»For me, music is all that vibrates.«
Bára Gísladóttir is an Icelandic composer and double bassist based in Copenhagen. Her work is generally based on thoughts regarding the approach and concept of sound as a living being.
Tivolis Koncertsal var rammen for lidt af en begivenhed i dansk musikliv: Fem centrale kammermusikværker af den græsk-franske ærkeavantgardist Iannis Xenakis opført som jubilæumskoncert på dansk grund. Alt i alt af halvanden times varighed, fuldkommen suverænt kurateret og fremført af Ekkozone anført af Mathias Reumert.
Xenakis' værker regnes med god grund for noget af det mest komplekse, der er skrevet i 1900-tallets anden halvdel, men de virker aldrig til at være skrevet med kompleksiteten som et mål i sig selv, sådan som man ellers har kunnet mistænke andre i hans generation for.
Det indledende værk, en sats fra det marimba-dominerede værk Pléïdades (1978), fik mig til at ærgre mig over, at jeg ikke havde taget min fire år gamle dreng med: For han ville utvivlsomt have sat højlydt pris på værkets mylder af runde, mættede og meditative lyde, der lød som bløde kugler, som i en uendelig varm strøm flød hen ad gulvet.
De to efterfølgende soloværker for henholdsvis percussion og klaver, Rebonds B/A (1989) og Mists (1980), blev opført attacca efter hinanden, dvs. uden pause. Det bidrog til at gøre deres ellers fundamentalt forskellige klangverdener forbløffende beslægtede med hinanden. I de første minutter af det sidste værk var det endda som om, at klaveret var blevet et slagtøjsinstrument.
Koncertens ældste værk for klaver og fem koreograferede messingblæsere, Eonta (1964), blev her opført for første gang herhjemme. Dets tilsyneladende uforenelige modstilling mellem den pointilistiske, rationelle klaverstemme og de flydende, undertiden drømmende blæsere fik det næsten til at lyde som et kakofonisk remake af Charles Ives' The Unanswered Question. Værkets performative elementer, hvor blæserne ofte vandrede rundt på scenen, gav det samtidig et skær af noget fuldkommen uvirkeligt. Det værk ville jeg meget gerne se og høre opført igen.
Endelig gav Okho (1989) for tre djember koncerten en medrivende afslutning. Anvendelsen af dette vestafrikanske instrument kan muligvis ses i et postkolonialt perspektiv, det vil sige som en kritik af Xenakis' adapterede hjemland Frankrigs stærkt problematiske historiske relation til kontinentet. I så fald lød værket som en dyster formaning om at lade kontinentet helt i fred. Og derved fik instrumentationen en selvironisk farve, der her blev skærpet af en langt senere tids Black Lives Matter-bevægelse. Jeg krympede mig i stolen, samtidig med at jeg var revet med af musikken og fremførelsen: Det var tæt på at være ulideligt.
Efter koncerten var mine ører godt gennembanket af al den lyd, men det var som om, jeg kunne have fortsat hele aftenen med at lytte til Xenakis' univers, spændt ud som det er mellem på den ene side aggression og raseri, på den anden tilbagelænethed og resignation. Jeg var overloadet og forklaret på samme tid. Og den følelse har for mig ellers været sjælden efter en avantgardekoncert.
British Burial should have once said that in his music he strives to reproduce the experience of standing outside a club and feeling the rhythms on the asphalt. Distances are fascinating. The sounds in Christian Skjødt Hasselstrøm's work Myriads in an enormous water container at the Ole Rømer Observatory comes from afar. It is rain from space, cosmic radiation or high-energy particles, which are translated into sound via three detectors. They also flash with light in the pillared hall, and when you grope your way to them through the darkness, they puff softly and innocently. But when you walk around the 1,662 square meter room, the sounds still seem a little bit threatening – like artillery drums, sounds from modern wars or warning signals from ancient warlords... The sounds are always very far away and rumble at a low frequency in the room with a reverberation of 40 seconds. But they are just peaceful phenomena from distant galaxies, and they hardly want us any harm. They just make us feel so infinitely small. Hasselstrøm did the same to us in a former cereal silo in the city of Struer.
