With “Ratnaraja,” harpist Kirsten Agresta Copely crafts a spiritual encounter. Released on July 18, 2025, this duet with virtuoso clarinettist Ismail Lumanovski feels like a whispered prayer between two souls reaching across time and geography. The track’s title, derived from Sanskrit, hints at royalty and rare beauty, and that’s exactly what it delivers: a soundscape that is regal in its elegance and raw in its emotional core. It’s a masterclass in restraint and atmosphere, a delicate unfolding of two instruments in conversation—never battling for space, only listening, responding, and revealing.
From the first crystalline notes, Copely’s harp pulls you into a suspended world. It glows like candlelight in a darkened cathedral—soft, radiant, almost sacred. Then enters Lumanovski’s clarinet, gliding over the harp like a voice from another realm, rich with longing and grace. The two instruments don’t merely harmonise, but dance. It’s a quiet, deliberate waltz through shadow and illumination, a sonic journey that invites stillness and breath. There’s no excess here, and every note is placed with purpose, like a single brushstroke on an otherwise untouched canvas.
Mixed by Marc Copely, Kirsten’s husband and longtime collaborator, the production is pristine but never sterile. There’s intimacy in every frequency, and each creak of string and breath through reed is preserved, amplifying the emotional weight of the performance. The sonic clarity makes it feel as though you’re in the room with them, witnessing something deeply personal unfold. You hear music and vulnerability, and it’s a reflection of what Kuruvinda, her upcoming album, promises: a meditation on the beauty in imperfection, and the courage it takes to reveal one’s full self.
“Ratnaraja” also stands as a testament to cross-cultural artistry at its finest. Lumanovski, who’s known for bridging Balkan, classical, and jazz traditions, brings a textured soulfulness that complements Copely’s celestial tone. The track floats somewhere between New Age, classical minimalism, and world music without ever feeling like it needs a category. It’s for listeners who seek more than entertainment—it’s for those chasing transcendence, who crave a moment of reflection in a noisy, distracted world. Think Ludovico Einaudi at his most intimate, or Anoushka Shankar with a harp instead of a sitar and “Ratnaraja” speaks to the same part of the spirit.
In the end, “Ratnaraja” feels less like a single and more like a sacred space. It’s a sonic sanctuary for grief, healing, and quiet awe. If ”Aquamarine,” her previous album, offered a sense of floating through sorrow, Kuruvinda seems poised to ground us in the soil of human complexity, and this track is its luminous doorway. Copely and Lumanovski play their instruments and bare their hearts through them. And in doing so, they remind us there is extraordinary power in stillness, and unmatched beauty in being seen.
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