There’s composition here, but so much relies on instinct — that quiet trust that lets musicians build something real in the moment. Bringer of Light feels like an invitation — to listen in on four musicians striking sparks in the dark.
Hobby Horse Records
Erik Kimestad – Trumpet; Mads Hyhne – Trombone; Richard Andersson – Double Bass; Jakob Høyer – Drums
Some bands take years to find their sound. Omrum found theirs at John Fomsgaard’s Karmacrew Studio, a renovated barn, on the Danish island of Møn, with a wood stove crackling in the background. You can almost hear the warmth in the room on Bringer of Light, the debut from this Copenhagen-based collective — trumpeter Erik Kimestad, trombonist Mads Hyhne, bassist Richard Andersson, and drummer Jakob Høyer.
Omrum doesn’t lean on a frontman. Their music drifts between composition and improvisation, atmosphere and intensity. It’s built on open forms and sudden shifts — moments of muted reflection followed by flashes of raw energy. There’s a sense of trust holding it all together. “I place my fate in their hands and vice versa,” Kimestad says. “Together we embrace our destiny, with music as the medium.”
“Blues for Teitelbaum” sets the tone early. Andersson’s bass ticks like a clock while Høyer’s drums flick and shimmer underneath. Kimestad’s trumpet rises above it with a clear, singing tone, then Hyhne’s trombone steps in — heavier, earthier — and the two trade contrapuntal phrases like old friends finishing each other’s sentences.
That interplay between horns gets much of the attention, but Andersson’s bass is the album’s real anchor. You hear it clearly on “Nobility,” where his thumping line drives the horns in unison before they pause and start passing melodies back and forth. The tune opens up midway, slowing to a near standstill as Høyer’s drumming turns light and deliberate. Kimestad and Hyhne stretch their notes, playing with space and pitch, before the band gathers again in a final push of energy.
The two short “Intermezzo” tracks unfold as sketches — jagged trumpet and trombone gestures that sound improvised but purposeful, like studies tucked between finished canvases. The mood turns slower and more searching on “S/H” and “For the Love of Wisdom.” Kimestad and Hyhne trade delicate, questioning lines while Andersson and Høyer move quietly underneath. It’s music that seems to be feeling its way forward, one phrase at a time. Andersson’s bowed bass and Høyer’s gentle cymbal work make the pauses feel alive, turning space itself into rhythm.
The album ends with “Bringer of Light,” where time seems to stretch. The horns play only a few notes, each one hanging in the air before the next arrives. Kimestad’s trumpet cuts through the stillness with a clean, steady tone, and Hyhne’s trombone follows with weight and warmth. The pauses say as much as the notes — the band leaves the music suspended, glowing faintly in the quiet.
There’s composition here, but so much relies on instinct — that quiet trust that lets musicians build something real in the moment. Bringer of Light feels like an invitation — to listen in on four musicians striking sparks in the dark.