»You can get salt and minerals on your clothes. It can be washed off,« warned the guide, now ringing a bell. But what if you don't want to get rid of that sound at all and don't want to go home to Aarhus, but just want to stay deep underground for more than the given 15 minutes and disappear into the cosmic and very delicious hordes of sound? Distances are fascinating, and Myriads is better – more enriching – than any club in Aarhus’ Latin Quarter.
»For me, music is all that vibrates.«
Bára Gísladóttir is an Icelandic composer and double bassist based in Copenhagen. Her work is generally based on thoughts regarding the approach and concept of sound as a living being.
Allan Gravgaard Madsen’s and Morten Riis’s Away is a »mixed media« orchestral work. The physical orchestra is supplemented by sound and video recordings from the basement of Aarhus Theatre (woodwind quintet), Aarhus Cathedral (brass quintet), and Marselisborghallen (string orchestra). All of these locations have, at various points over the past 90 years, housed the Aarhus Symphony Orchestra.
Away opens with the final two chords of the overture to Rossini’s William Tell (1829), which are explored throughout the orchestra. Gradually, musicians leave the ensemble, only to reappear later in smaller constellations in recordings from the aforementioned locations. Through technology, the orchestra plays across time and space in a highly successful manner.
The work explores stasis and movement, with air as a central device: the wind players often blow into their instruments without producing tones, while the string players imitate the sound of wind using plastic bags. For me, Away has three highlights. Trumpets and percussion play phrases that turn out to anticipate a video of a flutist walking through the city. The trumpets mimic the sound of a truck – »beep-bop-beep-bop« – and the percussion becomes the flutist’s stilettos. Musique concrète turned on its head! At one point, half of the string players are seen sitting in a circle, playing intensely dissonant chords, only to kill them again – the physical shock activated my ears. The third highlight comes when the entire orchestra plays together again while all three projections are running simultaneously. Here, the work can truly begin, and one clearly senses the energy rising in the room. But – unfortunately – as soon as this climax is reached, the intensity drops again.
At just under 45 minutes, Away is, unfortunately, slightly too long and static for my taste. The effect of the aforementioned ruptures might not have been as strong in a shorter format, but I would have wished for just a bit more of the intensity the work so clearly was capable of delivering. I was left with a somewhat flat feeling. The piece also ended so quietly that several people were unsure whether it had actually finished and whether we could applaud.
»All sounds are loud,« we hear in Flammenwerfer – Hotel Pro Forma’s account of the Swedish painter Carl Fredrik Hill (1849–1911). Everything in this universe is transparent and layered. The orange hue in Hill’s art, flickering across the stage, crackles with both a beautifully golden noise and a psychedelic quality reminiscent of 1970s ceramics. In a central scene, Blixa Bargeld half-screams into a microphone and receives looped screams hurled back into his head. The patchwork of sound also includes five vocalists from IKI and selected pieces – the only music here that comes close to pop – by Nils Frahm.
The dark circles under the eyes are constantly pronounced. As are the letters that signal a new chapter, the next dive into the mind – for instance the section titled »Paranoia«. Here, IKI expands Einstürzende Neubauten’s »Halber Mensch« into five voices, allowing the hallucinations and anxiety to grow to full human scale. Yes, the sound was loud and numbing in itself. But it is largely thanks to IKI that we feel the extremes, the brain disease, and Hill’s experience of a »misarranged world«. They sang: »Heavy curtains drawn over the mind. A thick deadening cloud that blocks the use of senses.« And that is how it sounded. Cold. Like the saddest Instagram filter imaginable – with sound.
Unfortunately, Blixa Bargeld is used too sparingly in Flammenwerfer, which is not exactly a masterpiece from Hotel Pro Forma. Still, the gala audience sat very still in very soft seats and saw both a giraffe and a former queen on the same evening. The rest of Aarhus Festuge can only be more cheerful.
»Music for me is bumping, rubbing, colliding, sliding and sculpting... in space-time. AKA the gift that keeps giving <3 .«
Greta Eacott is a critically acclaimed British/Swedish composer based in Copenhagen, Denmark. She is primarily known for her boundary pushing experimental percussion works and her »sans-disciplinary« approach to music composition; which incorporates spatial aesthetics, design theory and physical movements as integral elements in the musical compositions. This manifests in a unique and modern musical aesthetic which is both playful and refined, agitating and welcoming, sensual and synthetic. Since 2014 she has been running the DIY record label One Take Records.