There's a little flash game I fell in love with about a year ago. It's called Knytt Stories and at its best moments it can be the most soothing, little game ever created. It mixes surreal visuals with gentle music and generally avoids the frenetic violence that seems to be such a staple in video games. Playing that game was like a break from, well, everything. A break from reality, from stress, even from the otherwise ever-present umbra of pop culture. Yet, it was not apart from pop culture. It was a computer-cottage industry game, aka an indie venture, backed by music from fringe artists. We'll certainly be returning to that particular topic in a future installment of Along the Edges, but today I'm concerned with the spiritual cousin to Knytt Stories rather than the exact music that appeared in it.

Today's entry is about an unusual Icelandic group (is there any other kind?) that never did and probably never will attain any measure of mainstream success. But thanks to their association with Sigur Ros, the second biggest act to come out of Iceland next to Bjork, Amiina got some much-needed exposure. Made up of four women doing intriguing things with string instruments and bells, Amiina is like a pleasant if seemingly inconsequential dream. Their music is a delightful break from reality and everything of which it consists even though the substance of the music doesn't appear to be more than pretty things arranged carefully.

But there's a greater depth to Amiina's music than is first apparent. The track that hooked me was an early release called Rugla. It's a lo-fi series of echoes and metronome clicks accompanied by imitations of the squawks produced by the titular animal- The ugla, the owl. It's also one of the rare occasions when the ladies of Amiina actually sing. The lyrics are just an Icelandic chant of, "There is an owl/ a summer owl". Even knowing the rather meaningless translation of the lyrics, I'll be damned if that chant isn't one of the most pleasing, emotionally fulfilling moments in music.

That's the triumph of Amiina. They approach music as a sort of pleasure project, the encapsulation of individual emotions for their own sakes. Take Seoul, for instance. It captures a kind of minor happiness, like the joy of a good meal or lying in bed all morning. In Amiina's music there is never any bombast. Frankly, I don't see how there could be. They may not even be capable of making big enough sounds to achieve great, arching emotional states. That, or they're just not willing to pursue something like that.

I'll leave this endorsement of Amiina with Sexfaldur, a track off their first and so far only studio LP, Kurr. It appears in the middle of the album and it feels like a sort of run-down of the themes explored in the first half of the record, like the medley after the intermission of a stage musical. I highly encourage anyone in need of some decompression and me-time to draw the shades and listen to some Amiina. It's relaxation and reflection music without the historical or cultural baggage of classical or, God and good taste forbid, New Age.