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NESM – Samtidens egentlige indieselskaber er finansieret af frivillighed (interview)

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Af Simon Christensen

Det lille label NESM har med tre båndudgivelser inden for et halvt år præsenteret tre meget forskellige debutudgivelser med Panxing, Rash og Gel, der er et alias for Karis Zidore, der tidligere har danset med musikgruppen Meshes.

Bag NESM finder man et kollektiv bestående af Nick Bruhn-Petersen, Bastian Kallesøe (The New Spring), Niklas S. Hessel og Christian Thomasen, der beskriver det filantropiske selskab som ‘economically unsustainable’ og finansieret 95% af frivillighed. I anledning af de nye udgivelser har vi interviewet NESM om deres credo.

P/A: Skal NESM forstås i betydningen de udødelige – og hvorfra kommer det navn?

“NESM ser godt ud som et lille ord i sig selv. Længere behøver den ikke at være. Oprindelsen er nok ganske rigtigt, at det er en forkortelse af det tjekkiske ord for udødeligheden (nesmrtelnosti). Det er et ord, vi er snublet over i en Milan Kundera-kolofon, dengang man læste ham. Så hvis man absolut skal tolke, består “nesmrtelnosti” af lidt over 45% “nesm”. Vi betragter 45% udødelighed som en acceptabel succesrate. Kundera er forresten ikke helt dum. Hans sene korte bøger er ganske vist konservative og lidt gnavne, men der er kommet mange sandheder ud af det gnavne.”

P/A: I har indtil videre udgivet musik med Panxing, Rash og Gel. Det er tre vidt forskellige udgivelser, men kan I fortælle lidt om hver af de tre, og hvorfor I har valgt at udgive netop dem?

“Panxing blev opdaget til en privatkoncert i et sommerhus, Rash var en årelang ønskeudgivelse, og Gel kom som manna fra himlen. Vi vælger kunstnere, som er gode, og derfor fortjener en udgivelse. Lige nu tegner NESM’s profil til at blive, at vi er eklektiske i vores lyd, men måske tiden vil vise noget andet. Men et hiphop-label bliver NESM nok aldrig.”

P/A: Hvorfor er der behov for endnu et båndlabel, og hvad er jeres vision for det i det her musiklandskab?

“Der er lige så stort behov for endnu et båndlabel, som der er behov for alt andet ny kunst. Hvordan det behov så kvantificeres er en smagssag. Vi kan godt lide nye musikudgivelser.

Man kan nedlaste eller streame alt, vi udgiver. Men ved at udgive musik i et fysisk format, udvælger vi kunstnere fra et næsten uendeligt digitalt vinterlandskab og pisser vores navn i sneen. Med det fysiske album følger en aura, og i sin konkrete afspilning er man nødt til at trykke eject, sætte båndet i og igen trykke play. Vi kunne også have udgivet CD’er eller vinyler. Kassettebåndet er i sit fysiske format ydmygt. På et tidspunkt gør vi måske noget andet.”

P/A: Hvordan vil I karakterisere det udgivelsesmiljø og de tekniske platforme, der er for at udgive musik i øjeblikket?

“Nemmere end nogensinde. Men ikke noget man bliver rig af. Vi har nu udgivet tre kassettebånd, og folk hører vores albums, og båndene bliver udsolgt. Men alle i NESM arbejder sideløbende med den faste arbejdstid. Samtidens egentlige indieselskaber finansieres 95% af frivillighed. En megaloman deltager i X-Factor sagde engang til sin audition, at hun ikke ønskede at stå på en stor scene, men snarere drømte hun om en ‘lille, dedikeret fanskare’. Den drøm er kommet nærmere med Bandcamp osv. Med det sagt er det et tveægget sværd. Demokratiseringen skaber også en overflod, hvor det særlige bliver sværere at få øje på – ikke fordi det ikke eksisterer, men fordi der også er så meget andet.”

P/A: Jeg vil gerne diskutere en forskel på selvlærte og professionelle musikere, på selvlærte labels og “professionelle” labels osv. Amatørerne og de professionelle, begge dele kan for så vidt være betændte begreber – men jeg tænker tit, at der er en skillelinie mellem det skolede og det ikke-skolede, som begge parter forsøger at skride indover. Det kom jeg også til at tænke på med NESM. Er det noget, I kan genkende fra ‘musikscenen’ eller tænker over i regi af NESM?

“Det skulle gerne stå klart nu, at vi i NESM ikke er professionelle i den forstand, at vi aldrig kommer til at leve af arbejdet. Vi giver uetablerede musikere en mulighed for at udgive i en kontekst, hvor musikken bliver taget alvorligt. Det gør vi selvfølgelig kun, hvis musikken er god nok. Daniel Bedingfield var også ‘uprofessionel’, da han indspillede “I Gotta Get Through This” i sit soveværelse. Måske var det netop overskridelsen af denne skillelinje, han sang om. Den der ler sidst, ler bedst?

Skillelinjen mellem det skolede og det ikke-skolede nedbrydes ganske enkelt, når man øver sig. Vi øver os. Til gengæld er det fedt, hvis vi kan skubbe artister i en retning. Som eksempelvis med Panxing, der for nylig har været med på en udgivelse på Posh Isolation.”

P/A: Er rockmusikken, og herunder indierocken som vi kender den fra 90’erne, uddød i dag?

“Alanis spiller på Tinderbox i år.”


Fast Forward Turns Two – A photo-reportage

Fast Forward – The past is recent and the future is wide open (interview)

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Interview and images by Cameron Pagett.

“I like it,” Nikolaj Jakobsen remarks with a gratifying sip of beer as I inquire about the infamous Fast Forward Alien Head logo. Lukas Højlund pauses in the moment and mentions; ”Yeah, it was never supposed to be the logo … on the first party at Ungdomshuset we put all sorts of things on the poster … We also had the bio-hazard symbol, but its not really the logo.”

I still have the first Fast Forward poster on my desktop, 2015 is not so long ago, but looking at the visual building block and having a reasonable understanding of what happens next after 400 people danced the dark away at Ungdomshuset I am feeling nostalgia. The poster feels retro now and It’s undeniably cozy when I reckognize some of the same people have played at recent shows and one played at the two year anniversary in November. Two years really isn’t so long ago, but after 30 raves, an eternity of shared memories, an explosion of growth, a new, unique agency and thousands of stories within a growing community the first party with the first Alien Head feels ages away.

Two years after the first poster I have the same alien head on my scarve shielding my face from a cold wind off Istedgade, I am finally on my way to a Fast Forward Party. A fairly recent resident in Copenhagen I mostly heard about Fast Forward through my girlfriend after buying her the Alien scarf from Posh Isolation’s 8 year celebration in March, 2017. I didn’t realize then that the unofficial official logo was connected to the agency and collective currently throwing the biggest techno parties in Copenhagen. Now less then a year removed I’m stuffing a warm durum in my backpack to hold me through the night and I’m cycling to work past kl. 23 at the much anticipated two year anniversary party located centrally in the large former train Warehouse KPH Volume in Vesterbro. The windows are shaking and the walls pulsing to the opening tracks from Bunker Bauer power group Sella Turcica and Osvald Lund Rønde, and I am feeling any late night fatigue fade from my body as each sound wave pushes it out. It’s still early, I greet familiar faces, meet new ones, orient my camera and enjoy a nice beer with the door girl while devouring a now lukewarm durum kebab

The floor is already vibrating with a small contingent of earlies enjoying an explosive, seething opening set from Sella Turcica and Rønde. I begin to wander through the space and start my night. Volume consists of two rooms with the entry room consisting of a large coat area and a rather impressive visual installation made specifically for the event by Fast Forward Collective Artists Ida Engelhart with and Sara Konoy. The artwork and excellent lighting system from Tobias Molter and Paloma Cuesta is already bringing a special ambiance to the half full warehouse, and is not at full strobing power yet, but is still pushing out enough vibrant streams of color and mystery onto the floor to inspire. My camera begins to feel ready after the first couple of beers start to hit me and I feel myself unthaw from the cold ride. Im feeling its time to start work and take my first pictures.

Read more: See full photo-reportage from Fast Forward here.

Two months later in the cold dead of winter I sit at a kitchen table covered with Tuborg Classic and a lone i-phone and a recorder in a small, quaint apartment in Nørrebro. Flanked By Fast Forward Founders, Lukas Højlund, Nikolaj Jakobsen and later collective addition Anders Marc, we gather to talk about Fast Forward at two years, where it has been, where it is now and where it is headed. I havn’t felt a shred of nervous energy and the talk begins naturally as if the questions were pre-determined. Jakobsen with his customary intensity emanating from his cool blue-grey eyes begins to lay out the foundations of what many consider to be one the finest DIY collectives in Denmark.

“The original goal was wider, it has gotten narrower, but also we found out that this sort of party works really well and there is a time and a place for it in Copenhagen. We have alot of experience in throwing big partys. This and all the effort from the DJ’s and the activists makes it what it is. If there wasn’t interest and all the people who have come to help it wouldn’t have happened.” I am struck in a good way by the beginning of the discourse at how easy and humble the opening statement is. No-one was looking to hoard all the praise in a corner, but they were quick to put the credit away from themselves and the focus on a mutual desire to build a community that was natural, safe and positive.

Rewind to the techno cavern in Volume as the last tracks of Sella Turcica rattled and pounded away behind the waves of smoke seeping from the stage, I am huddled in the dark next to the speakers. I feel a hand rest on my shoulder and I turn to see Villads Klint from next act Khalil offering a hello. Khalil is a Copenhagen based experimental act featuring some of the best local music minds in Villads Klint, Simon Formann and Nikolaj Vonsild. It will be my first time seeing them live after meeting Klint and Formann at Phono Festival in Odense a month before. I am interested in seeing them after all the talk surrounding their inclusion for such an important show thrown by a Collective predominantly affiliated with floor banging techno. It seems an odd choice for the night and the booking raised a few eyebrows. With their debut release distributed by Posh Isolation it wasn’t for lack of perceived quality, it just wasn’t what people were expecting.

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Back at the table with only half of the Tuborg left Højlund explains, “It maybe wasn’t the best fit, but we feel we should be able to do what we want. If we want to put a concert in the beginning of a rave it won’t be the first time. We also want to challenge people a bit because if it’s just the same thing every time it gets boring.” With more people trickling into the show and a real que beginning to form in the cold night the first notes from Khalil’s electrifying performance cut into the space with an energy and presence that left any remnant of a boring or bad booking in the cellar. Khalil brought a feel that tied the existing fanbase together and brought a pacifying feel to the skeptical and unfamiliar. With a sound I can best describe as snapping, cracking and employing frequencies that could shatter the concrete under-foot without leaving a gram of dust, the room went into a frenzy, and surrounded me with bodies dancing along to the expansive sound escaping from the speakers. Vonsild in particular used his committed stage presence and ethereal voice to be sure that there wasn’t one foot left still by the stage. Members of the collective crowded the front of the staging area as I stealthe with my camera amongst a wall of supporters. It was one of the first hygge moments of the night and even though the sound was playing loud enough that plugs were necessary, you could still feel the silence between beats and detect genuine enjoyment in the smiles and embraces of people as they moved between blissful states.

“We can’t play the same artists every time,” Anders remarks. The three nod in agreement. There is a feeling that shaking things up from time to time is necessary for growth and bringing new groups of people to the scene. In the concert format Jakobsen makes it clear that they won’t go booking random acts, but like with the community of artists the agency contains from CPH techno houses Bunker Bauer, Ectotherm, Euromantic and Fast Forward the concert acts selected are connected by friendship and familiarity within an existing structure of interconnected musical projects. It’s all about a natural and familiar spirit. You probably won’t be seeing someone playing a bassoon, and if you just have to have techno and only techno they’re ok with you getting a shawarma and coming back… You will soon be getting five hours of it straight!

With a positive feeling in the air and nearing 3 A.M. the party was treated to the maiden CPH performance from Berlin based DJ Hyperaktivist. Wearing the best pair of trousers I’ve seen in recent memory and containing a mesmerizing posterior combined with absolute control in the booth Ana Laura Rincon brought the techno back to the party as the majority of the Copenhagen rave crowd began to spill into the venue. The space began to explode and getting walking room was starting to become an issue. What is by all accounts a rather large hall in Volume now felt like a small room so I retreated behind the stage to catch the magic erupting behind the bars. Drawing on a latin percussive influence with a hard and fast character Rincon seemed to draw on a pounding warmth stylistically her own while harnessing the cozy energy fallover from the Khalil performance into each track. If Khalil had the floor spinning, Rincon had it bouncing to the point where one could forget it was -2 outside and maybe feel a  touch of Carribean warmth pushing through the cold. A supporter of Fast Forward she later expressed how much she appreciated the family and friends vibe, that it was like a motto in a way. The feeling that the people involved were working together to push the scene because they loved it and believe in it.

The backstage was getting rather lively with most of the artists and core members of the collective celebrating what was turning into a memorable time. People seated on folding chairs and couches huddled into little smoking clusters which dotted the area. I ran into several key members of the collective until I rubbed shoulders briefly with a tall dark haired gentleman. He asked me if I would get a good picture of him, I asked if he was playing later. “Yes,” he replied politely, “looking forward to it.” … That guy was Freddy K.

Back in the apartment with the beer running out at an alarming rate everyone is in agreement that Freddy K. is a legend. A champion of DIY music and tirelessly dedicated to the techno community Højlund is quick to remark,”We like working with Freddy because he is really cool.” After mulling as a group on good and bad experiences with high profile DJ’s Jakobsen goes on to say, ”He’s (Freddy K.) been in DIY since three years after I was born. He’s been running radio and a record label, label management and DJ’ing since ’91, and when you see a guy like that showing up to your party 10 minutes before it starts … then you know they like what they do.” Like what they do … it seems to be a theme present in everything I experience with this crew and perhaps the driving force behind the good feelings surrounding the collective. As Jakobsen points out, “None of us comes from a business background, nobody started out being a big-ass DJ and then thought, hey! I want a collective.”

Fast Forward are looking to work with people who genuinely want to work with them. No big names for the sake of big names, no undergrounders for the sake of underground cred. Simply musical quality and genuine interest in what eachother is doing. Community over hype, it’s not a supermarket show culture.

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The floor is shaking again as Copenhagen techno regular CTRLS aka Troels Knudsen took the room on the back of the hurricane left by Rincon. With room to dance becoming tighter and tighter the party began to hit it’s zenith. Drawing on the cold night wind Knudsen went on to use the speakers as his personal music megaphone for channeling the hard, yet glossy modern sound he has become well-known for. With the music louder, the lights strobing rapidly and the spirit of the night reaching it’s festive best I went on an adventure through the crowded warehouse. People darted everywhere, some heavily prepared in their most provocative garb and others channeling a more casual all black aesthetic. Cigarettes lights went up everywhere like small lanterns dotting Iceberg peaks and I headed for the exit. The cue was now well around the corner with more and more people trying to enter. I took a trip by the bathrooms only to be accosted by a few loaded patrons wanting pictures by the mounds of toilet paper stacking up outside of the trash cans. You could still hear Knudsen’s set from outside with the volume at a near maximum. Højlund and a few others flagged down some imposters trying to get in by the back doors and I found myself existing and sifting through a controlled mayhem. “I couldn’t go to parties like this when I was younger.” Marc says. “I went to smaller clubs and had really nice experiences, I would have liked to have gone to this and seen people behaving and doing nice things it would have had a positive feeling for me … If you would have told me that you can make parties this big in Copenhagen with people behaving I wouldn’t believe it.” This is precisely what we were in, a rave where people feel safe and are respecting each other.

They all come from different backgrounds. Some come from Ungdomshuset (the Youth House) and post punkscene, others metal, noise or even straight electronic, but what binds them together is the DIY spirit. A shared history in creating their own events and music outside of the established music industry. As Marc points out, ”The older guys from the scene, when I was young talked about how when they started out there wasn’t a scene for the music they wanted to hear so they created it.”

Now with Copenhagen becoming an internationally recognized destination for Techno talent, a new environment exists in which a different approach to techno and other genres is being developed with its own unique set of characteristics. “Its easier to just look at eachother,” says Jakobsen. “Your hanging out all the time and people are sending eachother tracks … I think it’s natural whats happening, not just in Copenhagen but all over the world.” With the scene still relatively young, much of the techno growing in CPH seems to embrace the lack of substantial history. As Jakobsen puts it “So many cities are trying to make their own music and to do it in a way that maybe hasn’t been done before.”

The past is recent and the future is wide open.

The cold begins to seep through my jacket as a friend arrives and we make our way back into the heaving masses as the CTRLS set relentlessly blares on. The sitting areas along the tall concrete walls are now a mass of people socializing and sometimes laying on top of eachother in relaxing contrast to the sweat and steam engulfing the dance floor. We find a small place to sit along the wall and she asks me if these parties are always so crowded. I reply that I can’t say for certain, but I am certainly impressed that the space has been filled with such ease and we reflect on how much of a success the night is turning out to be. Fast Forward parties with this many guests is still becoming a thing to get used to as the demand has led them to seek more space in larger and larger venues from the modest starting point in Basement which still functioned as a makeshift home not a year before. We rise to dance, I find a spot, close my eyes and let myself go for a bit. It isn’t difficult, the energy is tantric, the speakers are like a warm sound blanket and the music is too invasive to resist.

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The scene is growing and with the explosion comes a feeling of expectation. For some there is a tendency to want to pull back to the early days with smaller parties and for others a question of what comes next as the collective continues to gather momentum. For Højlund, Jakobsen and Marc the challenge of maintaining reputation and integrity in the community they have created boils down to a natural sense of growth. “I think it came naturally.” Jakobsen says, “When something is growing way too rapidly, like someone had a small party and then next there was a thousand people … I don’t think its happened this way. Everytime a little more attention, everytime a little more demand.” There is a noticeable calm amongst the three surrounding the growth. They have all been involved in musical movements and throwing parties for a time now so there is a quiet confidence among them resting on the idea that it’s about the community first. Højlund adds; “We’ve done everything up till now with people we in some way have a connection with.” The level it has reached is a good size for Copenhagen and is connected to the youth culture. With techno a relatively new scene in the mainstream in Denmark they don’t feel the need to push anything but to use sense and intuition to manage how many people they expect when they throw parties. “I think it goes both ways,” Jakobsen interjects, ”I dont want to have like, oh! now it’s big, now were gonna make it small so people can stand and wait! I also don’t want oh! it’s big, lets make it bigger! The reason we make it bigger is because there is not enough room … all the people standing in line are not total meatheads … if we find out that there is 2 thousand loud idiots with glow sticks wanting to get in we wont move to a bigger place for that.”

With the level of interest surrounding the collective, I am surprised and impressed when the three acknowledge that tastes change and motivation isn’t always concrete. They don’t view numbers as a pure indicator of success and they each reserve and maintain a certain autonomy in understanding that there may come a time that they don’t want to do it anymore. “It’s not like it has to be big, or it’s going bad.” Jakobsen explains; ”If they (people) want something else in a different time we will adjust to that.” They are not looking to be an eternal dominating monopoly on the music scene as Højlund explains, ”We do it as long as we want to.” For Fast Forward maximization is not the goal and in the same way a potential decline in demand is not something to be feared. There is a refreshing reticence in the knowledge that they are part of a larger chain of influence moving through the Copenhagen landscape.”It’s going to have its natural flow,” says Anders, ”before us there were others who had priorities change or lost interest and then we came along.” With a similar tone however Jakobsen was quick to point out for people who want to see techno thrive, ”You never know whats happening … possibly what’s happening at the moment is defining a new way of going out in Copenhagen.”

Back at Volume the backstage area is full to the brim and I am enjoying an amusing time with some of the regulars sharing a warm stream of air shooting from a loose heating duct coming out of the floor. The drinks are past flowing and the night is transitioning to the wee hours of the morning. In a few minutes the sun will be poking through the mist and the party will be entering it’s most wild phase. We are being treated to a pulsing, pounding, creeping and mathematically rythmic set of techno from Freddy K who asked for his picture earlier in the night. Maybe its from another gin & tonic or the happiness I am feeling being surrounded by friends and nice people, but I havn’t taken a photo for over an hour. I flicked my shutters to the max during the ear assault and light extravaganza in the middle hour of CTRLS. I don’t want to let the legend leave without a proper image so I re-center myself, head to the corner of the stage, crouch down and focus on the music. Once my eye is situated in the view box I begin to closely observe the intensity coursing through the hands moving the controls. We are approaching the end of the evening and he is still treating it like the last set he will ever play. No trash-time desperation, he is completely focused on the sound and it manifests itself in the crowd. It is now 6 AM and still a large contingent of people are dancing with seemingly infinite energy. After a time spent being sure Mr. K got his due, I am starting to turn into a pumpkin and I feel my night coming to an end. I don’t think the train that takes me back to my home will be running properly from rail construction and I know I need at least a little energy left in my legs to cycle home. After my goodbyes and a brief gander at the hundreds of coats lining the check-in I forge my way into the crisp morning air and welcome the first rays at sunrise.

I’m about to mount my bike and cycle toward city center when I run into a member of the collective walking home. One of my favorites dj’s, we both agree that it was super fun and I tell him that the only problem was that I didn’t get to hear him play. “That’s ok!” he replied, It’s nice to have a night off, I’m happy to hear my friends play … next time.”

Friends … sitting across from the three, in the final minutes of our Fast Forward discussion I see the same  intensity from earlier in the conversation move into Jakobsen’s eyes, “I’m talking about something really important” he proclaims, “All the artists that we started booking in the beginning who are now our roster. If we hadn’t made the agency and brought everyone together… When you look at a majority of other collectives they may have some residents and then book a little of this and that. I think when it got it’s sound, that was when we decided that the crews representing Copenhagen techno would be a part. If we hadn’t done that it wouldn’t be the same.” It took me a little while to absorb that statement, and I have come to feel since that night that I can’t help but continually notice the togetherness that Fast Forward represents within the Copenhagen DIY scene. The importance of the agency and artists working separately within a shared collective pulling for eachother translates directly into the Fast Forward Community.

As Højlund poignantly reflects; “It’s not like now that we have this label, then lets go find some dj’s and do this thing. All of them were playing already, doing their own stuff. We didn’t invent them.”

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Weeks later while working on this story I text an artist in the Fast Forward agency to ask him what in his opinion makes Fast Forward special. Ever laconic, I am given a one word reply, “Us.” Us? This single word echoes deeply into the fabric of the collective which is more then just the sum of it’s founders. It is a collection of artists, activists, technicians and music enthusiasts who move in and out of the organism that has brought so much happiness since its first outing at Ungdomshuset in 2015. “The people that come to the parties have also been involved in creating the parties” says Anders, ”People feel like it’s also their party.” Going through the imagery from the night I can feel the essence of this thought. At no point did I feel as if any one group or person was the focal point of the show, but rather each person in some way was making the night more interesting. You don’t feel this type of sameness often in performance oriented events. It’s not only about who is building the raves, but the people and the artists contributing through numerous channels.

Now after two years of Fast Forward with cold ears and tired legs in the final blocks of a long ride home I’m still feeling the pounding rythymn of the bass from standing too close to the speakers all night. I take a detour to the harbor in front of my apartment and get a freshly baked Frøsnapper from an adjacent bakery that is just opening. I sit on concrete steps ascending into the ocean that kayakers and small craft use as a point of entry to the sea. Sleep creeps into my eyes as the kebab energy from earlier has long disapeared and I am feeling famished. I eat my pastry and pull out my camera to give myself a sneak peek at the imagery before I inevitably pass out till well past noon. The images are looking very nice and I know it will be a treat once I hit the editing room with them. About a third of the way through I notice a picture of a friend smiling and wearing a colorful hat shaped like a birthday cake. I realize then that after such a wonderful evening in which everyone as far as I could tell and myself had such an amazing time that nobody, even within the proximity of the microphones had given an audible happy birthday wish. Exhausted I trudged home and passed into a deep sleep. I had no idea then that I would write this, but since we are on the subject and even though time has passed I might as well.

Happy Birthday Fast Forward! thank you for the memories new and old, the parties and what you stand for. Or in the spirit of what a certain someone pointed out; Tillykke from us and Tillykke to us! See you all in late march for ‘spring break’. 👽

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Info: Next Fast Forward event is Spring Break at KPH Volume on March 31 (RSVP).

Shelter Press – I ambientmusikkens randområder

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shelterpress_oorsaloonIntroduktion til Shelter Press af Emil Grarup

Shelter Press er, som de selv kalder det, en “kuratoriel platform” for udgivelse af kunstnerbøger, lydkunst og eksperimentalmusik. Selskabet er baseret i de franske alper og blev grundlagt i 2011 af forlægger Bartolomé Sanson og billed- og lydkunstner Félicia Atkinson. Shelter Press har fået en del opmærksomhed på det seneste, især på grund af Félicia Atkinsons enigmatiske “Hand In Hand”-udgivelse fra maj 2017, som også var min oprindelige indgangsvinkel til projektet.

I dette indlæg vil jeg forsøge at introducere Shelter Press og deres praksis gennem en række præsentationer af de udgivelser, der er udkommet på selskabet i løbet af det sidste år, som jeg har fundet særligt interessante.

