The theme has been revisited countless times in music history, but ELECTRIO (Francesco Rista, Simone Giordano and Sandra Lind Þorsteinsdóttir) attempt to give Stabat Mater a new expression, combining guitar, vocals and electronics with Latin texts, Monteverdi fragments and songs by Dowland. The ambition is clear, yet the result is uneven.
There are, however, two striking exceptions. The opening of Stabat Mater – recorded at the Royal Danish Academy of Music – is captivating in itself: a four-minute build-up that establishes a muted, hovering sense of expectation. But it lies so close to Pink Floyd’s »Shine On You Crazy Diamond« that one can almost hear the quotation shimmering underneath. The characteristic three guitar notes fall at exactly the same place, just before Sandra Þorsteinsdóttir’s voice enters. »Fac me Cruce« is shaped with attractive energy and dynamic form, making strong use of electronics, but ends abruptly before the music has truly begun to unfold. If only ELECTRIO had continued in this direction.
The harmonic foundations of the eight pieces are often predictable, as in »Sancta Mater«, in which the Holy Mother prays that the wounds of the crucified be imprinted upon her heart. The harshness of the text is entirely absent from the underlying feel-good guitar fingerpicking, which moves shamelessly through familiar chord progressions. No wounds. No suffering.
More generally, Þorsteinsdóttir rarely strays from conventional baroque phrasing or genuinely experiments with the genre. The result resembles a mirror version of Sting’s Dowland project from 2006: only inverted – here a classically oriented singer who keeps too respectful a distance to let the songs truly enter an experimental universe.
Why did the trio not instead draw inspiration from Pergolesi’s music for the same text and theme? His score brims with wild dissonances that a new interpretation could have explored to powerful effect – revealing more anguish and outward-turning sorrow.
English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek
»Music is the pursuit of original failure...«
Motis Necrojam is the singer and collager with the Noseflutes and The Clicking Stick, a pair of combos from the old English Birmingham times, adorned with new-times dedication to derailment, approved by Sir John Peel, via their four live sessions for his mighty BBC Radio programme, occasional treaders of the boards, musicians with alias obsessions. One thing Necrojam has is a digit on the diminishing pulse.
»Music, to me, is the key to – and an extension of – my vocabulary. If I struggle to put ‘spoken words’ to something inside, or if I need release in the form of a proper cry, the right song can put me in the right gear immediately. It can be the lyrics, the melody, or both that give direct access to my emotions, where the brain can simply be put into neutral and carried away.«
Katrine Muff, born in 1985, is a composer and singer. She has set music to texts by, among others, Stine Pilgaard and Suzanne Brøgger, and in 2021 she received the Folk Song Prize (Den Folkelige Sangs Pris). Together with Lone Hørslev, she is currently releasing the album Jeg ønsker mig and working as a songwriter on the theatre concert STOLT (Folketeateret).
K Bech – known from the rock band Shiny Darkly – opened Saturday night’s concert at Alice with a raw, unpolished melancholy. A sense of Copenhagen-style urban gloom was palpable, yet the slightly nervous set never really took off. Despite a promising setup of violin, guitar, and electronic tracks, the sensitive lyrics remained more hints than breakthroughs.
Soap Horse then took the stage and truly ignited the evening with an authentic chicken-picking riff. The country-rooted guitar technique was just one example of the musical abundance running through the band, which has just released its debut EP Tooth Inside a Tooth.
Nothing seemed accidental. From the rust-red gothic tapestry to the carefully chosen instrumentation – violin, saxophone, and pedal steel alongside guitar, bass, and drums – every detail added to a deliberate aesthetic. The sound was dark and alluring, in sharp contrast to frontman Hans Gustav Björklund Moulvad’s shock of white hair and intense stage presence.
The songs were crafted with a refined sense of balance. Simple, repetitive motifs were passed between the instruments, and when massive noise walls and shimmering colors broke through, the already blurred borders of indie rock stretched even further. Moulvad commanded the whole with ease, moving charismatically between the music’s many layers. And yet, I found myself wishing Soap Horse would let go completely. The weightless intermezzos – where the unusual lineup could have truly unfolded – were too often pulled back by a steady drumbeat, returning the music to a safe ground. Soap Horse displayed remarkable control and a firm grasp of both their sonic universe and their audience. Perhaps all that’s left is to prove they dare to loosen their grip.
English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek
Illiyeen is visual artist Eliyah Mesayer’s fictional state for the stateless, a group to which the artist herself belonged until just a few years ago. Since 2019, she has continuously added national symbols in Illiyeen’s characteristic black color, and today the state has its own postal service, national anthem, uniform, navy – and a steadily expanding list of collaborators.
It’s a clever concept, at once tightly defined and completely open. Because the state is nomadic and collective, it can arise anywhere and include a wider circle of like-minded artists, such as Angel Wei from Haloplus+ and the poet Zahna Siham Benamour. It is a state of mind.
At Den Frie, it was the drum duo Thicket – Adam »CCsquele« Nielsen and Dan Kjær Nielsen – who performed from opposite sides of a split drum kit. Through an improvised drum solo so energetic that drumsticks flew through the air, they explored the shared rhythm that emerged, broke apart, and shifted character along the way. A fitting symbol of Illiyeen’s community: a constant negotiation and coordination of tempo and movement.
Along the way, the toms gave way to a recorded sound piece, a spherical electronic composition with subdued spoken word woven into the soundscape. The work originated from an earlier installation but was extended for the occasion, with added acoustic elements recorded by Cæcilie Trier and Xenia Xamanek. It carried a mournful, sensitive vibe that stood in sharp contrast to the thundering intensity of the drums. Mesayer’s poetic, black-clad universe and Thicket’s simultaneously tight and improvisational energy bursts blended perfectly into a community one longed to be part of.
English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielzcarek
Polish-born Szymon Gąsiorek has done it again – created a cornucopia of an album that both overwhelms and delights with its endless wealth of eclectic ideas, styles, and sound sources. As is often the case with this kind of release, where each track has its own distinct identity, personal favorites quickly emerge.
One clear favorite announces itself right away. The opening track, »TAK TAK NIE NIE«, explodes with an energy reminiscent of early Boredoms – a heavy dose of noise rock with shouted vocals, electric guitar, saxophone, gunshots, screams, synths, piano, and more. The third track, »STRACH LĘK NIEPOKÓJ«, also shines with a zeuhl-like momentum driven by militaristic vocals, insistent drums, jagged guitar, and saxophone. And even beyond the most immediately impressive tracks, Polofuturyzm is so packed with highlights and playful surprises that even half of it would have sufficed. Take, for example, »90s [NADZIEJA]«, featuring a trancey synth quickly and effectively sabotaged by free jazz-style drums and saxophone, or »JEDNOKIERUNKOWY«, which sounds like classic disco polo thrown in a blender and mixed with pitch-shifted vocals and clubby keyboards. Not to forget the eight-second slapstick piano flourish on »RĘCE«.
Polofuturyzm is driven by a manic refusal to ever look back. The only constant is the absence of consistency. Gąsiorek has been here before, but it still feels just as radical and refreshing.
English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek
