Reportage and photographs by Cameron Pagett

The room of Pumpehuset’s main stage is empty. Empty but for two zany lighting technicians playing DJ to a pair of blinking strobes. On the main stage, there is a metal bar holding a tapestry of thin, vertical, clear plastic panels, which hold a keyboard in a tiny enclosure surrounded by LED lamps quaintly behind them. Directly to the right of this shrouded in a blinking and immersive cold blue hue, sits a bed accompanied by a disco ball and a guitar. I nestle into the front of the installation and breathe in the musty air coupled with hour-old smoke after soundcheck and admire the work of the Knife crew in preparation for this first show back in Pumpehuset in over a year. It was a different time then, and yet the same characters line the patio from that previous season enjoying pre-show catering and artist only beer. In a haze, drinking what is left of a Tuborg classic long past its Carbonated best, it’s obvious and nearly joyous that the minds which brought us so many great shows in our city still remain sharp and growing, save for the fact that the show still has to transpire. All those people outside who had beckoned me in to survey the set-up were right. It looks very good.  Anticipation starts to sneak in and the first note has not yet stung the room.

It’s a inquisitive and strong line-up for this maiden Knife performance. With ML Buch, CPH stalwarts CTM, Lyra Valenza, Croatian Amor and UK genre wizard sega bodega, there were plenty of reasons to be in attendance. For many mingling in the backstage area, other reasons include the freely poured Gin & Tonics along with other assortments of alcohol and snacks. Wandering out to the downstairs stage hemmed by some outstandingly alien hanging sculptures from the mind of Knife Co-founder Magnus Holger, the first of the night’s crowd sifts in among a warm orange light garden. People mingle and order from the bar and try on merch as the new very cool Knife Performance T-shirts are unveiled. Its already a cozy evening and many friends pass by before the first sounds lull the crowd to silence. Knife is back and it feels to many like coming home.

It probably shouldn’t be, but it’s a weird and oddly humorous sensation to not know how to react upon hearing a physical instrument, in this case a guitar, make its amplified entrance. As the opening of ML Buch set unfolds, it struck me that I could scarcely remember the last time I saw a guitar at a show. The landscape has increasingly shifted over to electronic controllers and endless mazes of cables. Trainers, Baggy white trousers and an oversized black t-shirt; ML Buch strikes a relaxed posture with her eyelids shut for most of her lyrics favoring long streaming melodies under the Orange glow in the minimal fog. She is singing in what feels like a state of controlled bliss as she ranges between long instrumental stretches and sparse poetry that details emotions whispered presently but not forcefully from a structurally fluid soundscape. Like small formational waves emerging from the wake of a steamship closing in on harbor, it was a fitting and engaging opener for a night summoning a familial glow.

Her collar is black, drop ear and made of silk. Her posture sleek and debonair with her Cello at her lap. The lights switch from Orange to Atlantic Green and seem to shimmer like a mid-noon day on a calm sea close to shore. The room has spacially transformed as CTM begins. “I don’t want children, If you have any money I’ll spend it, I’ll spend it.” It’s the only lyrics necessary and in truth, this set only used and needed a few bars of melody to completely take flight. If ML Buch left us with a ship’s wake, then this gave us the advancing convulsions reminiscent of a glacial collapse into a serene bay. It’s certain there have been more complex, glittering, dramatic and mind-boggling performances this year, but CTM was something different. With her Cello, CTM is able to conjure a rare constancy of enveloping magic. An audience charmer of the first degree and a known musical sorcerer with a growing international reach, the style of music being made and in some sense pioneered by CTM can never be an exact fit with a particular style or vein of familiarity. It was a special feeling as the audience became lulled into a trance. In lieu of her recent critically acclaimed album “Red Dragon”, it was obviously apparent that her work live and recorded ought to be savored and appreciated on its own terms. Immensely enjoyable and refreshing, CTM’s style will be something to look forward to between now and her next local outing.

It’s the first domestic show for Croatian Amor after releasing a much anticipated new album “Isa.” The room is warm, the night is undemanding and free for a peek into the recent work of Loke Rahbeck. Continuing on the sentiment brought from the previous two performers, things felt more exploratory and abstract then what I initially anticipated. If CTM brought a constancy this was a set that smoothly with some seams and breaks in melody carried the listener closer to the deeper realms of the open ocean. Drawing heavily, yet not exclusively, from a variety of sections from “Isa” as well as some newer shades of production, it’s clear that Rahbeck is once again branching further into an exploration of his own impressive body of work. Ranging from deep ambiance to a sort of industrial pop filled with artificial sweetener, he closed, in keeping with the prior sets, with the sparse and warmly robotic single “In Alarm Light”, voiced by Soho Rezanejad adding a newly nostalgic charm to what continued to be a wildly enjoyable evening.

Rapper, Solo Hero, Deconstructor and all-around fearless are not enough to describe sega bodega. In recent years, the UK based producer has come to the forefront of a new wave in producing without limits. There are no constraints to what you can or can’t do in music if you follow his vision. If there were ever rules, Sega never bothered to check. The room is now near full, and the set screeches to a high pitched, skeezy and hard beginning from behind the vertical vinyl sheets. If the evening began with a lean toward the poetic this was bursting with a nearly toxic flare underneath almost medical pink lights and intermittent strobes. An active performer, to say the least, it seemed that not a molecule of sound can pass by without his body reacting in some way. It’s sort of comforting trying to write about something so hard to describe. When sound and performance mesh into something so intensively impulsive and present while exploding with surprise after surprise, it feels like you could dissolve into the speakers and project back into the room on the ends of each strobe light. The floor was moving and it’s safe to say if you came for any of the reasons mentioned at the beginning of the paragraph, you could check each off your list. He rocked out on a guitar amidst a chorus of choppy and oddly glossy noise on a bed next to a disco ball … Perfect. If Croatian Amor left us close to open ocean, this put us on a speedboat blowing past smaller craft with aplomb.

To make matters more lit, we had the privilege (albeit a very inebriated one) to hear Lyra Valenza take us into the end of the night with their first CPH performance in some time. Offering a fitting close with their own brand of hyper-electro-unstoppable-bliss, complete with a sparsely coherent wall of gamey inspired beats, Lyra Valenza enjoyed an audience bent on dancing out whatever was left as the light flickered into nothing. Welcome back Knife, thanks for the fun!

It’s an interesting time whenever a collective takes a small hibernation after giving us so much to dance and smile about. Will they retain the enthusiasm? Will they just be going through the motions? Will they stay fresh with a few tricks to keep interest?

Perhaps more than in past years, a growing focus within the fabric of the local DIY landscape has been an urge, or perhaps a newly forged dedication, to production that compliments the enormous talent we have previously enjoyed in the music of this scene. A certain pattern of increased attention to ambiance streaming from graphics into decor, lights and all the things surrounding what emanates from the speakers. It’s a wide open world of experience and imagination, exploring what is possible and how much can be visualized or felt during the experience of the show. Looking back to the first time I came to a Knife event, it was clear that more was being taken into consideration with the production value and attention to detail. That was a different time. With more shows behind them and growing confidence and sophistication, it’s a very positive thing to see that not only for Knife, but the scene in general, that this sort of inspiration will continue to drive things forward.

Sculptures hanging off the wall, lights creating depth, beautiful new merch and an elaborate set on stage add to the intensity and a sense of contribution and commitment to more expression. This same sentiment continues to get better and be on display more and more in the local landscape. In many ways, Knife has been and continues to be one of the main instigators in a movement toward full immersion. It’s become more than a show, it’s an experience and a vision more than worth expanding upon for the present and recent future. Welcome back from hibernation Knife, see ya at the next outing!

Af Ida Selvejer Faaborg

Frederik Skyum Carlsen har med navnet Panser Kone netop udgivet albummet “Drengene Hører Kidd Mens Jorden Går Under” på eget label Air System Play Like Air / Fantasy Forever. Med dette første egentlige fuldlængdealbum har han ønsket at arbejde med længere kompositioner, som kunne stå for sig selv. Resultatet er otte numre, der udforsker forskellige genrer fra trap til bossa nova, hvor der både bliver gjort brug digitale og akustiske elementer.

På nogle af numrene får forskellige melodier, lydbilleder og stemninger lov til at vandre i mange forskellige retninger, hvor andre af numrene er mere konstant i det lydlige udtryk og bevarer samme grundrytme. Fælles for dem alle er, at de indeholder melodier, vokaler, samples og forskellige referencer, indspillet eller inspireret af venner, som er blevet klippet op og arrangeret efterfølgende. Følgende er et interview om Frederik Skyum Carlsen arbejde med Panser Kone-pladen, der er lavet på mail i slutningen af januar.

P/A: Først og fremmest, hvem er du og hvad er din baggrund – både geografisk, men også i høj grad musikalsk?

Frederik Skyum Carlsen: “Jeg kommer fra Sindal i Nordjylland, 9870. Det er et sted, hvor man får opkaldt en pizza efter sig selv, hvis man drikker sig stiv og kører galt på en tunet scooter og dør af det. Jeg hørte meget Blink-182 og Linkin Park, da jeg var yngre. Det var nok mine idoler på en måde.”

Har du udgivet noget før? Eller haft andre musikprojekter?

“Jeg har tidligere udgivet 3 mixtapes på bånd med sange, jeg har lavet på siden 2015: “Kremling Komputer”, “Sindal / Sindala” og “Pizza Test”. “Drengene Hører Kidd” er første udgivelse på LP.”

P/A: Er LP’en produceret af dig selv? Har der været andre indover?

“Min ven Christian HR har spillet et par synthesizer-bidder og guitarsolo på to af sangene; min ven Nic (Khal Allan) rapper på “Panser Kone Du Lyver”, min ven Joakim Moesgaard (DJ Fukboi / Manadude) gav mig nogle filer med trommer fra en jam, som han lavede på sin Analog Rytm, som er blevet klippet op og brugt på nummeret ”Hoes Ass Titties”. Den sang startede egentlig med, at mine venner legede med en gameboy-sequencer, som havde et sampler-instrument, der hed “Ghetto” eller sådan noget der, som kun kunne sige: “Hoes, ass, titties, bitch” og nogle andre ting i den retning.

Derudover har jeg produceret og spillet alt på pladen selv.

Jeg har samplet den måske bedste DJ Fukboi sang, som hedder “Koreanske trap beats & sputnik Olympics” på “DJ MC Mashup Mix” og et gammelt mix fra DJ MC. Han er en YouTube-DJ fra Tolne, som er en lille by, der ligger lige ved siden af Sindal. Det sidste nummer på albummet, ”Åh Pengene”, er et cover af en Kidd sang, som jeg ikke tror er kommet ud endnu.”

P/A: Hvad er du blevet inspireret af i arbejdet med pladen? Og hvordan kommer inspirationen til udtryk i musikken?

