in briefrelease

A Strange Instrument, a Familiar Sound

Mike Sheridan: «Touch«

There is something almost dogmatic about Mike Sheridan’s latest album, Touch. Everything leads back to the Cristal Baschet – a peculiar instrument from the 1950s in which sound is produced by running wet fingers over glass rods, setting metal resonators into vibration. No strings, no keys, just glass, water, skin and friction, slowly making the metal sing.

The Cristal Baschet is not merely an instrument on Touch. It is the album cover, the subject of the press photos, and almost the very argument for the album’s existence.

It recalls the material fetishism found in the American duo Matmos, whose music is often built around a single material or sound source: metal on Metallic Life Review (2025), plastic on Plastic Anniversary (2019), a washing machine on Ultimate Care II (2016). What is interesting about such constraints is that they ought to force the music somewhere it otherwise might not be able to go.

While listening to Touch, a question therefore begins to press itself forward: Which of these sounds could not have existed without a Cristal Baschet?

There are glassy tones that hang in the air and slowly change texture. Thin, cutting vibrations. Metallic surfaces that flutter, ripple, open and close. A constant sense of droning resonance; of something vibrating just on the other side of the audible.

Sheridan’s layering is meticulous. There is a precision to the mix, an almost surgical sense of the distance between the different textures. The best moments occur when the surface is disturbed: something that scratches at or short-circuits the otherwise tightly controlled resonance. On »BOW / GROUND«, for instance, deep bass pulses suddenly enter, creating a different physical quality – crackling, heavy, like something hitting the floor.

But Touch is first and foremost a well-produced ambient album. It moves through different degrees of the same state, changing nuance without ever truly changing its skin. That is not necessarily a weakness. There is something consistent, almost meditative, in Sheridan’s insistence. But the longer one remains in the same sonic state, the more one begins to miss what ought to be the Cristal Baschet’s particular possibility.

This is where the disappointment lies: in the gap between the instrument’s strangeness and the music’s conventional appearance. The sounds have been assimilated into a familiar ambient vocabulary, where the extraordinary instrument ends up producing something surprisingly familiar. You can hear that something unusual is happening at the source of the sound. But you cannot necessarily hear why it had to be this particular instrument. Had one not been told that a rare, almost otherworldly acoustic sculpture was standing in the room, one would hardly have guessed it.

playlist

04.05

My name is Holger Schulze – would you like to see my playlist?

»The five tracks I'm listening to right now are recordings I discovered either four weeks or 40 years ago. They all bring me joy and inspiration. They represent who I am right now. They carry me. I feel at home and in my happy place when I listen to them. They are an integral part of my sonic persona.«

Holger Schulze is professor in musicology at the University of Copenhagen and principal investigator at the Sound Studies Lab. His sonic anthropology explores how sounds and listening in the 21st century stabilise, disrupt, and permeate everyday life. Artistic practices and everyday objects are both of equal concern to his sonic critique. Currently he works on The Bloomsbury Encyclopedia of Sound Studies in 3 volumes (as one of three editor-in-chiefs together with Jennifer Stoever and Michael Bull) and on The Bloomsbury Handbook of Sound in Museums (together with Alcina Cortez, Gabriele Rossi Rognoni and Eric de Visscher). His publications include: The Bloomsbury Handbook of the Anthropology of Sound (2021, ed.), Sonic Fiction (2021), The Sonic Persona (2018), Sound as Popular Culture (2016, co-ed.)

in briefrelease

27.04

Myths From a Dying Sea

Wanderwelle: »Ghosts Beneath the Brine«

Important Records, 26.05

Ania Mauruschat

The ocean as Cape Lonesome, as a graveyard where at midnight the mythical, the real, and the endangered rise from the dead: this is the sonic world of Ghosts Beneath the Brine, the new album by Amsterdam-based experimental duo Wanderwelle.

Across eight tracks suspended between elegy and requiem, the album navigates the reality of climate change and species extinction while invoking the mythology of creatures of the deep. To sound the crisis, Wanderwelle chose not to record melting icebergs or raging wildfires. Instead, they submerged cymbals – small, bowl-shaped metal plates used since ancient rituals – in saltwater for extended periods. As the metal degraded, its sound grew darker, more fragile, more unstable, releasing ghostly overtones.

