As summer exhales its last warm breath, Swedish duo Aery return with a track that feels equal parts intimate confession and global reckoning. Their song Closing Skies—originally released in late 2024—was born from late-night footage of Ukraine flashing across a television screen. In that moment, Joel Gabrielsson sat down at his piano and recorded a fragile, unplanned take. It was supposed to be temporary, a placeholder. Instead, it became the track’s heartbeat: raw, imperfect, and painfully human.
Now, that haunting foundation has been reimagined by producer Kryptofarmaka (Anton Sundell, known for work with Tonbruket, Ane Brun, and Sara Parkman), who pushes the song into something darker and more uncomfortably beautiful. His remix drives the melancholy core of Closing Skies into heavier terrain, layering in rhythms that echo the shadowed intensity of Aphex Twin and Massive Attack, without ever smothering its fragility.
Aery—Mi von Ahn and Joel Gabrielsson—exists in that liminal space between worlds. Their collaboration was forged across two apartments, one in the north of Sweden and one in the south, and that geographical tension mirrors their sonic one. Trip-hop, ambient, acoustic minimalism—each of these influences filter into their work, but the result is not a collage. It’s something singular, born from their shared devotion to immersive soundscapes that lean experimental yet never lose sight of melody.
Closing Skies is a track about change, war, and alienation, but also about determination: finding expression in the face of displacement, and beauty in the midst of fracture. Kryptofarmaka’s remix doesn’t dilute those themes; it amplifies them, pressing the song further into the space where discomfort becomes catharsis.
This fall, Aery will release their mini-album Nowhere Stranger and bring their music to Swedish stages, with hopes of expanding further beyond borders. If Closing Skies is any indication, Aery’s vision is one that thrives in that space between fragility and force—an act capable of turning distance, both geographic and emotional, into something achingly close.
