Ekaterina Ungvari, a singer whose voice carries the weight of Siberian snow and the warmth of a Moscow jazz club, has woven her latest masterpiece: "Siberian Songs." Like a river carving through frozen earth, her music blends jazz, folk, and even rock into something raw and radiant. Born in Omsk but refined in the capital’s smoky venues, Ungvari is no stranger to bending genres—but this time, she’s digging deeper, unearthing lullabies from her grandmother’s lips and dressing them in midnight-blue harmonies.
The album, she confesses, was a "revelation in reverse." For years, folk felt like a museum piece—until she caught herself humming ancient Siberian lullabies to her children. "Why not reclaim what’s already mine?" she muses. The result? A septet of musicians, each a "sorcerer of their instrument," breathing life into forgotten melodies. Brass swells like taiga winds; guitars pluck stories from permafrost.
The album unfolds like a Siberian winter tale:
Ungvari’s voice, both honey and gravel, bridges centuries. "We’re not revivalists," she insists. "We’re translators." The album is already murmuring across streaming platforms—proof that some roots grow stronger when stretched.
