Klang has Come of Age – and Dares to Be Solemn

Klang Festival has turned 16. This annual pulsating offshoot of Copenhagen’s musical life, dedicated to avant-garde statements, experiments, and intricate compositions, has outgrown its teenage phase. The ties to its founding parent, Athelas Sinfonietta – which for years defined the agenda as its opening act – have now been severed.

If I were to highlight one stunningly overwhelming experience, it would be encountering Ensemble Intercontemporain

And the festival wears its independence well. It feels freer, unbound, and manages to present 25–30 concerts for both children and adults, crossing genres and sonic worlds, all united by a shared mantra: a desire to experiment and play.

If I were to highlight one stunningly overwhelming experience, it would be encountering Ensemble Intercontemporain. Only four of the usual 32 musicians from the Paris-based ensemble appeared, but they were more than enough to leave the impression of a group with immense musical surplus – even in truly complex works. More on that later.

The main point of this year’s programme, in the words of artistic director James Black, was »to practise flexibility and openness in a respectful way.« In their opening speech, they described it as »allowing oneself to be open and vulnerable and to practise alternative ways of thinking and being.«

Perhaps only Black have the full overview – and has experienced it all. I didn’t catch the first couple of days with children’s concerts, and of the rest, I attended six concerts over three days. Maybe not enough for a comprehensive report, but certainly enough to bring home five particularly interesting perspectives.

1. They’re not afraid to be solemn

My first concert took place in the rafters of the Folketeatret on a tiny stage often used for children’s theatre. Here, composer Kirstine Lindemann had teamed up with vocal performer Ly Tran in the piece Ritual – The Lost Voice Plot. The room was nearly empty – except for an old-school overhead projector and piles of coiled cables, which Ly Tran slowly and meticulously moved among in search of her own voice. At various stations, she picked up microphones and amplified bodily throat sounds – interwoven with pre-recorded material. Metallic creaks, pulsating bass, and movements staged the sounds, turning Ly Tran into elegant sculptures of body and resonance.

As the title implies, it was a kind of ritual lasting about 30 minutes. The atmosphere was inward and solemn – as rituals often are when their meaning isn’t immediately decipherable. Instead, the meaning lies in the actions and their symbolism. Like in church.

This kind of solemnity could be found elsewhere, too. In the Black Diamond library, you could embark on a sonic walk with headphones, guided by the four performers of Bastard Assignments. They were the focus of Chambers in Chambers, a sound work by Norwegian composer Martin Hirsti-Kvam. It consisted of recordings of various spaces packed into each headphone set. Public spaces, quiet spaces, noisy spaces – all spliced together and opened and closed by the performers. Again, the piece didn’t explain itself, and with the performers’ meticulous claps, single knocks on wooden blocks, and slow wandering through the large foyer, the atmosphere bordered on the sacred. Almost like visiting an unfamiliar religious ritual for thirty minutes.

The musicians handed out clicking dog-callers, transforming the room into a vast sea of frog-like croaks

In Ceremony for Presence in the ceremonial hall at Frederiksberg City Hall, the ritual itself was the message. As the title suggests, composer Anton Friisgaard created a piece in which listeners could cultivate presence – individually, yet in sonic companionship with his looping tapes of rustling natural sounds and the undramatic string textures from the trio Halvcirkel.

If you’ve been in that ceremonial hall, you’ll know it exudes mystical solemnity – the ceiling is covered in strange symbols and the walls in symbolist art. It felt natural to wander in thought and sink into the soundscape. The strings were recorded and looped into the sound image, and the audience was drawn further in when the musicians handed out clicking dog-callers, transforming the room into a vast sea of frog-like croaks.

2. There’s ample room for sonic exploration

All three works embraced openness – for both performers and audience. Lindemann’s ritual and Friisgaard’s ceremony gave generous time to explore what emerged throughout the performance. Klang has nailed the format: with works lasting a full half hour, each concert became its own immersive experience. A traditional »classical« concert with multiple works would have felt disjointed.

Lindemann’s piece also hinted at future works – one could easily imagine it developing into multiple versions with different expressions. The interplay of body, microphone, and minimal visuals showed great potential.