“Det er forelskelsen, der har lagt sig. Engang imellem kan man flygte ud i sådan en ekstase af intethed og ligegyldighed over, hvordan tingene hænger sammen og nyde det i en periode. Men der er også bare mange københavner-techno koncerter, som ligner hinanden og tingene bliver ved med at gå i loop for tiden, uanset hvor man stiller skarpt. Det tænkte jeg meget på i den periode, hvor jeg indspillede albummet. Ligegyldigheden hersker bare meget i alting, og det afspejler sig selvfølgelig også i alt musik, der bliver lavet. Jeg er jo ikke bedre selv, for albummet omfavner fuldstændig den samme ligegyldighed. Det er en trap-udgivelse. Jeg tror måske bare snart, at jeg skal videre. Men jeg har kun respekt, jeg hørte meget Lil Mazda, da jeg lavede pladen.

…

Det er lige før, der er nok lommefilosofi her til en Ukendt Kunstner-sang.

…

I hvert fald: Mere kærlig musik. Mindre kold fetich-musik. Jeg synes ikke, at det er så sexet længere, og mystikken er forsvundet, fordi man har set og hørt det 1000 gange før. Der skal i hvert fald være en balance, før jeg selv synes, det er spændende.”

P/A: Kan man sige, at denne søgen mod mindre kold musik også afspejles i, at pladen i høj grad er elektronisk/digitalt konstrueret, men at der dermed også sommetider er tilsat akustiske elementer og samples?

“Jeg har tænkt meget på kontrasten mellem de akustiske og digitale lyde. Den første sang, jeg lavede til pladen, var “Dolphin Olympics”, hvor jeg optog forskellige akustiske lyde, bl.a. trommer, elbas og trompet og så efterfølgende prøvede at få dem til at lyde som en dårlig kopi af sig selv ved at programmere lydene digitalt. De fleste af numrene er lavet ud fra den tankegang eller har elementer, der prøver at stå i kontrast til hinanden akustisk og digitalt. Jeg synes især, “Hoes Ass Titties” kommer hele vejen rundt og maler et godt billede af albummets lyd.

Jeg synes ikke selv, at denne her plade er meget anderledes i stemningen end det, jeg beskrev før, fordi det er en karikatur af den lyd. Jeg synes både, den er meget kold og intim på samme tid. Men generelt kommer min musik altid til at lyde lidt MGP-agtig, så det er en lidt svær balance mellem noget legende og alvorligt i mine ører.”

P/A: Jeg fornemmer også en rastløshed i mange af sangene, eller måske nærmere, at du i sange som ’Dolphin Olympics’, ’Hoes Ass Titties’ og ’DJ MC Mashup Mix’ tør at give plads til mange forskellige rytmer og stemninger. De står i kontrast til sange som ’PK Bossa’, ’Lyddreng Tempel’ og ’Åh pengene’, som er mere konstante i det lydlige udtryk. Er det også en kontrast, du har arbejdet bevidst med?

“Det er sjovt at lege med kontrasten i kompositionen og se, hvor mange referencer man kan klemme ind i en sang. Det kommer af, at jeg plejede at lave meget korte numre eller skitser på omkring 1:30 min. Mine tidligere udgivelser har været mere mixtape-agtige, hvor jeg har samlet skitser og idéer fra en periode i et langt mix. Så meget af kompositionen bestod også i overgangene mellem de forskellige dele af sange. Det hænger nok lidt fast i min måde at arbejde med sangene på denne udgivelse. Det er tænkt som otte sange, der udforsker hver sin lyd, men som alle samme har den samme stemning.”

P/A: I forhold til at du skriver, hvordan du godt kan lide at se, hvor mange referencer, du kan klemme ind i en sang, er der så nogle betydningsfulde fænomener/musik/ting, du refererer til?

“Generelt er det bare små huskesedler til mig selv, om ting der er sket i den periode, jeg lavede pladen, som kun mig selv og mine venner kan høre. Det kan være alt fra en YouTube-video, man har set, til at stjæle små melodistykker fra sange, man har lyttet meget til i perioden. Jeg bliver tit nostalgisk, når jeg laver musik, så selvom det er et overvejende instrumentalt album, så prøver jeg at gemme små ting i sangene. Eller at lave en sang om en bestemt oplevelse eller følelse.”

P/A: I henhold til at albummet hedder “Drengene Hører Kidd Mens Jorden Går Under” og at dit afslutningstrack er et cover af en Kidd sang, hvad er dit forhold så til Kidd?    

“Det kom egentlig ud fra en gammel video Hari Kishore (Hvad) lagde op på Instagram, hvor der kører noget musik i baggrunden. “Åh Pengene” er lavet ud fra det klip, men jeg var ikke sikker på, hvem der havde lavet musikken før for et par måneder siden. Da jeg fik lavet master af pladen hos Hari fortalte han mig så, at det var en Kidd sang, da han hørte “Åh Pengene”, og så kom titlen til albummet lidt efter det. Jeg synes Kidd er en vigtig figur i dansk musik. Han har helt klart haft stor indflydelse på lyden af både dansk pop og undergrundsmusik det sidste årti. Men der er mange kloner derude.

Albumtitlen er bestemt et nik med hatten, selvom det måske kan lyde som det modsatte. Var jeg født i 2002, så havde albummet sikkert heddet ”Baby Bino Gang Gang” eller sådan noget – Kidd var bare den første og største.”

Info: Panser Kone “Drengene Hører Kidd Mens Jorden Går Under” er ude nu på LP / download. Lyt til albummet i fuld længde i Sounds.

Intonal Festival, Malmö, April 24-28 – live report by Astrid Hald & Laura Juncker

Malmö’s annual Intonal Festival for experimental and electronic music celebrated its 5th edition by presenting a packed programme of acclaimed experimental artists and immersive sound experiences. For five days Inkonst – the city’s independent venue for experimental music and performance – was transformed into a lively red-and-black hub, where the friendly crow could lounge in Red Light Radio’s sofa corner, party in the Club, mingle in the bar, or lie down on pillows and soak music in the Black Box, downstairs.

Intonal pulled off a stunning festival. Through bold curating, which repeatedly sought to dissolve the barriers between art forms, and the unconventional use of venues, the festival initiated ongoing conversations on the way we engage in music and art, collectively, regardless of genre and formalities.

It is a refreshing injection of something unapologetically uncommercial in the festival scene, and indeed, just for a fleeting moment, it allowed you to forget that music and art were ever an industry and simply indulge in a pure universe of experimentation.

Well-fed with talks, performances and parties, here we provide you with a couple of snapshots and highlights from Intonal Festival 2019.

Limpe Fuchs and In Praise of Profanation at St. Johannes Church

With a yearly free church concert, Intonal sympathetically invites its home city to kick off the festival. By the altar, German experimental percussionist and legend Limpe Fuchs had mounted her home-built instruments of xylophone-like rows of cut stone and a giant bronze pendulum in an intricate construction that made for a sight in itself. In between playing them and singing, she even turned the church itself into her instrument as she kicked a stone ball down the aisle letting the rumbling of the ball be the bass to her high-pitched violin.

Having set the tone for just how far we are allowed to go with music when we relieve it of conventions, the concert proceeded to the next act, the premiere of the collaboration In Praise of Profanation – an adaption of former solo works by Swedish (film)composer Erik Enocksson and American Stockholm-based artist Kali Malone together with the St. Johannes Choir and Vega Choirs. In a long, slowly progressing, and deeply absorbing drone symphony, Enocksson set off with piercing metallic synth shooting through the silence, was then joined by Malone’s harmonic synth and church pipe organ, and from the very start, they filled every inch of the tremendous room with melancholy and beauty. The 60-something person choir merged in elegantly with a long sequence of calm expansions and retractions of what felt like one big lung, and the hour-long profanation mass was nothing short of breathtaking.

Astrid Sonne at Black Box

Copenhagen-based composer and viola player Astrid Sonne opened the Saturday programme with her piece “Ephemeral” performed live in three parts: Her alone with her sample box and synth, her playing viola over her live composition, and her ending the show by singing in a four-person choir ensemble. An interplay between the organic and mechanical, equally vulnerable and forceful, and a glorious twilight between classical and experimentation.

Sansibar + AUX88 at The Club and BlackBoxDiscoClub

DJ Sansibar – Finnish electro prodigy and resident at Helsinki’s heart of electronic nightlife club Kaiku – played a pounding live set of electro-minimalism with influences of Detroit electro and quickly turned day into night as party people joined the dancefloor and a long line started queuing up outside Inkonst. After him, legendary 90’s Detroit duo and techno pioneers AUX 88 took over with old school robotic rhymes and pumping breakbeat electro-funk, in a time machine of a DJ-set, landing audience right back in the freshness of techno’s earliest days.

A couple of dance moves later and the Black Box downstairs had been transformed into a steamy punky techno rave under the guidance of Swedish producer, EBM/wave label owner, and frequent Berghain appearance DJRivet. Following him was Spanish Berlin-based producer and sound artist JASSS’s hard-hitting industrial brilliance keeping the room sweaty until early morning. Across from the decks, as a commentary to the rave-like-atmosphere, the naked bodies of London-based performance art duo Antonio Branco & Riccardo T. were staged above the pumping crowds, in a 5-hour performance of them licking and bathing each other in sheets of gold in contrasting slow motion.

Julius Eastman and Oliver Coates at Black Box

On the next day, a slight general hangover and looming festival blues made the setting for Sunday night’s candy bag of artists. Entering the calmness of Black Box to see British contemporary music ensemble Apartment House perform “Femenine” (the 1970’s masterpiece by late and criminally unsung American composer Julius Eastman), we were welcomed by massing sleigh bells playing in loop on the speakers, as the ensemble was getting ready on stage. A vibraphone loop set into motion in a mechanically repetitive backdrop that persisted throughout the piece. Piano, keyboard, flutes, violin and cello subtly joined in, and for the next 72 minutes, we were taken through a musical tale of melancholy, vigour, tragedy, agitation and peace.

Rounding off the evening was the widely acclaimed British cellist virtuoso and producer Oliver Coates with his very first performance on Swedish ground. Known for having played the cello for major headliners like Radiohead and especially praised for his own solo explorations of cello and electronics, here, he presented new, unreleased compositions, demonstrating his playful and skilled experimentation with improvisation and sampling.

In an intimate and polite interaction with the audience, he entrusted us with voice recordings of his mother-in-law telling a story about meeting a poltergeist, which he accompanied with his drum machine and his wide-ranging artistic expressions on the cello. As Oliver Coates wished us farewell, and we packed to leave back for Copenhagen, volunteers started arranging for the very final event in the programme; a sleeping concert in J. Knutsson & S. Mullaert’s “ambient rabbit hole” and a soft landing into Monday morning back in the real world.

Ydegirl “words woozy in the breeze” (Escho, 2019) – Interview af Nils Bloch-Sørensen

For nogle uger siden udgav Ydegirl nummeret “words woozy in the breeze” med tilhørende video. Nummeret, der er forløber for et album, som udkommer til september, er en afsøgning af både sprogets og blikkets intime møder. I forbindelse med udgivelsen stillede vi Novél et par spørgsmål, der blev besvaret i en både poetisk og kryptisk blanding af engelsk og dansk.

Ydegirl er Andrea Novéls soloprojekt og har indtil videre udmøntet sig i et album, “Parody of Crime” fra 2016, en række gæsteoptrædender og et bidrag til Posh Isolations compilation-album “I Could Go Anywhere But Again I Go With You”.

