Rune Glerup
15
Addictive Elegance
Rune Glerup: »Perhaps Thus the End«
A string quartet consists of four players, and a clarinet quintet five, though the Danish composer Rune Glerup (b. 1981)’s newly recorded works for both ensembles would have you believe their ranks are vastly undercounted. The recipient of last year’s Nordic Council Music Prize for his violin concerto Om lys og lethed (About Light and Lightness), Glerup writes pieces for chamber and orchestra that are often characterized by their multidimensionality: a sonic idea will persistently recur in altered guises, for a sense that one is feeling around different facets of a physical form. Yet the two works on Perhaps Thus the End – brought to life by the impeccable Quatour Diotima and clarinetist Jonas Frølund – are just as potent a demonstration of expansive interiority as they are of surface area.
In the titular string quartet, whose seven movements are named for lines from Beckett’s late prose work Stirrings Still, long tones and galloping motives are seamlessly shuffled amongst the ensemble, generating such a sonority that the group seems to have doubled in size. The language is sometimes mechanical but never automatic, bending rather into balletic shapes. Glerup is a careful manager of texture, finding grace in unintuitive sounds through skillful layering – to speak merely of how, in a later movement, a harmonic pizzicato punctuates the string equivalent of vocal fry before the group pivots suddenly into stillness.
On the unexpectedly addictive »Still Leaning Towards this Machine«, which is surely among the few times a contemporary clarinet quintet has received that distinction, electronics magnify the ensemble through a subtle stuttering resonance. As a result, across three spunky movements, the group is occasionally transmuted into a sort of paranormal accordion. It’s a wonderfully weird effect that, just as weirdly, the score seems to deliver with a straight face – just one more satisfying surprise among many others on this excellent record.
The Sinister Mastery of Shame
Ethel Cain: »Perverts«
© Silken Weinberg
To describe American Ethel Cain’s (Hayden Silas Anhedönia) stylistic shift from her debut Preacher’s Daughter (2022) to Perverts as an extreme U-turn would almost be an understatement. The distance from the debut’s gothic lo-fi pop to this monstrous work – combining dark ambient, noise, and dystopian ballads – is vast, all the while continuing Cain’s familiar reckoning with her religious upbringing and her struggle for sexual liberation.
On paper, Perverts is an EP running 89 minutes, but it feels like far more than that. Crushing noise drones, dusty piano strikes, and distant preacher voices from crackling radios are woven together with acoustic spaces. And although the record also contains more conventional ballads such as »Punish« and the beautiful »Vacillator« – which even features a clearly defined rhythmic progression – it is the long, epic ambient tracks that draw the listener into the often harrowing darkness.
One thing is that Cain suddenly makes dark ambient; another is just how good she is at it. Perverts is not only a profoundly unsettling insight into the friction between sexuality and religious fanaticism, but also an immediate, creative, and fully realized homage to a fascinating niche genre. A necessary album for anyone unafraid of the dark.
The Deep Breath
Blaume: »excess air«
The Copenhagen-based duo Blaume’s EP excess air is a field study in the shared pulse of breathing, calmly taking a deep breath. The EP’s airy sound unfolds cyclically from the physical conditions of respiration, and with hoarse choral voices and chirping flute, the two artists – Laura Zöschg (IT) and Mette Hommel (DK) – wind their way around the healing and artistic qualities of breath.
Perhaps it is the strangely warm winter or the blooming figures on the cover, but excess air seems to carry a fragile sense of spring. The sparse instrumentation gropes its way forward improvisationally across the three tracks, and the many choral voices add a tangible physical sense of musicians at work, underscoring a feeling of tentative sprouting.
The electronic element, in the form of vocal effects and the music software Ableton, is an important part of Blaume’s expression. Vocal effects often come across as quite prominent, but when the processed voice on the track »vivus tremus« drifts into a hoarse rasp, the artificial divide between voice and effect dissolves, and the electronic becomes an obvious extension of Blaume’s shared breath.
Blaume’s excess air is a delightfully vital EP. It is music with the surplus energy to stretch far from a simple and immediate point of departure, and with a few simple means, Blaume’s debut emerges as a welcome harbinger of spring.
© Ellie Brown
»Music for me is: inevitable.«
Ryong is a composer, artist & DJ that explores: Danish and Korean heritage, spirituality, embodiment, family and love, Ryong is also a member of the experimental pop band haloplus+. Across her releases, she draws on both ambient, noise and pop music, incorporating the sound of field recordings and spoken word. Having previously released on Why Be’s label Yegorka, and debuting on Posh Isolation with Isa Ryong, an 11 part work that explores transition and the anguish of complexity, Ryong has established herself as a unique artist in the experimental electronic music scene in Copenhagen.
She Makes the Music Vibrate Like a Living Organism
Astrid Sonne: »Great Doubt«
© PR
When I first listened to the Danish violist, singer, and producer Astrid Sonne’s new album, Great Doubt, I honestly wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. I immediately noticed how extraordinary Sonne’s viola sounds on the album – such a powerful presence that it almost feels like a deeply complex living organism, breathing, feeling, and moving dramatically through the album’s nine songs.
My favourite track was without a doubt »Almost«, where Sonne’s fragile, subtly intense voice is accompanied solely by the viola’s minimalist pizzicato melody, which reminds me of a forgotten composition from Japanese new age pioneer Hiroshi Yoshimura’s masterpiece Green.
On most of the tracks, however, voice and viola are also joined by electronic rhythms, piano chords, and synth figures which, in contrast to the viola’s organic, vibrating sound, initially struck me as almost plastically artificial. To me, it sounded as if the viola and the electronics were being transmitted from two very different universes, unable to fully coexist. There was something about the contrast that felt slightly… uncanny.
Yet with repeated listens, everything begins to make sense. Sonne’s coolly understated voice is the glue that binds the entire soundscape together, as if it itself exists in the porous space between the viola’s raw natural force and the electronics’ tamed purity. I like it more and more – and perhaps I may even come to love it. Great Doubt is an album that, despite its modest running time of just 26 minutes, demands immersion and reflection – and ultimately rewards the listener for it.
© PR
»Music for me is a highway hotel. Open 24 hours a day. There are no receptionists, and you are not given keys. You wander sleepily around the hotel's many corridors, from door to door. Some doors are ajar, others you have to pry open. Behind them all are rooms. Some are sparsely furnished, others are filled to the brim with dancing people. You can stay in there for a few minutes. Some rooms you return to. Many are a bit boring, others almost knock you over. What I like most is the ones I can't really orient myself in. The rooms where I have doubts about what is floor and what is wall. And what the furniture is actually used for. All the rooms fit together. You leave the hotel and drive on along the highway of life. A different person than when you arrived.«
Anders Søgaard is a poet and professor of artificial intelligence and philosophy at the University of Copenhagen. He has written eleven books and more than 300 research articles. He has three children and lives in a housing community in Roskilde.