A newly composed opera staged in a courtroom may sound like a banal trick. But as I step into the waiting hall of the Aarhus Courthouse for Niels Rønsholdt and Louise Beck’s Den Stærkes Ret – Den Svages Pligt (The Right of the Strong – The Duty of the Weak), I wonder for a moment if I’ve come to the wrong place. An oblong room, tables scattered about, a balcony above – and then a sheet of music in a glass display case that normally would hold old legal documents. The scenography is discreet, but the legal framework immediately sparks reflections on law, power, and justice.

Soon, nearly 20 singers appear on the balcony. The music is tonal, carried by resonance and repeated phrases that gradually shift like a canon. You sense borrowings from minimalism, but also a near-folklike simplicity that makes the choir both enchanting and unsettling. The plot – a daughter confronting her father’s ghost to claim his weapon – emerges only in fragments. It is the atmosphere that drives the work, and it changes radically when the singers leave the balcony and place themselves among the audience, while three dancers move through the hall.

A pivotal moment comes when the choir suddenly strikes tuning forks and places them on the tables, sending a vibrating »wuu-uu« through the room. Goosebumps arrive instantly. Moments later, the singers address us directly, holding intense eye contact. It feels both intimate and transgressive, like being spoken to in court with no chance to reply. I wanted to look away, but felt compelled to hold their gaze. Here, the title became physical: the duty of the weak to submit.

As the work fades out, all the singers turn against the father and side with the daughter. Books are torn from the shelves, pages ripped out, and as »Listen and learn« is sung, Orwell’s 1984 flickers in the back of my mind. It is both disturbing and uncannily timely in an era where obedience to authority and manipulation again shape public discourse.

Den Stærkes Ret is one of the most intense musical experiences I have had in years. It unites aesthetics, body, and social commentary in a way that makes you shudder. I am already waiting for acts two and three.

English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek

The forest lake is a cradle of life in more than one sense. The forest’s myriad forms of life depend on its waters, but its trickling branches, intense stillness, and soft reflections also hold powerful musical potential. It is precisely this life-giving energy that forms the basis of Swedish composer Filip Leyman’s solo debut album, Soft Light. From the very first track, »Beyond the Sea«, one senses how Leyman manages to create an organic universe where every sound nourishes the soil for the next. It is difficult to find either beginning or end as the many synthesizers and strings grow into and out of one another – you simply have to surrender and sink into this spherical universe of reverberations and deep, steady bass.

Filip Leyman’s work cannot be described without mentioning Swedish artist Anna von Hausswolff. Her music is like a force of nature, carried by long, sacred organ passages – and what is Hausswolff and what is Leyman is never entirely possible to determine. Soft Light gathers together compositions written over decades and appears as a natural extension of the many albums and soundtracks the two have created together. The album contains a strong cinematic dimension: in a track like »Shapes«, the layered sounds culminate in a dazzling climax that feels like slow motion in sound.

Here, Leyman appears as a musical botanist, patiently letting his synthesizers grow, sprout, and bloom. Although Soft Light has developed over many years, it sounds remarkably cohesive – like one long breath. The album seems more cultivated than composed. Let us hope that Soft Light is only the beginning, and that Leyman will allow more solo albums to grow in the same light.

English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek
 

Skovsøen er et arnested i mere end én forstand. Skovens myriader af liv er afhængige af vandet, men dens piblende forgreninger, intense ro og bløde spejlbillede rummer også stærke musikalske potentialer. Det er præcis sådan en livgivende energi, der danner udgangspunktet for svenske Filip Leymans solodebutalbum, Soft Light. Allerede fra albummets første nummer, »Beyond the Sea«, fornemmer man, hvordan Leyman formår at skabe et organisk univers, hvor enhver lyd gøder jorden for den næste. Det er svært at finde hverken start eller slutpunkt, når de mange synthesizere og strygere vokser ind og ud af hinanden – man må bare overgive sig, og synke ned i det sfæriske univers af rumklange og tung, rolig bas.

Filip Leymans virke kan ikke beskrives uden at nævne svenske Anna von Hausswolff. Hendes musik er som en naturkraft, båret af lange, sakrale orgelpassager – og hvad der er Hausswolff, hvad der er Leyman, er aldrig helt til at afgøre. Soft Light samler årtiers gemte kompositioner og fremstår som en naturlig forlængelse af de mange album og soundtracks, de to har skabt sammen. Albummet rummer en stærk filmisk dimension: i et nummer som »Shapes« kulminerer de lagdelte klange i et blændende klimaks, der føles som slowmotion i lyd.

Leyman optræder her som en musikalsk botaniker, der tålmodigt lader sine synthesizere gro, spire og blomstre. Selvom Soft Light er vokset frem over mange år, lyder det utroligt sammenhængende – som ét langt åndedrag. Albummet synes snarere dyrket end komponeret. Lad os håbe, at Soft Light blot er begyndelsen, og at Leyman lader flere soloalbum vokse frem i samme lys.