“Hand in Hand” sammenvæver minimalistiske melodilinjer komponeret på MIDI- og modularsynthesizere med ambiente lydflader, field recordings og Atkinsons egen lavmælt filosoferende vokal. Udgivelsen kan siges at være bygget op omkring to dialektikker, som i nogen grad også kan siges at informere Shelter Press’ overordnede praksis: Den første er en vekslen mellem organiske og kunstige klange som på “Hand in Hand” eksempelvis kan høres på “Valis”, der kombinerer realoptagelser af insekter og fuglekvidren med synthflader og basdroner, hvilket giver nummeret en særlig slags rumlighed. Den anden en oscilleren mellem det tilgængelige og det hermetiske, som kan eksemplificeres via forskellen på numre som “I’m Following You”, en ballade med synthesizerlinjer, der lyder som var de taget ud af soundtracket til første sæson af X-Files, og “Adaption Assez Facile”, der udover simpelt klokkespil mest udgøres af en række modularsamples, der sitrer og ‘twitcher’ som løse strømkabler ovenpå en vokal, der fremfører en monolog over to forskellige frekvenser.

Denne dialektik mellem det organiske og det kunstige støder man også på, hvis man lytter til en anden af Shelter Press’ udgivelser fra (marts) 2017, nemlig “Camo” af Native Instrument. Native Instrument er en Berlin-baseret kollaboration mellem Felicity Mangan og Stine Janvin Motland. Udgivelsen, hvis stil bl.a. har fået prædikatet “insekt-techno”, er en samling mere eller mindre aparte kompositioner, hvorpå det klanglige indhold udgøres næsten udelukkende af digitalt bearbejdede feltoptagelser af australsk og nordeuropæisk dyreliv. Disse feltoptagelser opstilles i simple og repetitive rytmiske forløb, der minder om den måde techno- eller housenumre typisk fungerer. “Camo” er en sjov udgivelse, fordi den som koncept virker enormt fortænkt, men rent lydligt fungerer enormt godt, hvilket netop også er medvirkende til at nedtone udgivelsens karakter af ‘konceptkunst’.

Ligeledes er Tomoko Sauvages “Musique Hydromantique” fra oktober 2017 også et konceptuelt funderet værk. Som navnet måske kan antyde, spiller vand en essentiel rolle for Sauvages musikalske praksis. I tilfældet med “Musique Hydromantique” er der tale om, at hun bruger vand som middel til at frembringe lyd via et selvudviklet instrumentkompleks, kaldet “the waterbowls”, som består af en række porcelænsskåle og en række undervandsmikrofoner (også kaldet “hydrofoner”), som hun placerer i disse skåle med henblik på amplificere de lyde, som hun producerer. På udgivelsens tre numre frembringer Sauvage lyd via tre forskellige teknikker. På “Clepsydra” produceres lyden på “traditionel vis” ved, at Sauvage lader fingrene glide langs porcelænsskålenes kanter i forskellige tempi, rytmer og intensiteter. “Calligraphy” er optaget i et ekkokammer med omtrent 10 sekunders reverb, og består, såvidt jeg har forstået, af en række undervandsfrekvenser, som via en omrokering af vandet i skålene bøjes mellem forskellige tonehøjder. Lydene på “Fortune Biscuit” frembringes ved, at Sauvage sænker forskellige små terrakottafigurer, såkaldte ‘biscuits’ i vandet og som, afhængigt af hvilke teksturer, de respektive figurer har, lyder som forskellige fænomener: grædende børn, dyr, insekter osv.

Sauvages praksis kan i høj grad siges at beskæftige sig med resonans, og hvordan denne resonans ‘opfører’ sig i forhold til det rum, det resonerer i. Det interessante ved Sauvages musik er for mig især, hvordan disse forskellige resonanser fletter sig ind og ud af hinanden, danner rytmer og mønstre og i kraft af deres varighed, tonehøjde og frekvens influerer, hvordan de andre lyde perciperes. Samtidig er det dog også et enormt smukt og højstemt lydbillede, der bliver fremmanet på “Musique Hydromantique”, et lydbillede, der i kraft af sin klangmæssige blidhed og tilsyneladende ‘tidløshed’ tilvejebringer en enorm ro hos ihvertfald undertegnede. Man kan derfor sige om albummet, at det både er meget krævende og meget tilgængeligt, alt efter hvilken strategi, man lytter efter: Man kan lade sig fortabe i det æteriske klangunivers, eller man kan opmærksomt forsøge at optegne de forbindelser, der ved nærmere lytning kommer til syne.

Anderledes ‘konventionel’ er tredje installation i Gabriel Salomans “Movement Building”-serie, som udkom i september 2017. “Movement Building III” er, som de andre udgivelser i serien, skrevet som akkompagnement til en dans af koreografen Vanessa Goodman. Denne gang er det til forestillingen “What Belongs To You”, som oprindeligt blev fremført i 2015. Udgivelsen består af en række storladne, nærmest filmiske kompositioner, der kombinerer lydflader, trommer, klaver og ekspressive, shoegaze/blackmetal-agtige guitarsekvenser for at skabe en stil, der ligger et sted mellem dark ambient, black metal og nyere minimalistisk kompositionsmusik. På denne måde er “Movement Building III” en slags blandingsprodukt: Momentvis dyrker den samme højstemte ambient-spiritualitet som serbiske Abul Mogards “Works”-kompilation fra 2016, en udgivelse, der lyder som hvis et fabrikskompleks kunne fremføre elegier, andre steder er den tættere på at lyde som hvis Colin Stetsons “All I Do I Do For Glory” fra sidste år var skrevet til en traditionel bandkonstellation og ikke kun til saxofon.

Den nyeste udgivelse i Shelter Press’ bagkatalog hedder “Thoughts Of A Dot As It Travels A Surface” og er et værk af duoen CV & JAB. Albummet udkom i februar 2018. CV & JAB er alias for komponisterne Christina Vantzou og John Also Bennett, som på “Thoughts Of…” har samarbejdet om at udarbejde et album, der bruger den Parisbaserede kunstner Zin Taylors gigantiske maleri af samme navn som en slags grafisk partitur. Udgivelsen indskriver sig altså ind i en avantgardistisk tradition for at transponere et kunstnerisk udtryk fra ét medie til et andet: En aktivitet, som man også fx. finder som en integreret praksis hos gruppen af komponister, malere, digtere, grafikere (osv.), der var knyttet til den for længst hedengange amerikanske kunstinstitution Black Mountain College. I dette tilfælde har Vantzou og Bennett altså transponeret et udtryk fra maleri til musik. Denne fortolkning kan måske bedst klassificeres som en slags eksperimenterende, elektroakustisk ambient, der på subtilt manisk vis gør brug af en række forskellige virkemidler (klaver, field recordings, synthesizer) for at skabe et på samme tid urovækkende og æterisk værk, som måske bedst kan sammenlignes med den russiske filminstruktør Andrej Tarkovskijs filmiske mesterværk fra 1979, Stalker. Særligt den zone, som filmens karakterer i løbet filmen skal navigere igennem for at nå til et rum i zonens centrum, der eftersigende kan opfylde deres inderste ønsker. Ligesom i “zonen”, er den stemning, der er på “Thoughts Of…”, en stemning, der på en måde er blevet krydsbefrugtet af både natur og teknologi. Hvor det ikke er til at skelne imellem, hvad der konsoliderer denne uro og hvad der ikke gør, men hvor umuligheden af netop denne identifikation bevirker en følelse af, at intet er stabilt, at der ikke findes nogen eller noget, man kan vende sig imod, fordi man ikke helt ved, hvad det er man søger.

Overordnet kan Shelter Press altså sige at tilbyde en række forskellige takes på genrer som ambient, minimalisme, avantgardekomposition og lydkunst og grænserne imellem disse (som i det enkelte værker ikke nødvendigvis ikke er så skarpt optegnede, som jeg har forsøgt at gøre her). Fælles for alle disse outputs er dog, at de indenfor deres respektive felt fortjener at blive særligt bemærkede, netop fordi de kan tilbyde noget originalt til en række felter, hvor mængden af udgivelser efterhånden har nået en ret anseelig volumen.

Info: Udover de albums, jeg nævner i introduktionen, er Gábor Lázárs “Crisis of Representation” (januar 2017) og Darren Almonds “All Things Pass”  (december 2017) også stærkt anbefalelsesværdige. De er kun udeladt pga. pladsmangel. Félicia Atkinson giver koncert på Mayhem den 1. maj.

Yves Tumor – Perfectly unpredictable (live report)

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Yves Tumor, Khalil, Scandinavian Star and Soho Rezanejad hosted by Lowlife Scum and Knife Magazine at Mayhem 23.3.2018. Review and all photos by Cameron Pagett.

“Don’t fuck with my shield! Don’t fuck with my shield! …”

It’s the fourth and final set on a crowded Mayhem night and the headliner Yves Tumor has broken or rather, ripped his way through his plastic cage which had separated him from the audience for much of the first portion of his set. The music, or rather the drilling, cerebral, sordid symphony of siren like noise complete with jackhammering, invasive vocals called from the fog for a sense of security. Young men scurried from the imaginary room once partitioned by painter’s plastic which still adorned the majority of empty wallspace in the room.

“Don’t fuck with my shield! Don’t fuck with my shield!” Cries for respect in the midst of full body assault sound filled the space momentarily. Yves stares into a young woman’s eyes standing beyond the table with his controls resting on it. Stares into her eyes possessed with the same madness jolting from the speakers. This is aggressive. Engage or leave.

Mayhem.

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I arrived at Mayhem on the back of a full Posh Isolation night in Oslo with Croatian Amor and The Empire Line, one hour of sleep and an 8 hour bus trip before staggering back into Copenhagen. My ears still ringing. I can barely stand, my eyes are heavy as bricks but it doesn’t matter, Knife (Magazine) is taking over Copenhagen’s favorite DIY temple. Dim artificial lighting bounces of the walls and reflects from an odd web of painter’s plastic lining nearly every visible inch of free white wall giving the epic space a cozy, spacey and completely artificial feel. It’s still 30 minutes from the start of the show and the room is already near capacity. A big name is here alongside an already loaded local line-up and soon people will be getting turned away and elbow room will be sparse. Before that happens I survey the room and marvel at a centrally placed plastic cube isolating itself akin to a holy alter. Knife founders Magnus Hjortlund and Jonathan Holst Bruus greet me and I am informed that this plastic, lightly transluscent cube is where Tumor will perform from. Ever the gentlemen, they offer all guests a drink and a caffeine supplement, it’s becoming clear I will need my legs tonight.

It’s a strange confluence of onlookers for the show hosted by CPH based Knife and Berlin-based collective Lowlife Scum. Along with the many familiar faces dotting the room are just as many visitors and first timers. There is a name tonight, a name with international prominence and a full cloud of publicity and acclaim. People are curious, it’s a night to try new things, and the energy is inquisitive and raw. It’s a perfect setting for exploring. The night is designed to surprise and enchant. The Knife people have a habit of offering an engaging mix of local and international talent, and I felt that what was about to transpire had the potential to be a night of wonderfully explorative music.

Lights go down and only a blue spotlight and a small hue of warm light from the controls give visible signs of life as conversations turn to murmurs at the start of a performance from Scandinavian Star. Fresh from an outing with Posh Isolation at Berghain, the experimental solo project headed by Copenhagen musician and mastering engineer Malthe Fischer began the night. Relying on a decidedly cool and aquatic base, the set gave a satisfying taste of his signature sound with plenty of new material to tease the more familiar listener with predictions of what to look forward to. With a base as smooth as marble reverberating from an iron hull Fischer kissed the room with a considerate and well-developed ambiance. Uniformly expansive, even dancy at times, the music performed felt reliant on the individual. Intimate and cozy, yet isolating the room moved and contemplated while remaining attached to an internalized energy on a moving score.

Continuing the evening with an introspective dive into the deep, Soho Rezanejad led a now very full room on a journey of visual, audible and immersive art. Positioning herself behind her laptop and assisted live by percussionist Anton Rothstein, the duo collaborated on a mesmerizing ambient score with sparse and haunting Viola-sections (courtesy of Astrid Sonne) and looping, twisting metallic elements with intermissive springs of psychedelic inspired sound wanderings. Situated near the front, I was able to view most of the experimental art film created for the score which most of the audience stay fixated on throughout the duration of the performance

Created for Rezanejad by CPH based film-maker Kamil Dosaar, the film seemed to focus on transition, de-composition and duality. Focusing absolute attention on the minute to a molecular level. Illustrations of lines and dots lit the screen as the scenes shifted from abstract mathematical prisms distorting reality, underwater minglings of fish in the sea, the shoreline overlayed with tangental offerings of poetry and finally still frames of man on dry land. I wasn’t able to reach Rezanejad for comment, but from what I could take from the captivating experience and after careful review of my footage was a journey moving from the sea to dry land. A far-reaching, ambitious project following where we are, where we have been and the tiny sprinklings of chance involved with each movement of transition on a human and universal level. As one viewer put it, ”The room was at capacity, but I felt I was all alone. Left to myself to deal my daily experiences and caught up in a world devoid of comfort or threat. I felt like a ghost watching visions of life though a clouded lens, and at the same time I was becoming a ghost to my own present moment.” It was an adventure and a work which confronted the duality and uncertainty in existence juxtaposed with close attention toward simple things universally grasped yet frequently passed over.

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If the feeling of drifting away haunted the plastic walls, an energetic set from Khalil brought a true communal aspect back to the evening. One man down, and operating without charismatic controls wizard Villads Klint, Simon Formann and Nikolaj Vonsild worked double time. Perhaps it worked for the best as elbow room was becoming an issue leaving the duo with very little room to roam. Seemingly unaffected, Vonsild and Formann had plenty in the tank and as has become expected gave the room a static buzz. It’s an intriguing thing watching Khalil at the moment. A young and jovial fan base with an optimistic feeling follows them wherever they perform. At this point people have had the chance to become familiar with them, and they not only dance and jump, but have memorized the words. Certain tracks are becoming adored and looked forward to with expectation. Khalil is a group that seems to bring an exultant and rebellious, yet cozy feeling in their performances. As one person described, ”They are something I look forward to, I’m with my friends, I am meeting new people and sometimes with Khalil I am looking forward to just getting fucked up!” Fucked or not, Khalil are creating a strong and agreeable fanbase if you havn’t seen them do their thing live, do yourself a favor, Go.

Whenever Mayhem gets filled to capacity and heat from bodies and the cigarette smoke from hundreds of lights feels the air a trip to the exits calls at the first sign of silence. I am flanked by some friends and a black cat who has taken a liking to me in the alleyway. Originally from the states people are asking me if I am looking forward to the headliner who also hails from my birth country. Truth is I have never seen Yves Tumor live and I am going into this thing nearly blind. Apart from a few samplings of his acclaimed album “Serpent Music” and a legendary appearance in a recent Helmut Lang campaign I am just as curious as everyone else for what will happen. An enigmatic and mysterious figure, Yves Tumor (one of his many names) writes and reaches from a plethora of influences from experimental to noise, classic rock and sometimes all out soul it’s hard to predict what will happen in his recordings and even more so his live acts. A line is reaching well around the corner, many people won’t be getting in and I thank my lucky stars I’m on staff. A mixture of clear and red lights ignite the plastic performance cube for Tumor’s performance and an extraordinarily harsh, invasive score feels the air. I can barely hear as I climb atop a cabinet for a clear view. Voices and calculated screams stun all onlookers. The gates of hell are open, someone is being cast out.

Sitting atop an antique piano tucked in a corner behind the formerly plastic partitioned shield I am elevated above what is quickly turning into an all out frenzy. Starting with a gripping and escalating wall of the harshest and disgusting and most visceral noise I have ever heard, a lean, flexible and raith-like figure swarms about the lightly transluscent plastic shield building up curiousity and expectation before furiously clawing his way through to transparency. Now in the first few minutes past his plea for personal space, he is starting to prod, analyze and make contact with his bewildered and shocked audience. The sound is all encompassing, its jolting yet uninviting, drilling without a shed of mercy, it rests in the vapors surrounding your head and pummels its way into your chest like a sound grenade detonating with the strength of a hundred hell hounds. Some stand still with mouth’s wide open and others involuntarily begin to surrender and knod there heads without discernable melody. It’s not quite fury, it’s not even over the top. There is a strange honesty in it attached to the numerous beads of sweat falling from Tumor’s head. He has gone away, it has taken much energy, tuck in for the ride or go home. These are the options.

After a torrent of adjustments from Tumor at the controls and some ferociously ear-splitting and body numbing tones straight from a waking nightmare, he cocks his head back and lets out a wail that could confront even the most hardened noise head. He takes to the crowd. With his arms outstretched and the gauze-like wrap he wears like a ballerina wandering the ruins after an air assault, he begins to push and force his way into the audience without missing a screech. Pulsing along with the deep bass and seering ambient dominating the air people begin to push back and forth creating a motly pit of instinct. The tones being unleashed feel designed for complete surrender, no reason, no plan, no cause, just move, move for your life. It’s been a while since I have been in a pit, in California this sort of thing is much more common then in CPH and I am relishing the opportunity to have at it again. Formerly known for bringing my camera with me into the sprawl I am happy to find out as friends fly by and Tumor intermittently screams in my ear that I have retained my talents. With my recorder on and each moment akin to a scrum on the rugby pitch I begin to feel a strange sensation. Perhaps from lack of sleep I begin to worry that people have surrendered so much that someone could be hurt and no-one would notice, or something bad could happen and people would just think it was part of the act. My worst thoughts are dampened after a friend hit the deck and collapsed into Tumor’s arms who was by now singing on the edge of his “shield” with my friend’s head resting in his lap. Safety was still close, the experience present and relentless.

“The feeling went way beyond excitement. It was a complete surrender to the merciless chaos of the soundscape. I was knocked onto the stage, it felt like falling into Yves’ own gravitational field. I was blinded by a blue spotlight in the ceiling. I imagine it must be how it feels to ascend from death into heaven.”
After a few moments of bliss my friend is picked up off the ground as Tumor moves on into the final stages of his act. I can only describe the feeling of intensity in the room to be as if Mayhem were a space station with a clear ceiling and you are entering the earths atmosphere. The sound is beyond deafening and you are being thrown about against everyone in the craft watching flames sear and cover the view as you descend back to the planet. Within the freefall is an ever-present ghoul invading everything with a sound to big for heaven or hell. Some called it a hug or love, others grotesque and disgusting. No matter your thoughts it was one certainly something. Fucking unforgettable.

I don’t really remember much after wandering past the bar and into the air. Unlocking my bike was a blur with my head still pounding, the caffeine supplements from earlier wearing off fast and a far delayed sleep tugging at my eyelids. As wild as it had been in Mayhem it was slightly more subdued in the graffiti laden courtyard that seperates the venue from the outside world. Whatever Yves just dropped was like a localized drug, with the raucous effects dissipated in the building like smoke escaping a shattered window in an inferno. By the street numerous attendees are climbing into a party bus chartered specially and somewhat comically by the Knife crew. More revelry awaits in the outer limits of Copenhagen at Refshaleøen, the opposite end from Nordvest. Many friends and nice people will be celebrating until the wee hours of the morning, but not me this time … My pillow needs attention.

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Having given myself a couple of days to look back on the evening I find myself re-visiting the roughly 45 minutes when Tumor let loose. No doubt a talented musician and artist I am not sure I could characterize what was performed as music. I have this sensation with noise oriented projects from time to time and mean it in no way as a slight, but music is not always the sole focus in sound performance. This was more a completely different way of viewing and experiencing sound from outside the familiar patterns of narrative or recognizable melody. What Tumor did for me was most akin to sound performance with a heavy artistic focus that bordered on being an all out interactive side-show. He wasn’t separate from the sounds, he seemed to take on the darkness as a personal cloak. The score and the body as singular, and anything that remained in its path after the shedding of the “shield” was swept into its influence mercilessly. You had to take on the body of destruction with him or exit the situation. True to the extreme nature of the act, Tumor left no room for indifference. There were two choices, it was black or white. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that darkness won and for the people who were there I think it will be thought of and talked about for far beyond the present.

Sometimes I feel it’s perfectly normal not to understand the content of a performance. There are many modes of surrender when it comes to sound, and what we experienced with Yves Tumor in Mayhem came from the most extreme, cerebral corners of the mind which conjure visions of chaos and aggressive destruction. What struck me most in the fury on the floor was the united feeling it created and the viral transference of nihilistic un-purpose felt without the need to inflict tangible damage. Like an individual learning to slip past the “what ifs” of action and into the “what is” of experience, Tumor caused a pure tumble into a new landscape with this act of invitation without compromise. While we are all left with our own interpretation ranging from the over-calculated to the sensationally basic it may help to remember one thing.

Don’t fuck with his shield and everything will happen precisely how it’s supposed to: Knife style, adventurous, explorative, fun and perfectly unpredictable.

MaerzMusik – Deconstructed and recomposed (a live report)

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Berliner Festspiele | MaerzMusik 2018  Deproduction | Thaemlitz & zeitkratzer, Mark Fell  "Deproduction" von Terre Thaemlitz live mit zeitkratzer 19.03.2018

From minimalistic set up to extraordinary executing on the stages. This year’s edition of the annual festival MaerzMusik in Berlin was a hydra of different kinds of political critique of modern culture through contemporary music and sound. Sandra S. Borch highlights a carefully selected set of key performances during the 10-day long festival.

MaerzMusik has a long and proud tradition of curating the elite of the contemporary sound. Throughout the festival’s existence, organized by the Berliner Festspiele since 1967, the bill has been shared by composers such as John Cage, Karlheinz Stockhausen and Sofia Gubaidulina together with electronic pioneers Ryoji Ikeda, Aphex Twin and many more.

This year’s programme ranged from extreme beat-salvos by Mark Fell and political elegance by Terre Thaemlitz aka Dj Sprinkles to gentle ambient and atmospheric noise infiltrating Berlin’s previous power plant at Kraftwerk. The festival was centered around one theme: Time Wars. Guiding the audience’s attention towards the dispossessed temporalities of of migration policy, gender-identity, environmental-issues etc, by a wide range of musical experiences, workshop and artist talks.

Deproduction

One of the festival’s focal points was the Japan-based, American-born transgender artist Terre Thaemlitz aka DJ Sprinkles, anyone who is family with her work will know his ability to connect music to a strong politically-charged philosophical approach. This evening he stages the uncomfortable truth with nothing but grace by presenting two pieces together with Zeitkratzer-ensemble (photo above). Both pieces were from Terre Thaemlitz’s conceptual release Deproduction from last year.

The first piece “Names Have Been Changed” was a melodic and melancholic piece yet it was packed with moments of drama. Terre Thaemlitz sat in the center of the stage carefully keeping things leveled but occasionally got feverishly hyper while screaming statements like: “shut up!” and “why don’t you like me!”. The ensemble played the familiar sounds of birds humming and while the gentle sound from the strings was interrupted the angry screams, it painted a picture of evil between love ones. At all time on the tipping point of destruction.

The second piece was “Admit It’s Killing You (And Leave)”. With cascades of piano, Terre Thaemlitz repeated the same passage saying: “So, these people are very religious and very anti-gay. Excuse me, they are pro traditional family which are under attack by the gay people just being around.” The passage is a quote from the American comedian Paul F. Tompkins that mocks the suggestion that gay peoples’ empowerment might lead to the end of the families. Provided an analytical discourse of trying to break apart oppressive institutions. The political message mellifluously resonated beyond the stage.

Both pieces was emotional charged scores and performed in a highly sensitive manner filled with contradiction between gentle strings and frightening screams. It was a pure pleasure to witness the ensemble execute the piece to perfection. Terre’s being, talk and performance was the festival highlight.

Berliner Festspiele | MaerzMusik 2018  Deproduction | Thaemlitz & zeitkratzer, Mark Fell  "multistability live (microtemporal works)" von Mark Fell 19.03.2018

Microtemporal works

Re-entering the concert hall after the break the stage backdrop was removed and the entire backstage was made visible for the audience. In the middle of what now was a huge stage, was placed a small table with a laptop.

Mark Fell is known for thorny computer-music. Together with artists such as Russell Haswell, Errorsmith and many more he has been frontier for what some might call deconstructed club music. By taking traditional elements from dance music and deconstructing or reshaping them into microscopic sonic phrases and at some points brutal chaos. The performance “Multistability live (microtemporal works)” by Mark Fell included all that. His performance was filled with patterns of ravey synths tones together with crispy claps and kicks. In between brief momentsof recognizable rhythm he shifts patterns and expand the language of contemporary dance music to the computer threshold. And put the festival’s theme and reflection of temporality to the next level.

 

The Long Now

The festival’s grande finale took place on March 24-25 at the former power plant Kraftwerk and co-presented with Berlin Atonal festival. With a line-up that including The Necks, Tomoko Sauvage, Huerco S, Colin Stetson and Lustmord, this served as a festival within the festival. “The Long Now” was a metaphorical connection to to both the ambient genre and the fact that it lasted for 30 hours non-stop.

The space was packed with beds where the audience temporally had made nests with pillows and blankets for the sleep over. The atmosphere was partly intimate and peaceful at the same time as cold and almost hostile due to the large scale of the building and the minimal lightning. However the peaceable dynamics from the sound of the audiences resonated and become a piece of ambient itself during the change over.

Photo by Camille Blake

While saxophone player and composer Colin Stetson as a soloist might not be the definition of accessible music, he was clearly a highlight of the evening and a master of performing and somehow very entertainment. Colin Stetson uses a circular breathing technique and he spends long periods crushing the notion of what sound a metal tube can produce by letting his fingers clack on the keys in order to manipulate tone and pitch. Beats, vocals and synths all together seemed to come from his use of this massive instrument. Stetson started out with “Spindrift” from his latest release All This I Do For Glory and number by added both tempo and volume to his performance. His irradiated drones emerging from his saxophone flooded the brick-to-stone hall.