“words woozy in the breeze” er en direkte forlængelse af den ituslåede folk-R’n’B, Ydegirl har markeret sig med, men opleves alligevel mere organisk end tidligere udgivelser. Nummeret er iørefaldende, tenderende til det catchy, til trods for at det er næsten blottet for rytmisk fremdrift, og at stilhed bruges aktivt som musikalsk virkemiddel. I stedet er det Novéls karakteristisk slæbende vokal, der er i centrum. Den er nummerets anker, fortællerstemme og strukturerende princip.

Novél: “words woozy in the breeze is about the relation between two baroque women and between words that rhyme.

words that rhyme have a relation that is not semantic – but romantic – it’s the sounds – they embrace each other – they act like lovers. the words bend and curve in a sonic pattern –that is very sexy to me. like they are kissing or breathing together.”

Videoen er et samarbejde mellem Novél og Ribka Maria Coleman, der bl.a. har været inde over en del af Marching Churchs videoer. Den består af to tableauer, der krydsklippes mellem: Novél stoisk, badet i koldt blåt lys, og grynede billeder af Coleman og Novél, der deler en joint. Blottet for narrativ er videoen tvetydigt erotisk ladet, men den vender samtidig vrangen ud på musikvideotraditionens konventioner. Kameraføringen er ustabil og ufokuseret. Novéls ansigt og krop er ikke æstetiseret, men ubehageligt eksponeret i det kølige lys. Kvindernes berøringer er mere venskabelige end erotiske – ikke til for nogens blik. Langt fra Instagram-filtre, ned i detaljen pegende på en intimitet, der er den konventionelle musikvideoæstetik fremmed.

N: “Vi ville gerne lave videoen sammen. Og så var der en ven, der foreslog, at vi skulle lave en rygervideo. Materialet, hvor vi ryger, var egentlig en test, som vi endte med at bruge. Men det er jo ikke rigtig en rygervideo. Mit ansigt skal også bare tænkes lidt som en pejs. 

I feel the gaze is very barok, breezing back and forth, hunting one another, caring and down starring, tender and playfully territorial. serving and sometimes slightly possessive. around a tiny joint – consider it a monument of intimacy and fiction.”

Navnet Ydegirl er ganske sigende for de modsatrettede energier, der er på spil i Novéls musik. Ydegirl er navnet på et mosefund, en teenagepige fra oldtiden, og fungerer samtidig som et spil på servicerende kvindestereotyper. Musikken er på samme måde karakteriseret ved en fascination af folkemusikkens harmonik og en dekonstruktivistisk tilgang til R’n’B genren.

N: “jeg [var] på et tidspunkt meget optaget af rødder. Både politisk og personligt. 

Og så synes jeg, at keltiske melodier deler nogle ligheder med r&b, der ligger svært i mit hjerte. (Øh, mit hjerte nært på en svær måde?)

Det er vel et spørgsmål om splittelse. 

Donna Haraway snakker om cyborgens træthed i forhold til holisme, over for dens eksistensberettigelse i kontakten. 

Det kan jeg genkende meget. I identify with the split mind, I see integrity in the splitmind, I am addicted to the splitmind. Identificerer mig med splittelse. Jeg finder integritet i splittelse. Jeg er afhængig af splittelsen. 

Inger Christensen skriver også om Barok-mennesket, som tager bolig i svimmelheden og tapper ind forskellige virkeligheder. At have en cyklus og give efter for dens svingninger.”

Info: “words woozy in the breeze” er udgivet af Escho den 19. april. Nummeret er dedikeret til den mexikanske filosof og poet Juana Inés de la Cruz (1648-1695).

Af Alexander Julin Mortensen

Natal Zaks er en umådeligt produktiv elektronisk musiker, der efterhånden ikke længere kræver den store introduktion. Som involveret i pladeselskaberne Help, Regelbau, No Hands, SAINO m.fl., og aktiv i gruppen Maizena og soloprojekterne Alle, Central, El Trick, Timeman og Palta har Zaks i senere år været én af de drivende kræfter bag aarhusiansk housemusik, der med rette har fået ros i både ind- og udland. Senest har han udgivet sit andet album, “Om Dans”, og EP’en “Presents 3 Tracks”. I den anledning bringer P/A et interview med ham samt ikke mindst et nyt mix, der bl.a. indeholder musik fra de hemmelige Øgade-arkiver og nye produktioner fra et ophold i Tel Aviv.

Passive/Aggressive: Kan du pege på nogle specifikke inspirationskilder, du føler har været essentielle for og i arbejdet med dine seneste udgivelser?

Natal Zaks : “Det er ikke helt let; det hele smelter sgu lidt sammen – et stort miskmask af indtryk og inspiration. Men de fleste stilarter har nogle skæve afstikkere, som formår at overraske mig indenfor nogle rammer, jeg ellers ville gå rundt og tro, jeg kendte godt. Men for at namedroppe lidt har disse kunstnere sat dybere spor end sædvanligt:
Stephen Brown (der altid fordrejer sin techno på sin egen måde), primært ældre ting fra Nail, Vince Ailey, Vince Watson, Mark Ambrose, Jordan Fields. Måske bare generelt folk, der synes at vove sig ind i nogle nye ting uden at bryde genrens konventioner. John Beltran… Der er heldigvis mange.”

P/A: Hvorfor har det været vigtigt for dig at udgive musikken på “Om Dans” som et album frem for som eksempelvis en række af EP’er?

NZ: “Jeg er ærligt talt ikke så overvejet omkring den slags. Mit arbejde former sig sjældent som udgivelser, men opstår mere som et produkt af efterfølgende kuratering; altså at kigge på, hvad der ligger i gemmerne og se mulighederne. Samlingen af numre på “Om Dans” lyder for mig som en flot samling, og min bror Milán havde faktisk en finger med i spillet, når det kom til udvælgelsen. Desuden er EP’er ofte mere funktionelle i min optik; rettet mod DJs.”

P/A: En stor del af din musik er selvudgivet. Hvad er forudsætningen for, at det appellerer til dig, at andre udgiver din/jeres musik, som det bl.a. er tilfældet med din nye EP på Gravity Graffiti? Og hvorfor var det vigtigt, at “Om Dans” derimod skulle udkomme på et af jeres egne selskaber, netop Help?

NZ: “Jeg tror, at vi i Aarhus har fået en vis selvtillid om at kunne gøre tingene selv, så glæden ved at arbejde med venner er større end den med mere upersonlige professionelle relationer (som måske kunne være mere prestigefyldte, imponerende eller effektive). Jeg har erfaret, at en fælles vision, ambition og fornemmelse af hinanden som mennesker er vigtigst for mig. Jeg stoler eksempelvis på, at min ven Riccardo (fra Gravity Graffiti) er den rigtige til at udgive en side af min musik. Forudsætningen er simpelthen, at jeg kan mærke en forbindelse med min samarbejdspartner, kunstnerisk og menneskeligt. Det er den bedste måde at undgå at være en del af de evigt omskiftelige trends, som nogle labels bevidst eller ubevidst havner i.

Jeg havde ikke lyst til, at nogen anden end min bror og jeg skulle have noget med “Om Dans” at gøre (måske med undtagelse af de nære i Aarhus). Der er selvsagt nogle fordele ved at arbejde med andre professionelle, men det betyder også flere holdninger om alt fra grafik, genoptryk, presse (eller mangel på samme) og ikke mindst succeskriterier.”

P/A: Har du forsøgt at tage din musik i en ny retning på dine seneste udgivelser, eller oplever du dem selv som i rød tråd med dine forhenværende?

NZ: “Sagt ligeud tænker jeg ikke så meget over hverken rød tråd eller nye retninger; det er blot spekulationer og bekymringer i min optik – og dermed noget, jeg vil undgå. Uden at lyde selvfed (det er let sagt, hva’?) tror jeg, at hvis man har lidt tiltro til sin smag og evner, så er man selv den røde tråd i musikken. De nye retninger opstår naturligt, når man er nysgerrig og udvikler sig lidt undervejs. Det er ikke så vigtigt for mig, at folk ser den røde tråd, for det er vigtigere for mig, at lave hvad jeg har lyst til; om det er Alle-albummet, Palta, albummet med Erika de Casier eller “Om Dans”.”  

P/A: Ud over Central har du også udgivet musik under mange andre aliasser, senest bl.a. El Trick og Palta. Oplever du, at disse projekter også har haft indflydelse på den musikalske udvikling og dit udtryk som Central? Hersker der med andre ord en form for synergi mellem dine respektive projekter?

NZ: “Jeg synes, at det er spændende at lave musikken og spændende at udgive den, men de to ting hænger ikke nødvendigvis sammen. For det meste laver jeg musikken og finder bagefter ud af, hvilket alias jeg vil bruge. Det er mere frisættende for mig, og det hele smelter som sagt sammen. Det er ikke en regel, men det er generelt den måde, det virker på.

Men for at tale om synergien, så er det nogle gange forfriskende at gentænke nogle indspilninger eller idéer med en anden “hat” på: ‘Hvordan ville de her Palta lyde fungere, hvis de blev rykket mere i en Central-retning?’, f.eks.”

P/A: Kan du knytte et par ord til dit mix og hvad der ligger til grund for valget af musikken?

NZ: “Der er lidt musik fra Milán (åbningsnummeret er fra hans nye LP med bandet Nehoki) og lidt ting fra vores hemmelige Øgade-arkiver. Men faktisk er størstedelen af musikken ting, som jeg har arbejdet på i mine hidtidige 3 måneder i Tel Aviv.

Jeg overvejede at optage et mere traditionelt dj-mix, men det må blive en anden gang. Jeg synes, disse optagelser med egne ting er spændende på en anden måde; her er flere ting, der nok aldrig ellers ser dagens lys.”

Info: “Om Dans” er ude nu på Help og “DJ Central Presents 3 Tracks” er ude nu på Gravity Graffiti. Senest har Natal Zaks bl.a. også medvirket som producer på flere af numrene på Erika de Casiers debut, “Essentials”.

Click Festival 2019, 18-19th of May @ Kulturværftet, Helsingør – reportage by Ivna Franic.

Taking place one weekend in May, Helsingør’s Click Festival presents a tight selection of music and art performances, talks, installations and screenings spread over two days. Now in its ninth year, the latest edition of Click saw the music program cutting down on headliners more than ever before, opting for a boiled down lineup of the international underground’s most exciting offerings at the moment – even if they have yet to reach the status of festival darlings. In place of the Holly Herndons, Mykki Blancos, Laurie Andersons or Arcas of previous years’ lineups, were Nkisi, Prison Religion, Leikeli47 and House of Kenzo. And despite the seemingly weaker attendance, it might be precisely this abandonment of the hierarchical festival structure that has helped Click achieve such a coherent approach to this year’s topic, “death worlds”, which has proven to be much more than just a cool-sounding festival tagline.

