in brief
29.03.2023

Fagre nye 90'ere

Anders Skibsted: »secnerefer«
© PR
© PR

Sommetider vælger en kunstner at sadle helt om og foretager en stilmæssig kovending. Som Rene Magritte, der pludselig begyndte at male surrealistisk, en bevidst og kreativ satsning, der gjorde ham til en af genrens bærende kræfter. Anders Skibsted, klassisk uddannet komponist og bandoneonist og altså udøver af musik langt fra lydgeneratorer, foretager netop sådan en satsning på secnerefer – hans første eksperimenter med et fuldt elektronisk lydbillede. 

Fuldstændig talentløst er det ej. Der løber en rød tråd gennem værkets syv numre – alle båret af samples – der lyder, som et pibende læhegn, kombineret med tunge forvrængede beats. Det er ikke dårligt udført, og det er tydeligt, at Skibsted bruger erfaringen som komponist i sit arbejde med elektronikken.

Men, som presseteksten også nævner, er inspirationen fra IDM og andet elektronik bare virkelig stærk, i så høj grad, at Skibsted tit og oftest ender med at lyde som musik udgivet på Warp Records i slutningen af 90’erne. Specifikt lyder secnerefer enormt meget som Autechres mere kryptiske hovedværker, helt ned til beat-produktionen, og titlerne låner vist fra Aphex Twin. Bedst er »Sqeiwz Tekyrguv«, hvor de distortede trommehug er erstattet af en cool ambience og leg med effektfiltre. 

Desværre lyder secnerefer som en lettere bedaget version af de britiske forbilleder. Albummet er ikke den succesfulde kunstneriske satsning, man kunne håbe på, men er dog interessant som et øjebliksbillede af en moderne eksperimentalists tur ind i en ny verden. 

in brieflive
18.10

One Tone, Eight Breaths, and the Sound of Waiting

Elisa Kragerup, Louise Alenius, Vokalensemblet ÆTLA and others: »The Emperor of Portugalia«
© PR
© PR

Only one actor appears on stage in The Emperor of Portugalia – surrounded by eight singers. In Elisa Kragerup’s tightly choreographed staging, Louise Alenius’ a cappella composition becomes a physical experience where breath and movement merge into one. The acoustic soundscape interacts eerily quietly with the deafening, mechanical noises that arise when, for instance, beams of light are raised and lowered on stage. It feels as if the relentlessness of existence here briefly finds a sonic expression that captures Selma Lagerlöf’s intentions.

The sparse – or rather ascetic – soundscape, together with the humble peasant costumes, reflects the harsh, monotonous life of a Swedish village before the world turned modern. And the plot? A poor farmer worships his daughter, but when she leaves for Stockholm as a young woman and never returns, his years of yearning drive him, in a Don Quixote-like fashion, to believe himself emperor of the imaginary land of Portugalia, with his daughter naturally imagined as its ruler. The father’s longing borders on madness, while the daughter’s neglect or thoughtlessness ultimately turns against her: in a Godot-like manner, he waits and waits for her – just as she, after his drowning, waits for him, unable to find his body.

The piece is carried by an almost unbroken drone in the choir (produced through collective breathing) – a single sustained tone that, as an artistic device, illustrates how music in theatre can be so minimal that sound itself becomes the message, and the absence of a musical narrative becomes the point. »One tone played beautifully is enough,« Arvo Pärt once said. Except that here, the tone is sung – and in this work, his statement is affirmed in the most radical way: a maximal expression achieved through minimal means, realised with striking precision by Vokalensemblet ÆTLA.

English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek

in briefrelease
16.10

A Microphone In the Nervous System

IKI: »BODY«
© Julie Montauk
© Julie Montauk

It sounds as if someone has placed a microphone directly inside the nervous system’s electrical impulses. The Nordic electroacoustic vocal ensemble IKI explores the boundaries between body and technology on their fifth, self-produced album BODY, where the five singers’ bodies merge into one large, organic rhythm box.

The tracks change form as the body breathes, dances, awakens, runs, wanders – in the imperative mood. The harmonically unison ripple of »Float« is countered by flickering modem-like sounds in »Regenerate«. Everything is framed by the recurring theme »Circuit«, which ultimately gathers the fragments into a single linguistic statement: »Are you gone when your body is not breathing?«

BODY demands concentration. IKI claims that all sounds on the album are created with the voice – a counterpoint to the electrically manipulated, a kind of reversed version of synthesizer sounds that imitate the human voice. It’s an incomprehensible mystery one keeps listening for: how can the voice produce the accordion-like sound on »Breath«, panned all the way to the left and slowly taking over the entire soundscape? Of course, it can’t do so on its own. The recording itself is an electronic mediation. The technological tools act as a microscope for vocal expression. It’s powerful because it asks about the transitions between human and machine, between life and afterlife. Yet the premise holds a paradox that never fully resolves.

English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek

Bjarke Niemann. © Frederik Barasinski

»Music is everything that can only be described far more poorly with words.«

Bjarke Niemann is the lead singer, songwriter, and producer of the Danish band Spleen United. The group broke through with Godspeed Into The Mainstream in 2005 and has performed at, among other places, Roskilde Festival and the Copenhagen Opera House. Bjarke Niemann has also composed and developed music for TV and video games – including the international game series Hitman – and has produced albums with artists such as Soleima, Statisk, Afskum, and Hugorm.

© Motis Necrojam

»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. 

Katrine Muff. © Ditte Capion

»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).