Labour of Birth
»This pain is not only yours,« chants a choir standing in a circle around the woman in labour. »This pain is not only yours,« comes the enveloping echo from the rest of the choir, positioned along the walls of the ceremonial hall, forming a circle around the audience and inscribing us into the labour of female fertility.
Elegier over Jorden (Elegies over the Earth) is based on Sofie Isager Ahl’s reworking of the myth of Persephone, daughter of the goddess of agriculture and queen of the underworld. The Greek myth is one of those that explains the barrenness of winter by Persephone’s descent into the underworld, but in this reinterpretation she returns to earth to give birth. We follow her labour over nine months while members of the choir work in the fields, struggling for crops under pressure from the current climate collapse. Here, the regeneration of nature is not a matter for higher powers but a struggle that begins in the body and in the soil – much like that of the woman giving birth.
The ecofeminist interconnectedness of the female body and nature has been a hot topic for several years now, and I am unsure what Elegies over the Earth adds to it. My hesitation stems mainly from the harsh acoustics of the ceremonial hall at Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek which, combined with Marie Topp’s choreography – often positioning singers with their backs turned to parts of the audience – makes it difficult to hear Ahl’s words.
When Elegies over the Earth works best, it is in the dialogue and timing between the choir, the soprano and composer Katinka Fogh Vindelev in the role of the labouring Persephone, and the minimal ensemble of two violins and a cello. When the voices of Sankt Annæ Girls’ Choir curl around the cello’s dark timbre, and when the primordial woman Persephone’s lament is allowed to hang in the room for a moment before the choir resumes, the performance touches on something real. Yet the experience never quite settles in the body, and the painful struggle of birth – despite the choir’s insistent chanting – never truly becomes mine.
Performances on 5, 7 and 8 March
English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek
Deadly Serious Play at Louisiana
New Sounds at Louisiana is an initiative in which the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art has invited the record label Dacapo and the music publisher Edition S to curate concerts featuring living composers. Simon Steen-Andersen was the first composer in the series, and he seized the opportunity to assemble a programme that was not only overwhelming and exhilarating, but also deeply unsettling. Lasting an hour, the concert unfolded as a continuous sequence in which each work flowed seamlessly into the next, forming a single extended statement of at least part of the composer’s artistic practice and philosophy.
Combining video and live performance, the concert served as a manifestation of several of Steen-Andersen’s key artistic strategies. Central among them are techniques of estrangement and defamiliarisation, exemplified by Asthma (2017) for accordion, air pumps, and video, a work that explores and interrogates human breathing in all its positive and negative dimensions. Amid the many grotesque and humorous scenes – accompanied by Håkon Stene’s brilliant Foley-style soundtrack of air noises, sound effects, and spoken commentary – a brief clip of brutal police violence suddenly appears. In it, an officer methodically sprays pepper spray into the faces of handcuffed demonstrators. In that instant, everything else no longer seems quite so funny, and the crooked smile freezes.
The concert was a veritable sensory bombardment. Presenting all the works attacca undoubtedly created a powerful sense of flow, but it also left the audience almost saturated with impressions. Even so, the subsequent conversation between Simon Steen-Andersen and music critic and author Thomas Michelsen felt far too brief. Yet the composer succeeded in making his point: everything he does, he said, is a form of »deadly serious play.« Exactly.
Gintė Preisaitė Turns Doubt into Music
You increasingly encounter Gintė Preisaitė in different contexts and under different names – solo as Baraboro and as part of the trio Treen. With Instruments of Forgetting and the Singing Bone, the Lithuanian-Danish composer releases her first album under her own name, and it certainly feels like her most personal work to date.
Above all, this is because Preisaitė sings on seven of the album’s eight tracks. She treats her voice as an instrument equal to all the others, and although the singing is lyrical, she primarily uses it to create texture, depth, and contrast. On »Summary Saint Mary«, for instance, layers of vocals in different registers intermingle with scraping background noise, rapid pulses, resonant bass, and a multitude of sounds of both digital and analog origin. It feels refreshingly fragmentary – a willingness to play with uncertainty. Not everything coheres, yet it is precisely this lack of cohesion that makes the music feel alive and compelling.
Only on »Nippon Dreams« – a dense collage of percussion, samples, and field recordings of Japanese voices – is Preisaitė’s vocal absent. And it is only then that one realizes how essential it has been as a point of orientation throughout the album. Its absence leaves a void that underscores the duality Preisaitė works with: the music feels both intimate and cool, present and distant.
Instruments of Forgetting and the Singing Bone does not provide many answers. Instead, it becomes yet another fascinating piece in the puzzle of Preisaitė’s singular oeuvre.
A Violinist with Fire in His Bow
There is nothing quite like true enthusiasts. They champion composers and works that might otherwise have remained dormant. Here we have the exuberant violinist Darragh Morgan, who since the age of fifteen (!) has promoted and performed contemporary music. He knows what works and has a keen instinct for new pieces and composers – especially on this album with the not exactly catchy title Spin – New Music for Violin & Orchestra from Northern Ireland. Four relatively recent violin concertos, all centred around Morgan as soloist. Two of them are dedicated to the musical firebrand himself.
There is fire in Brian Irvine’s violin concerto À mon seul désir from the very beginning, where sparkling motifs and riffs erupt everywhere. Almost too much energy and activity – but it works, and all the fierce gestures are carefully balanced. The movement is titled »With a big life embracing energy«. Concrete and descriptive – the Irish leave the grand spheres of abstraction to the contemporary music scene in Central Europe. I have replayed the dramatic climax of the second movement several times out of sheer enthusiasm, and the entire concerto (which lasts only fifteen minutes) ends with angelic beauty on Morgan’s highest, finest strings.
Ryan Molloy’s three-movement violin concerto, stretching beyond twenty minutes, by contrast tends to drift somewhat aimlessly, although the final movement reaches a strong level. Bill Campbell’s Swim is unmistakably Irish in tone throughout, conjuring images of rolling fields and the proud Irish landscape. Midway through the quarter-hour work, Darragh Morgan delivers a heartfelt and expansive solo cadenza.
Fortunately, Frank Lyons’s Spin 3 is also a small gem, leaving the listener uplifted by this new Northern Irish music performed by the Ulster Orchestra and the fascinating Darragh Morgan, whose deep personal dedication gives so much to the music.
English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek