Two chamber operas by Irish composer Emma O’Halloran, both adapted from plays by her uncle, Mark O’Halloran. The first, Trade, is utterly compelling and deeply moving: the story of two men meeting for sex in a grubby hotel room, whose intertwining lives are burdened by trauma and love. The composer writes of the »beautiful economy« in her uncle’s language and the same could be said of her music, which charges the text with more and more tension and urgency without cramping it – but just as often barely registers at all, letting theatre and storytelling rule. The vocal acting is outstanding. 

The stylistic resourcefulness of Trade, in which the two characters are so vividly drawn, returns in the monologue Mary Motorhead but with less success. Here, musical sampling can get in the way of our view of the prisoner, who tells of her troubled life before she split her husband’s head open with a knife. Taken with Trade, though, it only emphasizes O’Halloran’s brilliance with theatre and deft musical hand. Would it be too much to hope for one or two truly theatrical, storytelling operas like these in the avant-garde strand of Copenhagen Opera Festival?

Med sit seneste album har saxofonisten og komponisten Maria Faust sat det politiske i centrum af jazzen – i den lange tradition efter Ornette Coleman, Miles Davis, Charlie Haden, Fred Frith og Tom Cora, for blot at nævne nogle få. Det overraskende er hendes valg af genre: marcher, som i sig selv ikke er en traditionel jazzform. Hvis Charles Mingus for eksempel hyldede New Orleans’ marching bands, er Fausts valg uden tvivl mere konfrontatorisk. De marcher, hun manipulerer og nedbryder indefra, er ikke af den underholdende slags – medmindre man er general – for de tilhører den militære og nationalistiske kategori.

Fausts musik ville passe perfekt til stykker som Alphonse Allais’ Père Ubu og Bertolt Brechts Den afviselige opstigning af Arturo Ui, i kraft af dens brug af det groteske som en kreativ drivkraft. Fausts geni ligger dog ikke i at forvandle disse marcher til fjollede cirkusfanfarer, men i at skabe et ægte truende rum i musikken – gennem kaos, men også gennem hjerteknusende dissonanser, som kan høres som et ekko af grådkvalte klagesange over de faldne i krig. Hendes relativt store ensemble – syv musikere plus hende selv – bestående af seks blæsere og to trommeslagere/percussionister, skaber et perfekt harmoni-disharmoni-univers, som hvis Charles Mingus og Sun Ra havde arbejdet sammen.

Marches Rewound and Rewritten er et skelsættende og vigtigt album, som lyser mørkt i disse svære tider og minder os om, at alt er politisk – især musik.

With her latest album, saxofonist and composer Maria Faust has put the political at the center of jazz, in the long tradition of Ornette Coleman, Miles Davis, Charlie Haden, Fred Frith and Tom Cora, just to name a few. What is surprising is her choice of genre, marches, which is not a per se a traditional jazz form. If Charles Mingus, for instance, payed his tribute to New Orleans marching bands, Faust’s choice is definitely antagonistic. The marches she manipulates and destroys from the inside are not of the entertaining sort, unless you’re a general, as they are of the military and nationalistic kind.

Faust’s score would be a perfect fit for plays like Alphonse Allais’s Père Ubu and Bertold Brecht’s The Resistible Ascension of Arturo Ui, in its use of the grotesque as a creative driving force. Faust’s genius however doesn’t lie in turning these marches into farcical circus fanfares, but in creating a truly threatening space within the music, through chaos but also heart-breaking dissonances, which could be heard as a reminiscence of the wailers mourning their dead fallen in the war. Her fairly large ensemble – seven musicians, plus herself – which is composed of six horns and two drums/percussion creates a perfect harmony-disharmony universe, as if Charles Mingus and Sun Ra had worked together.

Marches Rewound and Rewritten is a seminal and important album which shines darkly in these difficult times and reminds us that everything is political – especially music.

Mens Birch og Nowackas fælles debutalbum Languoria med sin synthprægede lyd lød som en drøm om en anden verden, fremstår deres andet album mere som et vindue til en svunden tid. De elektroniske elementer er trådt i baggrunden til fordel for akustiske klange fra citar, guitar og harpe, og det giver musikken en varmere, mere jordbunden karakter. Et fint eksempel er titelnummeret, hvor en sagte rislende bæk danner bagtæppe for en afslappet dialog mellem citar, guitar og stemmer, der glider mellem sang og nynnen. Der er en tydelig forbindelse til folkemusikkens enkle melodik og de små brudstykker, man selv kunne finde på at nynne i køkkenet, mens elkedlen koger. Det er netop denne personlige og inviterende tone, der gør kompositionen så velfungerende. Også »Nøkken« vidner om styrken i Birch og Nowackas sangskrivning. Med sin enkle instrumentering, blide melodi og velafstemte rumklang bringer nummeret det bedste frem i de to stemmer og fremstår næsten vægtløst – gennemsigtigt og efemerisk.

Sammen skaber den dansk-polske duo musik til folk, der drømmer om en anden tid og et andet sted, ikke fordi de nødvendigvis ønsker at fly deres nuværende eksistens, men fordi dagdrømmeriets stille stunder er fulde af ro, sikkerhed og fortryllelse. Indimellem tager følelsen af sikkerhed dog en smule overhånd, og man savner noget, der kan udfordre roen – sådan som de mere fremtrædende synths gjorde det på debutalbummet. Men er man i humør til ukompliceret skønhed og stille drømme, er Hiraeth stadig et stærkt udspil fra to vedvarende interessante stemmer i ambientgenren.

Polish-born Szymon Gąsiorek has done it again – created a cornucopia of an album that both overwhelms and delights with its endless wealth of eclectic ideas, styles, and sound sources. As is often the case with this kind of release, where each track has its own distinct identity, personal favorites quickly emerge.

One clear favorite announces itself right away. The opening track, »TAK TAK NIE NIE«, explodes with an energy reminiscent of early Boredoms – a heavy dose of noise rock with shouted vocals, electric guitar, saxophone, gunshots, screams, synths, piano, and more. The third track, »STRACH LĘK NIEPOKÓJ«, also shines with a zeuhl-like momentum driven by militaristic vocals, insistent drums, jagged guitar, and saxophone. And even beyond the most immediately impressive tracks, Polofuturyzm is so packed with highlights and playful surprises that even half of it would have sufficed. Take, for example, »90s [NADZIEJA]«, featuring a trancey synth quickly and effectively sabotaged by free jazz-style drums and saxophone, or »JEDNOKIERUNKOWY«, which sounds like classic disco polo thrown in a blender and mixed with pitch-shifted vocals and clubby keyboards. Not to forget the eight-second slapstick piano flourish on »RĘCE«.

Polofuturyzm is driven by a manic refusal to ever look back. The only constant is the absence of consistency. Gąsiorek has been here before, but it still feels just as radical and refreshing.

English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek