Heavenly tape loops from the superstar of ambient music
The only thing that might be missing was a yippie ki-yay from William Basinski when he took on the Copenhagen Distillery as part of The Last Symphony tour. »Buckle up bitches«, it sounded so raw that for a moment you thought it was Bruce Willis on stage. Basinski's riveting superstar charisma is the perfect contrast to his crumbling and self-indulgent ambient music.
The concert was refreshingly far from the extended space of contemplation I associate with Basinski's recorded works. His famous series The Disintegration Loops (2002-2003), in which the mortal world of tape loops crumbles in slow motion, was emblematic of the concerns many had around the turn of the millennium: Was the infinity of the brave new digital world actually the beginning of the end? Like no one else, Basinski manages to let the question of technological determinism sound open in his music: The patinated tape recordings contain no answer, but instead a curious state, where repetition and impermanence stop pulling at the sense of time from either side and instead come full circle.
It was fascinating to experience the way Basinski processed his loops. Every time he put a new sound into rotation, it seemed as if it was his first encounter with it. Quickly, a sucking field of reverberation and feedback arose, forming a sphere from the orbits of the tape loops. The analog sound sometimes gnawed at the music with its small clips and grinding compression.
The distance between the ambient terrains was short and the concert, which was followed by two encores, was more collage-like than the wasteland Basinski usually paints. The landscape was particularly captivating as a six-note motif consumed itself in reverberation and gave way to what sounded like Arabic ornamented chant. Basinski found transcendence in the high frequencies, and when at one point he extended a bright vocal sound beyond the murky tape environment, the boundary between heaven and earth disappeared. It was incomprehensibly beautiful to hear how the vocals hovered like a radiant deity over the profane tape-recorded world.
English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek
An Organ in the Dark Forest of Doubt
Last year, Builder released Poor_in_Spirit, an album in which he explored, on his own, the sonic possibilities of his self-built organ. It was an album shaped by this exploration, but ultimately also by the limitations of the organ itself. On Although Changed, I Arise the Same, the composer finds a way beyond them.
The organ is now joined by three additions: Builder’s own alto saxophone, along with the voices of Zola Mennenöh and Johanna Sulkunen. It makes all the difference, providing the diversity of instrumentation that Builder has repeatedly demonstrated his ability to compose for. At times, the organ’s bass sinks beneath the voices and saxophone like a light haze; at others, it envelops them in a heavy fog. It howls like wind in the trees and roars like a train in the night. Mennenöh and Sulkunen sing, chant and breathe simple, repetitive phrases about spiritual uncertainty and searching, as though lost in the dark forest of doubt.
It is a Spartan form of storytelling, giving the listener enough lyricism and atmosphere to set the mind in motion, but never so much that it becomes overwhelming. This is where Builder’s strength lies: his music clearly grows out of his life and experiences, yet he composes in such a way that the listener is invited to enter the story with their own imagination.
Builder determines the colours, but leaves part of the picture to the listener. It is an album that is far more restrained in its dramaturgy than previous releases. No less beautiful or inspiring for it.
English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek
»For us, music is a transcendent force with transformative potential – something we get to experience and shape when we create sound together. It is an opportunity to describe one’s innermost universes without words, and the best way for an introvert to express intense emotions at full volume.«
With roots in Copenhagen’s experimental jazz and punk scene, Echo, Bravo challenges the notion of what a rock band can sound like. The quintet blends post-punk, free punk, and noise rock into a raw and unpredictable soundscape. They describe the music themselves as a kind of »empty-the-fridge soup,« where various leftovers come together. »Best enjoyed as a hot meal in a cold industry.«
Thorbjørn Tønder Hansen has died. With Thorbjørn’s passing, the art music community has lost one of the Nordic region’s most significant producers, curators and cultural leaders.
»Music is the best way to discover myself and understand the world around me.«
Luca Quintavalle is a harpsichordist, fortepianist and conductor. He has performed with ensembles including Concerto Köln, Harmonie Universelle, the Mozarteum Orchestra Salzburg and the Kölner Kammerorchester at venues and festivals such as the Kölner Philharmonie, Salzburg Festival and Enescu Festival. He was harpsichordist of Les Musiciens du Prince, led by Cecilia Bartoli, for over five years, and has conducted ensembles including the Orchestra and Chorus of Teatro dell’Opera di Roma, Concerto Köln and Deutsche Kammerakademie Neuss. His recordings include Mirrors, released by Berlin Classics and awarded an OPUS KLASSIK.