Since then, baby music hasn't felt so strange. Next, Astrid Sonne performed “Do You Wanna”. This is an unforgettable highlight of the young Danish composer's exciting and provocative new album, Great Doubt. The song finds Sonne asking the big question: “Do you want a baby?” — in at least two different ways. At first, it's more like a blunt pick-up line, without any semblance of flirtatiousness, flirtatiousness, or desire. “You look at me,” Sonne sings, sounding like Shard after an extra dose of Xanax. “Do you want a baby?” Then the drumbeat — the hi-hat ticks like a clock. The kick drum throbs like a headache, drops out, and Sonne retreats into his own mind. “'Do you want a baby?' she thinks to herself.” Her voice sounds as cool and matter-of-fact as ever. Maybe we were in her head all along.
In any case, this is new territory for Sonne, whose previous albums have primarily been instrumental pieces with heavy use of ambient music and classic minimalism. “Great Doubt” shifts back and forth between wordless soundscapes and singing, but in both modes Sonne likes to play her game of switcheroo with synthetic and acoustic tones. A real viola here, a fake string section there, etc. As for her lyrics, they continually address the strangeness of her everyday life. “Look up at the sky,” she sings on “Staying Here,” her words echoing off some unknown surface. “It's all surreal, but I'm not going anywhere.”
This, like almost every other moment on “Great Doubt,” seems to point to “Do You Wanna.” Life is strange. And we fall into it. This will be the act of summoning new humans from space to our company. From your lineage. Where do you think babies come from? Really strange. Later in the song, Sonne asks a follow-up question that clarifies and extends the stakes rather than raising them. “Do you want to bring people into this world?” She then repeats the word “people” in a rising and falling melody, conveying optimism weighted with hard truths.
Not a child. people. She thinks about the impact of her procreation on a longer time scale than her childhood and in broader parameters than her family. Why does a very sensible and altruistic question feel so strange? And why is it that the strangeness of life is what makes it feel most real? Mr. Sonne's composure The final answer applies to all of these questions. “I really don't know.”