Fængslende?
Ufortjente er alle de rosende ord og femstjernede omtaler af Louise Alenius’ sceniske korværk på ingen måde. Altså virkelig overhovedet ikke. Stille slag er effektiv fængselspoesi, fermt sympatihåndværk, smidig postminimalisme. Men nu er rosekvoten selvfølgelig nået, og derfor er det vel retfærdigt nok, og sjovest, at gå på smålig problemjagt.
En anklage: Sympatismen, den bløde ømhed for de indsatte i værket og deres eviggrå tristesse, gør ganske vist et rammende tableau, men fastlåser også den syvstemmige musik i et ensporet mismod af letaflæselig mol. Lidt mindre forbundsfælleri havde måske givet mod på flere temperamenter, ja for min skyld gerne totalt uventede afstikkere. Calypso, alle sammen!
Stilstandsstrategien betaler sig, det gør den da; et fortættet klimaks halvvejs med en kødklump af kroppe og repetitive udråb, nu pludselig 14-stemmige, er kriminelt gribende. Men hvorhen derfra? Musikken cirkler om sig selv i en følelsesladet effektivitetsmaskine af gentagelse, stilhed og melismatisk ornamentik – helt op i kontratenorstratosfæren – og jo, selvfølgelig er det en pointe, at der ingen udvikling er.
Så ender vi altså også bare lidt ovre i en musikalsk formelsamling. Alenius varierer, diverterer måske endda, over samme fundament i 70 minutter og når forbi banken i brystet, en hånd i munden og rytmiserede åndedræt. Stille slag jager et punktum, der ikke vil sættes, fordi værket undsiger sig musikalsk argumentation. Det ér bare (godt/for langt/rørende/éndimensionelt/ægte/overforsigtigt).
»For me, music is a kind of secret path – a gateway to emotions, thoughts, and ideas that might otherwise be difficult to access. It serves as a shortcut to daydreaming and creativity – to those moments when I feel most connected to my own humanity and that of others. Through music, my own life intertwines with the artist’s, and together we create something entirely new.«
Kristoffer Møllegaard holds an MA in Russian Language and Culture from the University of Copenhagen (2017), with a specialization in future speculation within Russian art and philosophy. He writes regularly about Russian culture and, in his spare time, is active as a visual artist and amateur saxophonist. He has been a contributor to Seismograf since 2020.
»Music is like a black hole that sucks you in and shoots you out on the other side of the universe.«
Francesco Rista is a guitarist working across classical and electric guitar. His recordings have been reviewed by international music magazines and broadcast on BBC and RAI Radio 3. After studying at the Royal Danish Academy of Music and Lund University, he focused on studio recordings, exploring guitar repertoire from the Baroque and Romantic periods to contemporary music, as well as the instrument’s varied tonal possibilities. Rista is currently based in Iceland, where he teaches guitar, composes music, and collaborates with contemporary composers.
Only at the End Did the Music Break Free
The British composer Nick Martin, who is based in Copenhagen, attempts to give remembrance a sonic form in his brand-new work Remembering, written specifically for The Baroque Society. On Thursday evening at Grundtvig’s Church, he succeeded beautifully in parts of the fifteen-minute work for four singers and a small, intensely focused group of Baroque instruments.
Dense vocal textures lingered over harmonies that unfolded slowly, while allowing the soloists to emerge one by one. The static accompaniment provided a foundation for remembrance, over which the floating voices evoked the lost and departed. The harmonies gradually shifted in colour like clouds in the sky, constantly changing shape – seemingly at random, yet following what felt like a fixed, organic pattern. But the work became too long and passive. Only in its final minutes did the harmonies break apart, making room for welcome rhythmic variation and tantalising silences. Had this shift in form come earlier, Martin might have created a more compelling work. It nevertheless ended with a gem of an open, searching chord which not only demonstrated his gifts as a vocal composer but perhaps also invited us to think of remembrance as something positive and transformative rather than tragic.
Remembering was framed by two works by J.S. Bach (BWV 118 and 106). The latter cantata was later given the title Actus Tragicus, but it was not entirely tragic: for Bach, death primarily offered access to something better. That sense of consolation was harder to find in this performance, where the small orchestra of The Baroque Society lacked energy and momentum. Yngvild Haaland Ruud, seated behind the small organ in the middle of the ensemble, provided insufficient musical direction to bring the players together. The tempo was far too ponderous, and the music lingered too much on the feeling or memory of the sounds just heard. Still, it was refreshing to encounter a new work by Nick Martin – an invitation to remember at All Saints’ Day.
The concert will be repeated in Copenhagen, Helsingør and Gentofte over the coming days
English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek
»For me, music is incredibly important. It is music that reveals who I am and who I want to be. Music is my muse, my solace, and my paintbrush. It paints my state of mind, serves as a frequent topic of conversation among my friends, and – along with the lyrics – acts as my preferred form of expression. To me, music represents the colors and shapes of my life. I have a particular fondness for Danish artists such as C.V. Jørgensen, Elisabeth, Olesen-Olesen, Peter Sommer, and Gravens Rand.«
Søren Damm is an award-winning author known for the novels Transit, Melodrama, and Finland. He is also a singer and songwriter, having released, among other works, the album Håbet Er Den Største Last.