamstate, though Winther’s plainspoken and crystalline singing leans more Cass McCombs than Tom Verlaine. And though there is something of the spirit of New York 1980 –– echoes of Arthur Russell, Laurie Anderson, Loren Connors –– the context is something else entirely. “ 

Annie Dillard and a lot of Rebecca Solnit … Norwegian poet Tor Ulven,” Winther says, listing his biggest influences while making Sculptures. “I pictured a very specific place from growing up surrounded by water, strong winds; a kind of majestic place, a nature preserve.” Winther and his partner and collaborator, musician Anja Lauvdal were headed to such a place throughout the year that they were working on Sculptures. Expecting a child, and having bought some land in the country, moved out of their place in the city but not yet settled anywhere else, Winther and Lauvdal were in a liminal state, following intuition and growing new life. Sculptures feels like this, with all its surprising turns and delightful nuances, intuitive but memorable song structures. In fact the “sculptures” of the title are not sculptures per se, but ice floes of the Akerselva River as it passes through Oslo. Incident and intuition as works of art. Longing projected, transformed into open guitar tunings and patently gorgeous mid-tempo rock and roll reveries.

Without compromising its touching sincerity, Winther’s approach is roguish, playful. It’s no wonder that he is charmed by writers like Dillard and Solnit, who are both essayists and poets, who write with sterling tenderness but not without humor. Sculptures From Under the City Ice is like this: tender and approachable, full of surprises, and unequivocally gorgeous.