Operating at the intersection of music, art, technology and science, Click 2019 chose to frame its whole program in the context of necropolitics, dealing with the transformation of certain populations into “the living dead” through social and political power. In Coco Fusco’s powerful language-based performance “Words May Not Be Found”, testimonies on the details of the Herero and Nama genocide that took place in German South-West Africa in the early 20th century shine a light on various parallels between the colonial past and present – not only in relation to the strategies used to assert political control over underdeveloped countries but also in regards to the common representation of the colonized. Under the surface of a banal animal rights-themed performance in which Slovenian artist Betina Habjanič dedicated hours to carefully sewing together a disassembled pig, “Love Act: Marche Funèbre” uncovers a much more interesting theme of care for another being. Jeannette Ehlers’ video installation “The Gaze” might tackle the issues of race and power structures in a very straightforward way, but its positioning in the main hall of the festival holds a compelling lesson to all music festivals that consider the art/technology part of the program as little more than a convenient excuse to adorn the space with a few cute light installations.

While some of the concerts felt almost like a musical backdrop to viewing the installations and art performances, such as Resina’s intriguing but not quite attention-grabbing performance “Traces” or Phew’s vocal experiments (accompanied by some serious headbanging action), others allowed little space for your mind or body to wander anywhere else. 

Richmond duo Prison Religion got straight to the point with their terrorscape of unsettling noises, and aggressive beats that often suddenly drew back leaving the floor entirely to distorted vocals. Early on in the performance, an abrupt outbreak of screams came from the audience courtesy of four dancers before they joined Prison Religion-members Poozy and False Prpht on stage in a dystopian dance-off. Providing somewhat of a structure to the deliberate sonic mess, the dancers and the visuals, which included dramatic news segments, helped root Prison Religion’s cathartic blend of noise, industrial, hip-hop and whatnot firmly in the current sociopolitical landscape that is as terrifying as it is familiar. While Poozy’s own description of their music as “music to beat the shit out of your oppressors. Music to beat the ALT right” does seem pretty accurate, on stage another, celebratory aspect emerged from the power to bring people together.

Taking the stage after Prison Religion, Nkisi did not appear to be the slightest bit insecure about following up such an intense performance – she just confidently delivered a forceful set of her own. Her trance-inducing approach to techno imbued with polyrhythms, dark undertones and noisy parts massages the senses and tickles the mind, proving once again why Nkisi is one of the best club acts out there right now. Following her elegantly exciting set, DJ Lag’s feel-good energetic approach almost felt a little out of place at first. The audience happily gave in to all the fun though, joining him on the stage for a wild dance party. Well, that was before we got to learn the true meaning of “wild” courtesy of House of Kenzo.

Halcyon Veil affiliates like Prison Religion, House of Kenzo turned it up to 11 right from the very beginning of their performance. And when you start at 11, there’s not much place to go, right? …That is unless you can just go on keeping it at that level and serve a show to remember, which House of Kenzo-members Ledef, Brexxitt and Grapefruit most definitely did. The audience – a little shy at first – quickly grew ecstatic and ended up taking over the runway part of the stage for the second time that evening. More than the flashy dance moves, voguing skills or sickening beats themselves, House of Kenzo are all about the immediate and unfiltered approach to these things, and that’s what made pretty much everyone completely lose their shit. It was up to Leikeli47 and The Empire Line to finish the evening off, with the Sunday music program dedicated entirely to the late Julius Eastman.

Although cramming an elaborate program into barely two days is always bound to cause some organizational difficulties and inconvenient schedule overlaps, Click Festival manages to maintain a relaxed and friendly vibe. And moments like Brexxitt almost stealing Prison Religion’s show at some point, or Nkisi having a blast during the House of Kenzo madness testify that it is not just the audience who feels at home there.

Somewhat like Austrian Donaufestival, based in the small town of Krems just outside of the capital Vienna, Click seems to position itself more as an extension to Copenhagen’s cultural scene than your usual regional festival that might be willing to compromise its vision in order to attract a broader local audience. Presenting a well thought-through selection of different performance and exhibition formats, and giving space to marginalized voices, Click succesfully fills the gap in what Copenhagen has to offer. Not only in regards to its cutting-edge music selection but also its art program, this year the festival offered a very interesting and definitely more diverse program than a lot of the shows, exhibitions and performances we have recently had the opportunity to see in the capital. 

Info: Revisit the full line-up here: www.clickfestival.dk/concert

Posh Isolation 10-års-jubilæum “Port Out, Starboard Home”, 23.5-26.5 2019 @Overgaden Institut for Samtidskunst – reportage af Magnus Kaslov

I maj fejrede det københavnske pladeselskab og kunstnerkollektiv Posh Isolation sit 10-års-jubilæum med en tre-dages-festival med titlen “Port Out, Starboard Home”. Overgaden Institut for Samtidskunst lagde i den forbindelse lokaler til en installation, der fungerede som centrum for de tre dages fejring med et tætpakket program, hvor en perlerække af navne fra Københavns musikscene og Posh Isolation-tilknyttede gæster udefra optrådte. Installationen fungerede som scene med bar og som en butik, der solgte en lang række merch-produkter og enkelte musikudgivelser fra Posh Isolations bagkatalog. Frasen Port Out Starboard Home kan Google forklare skulle være en (vist fejlagtig) oprindelse til ordet ‘posh’ og desuden navnet på en Posh Isolation-compilation fra 2012.

Installationen på Overgaden var enkel og brugte gasbetonblokke og armeret plast-presenning, stillads og spændbånd, badehåndklæder og yogamåtter, plastikdunke, duft-diffusere og liljer som de bærende elementer. Og logoet. Logoet var allestedsnærværende. Mest markant som et voldsomt stort banner centreret bag den enkle scene-scenografi af gasbeton, håndklæder, monolitiske højttalerenheder og muslingeskaller med duftende røgelsespinde af træ. Men logoet var også placeret centralt på alle varer i butikken og på det store antal af affilierede og/eller personale, der udgjorde en betragtelig mængde af publikum. En HD-video med modeller i merch-tøj og -accessories på en kridhvid baggrund loopede på en af væggene. Det var stilrent, konsekvent og flot, ligesom programmet af koncerter og performances i øvrigt også var.

Posh Isolation er stilsikre som label og formgivere. Måske endda mest som det sidste: Hvor deres efterhånden utallige udgivelser varierer en hel del i udtryk og sensibilitet, er deres visuelle linje overvejende ensrettet og klart genkendelig. Bølgerne og globen fra logoet og skrifttyperne går igen. Man får fornemmelsen af brand og modehus. Et modehus, som mest sælger musik.

Som man kan læse om i kunsten.nu’s interview med Loke Rahbek og Christian Stadsgaard, der driver Posh Isolation, så står kommercialismen og dyrkelsen af det salgbare ikke ureflekteret, men dog helt uafklaret og uforløst hen i Posh Isolations univers. Installationen på Overgaden var stram og strømlinet præcis som et modeshow – og med den særlige skrøbelighed, som netop den slags korte fysiske begivenheder kan have: friske blomster, blød plastik og et hav af smukke unge mennesker.

På kanten til det ensrettede og med modens vitalistiske ungdoms- og skønhedsdyrkelse får man en klar fornemmelse af eksklusivitet; en eksklusivitet, man så kan være på indersiden eller ydersiden af. En af de mange merch-ting, man kunne købe i butikken, var en logohalskæde i sølv: Posh Isolation Worldwide Organisation Member Pendant & Chain. Limited Edition. Klart en humor og en bevidsthed om brandhype som æstetisk greb, men ikke en kritik. Der bliver roet med strømmen.

Posh Isolation har tidligere, i 2013, lavet en installation på Overgaden, der var båret af en lignede fornemmelse af stil. Et look bygget op om udspændte sejl, reb og knob. Ifølge dem selv tematisk begrundet med det samme søfartsudtryk: Port Out Starboard Home. Ingen fornemmelse af udsagn eller indhold, men klar fornemmelse af strømlinet stil.

Den nye installation på Overgaden flirter med det geleds-ensrettede og klubkliniske, og den dyrker tydeligt logoet som en overpersonlig institution, der trækker lige så meget på ideologisk bevægelse som mode-brand. Brandet er dermed også det tætteste, man kommer på et udsagn i Port Out, Starboard Home-installationen – på en gang helt indholdstomt og helt stilfuldt.

Det er et velanlagt samarbejde, når Posh Isolation laver udstillings-pop up på Overgaden. Legitimering og hype byttes lige over. Det er også et af de efterhånden mange, ofte velfungerende eksempler i København de seneste år på, at musik får lov til at overtage kunstrum med fysiske installationer: At musik (bands/pladeselskaber) formgiver i kunstrum (gallerier/messer/udstillingssteder). Og samtidig et eksempel på, hvor meget der lånes fra mode på både musik- og kunstscenen for tiden.

Musik og billedkunst har flettet fingre længe, men ikke desto mindre foregår der mange gode ting i overlappet mellem de to felter lige nu. Der skabes musik, der er så bevidst om kunstdiskurs og så veltalende inden for den, at den står lige så stærkt i en kunstkontekst som i en musikkontekst. Musikfremførelser, man med lige ret kan og bør forstå som kunstperformances og koncerter. Derfor er det også helt rigtigt, at disse musikprojekter gives plads og scene i kunstinstitutionerne. Og også helt rigtigt, at det sker i andre formater og andre varigheder end klassiske udstillingsformater.

Det måske mest uomgængelige eksempel på et musikrum formgivet i en kunstinstitution inden for de sidste år er udstillingen Learning Out Loud af kunstnergruppen LOL Beslutning (der i medlemmer er eller var sammenfaldende med bandet Synd og Skam) på det kunstnerdrevne udstillingssted TOVES i 2015. Et musikrum, der både rummede skulpturelle installationer, billedværker og malerier, det omfattende tekstværk “Titanpad”, en scene, en lounge og en butik med værker og musikudgivelser af gruppen selv og affilierede kunstnere og musikere – og caffe latte. Hen over udstillingsperioden var udstillingen både scene for performances og koncerter og fungerende som studie ved indspilningerne af en plade i samarbejde mellem Goodiepal og Synd og Skam. Sammen med albummet “Billeder af Mesa” var udstillingen kulminationen på det radikalt nyskabende kunstneriske arbejde, som Synd og Skam havde udført i de foregående år.

Et andet virkelig vellykket eksempel foregik i Posh Isolations booth på sidste års Alt_Cph, hvor Fcboli91@gmail.com med Asger Hartvig Nielsen som den centrale skikkelse sammen med en lang række gæster opførte en fabelagtig matiné-forestilling. Alle elementer fra de vilde blomster, de mange Posh-folk i blå logo-t-shirts til de gratis merch-produkter havde en sprød lethed og meget præcis fornemmelse for, hvor meget og hvor lidt der skulle til for at skabe en situation, der elegant lod musik og performance stå frem uden at blive en koncert som sådan. Korte musikudfoldelser i en åben social form, der meget overbevisende blandede pladerelease og performance sammen med følelsen af hypet brand-launch, modefest og fornemmelsen af en tydeligt aftegnet gruppering.

Modefornemmelsen i kunsten er markant for tiden (tænk Anne Imhof) med Alt_Cph 2018 som et vigtigt pejlemærke herhjemme. Messen var kurateret af kunstner/kurator-powerduoen Anna og Esben Weile Kjær og havde performance (eller rettere post-performance) som sit omdrejningspunkt. Alt_Cph’s korte varighed passede perfekt til den runway-agtige fornemmelse af flygtig hype, der ikke kan eksistere som andet end potentialitet og kun efterlod sig smukt trashet scenografi, brandmærker og en skarp lugt i rummet.

