“THE KISS” by The New Solarism
- Levi

- Jul 12
- 2 min read

Few albums arrive as quietly powerful as The Kiss, the fourth studio release by The New Solarism, the solo project of Leipzig-based violinist and composer Izabela Kałduńska. Released on March 28, 2025, the album is an elegant meditation on stillness, composed during the muted, introspective days of the pandemic. What began as a score for an unperformed theatre piece has since transformed into something far more intimate and resonant—a sonic journal of presence and emotional truth.
Across ten tracks, Kałduńska builds entire worlds using only her violin, subtle looping, and restrained effects. This limited instrumentation is anything but limiting. Each piece is layered with care, allowing textures to emerge gradually—like breath on glass or the slow bloom of light at dawn.
Echoes of modern classical composers like Arvo Pärt and ambient minimalists such as Nils Frahm and Hania Rani are felt throughout, yet Kałduńska’s voice remains distinct, shaped by both precision and vulnerability. There’s a purity in The Kiss—a refusal to overstate or embellish. These compositions don’t demand attention; they invite reflection. The music unfolds at its own pace, often whispering more than it declares. In doing so, it creates space: for memory, for loss, for quiet forms of hope. It is music not for the stage, but for the still corners of life where emotion lingers long after the moment has passed. Initially intended as the companion to a script by Berlin-based writer Tomas Blum, the album carries a narrative undertone—one felt rather than spoken.
Its theatrical roots are still present, but the drama has been replaced by a kind of reverence. It is as if each note is performing a ritual of remembering. Recorded in Leipzig and mixed entirely with analog warmth by Larry Crane, The Kiss honors the city’s storied musical legacy while carving out its own quiet place within it. It is an album to be listened to closely, even reverently, as though holding something delicate in your hands. The Kiss doesn’t shout to be heard—it listens back. In a world of noise, Kałduńska has given us something rare: a reason to pause.





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