The last note from The Long Now came from Brian Williams under his alias Lustmord. He showed a much darker side of the ambient sound with immersive noise drowning melodies that never ends.

Many more performances during the festival showed MaerzMusik’s excellent ability to connect theme, sound and space and a high level of knowledge and willingness to push the new boundaries of the avant garde.

Reportage from MaerzMausik 2018 – Time Wars 16–25.03 in Berlin by Sandra S. Borch. Photos by Camille Blake.

The Empire Line – The Oslo report

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Reportage from The Empire Line, Varg, Croatian Amor, Vanity Productions at Blå, Oslo, 22.03.2018. Text and images by Cameron Pagett.

There is a river which runs through the heart of Oslo. Beginning in the mountains and trickling its way down from the Artic sea on the northern tip of our continent, past fjords and craggy peaks which carve the stocking shaped country’s landscape into an epic, serene and quiet place. The sun is out and snow covers most of the hilly and forested terrain as we begin our final approach into Oslo. The closer we get to land the more visible the open spaces cutting through the trees reveal themselves as ski slopes and the entire country begin’s to resemble one giant ski resort. It’s early afternoon when we land, and I am seated some way behind Posh Isolation founders Christian Stadsgaard and Loke Rahbek, who after a decade of releasing music out of a DIY-ethic in Copenhagen are now traveling with international acclaim. It’s my own first time in the country and for Stadsgaard his first in 11 years, and a first ever showcase here for Posh Isolation. After a brief rendezvous at a convenience market in the airport we separate without words to our lodging places beginning what would be an interesting evening in the last major city of the North. The sun is shining, the snow is melting and the river runs with momentum along the clean and well manicured banks before meeting the inner fjord on which the city stands. Somewhere near the end of the river is a brick building covered in graffiti named Blå. Now an establishment, and opened since 1998 this river-side, somewhat historic and unassuming space would be the host for our evening.

Children step into the train with ski’s and snow-suits (quite regular I hear) as I exit into the city centrum and head to my Airbnb. There are a few hours to spare before the show, and walking around feels like visiting an old friend in a new place. Passing the Nobel Prize house and the Museum for Surrealist Painter Edvard Munch, I get the idea that this place holds everything I have heard about but couldn’t locate from first-hand memory. Slinking atop a small table in the dark my Airbnb host who closely resembles an opiated railway worker from the 1800’s crossed with mid-life Gollum looks at me suspiciously when I arrive. After some convincing that it was me he was hosting, he asks me if I can just come back later because he is not ready. I am not too fond of the idea, and I am put in a made-over closet for the night. Luckily the bed isn’t half bad, and even though he won’t stop staring at me from his table-top perch by the corner near the door I feel happy that the night will soon begin. Oslo is a small city, smaller then Copenhagen, I am staying on the opposite end of the city from Blå and its only a 20 minute walk. Camera is in my backpack, time to move, it will be a tale of two or possibly an endless night.

I feel like you can always tell which part of town the creatives gather. After 20 minutes in the night air I run into (probably) the only unkempt and graffiti laden buildings in the country. I reach a crosswalk next to a building with a lone shattered window and a mess of new and old show posters. The girl at the crosswalk next to me is wearing Doc Martens, has bangs, and the streetlights seem dimmer then five minutes before. I look down at my phone and my observations are spot on, take a right, your there. I am greeted warmly by the staff after they confirm my name and in a few minutes am led to a loft-like back stage area complete with a view of the venue beneath and seemingly well-stocked with food and refreshments. “Hey! I thought you lived in Copenhagen.” a surprised Isak Hansen (vocalist in Empire Line) asks, “I do, I thought you lived in Berlin.” I retort. “Yeah, but you know I gotta play!” I explain I am here to do a reportage. Varg asks the venue host for more champagne with two already empty bottles on the counter next to a party consisting of Hansen, Stadsgaard, Rahbek and Varg himself. A new bottle arrives, everyone is happy, and from our perch we can see the venue fill in. Vanity Productions is up first I’ll be heading down.

I am an ardent admirer of Vanity Productions (Christian Stadsgaards solo project) seminal album “Only the Grains of Love Remain.” A most special piece, Stadsgaard was able to create something so surgical, involving and ethereal. One of my favorite releases of 2017, I regard it as a select piece of electronic music I have reverence for. A work composed on the frontiers of life experience, it created for me a vacuum of feelings where the existential can be quietly and solemnly enjoyed. A web of mystery, echoes and shadow, in the track “The silk of life” it break’s into an unfettered and time-suspending segment where the silence and space between the dimensions of love and loss can be visited and appreciated. In the process of working on a new album, Stadsgaard gave what I can describe as a set rising from the glimmering ashes of previous work and throwing you forward into the night-mare of reality after the sublime. It was intense, at times harsh and rested on a haunting ambiance of high tones with underlying bombardment reminiscent of a B-52 dropping a payload. Sensing a connection in tone from the first work it felt like the surrender, or a reticence to the grains of loss in experience and the tumult of further transition bordering on all-out turmoil. Like a surgeon by-passing your heart with sounds, Stadsgaard through Vanity Productions creates spatial planes where wonder and reflective amazement are possible. Consuming, but not quite epic, Body splitting, yet internal. As he makes his way towards a new work, it’s nice to appreciate any moment you get to spend with him behind the controls.

(The story continues below…)

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“Blå is an establishment” A local tells me,”we come here sometimes and many of our other shows pop up in different parts of the city. It’s a nice place (Blå) and basically everyone in the scene (noise/rave) is here right now.” The patio outside the doors is small and cozy with a small lounge lining the riverbank. It is experiencing a warm buzz and I begin to mingle with many of the locals. Everyone is quite friendly and hospitable, and I get the feeling that having Posh Isolation showcase in their city is a fairly special thing. The community is small and close knit, and I am told that it can be quite hard to organize DIY performances on any scale because of poor funding and difficult drinking laws. “We live in a place where this sort of culture is uncommon,” I am told, “It’s nice, but our government has a favorite activity in tearing down old buildings. What’s the point in a creative space when you can have fancy new apartments.” Show starved or not, tonight was a perfect occasion to welcome some of Europes Titans of DIY, so we decided to head back in from the patio for the next act.

It hasn’t been so long since I covered Croatian Amor. Back in early march in Copenhagen with the Proton people Rahbek gave a very early look into the new material that will fill his upcoming album. My mind immediately goes back to that night, and we are greeted with some of the more soulful material from the end of the set in Alice at the beginning of the set in Blå. The set Croatian Amor decided to go with from behind the fog felt like being in the second book of a trilogy. So much new material presented, new musical currents introduced and the feeling of expectation in looking forward to where it all leads. “With any new piece of work you hope to get a little closer to a conclusion,” Rahbek remarks,”What I find is that most often I come up with new questions or better ways to ask old ones.”

The set had so much depth, and covered so much ground. For most of it I found myself sitting against the wall in a corner by the stage with my camera down and my eyes closed. Intimate and at times romantic to a fault (I don’t mind), It’s a good feeling spending time with Croatian Amor at the moment. With some large changes in tone from section to section as Rahbek finds new ways to add to the story, things still feel natural, oddly fluid and unforced. We are moving into unknown territory and every sound is like discovering a new feature on a lost continent. Like a phantom whispering above a rolling river, or as Loke describes it,”A program singing back at it’s creator” the set produced a real feeling of relaxation, and very much as was the case in Alice, much of the audience (myself included) took the time to huddle and ponder.“I feel more comfortable around the tools now, allowing the work to move around less restrained, it allows me to go deeper and maybe more important it allows me to focus more energy on the plotline rather than at the clipboard.” Its an easier feeling then the last time I saw him, more assured and borderline languid behind the controls. Will be looking forward to seeing this batch of work develop into the final vision.

One thing I learned pretty quickly during the night was that in Oslo, Varg is God. Everyone I spoke with was there with the thought of seeing him first on their minds. People were looking forward to it, and they weren’t going to be disappointed as a Varg live set followed by high octane Empire Line was about to be a reality. Before that I went for a short walk with a friend down the banks of what I learned was the Akerselva river, originating 120 kilometers north in the Maridalsvannet. The town is quit now, the air still and clean and not only 100 meters away from the venue is complete silence apart from our sparse dialogue between paces. I was told before arrival not too expect night life akin to Copenhagen, and wouldn’t say I was looking for that. I always viewed Norway as a jewel of natural environment, and now I found myself there for something closer to my regular night-life routine. Out by the water peering down the narrow streets bordering Oslo’s old town with much of the locale at home in quiet hours there is a clear feeling in the crisp night air. On the way back to the venue to see Varg my friend asks,”Do you know anything about what Varg is about to play?” “No,” I reply “But whatever it is he will probably have champagne with him.”

You can never know what to expect musically when Varg gives a live set. With such a range and nearly brash aplomb in his selection you can always know that regardless of what he decides it will certainly and also mildly humorously be on his terms. Heading back to the backstage loft to charge my camera I am able to view much of the performance from a large window overlooking the entire space. Ranging from romantic ambiance to nearly hip-hop inspired harsh noise, the set felt like a goodie bag, or a massive show and tell of the large variety of things Rönnberg is working on. Gracious and considerate in the evening, it made me happy to see someone who at this point is certainly not a small name in the electronic scene playing in such an intimate setting. From my perch I could see the whole crowded room with a small but devoted scene. They were there to see Varg and he was giving them a wonderful evening.

“You really fucked me up over there” a girl backstage says to Rahbek. “Yeah, what was that? What is your concept?” Interrupted (we were in the middle of a conversation) but not visibly slighted Loke answers, “I am not sure I have a concept” Hansen had just left the room during an nice conversation about music and feelings which Rahbek and I continued. We discuss many things, current projects, current thoughts and musings on if some noise music can be viewed as audible paintings. People are swarming as Varg’s set comes to a close, and each member of the experimental techno band is getting ready for the finale. Varg coming up the steps with a large grin remarks “It felt good! Yeah, went well! Up for another round” I pick up my half charged camera battery and hope it lasts me the night, it’s time for some real fun and for Varg and Stadsgaard to give a second performance.

(The story continues below…)

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In my view The Empire Line has to be one of the most interesting, entertaining and all-out pure dope groups to ever exist in Europe. Headed equally by noise and techno stalwarts Christian Stadsgaard, Varg and Berlin-based (formerly Copenhagen) Isak Hansen the music is an eclectic blend of the three’s styles employing gritty techno and a generous amount of blazing lyrics from an intense and direct Hansen. Its the type of sound that not only engages on an expansive, nerve stimulating sensual level, but is also highly danceable and completely un- ignorable if you are in the same room. Heading down the steps as the first glimpses of noise begin to engulf the room I remember a snippet from my conversation earlier with another attendee as the subject shifted to Empire Line. “I like them” he said, “ I feel like they are all my guilty pleasures.” I am not in the mood to for guilt, I think it’s time for pure pleasure. I rush down the steps past Rahbek in the doorway, he smiles and I grab his arm “No-one else is doing this!” he laughs and nods in agreement. The lights start blinking and the first thing you hear is a recording proclaiming,” You are now listenting too the world famous Empire Line.”

There are a few acts that make me forget myself or any worries of looking cool in the slightest. After overdosing on their latest album “Rave” and feeling bad for the last two months for missing them live at Berghain I am ready to go ham. Working pre-dominantly with new material and performing together seamlessly I find myself impressed that these three individuals with related, yet different sound preferences and constantly fluctuating geographic circumstances can come together so quickly. The music is intense and Hansen in particular with his characteristic prominent tattoo’s can make the band feel foreboding to newcomer’s on first glance, but if you look closer at the way they move and work together you discover something more chummy. They are enjoying themselves, and carving a new genre from the tired ashes of traditional hard-core music. This is sounds with a techno base surrounded by harsh ambient noise and the screams of a thousand ravers channeled through Hansen. It’s bombastic, entertaining, perhaps over the top (in the best way) and oddly introspective at certain junctures.

Normally at the start of an Empire Line performance people are slightly shocked and not quite sure what to do. The amount of talent behind the controls, the visceral and electrifying sound coupled with Hansen’s committed screaming barrage can be daunting at first. As the set wore on and people started to get used to it a polarizing energy became apparent. If you weren’t in the mood for dancing you hugged the walls and banged your head and if all you could think about was moving the middle of the floor was your new home. I took my jacket off, set my Camera on my most trusted setting and went into full dance mode. Maybe the room was rocking, maybe it was more conservative with a largely first time Empire Line audience but it didn’t matter I didn’t want any of it to pass me by. The new Material thrills and will be fun to grow accustomed to in the near future. The songs change and the interludes between Hansen’s vocals are more pronounced, but the intensity, fun and commitment remain unspoiled. Recently @Daddydubrovnik was opened as a fan account on Instagram for the legendary duo of Rahbek and Stadsgaard in “Damien Dubrovnik” proclaiming themselves to be “Denmarks most underrated boy band.” If that is indeed true, then The Empire Line is Europe’s most underrated. Not sure how much longer that will last, with recent outings in Berghain, Tresor and a new album posted on infamous Youtube techno-channel “HATE” the cat is either out or close to leaving the bag. In a night of transitionary material this was the perfect ending.

After gathering my things, I make my way to the patio on the water and there is a small crowd surrounding Varg. By now I seem to have made a small group of local buddies and we leave the venue in a small crowd and head to a local bar further down river. Its a buzzing, intimate and jovial little place. Most of the drinks are (as with typical Norwegian standards) on the very pricey side, and I’ve already filled up on Varg’s extra Champagne and my Blå drinking allowance so I stick with a small beer. “This is maybe the only proper bar in Oslo” one of my new friends admits, “The drinking laws are much stricter here.” I hear it’s illegal for a Norwegian to serve a visibly drunk person alcohol in a bar, but I don’t get the impression that this rule is being followed very closely in this setting. Out front huddled in a group the discussion turns to music and the thirst for it in this region. Thoroughly hospitable and friendly we exchange contacts and make deals to travel to eachother’s cities for the “big events.” It’s a bit past 3 and I have a bus at 9 and another full night ahead of me with Knife and Lowlife Scum back in CPH … It’s time to go sleep.

Unfortunately that didn’t really happen, I had the Airbnb host from hell. Slinking in the same corner on a small table wide awake in his underpants the Gollum look-alike wasn’t asleep and proceeded to stare in my bedrooms direction with patterns of intermittent heavy breathing. Freaked out and without a lock on my door to feel any marginal security I lay awake all night waiting for daylight. Around 6 when I figured I most likely wasn’t headed for a mysterious disappearance in my sleep that would end up in daytime television re-run stories for years, I got one hour of fitful rest before bailing out the door to an early departure. Once clear of the wretched apartment close to the Royal Oslo Theater I find myself crossing over the river once more. Calm, constant and momentous I enjoy an apple and watch it flow. The energy from the night before reaching out from Blå upstream trickles back into my veins and enlivens my exhausted, temporarily traumatized mind. It was a tale of two nights for me, one super nice, the other totally wack. For the Posh people a trip to Holland imminently awaits. I’m not sure how much my need for rest will interrupt my hopes of viewing a large portion of the Swedish countryside on the bus trip home, but for now I can look ahead to Mayhem later and the feeling of constancy the river brings. There is a river that flows through the heart of Oslo, and at this juncture I stand on the cusp of it’s outlet to the sea as the last of the leftover vapors from the night before whips past me as new memories. Time to depart. It will be 8 hours before we reach home. Vi ses Oslo, good luck Posh, tak Blå.

Intonal Festival – En fejring af eksperimentel musik i alle former (interview)

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Intonal poster

Af Alexander Julin

Intonal Festival startede i 2014 med en hjælpende hånd fra bl.a. CTM Festival og Unsound. Festivalen er med årene blevet et mere selvstændigt foretagende, hvis kuratering vidner om en særegen profil, der ikke blot er sammenfaldende med de aktører, der i sin tid bidrog til at etablere Intonal. For fjerde år er Intonal med til at sætte Malmö på landkortet og derved gøre op med enhver given antagelse om, at de mest interessante kulturelle begivenheder nødvendigvis finder sted i eller omkring hovedstadsområdet.

Intonal er dog ikke opstået ud af det blå. Musiker, labelejer og booker Ulf Eriksson har været med til at forme musiklivet i Malmö i adskillige år, bl.a. som del af den hedengangne festival Full Pull såvel som Kontra-Musik Festival, der fandt sted i 2005-2007. Kontra-Musik var en form for miniudgave af, hvad der siden er blevet til Intonal.

Nu er Intonal derimod alt andet end en minifestival. Spredt ud over fem dage i slutningen af april byder dette års festival på 39 kunstnere, der på forskellig vis viser diversiteten af den nutidige, primært elektroniske musik, som den har udviklet sig i og uden for Skandinavien i senere år. Programmet byder på enkelte hovedskikkelser, hvis karriere og inspirerende musik går længere tilbage end blot de seneste år (heriblandt Charlemagne Palestine og Fennesz), men også på koncerter fra bl.a. DJ LAG, Pan Daijing, Group A, Elysia Crampton, Don’t DJ, Equiknoxx såvel som danske Courtesy og Valby Vokalgruppe.

Det er derfor også så godt som umuligt at beskrive festivalens profil og lineup med andet end udvandede floskler såsom “eksperimentel, elektronisk musik”. Ud over at dette års lineup holder en høj kvalitet, er det især diversiteten, der udgør slagkraften ved festivalen. Programmet rummer adskillige alternative og farverige udtryk, hvilket Eriksson selv ser som essentielt for festivalen: “Color is a keyword to how we program. We like colorful music, less so the black and white techno vibe. Also it is important that Intonal is actually a party, a celebration of experimental music in all its forms.

På imponerende vis præsenterer Intonal et program, der på ingen måde har karakter af gravalvorlige og akademiserede eksperimenter, men heller ikke holder sig tilbage med at præsentere udfordrende og grænsesøgende artister fra hele verden. Det er et bemærkelsesværdigt initiativ om at vedligeholde morskaben i det udfordrende og skabe en fest, hvor musikken er det primære fokus.

I Danmark har vi kunnet opleve en tiltagende decentralisering af det musikalske kulturliv, hvor både Kolding, Odense, Aarhus og Aalborg i stigende grad sætter sig selv på landkortet. Intonal fremstår på samme vis som et essentielt foretagende, der viser, at det ikke blot er større byer som Göteborg og Stockholm, at der er plads til – og brug for – musikalsk progressivitet og diversitet. I anledning af dette års festival bringer P/A derfor et interview med Ulf Eriksson om festivalen.

P/A: How did the intention to start Intonal Festival originally come about?

Ulf: “I applied for money several years in a row for a collaboration with the CTM festival and the Unsound festival. Finally, some money came our way but it was extremely late, like in December, and we were supposed to launch our first festival late April. A few months are certainly not enough time to book and produce a festival. I remember I went down to Berlin and the CTM festival to have a quick meeting with Gosia form Unsound and Jan from CTM. They were super tired from attending the festival for a week already. Anyway, there and then we sort of planned most of the lineup. I had a lot of help from these two festivals those first two years. They are very well connected and helped to get a decent program together in a very short time. So the first years of Intonal were really a joint effort between Intonal, CTM and Unsound. And also Inter Arts Center (IAC) and Elektronmusikstudion (EMS) contributed a lot.”

P/A: Are there any other festivals or venues in or outside of Sweden that originally inspired you to launch Intonal?

Ulf: “I did a smaller version of Intonal back in 2005, 2006 and 2007. A festival called Kontra-Musik festival. After that I promised myself never to do a festival again. But here we are. A new bloody festival on my shoulders, haha. Anyway, I have always been kind of close to the ICAS network of international festivals. Both through my work with Kontra-Musik Records, my booking agency and also through another Malmö based festival called Full Pull (rest in peace). These network festivals were all inspirations in one way or another.”

P/A: Have your ambitions and intentions in regard to the festival changed since you began in 2014?

Ulf: “Well, of course. You learn along the way. And you always want to do things better. In 2014 everything was produced in three months with very small funding. This time we were able, for the first time, to start working on the festival already in October. This has given us the opportunity to curate it much better. The flow of the program will be much smoother this year, I would say. And the program, for Malmö standards, is incredibly strong. Ambitions always grow at the same pace as the project grows.”

P/A: In what sense, if any, would you say that Intonal as a festival has changed since its beginning?

Ulf: “I think the main thing is better curation, better production, bigger audiences and the inclusion of several off-venue events or “odd things” happening around the city. It feels like a real festival now. CTM and Unsound are not very much involved these days either, so we are more on our way to find our own identity.”

P/A: What are your considerations behind the planning of the festivals overall lineup? Can you specify the musical scope and qualities (such as matters of gender-representation, geographic or cultural diversity, for example), that you wish to represent at Intonal?

Ulf: “One goal is to have a 50% gender balance. But it is nothing we talk about or use to get press etc. It is just something we do. I think the first year we had a balance of 40/60 in favor of men and now it is almost the other way around. But it is not even that much of an effort to book like this anymore. There are so many great acts out there at the moment. This year, we also look more towards the Arab world and also Asia than before. We will also do a showcase together with Mutek Canada this year. So a bit less focus on Europe. Apart from all the politics of booking a festival, we try to do a diverse program where the super nerdy meets more entertaining performative acts. Color is a keyword to how we program. We like colorful music, less so the black and white techno vibe. Also it is important that Intonal is actually a party, a celebration of experimental music in all its forms. It should be fun to visit Intonal, it should be fun and not dead serious to take part inof experimental sounds.”

P/A: Are there any specific acts this year, that you’d say especially reflects the essence of the festival?

Ulf: “Damn, that is a hard question. For me the essence of the festival is the broadness of the program, and the smallness, the intimacy. If you visit the full festival, you actually get a good chance to meet people – artists as well. Artists, workers, press and audience share the same space, which makes the event very familiar and cozy. You can really make new friends. Another important aspect is, again, to show the audience that really weird experimental sounds do not have to be boring. Intonal is actually a great party, only there is no “normal” party music programmed. This has been an important mission for me to achieve. There are so many preconceptions you have to work against, especially in a small city like Malmö. Anyway, not one act can show the essence of the festival. Instead it is the wild mixture. Still maybe Group A (JP) could be a good act to summon things up. They are kind of punky, performative and extrovert, which I think is important to contrast all the serious music.”

P/A: How do you view the musical scene and cultural life in Malmö, compared to that of Stockholm or Gothenburg for instance?

Ulf: “Well, Stockholm and Copenhagen are capitals. Scenes in capitals are always more nervous, anxious and trendy. The hunt for the newest and hippest thing is always more important. Fashion becomes key. In Malmö the situation is different. If you move away from the standard tech house, and instead try to put on some music that actually is a bit different or challenging, people get suspicious and scared. The Malmö citizen, generally speaking, is a bit lazy and seldom super curious. Some say the city has its own mentality. Malmö is a good place to live or to have as a base, and the city for sure has soul and it is a unique city in Sweden. The parties are very good and the audience response is always much better than in the capitals. People actually have fun instead of worrying if something is hip. In Malmö we have a good time. On the other end this is a small city with and the population who like the weird shit is not super big.

P/A: What do you see as the greatest benefits and challenges of making a festival like Intonal in Malmö?

Ulf: “People do not like to pay for culture in this city. People expect it to be free. And it’s very hard to convince the Malmo citizens to leave their comfort zone. So that is the main challenge I would say. To make the Malmö crowd actually pay for something they do not know very much about, something new. To the regular Malmö citizen, a cold beer will always win over any kind of cultural experience.”

P/A: How does Inkonst as a venue suit or challenge your idea of the ordinary or ideal circumstances to experience the musical lineup?

Ulf: “I think Inkonst works well for the program. The closeness of the different stages is a very strong thing about the festival. You can actually see everything if you want. The main part of the program is basically in one place. At CTM for instance I always miss everything. It is so spread out, the program is so gigantic, it just makes me paralyzed. On the other hand, Inkonst is a legal venue, and we have to adapt to all the laws and rules. I mean in Sweden, nothing, literary nothing is allowed. Haha. That part is kind of frustrating.”

P/A: In Denmark, the main part of the music cultural environment is centered in and around Copenhagen. But especially in later years, there has been a cultural blossoming of more musically challenging and independent festivals, venues and bands in other smaller towns as well, such as Kolding, Aarhus, Aalborg and Odense. Why is it important for you to contribute to the musical environment in Malmö? Is there anything specific about (your relationship to) Malmö, that plays a certain role in your underlying motivation for the festival?

Ulf: “Well, I am doing this festival for Malmö. Intonal can never compete with festivals like Mutek, CTM or Unsound where people from all over the world is gathering. I have been pushing new sounds in Malmö for over 20 years. Trying to make people interested in something more and different than the normal, safe Malmö music profile. That is sort of my mission in life. I try to make people curious about new things, especially in music. This is what I do, and will continue to do until I die. This is my destiny, for better and for worse. Haha.”

Info: Intonal finder sted d. 25-30. april på bl.a. Inkonst.


Rewire Festival – Crossing decades and genres with Laurie Anderson (and then going into the dark)

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Laurie Anderson Pieter Kers

Rewire Festival, The Hague, Netherlands, April 6-8 2018 – live report by Mette Slot Johnsen. Photo by Pieter Kers, Rewire.

In its 8th year Rewire Festival – The Hague’s festival for adventurous music – is adding a new concept to the already progressive programming. The Artist In Focus strand is the festival’s attempt to go further in-depth with two selected artists; a headliner and a New Artist in Focus, i.e. an upcoming artist. Each artist participates in talks and performances and has several works presented in various forms throughout the weekend.