Anna og Esben Weile Kjær var også nogle af kræfterne bag Institut for Succes, der målrettet afsøgte modeagtig hype og succes og bl.a. kuraterede en performance af Women’s History Museum på Statens Museum for Kunst for et par år tilbage. En performance, der tog form som et dekonstrueret modeshow på Statens Museum for Kunsts store amfiscene. Esben Weile Kjær har bl.a. også arbejdet sig hen imod at gøre den samme hype og ‘it’-fornemmelse til sit emne og materiale fx i performancen “MORE BRILLIANT THAN THE SUN” fra 2016 og for nylig i “BURN!”.

Port Out, Starboard Home-installationen brugte ligesom Alt_Cph 2018 den korte varighed til at skabe en installation med en lethed og en friskhed, som er svær i et traditionelt udstillingsformat. En engangs-installation af modulelementer og brug-og-smid-væk-scenografi.

Det er hypens natur, at indløsningen altid forskydes. Modens grundlæggende funktionsmåde: Det aldrig tilfredsstillede – og netop aldrig tilfredsstillelige – begær efter at være i centrum. Moden er skræddersyet til at tiltrække og ekskludere i én og samme bevægelse. Du kommer aldrig derhen. Adgang til centrum kan aldrig opnås (kun genereres gennem et selvskabt ormehul af originalitet).

Info: Port Out, Starboard Home løb fra den 23.-26. Maj på Overgaden Institut for Samtidskunst som en del af Art Week CPH 2019. Magnus Kaslov er kurator på Museet for Samtidskunst og med til at drive pladeselskabet Institut for Dansk Lydarkæologi.

By Macon Holt

This video/track/essay/statement recently released by the critically acclaimed jazz master Brad Mehldau is infuriating. Not least because the instrumental musical elements of “The Prophet is a Fool” do seem to accurately enunciate something of the violence, anxiety, and pseudo-stability of the contemporary moment in a way that the discursive and representational components fail to even as they underline the point. The fuzzy aggressive bass set against the crisp timbre of the piano chords dripping with dissonance rumble on at a frenetic pace that perfectly captures the horror, the melancholy and the insatiability of the present.

There is something utterly disorienting about this arrangement as it takes us through registers of panic, terror, pain, and the intoxicating thrill of power. The music seems to shift perspective from that of a terrified art world “liberal” to that of those mourning of the tragedies visited upon oppressed peoples, to that of those in the midst of the rush of a political power fantasy come true. In this soundscape, there are many things to be afraid of and many more that could corrupt your desires rendering them fascist. Beyond this, my only critiques of the music itself seem trivial. In an odd misstep on what is an otherwise technically stunning record, I would say the reverb on the brass is a little too obvious when set against the gorgeously blurry synths. Also there may be a smidge too much in the way of resolution with final chord. Perhaps this is intended to produce a certain frightening dissonance with the ominous final line, “they’re coming back”, but something about the timing of makes it difficult for me to be sure of this and thus unable to declare that Mehldau knew what he was after.

This takes us to the real problem with “The Prophet is a Fool”; the intelligence and subtlety of the track is evacuated from it through the inclusion of muddled semiotic signposts. Set against chants of “BUILD THAT WALL” and narration that makes it sound more like a zombie movie than a political intervention, the complexity of the piece is made to fit a reductive narrative, which casts Mehldau as something of seer able to unveil the threat of the false prophet, Trump. At the same time, however, he is incapable of saving himself, his daughter (companion?) or anyone from the horror he sees so clearly. And yet, despite this clarity, this intervention tells us nothing about Trump we didn’t already know and worse (particularly with the essay and we’ll get to that) it confuses the very things it claims to be revealing.

As cringe-inducing as the opening voice-over on the track is, it has nothing on the mini Socratic dialogue that starts about a third of the way in. As the swiveled eye caricature of Trump appears in the video and Mehldau’s daughter (companion?) asks, “who’s he?”, Mehldau responds:

“He’s just their voice, he speaks for them. They’re just scared, they think he makes them stronger”

“Does he?”

“No, he weakens them”

“Then they’re not dangerous, actually?”

“No, they are dangerous. Deep inside they suspect they’re getting fucked over but they’re are too proud to admit it. They don’t want to hear it from us. He tells them, we’re the enemy”

“But if they’re weak, why are they dangerous?”

“Because they have guns… lots of guns”.

Leaving to one side the bizarre inclusion of a reference to “The Matrix” in both content and cadence, the first thing that is interesting about this back and forth is the utter lack of sensibility on the writing. Mehldau loses the plot of what he is talking about and has to be reminded by his interlocutor of the paradox that this exchange was exploring over the course of only eight lines. Namely, those whose weakness makes the dangerous. We could explain this away perhaps as this being a reenactment of a father trying to explain the frightening nature of the news to his daughter and not having fully formed ideas but as we know from the beginning of the track, they are already running to the hills. One could argue that such a desire for consistent world-building is the wrong standard to which to hold a jazz track/musical composition and I would be inclined to agree, were we not talking about a Socratic dialogue interlude in the middle of said track.

And this is where the real problem emerges. With this little dialectical investigation, the track shifts from being an exploration of the present to being a diagnosis of it from on high. In other words, the ground from which a “liberal” is most comfortably though also most inadequately positioned. And the more text Mehldau adds in attempting to explain himself, the worse this judgemental and unreflective tone becomes.

As much as Mehldau may state in the essay he published online in the wake of the response to this single and video that he sees himself as entangled in the world and its problems—and this entanglement is indeed palpable in the music—, he seems incapable of holding to that position as his ideas become semantic. In text, he immediately becomes a judge of both those who have “hijacked the discourse and turned it into a yelling match, or worse [facists murdering people] ” and  “the violence I’ve seen coming from some Antifa gatherings” [violence that only exists to prevent the aforementioned murdering by fascists. Defensive violence which, as we see from the opening of the essay, Mehldau recognizes the police are in no position to provide]. Indeed, there is a sense in which Trumps both weakens his supporters and makes them more dangerous but this can only be understood when you acknowledge that to speak for someone is not “just” to be their voice. Rather, to be the voice of a group with drives towards fascist violence is to become the conduit through which this force becomes politically legitimized violence. It is not simply that a prominent popular person saying racist things is unpleasant and ignorant. It is rather that the saying of these things in this setting in this way makes particular kinds of violence easier to perpetrate with impunity.  

I think Mehldau understands something of this but he ends up muddling himself in a way that seems romantic or nostalgic. The main issue with this essay seems to stem from the American usage of the term “liberal”, which is so stripped of its original meaning that it leads to confused sentiments like this:

“To be a liberal means: I base my politics on the apprehension of everyone’s common suffering. […] Liberals tend to blame someone’s suffering on society, sympathizing with the individual.”

The last part is literally the socialist position of which Meldau is obliquely critical. Liberalism, on the other hand, fits better to Meldau’s definition of conservatism as considering the individual as being responsible for both their successes and failures in toto. While conservatism should rather be understood as a perspective that the social order as it exists as natural and should not be changed because such changes cannot be successfully beyond some minor tweaks. His confused definitions basically mean that the political position from which Meldau speaks is committed to virtually nothing: he refuses the violence that changing the social order to help the individual would entail, he refuses the notion that the social order is just and should not be changed, and refuses that the individual can be held responsible for their actions. “Liberal”, in the American mainstream sense, basically means the-good-guys-who’s-open-hearted-narture-can-sometimes-mean-they-are-a-little-naive. And this way of thinking has allowed for the unacknowledged emergence of a society of a metastasized actual liberalism or neoliberalism, which sees the individual funneled through systems of control that they mistake for personal freedom even as it fucks them over. This misunderstanding leads Mehldau to make dumb ass defensive remarks like this:

“Faux-edginess is also the domain of internet trolls. The troll bitches rabidly at anything that smacks of neo-liberalism, without acknowledging that neo-liberalism has given him his platform. He vaguely advocates something much darker. Neo-liberalism has failed a large group of people, but don’t forget what it’s brought: Google, Facebook, YouTube – all tools for the troll as much as for anyone else.”

The first dumb part of this is his assumption that all whose evoke neoliberalism as a bad thing do so for the same reasons when it is, in fact, an enemy of both Steve Bannon and Bernie Sanders alike. For the former (conservative), neoliberalism erodes of the kinds of bigotry he calls traditional values causing a loss of meaning for those who had been previously powerful and for the latter (socialist), it erodes economic stability placing people’s lives and livelihoods in the hands of an erratic market. Indeed it can do both.

While these actual political positions both recognize the destabilizing power of neoliberalism, Mehldau considered it the state in which “progress” was possible. This leads to the second dumb part, Mehldau’s misunderstanding of what neoliberalism following from his misunderstanding of what liberalism was. For him neoliberalism is just the latest incarnation of the-good-guys-who’s-open-hearted-narture-can-sometimes-mean-they-are-a-little-naive. Like the schlubby hero in the third act of a romantic comedy—which in this case means having economically “a large group of people”—in this essay Mehldau, from the aforementioned position of minimal political commitment, claims he can see the problems now. The naive well-intentioned liberal has had the wake-up call he needed, so it is about time he stood back and performed a Socratic dialogue to get to the bottom of this mess and return to the stability of the before times. Then we will know what is what, what to do and there will be no more yelling. Time/jazz is a flat circle. It’s only that, apparently, unbeknownst to Mehldau, the circumstances to which he longs to return are what ultimately lead to the present circumstances that he finds so intolerable.

The defensiveness of Mehldau writing may not be immediately obvious, couched as it is in gratitude for his collaborators and with his fury directed not at those who challenged his political expression but rather at those who he sees as having necessitated it. This makes the essay something of a ramble as he addresses and, rightfully, dismisses the view that art should stay out of politics, provides a potted history of how scary things can be when they are not close enough to the construct of the political center ground, before ending with a meditation and difficulty of true Christianity in practice. But it is the first point that I think has sent him into this spin. What the relationship between artist and political expression should be is an incredibly complex discussion for another time. And the intention of this criticism is not to claim that art should not “get political”. There are points in the history of music, jazz for example, during which it’s very existence as practiced by people with certain racialized bodies made this form of artistic expression inherently political. Rather this criticism is to say that just feeling like something political has to be expressed in your art is not in itself enough to produce actual political art. Longing for the reemergence of an erstwhile status quo in which certain kinds of suffering and ugliness were invisible to you is a conservative political statement and entirely at odds with the shifting definitions of liberalism to which Mehldau ostensibly subscribes (something something something equality kind of…). Oddly enough, however, I think on some deep level Mehldau might understand this. At least it seems that way when he expresses himself with his fingers on a black and white keyboard rather than one with letters on it.

Macon Holt holds a PhD from The Centre for Cultural Studies, Goldsmiths University of London and is the current editor of Passive/Aggressive. Brad Mehldau’s acclaimed album “Finding Gabriel” is out now on Nonesuch Records. “The Prophet Is A Fool” features Ambrose Akinmusire, Mark Guiliana (of David Bowie’s Blackstar), Chris Cheek + others. Brad Mehldau’s statement can be read in full length on his website.

