Hvorfor har du valgt at spille så mange uropførelser til en koncert?
På mit masterstudium har jeg tidligere arrangeret «Erik Nerheim Saxofonfestival 2012», hvor jeg afholdt 25 koncerter på tre dage. Dette var blandt andet et forsøg på at gøre noget spektakulært - men uden at det blev på bekostning af det musikalske indhold. Den koncert ville jeg gerne følge op på og valgte at sætte rekord i uropførelser. Koncerten på søndag med navnet «68 kompositioner» er også spektakulær, men har alligevel en musikalsk tyngde og et fokus: at det er muligt at formidle klassisk saxofon og samtidsmusik til et bredt publikum - uden at det bliver på bekostning af musikken.

Herudover er det også vigtig at forny litteraturen og altså blive ved med at bestille nykomponeret musik til saxofonen. Bare til denne koncert er saxofonrepertoiret blevet betragteligt udvidet. Det er vigtigt ikke bare at konservere men også at forny.

For mig er det interessant med en sådan slags «collagekoncert», der springer fra stil til stil og udtryk til udtryk - hvert eneste minut. Jeg har inviteret alle til at skrive, som havde lyst, så derfor er der også en grad aleatorik i projektet. Det synes jeg er spændende. Jeg satte en form på koncerten og inviterede folk til at fylde den med det, de havde lyst til, indenfor de rammer jeg havde sat (max 1 minut, for saxofon mm.). Jeg vidste ikke, hvad folk ville skrive eller i hvilken stil, og det har været umådeligt spændende at modtage værker og begynde at arbejde med dem. Jeg ville gerne lave noget kollektivt, hvor jeg ikke var eneansvarlig og alene havde kontrol med, hvordan udtrykket blev.

Værkerne er primært skrevet af nordiske komponister, hvorfor?
Bortset fra en komponist, er de alle nordiske eller studerer i et nordisk land. Hovedgrunden til dette er nok så enkelt som min kontaktflade og netværk, da jeg kender flere komponister i de nordiske lande. Da det i april gik op for mig, at jeg ville lave dette projekt, annoncerede jeg det på facebook, ligesom jeg skrev e-mails til komponister og musikere, som jeg kender. Det var ikke et mål, at det stort set udelukkende skulle være nordiske komponister, men sådan blev det, efterhånden som folk svarede tilbage.  

Mellem hvert værk, skal der ikke klappes. Er der ikke en fare for at det enkelte værk glider i baggrunden til fordel for én stor komposition? 
Det er selvfølgelig meget på grund af tid og koncertdramaturgi, at folk ikke skal klappe imellem hvert værk, men det er jo også for at understrege selve konceptet. Ofte er det 68 musikere som spiller én komponist. Her vender jeg det på hovedet: 68 komponister fremføres af én musiker. På en måde kan man sige, at magtforholdet mellem komponist og udøver er blevet byttet rundt. Det er jo klart, at hvert eneste værk, som er blevet leveret til mig til koncerten, har en værdi i sig selv, men samtidig bliver de også en del af et større værk – i dette tilfælde koncerten med den aktuelle udøver. Den røde tråd igennem alle kompositionerne på denne koncert er, at det bliver opført af mig. Hele koncerten, sat sammen af 68 etminutsværker, bliver jo også et stort musikværk, i tillæg til at koncerten og alt omkring den selvfølgelig bliver et konceptværk. Alle musikere i et orkester er selvfølgelig vigtige i sig selv, men de udgør også noget mere end kun sig selv, når de har funktionen af musiker i et orkester. For mig er der en pointe i at understrege denne problematik. 

Når alt dette er sagt, så er det vigtigt for mig at præcisere at alle de kompositioner, jeg har modtaget, er vældig gode, og har en stor værdi enkeltstående. Målet for koncerten er, at både den enkelte kompositioner og makrokompositionen kommer tydelig frem.

Koncerten er 2. juni kl. 19.00 i Lindemansalen,
Norges musikkhøgskole, Slemdalsveien 11. 

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Foto: Silje Måseide

Bobo Moreno. © Thomas Roger Henrichsen

»Music is an element for me, along with earth, wind, fire and water. Music is a nutrient that is part of my personal food pyramid, along with cheese, eggs and tomatoes. Music is a relationship in my life that is just as important as the people I have around me. Music is like an extra organ through which I perceive the world.« 

Growing up surrounded by his parents’ eclectic record collection, Bobo Moreno developed a love for music across genres. Named after his stepfather, jazz and rock bassist Bo Stief, Bobo started out on the electric bass before, at the age of 22, finding his true instrument – ​​his voice. Self-taught, he developed his craft through countless live performances and garnered recognition for his expressive voice and stylistic range. His national breakthrough came with the pop duo Peaches & Bobo in 1993. After decades of performing, at the age of 60, Bobo now releases Missing Pieces – his deeply personal debut album, reflecting a life of musical exploration and self-discovery, while marking a new chapter in a lifelong musical journey.

