Why is it that one can always recognize a lullaby? This musical archetype, circular and hushed, sung into us with mother’s milk. Composer Bent Sørensen’s solo piano cycle 12 Nocturnes is a tribute to the night’s musical cultural heritage. The nocturne – a nocturnal, lyrical composition – merges with, among other forms, lullabies and cantatas in a poetic narrative from sunset to sunrise about what is close at hand and yet unfathomable: that the sun rises, that children are born, that stars can be glimpsed through small windows on earth, that the piano can create worlds with twelve tones.

Bent Sørensen wrote the twelve short nocturnes between 2000 and 2014 for pianist (and wife) Katrine Gislinge. They have previously been released digitally. Now they appear as a studio recording paired with Piano Concerto No. 3, La sera estatica. The premiere of this “ecstatic evening” stands in contrast to the nocturnes’ simple, balanced forms. With a dramatic opening, multiple orchestral groups, and crackling storminess in the soundscapes, the dreamy nocturnal universe is ruptured by a surging ardor that unfolds in two parts, where purer melodic lines gradually take over the second – complete with a distinct (night?) bell.

Yet the piano concerto’s sovereign quality does not quite come into its own when presented as a postscript to the nocturnes’ rounded narrative. The two elements work best separately, so that the ecstatic evening for full orchestra does not puncture the magic of stars scattered blinking across the piano’s staccato attacks, or Sigrid’s nocturnal dances and lullabies. There is ample drama in the beautifully conveyed single night – for even the child Sigrid will one day no longer be sung to sleep.

It is difficult not to read a great deal into trumpeter, composer and all-round musical visionary Palle Mikkelborg’s new solo album Light. He has long since passed retirement age, withdrew from touring in 2024, and with this release has presented something that very much feels like a kind of farewell.

The opening track, Per Nørgård’s »At tænde lys« (»To Light a Candle«), is pure Mikkelborg: his lyrical, elevated and elegiac solo trumpet, in both form and expression, speaks directly to the listener’s heart. Elsewhere, he draws on old soundscape recordings, combining them with piano and trumpet. The interplay between the old and the new creates a compelling mystique and casts a subtle, unsettling shadow over the music.

»Capricorn« perhaps stands out most strongly: a tender and romantic reimagining for solo piano of one of his own pieces, like a loving glance back at bygone times and former triumphs. And then, of course, the closing track, Thomas Laub’s »Stille, hjerte, sol går ned« (»Be Still, Heart, the Sun is Setting«), where Mikkelborg’s melancholic trumpet is joined by Jakob Bro’s guitar, Helen Davies’ harp and Thomas Lis’s choral soundscape. Together they create a piece of music that truly feels like a farewell, marked by both uncertainty and sorrow, but also acceptance and gratitude.

All in all, Light is the perfect distillation of Mikkelborg’s musical life – a cavalcade of the qualities that have always defined him as a musician: light, colour, life, mysticism, love. Whether this will be the final release from Mikkelborg’s hand, I do not know, but if it should prove to be the case, few swan songs have ever sounded so beautiful.