Mindeord af Jonas Okholm

David Berman er død, og det er en stor sorg. Verden har mistet en poesisanger i ordets bedste forstand. Sammensat. Som menneske og kunstner. Uadskillelig. Den frigjorte energi kommer fra et vildt sted. ”The wild kindness,” siger jeg højt, fordi jeg skrev vildt … og kører videre. Jeg oplever det som kilden, hvorfra sangene, som små rum, formes. Jeg må uddybe. Den vilde venlighed. Det kommer. Små rum at opholde sig i i en stor verden på godt og ondt. Rummene er vigtige, og de er gaverne. Det er derfor, vi græder, når han er død.

Distancen var en umulighed med David Berman. Hvis man åbnede op, vel at mærke. Ha! Det giver sig selv. Det er også essensen af kunsten. Der er et forhold mellem giver og modtager. Der er kunst til alle. Vores nabo kan lide havenisser i keramik. De er nok mest af alt til pynt. Et slapt signal til omverdenen om, at der er orden i sagerne. David Berman havde kæmpe problemer. Det gav på samme tid en tryghed at vide, at han gik rundt derude. Eller sad. Han forekommer mig som en meget siddende person. Siddende skrev han. Siddende gik han langt.

Det første billede, det første rum, der kom til mig, da jeg startede med at mindes skrivende her, stammer fra et interview med ham, hvor han fortæller, han kørte fra Nashville til Chicago. Han skulle flytte fra Cassie (hans kone igennem 20 år) og havde fået et værelse i pladeselskabet Drag Citys gemakker. Berman alene i natten. Det er billedet. 100 miles i timen med Silver Jews i bilens højttalere. Jeg ser det for mig i farvesammensætningen fra coveret til ”The Natural Bridge”. Han lyttede op på eget værk. Hvad skulle han spille på den forestående turné?

Der var noget ubermansk over hans tilbagekomst med Purple Mountains. Han var ude at give overraskende mange interviews. De to første singler til pladen blev promoveret med videoer. Omverdenen blev gjort opmærksom på denne ellers i-dvale-værende kunstner. Og så gik han ud igen. Denne gang slukkede han helt. Med et stille brag online i en fin overtagelse af Drag Citys Instagram-profil: ”good night”. Måske derfor jeg placerer ham dér på vejen i mørket. Det er dér, han hører til. I evigheden. ”Wandering down the backstreets of the world”. Døden var der altid et sted. “The dead know what they’re doing when they leave this world behind”. Vidste han, hvad der skulle ske? Betragtede han sig selv som død? Var det derfor, han kunne være så meget på i forhold til promoveringen kontra sin generelle isolationstrang? Det er uhyggeligt trist. Han hængte sig selv lige inden turnéen. Faktisk mens han øvede op på sangene med bandet i Brooklyn. Eller i en pause.

De var svære at synge, sangene, fordi han græd. Det var han også ude at sige. Det var en ting for Berman at gøre det godt. Hans far var en led skid i verden. Én, der satte penge over menneskeliv. Det var vigtigt for Berman at gøre op med. Det var meget vigtigt at tage afstand fra den far. Jeg synes, han efterlader det budskab om at gøre det godt. Det er store krav, men hvorfor ikke gøre det så godt som muligt med de forhåndenværende midler? ”In 1984 I was hospitalized for approaching perfection.” Det er ånden i hans kunst. Den naive streg er kun et plus i et højtbegavet poetisk udtryk. Måske et middel til at passe på sig selv.

Der er noget sødt at tage med, som sagt. Der er en kærlighed mod mørket. Det er farten, der leveres med. Nerven og sjælen. Dobbelthederne. Modsætningerne oven i hinanden. ”I had this friend his name was Marc with a ”c” / His sister was like the heat coming off the back of an old TV”. Det er et sjovt billede. Igen en fornemmelse af rum at tage plads i. Det skal med, fordi humor er vigtigt i en kamp med dæmoner. Dæmoner har ingen humor. Derfor de griner så hysterisk. De prøver for hårdt (at gøre det ondt). Det var altså en digter, der kæmpede med det lurende mørke. Det er sådan en, verden har brug for. Det er sådan én, vi har mistet. Én, der ville gå langt i den kamp. Det er derfor, vi græder. De hænger ikke på træerne. Snarere sig i dem. Der er få af dem af gode grunde. Onde grunde.

Purple Mountains-pladen er en temmelig konfronterende plade. Den harmonerer med den stil, han lagde for dagen denne sommer. Ikke mere pis. Ærligheden helt frem. Enormt inspirerende. Der var virkelig noget at komme efter i dette comeback. Som var det en tillagt taktik: at holde koncentrationen … uanset hvad. Men det var også perfektionisten igen, og vi ved, hvor den havnede i 1984. Banen er kridtet op.

Pladen udsprang af morens død. Den første sang, han skrev i pladens tilblivelse, var en længselsfuld og vildt sød sag. ”She was, she was, she was”. Han havde mistet sin mor. Han havde mistet sin kone. Faren har vi været inde på, er én, man løber hårdt fra. Hvad med hundene? David Berman var ensom. Han var en lidende kunstner. Jeg tror, han lavede os disse rum, fordi det var hans eget ønske om gode steder at opholde sig. Hvor tingene kommer i bevægelse (med skærsildens tiltagende flammehav i baghovedet). Det har jeg altid tænkt, han var fuldstændig mesterlig til. Ude og inde får lov at arbejde sammen. Og tingene sættes i bevægelse. Hvis bare de nisser ikke kiggede sådan. En mand, hvis favoritsted at opholde sig var baghaven i Nashville. Det var ikke store krav. Men alligevel ikke til at opfylde på grund af situationen med Cassie. Der var han altså ikke, da han døde. Drag City havde uden tvivl været gode ved ham. Men han var ikke det sted, han betragtede som hjem.

Jeg kan ikke lade være med at tænke på, han døde, i egne øjne, da han kørte ud i natten fra Nashville med musikken. Dobbelthederne i teksterne holder rummet åbent, så det er frit for. “The light of my life is going out tonight …” Der er et she i den tekst, som jeg pludselig tager for en metafor for det liv, han havde mistet. Jeg kan sågar finde på at bruge den linje om mit forhold til tabet. Efterladt i mørke og kulde var han. Det er en splittelse, jeg forestiller mig, at Berman levede med hele livet, og en splittelse, alle kender til i større eller mindre grad. En angst for det at miste – måske? Vi har alle et eller andet. Så vi er fælles om ensomheden igennem musikken. Det skrives i nekrologer. Det er vi mange, der ved. Det er så rigtigt.

Silver Jews har altid været genialt godt at mødes om. I hvert fald i min vennekreds. Og så er der jo tale om en digter helt efter bogen, faktisk sådan som Rilke ville beskrive digteren. Vi mødes i disse rum og skåler og synger med på de stærke linjer. Det er den vilde sødme. Den, som en hund også kan tage med ind i sofaen. Denne menneskets bedste ven i al stilhed.

Det Gyldne Liv 2019, Råværket i Kolding, 18.-20. juli: Tettis Hexer, Vakt, MAG, Clarissa Connelly med flere – Photos by Alexander Mahathai Larsen.

Vellness Plader – Tak fordi I kom, August 2019 @ Illutron. Photos by Alexander Mahathai Larsen.

“Der har været megen glæde forbundet med vores fællesskab. Vi har udviklet hinanden i en masse spændende forskellige retninger. Ved hjælp af venskab og musik har vi stablet noget stort og dejligt på benene, der naturligvis er ved at nå til en ende. Venner bliver ældre og bevæger sig hver især ned ad nye strålende og spændende veje. Det er på tide, at vi samles om alt det der var, for at elske hinanden og musikken en sidste gang i Vellness regi. Derfor har vi i fællesskab besluttet, at bruge alle vores hårdttjente penge, på at holde en kæmpe fest u’ på den bå’ der hedder Illutron. Der er gratis entré, billig mad og drikkelse, alt sammen i ånden om sammenhold og gensidig kærlighed.

En sidste gang skal vi mødes og spille sammen, skulder ved skulder på scenen, med noget nyt og noget ældre. Programmet er spækket med interessante udfoldelser. Vi takker af for denne gang og håber på at se jer følge med i fremtidige projekter, der jo selvfølgelig vil opstå, fordi vi ikke kan lade være.” – Vellness Plader

Af Morten Ettrup Larsson – foto: Thomas Gunnar Bagge/Kunsthal 44 Møen

I landlige omgivelser i Askeby ligger Kunsthal 44 Møen i et gammelt traktorværksted og to tilstødende bygninger. Nogle uger endnu kan man se udstillingen “Rolling Stone” af den japanske lydkunstner Akio Suzuki, som ud fra sin fascination af den mønske kugleflint har skabt en tværmediel udstilling, der også strækker sig ud fra kunsthallens matrikel.

Akio Suzuki har lavet performances og udstillet over det meste af Europa, USA og Østasien siden 60’erne og udgivet en række musikværker. Han har bl.a. arbejdet med Jim O’Rourke. Derudover er Suzuki kendt for at bygge sine egne instrumenter, som indgår i hans performances og udstillinger.

I en måned op til åbningen residerede Akio Suzuki på øen, hvor han udforskede områdets ‘ekkopunkter’ og skabte et kort over, hvor klangen skulle være helt speciel. Disse steder er markeret ved hjælp af stencils, der forestiller to ører, for det er i høj grad det, han opfordrer til: at slå ørene ud og lytte til omgivelserne og det, man finder i dem.

Udstillingen i den bygning, der hedder Center for Klangkunst, består af objekter, som Suzuki har fundet på gåture, hvoraf noget ligner vraggods. Men det primære fokus er på den runde kugleflint og den lyd, som den kan frembringe. Fx fem flintkugler på et spejl, der hver for sig lyder forskelligt, men unisont, når de drejer rundt på samme tid.

I modsætning til, hvad der oftest er tilfældet på et kunstmuseum, inviterer Suzuki eksplicit de besøgende til at røre sine værker og frembringe de samme lyde, som han gør i et videoværk, der også er en del af udstillingen. Fx har han puttet småsten i et 3,5 meter langt jernrør og placeret det på en sten, så man kan løfte det som en vippe – titlen er da også “Seesaw” – og lytte til stenenes slag mod metallet.

Det mest interessante værk er en stålplade placeret på fire sten – og med en sten ovenpå, som man kan dreje rundt og lytte til de vibrationer, den skaber. Stålplader har været hyppigt brug i noise og industrial, men her er udtrykket langt mere afdæmpet.

Vi har at gøre med meget minimalistisk kunst, og udstillingen opfordrer til stilhed og fordybelse. Intet ondt om de store museer, men vi er milevidt fra frokostplatter og gift shops på størrelse med et lille supermarked. På den måde går Suzukis værker godt i spænd med den afslappede østemning og selvfølgelig landskabet. Man får således langt mere ud af dem efter at have besøgt Møns Klint og selv set kugleflinten.