Those tones drift through the album like the critically endangered albatross – to which the sixth track is dedicated – spreading its 3.5-metre wingspan like a ghost across vast, indifferent skies. Layered with reverb and sounds evoking lamenting, whimpering animal voices, the pieces carry titles that weave myth and ecological reality: »The Seabishop's Sermon« (named after a creature allegedly caught in the Baltic Sea in 1513), »Empty Net or Dissolving Souls«. The message is clear: sharks and oysters risk becoming as mythical as sea monsters once were, if destruction continues.

And yet this is precisely where the album's beauty becomes its limitation. Ghosts Beneath the Brine sounds hauntingly gorgeous – but like the sublime spectacle of a shipwreck witnessed from a safe distance, it invites us to shudder rather than act. More ghost train than alarm bell, it offers catharsis where the moment calls for urgency.

in briefrelease

26.04

Let's Sing About the Cycle

Adrianna Kubica-Cypek, ÆTLA & Barbara Agertoft: »Månen«

Dacapo, 10.04

Therese Wiwe Vilmar

The moon is a fundamental poetic motif. Its cycle pulls at both the tides and at us – within bodies and fluids alike. Composer Adrianna Kubica-Cypek and the vocal ensemble ÆTLA interpret this motif from Barbara Agertoft’s poem »Månen«. The composition is divided into »Månen« I, II, III and IV. It is a successful EP with a clear sense of purpose: the strong textual foundation establishes a distinct compositional direction without digressions, yet musically it cannot stand on its own.

The moon’s power to connect the inner and the outer emerges strongly in Agertoft’s poem: »and we stretched ourselves out, the inner in the outer all that we / bled into.« How better to convey this fundamental mood than through a vocal ensemble – individual bodies that bleed into an external, shared sound? Kubica-Cypek’s interpretation is dynamic, full of contrast and undulating, like flood and ebb. It begins with a piercing timbre of female voices, unfolding into crossing glissandi supported by deep, monotonously chanting male voices. At times, the sounds converge into harmonic chords; more often, the voices move in diverging directions in both volume and pitch, or insist on remaining in dissonance and repetition.

»Månen IV« concludes as an inversion of the sharp opening of »Månen I«, with subdued and dark sonorities that feel partially unresolved – as if the work is meant to be heard again from the beginning. In its form, the choral arrangement is cyclical, bringing out something understated in Agertoft’s poem. It demonstrates the quality of mutual interpretation: the art forms add something to one another.

in brieflive

22.04

The Voice in My Head

MØR Collective: »Vildnis – der vokser græs ud af min hovedskal«

Teater FÅR302, 21.04-02.05

Louise Steiwer

»Is your head also filled with voices that aren’t your own?« the young man asks. The question forms the central theme of Vildnis (Wilderness], a performance by the theatre group MØR collective, and most people would probably answer yes. But whose voices are they, and where do they come from?

In the introduction, Vildnis is described as »a journey into the engine room of theatre.« Playwright Abelone Koppel has written 80 short texts, and each evening a selection is activated by two performers who do not know in advance which texts they will receive through their earpieces. In a back room, a prompter reads the texts aloud, which the actors immediately translate into movement and voice on stage. It could easily have gone wrong. It doesn’t – and much of the credit goes to the two performers, whose work makes the concept function so well.

Also present on stage is composer Mika Forsling, who, through electronic means and abundant percussion, follows the mood unfolding between the performers – but unfortunately not much more than that. I actually found it somewhat difficult to hear what was going on and, at times, forgot about it altogether, as it felt relatively insignificant. It would have been an obvious choice to use the voice itself as an instrument in a performance centered on inner voices, and it is hard to understand why this opportunity is missed.

One should not see Vildnis for the music alone, even if it becomes more prominent towards the end, when the roles are reversed and Forsling’s rhythms seem to guide the performers’ movements. Nevertheless, Vildnis emerges as a cohesive and engaging experience, despite the unpredictability of the experiment.

English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek

playlist

19.04

My name is Maja Dyrehauge Gregersen – would you like to see my playlist?

»Music for me is the fifth dimension of life, connecting all the others.«

For the past 10 years, Maja Dyrehauge Gregersen has been at the helm of the Copenhagen Photo Festival – the largest photography festival in the Nordic region. The Copenhagen Photo Festival is an international platform with over 1000 annual applicants from all over the world – and a clearly curated level that attracts world names and has lifted the festival out of its original, more local and open form.