© Mira Campau

»Music to me is like water to plants. And a space to connect us, to ourselves, others and the world.«

Astrid Engberg is a contemporary artist with roots in the past, blending electronic-organic jazz, soul and percussive minimalism. Her sound combines heavy, minimal productions with personal storytelling and a spiritual edge, carried by a voice that balances sensitivity and strength. Since releasing her debut album Tulpa in 2020, highlighted by Bandcamp as one of the summer’s best releases, she has received the Steppeulven award as Producer of the Year 2021 and won Vocal Jazz Release of the Year at Danish Music Awards Jazz, alongside a nomination for Experimental Album of the Year.

Engberg has performed live and as a DJ at major Danish festivals and venues, including SPOT, Heartland, Roskilde Festival, DR Koncerthuset and SMK – Statens Museum for Kunst.

in brieflive
13.02

Ash in the Ear

Farvel & Peter Laugesen
© PR
© PR

There was something liberating about watching 83-year-old Peter Laugesen step onto the stage at Phono with a new band and not a trace of nostalgia. There was no hint of a poetic lap of honour. But plenty of noise. The trio Farvel – Halfdan Magnus Stefansson (guitar), Gustav M.K. Lauridsen (bass) and Jens Højbøge Mosegaard (drums) – did not play politely around the poet. They laid down a massive carpet of stoner rock and free improvisation beneath him, as if the words had to be wrenched free from gravel and distortion. At first the music moved heavy and viscous. For a long time. Then it accelerated. And Laugesen accelerated with it.

He sat on a chair in the corner, leafing through his books, speaking of dawn, of children at play before they disappear, of Finnegans Wake, Winnie-the-Pooh and an irate »then thaw, for fuck’s sake.« The words did not fall in rhythm – they landed like bolts on a workshop floor. Laugesen’s baritone is still as coarse as steel wire; the Brabrand accent refuses to be polished. He played the harmonica. It sounded more than off-kilter – a twisted blues.

Farvel emerged from a jazz ambition that dissolved and found another path in the abrasive aesthetics of 1990s noise rock. It suits Laugesen. The three young musicians did not play behind him, but with him, across generations, on equal footing. This was no solemn celebration of an ageing poet. It was a workplace filled with friction. At Phono, Laugesen sang – yes, sang – the prose of life across a wall of sound. His voice cut in between the rumbling bass and the grit of the snare drum. He spoke of »ash in the ear«. You left carrying precisely that: a tremor in your hearing. When language meets resistance, it can still strike sparks.

Phono. 12.02

in briefrelease
11.02

Echoes from the Olive Trees

Mai Mai Mai: »Karakoz«
© PR
© PR

Grief is hereditary. It is collective and more than mere streams of tears – as countless generations of oppressed Palestinians can attest. On the album Karakoz, the Rome-based musician Mai Mai Mai creates a resonance of this collective sorrow and attempts to grasp the desperate hope of the Palestinian people. Not through political slogans, but through dark spiritualism and synthesizers.

Karakoz is an ancient form of shadow theatre with roots in the Ottoman Empire, and the album title serves as an omen of the musical pulse that sets in from the opening track, »Grief«. Here the music sounds like an archaic folk hymn: slow, repetitive percussion creates a tear-soaked minimalism, and the piece feels like a ceremony passed down through generations. With synthesizers slowly coiling around Maya Al Khaldi’s yearning vocals, »Grief« becomes a cultural bridge between forgotten traditions and the painfully current tragedy that today envelops Palestine in an all-consuming darkness.

Across the seven tracks, one hears trauma like a wind murmuring through the streets and among the olive trees. This may be because the album was created in collaboration with local artists and includes archival material from The Palestinian Sound Archive – an archive of decades of forgotten music, poetry, and album covers. Karakoz is a reinterpretation of Middle Eastern spiritualism and forgotten music. It is a testament to grief as lived experience, and as an archival bulwark, Karakoz thus takes part in the struggle for a free Palestine.

English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek

© PR

»For me, music is a secret safe place. It is a refuge from society, from who you're expected to be, and from the idea of belonging. It is a space where you're free from conflict and dualistic ways of thinking. It is a place to feel the world without needing to understand it.«

Masaya Ozaki is a composer born in Niigata, Japan. His work is deeply influenced by the transient nature of space and the subtleties of sound within physical environments.  Ozaki views sound not just as a medium, but as a form deeply intertwined with the spaces it inhabits, something that he explores extensively in site-specific projects like Echoes, which involved live performances inside a lighthouse. 

Ozaki’s latest album, Mizukara (2024), is a reflection of his personal and artistic journey, primarily shaped by his experiences in Iceland. The album embraces minimalism and introspection, incorporating field recordings, sparse instrumentals, and the textures of the Icelandic landscape to explore the fluid relationship between self and environment. In recent interviews, he emphasized his shift from purely sound-based compositions to ones that deeply consider the environment and space. His relocation to Iceland has profoundly influenced his work, encouraging him to further merge the boundaries between music, nature, and architecture.  He is also a member of the Reykjavík-based emo anime doom metal band MC Myasnoi.