The Norwegian singer-songwriter and the Chemical Brother have combined their talents, and names, to create a wildly inventive new band. The collaboration has gone smoothly so far – but will they soon need separate tour buses?
T
he two members of Tomora are contemplating their forthcoming debut live shows, a slate that includes an attention-grabbing slot at this month’s Coachella festival. “We’re still kind of working it out, and I’m getting a bit, ‘Oh my God, what’s going on?’” worries Tom Rowlands, best known as one half of Grammy-winning banger merchants the Chemical Brothers, and now one half of Tomora. Rowlands’ mindset, however, contrasts heavily with that of Aurora, his new musical partner.
“I don’t have any stress in my being,” the Norwegian singer-songwriter and pop experimentalist says cheerily, sitting on the floor of the duo’s north London label office with her shoes off. “I’m always like: it’s fine,” she shrugs. “Yes, the house is on fire, but we’ll work it out.”
On Tomora’s debut album, Come Closer, these different approaches manifest themselves throughout its 12 tracks; Rowlands’ kinetic yet precisely structured dance framework fusing with Aurora’s more chaotic pop nous to create a head-spinning mix of techno, trip-hop and, on the prowling title track, a skewed take on prog. In person, each fills the gaps left by the other; Rowlands, 55, isn’t keen on interviews, having purposefully eschewed them in his day job, while the impish Aurora has the ability to deliver philosophical soundbites with genuine passion. A question about Tomora’s “organic” collaboration, for example, leads to the 29-year-old declaring: “It’s like how every plant in the world just knows which direction to grow up from the earth. They know how to become what they’re going to become without anyone telling them – it’s predestined knowledge. That’s how I feel with us in the studio. It just happens like it has already happened.”







