Denmark is lacking opera houses, a recent call in Politiken declared. And indeed: with only a single major, rather conservative opera house, we don’t quite make our mark on the grand stage. On the other hand, we can boast a flourishing opera life on the stages outside the established institutions. And with the Copenhagen music collective OperaHole, a new player has now entered the field.
Last week, the two singers and artistic directors Litha Ashforth and Daniel Rosenberg, both raised in the United States, presented OperaHole’s first production: a kind of surprise egg consisting of Rosenberg’s own character study recursion for two actors, the mad scene from Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor, and Peter Maxwell Davies’ 8 Songs for a Mad King – all three performed in one continuous flow in a white commercial film studio.
What was interesting, of course, was the juxtaposition of a short play, a classical scene, and one of the most abrasive monodramas of the last 60 years. The thematic common denominator was madness: Rosenberg, a so-called spieltenor with a wide range and comic talent, first skewered devilish variations of latte-drinking Copenhageners in his play, before coloratura soprano Ashforth slipped in wearing a white chemise soaked in blood and sang Donizetti with nimble desperation and a soft sweetness, accompanied by flute and piano.
Finally came the monodrama with Rosenberg as the mad king, staged as a social-media workshop in which the performance was commented on in a livestream (LeaHan1997: »Not this again«!) and screenshots were pasted together into memes in real time. It was spirited – musically as well – but insular, and the work itself disappeared in the process.
Once the collective’s youthful enthusiasm for new media has settled, OperaHole nevertheless looks like a strong contender to carry on our tradition of playful underground opera.
English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek
At 19, the Spanish composer (and trombonist) Francisco Coll wrote a wild-child of a trombone concerto that pushed the instrument out of its comfort zone. 22 years later he has created a new piece from some of that material. Its priorities are the opposite.
Tapias embraces the lyrical, ethereal qualities of the trombone. It is not a concerto, insists Coll. Perhaps it could be described as a set of frescoes for trombone and orchestra. Whatever the category, it’s a beguiling piece that was gorgeously birthed on Thursday by Ian Bousfield, conductor Nuno Coelho and a sumptuous-sounding Stavanger Symphony Orchestra.
Composers from Sibelius to Turnage have reacted against caricatures of the trombone as brusque and clowning by exploring its dark-hued lyricism. Coll does something more, setting his soloist’s introspective, intervallic melodies in evocative and provocative orchestral contexts. The soloist’s lines can resemble spray-canned tracings on walls already heavy with the patina of history, decoration and graffiti.
Initially the trombone appears to seek repose. The second movement draws it into more agility but the dancing is suppressed: a layered burying of all manner of rhythms from flamenco to Hiphop. Great wodges of rich harmony weigh the boogying down for good.
The trombone does find peace in the final movement – its long, soulful melodies more yielding. But not before Coll has conjured up moments of huge harmonic strain and conscious orchestral magnificence. They sat well next to Coelho’s fierce performance of Shostakovich’s Symphony No 5 after the interval. But Bousfield’s heartfelt journey through Tapias, sounding entirely at one with the orchestra, will linger longest in the mind.
»For us, music is a passion, a livelihood, and a focal point for us and our best friends in the band.«
Barselona consists of Rud Aslak and Rasmus Theodor. The band was formed in 2016 after a year at Ollerup Musikefterskole and has since released five albums and two EPs, most recently the album *Tag Min Hånd, Så Slipper Vi*, which is set for release in September 2026.
»To me, music is humanity, community, a smile, a conversation, a moment, an eternity«
Abel Alazo Rangel is the founder, curator, and producer of the Nova Concerts Series in Copenhagen. Nova began as a festival in 2003 and was relaunched as a concert series in 2023. Through Nova, he presents musicians and creates musical encounters that bridge the Cuban, Latin American, Danish, and international music scenes.
There is something almost dogmatic about Mike Sheridan’s latest album, Touch. Everything leads back to the Cristal Baschet – a peculiar instrument from the 1950s in which sound is produced by running wet fingers over glass rods, setting metal resonators into vibration. No strings, no keys, just glass, water, skin and friction, slowly making the metal sing.
The Cristal Baschet is not merely an instrument on Touch. It is the album cover, the subject of the press photos, and almost the very argument for the album’s existence.
It recalls the material fetishism found in the American duo Matmos, whose music is often built around a single material or sound source: metal on Metallic Life Review (2025), plastic on Plastic Anniversary (2019), a washing machine on Ultimate Care II (2016). What is interesting about such constraints is that they ought to force the music somewhere it otherwise might not be able to go.
While listening to Touch, a question therefore begins to press itself forward: Which of these sounds could not have existed without a Cristal Baschet?
There are glassy tones that hang in the air and slowly change texture. Thin, cutting vibrations. Metallic surfaces that flutter, ripple, open and close. A constant sense of droning resonance; of something vibrating just on the other side of the audible.
Sheridan’s layering is meticulous. There is a precision to the mix, an almost surgical sense of the distance between the different textures. The best moments occur when the surface is disturbed: something that scratches at or short-circuits the otherwise tightly controlled resonance. On »BOW / GROUND«, for instance, deep bass pulses suddenly enter, creating a different physical quality – crackling, heavy, like something hitting the floor.
But Touch is first and foremost a well-produced ambient album. It moves through different degrees of the same state, changing nuance without ever truly changing its skin. That is not necessarily a weakness. There is something consistent, almost meditative, in Sheridan’s insistence. But the longer one remains in the same sonic state, the more one begins to miss what ought to be the Cristal Baschet’s particular possibility.
This is where the disappointment lies: in the gap between the instrument’s strangeness and the music’s conventional appearance. The sounds have been assimilated into a familiar ambient vocabulary, where the extraordinary instrument ends up producing something surprisingly familiar. You can hear that something unusual is happening at the source of the sound. But you cannot necessarily hear why it had to be this particular instrument. Had one not been told that a rare, almost otherworldly acoustic sculpture was standing in the room, one would hardly have guessed it.
»Music is my life. It has accompanied me all the way and given me experiences, friendships and opportunities that I could never have imagined.«
Pablo Fernández is a Spanish musician and the new Head of Classical Music at the Royal Academy of Music, Aarhus/Aalborg. For many years, he was principal tuba player with the Barcelona Symphony Orchestra and has taught at higher music education institutions in Spain and Denmark. He is also active as a conductor, soloist, guest lecturer and jury member at international competitions. Fernández has extensive experience in the management and development of music projects, festivals and international collaborations. He has lived in Aarhus since 2014 and has been affiliated with the Royal Academy of Music since 2021.
