in brief
16.12.2023

Orgel, ynde og bad ass-minimalisme

Organ Sound Art Festival: Hampus Lindwall, Matt Choboter, Ying-Hsueh Chen, Simon Mariegaard, Paulina Rewucka & Neža Kokalj, Ellen Arkbro, Hanne Lippard
© Daniel Oxenhandler
© Daniel Oxenhandler

Det er muligt, at julen er hjerternes fest, men det er bestemt også orglets. Mange støder i løbet af december på kirkeorglets mægtige klang i forbindelse med julens mange kirkekoncerter, men i Koncertkirken på Nørrebro er december blevet en helt særlig slags fest med orglet som hovedperson og med et efter fremmødet at dømme til andendagen af Organ Sound Art Festival ganske dedikeret publikum, fascineret af orglets klang, struktur og mangfoldige muligheder.

Aftenen åbnes af den svenske organist og komponist Hampus Lindwall, der også runder aftenens program af i et trioformat med organist Ellen Arkbro og vokalist Hanne Lippard. Solosættet indledes af værket Unmounted / Muted Noun af amerikanske Phill Niblock, som Lindwall præsenterer som en bad ass-minimalist. En form for bad ass-minimalisme, der egner sig godt til orglets rige væld af klange og overtoner, og med langstrakte droner får Niblocks værk da også hele kirken til at knirke og knage, mens Lindwalls eget Music for Organ & Electronics byder på et kvadrofonisk set-up, hvor publikum opfordres til at sætte sig i midten af kirken for at lade sig omslutte af både orglets klang og de elektroniske toner.

I det hele taget er det en aften, hvor publikum opfordres til at flytte sig meget efter, hvad det enkelte værk kræver. I det efterfølgende bestillingsværk, And Then There Were The Sounds of Birds, af den herboende canadiske komponist Matt Choboter, må publikum trække helt ud til siderne for at give plads til to ekspressive dansere, der sammen med to orgler, et præpareret flygel, percussion og elektroniske collager skaber et både melankolsk, legende og meget fysisk rum, der kredser om fugles stemmer og bevægelser. Orglet indtager her en mere tilbageholdende rolle, men værket synes samtidig at indkredse et paradoks ved netop orglet som et instrument, der med sin klang stræber mod det sfæriske, men som samtidig er ladet med en tyngde, som også kommer til udtryk i danserne, der snart nærmest svæver, snart falder klodsede til jorden, samtidig med at de indgår i symbioser med de instrumenter, der er fordelt ud i hele rummet. 

At udforske orglet er således også at udforske rum for musikken, både for komponist, performer og publikum, og på sin vis bliver det næsten en del af aftenens oplevelse, at vi, mens vi drikker ud og snakker om aftenens koncerter, er vidner til det franske ensemble Pancrace, der omdanner hele salen til en sand orgelbyggeplads for at gøre klar til deres koncert den efterfølgende dag. Nysgerrigheden bliver i hvert fald vakt på mere. 

© Robin Skjoldborg
© Robin Skjoldborg

Danish musician, author, and artist Martin Hall has died at the age of 63. According to his family, he passed away from a heart attack at his home in Frederiksberg on Tuesday, 21 July.

Since the early 1980s, Hall left an indelible mark on Danish music and cultural life – first with Ballet Mécanique and Under For, and later through an extensive solo career that moved effortlessly between experimental music, electronic pop, poetry, performance, and literature. He leaves behind one of the most substantial discographies and bibliographies in Danish cultural history.

© Kåre Viemose
© Kåre Viemose

Seismograf is heading off on summer break to check out the ocean's deep vibrations.  🌊🤿  See you in August. Have a great summer!

in brieflive
15.07

Noise in the White Cube

Aros: »Unruly – the Body in Punk«
© Karen Knorr & Olivier Richon, Vortex 6 from the Punks series, 1976 - 1977, gelatin silver print on paper,18,7 x 28,2 cm, Tate. Courtesy of the artists.
© Karen Knorr & Olivier Richon, Vortex 6 from the Punks series, 1976 - 1977, gelatin silver print on paper,18,7 x 28,2 cm, Tate. Courtesy of the artists.