This year’s Artist in Focus is befittingly Laurie Anderson. Crossing decades, music genres, and art forms she makes a perfect – and very popular – first pick. She hits squarely in the musical heart and head of the Rewire audience.

Anderson’s residency at Rewire starts with a screening of her 2015 film “Heart of a Dog” about LolaBell, her deceased rat terrier. The death of Anderson’s dog inspired her to make a film essay about life, learning, love and loss in general. The film is a meditative film pieced together of prose, chalk drawings on blackboard (preferred for their temporality), Super 8 footage and archive material manipulated to make the whole experience that of a dream.

These elements are present throughout Anderson’s many performances over the weekend. Saturday afternoon Anderson is in conversation with Wire magazine’s supervising editor, Emily Bick. The conversation flows like a chat between old friends, Bick and Anderson clearly being familiar with each other and not least each other’s work. Functioning as a broad retrospective of Anderson’s oeuvre, the talk sets a perfect framework for the following performances. As an unannounced guide through the current near-end times, Anderson’s warm wit and calm reflections bring a refreshing sense of constant wonder into the picture. Embracing the inevitable and finding sense in the senseless.

Despite Anderson’s insistence that she couldn’t write The Kronos Quartet a string quartet – when they started their co-joint project leading to this year’s release, “Landfall” – she’s clearly very able. A few hours after her talk she presents the Ragazze Quartet’s performance of her string quartet “Sol”, which she wrote in 1977 in memory of her mentor, the artist and sculptor Sol Lewitt.
The theatre has been cleared and in the centre of the open space the Ragazze quartet stand in a circle facing each other. The audience are spread 360 degrees, the light is low, and the floor is littered with cushions and bean bags. While invited to experience the music as the installation piece it was intended to be, most people lay back and listen intently to the intricate figure 8 melodies swirling in and out of each other, with a large disco ball spinning around silently above, casting a myriad of light spots into the darkness. The concert is intimate and meditative. As the music repeats minimalist patterns a sense of hypnosis sets in, which comes to an end as the music somewhat suddenly begins to build as if getting closer to surfacing from a deep sleep. Everyone comes out of the room a bit dazed.

It’s difficult to describe Anderson’s festival finale performance in The Hague’s Grote Kerk (big church), a beautiful setting with predictably grand acoustics. Rewire has an exceptionally high production value on their shows, meaning that lighting and sound is generally excellent and the concert experience is taken to another level. The queue snakes around the block, and as the sun sets, the cold creeps in. Inside the church there is a low stage holding a table with assorted tech, an amp, an arm chair with a small table, and a large screen backdrop. Anderson appears and takes a seat in the chair. Chalk drawings on blackboard illustrate her words, each drawing photographed and stop-motion animated until there is nothing left of the original but the dirty white streaks, like ghosts of words and images.

The over-arching theme is loss: Loss of people, things, memories and purpose. And elections.
Before performing any music the performance requires a brief bit of audience participation; Anderson describes the eerie silence across the city the day after the latest presidential election. Pierced by a terrifying scream which she has been hearing daily since: That of Yoko Ono responding in one note to New York Times’ request of her for a response to the 2016 election result. So to set the scene the audience are invited to scream with Anderson. From the pit of our stomachs. For 10 seconds. It’s exhilarating. Then the music begins.

She moves through themes like home – the US being at war with itself and what this means for the times we live in – and stories: How do we tell about the end times, and who will there be to tell it to? If no one’s listening, is a story even a story? She describes it as a new existential crisis; we each have our own story we subscribe to but we don’t even really know what a story is anymore.
Anderson is dry and funny and movingly reflects on life with Lou Reed by addressing the loss of all future conversations with him after 21 years of having access to them. In general she found that upon losing all her archive and a lot of synths and other hardware to Hurricane Sandy, that merely noting them down and remembering them was enough. She quickly after felt relieved at the forced loss of things. Knowing that memories persist.

She demonstrates Tai Chi, described as fighting or dancing with a ghost, which seems pertinent on the back of her reference to her departed husband. She references Henry Thoreau’s Walden cabin – famously isolated in the woods – noting that it was in fact merely yards from the marital/family home which Thoreau was so disillusioned with.
She addresses technology, how we must start to realise it won’t save us, and rather than relying on it for that, merely use it for the things where it’s genuinely useful. Language in the future is digital; switching on and off like a current running through our bodies. Her alter ego/clone Fenway Bergamot appears a few times, sounding a bit creepy and distorted in the big room.
And she part tells the story of the ancient Greek play “The Birds” by Aristophanes, drawing analogies on walls and borders. Between anecdotes, musings and dry wit she weaves in a stream of music. Playing her violin to a paired back track of the recent Kronos Quartet recordings, or songs and music from “Homeland”, “Heart of A Dog” and older releases.

When Anderson talks about Buddhist teachings, it’s non-imposing; it’s as if she merely passes on her learning to her audience, by encouraging us to live in the moment and reflect over the world we’re within, without losing sight of the importance of remembering that we’re here to have a good time!
There are several ways of doing this; learning to feel sad without being sad; being afraid of No-one; and getting and using an excellent Bullshit Detector.
Suitably for the space it’s very much a spiritual experience, only it’s led by the godmother of experimental electronic art music. This would have made first communion a lot more fun!

There are many more artists in programme worth exploring as well as the debate and discussion forum the festival aims to create in the progressive arts, by insisting that artists ideally should us their voice to be heard and actively engage in the world they reflect. The following are only a few examples:

A hooded figure is stood facing the back of the stage leaning over the mixing desk. We never see a face or even much movement, but the sounds and visuals speak for themselves. Fatima Al Qadiri has put us in a dark place, so we may as well dance.
Heavy bass, ambient, warbling keys and slowly buoyant synthetic sounding beats blend into an intense soundscape. Samples of Arabic voices and news soundbites lie low in the mix, making it slightly disorientating; a sense which is heightened by copious amounts of smoke pouring out from the side of the stage and into the triple level club venue Paard 1.
Dreamy pastel colours meld into primary colour patterns, framing Al Qadiri as a lone silhouette against the smoke and the projection. Refusing to engage, or even seemingly register the presence of the audience keeps the focus firmly on the music and allows for the audience to somewhat hypnotised follow the gentle build up as Fatima Al Qadiri opens the ball for the night.

Chino Amobi’s show juxtaposes Kanye-esque dancing and gesturing with Moor Mother-esque confrontation and sound.
As per all computer-based artists on Rewire Amobi stands at his desk with sizeable monitors blasting his own sound back at him as he’s sending it into the room with shuddering bass, abrasive distorted shouting, Bulgarian choir samples and a constant projection back drop of shoot out video game footage, blurry news footage and a haunting image of identity papers floating in water.

The whole experience is like being in an aural war zone, and Amobi keeps cranking up the atmosphere as he plays ‘hits’ like the trumpet sample driven “Blackout”, sounding distinctly like the heralding of a battle. The full effect is intense and heightened further as he jumps into audience with his mic, shouting and dancing creating a shawl of equally fascinated and slightly intimidated festival goers, partly partying with him and making sure not to get in his way. Amobi’s music has been described as “violent music for violent times”, and it’s difficult to put it much better than that.

Chino Amobi’s latest record, “Paradiso”, was featured on P/A’s best albums of 2017 list). He will perform at this year’s Click Festival in Elsinore.

Juliana Huxtable is one of the artists who are pre-setting their shows by taking part in the festival talks programme. The day before her performance she discusses her work focusing on gender, race, queer politics and approach to online activism, and talks at length about addressing political differences and social media conflicts by engaging with trolls and focusing on the shared experiences as opposed to perceived differences.
At her concert these themes are explored in the spoken word she performs to an underlay of electronics, paired with harp and drums + piano, performed by Ahya Simone and Joe Heffernan (a regular collaborator of Huxtable’s) respectively.

The trio perform “Triptych”; Huxtable reading out and part singing – and distorting – personal reflections on love and desire, sexuality and discrimination. In a dramatic white outfit and high heels she claims a lot of space in Grote Kerk, and her no holds-barred lyrics reverberate around the room, creating an effect of several voices shouting pushed along by thunderous drums, sparse piano and surprisingly powerful harp. The experience is partly like an exorcism of failed gender politics, part performance art and fully a roar against binary led conservatism as embodied in the performance space. It works beautifully as an example of the festival’s innovative programming and use of space.

Zone Collective – Thoughts on how to transgress the algorithms (interview)

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Zone Collective

By Simon Christensen – Photo: Stole it from your Facebook, sorry!

Contributing to a warm and immigration friendly climate in the musical underground, the electronic- and avantgarde-scenes of Copenhagen have been a hub for a lot of great people stopping by Denmark for longer or shorter periods of time. It’s not necessarily a public secret, but, to me at least, it’s something to bear in mind, when I choose my parties.

One of the more overlooked Copenhagen-based organisers is the open collective called ZONE, run by musicians and art school-friends Toby Ridler and Lorenzo Tebano. Toby still lives in Berlin, but is moving to Copenhagen this summer. Zone Collective have been setting up concerts and club nights in Glasgow, London, around the UK, and during the past year touring Europe out of the Copenhagen-base, where Mayhem has been their main playground in public.

“Zone Collective is so far mainly run by Toby and Lorenzo, we just want to support our friends, and not have to deal with the bullshit industry that suffocates and torments a lot of peoples artistic practices. We are inclusive, and always open to meeting new and like-minded artists that are serious about what they do, and care about the community and context that we enter into when sharing ideas, art and music.

So many scenes are spoilt for choice, and it can be intimidating, feeling like you’re treading on people’s toes, or taking light away from the seasoned players. We say ‘fuck that’. Just because you don’t have the money or contacts or feel like you aren’t needed, or appreciated… We want to give people the motivation to tread all over bigger players’ toes, Facebook algorithms shouldn’t stop you, likes and shares don’t mean anything when you are committed to doing things with friends that support you. Kill your idols!”

This week the Zone Collective release their first tape-compilation, which is premiered in this feature for the first time in full length, counting friends like Sue Zuki and Kleft (an alias for Vickie McDonald) from Glasgow, Mun Sing from the Bristol-duo Giant Swan, Mayhem-resident Sortsyn (aka Ejving Chang), as well as Ridler and Tebano themselves performing under their own aliases.

In an earlier incarnation Zone Collective have been connecting “the dots between techno, noise and sound design”, lately they have labelled themselves as bridging “experimental futurist punk and noir acid pop”, but whatever way one needs to describe abstract music, the range of this new compilation is best characterized as an embrace of the current European diy-networks.

“The tape is a compilation of music from friends and musical criminals we have been working and putting on shows with over the last year or so. We mainly just work with our friends and these tracks were selected since they just really represent who we are as a body of anarchic musicians who want to push more abrasive sounds, electronic music with a punk spirit from people who care about and support each other, and are deeply committed to their artistic practices,” Toby Ridler explains.

“Our ‘vision’ for Zone Collective in Copenhagen, is to contribute to the scene here, and to support artists that want to do the same, artists that find deep meaning and solace in making art, when the mainstream society seems all the more so to be running in a different direction. The reason why we have done all our shows at Mayhem is because of how open the space is for artists and musicians, not just to put on shows, but to be responsible for the running of the venue, to have the creative freedom to design the space as they/we want it and it also, I don’t know why, but always seems to have the best vibe and people are always up for moving there bodies, and freeing themselves up to experience new things with open minds!”

Info: The release of Zone Collective “Compilation Vol 1.” (another one is already in the works…) will be celebrated with multiple concerts at Mayhem featuring Mun Sing, Ridler, Sortsyn, LAF Tebano, Gel and Ro (Chris Shields) tonight, Friday April 27th (RSVP).

Pernille Abd-El Dayem – At give værket en ny krop (interview)

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Af Ida Selvejer Faaborg

Pernille Abd-El Dayem udgav tidligere i april sin anden bog, “June”. Det er socialrealisme, af den drømmende slags, om relationer, ensomhed, kærligheden til det ødelagte og ønsket om at kunne holde sammen på sig selv. Et par uger inden udgivelsen af “June” blev noget så bemærkelsesværdigt som en titelsang til bogen offentliggjort. Sangen ”Beige Mur Med Z” er lavet af June Orchestra og udkom via det københavnske selskab Visage. Her bliver der gjort brug af klassiske instrumenter som klaver, violin, fløjte og horn, hvor hvert instrument indtager en meget selvstændig plads i sangen og leder tankerne hen på kammermusik. Lyrikken i sangen, der bliver sunget flerstemmigt (men af den samme stemme), er en parafrase af et teksten “En Beige Mur” fra romanen.

Bogen bevæger sig i mellem to tekstspor. Det ene spor kredser om den unge Junes ferieophold, hvor hun dagdrømmende og ensom vandrer rundt i den italienske by Porousa og bl.a. møder den fascinerende og mystiske kvinde Z, som hun famlende indleder et venskab med. Det andet spor indeholder glimtvise erindringer om Junes barndom og opvækst i boligområdet Engrylehaven, med den bestemte mor, den lettere grænseløse morfar og onklen, der er heroinmisbruger og ikke kan holde sammen på sig selv.

P/A mødte Pernille Abd-El Dayem til en snak om romanen, idéen bag titelsangen og om hvad disse to værker gør for hinanden.

P/A: Hvad var tanken bag at give din roman en titelsang?

Pernille: ”Jeg tror, det var, fordi jeg godt kunne lide, at der var flere dimensioner – at skriften og bogformen ikke var det eneste, der fandtes. At det brudstykke af teksten, som sangen er bygget op om, også kunne få lov til at få en anden krop. Ligesom jeg har gået meget op i, at omslaget skal give mening, og at det skal være flot, så kan jeg også godt lide idéen om, at der findes nogle ting omkring teksten, en slags accessories eller nogle amuletter, som giver en god energi, der skinner ind i bogen. At bogen afkaster ting. Sangen kan måske også være en åbning af bogen. Hvis nogen hører den, kan det være, de tænker, at det er et univers, de gerne vil høre mere til.”

P/A: Det er meget svært at finde information om June Orchestra…

Pernille: ”Jeg kan egentlig meget godt lide, at man ikke behøver at vide, hvem der har lavet sangen. Det er musikere, som alle har spillet med i Ydegirl. Men hvis de kaldte sig Ydegirl i denne sammenhæng, ville sangen være en del af deres værk og projekt. Det syntes hverken de eller jeg var meningen – meningen var, at det skulle være et orkester, som havde lavet en sang til “June”. Det er ikke, fordi det er en hemmelighed, hvem der har lavet sangen, men jeg synes ikke, at det er så vigtigt at vide, hvor de kommer fra. Det vigtigste for mig er, at det er personer, jeg holder af og beundrer, som jeg bad lave sangen.”

P/A: Var der noget ved ”En Beige Mur”, den tekst sangen bygger på, der kaldte på en musikalsk fortolkning?

Pernille: ”Det er en passage, som June Orchestra har valgt at lave en sang ud fra. Men det er nok på grund af, at denne passage har en drømmende rytme over sig, fordi June går alene rundt, og det kaldte på en form for musikalitet. Via sangens titel, ”Beige Mur Med Z”, bliver Z også skrevet ind et sted i bogen, hvor hun slet ikke er. På det tidspunkt i bogen har June altså slet ikke mødt Z endnu, og på denne måde forholder sangen sig drømmende til bogen, som en slags omvendt nostalgi, hvilket jeg synes er fint.”

P/A: Afspejler stemningen i “Beige Mur Med Z” en stemning som findes i June? Kan den ses som en måde at læse bogen på?

Pernille: ”Jeg synes, at June Orchestras sang meget præcist rammer en stemning i bogen. F.eks. indeholder det langtrukne mellemspil med violin og horn en blanding af sørgmodighed og lystighed, som jeg tror passer June godt. Derudover går de lange flader i sangen godt i spænd med nogle af de lange ferieflader, hvor June går rundt og er ensom, men på en måde stadig har det ret lækkert i sin forladthed. Her synes jeg, at bogen og sangen komplimenterer og beriger hinanden.

Samtidig tillader sangen sig også at være ret simpel. Den forløser ikke sig selv alt for meget. Den indeholder ikke et vildt omkvæd, men derimod bliver stemningen meget den samme gennem hele sangen. Sangen har en lav-intens, men intens energi, synes jeg. Det er meget loyalt mod June, fordi hun også kun meget punktvist bliver forløst.

Men det er heller ikke meningen, at sangen skal styre stemningen for meget. Jeg tror virkelig bare, at stemningen passer utrolig godt med den stemning, jeg forbinder med June og hendes temperament som karakter eller figur. Det er meget præcist. Det giver June et ekstra sted at være.”

P/A: Der er også noget over, at det bare er én enkelt sang. Hvis det var et helt album, kunne det være, at det styrede læsningen for meget.

Pernille: ”Ja, men det kunne også være spændende – så ville det virkelig spalte sig ud i to værker og være to endnu mere adskilte ting. At det er en enkelt sang, gør også, at den ikke har sagt for meget.”

P/A: Det er nok også en god definition på en titelmelodi.

Pernille: ”Ja, bogen er jo inddelt i nogle korte kapitler, som man måske også kan tænke på som episoder. Jeg tænkte på et tidspunkt romanen som en slags sæson eller en sitcom på bogform, og det var også i denne periode, at idéen til en titelsang opstod. At sangen er noget, der indvarsler det afsnit, vi skal til at se.”

P/A: I starten af sangen kan man svagt høre nogle små klip af reallyde. Det giver nærmest en følelse af rent fysisk at være, hvor June er. Har det været intentionen med sangen? Altså nærmest at give June en stemme og en placering uden for værket?

Pernille: ”Ja, det kan man sige. Det er hele idéen om en sang, egentlig – at der er en stemme, der synger Junes stemme. Så det er helt klart også en måde at rykke på idéen om, at værket kun findes i bogen.

Disse glimt af reallyde kan også afspejle den måde, hvorpå det udenom også hele tiden trænger sig på i June. At hun er lidt gennemhullet, fordi hun hele tiden bliver påvirket af dufte, lyde eller af folk, hun møder. Hun bliver også meget let forstyrret. Så reallydene kan også tænkes som små dryp af forskellige verdener, der trænger sig på samtidig. Drøm og realplan bryder ligesom ind i hinanden i Junes vandring gennem byen Porousa.

Men der er noget vildt spændende ved reallydene, da de er meget subtile i sangen – man kan næsten ikke høre dem. I værket er der også en tekst, hvor et vindue bliver åbnet, og nogle stemmer siver ud. Jeg tror også godt, reallydene kan være små vinduer, der bliver åbnet i byen.”

P/A: Ofte bliver poesien jo overført til musik, men man ser det sjældent ske med romanformen. Alligevel synes jeg, det giver utrolig fin mening, da det litterære sprog i “June” indeholder en poetisk kraft, der gør, at hver sætning nærmest kan læses som et lille digt. Kan du fortælle lidt om din litterære stil?

Pernille: ”Det handler nok om, at handlingen er så adstadig. I feriesporet, hvor handlingen også finder sted, er der en adstadig bevægen sig fremad, en bevægen sig igennem byen, gennem dagene. Det har nok noget at gøre med, at June ikke skal noget bestemt sted hen. Hun er også, som hun selv siger til Z på et tidspunkt, underligt viljeløs. Hun er mest målrettet lokalt, og det er måske også derfor, det giver mening for hende at være i de her sætninger eller afsnit, som nogle gange kan skabe en lille verden i sig selv. Det er, som om hun kan forsvinde ind i mange lokale ting i bogen, mange lokale sætninger. Den kraft, der trækker hende fremad, gennem dagene og gennem livet, får modspil af disse sætninger, som ikke nødvendigvis vil fortælle noget, der skal føre romanen fremad, men derimod fortæller de nogle lokale plamager af sanselighed og af materialitet. Hun forsvinder ned i punkter, som f.eks. ned i en muffin eller i en anden kvindes hestehale. Den lokale sanselighed og materialitet kan give June mod på livet. Lyst til livet. Men hun dvæler, stener og går i hak. Man kan blive så begejstret over noget, over livet, at der er en risiko for at flyde ud eller at forsvinde ud i omgivelserne. Men så bliver der alligevel sat et punktum, og så kan hun komme videre. Det, der interesserer mig er, hvordan vi privilegerede mennesker alle hele tiden kan sætte os ned, flyde ud og gå i stykker – men hvad er det, der gør, at vi lader være? Et vigtigere, men afledt, spørgsmål kunne være: På hvilken måde lader vi være?”

Info: “June” udkom på forlaget Gyldendal d. 6. april 2018.

Passive/Aggressive – New nonprofit zine on activism in contemporary music

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ZINE7

The seventh edition of the ZINE by Passive/Aggressive, which deals with the complex relation between music and politics, is released in April 2018 and distributed at production price.

The contributors and participants in this new issue are artists, improvisors and writers of the current experimental music sphere such as Príncipe, Black Quantum Futurism, Lisa Blanning, Greg Fox, Rabih Beaini and Nynne Roberta Pedersen Pedersen. Marta Pina provided photos from and the cover art was put completely into the hands of Iceage-frontman Elias Bender Rønnenfelt, who is also an accomplished visual artist.

Recent years have seen a surge in politicized art – from the activist strategies of the avant garde to the racial and feminist awareness of the mainstream. This is both cause for celebration and caution: In an increasingly toxic political landscape, music has the ability to move and enlighten people in ways, that are not accessible to rational discourse and to create spaces that allow for the envisioning of change and ultimately a better world. However one must always be alert when a phenomenon is popularized. When political indignation becomes fashionable, the bandwagon starts rolling, and the danger of the white middle class leaving its fetishized objects in the cultural gutter becomes imminent. One must therefore remain critical and not allow political art to be merely a trend!

ZINE #7 is our contribution to this discussion and presents important examples of activism in our contemporary global music scene. The magazine should not be read as an exhaustive account of this challenging field, but rather as a collection of voices, that reflect some of the ways in which music and politics are currently interacting.

“From our understanding of what is political, the music, the way it is produced and presented to an audience, and the very existence of the label, all that is inherently and inseparably political. The only message is in the action itself.” – Príncipe (interview)

“The powers and the thing we are actually fighting against, it does not give a fuck about noise music or jazz or anything. It does not care and it is not affected by transgressive art. That is not what is going to change anything, and you are not going to get the world of fucking oil and onto solar or renewable energy by playing noise. You are gonna change it by voting. […] Music and art can become the cultural network through which the facility of festivals and concerts bring people together to hopefully have these conversations with each other and strengthen these networks.” – Greg Fox (interview)

“The so-called political art and the political ‘left-wing activism’ have surely become positions of power, career makers and contributors to the capitalist system.” – Nynne Roberta Pedersen Pedersen (essay)

“Black Quantum Futurism is a means of exploring and developing modes and practices of spatiotemporal consciousness that would be more beneficial to marginalized peoples’ survival in a high-tech world currently dominated by oppressive linear time constructs.” – Raasheedah Phillips / Black Quantum Futurism

“Her collage approach, often beautifully messy and abrasive, implicitly opposes to the clean, neat production of the predominantly white (and male) tradition of electronic music. […] Elysia Crampton refuses to reproduce these ideas, disputing the concepts of individualism and ownership, and dismantling the high versus low culture division on the way.” – Ivna Franic (essay)

 

Passive/Aggressive ZINE #7
April 2018

Príncipe (interview)
Greg Fox (interview)
Black Quantum Futurism (essay)
Elysia Crampton (essay)
Ata Ebtekar aka Sote (interview)
Rabih Beaini (essay)
Cedrik Fermont (artist talk)
Come! Mend! (essay)
Nynne Roberta Pedersen Pedersen (essay)
Lisa Blanning (essay)
William Parker and Hamid Drake (artist talk)
Elias Bender Rønnenfelt (cover)

Distribution:
Ark Books, Møllegade, Copenhagen
Click Festival, 19.-20. maj 2018, Helsingør
Sort Kaffe & Vinyl, Skydebanegade, Copenhagen
Insula Music, Blågårdsgade, Copenhagen
Lydhør på en Søndag, Garagen i Øgaderne, Aarhus
Big Love Records, Harajuku Tokyo
Café Oto, 18-22 Ashwin St. London
Commend, 172 Forsyth St. New York
Staalplaat, Berlin
Underbelly c/o Worm, Boomgaardsstraat 71, Rotterdam

Print: Cyclus paper, 76 pages, offset print by Eks-Skolen, edition of 500. Front cover by Elias Bender Rønnenfelt. Photos by Marta Pina. Additional texts by Javier Orosco, Ivna Franic and Sandra S. Borch. Design by Susanne Benther Mouritzen, post production by KLD Repro. Released by the non-profit organization Passive/Aggressive. Supported by Roskilde Festival and The Danish Arts Council.

Mailorder from Big Cartel http://passiveaggressive.bigcartel.com/

Not Your World Music: Noise in South East Asia – Artist talk with Cedrik Fermont

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7. Not your world music – Artist talk with Cedrik Fermont.PICTURE01.jpg

Transcription by Simon Christensen and Javier Orozco.

Not Your World Music: Noise in South East Asia is a book by Cedrik Fermont and Dimitri della Faille about art, politics, identity, gender and global capitalism. From academic electronic music to do-it-yourself noise in Southeast Asia. Contemporary and past noise, electroacoustic, industrial, experimental music and sound art in Cambodia, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar/Burma, The Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam. With political, historical and sociological essays, exclusive interviews with artists and organizers, as well as an extensive bibliography of popular music from Southeast Asia and a thorough discography of noise and experimental music artists.