Til udstillingens åbning opførte Suzuki en ca. syv minutter lang performance i det lille, lavloftede lokale, der, før vinduerne blev muret til og blev en white cube, var nogens stue. Første del består af messen på japansk, som han læser op fra et papir, mens han flere gange skifter position i rummet. Med tanke på hans praksis med ekkopunkterne må man formode, at hans placeringer er alt andet end tilfældige.

Anden del består af, at han slår to sten sammen i en art ritual for til sidst at bruge en sten med hul i som fløjte.

Sidste og lydmæssigt mest interessante del foregår på et instrument bestående af to ståldåser forbundet med en lang fjeder, som en af tilhørerne holder i den anden ende, mens Suzuki skiftevis synger ind i dåsen og trækker en blyant op langs fjederen, dåsen skaber et ekko, mens fjederen sender lydbølgerne af sted, og det lyder, lidt overraskende, decideret smukt.

Udstillingens variation mellem installation, videokunst, ekkopunkterne og ikke mindst opfordringen til selv at frembringe lyd skaber et interessant, minimalistisk værk. Det er imponerende, at en japansk kunsner kan skabe kunst, der er så stærkt forankret i lokalområdet på Møn, men som stadig er så meget ham selv, og udstillingen anbefales varmt.

Info: Akio Suzukis udstilling “Rolling Stone” kan ses frem til d. 8. september i Kunsthal 44 Møen, Askeby.

Live report by Cameron Pagett

Most of the crowd have finished their food in the lounge outside of Alice CPH on a mild and breezy spring afternoon. I nibble at a half-eaten chocolate chip cookie just after introductions to Alexandra Drewchin (Eartheater) and her harp expert travel mate, Marilu. It’s been only a couple minutes and we are already discussing the possibility of having my assistant, who also happens to be an opera singer, join her randomly for soundcheck to see if his skills would fit into their performance that evening.

Both fans, we are simultaneously excited and a bit awestruck that this is actually on the table. It’s only the beginning of the interview, and one of us is doing his best sales pitch and the other might end up on stage with a hero before the end of the night!

Things start off cozy as I finish my cookie and we all proceed to a quiet backstage area in the back of the venue to get some peace before we begin. It’s briefly debated whether or not a bottle of Rosé should be opened to accompany the occasion, but after figuring out there is only one bottle we elect to pop it after the performance and sit down for a talk about Drewchin’s work, where she has been, and how she feels about a myriad of subjects.

Getting a release on PAN is not exactly a small thing. The Berlin-based progressive and frequently groundbreaking music label is known for not only curating some of the best music in the greater underground world but also for taking the lead in a tangible way with emerging sound and quality.

“I think one of the things that makes PAN special is that they are not trying to find the EarthEater Barbie Doll that is always going to sell,” Drewchin explains, “They have a lot of respect for artists, even if I created something that wasn’t quite their thing, they respect my artistic output.”

It’s a comforting thing for an artist who has made her name by pushing her own limits and being unafraid by nature to explore her own art through the lens of where her creativity leads her. This was magnified when we referenced her latest performance in Berghain and how visually stimulating the performance was. She was outstanding and unpredictable, but for her, it was another time when she wasn’t afraid to move in a way that felt natural even if it went overboard. Drewchin jokes that it might have been embarrassing, and even at certain points in her performance on the night she would climb onto speakers and into odd situations just to feel it out.

Her most known and important asset is her voice. A natural and visceral thing of beauty, Drechwin is known for utilizing it as an instrument on its own and treating it as an entity in itself. It’s a compelling thing to hear her sing. Thoroughly knowledgeable about how to use her voice and classically beautiful in its own right, Drewchin has carved her own way of communicating with it over time. She not only sings but screeches, screams, lulls and uses it to evoke feelings and atmospheres, not unlike a trained first violin from an orchestra.

Aside from her voice, perhaps one of her lesser appreciated assets is her understanding of instruments and her talent for technically producing music as well. For Drewchin, her voice and sound in production are not two separate entities but go together and feed into one intense experience.

“There is no formula, I am sorta allergic to it”, Drewchin explains with a grin, “It always comes from a feeling, you get it and just try to figure out how to snatch it … trying to figure out how to extract inspiration with a needle.”

There is a loud noise from the stage as a tech support team moves into the room like the venue hired a team of hitmen. Whatever they are carrying is something large and bulky as they wrestle and clamor onto the stage with it from the back room where we are seated. A technician looks toward our group and asks us, “Hey! Where do you want it?” Our concentration is broken for a minute and we soon figure out that what is being placed for the night’s concerts is a rather large, ornate and grand harp. A real thing of beauty and an instrument utilized to pristine effect in Drewchin’s latest Eartheater album, “Irisiri”, it’s a rare thing to see an instrument of this size being placed on stage for a perceived largely electronic act.

Curious and refreshing at the same time she is keen to go into detail about what live instrumentation means to her as part of her performance process. “We did a lot of live recording with instruments (for “Irisiri”, ed.). I am only very new to using only machines, which is fun, but processing live sounds is what is most natural to me.”

Along with a current wave of progressive musicians returning to physical instruments in what can feel like a trend, Drewchin is quick to point out, and perhaps vitally, “There is a difference between rich and poor musicians and everything in between. There is an incredible revolution that’s happening with media literacy with kids because they have access to computers, they can deliver amazing ideas but they can’t pay the chamber group.”

It’s a sobering fact and one is quickly forgotten in the music conversation at large, but she is quick to follow that community can bridge the gaps where the economy fails. “If you are out there and you are in the scene, you befriend the people that play the cello and the violin … It can happen in many different ways. When I was finally able to afford to pay people, it made the experience so much richer, being able to give back financially is a nice progression for me.”

It’s been 11 years for Drewchin in New York City. According to her, there are many comforts to all the memory and past lives she has spent there. A veteran of the scene in many ways, it’s a credit to her that she was never caught in any particular era or generational sound. Always moving and trying new things, it is interesting that her base has remained the same despite the increasing capability of the current artistic landscape. “I am really blessed to live in a really good space and that’s a rare thing because in New York everything is expensive, and the apartments are shit.”

She explains, “There is something about my space that has enabled me to do my best work. It’s very spacious and there is lots of light, it’s very quiet. I make a lot of things and draw a lot and I admit I am attached to my little universe.”

It’s a sweet thing to hear for someone who has remained in such a demanding city as an artist for so much time. Often, the story of an artist moving so far is one of becoming swallowed by a scene, aesthetic or certain way of doing things. “I put out two full records in 2015, which is where I sort of made myself known and got a booking agent and started touring Europe. It was chronically inspiring to me, too much inspiration at times. I had to process it all before making the next thing. There are moments when I can see I was a bit too influenced by my own scene. I think to be fair however, I am a lone ranger and I have always been doing my own thing.”

It’s a few minutes before the concert begins. Soundcheck has finished and in the end, we got my assistant on stage to do some singing for the opening sequence of the show. Dressed in studs arranged like a future priest of punk underneath a purple light temple, he joined Eartheater and Marilu on the stage like a trinity of anticipated movement. Starting in with some of the heavier elements of her work and tracks from “Irisiri”, it was a very enjoyable and intense thing to watch her perform. Walking slowly, feeling her space and sometimes breaking into very spontaneous yet graceful dance movements, something happened I wouldn’t have expected. With the opening being as intense as it was, it could feel as if we had only begun to enter what was shaping up to be a cauldron of a set… Then came the harp.

With the voice of Drewchin soaring and presiding over the room, the harp strings actively answered her movements with the most calming posterity. It’s been some time that a harp has been utilized in an electronic performance, and it can be easily forgotten what unique and angelic magic it holds. So large and filled with an imagination of its own, the performance pushed further into live instrumentation until the end of the show, when Drechwin ended on a chair with an acoustic guitar and her soothing voice. “Tonight you will see the debut of the next movement,” she claimed before the set, “It is much more live and stripped down.” If you listened to “Irisiri”, what is coming next will be quite interesting and possibly more soothing in its atmosphere. She can wail, but she can also soothe and lull you into sweet music sleep, and yes, she has a harp by her side to help.

After his part in the performance, my assistant walked off the stage into the audience and was immediately mobbed by some of his close friends while the next act started to set up. I began to move to my bicycle to take a quick stroll to a nearby kiosk when I remembered I had left my laptop backstage out of the case. After doubling back, I came to the backstage area once again to find the once neglected bottle of Rosé had been opened, and Alexandra stood in the middle of the room explaining to another artist how to scream without blowing out his vocal cords. It was a nice atmosphere and the good vibes could easily be felt. After collecting my computer, I made my way back to the patio where my assistant sat enjoying some of the now open wine on the benches lining the venue. With a surprised and quite pleased face, he explained that he was asked to perform with the crew in Vienna again in the next week and continue with his role as a lead male voice in Drewchin’s menagerie of sound.

A few days passed, and I get a text stating a certain someone was on his way to Austria to play a part in the performance there in one of the great historical homes of opera, leaving me to reflect. Drewchin means it when she says she wants to avoid being stagnant and shake things up at all times. That was quite apparent as we were standing in the very middle of the show. Copenhagen done, Vienna next, new set and not to be outdone … new band member met last week. Classic Eartheater.

Introduction by Macon Holt

In 2009, the producer, label owner (Hyperdub), philosopher and reluctant academic, Steve Goodman (Kode 9), released a book that would transform the philosophy of sound and, in turn, open up whole new avenues for sonic investigation through both theory and practice. The book was “Sonic Warfare: Sound, Affect, and the Ecology of Fear” from MIT Press.

Structured as a sonic focused version of a similarly groundbreaking and enigmatic work of continental philosophy, Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari’s “A Thousand Plateaus”—a reference that runs heavy through the book—“Sonic Warfare” starts by ripping the focus of the discussion of sound from what is heard to what is felt and resituates hearing as a subcategory of this more nebulous sensation.

We start in a space of ambiguity; at what point does the rumble of a passing train, an earthquake, or an explosion become sound? When does impact become audio? In a technical sense, the answer could be 20Hz but this is a banal fact. Of course, sound is something physical that is felt by a body but what Goodman wants to do is interrogate the underlying conditions that produce this phenomenon. What Goodman wants to do with this fact is use it as a way to open up what music can do, what sound can do, how sound can be deployed as violence and force, as a means of dominance or resistance, and as a way of imagining what it’s like for non-human things to “hear”.

For Goodman, every sonic experience is actually an encounter with forces that exceed not just anything we can recognize as meaningful in the sounds but even that which is recognizable as sound. To understand this is to open up these experiences as being a source of productive potential and destructive warfare.

