in brief

20.10.2023

Heavenly tape loops from the superstar of ambient music

Alice: William Basinski

Jakob Gustav Winckler. © Jakob Gustav Winckler

The only thing that might be missing was a yippie ki-yay from William Basinski when he took on the Copenhagen Distillery as part of The Last Symphony tour. »Buckle up bitches«, it sounded so raw that for a moment you thought it was Bruce Willis on stage. Basinski's riveting superstar charisma is the perfect contrast to his crumbling and self-indulgent ambient music.

The concert was refreshingly far from the extended space of contemplation I associate with Basinski's recorded works. His famous series The Disintegration Loops (2002-2003), in which the mortal world of tape loops crumbles in slow motion, was emblematic of the concerns many had around the turn of the millennium: Was the infinity of the brave new digital world actually the beginning of the end? Like no one else, Basinski manages to let the question of technological determinism sound open in his music: The patinated tape recordings contain no answer, but instead a curious state, where repetition and impermanence stop pulling at the sense of time from either side and instead come full circle.

It was fascinating to experience the way Basinski processed his loops. Every time he put a new sound into rotation, it seemed as if it was his first encounter with it. Quickly, a sucking field of reverberation and feedback arose, forming a sphere from the orbits of the tape loops. The analog sound sometimes gnawed at the music with its small clips and grinding compression.

The distance between the ambient terrains was short and the concert, which was followed by two encores, was more collage-like than the wasteland Basinski usually paints. The landscape was particularly captivating as a six-note motif consumed itself in reverberation and gave way to what sounded like Arabic ornamented chant. Basinski found transcendence in the high frequencies, and when at one point he extended a bright vocal sound beyond the murky tape environment, the boundary between heaven and earth disappeared. It was incomprehensibly beautiful to hear how the vocals hovered like a radiant deity over the profane tape-recorded world.

English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek

in brieflive

06.03

Labour of Birth

Katinka Fogh Vindelev, Sankt Annæ Pigekor, Kind of Opera et al.: »Elegier over jorden«

Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, 5.03

Louise Steiwer

»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

playlist

04.03

My name is Jesper Kjeldsen – would you like to see my playlist?

»For me, music is... I was about to say everything, but that's still an exaggeration. I'm a sensitive person, and therefore all art - but especially music - affects me in different ways. Music has both a therapeutic and an artistic meaning for me. Music affects my mood and gives me energy. It can also put me in a certain state where I see things differently and reflect in a different way than I would otherwise. I always have headphones in when I'm alone, I sleep to music, I work to music. The first thing I did as a new councilor was to set up my father-in-law's old B&O system in the councilor's office. It plays every day, and I very rarely close the door.«

Jesper Kjeldsen is councilor for Culture and Citizen Service in Aarhus and a member of the city council for the Social Democrats. He graduated from Kaospiloterne and has a background as an entrepreneur, including with the company Postevand. Before his political career, he worked creatively with culture and music – he has released music, been a DJ and taught as a dance teacher. Jesper Kjeldsen has lived and worked in Greenland for a long period of time, which has influenced his view of community, culture, climate and society.

playlist

28.02

My name is Matias Vestergård – would you like to see my playlist?

»Music for me is translation. Music for me is a musical score that can be released into sound in a thousand ways, depending on who picks up the instrument. Music for me is the attempt to embody the idea of sound in lines and dots and floor plans. Music for me is both a sought-after sound that does not ring, and a sought-after sound that does. Music for me is a song game, a parallel universe with its own temporality and its own rules.«

Matias Vestergård is a trained composer and pianist from the Royal Danish Academy of Music in Copenhagen. Since his debut in 2022, he has particularly distinguished himself with music-dramatic works – his first opera Murder on the Titanic will be performed for the third time this year, and his second opera Lisbon Floor won the award for Opera of the Year at the 2023 Reumert. He is currently working on orchestral works, a piano concerto and choral music, but dreams of writing more operas.

playlist

27.02

My name is Hannah Schneider – would you like to see my playlist?

»Music for me is a way to stay curious. It can feel completely overwhelming to hear some music you don't know, or revisit something you haven't heard in a long time. Music makes my heart race, it makes me cry, laugh, and gesticulate wildly. It's a way to understand myself at different times in my life, and a way to create bonds with others around me.«

Hannah Schneider creates cinematic alternative pop with electronic soundscapes and strong melodies. She has released several critically acclaimed albums, toured Europe and the US, and has established herself as one of the country's most original voices. Her music has been used in film, television, and on major Scandinavian theater stages, and in recent years she has also composed commissioned works for leading museums and cultural institutions.

On her new album In This Room (February 27, 2026), she chooses – in an era marked by artificial intelligence – to insist on presence, intuition, and craftsmanship as driving forces. The album was written and recorded during a two-month residency at Thorvaldsens Museum.

playlist

25.02

My name is Louise Beck – would you like to see my playlist?

»I listen to music at all hours of the day when I’m at home – surrounded by family – or when I’m working and travelling. My playlist changes every day. It reflects my state of mind here and now, and the ideas, memories, joys and sorrows that currently occupy me. The last piece, Salve Regina, was only added late this evening, after I experienced Poulenc’s magnificent opera Dialogues des Carmélites at the Royal Danish Opera.«

Louise Beck is a scenographer, stage director and artistic director of OPE-N – and from the 2027 season, artistic director of Copenhagen Opera Festival. For nearly three decades, she has developed opera as a living and contemporary art form at the intersection of the established opera field and the independent music-theatre scene. She has created a number of critically acclaimed and award-nominated works, including Den Sidste Olie and LOL – Laughing Out Lonely, and, together with Niels Rønsholdt, stands behind the opera trilogy Den Stærkes Ret – Den Svages Pligt, whose second part will be presented at the University Library of Copenhagen during the 2026 festival.