A compilation, which includes exclusive tracks from artists of these different regions, was released by Fermont’s label Syrphe as a companion to the book. “The compilation is an attempt to cover a varied range of noise and experimental music from Southeast Asia. Limited to just over one hour, the CD format does not allow us to fully cover the richness of the scene,” Syrphe states. “However, we did our best to include a diverse group of artists. We have selected female and male artists, DIY and academically trained musicians, and newcomers and established artists.” Not Your World Music: Noise in South East Asia was awarded the Prix Ars Electronica 2017.

C-drík is a composer who operates in the field of noise, electronic and electroacoustic sound since 1989, born in Zaire (DR Congo), he lives in Berlin (Germany). He explores electronic, experimental and noise music from Asia and Africa, label manager at Syrphe, concert organiser, author, radio host at Radio Staalplaat and Colaboradio, etc. He published his work on various labels such as Syrphe, Ant-Zen, Hymen, Hushush, Ad Noiseam, Nostalgie De La Boue and many more.

Cedrik Fermont (Syrphe) gave this artist talk at Jazzhouse in Copenhagen in November 2017, hosted by Thorbjørn Tønder Hansen artistic director of the festival Gong Tomorrow.

TTH: So, ladies and gentlemen, we are pleased and honoured to have Cedrik Fermont for an artist talk about his practice, and thinking, and writing, and activism, and we also are open for questions at the latter end of this talk. So Cedrik, welcome.

CF: “Thank you. Hello everybody.”

TTH: Cedrik has eclectic roots, he is of Greek, Zairian, and Belgian origin. Born in Zaire, and lived in Belgium and is based now in Berlin. The outset for the talk about this project is that he was awarded the Golden Nica at Ars Electronica in Linz together with Dimitri della Faille for this book and project called Not Your World Music: Noise in South East Asia. Cedrik also runs the project/platform/label/radio show called Syrphe. He is a cultural organizer, he has been labelled a noise nomad and musical archivist and I could add maybe, activist. Cedrik could you tell us what was the outset for this book?

CF: “Both Dimitri and myself travelled a lot in Southeast Asia and East Asia in general in the past, well almost 15 years now. And we realized that the noise and experimental scene, both at an academic level and a non-academic level, was badly documented, if not documented at all for some countries. And we also realized that when we would say, specially me with my label, that we publish music from Asia and Africa, a little bit on my side, many people would ask us ‘oh yeah do you publish traditional music?’ Which deeply gets on my nerves, that there is still this picture, this colonialist picture, that many people are thinking that ‘ok it comes from Asia, from Africa, maybe Latin America, it should be traditional, or hip-hop’. And so then when we called this book Not Your World Music, we wanted to make a statement and also to write down on paper a history of what is going on and what happened in Southeast Asia. Japan has been a lot documented (sic), China has been more and more documented; but places like Myanmar, Vietnam or Malaysia, are almost not documented regarding, in general not only experimental music, but also so to speak, popular music like punk music, like rock and so on. The only exception is Indonesia, I would say, specially for punk, and metal and traditional music, hip hop and reggae and so on. But it is the only exception as far as I know.”

TTH: Why this lack of documentation in Southeast Asia?

CF: “Haha, I cannot totally answer this question. We tried to understand, it is not typical to the region of course, I think that there is still this colonialist view of the world. So if we speak about documentation in general outside of the western standard you could say the same with almost anywhere in Africa, and the Middle East, most people have all those clichés in mind: the Middle East is just crazy people killing each other and maybe doing this oriental traditional music and world music maybe, mixing this with a bit of rock and electronic to make it digestible for western audiences. The same applies for most parts of Asia and Africa and Latin America. I can not really tell why this is still like this, but it is not only about music, it is culture in general, modern art and so on. I got modern art magazines at home with articles and interviews of modern art artists from Africa, from Ethiopia, from the Congo, for example. And friends of mine were digging into them and telling me, ‘whoa we did not know that people were doing modern art in Africa’. And I was really shocked, come on you have internet, how is that possible that you could not imagine it is possible? And people are being fed through the media with wrong images like dictatorships, famine, wars, crazy religious people killing each other and so on. But still in the 21st century, I think people should be able to think twice and think that, ‘ok maybe what I’ve been fed with is not the only picture of this or that region’. Another reason is that I think that many people from the scenes, or academics in Southeast Asia, did not document what they are doing. I remember the first times I went to Asia in general, about 15 years ago, I saw that many artists and performers and organizers, magazines, would focus on Japan, Australia, Europe (Western Europe mostly) and North America and would not think that their neighbors would maybe make something. Or they would not think that what they were doing was worth it to be documented. That it was not as good as the ex-colonizer, or Japan, and so on. And Japan is still seen as a very great and good example in the region. Which is to me, I cannot understand the point, wrong. I mean, I met amazingly good artists in Southeast Asia, as good as whoever in the west or in Japan and so on. But this is the explanation I might give.”

TTH: And you come across many topics which are also highly relevant in other sounds within music, jazz for instance is very agenda focused. It’s about this stance of the colonized view of an area, for example as Southeast Asia, or Africa for that matter. But if we try to take them one by one, this agenda issue for example, and the colonization issue, those are also in a traditional western european contemporary music sense, hot issues so to speak at the moment. At the Darmstadt Internationale Ferienkurse für Neue Musik in 2016 which is this hot spot for very traditional view of contemporary music and what new music is so to speak. In ‘16 there was a lot of debate, especially about agenda, but also about the decolonized view on music. But if we take the agenda issue, you are also at some point talking about that this is an anti-sexist project. This for me means that there is a sexist situation that needs to be dealt with. Is that how you look at it?

CF: “Yes (chuckles).”

TTH: And why?

CF: “Well first. Before the book I published a CD compilation that includes women from East and Southeast Asia. The original project was to publish a compilation including women from the Middle East, Central Asia and Africa, but back then it is was hard for me to find any, except in Israel, Turkey and Lebanon. The situation has changed a lot, and now I could do it. The project emerged out of bitterness at some point, because a feminist, a woman, a composer, that I will not mention, told me ‘you will never find any women active in the field of electroacoustic music and so on in those regions’. I told her ‘Bullshit, that’s not true, I have been there’. And when I asked people in the region some of them would tell me ‘ah yeah I know a bit, or I don’t, or they don’t exist, and so on and so forth, women are not so active’.

So in the end I found a lot of women from Indonesia, from Vietnam, from Singapore, from China and so on and so forth, and I thought it was worth mentioning it in the book because women are active in Southeast Asia, even though the situation is not always easy. However I would say that in Vietnam and Singapore, I noticed that the situation is very different, I suspect that because Vietnam is still a socialist country it makes it a bit easier for women to access education, technology and so on and so forth. And Singapore is pretty westernized at some point, but if we take a country like Indonesia for example, it is obvious that there are a lot less women active in the scene because it is still a very traditional society even though it is modern at the same time, but the role of women is still, right now put in a box and it is hard to escape it, even though the situation has improved, in urban areas mostly, but when you go out in the countryside it is different.

And I wanted to show that many women are also active even though they are maybe rendered invisible by some of the people over there, because many of those women maybe don’t do any music but they organize, they film, they document, they write and it is also important, it is part of the scene. The scene is not only made of people who do music. And in an ideal world we should not make this dichotomy between male and female, but we don’t live in an ideal world. And we wanted to show: yes there are women active also in Southeast Asia, like almost anywhere else. Even though in the west it is not always easy for women, so we wanted to point out this situation. Now it is improving, and for the second edition of the book there will be even more details about this, for example: right now, in early December, there will be a festival in Borneo, in Kalimantan, the indonesian part of Borneo, a noise festival, an experimental music festival organized by women only. Not only for women, but organized by women only. And it is not the first festival, there is a punk and metal festival that has been twice organized by women for women also. So yeah, we wanted to point that out.”

TTH: And in terms of the musical genre that we are trying to talk about here, the noise genre, linking this to the question of world music, or the exotic way of looking at it, that we may establish in our attempt to be interested or grasp what it is. How does this reflect on the scene itself, say for example countries like Vietnam or Indonesia, how do they look upon themselves in the noise music world when you come as an outsider being interested in them? I mean do they build any kind of opposites that you were looking for, or surprised by? How do they define themselves?

CF: “I would say that on an average people were happy that we showed some interest in documenting and publishing things about the local scene. But we got some very bad experiences with a few Singaporean artists. Several of them were pretty angry, basically, some of them would tell that we had a colonialist view, only by the fact that we were using the term Southeast Asia, which is a kind of a western term, we know about it. But we used also ASEAN. But the fact is that people know, geographically speaking, the region under that name. But there were other reasons with Singapore, it is a very particular case. But on average people were happy and surprised (for some) that we would find any interest in the region, which is to me wrong, people should not be surprised because it is culturally a very rich region, even for contemporary music, and specially a few of those countries like Indonesia again, the Philippines also for example. And I would explain them that out of frustration, is not the first time I write something about Asia and some other places. Because I studied electro-acoustic music, well 20 years ago, in Belgium, and what we saw was the One version, one sided history of electroacoustic music, starting with Pierre Schaeffer in France in 1948, which is already wrong to me, because there were other people: in Italy Russolo in the 1910s, Walter Ruttman in Germany in the 1930s, John Cage in the U.S., and the Russians also from the 1920s, 30s, and so on and so forth. We skipped all this, apparently this did not exist, and of course we never spoke, not one word of composers from, again, Latin America, Asia, Africa, or even Oceania, Australia, New Zealand. And I was really frustrating because I knew that there were people out there. So I explained to some of the artists that we interviewed that I wanted to put that on paper, to rewrite a part of this electroacoustic music history. That it is wrong for me to pretend that everything emerged in the west even though I am not blind, many of those artists from Southeast Asia went to study to the U.S., or France, or the Netherlands for example, but nevertheless they built something local, that is worth mentioning, and it is still a very vibrant scene at an academic level and at a DIY level as well. And it should be put on paper, because according to western standards, if you do not write down something on a sheet of paper that doesn’t exist and it annoys me deeply. And now it’s done, it is a proof. And we want to improve it, this book is not a kind of bible, it is an approximation, it contains little mistakes, people we forgot, events we forgot, it is just a first step.”

TTH: And you were saying that you were working on a second edition, let us know a little about what the second edition will contain that it is not in the first one.

CF: “(Laughs) There are things I do not know. The fact is that we are going to write, co-write with local artists and organizers. When we shipped the book to some of the people we interviewed and some of the cultural centers and friends, some of them told us ‘hey why do you focus on this person who did a bit, and not this person, you forgot to mention this and that’. So we want to correct our little mistakes, and improve and dig deeper. So it is going to be a bigger version of this one and we might extend it, it is not sure yet, to Hong Kong, China, maybe Taiwan, we will see. Which are not strictly being part of Southeast Asia like asian countries, but which are definitely connected economically, and culturally speaking. There are big chinese communities living in Singapore especially, but Malaysia, Indonesia, a bit Thailand as well. There are always these connections and exchanges, and it is hard to avoid Japan as well, because the japanese foundation is investing a lot in culture in the region now. So we might extended a bit, not deeply, to those places as well. And well the rest (laughs) I mean I don’t know, we have to talk about this.“

C-drik

I clearly hate the term world music.

TTH: You deliberately use the the term World Music and then kind of in a negate (sic) form by saying Not Your World Music. The term world music is, I supposed, heavily discussed also in western Europe, is this still the right term to use, to label or is this term Ԭworld music containing in itself a stigmatized and colonialised view on the music from outside Europe or the western countries so to speak? In the UK they have tried to transform the term world music into global music also to stress a movement away from a commercialized view of music from outside the western countries. This discussion between world music versus global music is this something that is also relevant in what you are doing?

CF: “Well, first, I clearly hate the term world music. Because I think it is not, it depends on how you see globally or not. I prefer the term traditional music and then it applies to any kind of music anywhere on earth. But world music is a mix of traditional music together with western music (electronic, rock, jazz or whatever) that makes it easier to swallow for western ears, basically. And I think that it has damaged a lot, specially people like Peter Gabriel or Hector Zazou, at some point not everything he did, to me made very big mistakes, when they did this. They turned it into a commercial product. But for me it is hard to go either for world music or global music, because traditional music from Brittany is not the same as the one from Serbia, which is not the same as the one from Northern Vietnam, which is not the same as the one from Southern Vietnam and so on and so forth.

And again it also depends on how you define traditional music. Do you call gamelan music or kecak music traditional or classical music? According to many westerners it is traditional music, according to me it is classical music. It is not western classical music, but it is classical music with a certain kind of standards, a way of performing it, certain scales and so on and so forth. Hence we called really this book Not Your World Music because we dislike this term. And I do not know how we can name it. We also have in mind that traditional music is something static which clearly is not. If not we would still play only with stones and bones and bamboo I guess, and nothing else. It evolves, maybe more slowly than contemporary music so to speak, but it is something alive and something that should be respected. And I think that when it is turned into this world music, this western way of it, it kind of stagnates, people are waiting for this kind of mirage, this super nice, tribal music but with a nice package. And it should sound like this, people have something in mind, and it really should sound like this and not like something else; it should not be original, adventurous. It is really for me something deeply frustrating.”

TTH: During this talk we have used many musical terms, we have talked about world music, folk music, experimental music, also electroacoustic music and of course the overall headline here, noise music. It seems also that you are working with a quite eclectic concept of noise music and in your book you also have a chapter dedicated to this question: what is noise music? Can these terms that you are talking about traditional music, experimental music, electroacoustic music, somehow find their way into an overall term called noise music. How do these terms relate for you?

CF: “Noise music at some point is also a western term, a western concept. So we try to define what we see as noise music in the book. It is obvious that you have some noises in folk music, and some folk music may sound like noise music for western ears, you do not even need to go so far. In Britanny apart of the bagpipe music, you have some traditional music, I forgot the name of it, which sounds clearly like noise music. And we were asking ourselves, ‘could it be called noise music or not?’. And we do not think so, because there is a concept behind noise music, if we start with Russolo in the 1910s, but even later with composers like Zev in the 1960s-70s, Merzbow in late 70s and 80s, there is a concept that is very dadaistic, anti-music, total annihilation of the melodies and the musical structures, that you may not find in this traditional music that may sound like noise (according to us, but not according to the people who play it). We also wanted to define our views on noise music, because we knew that there are some people who may read the book that are not accustomed to what the concept (concepts even) of noise music is, where it comes from and where it goes to, maybe, and the influences. And also we wanted to point out that there is a history of noise music in the western world that may differ to the one of some parts of Asia, specially in Indonesia for example. Regarding the current definitions of noise music, we can trace back the origin of noise in the late 1960s and the early 1970s, with industrial music and maybe a bit electroacoustic music and music concrète and so on. You can see traces in Pauline Oliveros’ works in the 1950s for example. But in Southeast Asia and specially Indonesia again the origin is kind of different.

When we interviewed, and some other people interviewed local artists, they realized that most of them came from a rock, or punk, or grindcore or metal background. And they were fed up with the commercialization of punk music in Indonesia, it is huge, to me the biggest punk and metal scene is there, so big that the current president is a metalhead basically, that you can hear punk music on the radio and so on and so forth. And so, many punk people switched to something more radical, musically speaking, to noise music and it has been a big influence into their local noise music, that you can also, at some point feel in other parts of Southeast Asia, in Singapore for example. And we wanted to show, noise music as sort of reclaimed by some or many Southeast Asian artists. And when they were not influenced by punk and rock bands, they would be influenced by Japanese bands (they love this concept of Japanoise music that is very very extreme) and not specifically influenced by Western standards. So it was also important to mention in the book that there is a local scene that may differ from the western scene, that does not take what the west did for granted. And I think that this is also very important because, still today when I publish some CDs, specially compilations, some people are surprised that this noise music does not sound exactly like the one in the west or some of them tell me that it sounds like that one in the west and then they do not see the point of collecting music from East Asia and Southeast Asia that sounds more or less like what we do in the west. Which makes no sense to me because noise music is kind of a real world music at some point more than traditional music and folk music.”

A potential to rewrite a history of electroacoustic music and experimental music

TTH: This is of course clearly also a political project, you could say in general terms,  containing many layers, there is agenda issues related to the political, there is a geographical one, maybe also an artistic one; but as a kind of political activist project would you say that you have some kind of idealist wishing for this project? I mean, what would you like to happen with this project, kind of long term, in a kind of political sense?

CF: “First I wish that more people in Southeast Asia start to document and write about it. It is their right to not do it of course. But because, as I said earlier, there is still a kind of domination of the west in arts and culture, which is going to change or switch one day or another, it is still important to put that on paper. So it is one of my best wishes, because they live there they may document it much better than us and it would be very important.

And also I would like these projects to be recognized by academics, not only in the west but everywhere. Because if you meet academics in China, for example in Beijing at the conservatory, the Central Conservatory of Beijing, they would document what is going on, especially in China and of course in Japan, and now they have connections with Vietnam, with South Korea, Taiwan of course. But only at an academic level, nothing else, they tend to ignore anything else that happened. And they tend to ignore also the past, what happened in the 1950s until the 1970s in the Philippines or in 1960s in Indonesia.

And I would like them to also not focus only locally onto China but also globally, hence we also gave copies of the book to cultural centers and universities in several countries and we hope that they will keep that as a reference, and not only the western standards again. When I visited some universities like in the UP, the University of the Philippines in Manila, they have a small library which is mostly privately funded by the Maceda foundation, from the José Maceda’s family. José Maceda was one of the first, if not the pioneer of field recordings in the Philippines and some parts of Asia and experimental music in the Philippines in the 1970s. He made an amazing job documenting folk music in Southeast and East Asia. Anyway, so there was this library and I could see plenty of books about Indonesia, some books about Vietnam and Malaysia, and there were only a few about music in the Philippines, even though there is so much to say about music in the Philippines. And not only folk music, about hip-hop and punk music that existed in the 1980s (usually a U.S. connection with the Philippines), about experimental music, academical and so on, there is nothing, nothing was written. And I think that it is important to have that in libraries, that people can access it. By seeing this book and other documents, I hope that they would by themselves try to improve what we did, since as I said it is not a final product.

It is one of my best wishes and also in western universities, I think it is changing, because I have been invited in some universities and festivals to give talks. I wrote a few years ago an essay about electroacoustic music in Africa and Asia between 1944 and the 1980s and I sent a copy to my teacher who taught me in Belgium 20 years ago. And she told me that she did not know about those composers. So to me it is important to go deeper to have this choice and to rewrite a history of electroacoustic music and experimental music that is not focused on the west only. I do not write about Latin America because I do not know so much of it and because I have no time, but Dimitri is writing about Mexico right now because he is been there many times and has been to other places. The same could apply to Cuba where you could find electroacoustic music and festivals, to Chile, to Argentina. I mean it is totally ignored. And also it is important for me to make bridges between those countries, and between those countries and Africa for example. Because it is not only a western centered view if I tell my friends in China that I am publishing electroacoustic music from Angola, they tell me ‘oh wow, there is also this sort of music in Africa’ so I really want to build bridges like everywhere. We live in the 21st century, internet is everywhere, almost, and of course you have modern art and modern music everywhere, but it is still loose it is not well connected until now.”

TTH: In terms of your own practice, I mean you are also an artist and performer yourself, coming out of an electroacoustic tradition at one point, and many others also, but how would you say that this project has affected your own existing practice?

CF: “First it does push me to realize that the way we can compose is still very open. Maybe I have been stuck at some point, not consciously I would say, in my practice of composing music, and by travelling and meeting artists from other places and improvising with them, or seeing how they compose, what is their view (or views) on composing and playing music it has opened my mind and my way of composing. It does push some boundaries for me, and it has pushed me to collaborate more with artists in general, especially there.

I always liked to play music alone, even though I started my first band in 1989, it was a duo, and I played in many bands in the last decades. But mostly I have been composing music alone and I think that when I compose too much alone I get stuck at some point, I repeat myself and then it becomes boring and I start to not like what I do, because of a lack of ideas. So I enjoy to travel in all those places and see other ways of composing and viewing music basically.

Also there are the networks in some of those places, I have always been connected to some networks, because I started in the mid 1980s with the cassette networks and mail art, even though it was slowly the end. When I started it was well, the mid 1980s at some point, but it is still very alive in some parts of Southeast Asia, especially in China, in Indonesia now, in the Philippines. Artists who cannot rely on the state to fund them, to help them, they should rely on themselves most of the time, to organize by themselves, to find ways to build their own instruments, because they cannot access all the technology that we can access here due to money problems and so on and so forth, due to censorship sometimes in some countries.

So people tend to be very open minded and supportive, they tend to organize events in which you can find a noise artist, totally DIY, and electroacoustic or classical music artists, absolutely not DIY, a punk musician, some folk songs and so on, altogether, something that we kind of lost a lot I think here in the west, even though it still exists, it is kind of rare. And over there it is pretty usual, that I performed wherever it was, in Myanmar, or Malaysia, or Indonesia, I performed among other musicians, that as we see it here are completely disconnected with each other but that are supportive to each other, and who like to collaborate. So I ended up playing some jam sessions with people that come for the punk and metal scene, the noise scene and performance scene, and we would mix like this free jazz, punk, noise music. And I really enjoyed it. I do not want to say that that does not exist here but it is less common than over there, where people tend to break the barriers, they simply do not exist at some point, or it is less than here. So it opens my mind I think.”

TTH: Thank you very much. We have a few minutes left for questions. So anyone for a question?

Question from the audience: Did you record a lot, when you were documenting for the book, did you record a lot of the artists that you were documenting so you could make any kind of collection of the music that the books talks about?

CF: “I did not record by myself. There was a CD published with the book but the CD is unfortunately sold out, nevertheless you can access the files online, but I published several compilations and albums before that, in the past ten years. So I never go and record field recordings and publish them, I ask artists if they want to publish something on my label, or some contact me, or I do collaborations, because writing a book is pretty abstract, especially for people who do not know this field of music. To illustrate what we talk about we published this compilation, which also includes some tracks that I would not define with the term noise music but we asked people to provided us a track that was to them noise. We wanted to keep it like this and not impose our view on noise music. So yeah this is how we worked. We included a discography in the end of the book, and bibliographies also. But the bibliographies are more about popular music in the academic sense, whether that is folk music, or punk or noise music. And the discographies include digital releases, cassettes, vinyls, and CDs, with noise and music around electroacoustics from Southeast Asia, so people can see the list and find easily many of those online, not everything though. We wanted to render it very accessible at some point, if people want to dig further. And there is a database in my website also, with (I do not know now) 1,600, 1,700 references that include artists and labels and magazines from Asia and Africa with weblinks and so on and so forth.”

TTH: Anyone else? Okay. So Cedrik Fermont thank you very much for telling us more about your project and artistic practice as well. Thank you very much.


Info: This artist talk is part of the Passive/Aggressive ZINE #7 on music and activism, which you can find at www.passiveaggressive.dk/print. Read more about Cedrik Fermont and Syrphe at www.syrphe.com. You can download the book Not Your World Music: Noise in South East Asia for free online as PDF (223 mb) here https://goo.gl/5SZpfZ or download the individual chapters https://independent.academia.edu/noiseinsoutheastasia.

7. Not your world music – Artist talk with Cedrik Fermont.PICTURE02

Et Andet Sted – Making space for freedom of expression in nightlife (interview)

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Interview by Cameron Pagett

An exciting and exclusive sit-down with the men (Thobias Molter, Sebastian Henriksen, Máni Sigurdarson, Mathias Stoffersen, and Søren Kinch) who have started one of Copenhagen’s favourite and most interesting club for DIY Electronic music. In a little under two years past Et Andet Sted started with the goal to bring a Berlin feel to the Copenhagen club scene, and create a safe place for expression in the local Techno and Electronic Community. From the first party until now, It has become an organisation that is firmly establishing itself in the fabric of the Copenhagen and International underground scenes with multiple events each month.

Fresh off a move from their first location in the Industrial region in Grønttorvet, Valby to Monastic club in City Center the club continues to gain notoriety and a broader following in the techno, nightlife and party scenes. Known for their community first and unorthodox features in the Copenhagen club scene, Et Andet Sted remains caught in a tempest of expectation, increasing popularity and the challenges that come with it. We are happy to present an in-depth look at the history of the club, the current situation and a nice view into their hopes and dreams for the coming years.

P/A: Thanks for being with us. To get this started:Where do you know each other from? How did the foundations or concept of Et Andet Sted begin? And what was the first party you threw?

Mathias: Sebastian and I went to High School together 10 years ago, and we got on pretty quickly and were good friends, and then ehhhh, we just started exploring the techno scene together and different venues in Copenhagen to see what was happening. It was mostly dubstep back then, techno kinda took off after that. There was also Kolbyn 18, which became KB18 after that which was when the meat-packing district took off, but then, I don’t know, sometime after that point Sebastian got to know Thobias.

Sebastian: Yes! I was interning and Thobias was also working with me.

Thobias: They had a basement where we could throw a party.

Sebastian: Yeah! We met and we just wanted to have a nice party, so we threw an amazing party with a full house, a line all the way around the corner at Halmtorvet… 20 kroner? 30 kroner? (looks around). Yeah! 20 kroner entrance (laughs)

Thobias: Yeah it worked out really good! Then we did it again and.

Sebastian: It didn’t work out so well (laughs) we booked like an international DJ from Berlin…

P/A: Brought the big guns in?

Sebastian: Yeah, (laughs) we had 70 people show up or something.

Thobias: We raised the price a lot and ehhh…

Sebastian: I think we figured out that it’s about the local DJs when you throw a party in Copenhagen, so the next time we did a party was like… a long time after.