The first thing that hits you at Aros' Unruly – the Body in Punk isn't dog collars, leather jackets or fishnet stockings. It's the sound. It rumbles through the galleries. After all, what is punk doing in a museum? Punk was never made for museums. It's dirty, loud and ephemeral. It thrives on amateurism, mistakes and resistance. One might fear that the white cube would turn three-chord fury into cultural history and noise into background music. Curator Marie Arleth Skov has created an exhibition in which sound doesn't merely illustrate history – it propels it. Raw guitars, piercing saxophones, flickering Super 8 films and concert footage merge into a rush of noise, images and bodies.

Unruly is not a comprehensive history of punk but a sharply focused snapshot of a culture in which sound and the body were inseparable. Punk's godmothers appear alongside Danish bands such as Lost Kids, Pussy Punk and Sods in previously unseen footage from a legendary punk happening in Copenhagen. A leather drum kit by Käthe Kruse of Die Tödliche Doris stands as a sculpture bearing the dry title In Leder, while Cornelia Schleime's video reveals the vulnerability and poetry that also inhabited punk rebellion. The contrast with Erik Satie's stripped-back piano music is exquisite. Walking through the exhibition feels like stepping inside a three-dimensional fanzine. Everywhere, it celebrates misfits and those who never asked for permission. Leopard-print cushions, raw materials and tactile installations make you feel as if you could almost touch punk itself.

In art museums, sound is often reduced to atmosphere. Here, it becomes a material on equal footing with fabric, video and the body. Noise is treated as an artistic method rather than a soundtrack. Fifty-year-old noise still sounds astonishingly contemporary as it resonates with the exhibition's newer works. You feel it vibrating through your body. Instead of muting the world, the museum becomes an amplifier.

Can rebellion survive inside a museum? Unruly shows that punk's energy does not necessarily disappear when it enters an institution. Only two things are missing: the chance to experience the exhibition at four o'clock in the morning – and a lavish catalogue bound in latex.

English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek

© PR

»For us, music is the companion that stays with you through life’s highs, lows, benders, and shitty times. There isn’t a single emotion for which we don’t each have an internal soundtrack. It’s a wonderful, universal thing that music triggers moods and reinforces feelings.«

Barcode played a couple of hundred shows across Europe in the 90s and 2000s – touring with acts like Madball, Agnostic Front, and Hatebreed – and released five full-length albums. The Aarhus-based band will play its first concert in 18 years as the headliner at the Support Our Scene festival in Fredericia this August.

in brieflive
09.07

Two Singular Voices in Close Orbit

Lotte Anker & Fred Frith
© PR
© PR

On Wednesday evening at 5e, the audience witnessed a meeting between two musicians who, in terms of stage presence, did not immediately seem to have much in common. Lotte Anker sat upright in her chair with either alto or soprano saxophone resting on her lap, while Fred Frith leaned forward over his guitar, pedals and the many small objects he used to force all manner of sounds out of his instrument. Stoic calm versus frenetic tinkering. Outwardly, they seemed like opposites. Musically, however, they were closely connected.

They hardly looked at each other during the set, yet seemed completely absorbed in the sound they were creating together. At times, the music was knotty and difficult to penetrate: un-guitar-like tones, percussive attacks, almost rock-like passages, rapid saxophone runs, long sustained notes, noise and overtones. Like a riddle that had no desire to be solved. At other moments, Frith created clear drones over which Anker moved with melancholy grace, sensuous and beautiful. It sounded like a wordless tale of darkness, fear and uncertainty, but also of light, hope and togetherness. The essence of life distilled to the meeting point between two of jazz’s great singular voices.

The concert ended with the evening’s most direct gesture between the two. A gentle tone from Frith’s guitar rang out continuously until he suddenly brought his hand down on the fretboard with a resounding thud and sent Anker a mischievous smile. A brief acknowledgement of the intense ride they had just taken the audience through.

English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek