Whirlpool
Frum’s "Whirlpool" isn’t easily categorised, and that’s precisely the point. It merges electronic textures with folk sensibility so seamlessly that the result feels like something entirely new, less a blend of genres, more a natural evolution. What grounds the album is its intent. Frum worked closely with a female-led production team, and you can feel that choice in every detail. The sound is intuitive rather than polished, emotionally driven without ever turning theatrical. It resists the typical highs and lows of pop structure, favouring something more cyclical and alive, like weather or memory. Even her name, which in Faroese suggests origins or something elemental, hints at how deeply this music reaches into the self.
"Sun Aura" stands out for how it holds its power without ever needing to swell. Inspired by Nietzsche’s image of the lion, it carries the weight of transformation with quiet certainty. It’s calm but unshakable, a song about stepping into yourself and not looking back. That understated boldness runs through the album’s entire spine. It’s no surprise that Frum’s music has already found its way onto Netflix soundtracks. There’s something deeply cinematic in the way she shapes atmosphere—eerie, slow-burning, full of unspoken tension. But what’s striking is how intimate it still feels. These tracks don’t just set scenes. They live inside them.