Thobias: Yeah we were looking for another place, we did some outdoors stuff. Our name was ‘house out of the house’ (laughs). It was more house music then. Eh, then we found this place called that was this communal style venue for punk kids and other creatives. They had a small bar and a multi-creative kitchen area with studios and stuff upstairs. Then by accident me and Sebastian booked the whole house for like 36 hours. Instead of 8 hours (laughs around the table). Yeah so we had it from Friday until Sunday evening instead of Friday until Saturday afternoon, so we decided to go ahead with it, and we could!

Sebastian: The venue didn’t really care, they already had the license for the party for 36 hours, so they were just like great! Perfect! (laughs) We had all these local DJs, it was a huge success! There were so many people coming by for the entire day…

Thobias: Also Politiken decided to write an article about it and it ended up being two pages. Was an enormous article so we went from being at like 750 people to more like 2500 people, it went completely crazy. (silence)

Sebastian: So we did it again and built up a name, then someone told us that they were renting out spaces in Grøntorvet and around that time we added these two guys to work with us and that’s how we all sort of found each other.

Thobias: Pretty much after that because Søren had a huge sound system we made a six man crew and decided to move to Grønttovet in Valby and that was when it really started.

P/A: When I ask people in the local electronic music scene about Et Andet Sted, and one of the things that comes up first when asked about what they love about it and makes it important is that this is a club that everyone always talked about opening, but no-one ever did until you. Do you ever see it that way?

Et Andet Sted: Yeah (group).

Thobias: That was one of the main reasons at least for me to start doing this. When we started it we talked a lot about how we should handle stuff and it was like… Our mission should be to have the club, we always wanted to have, because if we do that…

Sebastian: Also there was no nice place in Copenhagen, as far as I think.

Mathias: There was just like Culture Box and meat-packing and we thought we had something that Copenhagen needed.

Sebastian: Something more underground, different. We also went to Berlin a lot, loads of times and experienced this thing that we never experienced in Copenhagen and wanted to bring that free vibe here. We know we have good people, we know we have Christiania and these super liberal elements and thoughts. I found it very natural to be there (Berlin) and its part of our manifest to introduce a German club culture in Copenhagen. If you look at our pages (Facebook) and stuff it says that. I think that’s what we did kinda do, but in our own way of course. Our own way, with our own character.

Mathias: We didn’t have much beside the sound system when we first moved (laughs) that was all we had! So basically we built everything from scratch you know… I had a MasterCard I maxed to buy booze and put everything on (more laughs) so that was basically how we started.

Thobias: We had this room, and we had the opportunity to do things however we wanted. Cash was never the reason why we did it, it was to have this room in Copenhagen where people could go and have a good time, but also the opportunity to be free and be themselves. To not go there for Instagram or whatever.

Mathias: It was also more that we didn’t let it keep us back that we didn’t have anything. We had what we had and we dealt with it. We added along as the place progressed and became better.

Thobias: The kind of company we have is our own and our responsibility. It’s on our shoulders and that motivates us.

Mathias: We were also in the right place with the right timing and met the right people who got us in contact with others, we had the drive to keep pushing even though it took us like 6 months before we finally got the space in Grønttorvet.

Soren: We needed it and Copenhagen needed it as well.

Thobias: One of the issues as well is that it is really expensive to find a place and there aren’t many places in Copenhagen where it is possible to do this stuff. If you do something like this then you have to take a risk because there are many crews who had more funds. We were fortunate to meet these people who had these really shitty but good enough for rave places that were about to be torn down anyway so we got the place pretty cheap.

P/A: There is quite a community that has grown around Et Andet Sted from the first days until now. While the club may not yet have a truly reliable and consistent established home in the permanent sense, do you feel that it’s more the people than the space that define what it is?

Mathias: Of course its the people. You can have a nice setting and a nice place but if you have the wrong people it won’t feel right … so in that sense it’s definitely right. I think this is very general for what’s happening in the techno scene here. There is a big community around us, Fast Forward, other crews too …

P/A: I think what we are pointing at is that say in Berlin you have established clubs that have been there for years in the same spot. Et Andet Sted has been here for a little under two years and it has had to move (with another move possibly coming) so the definition of the club more rests with the community then the place.

Thobias: In that sense I think we are happy about the community who comes to our parties and yes, they are a big factor in defining our place.

Sebastian: Yes, but now that we have the new place that community has shifted a lot and now we are trying to keep out the wrong ones. We have someone at the door who functions as a host and asks questions, but he is not a picker like in Berlin … more like an informer. We had a picker for Herrensauna but that didn’t work out so well in Copenhagen…

Thobias: Yes, a party has to take place somewhere and when you are throwing parties in a place for such a long time some people come to love that place, I know I did. We had to leave and if I wanted Et Andet Sted to be something more than Grøntorvet because I like this community and I wanted to give people the chance to still go and escape from there life over the weekend so we found a place to throw our parties under someone else roof while we searched for a new place. Monastic is not ours and we are happy they are happy to have us otherwise the community wouldn’t have a place to be.

Sebastian: Yes and now that we have moved there are  new people coming and we went from a space with one room to another with like thousands! It’s completely different.

Mathias: I think a lot of people in the community has been hesitant about this place. One of the strong forces we had in the old place was that you bike out there and it feels like forever. Your like where the fuck am I going? Is this even worth going? Then you turn off into this industrial area they hear the base pumping and they are like, “Holy Fuck!” And maybe you don’t get that same feeling when you ride into the inner city right? That is one of the things I think that’s been hard for the community to cope with.

Thobias: That was also the thing about these random party goers in City Center … oh what’s that line?

Mathias: The old location was like a picker in itself because all the random dickheads in city center they wouldn’t even go out there you know. People who are dedicated will make that trip.

P/A: We’ve heard a lot about the conditions of the move from the old space in Grøntorvet to the new place at Monastic. We went over it a bit but maybe this will help us define it more. Can you give us a timeline about the move? Why it happened? And what is the immediate hope for Et Andet Sted at Monastic?

Sebastian: Well… We were in Berlin vacationing after the new years party which was a huge success. So we went to Germany for two weeks. It was the first Friday of the New Year the police went to our neighbours in Grøntorvet 64 and wanted to know what was going on, then they decided to call the fire department who came and they said it was the craziest thing they had ever seen (laughs) and that there could be 50 people here because they didn’t have the best fire escape.

Thobias: We decided to be closed that weekend because had just finished the new years party, so by luck we weren’t even there. It was closed anyway.

Sebastian: The police wanted to close down Grøntorvet because no-one had all the right permissions and stuff it was all classified as storage (laughs),and you cant have guests in storage.

Mathias: Our Landlord didn’t know that.

Sebastian: (laughing) We were totally oblivious and didn’t care. We didn’t know either really, our contract seemed ok (laughs)

Thobias: We decided not to look into it … We had come to this place that was in a quiet area and met some guy who owns the place. He says,”Hey, you can rent the place, do whatever you want!” He actually puts the fucking ehhh your rental agreement saying Rental Agreement for a Night Club … We thought we were fine, but we weren’t.

Mathias: Turns out the zoning was just for storage and selling vegetables rather than partying.

Sebastian: Actually if the fire department had come to our place then it maybe wouldn’t have close because we had good fire escapes, but it was at our neighbours place, so …

Thobias: So it wasn’t the fire department or the police who closed it. It was the lawyers from our renters who wrote us because the police wrote them about some … ‘inappropriate behaviour’ … yeah. We decided not to have anymore parties at that place to avoid problems with our renters but we also decided to keep it for long enough to have one more party. (laughs)

Mathias: Yeah so, Thobias and Sebastian were on the bus home calling everybody in their phone to find a new spot and Thobias called these guys at Monastic.

Sebastian: We had five meetings when we got back and Monastic was by far the best. We really had good chemistry with the director, it was a good fit. We were both together in supporting LGBT, they are open-minded, we could be open for long hours, do whatever we wanted more or less. They were in a situation for things to have a fresher energy and push toward a more defined club concept. They needed things to pick up because the rent was super high and then we came along, perfect match! Alcohol license in the middle of the city, so we tried it out and it went pretty well! Then on the Monday after the party we got 6 or 7 complaints from the neighbours (laughs) because we put this huge sound system, the biggest functioning one we could get I guess in the middle of the town. There are about 100 people living in the block and yeah … We had to change the speakers. We can only play music where we are because it is under a backyard. We are currently sound proofing the club.

P/A: Musically I have always thought of the club as a home for Techno, it is, but there are numerous other types of parties at Et Andet Sted. Was the club originally started with a more diverse musical focus or was it a Techno club first that has taken on other styles as it has progressed?

Søren: Hmmm, I guess in the beginning we all wanted to do all different kinds of parties, different genres but it turned out to be a more techno focused crowd coming there. The biggest parties are the techno parties.

Sebastian: That (techno) is also the vibe in Copenhagen right now, there aren’t many house crews and its very popular to do techno parties. Originally we started the first parties with disco, we all like house music too so we don’t mind having it all.

Mathias: We talked a lot about it at the beginning in our weekly meetings and I think we found out its best to have a red thread between everything.

Sebastian: It’s always a debate (laughs) I like that, I like that its always open and we don’t have to be one thing.

Thobias: It’s also about diversity.

Søren: Copenhagen is still not big enough to have a club focusing on one thing. In 10 years or 15 I an imagine that though, maybe.

P/A: People, particularly from the techno scene have said that Et Andet Sted is a club that has the DIY spirit, and this is one of the biggest things that makes it special. It’s not a supermarket party culture but it mostly keeps the themes and performers from existing connections. Is that true and what role does the DIY spirit play in how you run and present the venue?

Mathias: Its very true, as mentioned earlier we started out with just our sound system and good spirit. We built everything and had so many plans. Every party we added something to the place and it was exciting for people to come out and say, “oh my God, there is a boat hanging on the ceiling with plants growing.” People could see stuff was happening all the time and we were putting in all this effort and we weren’t just buying stuff from the Supermarket. We did what we felt was right all the time and experimented with stuff.

Mani: We were working like a crazy amount of hours between parties (laughs).

Sebastian: After every party we just ripped everything down and our neighbours would come in like, ”what the fuck guys, not again!” (laughs) Then one hour before parties it’s like we have to clean right now! The party would commence then we would do it all over again!

Mathias: It was just a big learning process for us about finding out what works and what doesn’t. That is one of the funnier but super hard parts about doing this.

Sebastian: That’s also what’s super interesting about moving, even though it’s not the most optimal place its interesting to build up a new place with all the experience we have now.

Mathias: Now we are way better at seeing the possibilities and making the most of our options.

Sebastian: In Grønttorvet we only had 90 square meters and we did what was possible.

Thobias: But it’s not just what we did, it’s also like … the DIY spirit comes in with us working with the local crews (music) and everybody from the local community who came there and could help us in some way. The crews who didn’t have a place to party they cold all of a sudden come to our place and party at our place.

Sebastian: This also goes back to before when we wanted to have parties we were denied everywhere. All the established places have a hard time letting in new people. We try to address this.

Thobias: I see a lot of the success comes from everybody taking such a big part in creating the place.

Mathias: Exactly, like the big wooden mask in front of our old spot in Grønttorvet came from Thobias when he was working at distortion. He was sitting next to these guys talking about what to do with it after the festival so Thobias just brought it! (laughs) Now it was like it’s your responsibility, it was fucking huge! We had to call crane company just to put it in there! (laughs) It’s a really big force in our crew as well is that some of us might think it takes way to much work, and then another comes in and offers their view and then we just get it fucking done! That’s a good thing about being a group of different people and it makes us strong together.

Thobias: We have relied so much on the local community to carry us, and let us carry them. That’s DIY to us.

P/A: As Et Andet Sted grows with a higher frequence of parties I am curious to know what your thoughts are on the electronic scene in general in Copenhagen. A really interesting thing we took from our interview with Fast Forward was that what is happening now may be defining a new way of going out locally. The rave scene has never been as rampant as it is now. What is the motivation? Do you feel any responsibility for the atmosphere as it develops, to keep it positive?

Sebastian: I hope we have a positive energ. It would be amazing to keep being a part of it and developing that spirit. It’s a big responsibility. I also think I have this idea about going out dancing, it is a youth thing so I’m sure that in one year or two there will come a new crew like us or something similar hopefully. For the time being I hope and think we have a lot to offer and we are also looking at new spaces out of town where we can explore much more than we can in our current location.

Mathias: At the time being, especially all over Europe Techno is going through a resurgence. It was big in the 90s and died a bit down and now it has become really big again. A lot of people in Copenhagen think we can do it here, were just as fucking awesome, fuck the establishment let’s do our own stuff.

Thobias: I think it’s a collective responsibility to take part in the parties, that we take responsibility for the parties we are throwing. Other people are people are doing that as well and it’s like we cant host parties for all of Copenhagen and I’m sure that with the rate the city is growing there is plenty of room for all of us I just hope that everybody took as much responsibility for their parties as we do for ours then I would be more happy to go out in other places as well.

Mathias: There’s also a great community among all of us (DIY scene) who throws parties. We all help each other out. Thobias is the main guy doing lights at Fast Forward all the time, we are involved locally. It’s not a competition for who can throw the best party it more a cooperation.

P/A: On a lighter note there are some things in the club that could be locally seen as a novelty. There are dark rooms, a no photo policy and the sex swing. We imagine it must be fun being the only club in Copenhagen with these features. What do you think and hope these features bring to the experience for people?

Søren: Open Minded people? Well right now it’s (the darkrooms) just an area where you smoke.

Thobias: (laughs) well for now it’s more of a smoking swing.

Sebastian: I think people do have sex in the dark room?

Mathias: We did have a girl who ehhh, stole a lemon from the bar and it ended up in her … yeah. (room bursts out laughing) It got stuck up there and she had to go out in the kitchen and use a spoon to remove it (laughs and disbelief) … yeah I just hope that this environment we create adds to people letting loose and doing whatever they feel like without worrying what other people think about them. … (Sarcastic) After I found out this happened in the dark room I thought maybe we should put out like an assortment of fruits and vegetables…

Sebastian: Its kind the place is also kinda naturally kinky with all the rooms and corners. The Director is also a big fan of Kit Kat Club in Berlin so, yeah …

Mathias: I think it’s hard to recreate that in Copenhagen because it is such a small city.

Sebastian: Yeah and the no photo is kind of, I think that’s really important to all of us actually.

Mathias: It’s all about being here right now rather then on IG or Snapchat. It also about people being able to just focus on the party. At least in Grønttorvet there were a lot of people being naked on the dance floor and things, I haven’t seen so many naked people in Monastic yet.

Thobias: Its also, (no photo) It gives the freedom of expression, and it also adds to the mystique in a way. People want to see for themselves what’s going on.

P/A: We noticedthat you have a sign-up sheet online that acts as sort of a screening agent that helps to keep the feel of the club more intimate. It seems at the moment that there is no trouble in getting a crowd, but with the move and added exposure what actions are you taking to keep the DIY spirit alive? Do you feel like there is some way to educate new-comers to the rave scene on how to behave?

Sebastian: Well now the last two parties we have been trying with a host, not like at the Herrensauna party where we had a picker, and she got turned into the police. There was a woman who called and said she was discriminating … so that didn’t work out at all.

Thobias: Yeah, that was some shit; but nothing ever happened about it.

Sebastian: We kind of got a little scared about it, but ehhh, within three months (in Monastic) we have had 11 episodes of people not behaving proper whereas in Grøntorvet we only had one episode in the whole year. So now we try to educate people with a host who is at the door and says hi, asks them if they know where they are going and informs them of our policy. I think the last two weekends have been the best parties we’ve had at Monastic. So, it’s definitely necessary to have some sort of barrier especially in this environment.

Thobias: Yes, we also need someone to just be in the door saying hey and checking that people have a nice evening while informing them of what’s going on and letting them know if they want pop music it’s probably not for them. Lets guide you and help you find someplace where you want to go, so we don’t have to deal with anything terrible. Some of these people pay the entrance and then go inside and aren’t ready, they have a bad experience and then start behaving badly as a result.

Sebastian: Thats for sure.

Thobias: Also people come to a Gay club who may be Homophobic, so we want to inform people about that as well.

P/A: Monastic is a fun and interesting place with all the rooms and places you can discover. There are some size constraints, the floor is a bit small and it seems obvious that the club will be moving in the future. It has grown quickly, and we are curious if the next move will look for a more permanent spaceor will Et Andet Sted remain more nomadic?

Søren: I think it has to be that [permanent].

Mathias: We are definitely looking for something more permanent.

Sebastian: 7 years, or 10 years minimum.

Thobias: We only to have the energy to find one place. We have a six month agreement with Monastic and when we don’t have anymore time there I hope that we have at least found a place where we can move into. So within a year we should have a place.

Mathias: There is definitely a reward for anyone out there, free entrance forever, let us know if you have anything!

Sebastian: We are trying to get into Refshaløen right now. We found a really cool location that we hope we can get. They are really picky with who they let in, but its a nice time to apply.

Mathias: Its kinda one of the last old industrial areas in Copenhagen where you can do this and I think that’s very sad that, any old places like Grønttorvet is getting demolished because it removes a lot of the freedom to do these kind of things and it’s something future generations are not going to have. I hope Refshaløen can stay as it is, but I don’t think so, it will probably be developed. So I hope we will find a new place so keep looking out :)

Info: At the moment Et Andet Sted is still on the lookout for new space to call their permanent home. In the meantime they are throwing an unreal amount of Techno Parties in Monastic on Hauser Plads in City Center. It’s a very exciting place to be! You can visit them for parties on the weekend or on their Facebook page for updates and sign in for party attendance. (RSVP)

Moor Mother – Haunting the present with a DIY Time Machine

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By Sandra S. Borch

The revolutionary thinking of Camae Ayewa also known as Moor Mother explores time travel while distorting history as she haunts the presents with her performances spanning from the incisive spoken word, punk attitude and free improvisation. Passive/Aggressive gives an introduction to her work, ahead of her appearance at the forthcoming edition of Click Festival in Elsinor and her return to Kimia, which was announced just a few days ago.

Any description of Moor Mother would have to begin with an array of prefixes where a musician is just one of them. The list includes composer, poet, activist and time-traveler, coach and much more.

She hails from the small town of Aberdeen, Maryland. She came up around gospel music that later morphed into rap. In the search for an alternative way to canalized a more political outcome, she got involved with punk music, this later mutated into the total spectacles of Moor Mother.

She is now based in Philadelphia from where her voice has emerged into the global underground addressing systemic racism and injustice through a multifaceted artistic presence. She channels a plethora of intense emotions and energy into her work, theories, and music.

There are a few primary perspectives from Moor Mother’s biography that have crucially shaped her music – her hard hitting, sample-based solo project Moor Mother, her part in the liberation-oriented free jazz collective Irreversible Entanglements, and the one half of Black Quantum Futurism. Besides this, her discography shows a long list of collaborations that includes producer Mental Jewelry as Crime Wave and latest with Discwoman affiliated DJ Haram under the name 700 Bliss, who released their debut EP on Halcyon Veil this year.

Moor Mother

The debut album Fetish Bones turned out to be one of the most immense releases of 2016. Moor Mother captivated an international audience with her abrasive sound and aggressive lyrics that documented black memory, trauma, and survival. One of the tracks from the album declares Camae Ayewa herself as the living ghost of Sandra Bland, referring to the 28-year old black woman, who was found dead in jail after being pulled over for a minor traffic violation in 2015. By way of sampling a recording of Sandra Bland’s arrest, Moor Mother explicitly criticize power and the abuse of it and navigates towards defining or taking back black agency.

On her latest release as Bliss 700, Camae Ayewa opens the track “Basic” with the following words: “Look ma, we made it. Only lost a hundred thousand coming over on them slave ships. That’s just one ship.” It is a document of black memory, trauma and survival.

Camae Ayewa is not classically trained in any instrument, which almost provides a flexibility in the way she approaches sound. Completely unchained from rules, and maybe that is why improvisation is big element in her performances. She’s the antithesis of the mainstream culture’s empty words and idolizing of a glossy front figures. The turn of the decade has twisted this trajectory. The music of Abyss X, Pharmakon and Puce Mary, that sets a post-industrial landscape that is hardware oriented and noise based sound.

Irreversible Entanglements

Irreversible Entanglements are a liberation-oriented free jazz collective, which Camae Ayewa formed in early 2015 together with saxophonist Keir Neuringer and bassist Luke Stewart. They came together to perform at a Musicians Against Police Brutality event organized after the slaying of Akai Gurley by the NYPD. Since then the collective has been joined by Aquiles Navarro and Tcheser Holmes. All together they released the four tracked self-titled EP in 2017 where Moor Mother continues delivering her fragmented uncensured narratives.

Black Quantum Futurism

No discussion of the artist would be complete without acknowledging the influence of the art of the Afro-diaspora. Camae Ayewa’s spirit chimes with the essentially redemptive message of much American Afrofuturism. From Alice Coltrane and Sun Ra’s exhortations towards greater worlds. In 2014 Camae Ayewa founded Black Quantum Futurism together with artist and lawyer Rasheedah Phillips, who also is behind the Afrofuturist Affair and Metropolarity. BQF is a multidisciplinary collaboration exploring the intersections of futurism, creative media, zines, recordings, DIY aesthetics, and activism in marginalized communities through an alternative temporal lens.

Both in BQF and on “Fetish Bones” Moor Mother is speaking about how time oppresses people. From the enslavement in Africa how time was used to enslave the black people and how time continued enslaving them – from the ships from Congo til New Carolina. Everything is referring to pockets of time.

Camae predicts the physical and emotional need to honor black culture, traditions, and history by transforming the burden of the past into a movement of resistance. This is the perspective from which the avant-garde reinvent itself. She dismantles hierarchies, structures and even time by weaving the past into the future with a brave mindset and a zero-tolerance attitude she articulates resistance and preaches education and justice.

She is responsible for the fluid boundaries of a current sound of experimental music through her explorations into punk, noise, jazz and the ever presence of heavy political messages opened up an entirely new path of possibilities.

Moor Mother has systematically deconstructed every assumption about music and the way it is presented and communicated. As she herself said: “People are so confused every time I play a show. They’ll be like ‘What? You just started screaming!’ I scream! I do poetry and I scream.”

Info: Moor Mother plays at Click Festival 2018 this weekend, and Black Quantum Futurism is also part of the Talk-program. Camae Ayewa is also planning a quasi-secret guest appearance on Kimia.


Click Festival 2018 – a photo reportage

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Chino Amobi, Amnesia Scanner, Rabit feat. Cecilia and Søs Gunver Ryberg at Click Festival 2018 at Kulturværftet Helsingør.
All photos by Cameron Pagett. (Review coming up…)

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Louise Alenius – “Ordet nu er det allerstørste ord for mig” (interview)

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Af Peter Jørgensen

Louise Alenius (f. 1978) har de seneste 15 år arbejdet som komponist i et spændingsfelt mellem klassisk musik, scenekunst og performance. Hendes miniatureserie “Porøset” – som består af intime værker opført for én tilhører ad gangen – samt sidste års roste og hædrede kammeropera “Silent Zone” – tematisk centreret omkring en incestramt familie – har været med til at skabe hende et ry som en komponist, der insisterer på intimitet og tillid som afgørende aspekter af sit virke.

Jeg taler med Alenius en torsdag over middag, kilet ind mellem et væld af møder og prøver. Da vi mødes, har hun inden for den kommende uges tid hun premiere på det stedsspecifikke værk “Rite of Nothing” i det gamle vandreservoir Cisternerne på Frederiksberg, repremiere på balletten “Napoli” på Det Kongelige Teater og uropførsel af værket “Laura” under Klang-festivalen. Trods det pakkede program møder jeg en stærkt tilstedeværende komponist, som taler indlevende og uafbrudt i timerne, vi tilbringer sammen.

PJ: Hvordan opstår et værk for dig? Når jeg tænker på det, du laver, har jeg en klar følelse af, at det er mere end blot tonerne, der står i partituret, der har betydning.
Mere end at sige, at du laver musikstykker, ville jeg måske sige, du laver værker?

LA: “Der er helt klart mere end tonerne, fuldstændig. Det bliver det i hvert fald.
Det starter tit med en musikalsk idé. Jeg hører måske ikke de specifikke toner, men jeg hører forløbet. Jeg er inde i musikken og får en følelse af, at det her, det kan blive vildt.
Det er faktisk ret visuelt, fordi jeg forestiller mig partituret. Det er ofte en måde at orkestrere på, hvor jeg tænker, at hvis man kombinerede de der to instrumentgrupper og så havde sådan en type forløb, ville det bygge op på den måde, og så falde ned, og blive til det der.
Så bliver det ligesom kombineret med et eller andet, jeg går og tænker over. Et emne eller en karakter, jeg er fascineret af. Når jeg har skrevet selve musikken, handler alt derefter om at gøre helheden til den stærkeste oplevelse for publikum, ned til mindste detalje som programteksten, pressemeddelelsen eller den måde, de bliver vist ind i salen.

