in brief
16.12.2023

Orgel, ynde og bad ass-minimalisme

Organ Sound Art Festival: Hampus Lindwall, Matt Choboter, Ying-Hsueh Chen, Simon Mariegaard, Paulina Rewucka & Neža Kokalj, Ellen Arkbro, Hanne Lippard
© Daniel Oxenhandler
© Daniel Oxenhandler

Det er muligt, at julen er hjerternes fest, men det er bestemt også orglets. Mange støder i løbet af december på kirkeorglets mægtige klang i forbindelse med julens mange kirkekoncerter, men i Koncertkirken på Nørrebro er december blevet en helt særlig slags fest med orglet som hovedperson og med et efter fremmødet at dømme til andendagen af Organ Sound Art Festival ganske dedikeret publikum, fascineret af orglets klang, struktur og mangfoldige muligheder.

Aftenen åbnes af den svenske organist og komponist Hampus Lindwall, der også runder aftenens program af i et trioformat med organist Ellen Arkbro og vokalist Hanne Lippard. Solosættet indledes af værket Unmounted / Muted Noun af amerikanske Phill Niblock, som Lindwall præsenterer som en bad ass-minimalist. En form for bad ass-minimalisme, der egner sig godt til orglets rige væld af klange og overtoner, og med langstrakte droner får Niblocks værk da også hele kirken til at knirke og knage, mens Lindwalls eget Music for Organ & Electronics byder på et kvadrofonisk set-up, hvor publikum opfordres til at sætte sig i midten af kirken for at lade sig omslutte af både orglets klang og de elektroniske toner.

I det hele taget er det en aften, hvor publikum opfordres til at flytte sig meget efter, hvad det enkelte værk kræver. I det efterfølgende bestillingsværk, And Then There Were The Sounds of Birds, af den herboende canadiske komponist Matt Choboter, må publikum trække helt ud til siderne for at give plads til to ekspressive dansere, der sammen med to orgler, et præpareret flygel, percussion og elektroniske collager skaber et både melankolsk, legende og meget fysisk rum, der kredser om fugles stemmer og bevægelser. Orglet indtager her en mere tilbageholdende rolle, men værket synes samtidig at indkredse et paradoks ved netop orglet som et instrument, der med sin klang stræber mod det sfæriske, men som samtidig er ladet med en tyngde, som også kommer til udtryk i danserne, der snart nærmest svæver, snart falder klodsede til jorden, samtidig med at de indgår i symbioser med de instrumenter, der er fordelt ud i hele rummet. 

At udforske orglet er således også at udforske rum for musikken, både for komponist, performer og publikum, og på sin vis bliver det næsten en del af aftenens oplevelse, at vi, mens vi drikker ud og snakker om aftenens koncerter, er vidner til det franske ensemble Pancrace, der omdanner hele salen til en sand orgelbyggeplads for at gøre klar til deres koncert den efterfølgende dag. Nysgerrigheden bliver i hvert fald vakt på mere. 

Katrine Muff. © Ditte Capion

»Music, to me, is the key to – and an extension of – my vocabulary. If I struggle to put ‘spoken words’ to something inside, or if I need release in the form of a proper cry, the right song can put me in the right gear immediately. It can be the lyrics, the melody, or both that give direct access to my emotions, where the brain can simply be put into neutral and carried away.«

Katrine Muff, born in 1985, is a composer and singer. She has set music to texts by, among others, Stine Pilgaard and Suzanne Brøgger, and in 2021 she received the Folk Song Prize (Den Folkelige Sangs Pris). Together with Lone Hørslev, she is currently releasing the album Jeg ønsker mig and working as a songwriter on the theatre concert STOLT (Folketeateret).

in brieflive
04.10

Soap Horse Kept a Tight Rein – Maybe Too Tight

Soap Horse + K Bech
Soap Horse. © Malthe Folke Ivarsson
Soap Horse. © Malthe Folke Ivarsson

K Bech – known from the rock band Shiny Darkly – opened Saturday night’s concert at Alice with a raw, unpolished melancholy. A sense of Copenhagen-style urban gloom was palpable, yet the slightly nervous set never really took off. Despite a promising setup of violin, guitar, and electronic tracks, the sensitive lyrics remained more hints than breakthroughs.

Soap Horse then took the stage and truly ignited the evening with an authentic chicken-picking riff. The country-rooted guitar technique was just one example of the musical abundance running through the band, which has just released its debut EP Tooth Inside a Tooth.

