A guitar’s farewell: the intimate sorrows of TOMBEAUX

A haunted landscape of strings and silence

Some albums reach for perfection; others reach for something much harder to grasp — truth. Christina Sandsengen’s TOMBEAUX is firmly in the latter camp. It doesn’t offer escapism or distraction. It invites you to listen closely, to sit with discomfort, and to feel. And for those willing to accept the invitation, it’s a deeply moving, unforgettable experience.

At first glance, TOMBEAUX might seem like a minimalist project: just a classical guitar, a few original compositions, and no frills. But beneath its sparse instrumentation lies an emotional weight that hits harder than most full orchestras. This is not background music. It’s a slow unraveling. A confession whispered in the dark.

The album’s name, Tombeaux — French for “tombs” — isn’t poetic abstraction. It’s literal. The entire album was recorded inside the Emanuel Vigeland mausoleum in Oslo, a space designed for silence, reflection, and mourning. Its acoustics are naturally haunting: every note lingers, stretches, and fades like the memory of a voice you can’t quite recall. It’s not just a setting — it becomes part of the music. And that’s essential, because this album is about grief.

Christina has dedicated TOMBEAUX to the memory of loved ones lost too soon. But it’s not a sentimental tribute. It’s raw. The pieces don’t romanticize death or offer comfort — they reflect the jagged, quiet chaos of real mourning. The kind you can’t explain to others. The kind that sits quietly in your chest for years.

Her playing is intimate, sometimes even fragile. Unlike the bombastic tendencies of many modern classical guitarists, Christina’s strength lies in her restraint. She allows space to breathe. She resists the urge to fill every moment with flourish. The silences are as important as the sound. You can hear her fingers shift on the strings, the weight of her hand returning to the fretboard, the quiet reverberation of the room — it’s all part of the experience. It's less a performance and more an act of remembrance.

There’s something profoundly human about the imperfections that remain in the recordings. A subtle buzz here, a slightly uneven chord there — and yet it makes the album feel more alive. The guitar becomes less of an instrument and more of a vessel. A voice for something that words can’t carry.

What’s especially powerful is how TOMBEAUX resists classification. It doesn’t aim to fit into a “neoclassical” label or appeal to a commercial niche. It’s deeply personal work, perhaps even difficult at times — but that’s exactly why it matters. There’s honesty here, and in today’s polished, market-ready musical landscape, that’s a radical act in itself.

And the compositions… they carry a beautiful tension between form and feeling. There are no gimmicks, no posturing. Just notes — each of them placed with care, often with sadness, and sometimes with love. Christina isn’t just writing music; she’s carving out spaces where emotion can exist without explanation.

In the end, TOMBEAUX doesn’t offer closure — but maybe that’s the point. Grief has no conclusion. It changes form, it fades, but it never quite disappears. And this album, like the mausoleum it was recorded in, is a space where that truth is acknowledged and honored.

Christina Sandsengen has created something rare: a work of art that is not afraid of silence, stillness, or sorrow. In TOMBEAUX, she reminds us that music’s deepest power lies not in volume or virtuosity, but in vulnerability. It’s not an easy listen. It’s not meant to be. But for those who’ve ever stood before their own unspoken grief, it might just feel like coming home.

If you can give it a try, have a listen to album here: too.fm/tombeaux