At man træder ud af den normale komponistrolle og bruger enormt meget tid på de her ting – det er et udtryk for, at jeg nærmest aldrig giver slip. Hver eneste detalje betyder noget i mine værker – intet er ligegyldigt.
Men der er en stor afmagt forbundet med det. Der er konstant kilder til frustration. At man ikke kan få det perfekt. Jeg står lige midt i det lige nu i forbindelse med med prøverne til “Rite” (“Rite Of Nothing”, red.) i Cisternerne. Der er plads til måske 150 mennesker, og hvis ikke de er…”

PJ: Hvis man rømmer sig dernede, så hænger det i 20 sekunder…

LA: “Ja. Det kan bare ikke gennemføres, hvis der er bare den mindste larm. Så jeg har besluttet at lave et regelsæt, som publikum tvinges til at følge inden de lukkes ind.
Jeg fornemmer på folk, f.eks. når jeg laver “Porøset” på Det Kongelige Teater, at det nærmest er ligegyldigt, hvad jeg beder publikum om, så følger de med. De kan godt lide at blive udfordret, men de skal engang imellem guides, for at det hele kan fungere. Det er sindssygt spændende at arbejde med netop den balance. Så gælder det bare om ikke at udnytte folks tillid, men at styrke den.”

PJ: Du har ikke så mange udgivelser i bagagen. Dels kommer dine værker naturligt ud på en anden måde, men er det til dels også, fordi du så må slippe… at det pludselig bliver oplevet et eller andet uoptimalt sted?

LA: “Det er begge dele, helt klart. Jeg kan bedst lide at skabe musikken, det er hele trippet. Lige så snart det er færdigt, bliver jeg en smule ligeglad med det. Derfor fungerer scenekunsten også godt for mig, fordi jeg arbejder frem til en premiere og så: bom!
Flygtigheden og intensiteten kan jeg virkelig godt lide. Jeg har aldrig syntes, at det var sjovt at lave det samme mange gange. Jeg keder mig hurtigt over gentagelser, desværre.
Jeg har ingen speciel glæde ved stor udbredelse, jeg kan bedre acceptere en kort levetid for mine værker end en lang og bred, men mindre perfekt. Derfor har jeg ofte svært ved at nå at få mine værker indspillet, fordi jeg hellere vil i gang med flere nye projekter på end at hænge i de gamle.”

Med operaen “Silent Zone” fra sidste år er Alenius dog i gang med en ambitiøs videreudvikling, hvor værket både skal udkomme som et regulært album og i en Augmented Reality-version. Sidstnævnte håber hun, en dag vil kunne komme ud på landets skoler og gymnasier. Tematikken i operaen er incest og fortielse i en familie.

LA: “Man skal være enormt klar om, at det er kunst, man laver, når man arbejder med tunge tematikker. Især når man bevæger sig ud af kunstverdenen og ind i f.eks. en uddannelsessituation. Det er ret vildt at opleve, hvor hurtigt den (operaen, red.) kan blive set som noget andet og mere, end den er. Jeg ville være så ked af det, hvis nogle fik indtryk af, at jeg vidste alt om incest. Det gør jeg nemlig slet ikke. Jeg har talt med mange, der har været involveret i det, og derfor har jeg set nogle mønstre. Men i princippet gætter jeg kun og fortolker frit: Vi afsender et kunstværk. Og derfor vil jeg virkelig gerne også have den udgivet som et album snart, for at der ikke er tvivl om, at “Silent Zone” er et kunstværk, ikke et terapeutisk forløb eller problemløseren på incest.
For første gang i mange år har jeg brug for at udgive noget, og så er jeg også klar på at bruge tiden. Rammen er vigtig for det her værk, fordi det kommer til at svæve rundt i cyberspace, hvor jeg ikke kan påvirke publikum.
Nu snakker jeg om, hvad kunst ikke kan, men det kan til gengæld noget andet. Kunst kan somme tider få publikum til at åbne sig, og være mere modtagelig over for tematikker, de ellers ikke kan overskue.
Og så tænker jeg, at de gode stærke oplevelser sidder i kroppen i længere tid.”

PJ: Når du komponerer, skriver du så for instrumenter eller for musikere? Tænker du, det er Morten, der synger her, eller er det en kontratenor med en defineret spændvidde?

LA: “Jeg skriver helt klart til instrumenterne, men jeg prøver at finde menneskene ret tidligt. Det er bare ikke altid, jeg kan det. Så jeg skriver helt klart for instrumenter og stemmetyper. Og det er bl.a. derfor, jeg elsker noder. Fordi andre uproblematisk vil kunne tage det op og synge det eller spille det. Så ved man, de kan komme op på de toner, hvis de kalder sig sopran, og det kan jeg virkelig godt lide. At man har et grundniveau, som allerede er defineret. Det er noget, jeg kan tage og forholde mig til og få virkelig meget ud af. Så kan jeg bruge det helt ud til grænsen.
Mange får en kæmpe glæde ved at synge endnu højere og skrige og alt muligt. Jeg er mindre interesseret i at udfordre den del og har en umiddelbar glæde ved det, der klinger godt og er blevet raffineret igennem kulturen og mange års øvning. Jeg har nemlig problemer nok på alle mulige andre områder. Jeg tror, det er det, jeg prøver at sige. Jeg har masser af problemer i mit arbejde. Så når der endelig er noget, jeg ved fungerer, så har jeg det bare sådan “fedt! Det gider jeg godt at bruge.”

PJ: Det kunne også være, at du, for at ramme en bestemt følelse, brugte f.eks. en stemme, der knækker?

LA: “Det er der masser af. Så skriver jeg det ind i noden og sørger for at sætte nok tid af til forprøver, så jeg ikke får nogen overraskelser til selv prøverne. Så har jeg også tid til at ændre, hvis ikke det fungerer.
For tit kan man også blive ret skuffet over at have hørt det på en bestemt måde inde i hovedet, og så lyder det forfærdeligt i virkeligheden.”

PJ: Kan man sige, at du, frem for at insistere på konstant at tale nye sprog, arbejder inden for en forfinelse af det sprog, du kender og har udviklet?

LA: “Det ved jeg ikke. Jeg følger med mine idéer og folder dem ud, så godt jeg kan, jeg er i deres tjeneste – nogle gange kræver det, at jeg udfordrer det traditionelle musikalske sprog, andre gange kræver det noget andet.”

PJ: Er det på følelse?

LA: “Hvis jeg skal sige noget generelt om min proces og mine beslutninger undervejs, så vil jeg sige, at jeg forsøger at undgå problemerne. Hvis ikke jeg prøver at undgå dem, så er det 100% kun problemer. Mit virke går ud på at få en idé til at fremstå så godt som muligt. I virkeligheden føler jeg ikke, idéerne har noget med mig at gøre. Der er selvfølgelig en idé, jeg har fået på et eller andet tidspunkt, men på et tidspunkt bliver idéen utroligt meget større end mig. Der er alle mulige andre, der har taget del i min idé. Og som også arbejder i idéens tjeneste.
Så har det jo ikke længere noget med mig at gøre. Jeg forsøger bare at få den til at lykkes.”

PJ: At få det i havn?

LA: “Ja, og det er virkelig sådan en gennemgående følelse, jeg har. Shit altså, det der kæmpestore problem. Hvordan skal det gå? Og selvfølgelig har jeg haft en plan, men da idéen kom, var alt jo lyserødt og nyt: ‘Det her er den vildeste ide. Hvem kan producere det?’ Så ringer jeg til dem og taler og taler og er helt oppe at køre.
Og hvis de så siger ja, så er jeg allerede en slave for det her projekt, som i virkeligheden ikke længere har noget med mig at gøre. Det er ikke, fordi det er blevet nogle andres idé. Den er blevet noget i sig selv.
Og jeg er dets slave. Dets sekretær. Skibets kaptajn, der skal forsøge at undgå at smadre skibet ind i et isbjerg, der ligger under vandet. Og de isbjerge er over det hele.”

PJ: Jeg kommer til at tænke på det gamle paradoks: Hvis et træ falder i skoven, og ingen hører det, giver det så en lyd? Mange komponister eller musikere laver måske et værk eller udgiver et album, og så er det dét. Så er det ude og afsluttet. Med dig oplever jeg det anderledes. Jeg har en fornemmelse af, at det for dig ikke er udfoldet, før det møder publikum. At selve mødet mellem værk og publikum er væsentligt?

LA: “Jamen, helt vildt. Det er faktisk meget det, riten (“Rite of Nothing”, red.) handler om. Det rummer ingenting. Det er et ønske om at sige til folk: ‘I skal ikke regne med, at jeg giver jer svaret. Jeg laver blot en ceremoni, den er perfekt udenpå, men den er hul. Jeg sætter rammerne og forsøger at lirke folk op. Så må I selv byde ind og fylde værket med indhold og mening.’ Denne gang er det ikke mig, der gør det, det er publikum selv. Det er nemlig ofte et forskruet forhold, vi har til kunsten. Som når folk spørger ‘Hvad mente du med det?’. Så svarer jeg nogle gange: ‘Det er ikke vigtigt, hvad jeg mente med det, men hvad det satte i gang hos dig…’
Titlen ’Rite of Nothing’ siger det. Der er ingenting. Der er en skal, et hulrum. Musik, ord, mennesker, bevægelser. Der er alt det, vi forventer. That’s it. Resten må folk selv fylde på.”

PJ: Vi har jo også tendens til at tillægge ting mening med det samme…

LA: “Jeg synes, det er fedest, når folk skriver sig selv med ind i kunsten. Digter videre og tager det med sig. Fortæller videre og lader det vandre på den måde. Tænker sig selv og sine venner igennem. Skriver sig selv ind i karaktererne. Og det tror jeg ikke, man kan, hvis karaktererne er fyldt op 100%. Så er der ikke plads til én. Så nu har jeg prøvet på at lave et værk, hvor der kun er 5%, der er fyldt ud på forhånd.”

PJ: Så drømmen er også at skrive dig selv helt ud af værket?

LA: “Helt sikkert… Jeg vil gerne skabe nogle rum, hvor andre kan tænke og opleve noget, som ikke er mig, der fortæller om mig. Hvis der er noget, som er interessant, så er det måske mit møde med verden. Ikke mit møde med mig selv.”

I 2009 komponerede Alenius ny musik til andet akt af det knap 200 år gamle ballethovedværk “Napoli”. Her endte hun med at skrive sig selv ind i musikken som vokalist som et greb for at have mere tid med musikerne i orkestret.

LA: “Jeg skrev mig selv ind i det, fordi jeg på det tidspunkt ikke havde særlig meget erfaring. Det var mit første orkesterværk, og jeg havde helt vildt meget lyst til at være sammen med musikerne. At se dem arbejde og blive bedre. Det er den bedste træning, man kan få: at høre sin musik opført igen og igen og overveje, hvad der kunne blive bedre i orkestreringen. Så rejser jeg med rundt i verden, når balletten er på turné, og hører nye orkestre opføre musikken. Det er en vild måde at lære på. Selv om det er det samme materiale, bliver det fortolket forskelligt.
Der er aldrig nok prøver, men det er fedt, når det lykkes. Musikerne spiller jo præcis det, der står i noderne, så de behøver kun et par enkelte prøver, for at det kan fungere. Men det betyder jo også bare, at man som komponist skal være ekstremt bevidst om hver eneste lille detalje, for der er ingen tid til at ændre undervejs, efter at noderne er printet.”

PJ: Det er jo det. Det kan være meget hjerteskærende, når musikerne leverer det, fuldstændig som det står, og man kan erfare, at det var ikke lige det…

LA: “Det sker heldigvis kun ganske sjældent, men det er interessant, hvem man giver skylden, når det går galt. Jeg har en tendens til at føle, at det hele er min skyld og mit ansvar. At jeg ikke har været god nok til at udtrykke min idé over for orkestret. Hvor nogle andre komponister siger, at det er orkestret, der ikke forstår det.”

PJ: Hvordan kom du i gang med at lave musik?

LA: “Det har jeg altid gjort, tror jeg. Det er noget, jeg kan huske fra min barndom. At gå rundt og være sur på mine forældre og sætte ord på det igennem sangtekster. Og så gik der ligesom lidt tid med det, og så glemte jeg som regel at være sur, fordi jeg var optaget af finde et rim eller få det til at passe på en melodi. Når jeg så havde etableret de her helt simple melodier, så begyndte de hurtigt at kede mig. Så begyndte jeg at lave andenstemmer. At lave harmonier til det. Jeg kunne jo ikke synge alle harmonierne samtidig, men så kunne jeg spille dem på klaveret. Igennem det begyndte jeg at spille klaver og gå til undervisning.

Og så var der helt klart en masse frustrationer forbundet til det at modtage undervisning. At skulle spille små klaversonater og den slags. Jeg syntes, det var røvsygt, og det eneste, jeg havde lyst til, var at ændre melodien. Det var sådan: ‘Okay, de første tre toner, dem gider jeg godt,’ men derefter hørte jeg noget andet ind i hovedet. Jeg ville jo bare et eller andet sted hen med den musik, og det måtte jeg ikke. Så det gjorde jeg, når jeg kom hjem. Men det kedede mig at øve på sonaterne. Det har altid kedet mig at øve, og derfor er jeg stadig en dårlig musiker. Til gengæld elskede jeg at lave min egen musik, og jeg har komponeret, så længe tilbage jeg kan huske.”

PJ: Før du egentlig var komponist…

LA: “Ja, jeg har komponeret, længe før jeg påtog mig den titel. På et tidspunkt overvejede jeg at tage en uddannelse, men så var der hele tiden alle de her projekter. Jeg laver lige dét her, og så kan det være om et år…”

I stedet for en uddannelse bag konservatoriets mure har Alenius lært gensidigt af andre komponister og samarbejdspartnere. Ved at arbejde med musikerne. Fået kolleger til at kigge hendes partiturer igennem og give noter.

LA: “Hvis jeg altid starter nogle projekter, der er lidt for svære, så lærer jeg en masse undervejs. Så løber jeg stærkt for at prøve at gøre det godt og lærer ekstremt meget undervejs, men det er altid igennem en proces med et vigtigt resultat for et reelt publikum, at jeg lærer noget. Jeg har aldrig sat mig ned for at lære….
Det er også en måde at møde folk på. En måde at komme i kontakt på. En måde at tilegne mig viden og erfaring. At kommunikere på og udtale sig. En måde at undersøge og nogle gange forstå verden på.

Jeg har aldrig haft et reelt ønske om at blive komponist, jeg er bare blevet det, og det er jeg utroligt lykkelig for i dag. Jeg har aldrig haft en strategi, der gik længere frem end til en premiere. Jeg har aldrig haft sådan en femårsplan, som folk snakker om.
Der sker bare noget i de der langstrakte planlagte forløb, hvor man må gå på kompromis med den nære kontakt med mennesker. Lige at kunne hive nogle mennesker ind i et projekt. At forstå det, lige nu, og så skrive det ind i værket.
Der er et eller andet omkring nuet. Ordet ’nu’. Det tænker jeg tit over. Det er det allerstørste ord for mig. Det er paraplyordet, toppen, the Almighty. Det er så stort, og det er væk, når du har sagt det. Så er det allerede et nyt nu.
Det er repræsenteret i det hele. I dynamikken. I nærværet. I intensiteten. Alle de ting, jeg virkelig gerne vil have i mit liv. Det prøver jeg at koncentrere mig om.

Det er lidt det samme som det der barndomstrip, ikke? Bare sådan at ryge ind i det der trip, der var musik, musikalitet, nogle toner. Nogle gange er det jo også en musikalitet i overført betydning. For mig er det ikke kun tonerne. Det med at skrive et stykke musik. Det er lige så meget en tilstand. 
Det er min måde at være sammen med mig selv på. Det kan godt være, jeg ikke skriver noget. Så sidder jeg og tænker på de her verdener, og hvordan de skal folde sig ud. Det er det, der altid sker, når der ikke sker noget andet. Så folder det sig ud. Lige så snart de andre går væk. Når vi to er færdige med at tale her. Så begynder jeg at være i det der rum. Det sker selvfølgelig også i interaktionen, men der er det mere at suge ind og tale. Planlægge og producere med andre. 
Men det folder sig ud i solituden. Det er der, det får lov at vokse og etablere sig som noget, der kan blive vigtigt for mig. Det kender du måske? Det er der, man finder ud af, hvem man er. Det er der, man er sammen med sig selv om at være sig selv. At gøre sig selv.
Det er det, musik er for mig. Hvad vil jeg gerne lave federe? Hvad synes jeg ikke fungerer? Hvad har jeg lyst til at opleve? Hvad er mine behov, når jeg har fået noget at spise og er udhvilet?

Det er det, der sker, når jeg laver musik. Arbejder. Og det er jo grundlæggende leg eller meditation eller terapi. Man kunne kalde det så mange ting, ikke? Nu hedder det bare musik.”

Clarissa Connelly – Fine fortællinger (mixtape + interview)

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Mix af Clarissa Cornelly, interview af Sandra S. Borch

“Clarissa Connelly bevæger sig i en tvetydig stemning og formår i den grad at berolige lytteren med et moderne elektronisk take på klassisk singer/songwriter-kultur”. Sådan skrev Theo Nymark i forbindelse med Connellys debutudgivelse fra 2015. Dette er stadig meget sigende for Clarissa Connellys stil og lyd på det nyligt udgivne bånd “Tech Duinn”, som svinger fra fine og porøse lyde til dramatiske kompositioner.

Clarissa Connelly har lavet P/A et mixtape, der består af egne kompositioner og musikalske fortællinger fra venner. I den forbindelse har vi talt med hende om, hvordan hun starter et mix, og hvornår hun slutter en sang.

P/A: Vil du fortælle om ideen bag dit mix?

CC: “Jeg har samlet alle de smukkeste fortællinger fra mine venner og bekendte, både udgivet og endnu ikke udgivet materiale fra i år, og limet dem sammen med tracks, jeg har skrevet med bl.a. spansk guitar og min Korg M1. Mixtapet starter melodisk med strengebårne værker fra ML Buch, Cisser Mæhl, CTM og egne solo-værker og udvikler sig til mere støjende kompositioner fra bl.a. udgivelsen “Nooooooo Daylight”, som jeg lavede med Thurston Moore sammen med folk fra Collider, samt et nummer fra Thulebasens udgivelse “Suko!”. Der sker endnu et skift til sidst i mixtapet; da jeg er begyndt at høre mere rock i år, skulle det også repræsenteres på mixtapet. Der er nok en overrepræsentation af mit band på mixtapet, da både Cisser, Alvilda fra Loiter plus Mikkel og Johan fra Collider er med. Jeg er virkelig oppe at køre over den musik, som de skriver, og ligeledes vores fælles dynamik i bandet.”

P/A: Vil du fremhæve et par numre i dit mix?

CC: “Cisser, som jeg studerer komposition med på RMC har skrevet denne midnatsvise, som optræder 3.51 minutter inde i mixtapet. Hendes vokal er så specielt påtrængende, og hendes første ord (ål) gør mine knæ bløde.

Anton, som også går under navnet Jura, har lige udgivet sangen “Someone’s Lifework”, som jeg måtte have med. Jeg elsker sangens klangbrud, hvor enkelttoner og akkorder smelter sammen.”

P/A: Hvordan har du optaget dit mix?

CC: “Jeg har siddet i Ableton og lavet små overgange og mellemstykker til sangene. Jeg har tre af mine egne kompositioner; resten er fra mennesker hvis kompositoriske arbejde inspirerer mig.”

P/A: Du udgav “Tech Duinn” på Brystet tidligere i år. Vil du fortælle om din proces med udarbejdelsen af albummet?

CC: “Kompositorisk ville jeg centrere det instrumentale i blandingen af simulerede strengeinstrumenter fra synthesizers krydset med “rigtige” strenge fra guitar, harpe, cello, bratsch og violin. Tematisk ville jeg underbygge den fascination, jeg har af keltisk mytologi, og undersøge min families navn og afstamning. Jeg er selv opvokset i Skotland, og jeg ville skrive sange fra min fortid i bjergene og en romantiseret idé, som de fleste har af deres opvækst. Jeg har hørt meget Madonna og Enya som barn, og det afspejler udgivelsen måske.”

P/A: Hvornår ved du, at et sang er færdig?

CC: “Jeg forsøger med mine kompositioner finde ind til en utopisk idé, jeg har om en skønhed i verden, og fornemmelsen af dén er det, jeg oftest skriver ud fra. Om sangen er færdig, afhænger af, hvor tæt jeg er på den idé, jeg har. Det er her, skønheden ligger, som jeg gerne vil fodre, og som jeg gerne vil give verden. En skriftlig reference til denne idé kunne være Aksel Sandemoses “En Blå Sø i Urskoven” fra “Dans Dans Roselil” (1965), hvor en vildmand i Canadas urskove bliver trukket tilbage til civilisationen efter at have brugt et helt liv på at finde ind til en blå sø. Men for at finde ind til denne sø skal man kunne lægge et helt liv af gammelt jern bag sig og gå våbenløs frem. Den blå sø forstår jeg i Aksel Sandemoses tekst som skønheden. Det er måske en romantisk idé om det at komponere, men jeg føler, at jeg i min egen skrivning skal lægge mit liv af “gammelt jern” bag mig for at finde ind til sandheden og skønheden i sangen. Jeg ved selvfølgelig, at jeg aldrig kommer derhen, men jeg prøver altid.”

P/A: Hvilke projekter arbejder du på lige nu?

CC: “Jeg er i fuld gang med at skrive nye kompositioner til min kommende udgivelse og forberede sommerens koncerter med mit ny-etablerede band. Strygerkvartetten Halvcirkel skal med til min koncert på Roskilde, og de får en stor rolle i lydbilledet, da der er mange strygere og strengeinstrumenter på “Tech Duinn”, som vi kommer til at spille en del fra. Jeg har også i nye sange arbejdet meget med strygere, og jeg er spændt på at høre sammenblandingen live.”

P/A: Kommende udgivelser, samarbejder eller koncerter, du ser frem til?

CC: “Jeg glæder mig meget til et nyt samarbejde, jeg skal indgå med ML Buch her til sommer, hvor vi skal i sommerhus og komponere sammen. Der er nogle ligheder i vores musik, som jeg er spændt på at gå i dybden med. Ingen af os er vant til at co-write, og måske har vi begge en eller anden sindssyg trang til selvstændighed i vores produktioner og lader sjældent folk lægge fingrene på vores værker. Så det bliver en smuk, grænseoverskridende proces, som vi begge ser frem til. Derudover glæder jeg mig til at spille med de fantastiske mennesker, jeg har fået svøbt sammen til fremtidige koncerter under Clarissa Connelly. Jeg er forelsket i alle i bandet.”

Info: “Tech Duinn” udkom på Brystet i april. Clarissa Connelly spiller på Roskilde Festival søndag d. 1. juli. (Redaktørens note: P/A-skribent Alexander Julin er en af kræfterne bag Brystet. Han har ikke været involveret i processen omkring denne artikel.)

Trackliste
00.00: Clarissa Connelly
00.49: ML Buch
03.51: Cisser Mæhl
05.10: CTM
09.40: Victor & Emil
12.59: Clarissa Connelly
14.14: Jura
19.07: Clarissa Connelly
19.08: Nooooooo Daylight
22.15: Tettix Hexer
24.20: Clarissa Connelly
25.19: Collider
30.10: Loiter
34.18: Thulebasen

Janushoved – “I always wanted a feeling of anonymity” (interview)

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Interview and all photos (Yuri & Internazionale, Soho Rezanejad, Raquin, Manon Lescaut 22.06.2018 @ Mayhem) by Cameron Pagett

“I always wanted it to have a feeling of anonymity.” Mikkel Valentin, founder and recording artist of Copenhagen electronic label Janushoved reflects. “I started making noise music when I was 16, I thought I had invented a completely new genre.” (laughs). Some years later and a total of 80 releases past the beginnings of Janushoved it feels like a big step forward to him. Showcasing and coming out and connecting physically as a label and a unit hasn’t always been directly on the cards. With numerous releases under different aliases, the label has a feeling of mystery and familiarity. Having established itself firmly as a name in the local Copenhagen DIY electronic scene, it feels like this could have or should have been done much more than it has. With an adoring local and international audience and a unique presence in the noise community with a sound normally bearing a romantic and sensual aura, Janushoved has grown organically from the seeds of pure sound and a penchant for exotic, bizarre and sentiment driven visuality. “It’s a label that draws the intellectually stimulated melody junkie,” an admirer reveals, “The style is distinctively Copenhagen but feels less harsh and calculating then some others … it’s more like red wine on a Saturday night rather than vodka.”

It’s a beautiful summer evening as the show starts in a floral and uncharacteristically spotless Mayhem. Videos sourced from scenes around the city ranging from abandoned staircases to children playing in Nørrebroparken dominate the wall from the projector as Oliver Vaupel, the creative mind behind a rather new Janushoved release alias Manon Lescaut prepares to start off the evening. The night has a feeling of Deja vu, many of the people helping throw the party are close friends and I feel that I have already received more hugs then the entire week combined in my first moments of being there. Performing in front of some rather beautiful, and somewhat haunting homemade videos of Japanese day to day Manon Lescaut gave a performance that set the tone for the rest of the evening. Relying on a deep hearted and caring warmth in his sound, the set carried a specific feeling of comfort in the face of phantom dread. Like a parent looking after a carefree child in turbulent times, the feel of the music ranged from scenes of peace and serenity to the far-off look into a coming storm. A trying and depth filled sojourn into the murky waters of conscious decisions, Vaupel closed the set with an industrial feel wafting softly over a deep ambient wall. A favourite of the more intellect driven variety in my immediate circle, a friend described it as, “like walking back through memory and remembering not the nostalgic, euphoric or terrible, but the pleasant moments in day to day and the present effect.”

