Harpen – et af de ældste strengeinstrumenter – er for mig tæt forbundet med den svævende grænse mellem at sove og være vågen. Harpens brolægning mellem nat og dag stod kun endnu tydeligere, efter Julianna Barwick og Mary Lattimore vækkede det gamle instrument til live i DR Koncerthusets Studie 2. Lattimores harpespil og Barwicks æteriske vokal befinder sig et sted mellem moderne ambient og klassisk nocturne – som en anakronistisk vuggevise tilsat synthesizere og spandevis af rumklang.

Hovedparten af koncertens numre stammede fra Barwick og Lattimores seneste album Tragic Magic (2026). Et album indspillet over 10 dage i en kælder under Philharmonie de Paris med fri adgang til deres samling af antikke instrumenter. Både synthesizere fra 1970'erne og harper fra 1700-tallet bliver vækket til live på albummet. Og selvom Barwick smilende bemærkede, at den gamle harpe fra 1740 desværre ikke kunne være med i aften, var det tydeligt at mærke de to amerikanske musikeres passion for spændet mellem det antikke og kontemporære. Et spænd, der stod klarest under historien om den første regn efter de voldsomme skovbrande i hjembyen Los Angeles. En lydoptagelse af præcis den regn indledte det efterfølgende cover af Vangelis’ »Rachels Dream« fra soundtracket til Blade Runner (1982) og satte de altødelæggende brande i et mørkt science fiction-skær. Men Barwicks filmiske fløjten og Lattimores harpearpeggios fandt alligevel et lys i det dystopiske mørke. Selvom begge musikere har lange solokarrierer bag sig, er det forhåbentligt ikke det sidste, vi hører til deres samarbejde.

Electronic duo Vanessa Amara are riding a wave of success at the moment. Last year, their caustic take on Gudmundsen-Holmgreen’s organ music earned them credits on Rosalía’s much-hyped Duolingo album LUX, and this summer Birk Gjerlufsen and Sebastián Santillana – both former volunteers at Koncertkirken – will appear at Roskilde Festival.

But on Thursday night at Christianshavns Beboerhus, they were overshadowed by RMC alumnus Harald Bjørn, who opened under the alias Soli City. He too placed a classical instrument, the cello, at the centre of his electronic music, and his masterstroke was to make it shimmer like a beautiful, lost memory amid a restless abundance of chopped-up hyperpop aesthetics and melancholic spoken-word poetry.

The cello, played on electric keyboard, was synthetic yet human: an intentionally sloppy fragment that set the tone for half an hour of dissolution. Even when Soli City reached for life with an urgent handclap beat in a vast sonic space, it was staged like a chance pause during a flickering radio scan, while relaxed piano chords sustained an ambient sadness. Impressive.

It was refreshing when Vanessa Amara followed with a different, ecstatic take on the atomised information society. At their best – and they were at their best in the beginning – the duo combined, with Kanye West-inspired genre agnosticism, distorted pop samples and polytonal church organ until the 21st century seemed ready to come apart at the seams. It was sublime, simply put.

But instead of delving deeper into the forces they unleashed, the duo quickly moved between tracks and veered far too early into dull, therapeutic deep house, a mode they never left again. We barely had time to lose our footing before we were handed a group hug – and frankly, I’d rather do without.

With Kammerkonzert, British electronic composer Tom Jenkinson, better known as Squarepusher, places himself within the braindance tradition of the 1990s and 2000s, when electronic artists flirted with classical music – from Aphex Twin’s collaborations with Philip Glass to Venetian Snares’ Rossz Csillag Alatt Született, where baroque patterns were folded into mechanical rhythms and the melancholy of strings torn apart by breakbeats.

Squarepusher is no stranger to the acoustic: his hyperactive bass guitar – often sounding as if in flight from its own virtuosity – has been central to his music since Music Is Rotted One Note (1998). Here, too, it takes a leading role. On »K2 Central«, a looped, faintly anxious bass figure drives the music forward while strings swell in and shift its harmonic function. The effect is not without merit, but the execution is strikingly conventional. The MIDI-generated strings move in neat chord blocks with an almost overly reverent sense of decorum. The classical tradition is not challenged but merely cited, and the arrangements are so polished that the orchestra’s presence feels barely justified.

The compositions also hover awkwardly between the slick functionality of elevator jazz and something exaggerated, almost circus-like, as if unable to decide whether they want to be serious or ironic – and end up being neither. »K4 Fairlands« stands out by pairing string quartet with the busy breakbeats that are Squarepusher’s trademark. Here, a friction emerges between the rigid and the fluid that briefly opens the album up, suggesting how two otherwise incompatible systems might coexist.

Overall, Kammerkonzert comes across as artistically cautious, marked by a peculiar restraint. What remains is the sense of something only half realised. One wishes Squarepusher had either ventured further into the orchestral realm or trusted more in what he actually excels at, giving the electronics freer rein. Preferably both.