Emiliana Torrini: may tookah be with you

“Life is just a flicker in the universe”, sings Emiliana Torrini, four years after her megahit with “Jungle Drum”, which brought her to the attention of a wide audience. “There is nothing so transient as fame.”

People think they have to go on holiday in order to be happy, whereas it is possible at any time,” says Emiliana Torrini with a chuckle. “But you need courage for it. You have to dare to be happy.” She is stretched out on a sofa, backstage at the Ancienne Belgique, as if she was having tea at the psychiatrist’s. But even when she is in a philosophical mood, Torrini doesn’t sound ponderous. The English words she throws around, in a sparkling Icelandic accent, dance like curly-haired sheep through a greenish-blue autumn sky. At least, that’s the way she would describe them herself. The 36-year-old singer tastes sounds and sees images to them, like the “sound paintings” of one of her great models, Debussy. “For every emotion, I see a picture.”

Tookah, Torrini’s fourth album, recorded once more with her musical anchor and soulmate Dan Carey, is full of “dark blues and yellows” and “bright oranges”, caught in “thick, moist air”. This time round, lasers and smoke machines in the studio, left behind by the band Toy, gave her imagination an extra stimulus. The songs had to be light-hearted, not too difficult, the equivalent of an evening’s dancing to empty your head. Torrini told her musicians they should think of the Wim Wenders film Der Himmel über Berlin, “when Solveig Dommartin dances across the screen in her red dress to the music of Nick Cave.”

Why is that film so important for you?
Emiliana Torrini: It means everything to me. I first saw it years ago and I was immediately bowled over by it. And since then I watch it every now and then. The dialogue, the Forties noir look transposed to the 1980s... It is one great symphony, something that touches you inside, like a powerful psych-rock track. The wild side.

Is there a wild side to Tookah?
Torrini: I think so, yes. The birth of my son three years ago was a major event. I needed to figure out what it is to be a mother and I wanted to give my son all my attention. The urge to make music ebbed away, but after a while I forced myself to start writing again. I went into the studio with Dan twice a week, but everything we did was insignificant. Until one day Dan showed me a Swarmatron he wanted to buy on the Net. I saw a little video on YouTube in which the Dewan cousins, who invented it, were having fun like kids on that thing, a sort of primitive synthesiser that produces the weirdest sounds. [Produces a deep buzzing sound] That was a release. After that I went on a manic trip for a few months. While my girlfriends were going dancing, I composed synth symphonies. [Laughs] That’s when I wrote “Tookah”.

Call me ignorant, but what does “tookah” mean?
Torrini: [Laughs] No panic, I made it up. I’ve been getting more and more interested in Joseph Campbell’s ideas about duality lately. When my son was born, I experienced intense happiness, but at the same time I also felt really low. Between the two lies the core, the basic essence of your own ego, the centre of creativity. That is tookah. The creature you are at birth, after which life wraps positive and negative baggage around it, like a Christmas tree. Thanks to my son, I’ve found my fun side again, but I’ve also been able to dig deeper. Your child is a mirror: you are confronted with yourself every day.

Tookah comes five years after your breakthrough album, Me and Armini. Should you not have struck while the iron was hot?
Torrini: Back then I toured non-stop for two and a half years – way too much. Touring has a weird effect on you. The only thing you have to hold onto is the routine of being on the road, getting the stuff ready again, taking it down, and heading off again. But the nights become days; you lose control of your own life. You get a sort of businessman syndrome, in which your life at home becomes the affair of your real life. My life was really in danger. I felt pixelated; I had no overview of things anymore. During a rare break, I wrote “When Fever Breaks” with Dan, after a 24-hour jam. And a few months later I discovered I was pregnant, while on tour in Australia. At first I thought the sushi hadn’t agreed with me! [Laughs] You can see how far gone I was.

So “Jungle Drum” was no boon?
Torrini: Well, at first I laughed. After that, I thought, “Jesus!” I was sucked into a world I didn’t want to be part of. Everyone suddenly wants a piece of you, thinks they know what’s good for you, tries to manipulate you. I found myself on silly awards shows and had to give my opinion about the most trivial things or say a few words in Icelandic for fun. Hello? I didn’t want to have anything to do with that. I have been making music for twenty years and I can make a living from it – that’s enough for me. I’m not aiming for the charts. There is nothing so transient as fame.

One of the new songs is called “Home”. Is that about London or Iceland?
Torrini: Iceland. A few months ago I packed sixteen years of London into boxes. My boyfriend was offered a dream job in Iceland. It was quite strange going back home. I was delighted to be back with the members of my family, but at the same time I felt a stranger in my own country. And I was faced with some big questions. Am I finally going to feel at home somewhere? My father is Italian, my mother Icelandic. I have always led a nomadic life – and enjoyed it too. The essence of that song, which I sing to my son and my man, is: it doesn’t matter where we are, so long as we are together.

There are a number of “dance tracks” on the album, such as “Speed of Dark”. It’s a bit like “Slow”, which you wrote for Kylie Minogue.
Torrini: People said I had to give away “Speed of Dark” too, but for me that was a really important song in my return to music. If my album was a film, that would be the moment when I was freed. It is my party, my moment with a toothbrush in front of the mirror.

Emiliana Torrini • 13/11, 20.00, sold out!, Botanique, Koningsstraat 236 rue Royale, Sint-Joost-ten-Node/Saint-Josse-ten-Noode, 02-218.37.32, www.botanique.be