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Running a record label has its charms and challenges. Keeping content consistent, surprising and conceptually solid has its ups and downs. “There have been a lot people who have sent me tapes, or recordings of their work in the past.” Valentin admits. “I have never released any of them until him, he was the first one.” Looking across the room he is speaking of the next performer. A very new and young talent in the scene, Lau Halding Andersson stands tall situating his gear and preparing for a live debut of closely beloved alias Raquin. An ethereal, cinematic and fearless work, the album has many in the room looking forward to hearing it for the first time. There is a considerable amount of very young people in the front row. A new generation of creatives and friends who mark the beginnings of kids who have grown up with a strong DIY scene in the city and also importantly Mayhem. Valentin started with noise at the age of 16, and this release with an artist south of 20 carries a nice sentiment of giving back and keeping a focus on the artists coming up the pipeline.

With visuals of water and rock from summer coastlines the set from Raquin was born into its own artificial mist of sound. A gifted talent in the realm of melody and composition the opening scenes gave me goosebumps. Violin intermixed with heart filling piano from the lower octaves coupled with echoing and scrapes from the ghosts of industry dotted and peppered the room. One of the amazing things I noticed in the first ten minutes was the way that Andersson works with his pacing. For an artist this age and relatively inexperienced he intuitively and studiously has a keen awareness of how and when to let a sound stick. It’s one thing to have talent for melody and sound texture, but the ability to feel out how to move with it, let it move with you and let the audience rest and gather on each note is a rare gift. It’s only the start for him, and after witnessing Andersson take the room through a menagerie of sounds, stories and nearly soul-healing melodic whispers coupled with a severe and at times an ultra smooth level of mechanical understanding I found myself swaying with closed eyes in the front. It was very warm, the support from friends filled the space and each break and transition arrived on the back of a cheer. At some point a member of the local electronic scene grabbed my arm to say,”Hes sooo gooddd!” I wasn’t about to argue. As a real fan of the debut Raquin album I was very much looking forward to seeing it live. Andersson is a real talent, if you get the chance to see Raquin or another one of his projects, go.

Later, Valentin was set to perform under the most popular of his many aliases Internazionale (also of posh isolation fame) but for the first time would be doing it with a new artist from the Janushoved roster Yuri: A project from another new artist Susanne Mouritsen, the first tape had a glimmering and resilient intensity. Sensual and at times faintly foreboding we knew that it would most likely be very interesting paired with the technically proficient, romantic and nearly expensive sound that Valentin seems to conjure with Internazionale.

Starting with an edgy opening resembling a turbulent asteroid belt viewed from the window of a small spacecraft the table was quickly set for something that could blaze. Slow burning, industrial and full of shrouded voices, and calls from your most intense blurred memories, the duo worked together, communicated constantly and built an opening that allowed you to observe closely and quietly the spatial soundscape as it wafted in vapour over the room. Standing beside Valentin’s father we talked about the way that noise music reveals something different in your experience and observation of sound. While other genres can easily give way to giving a projection, noise when done well can give such a poignant look into the artists ebb and flow. A portrait of the inner workings and personality emotionally. Transitioning from the simmering beginning to the finale, Valentin and Mouritsen broke into a rather jovial and struttingly sophisticated finale that gave the feeling of a futuristic ball. Possibly navigating through the Asteroid belt and the opening paved the way for enjoying the intergalactic party at the end of the story. Sharing an embrace at the final note, the two made there way to friends as did I to await the final set from Soho Rejanzad.

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“I hope she makes me dance!” One person remarked “I love it when she makes me dance.” It was a bumping affair from the start that only built with intensity. Heavily percussive a bounding, Soho Rezanejad ended the evening with a set that ranged from groovy dance to borderline harsh intensive noise and the incredible range of her voice. She danced, she sang, she climbed onto the table and the room loved every minute of it. In the final movement my friend got his wish as she transitioned into an all out thumping near industrial techno sound which made the room shake. A vital piece in the Janushoved label, the show from her had a completely different feel. I’ve seen her perform multiple times, but never seen anything from her this dance oriented or involving particularly in the vocal sections where she really came into the sound with a fury and immediacy as if the beats all at once shrouded and concealed a cry for peace amidst turmoil and uncertainty. After that DJ Troels Hass played trap rap in Mayhem, then I got really drunk and danced till we all had to leave.

I’ve been listening to Janushoved for quite some time now, and even while still living in LA before moving to Copenhagen. When you listen to Copenhagen artists outside of Denmark, YouTube groups everyone together from Posh Isolation to First Hate to Janushoved. I remember first coming across a rather charming and beautiful little tape called “Security” from little known artist Ballista. It quickly became a favorite and it even helped me through difficult times. There was a particular snippet from it I really adore and I reached out by email from LA to request using it for my photo website. The Janushoved site features only an email so I directed it there. I didn’t hear back immediately and after a few subsequent attempts I made a cordial contact, I remember I asked specifically who Ballista was. Janushoved was more then happy for me to use the recording but offered me no knowledge into who was the creator of the album. I came away thinking these guys must be full of it, or just super underground.

After the show Valentin makes sense of it in conversation. The anonymity he sought after in the beginning was set up to take attention off of the individual solely and onto the music and sound. “I want to always be the same, treat everyone in the same manner,” reveals Valentin. We discuss the challenges of remaining authentic in the face of artistic success. The recent showcase from Janushoved has been something relatively new for them. Certainly known with a healthy level of popularity in the local scene, getting out there and showing themselves was never a big priority. Maybe it still isn’t, but from the warmth and quality of the night hopefully it becomes something we can look forward to on a more regular basis. With a real influx of youth and converging groups and scenes the quality is set to remain high and possibly surge. Apart from that, expect them to remain the same so long Valentin is enthusiastic and at the helm. Romantic, beautiful and sensual ambient crafted in Copenhagen musical heart. One face in the future, the other peering into the past.

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Goodiepal & Pals – “Hver gang jeg prøver at definere vores kunst, er jeg uenig” (interview)

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Af Nils Bloch-Sørensen

Da jeg i midten af maj var i Beograd, benyttede jeg chancen til at interviewe Goodiepal and Pals. Gruppens projekt havde forvirret og fascineret mig, siden jeg første gang hørte om det, og jeg følte, at det rejste nogle centrale spørgsmål om forholdet mellem kunst og politik. For er det uproblematisk at bruge flygtningekrisen som del af et kunstnerisk projekt? Må man bruge kunst som led i sin aktivisme? Og kan man overhovedet kalde aktivisme kunst?

Med den eksplosion i antallet af politiske kunstværker, vi har set de seneste år, er dette vigtige spørgsmål. For risikerer vi at forfladige det politiske, hvis det er noget, man ligesåvel kan gøre til en fernisering som til en demonstration? Og risikerer den politiske kunst nogle gange til at udbytte de minoriteter den portrætter? Når eksempelvis en stor kunstbegivenhed som Documenta afholdes i Athen med “flygtningekrisen” som erklæret tema, er det nærliggende at tænke, at man tager flygtningene som gidsler i kunstverdenens higen efter chokeffekter.

Ført an af den danske techno-kriger Parl Kristian Vester og teaterinstruktør Nynne Roberta Pedersen bliver Goodiepal and Pals præsenteret som et rockband, men de har i mine øjne mere karakter af et performanceværk. Og så er de en selvproklameret, aktivistisk menneskesmuglerorganisation. I 2017 udgav gruppen pladen ”Pro Monarkistisk Extratone”, hvor omsætningen gik til flygtninge ved EU’s ydre grænser, og løbende har de lavet forskellige tiltag for at rejse penge.

Nynne Roberta Pedersens essay i det seneste Passive/Aggressive-zine havde uden tvivl klargjort deres intentioner og praksis for mig. Gruppen indgår rent faktisk indgår i relationer til og støtter flygtninge. Så betyder de ovennævnte spørgsmål så overhovedet noget?

Særligt en del projektet vedblev at være problematisk for mig. Jeg havde svært ved at forene Goodiepals prankster-of-all-pranksters-image og deres spraglede æstetik med alvorligheden i flygtningekrisen. Særligt deres tilstedeværelse på de sociale medier havde fået mig til at gruble. Højenergiske video-annonceringer, forelæsninger eller andre aktiviteter og opdateringer som: “– Kom til Koncert med DK’s bedste Rage Against The Machine-coverband I aften..” eller “Aarhus her kommer vi, men kun en gang i aar, saa vaer der’ – eller vaer Ingerst0jberg…” De var sjove! De viklede humor ind i det politiske. Men hvor meget var mediestunt, hvor meget var kunstprojekt, og hvor meget var reelt aktivistisk arbejde?

Da de fleste af de danske medlemmer af bandet efterhånden var rejst hjem fra Serbien, var det kun Goodiepal og Nynne, jeg kunne mødes med. Hvad der følger her, er ikke så meget et interview, som det er fragmenter af en samtale. Det blev et radikalt andet møde, end jeg havde regnet med, og handlede vel i virkeligheden mere om flygtningesituationen i Beograd end om musik.

Det regner let, mens jeg småløber mod Beograds hovedbanegård. Majsolen har ligget som en hed kvælende hånd over Beograd, siden jeg ankom, så nedbør er mere end velkommen. Støvregnen kæmper dog forgæves mod byens stillestående støvede luft og lægger sig blot som et klamt lag på huden. Banegården består af en gul bygning, der er omringet af et kaotisk sporvognsnet, parkeringspladser og et uigennemskueligt virvar af veje, der mødes i en uendeligt pulserende trafik. Jeg har aftalt mødes med Goodiepal og Nynne på en café, der skulle ligge inde i banegårdskomplekset. Caféen ligger på selve perronen, og jeg får øjenkontakt med Goodiepal, idet jeg træder gennem døren. De har søgt ly for regnen ved et bord under stationens halvtag. Trods byens anseelige størrelse er banegården ikke større end en mindre jysk provinsbys. I bygningens anden længe ligger politistationen stille hen, mens en ensom vagt pacer frem og tilbage i støvregnen.

Efter de indledende høfligheder kaster Goodiepal og Nynne sig hovedkulds ud i beretninger fra deres dagligdag, politiske refleksioner og rygter, de har hørt. De er ivrige for at fortælle, om de mange flygtninge de hører om, der urapporteret forsvinder, når de forsøger at krydse grænsen til EU. Fordi de ikke figurerer i nogen systemer, ignoreres de af alle myndigheder og svæver blot som skygger på Fort Europas vægge.

“Der sker hele tiden sådan noget med, at der er én, der dør; én, der falder; én, der forsvinder. Der er et minefelt mellem Bosnien og Kroatien – dér prøver de at krydse over. Der er også forsvundet nogle der. Vi ved ikke hvor mange. Vi hører historier om, at de bliver nødt til at efterlade én tilbage ude i skovene, når de bliver dehydrerede. Der var en lille pige som – det er jo igen et rygte – blev genet ud foran toget. Men hvordan det helt konkret har fundet sted, at hun ligesom blev truet til at løbe ud foran et tog med sin familie, forsvinder fuldstændigt i tågerne hernede,” fortæller Goodiepal med tydelig frustration over omverdenens manglende reaktion.

Barakkerne
På den anden side af skinnerne kan man se resterne af de barakker, der indtil sidste forår husede flygtningene. Da de i 2015 begyndte at ankomme til Beograd, placerede man dem i de tomme barakker. Det var ment som en desperat midlertidig løsning, men endte med at blive en permanent, men ikke synderligt officiel ordning. Da der ikke var tale om en decideret flygtningelejr, var der ingen sanitære foranstaltninger, så der lå skrald og afføring alle vegne. Væggene var dækket af et tykt lag sod: aftryk af de bål, der måtte tændes, for at flygtningene kunne holde sig varme gennem den bidende serbiske vinter. Trods de kummerlige forhold udviklede flygtninge et intenst ambivalent forhold til stedet: På den ene side var de hensat til at leve under umenneskelige forhold, men omvendt var stedet deres – noget, der ikke er en selvfølge for mennesker i den situation. Her var de frie og kunne opretholde følelsen af selvstændighed.

Men en tidlig morgen i maj sidste år blev barakkerne ryddet ved en efter sigende voldsom aktion foretaget af de serbiske myndigheder. Angiveligt blev de flyttet ud i officielle flygtningelejre, men mange besluttede at blive i byen, og siden da har de to parker omkring banegården været flygtningenes hjem og tilholdssted. En, de kalder Pakistanerparken, og en, de kalder Afghanerparken. Det er her, Goodiepal & Pals det sidste år har opholdt sig. Hjulpet med hvad de nu kunne, og hvad deres status som EU-borgere har muliggjort. De har hævet penge til illegale flygtninge i Western Union, hjulpet folk over grænsen til EU, lavet te, købt tøj og sko.

Indtil for nylig var parkerne fyldte, fortæller Goodiepal, men efter nylige deporteringer er mange blevet rykket ud af byen til officielle flygtningelejre, gemt af vejen. De blev hentet om natten, stillet op på række og kørt væk i busser. Mange fik taget deres telefoner – deres eneste livlinje, kontakt med omverdenen og bevis for deres rejse. Nynne og Goodiepal har nu ikke hørt fra deres venner i lang tid. De besøgte for nylig en af disse lejre, men fik ikke lov til at tale med nogen af flygtningene og blev efter et kvarter smidt væk af politiet. Ifølge dem var disse lejre ikke meget bedre end de gamle barakker. Nu var de blot ude af syne.

Så nu er der mindre at lave for Goodiepal & Pals, fortæller de. Der er stadig en del flygtninge i parkerne, men ikke i det omfang, der tidligere har været.

Nynne afbryder sin talestrøm og peger forsigtigt på en mand, der går forbi på perronen. “Ham der, han er en Commissariat. De plejer at have sådan et lille EU-flag på, så de ligesom har det mandat, for det er de meget stolte af.”

Commissiarat for Refugees and Migration er den den offentlige instans, der har fået tildelt ansvaret for at oprette flygtningelejre og holde styr på de tilkomne flygtninge – med betragtelige EU-midler til rådighed. Nynne fortæller historier om den vold, de ifølge hende udøver mod flygtningene, og det slår mig, hvordan flygtningesituationen i Beograd er dobbelt hård: Serbien er i forvejen hårdt presset af korruption, en skrantende økonomi og Balkan-krigenes betændte sår. Man kan stille spørgsmåltegn ved, om landet har økonomi og institutionel infrastruktur til at tage sig af den massive flygtningestrøm. At det alligevel er et land som Serbien, der, i så stort et omfang, skal tage sig af den overvældende flygtningestrøm, er ifølge Nynne et udtryk for strukturel racisme

“Alt med det her er jo bare nordeuropæisk racisme. Der foregår hardcore racisme ved at lade Tyrkiet, Bulgarien, Rumænien, Serbien tage sig af det her. Det er et helt sådan fuldstændigt kategorisk valg.” Hun forstår det som en bevidst taktik fra de Nordeuropæiske lande, designet til i fremtiden at kunne fralægge sig ansvar. “Når der så senere hen, hvor man på en eller anden måde kommer til at begræde det der er sket, fordi det dog alligevel var for heftigt, jamen så var det ikke os.”

Et ægte medmenneskeligt forhold
Jeg beder Nynne og Goodiepal beskrive, hvad Goodiepal & Pals-projektet grundlæggende går ud. Da jeg spørger, trækker Nynne lidt på det.

“Projektet at være her er ikke et rigtigt projekt. Eller altså, vi bor her, og vi provider den form for hjælp, som der nu kan gives til folk, der er på flugt af forskellig grad. Der er ikke den samme mulighed for at gøre det i Danmark, så vi tager ligesom derhen, hvor vi kan komme og forsøger at hjælpe dem til det, de har lyst til. Hvad end det måtte være. Det, de har brug for for at overleve eller klare deres videre rejse.”

Goodiepal tager over: “Jeg synes, det er meget vigtigt at være uprofessionel hernede. Jeg synes, det er meget vigtigt, at vi laver forskelsbehandling. Pointen er, at så har Nynne måske givet en stor hjælp til én person og en mindre hjælp til en anden. Det er uprofessionelt! Men det har været det, der har været nødvendigt. Der er også nogle, vi har haft boende i vores lejlighed, og så nogle, vi ikke har villet have boende oppe i vores lejlighed. Fordi vi er gået ind og har følt, hvad der kan lade sig gøre her: ‘Hvad har denne her person brug for, og hvad har denne her person ikke brug for?’”

Nynne tilføjer: “Jeg tror også bare, at vi er gået ind i nogle rigtige, ægte relationer til de her mennesker og så har vi ligesom sagt ‘okay, din situation er sådan her, men hvordan er vi venner?’ Altså et ægte medmenneskeligt forhold.”

Hun gør ophold.
“Egentlig var det meningen, at Hassan skulle komme, fordi nu sidder vi her og snakker, men min store ting var egentlig, at vi ikke skulle sige så meget om det, men at du skulle prøve og snakke med nogle af dem, der er ude i det.”

I samme øjeblik får hun øje på Hassan, der kommer gående fra perronens modsatte ende. Hassan er lav, kortklippet og har et smittende smil. Han tilhører et forfulgt pakistansk mindretal og har derfor været på flugt siden midten af 2015. Han har flere gange forsøgt at krydse grænsen til EU, siddet fængslet i Bosnien, men endnu ikke været i stand til at slippe ud af Serbien, fortæller Goodiepal.

Vi skifter til engelsk. Goodiepal rejser sig og kilder drillende Hassan. Han komplimenterer hans tykke hår. “This man has the best hair, I am very jealous!”

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Et søskendehood
Efter de mange voldsomme beretninger og politiske refleksioner har jeg det lidt mærkeligt med at skulle insistere på at tale om den kunstneriske del af Goodiepal & Pals-projektet. Alligevel synes jeg, det er rimeligt nok, at de skal stå til regnskab for at have præsenteret projektet som en blanding af kunst og aktivisme – eller i hvert fald har koblet en performativ del på deres virke. Heldigvis kommer Nynne ganske naturligt ind på det.

“What the art is… We have been defining that many times and every time I try to define it, I disagree,” siger hun og griner.

“Like the last article I wrote in Passive/Aggressive, you know I’m not even sure that I mean that any longer. I really, really, really think about that a lot. What I think right now, and what I kind of stick to, is that the art is really a tool. We have been talking about the aesthetics of traveling or the ethics of traveling. Since it’s what we do, it takes us around different places.”

Goodiepal tager over: “What we have managed to do and I think that is really good, is that Nynne has managed to create, like I had, a complete network all over Europe where I could go wherever I wanted and play gigs and sleep and stay.”

Jeg spørger, om det er mere korrekt at kalde det et netværk end et projekt. Ja, siger Nynne tøvende. Goodiepal indskyder: “I think since we are also feminist we cannot say brotherhood, so it has to be a søskendehood.”

Goodiepal henter kaffe, så Nynne slår kort over i dansk. Hun vender tilbage til sin artikel i det seneste Passive/Aggressive-zine og udtrykker fortrydelse over at have været for kategorisk i sin afvisning af den politiske kunst, der ikke involverer en aktivistisk komponent. Hun nuancerer:
“På en eller anden måde at sige noget om en situation artistisk, det synes jeg godt, man må. Man skal bare passe på med, hvem du gør det for, og lige nu er det jo blevet enormt moderne at være enormt politisk, men man skal bare finde ud af, hvor det rykker henne, for hvem det rykker, og hvordan du er kommet derhen.”

Jeg spørger, om hun mener, at meget af samtidens politiske kunst er harmløs, eller om hun mener, at den pacificerer publikum.
“Det synes jeg, det gør. I den grad. Rigtig tit har folk en fornemmelse af, at har de søgt en information, har de gjort noget.”

Goodiepal kommer tilbage og minder os om at tale engelsk, så Hassan kan følge med.
“The other thing is that it creates a fake – and that’s what my biggest problem with let’s say the heavy art world – that it creates a fake openness.”

Nynne nævner Documenta 14-udstillingens tema om flygtningekrisen og spørger, om arrangørerne mon også har fokus på flygtninge næste gang, eller om emnet når at blive ”for kedeligt” i deres øjne.
“When we were in Bologna the curators of the festival were saying that they were fed up with the refugees now, they didn’t want to talk about it. Try to say to Hassan that you are don’t want to talk about refugees anymore. We are bored of you!”

Goodiepal vil over i en af parkerne, og mens ham og Nynne ordner betalingen, tager Hassan ordet. Han mener, at de store politiske kræfter i EU bruger opholdstilladelser til at kontrollere flygtninge.
“If you give them documents, it doesn’t mean you give them freedom. You control them by documents.”

Afghanerparken
I parken sætter vi os på en bænk i skyggen. Nynne og Goodiepal hilser hjemmevant på parkens flygtninge, og hvert andet minut rejser Goodiepal sig og kilder en flygtning. Her har de har tilbragt utallige timer, skabt utallige relationer. Nynne går ud og køber bukser sammen med en ung afghansk fyr.

Rundt omkring i parken sidder mellemøstlige flygtninge. De fleste er unge mænd, og det slår mig, hvor meget de ser ud til at kede sig. Unge mænd i deres bedste alder, der er tvunget til at sidde dag ud og dag ind, i årevis, i en park i Beograd uden at få lov til at lave noget. Nynne påpeger, at dette er en del af en mekanisme, der er med til at fastholde et fjendebillede af flygtninge.

“Hvis du bor lang tid nok et sted uden at have mad, vil du automatisk begynde at tilkæmpe dig mad på ulovlige måder. Hvis du bor for lang tid et sted, hvor du ikke har adgang til sanitære forhold, vil du begynde at opføre dig ulækkert. Hvis du bor for lang tid uden at have adgang til sex, så vil du blandt rigtig, rigtig, rigtig mange mænd på et tidspunkt opleve en ekstremt stor seksuel frustration. Hvis du presser mennesker til det yderste, vil de begynde at opføre sig, som man ikke kan lide det. Og det gør vi lige nu, så rigtig mange af de her folk, vi møder, kan tit opføre sig dårligt på nogle måder, som jeg ikke synes er fede. Fordi de er presset så langt ud.”

“Og dér kommer selvjustitsen så for den menige europæiske borger, fordi de stjæler jo også, de er jo også beskidte, de smider også affald. Så bliver de til nogle ulækre arabere eller nogle ulækre afghanere. Det vil sige, at der kommer en folkelig stemning af, at de her mennesker ikke er velkomne. Så det retfærdiggør, hvorfor de ikke skal være her. Man presser folk til at gøre noget, der presser den almindelige befolkning. Vi skaber helt klart sådan en fornemmelse af, hvem der er okay, og hvem der ikke er okay. Hvem der har ret til noget, og hvem der ikke har ret til noget.”

So, this is life?
Jeg spørger ind til, hvor de synes, humoren passer ind i alt det her. Jeg påpeger, at Goodiepals ouevre ikke just har været uden glimt i øjet.
Nynne svarer: “Jeg synes, vi bliver nødt til at finde ud af, hvad europæisk kultur er? Hassan spørger hele tiden, hvad er det, I kan? På et tidspunkt havde han været i byen med nogle spaniere og havde været ude hele natten, folk var blevet mere og mere og mere fulde, han havde ikke drukket. Så kom han hjem helt træt, og så siger han: ‘Music is all the same, like dukdukdukduk…’ og så går der noget tid, så siger han ‘So, this is life?’ Og det var bare så flot.”

Hun stopper op for en stund.
“Man bliver bare nødt til på en eller anden måde at finde ud af, hvad der er cremen af europæisk kultur, og hvad kan det egentlig? Og det er tit dét, Goodiepal gør ved ligesom at gøre grin med, altså det, synes jeg bare, er essensen af at gøre grin med Ursonaten eller muselmaling.”

“Hvad er det, vi indhegner? Man ser bare sådan en høj by, der ingenting er indeni. Altså hvad er det, der er så sygt fedt, at det bare ikke kan deles, og som er under så meget pres, at nogen ville kunne ødelægge det. Det bliver man nødt til at gøre grin med, synes jeg! Det synes jeg på en eller anden måde bliver nødt til at blive angrebet humoristisk.”

Som dug fra solen
Solen sænker sig og kaster et orange skær over Beograds bakker. Vi skilles ved en plads med udsigt over byens kaotiske skyline.

Goodiepal & Pals har uden tvivl haft nogle personlige omkostninger for Nynne og Goodiepal. De er påbegyndt et arbejde, der skulle vise sig at være sværere at slippe, end de først troede. Eller som Goodiepal udtrykker det, så binder de ægte medmenneskelige forhold begge veje. De har placeret sig midt i en uoverskuelig og frustrerende situation, der trækker dybe menneskelige spor. Mødet med flygtningene, mødet med det serbiske system (eller mangel på samme), frustrationen over at flygtningekrisen langsomt bliver glemt af de store vestlige medier og skræmmende hurtigt løfter sig som dug fra solen i europæernes bevidsthed.

Jeg ved ikke om jeg har fået bedre styr på de modsatrettede impulser i Goodiepal & Pals’ kunstpraksis. Men jeg forstår, at de ser det som en kompleks reaktion på en kompleks situation, der ikke kalder på strømlinet god smag, men på handling og smidighed. Så måske er humoren i deres facebookopdateringer ikke ironi, men latter i ansigtet på tragedien.

Info: Hvad jeg her skriver om flygtningesituationen, er, hvad Goodiepal og Nynne fortalte mig, blandet med mine egne subjektive indskydelser. Hvis man vil vide mere, vil jeg opfordre til at høre Goodiepal & Pals’ DJ audiosvar om flygtningesituationen eller alternativt at skrive til “Goodiepal” på Skype. GP & PLS’ udgivelser kan erhverves i Kihoskh og til koncerterne. Salget går ubeskåret til flygtninge.

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