Anja Garbarek (born July 24, 1970) is a Norwegian singer-songwriter, daught… Read Full Bio ↴Anja Garbarek (born July 24, 1970) is a Norwegian singer-songwriter, daughter of the well known tenor/soprano jazz saxophonist, Jan Garbarek.

In 2001 she received the award Spellemannsprisen in the open class category for her album Smiling & Waving, which featured a duet with Robert Wyatt.

Garbarek also collaborated with the Norwegian black metal band Satyricon on their album Volcano.

In 2006 she provided the majority of the soundtrack for Angel-A and then released an album under her own name: Briefly Shaking.

Sites: Facebook.

Her Room
Anja Garbarek Lyrics

Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴

I am in her room.
It's I who live here now.
I don't know how I got here.
There's this man who comes every night.

An hour passes and then another.
Smoking slowly.

Her death. Was she already dead when I came?
I mean enough to bury.

I am in her room.
It's I who live her now.
I don't how I got here.
There's this man who comes every night.

I count my cigarettes.

Overall Meaning

Anja Garbarek's song Her Room is an eerie and haunting exploration of death and the strange ways in which it affects the living. The lyrics convey a sense of disorientation and confusion as the singer finds themselves in a room that does not belong to them. The repeated refrain of "I am in her room" reinforces this feeling of being lost in someone else's life.

The lyrics also touch on the idea of mortality and the uncertainty that comes with it. The line "Her death. Was she already dead when I came?" suggests that the singer may be grappling with their own mortality or the mortality of those they love. The repetition of the words "I don't know how I got here" further emphasizes this sense of disorientation and confusion.

Line by Line Meaning

I am in her room.
I have found myself in the room belonging to the girl.

It's I who live here now.
I am currently residing in the room, taking control of it as if it belongs to me.

I don't know how I got here.
I have no recollection of how I ended up in the girl's room.

There's this man who comes every night.
A man visits the room frequently, appearing every evening.

An hour passes and then another.
As I remain in the girl's room, time marches on at a steady pace.

Smoking slowly.
I engage in the slow act of smoking a cigarette as I spend time in the room.

Her death. Was she already dead when I came?
I contemplate the idea that the girl was already deceased by the time I entered her room.

I mean enough to bury.
Her death could have been significant enough to warrant a proper burial.

I am in her room.
Once again, I acknowledge that I am occupying the girl's room.

It's I who live her now.
I continue to exert my presence in the room, behaving as if I belong there.

I don't how I got here.
My lack of knowledge regarding my arrival remains unchanged.