Hedvig Mollestad has never shied away from the spotlight. Throughout her career, the Norwegian guitarist has channeled prog rock and hair metal and, if you squint, the more indulgent corners of the ECM universe—extravagance is her defining feature. The gnarly riffs and polished guitar tones across last year’s Bees in the Bonnet occasionally leaned into the jazzy or minimal, but the overarching sheen was of a retro rock machismo. Even her 2022 epic Maternity Beat, an album with the 12-piece Trondheim Jazz Orchestra, left plenty of room for her blistering solos. Bitches Blues takes a different tack: In positioning Mollestad as an exploratory team player, its six tracks reveal her chops well beyond that of a showboating virtuoso.
This modesty is immediately clear: Mollestad spews scattered melodies and singed noise on the opening title track, sounding more in the tradition of free improvisation than Mahavishnu Orchestra. Alongside organist Ståle Storløkken and drummer Ole Mofjell, the Hedvig Mollestad Weejuns (the third word a slang term for Norwegians) form a groove that teeters toward explosiveness without ever reaching it. It’s this teasing that’s crucial, as it makes the straight-ahead rhythm they eventually reach feel earned. It’s a bit strange to see the title’s invocation of a Miles Davis classic—the drum’s glossy mix and stadium-ready pomp recall Neil Peart—but there are moments when everything coalesces into a swirling vortex of jazz-rock.
For all the raucous energy that the Weejuns conjure on “Bitches Blues,” it’s a welcome surprise that the following three tracks—nearly half the album’s runtime—are gentle and introspective. “Kompet Blir” has an unwavering drum beat that sounds tired, maybe even bored, and it provides the scaffolding for Mollestad’s hushed noodling. The longer it goes on, the song carries the charm of a tipsy stroll through town, the moon shining up above. Storløkken’s organ flits about with haunted, carnivalesque melodies to elevate the nocturnal atmospherics, and he offsets everything gaudy with an unsuspecting queasiness. Striking this balance seems like the surest way for the Weejuns to succeed, but the subsequent tracks prove otherwise in their simplicity: “Limite” is a proggy take on Talk Talk spirituality, while “For a moment I thought I could hear you” is a melancholy lullaby led by supple guitar and curlicue organ.
Mollestad’s maturation is clearest on “Dynamax,” a track that unfolds slowly before unleashing a relentless wave of chugging guitar chords. The band finds a middle ground between hard-rock grandeur and no-wave snottiness, creating a tense environment so the guitar solos can tear everything up. Mollestad’s previous output rarely allowed her playing to breathe, to reveal the nuance in her craft. Here, the song’s patient trajectory highlights both her input (the initial restraint makes her shredding more cathartic) and her bandmates’ (the hammered organ notes have a real satisfying fizz). Bitches Blues concludes with “Recollection of sorrow,” a contemplative eight minutes that peaks early and peters out, comfortable to reside in its sparse ambience. It’s a delight to hear Mollestad rein herself in—she’s never sounded more assured.
