In her latest bold move, Lykke Li reimagines her 2022 album EYEYE as ƎYƎYƎ, a reverse-engineered ambient version that plunges listeners into an immersive, auditory dreamscape. Released in collaboration with EarthPercent, this experimental work intertwines atmospheric sounds with Li’s haunting vocals and arrives alongside ƎYƎYƎ ODYSSƎY, a striking 40-minute audio-visual journey. Directed by Theo Lindquist and shot on 16mm film by cinematographer Edu Grau, ƎYƎYƎ ODYSSƎY captures the grandeur of a European arthouse film in sixty-second segments meant to resonate on mobile screens—the primary stage for today’s emotional encounters.
For this project, Li draws from the natural ambiance of her own garden and the urban textures of downtown LA, combining these sounds with stripped-back instrumentals. The resulting sonic experience is distant and intimate all at once, an atmosphere that feels as much an emotional space as it does an album. While EYEYE originally framed heartbreak and existential yearning in Li’s noir-pop aesthetic, this reverse reimagining is less structured, offering an ephemeral sense of drifting, as if each track is suspended somewhere between presence and absence.
Tracks like “5D” and “Carousel” are distilled to their emotional core, transforming into ambient movements where Li’s voice barely surfaces, haunting the edges of each song like a memory that can’t quite be grasped. Here, her voice isn’t a guide but a ghostly presence, flickering in and out as if echoing from another realm. Li, who has always been preoccupied with love and loss, expresses these emotions with profound subtlety, making silence and space as expressive as the melodies themselves.
Lyrically, EYEYE explored themes of longing and disillusionment, but ƎYƎYƎ is its more introspective twin, inviting listeners to bring their own emotions into the gaps. It feels almost participatory—an ambient mirror reflecting the listener’s own thoughts and memories. The album’s language is one without words, an open space where heartbreak and reflection converge in a meditative silence. Like Brian Eno’s Music for Airports, it’s less a collection of songs than a collection of moods, evoking the sensation of walking through an empty house filled with echoes of past lives.
Li’s fans accustomed to her pop hooks may find ƎYƎYƎ challenging, as it lacks the cathartic refrains and emotive climaxes of her previous work. But for those willing to dive in, the reverse version of EYEYE offers a delicate beauty—a sound that seems to be disappearing even as it unfolds, like a mist dissipating at dawn. It’s an album for introspection, for quiet nights, and for moments when you’re ready to face your own solitude head-on.
This ambient rework stands as a testament to Lykke Li’s commitment to pushing boundaries, refusing to settle into easy categorizations or to rehash familiar sounds. In ƎYƎYƎ, she shows that sometimes the most profound music lies in what remains unsaid. This release is not just music; it’s an experience—a mirror to our most fragile, beautiful emotions, something we can almost touch but never fully hold.
Cody Rooney is the Editor in Chief and senior contributor at liminul.
He is a PhD candidate, digital content specialist, writer, editor, multi-media artist, and photographer.