Nothing seemed accidental. From the rust-red gothic tapestry to the carefully chosen instrumentation – violin, saxophone, and pedal steel alongside guitar, bass, and drums – every detail added to a deliberate aesthetic. The sound was dark and alluring, in sharp contrast to frontman Hans Gustav Björklund Moulvad’s shock of white hair and intense stage presence.

The songs were crafted with a refined sense of balance. Simple, repetitive motifs were passed between the instruments, and when massive noise walls and shimmering colors broke through, the already blurred borders of indie rock stretched even further. Moulvad commanded the whole with ease, moving charismatically between the music’s many layers. And yet, I found myself wishing Soap Horse would let go completely. The weightless intermezzos – where the unusual lineup could have truly unfolded – were too often pulled back by a steady drumbeat, returning the music to a safe ground. Soap Horse displayed remarkable control and a firm grasp of both their sonic universe and their audience. Perhaps all that’s left is to prove they dare to loosen their grip.

English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek

© PR

Illiyeen is visual artist Eliyah Mesayer’s fictional state for the stateless, a group to which the artist herself belonged until just a few years ago. Since 2019, she has continuously added national symbols in Illiyeen’s characteristic black color, and today the state has its own postal service, national anthem, uniform, navy – and a steadily expanding list of collaborators.

It’s a clever concept, at once tightly defined and completely open. Because the state is nomadic and collective, it can arise anywhere and include a wider circle of like-minded artists, such as Angel Wei from Haloplus+ and the poet Zahna Siham Benamour. It is a state of mind.

At Den Frie, it was the drum duo Thicket – Adam »CCsquele« Nielsen and Dan Kjær Nielsen – who performed from opposite sides of a split drum kit. Through an improvised drum solo so energetic that drumsticks flew through the air, they explored the shared rhythm that emerged, broke apart, and shifted character along the way. A fitting symbol of Illiyeen’s community: a constant negotiation and coordination of tempo and movement.

Along the way, the toms gave way to a recorded sound piece, a spherical electronic composition with subdued spoken word woven into the soundscape. The work originated from an earlier installation but was extended for the occasion, with added acoustic elements recorded by Cæcilie Trier and Xenia Xamanek. It carried a mournful, sensitive vibe that stood in sharp contrast to the thundering intensity of the drums. Mesayer’s poetic, black-clad universe and Thicket’s simultaneously tight and improvisational energy bursts blended perfectly into a community one longed to be part of.

English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielzcarek

in briefrelease
29.09

Gąsiorek Never Looks Back

Cześćtet: »Polofuturyzm«
© PR
© PR

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

in brieflive
29.09

Composition for Stone Walls

Bjarke Mogensen – concert in the exhibition »Psychosphere«
© David Stjernholm
© David Stjernholm

The contrast is striking when, on the hottest day of the year, you step down from the green lawns of Søndermarken into the underground world of the Cisterns, Copenhagen’s old water reservoir. The humidity is high, the light sparse, and stalactites hang from the vaulted ceilings, casting shadows in the puddles on the floor. And then there is the sound: in the empty columned halls, the reverberation can last up to 17 seconds. Even the slightest scrape echoes down here.

Since 2016, the Cisterns have functioned as an exhibition space, and this year Jakob Kudsk Steensen has transformed the halls into an underwater landscape of video projections, sculptural objects, and a soundscape created by Lugh O’Neill featuring Bjarke Mogensen on accordion. Mogensen, who is performing this evening, has a versatile taste. Perhaps a bit too versatile, I think to myself as I read the evening’s program, which spans from Bach to folk melodies from Bornholm. It turns out to hold together better than one might expect. These are compositions that seem to stretch time itself, where long tones – amplified and extended by the reverberation – form a murky foundation for short, pearling attacks, like marble balls ricocheting off a stone wall.

A shimmering, sorrowful composition by Nick Martin, inspired by Michelangelo’s Pietà – marble again – is followed by a meditation on echo among the cliffs of Bornholm by Frederiksberg-based composer Martin Lohse. Another piece rises slender and sacred like high vaults, while Mogensen’s own Passage crackles, snaps, and crunches like stones being broken. Mogensen’s accordion is in constant dialogue with the space; he calls, and the dark colonnades answer back – or is it the other way around?

The audience sits petrified, completely absorbed in the sound, as Mogensen masterfully makes his instrument sound like everything from a rapid breath to a thunderclap. When we finally emerge, heavy clouds hang over Søndermarken, and the heat is gone. The park feels transformed. The contrast is tangible.

English translation: Andreo Michaelo Mielczarek