Hirsti-Kvam’s Chambers in Chambers was also highly open. It felt more like an acoustic-technical investigation than a specific musical experience for each listener. I may not have understood how the individual rooms were created or related, but I fully appreciated the sonic impact of the contrasting sound images colliding in my ears. Shifts between vast and intimate spaces, changes in focus – it was all fascinating.

I got to choose a tape of Sufi singing, which Ostovar looped and transformed

3. Different cultures coexist easily at Klang

In the Diamond’s foyer, Iranian electronic performer Alireza Ostovar had escaped from the rain with his mixer, a stack of cassette tapes with traditional Persian music, and a tape recorder. His piece Broken Instrument explored a kind of cultural nostalgia. I got to choose a tape of Sufi singing, which Ostovar looped and transformed – negotiating with his own cultural background.

The piece lasted nearly an hour and unfolded slowly, with Ostovar looking as curious about the results as we were. He, too, wasn’t afraid of solemnity; he began by recording a strike on a temple bowl, imbuing the performance with ritualistic weight.

It’s only in libraries, newspapers, conservatories, and radio channels that genres are forced apart

Ostovar’s concert underscored Klang’s openness – welcoming electronic artists, traditional music, thorny modernism, performance, and more, side by side. It’s only in libraries, newspapers, conservatories, and radio channels that genres are forced apart. To what end?

4. Always space for political performance

Irish composer Jennifer Walshe headlined the opening concert with PERSONHOOD at Folketeatret’s Hippodrome stage. Walshe has brought large works to Danish festivals before; this time, she collaborated with accordionist Andreas Borregaard and Oslo Sinfonietta.

The setup was ambitious: Borregaard acted out a series of personas from today’s digital reality – pop star (Britney Spears), entrepreneur, and user – with his elastic body and a flood of words. He became a kind of test subject, guided through various scenes by the musicians and their incredibly cool conductor Christian Eggen.

The idea seemed to be that digital life is absurd: celebrities trapped in surveillance, entrepreneurs reducing life to data, and users ensnared in meaninglessness.

The idea seemed to be that digital life is absurd

It was humorous, but perhaps too much of a tour-de-force through absurdity. One missed a deeper point that reached beyond finger-pointing. Our behavior might seem ridiculous, but not necessarily more so than before? Capitalists have always systematized consumer behavior. What’s new?

There must be room for politics at Klang – and thankfully, there still is

The performance also underused Oslo Sinfonietta. Too often, they became sonic wallpaper behind the drama and the massive video projections. And yet, one sensed a group of deeply capable musicians with something to say – like the violinist with a genuinely poetic tone.

There must be room for politics at Klang – and thankfully, there still is.

5.Classical French musicians still have another gear

My brief visit to this year’s festival showed that it was the abstract, sonically experimental music that had the greatest critical potential – in the sense James Black described: »an alternative way of thinking and being.«

Klang still invites prestigious ensembles, such as Ensemble Intercontemporain (and Switzerland’s Contrechamps), alongside strong Danish groups. Intercontemporain, curated by Ly Tran, performed no fewer than eight works by eight composers. Solos for bassoon, trombone, violin, and cello; two duos; a trio; and a brand-new quartet for their four very different instruments. 100 minutes of modernism straight through!

The cello piece was so intense that a cloud of rosin hovered in the light above the performer

Aya Yoshida’s violin piece consisted of micro-melodies and toneless vocal sounds. Dai Fujikura’s bassoon piece featured micro-movements and extreme effects (overblown, distorted, metallic – who knew a bassoon could roar like an elephant?). The trombone piece conjured sonically muted tones rising from the depths, almost like an electronic instrument, interspersed with shouts and screams.

The cello piece was so intense that a cloud of rosin hovered in the light above the performer. And so it went on. These were musicians who dared to go all in, expanding our perception of what sound and timbre can be. They played with a level of mastery and ease we rarely encounter.

Yes, it was a bit too long and perhaps too demanding.

But in return, they etched a small scratch on the surface surrounding us  – the one we mistake for the limits of what’s possible.
Pretty wild.

Klang Festival, Copenhagen, June 9–15

English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek. Proofreading: Seb Doubinsky