The book’s title is almost a misnomer. It is not about sounds as a weapon in any kind of conventional sense. In fact, in the introduction, Goodman spends a few pages running down and largely dismissing the historical examples of attempts to weaponize sound. Instead, this book is an esoteric exploration of sound understood through the abstract conception of war as a mechanism borrowed from Deleuze and Guattari. In this sense, war is meant as the potentially destructive force of an encounter between organized bodies that move through the world in different ways. Two human bodies bumping into each other in the street may be embarrassed or annoyed with one another but because they move through the world in comparable ways the damage is kept to a minimum. This encounter would have had to have happened with incredible force—with one of the bodies violating the norms of walking down the street—to be destructive. Such force would be seen as a violation of how such a body is allowed to move through (or behave in) the world and indeed would threaten the stability of that world. This is what Deleuze and Guattari would call a “war machine”. However, there need not be a violation of the order of things for the war machine to be deployed. The force of the footsteps of either of these human bodies while running through a park after a rain shower is more than enough to destroy the body/world of a slug as it crosses the path. It is in this sense of a radically disorganizing disinterested potential force that Goodman means the term warfare. Sonic warfare refers thus to the way in which the force of the sonic is able to disrupt the organization of bodies and the appearance of stability of the world they inhabit.

The book wants to figure out what sound is and what this understanding can tell us about the politics of the construction of reality which brings us to the (almost) central chapter of the book “13.7 Billion B.C.: The Ontology of the Vibrational Force”. Going back to the most important influence on Deleuze and Guattari, the 17th Century Dutch lens grinder and philosopher, Brauch Spinoza, Goodman takes his notion that reality is composed of bodies in constant movement which are able to affect each other at a distance, and gives a science fiction/fact update. For Goodman, everything that exists is in a constant state of vibration. While this vibration may be imperceptible by the senses that humans evolved to detect that sliver of reality required for our survival, we now understand that, while things may appear stable, everything that exists only exists to the extent that it is engaged in some kind of material process down to the atomic level. It is only from our limited sensory and temporal vantage point that they appear static because, in the ontology of the vibrational force, to be static is to not exist. 

This is really abstract but it is key to understanding what sounds can do. For Goodman, the threshold between sound and unsound is a space of potential. It is here that he detects the underlying force that gives all that exists the energy to undergo the processes that allow it to be manifest. Sonic practices, like music-making, become a way to manipulate reality at a fundamental level of vibrational energy. A level at which words fail us even when the bodily sensations of this energy enter our experience. In this way, sound/unsound and its manipulation—be it through music or design—is a way to access the foundational elements of our construction of reality. This is what Goodman is interested in; how sounds can affect bodies in profound ways that seem to defy conscious reflection and systems of representation. And anyone, who has felt bass coursing through their body and dragging them onto the dance floor, knows there is something to this.

Info: “Sonic Warfare – Sound, Affect, and the Ecology of Fear” was published by MIT Press in November 2009. This essay is an edited version of a text that will accompany Passive/Aggressive’s forthcoming translation of an extract from the book.

“Endurance x Mala Junta x Mess” (7th of September, 2019) –  Live reportage & photographs by Cameron Pagett

Left hand grasps for balance against the angled and curved wall of the old airline hangar at Refshalevej 185 in the depths of Refshaleøen. Lazers cut like scalpels across the high rounded ceilings slicing with precision through the rising smoke billowing from the stage. Right hand grasped with a new friend as we feel our way across the edges of the hangar navigating bodies and crates made of wood lining the exterior of the sweat soaked cauldron. Blue and red lights from overhead lamps temporarily light the way in brief flashes of brilliance from the side entrance to the booth. Fluids drip from the walls and invade the creases of fabric from where my light mesh shirt ends and the rest of my arm begins. Each drop is accompanied by cheers and muffled shouts interlacing with a booming base starting from the ground and making its way through the body like a bulbous ghost made of beats and vibrations. Each beat launched from the speakers is absorbed by the crowd which stomps and stamps with each pulse from the center of the floor to the edges where we stand. It’s half past four and nearing mid way through the evening as we pull each other into a small backstage area and catch our breath in the steamy dance paradise. A look of futile accomplishment and water assisted relief washes into our eyes as I collect my camera after a brief sit down and head into a lazer light induced dance floor. Water taken, room still shaking, hoist my camera up over my shoulder and head back into the mist. Endure.

It’s not every weekend that three power techno collectives decide to host a show together in any city, even more special when it is in Copenhagen at one of its best spaces. It’s a special night, and each second of the dark ride through the evening into the heart of Refshaleøen brings with it more expectations. Used for over a year at this point by the Endurance crew, the old airplane hangar has become somewhat of a myth and a secluded legend in the midst of an ever changing local venue landscape. Only two months removed from a blazing Endurance one year birthday, the space is once again glowing in truthfully next level fashion uniting Mess and Mala Junta, both from Berlin, to marry local CPH flame Endurance. While overall different in scope, yet congruent in values with a fervor for sending dance floors into sweaty tangles of atomic energy. It’s a special night and one for letting completely loose and enjoying the crowd along with a mixed lineup of known and lesser known names to the Copenhagen stage.

Endurance (co-) founder Ezy (Victor Palsby) stands alone behind the DJ booth in a room stirring with pre-buzz festive energy. A true purveyor of vinyl sets he resides over two turn tables like an eagle very statuesque in a quickly filling room at only 22:30. Optica, a crew headed by George Smart and Denise Auline Garbov shoot some seriously lethal lazers from above the bar to a few meters over where Ezy stands and the first beats of the show find a welcome sound enclave in the concrete and curved metallic overhead cieling. Running into Mala Junta co-founder Joachim Palsby on a soon to be crowded floor, we speak briefly about the night and mutual excitement for where it is headed before he jumps behind the decks to find his brother crafting the vibe web spinning like an invisible silk road throughout the room.

The night is only beginning and Nayme, the ultra stylish picker for Mala Junta is squeezing with the help of a few friends into a super nice yet skin tight body suit. Flattering to his form and clearly a mood setter the attire is a clear signal for a night and atmosphere full of non-convention and blissful freedom. With a smile on his face, the door style from the ever watchful picker is selective yet extremely gentle and informative. With a focus on bringing back a feeling of intimacy and community to a sprawling and increasingly machine-like atmosphere that has become the norm in Berlin, Mala Junta stands in contrast as a return in focus to more local vibes and a more old school approach to raving. Growing in name and stature at a rapid rate in Berlin, the rave series strives to achieve something different amongst the local techno industry which has become in large part an establishment in the last decade. Largely successful in hosting some of the most brilliant, friendly and intense parties in Berlin over the past year, Joachim Palsby and Ana Laura Rincon started the collective in 2018. The two remain grounded in its ethos and push forward a culture that is growing quickly as a beacon for a sense of equilibrium in a culture war that has witnessed the techno scene in Berlin lose some of its original culture and uniqueness. Enjoying an outing with Endurance in Copenhagen, the spirit at the door is set with experience, style and a well-balanced, informative approach.

Back on the floor with a quiet demeanor as the dancer induced body heat rises, Hamburg based DJ Lucinee warms the decks as an appreciative applause for DJ Ezy simmers to a close as he finishes his set. You probably wouldn’t be able to guess with a first glance but the up and coming artist from Northern Germany plays with a fury and passion hard to match and hard to ignore. Possessing a style wonderfully intense and enchantingly devilish the room fills quickly with people as the body energy of the evening begins to truly descend and the hangar walls aided by fantastic lights do their best to project the collective vibrations. A find of Ana Laura Rincon (Hyperaktivist) who first booked her for her queer and female only empowerment focused series MESS her quality is readily apparent. Raw, fearless and insidious her style is perfectly suited and an appropriate representation of the sound associated with Ana Laura and her crew.

It’s such a delicate and important matter what MESS has brought to the table over the last two years in Berlin since its inception. Operating in a city that is certainly a leading queer force in the world scene Ana found it odd that it was hard to find an all female/queer line-up in the large local techno environment. Feeling a need for more focus, she set out to change that alongside her growing DJ name. Years later MESS has grown not only into one of the most looked forward to parties for an intense community feel but has also done a huge service in putting a face on a minority not only in the sense of safety or acceptance but also in a performative light. With queer and female only line-ups MESS provides a different and fresh perspective where culture converges with sound in a rave environment. Empowering and keeping to a close knit creed of safety and concentrated inclusion it’s a huge part of the message for the evening and an issue that is only beginning to touch the surface of a huge electronic music world. Travelling with the MESS name while reputable for the quality of parties is more than a credibility flex, it is a central part of travelling with the collective name for her (Ana Laura) as it helps illuminate an important issue and bring awareness to a large section of people who enjoy techno and rave lifestyle.

Climbing to the top of a ladder that leads into the lighting desk I get to enjoy a rather pretty view of what has now become an all out dance temple complete with incredible visuals and the familiar and oddly comforting smell of liberally functioning smoke machines dousing the room in a sensual haze. An arm latches onto my leg and I look down to see a smiling Endurance co-founder Victor Palsby. After exchanging a few nice words and greetings he disappears back into his work of perfect malaise. It’s a nice way to settle in with a party series founded locally for the sake of enhancing community in a truly DIY fashion and driven by members of the Copenhagen techno community. It’s really hard to believe that after so many events Endurance is only a year old.

Founders Benjamin Muasya, Amalie Lind and Victor Palsby share a close relation and in some cases an inter-connected relation to Fast Forward whose influence cannot be understated in the current local techno climate. With Fast Forward growing into a fully fledged agency with international reach it was decided that they would only do two big shows per year which left the door wide open for a new series to emerge bringing back an old school feel to a surging and techno thirsty locality. If Fast Forward was throwing two mega parties, the Endurance crew felt it could fill the void with something more regular, divorced from the club setting and entirely DIY from start to finish. Everything at an Endurance party is brought in, built and set up by community first. All of the sets, speakers, bar and door people are connected to the collective through the community and each event is brought to life by a large shifting crew who do it with enthusiasm and a love for the feelings each event brings.

The patio atmosphere at an Endurance party has become somewhat of a cult, ironically nearly equal in status to the party inside. It’s a must in any scenario to be sure of fantastic lighting and sound system to carry any show, but the work and thoughtfulness that goes into the construction of the outdoor space is not only cozy but fun and commendable. Spurred by the natural freedom of the surroundings where old industry collides with nature on the edges of Refshaløen it’s a cute little sprawl of thatched walls and scattered seating arrangements complete with a campfire that make the area so enjoyable. Everywhere are clusters of friends and revelers having a lovely time in the crisp and refreshing night air situated underneath a near full moon. The sweat on my brow begins to dissipate and my lungs take on a different sensation in the clarity of the evening. I fall into the lap of a close friend and watch the night at my own pace. Each little seating enclosure looks and feels like a small home and community bringing a clear sense of what the three collectives work so hard to create at every show they put on. The atmosphere and values are there, and it’s a wonderful thing to watch those standards respected and upheld by the people who come to enjoy them. There is a series of concrete slabs outside of the Endurance enclosure that sort of connects the concrete to the loose grass hills and trees that dot the outer reaches of Refshaleøen. They sit in a rectangular pattern at the end of the pavement providing a strangely monolithic-esque aura as each retains a flat surface from their utilitarian origins that now function as tables and crude lounges where people can be cozy and spend a more non-interrupted portion of the lengthy evening and do things a crowded spot wont allow while still retaining close proximity to the party.

It’s beginning to head into the middle hours of the early morning now, and with each minute a new sliver of light emerges and faces become more visible. Nothing important is said, and nothing too significant happens but in this moment rests something essential to the event. Sometimes it’s not the speakers (though crucial), the dance hungry craze (though so much fun), or the expectation that make the collective DIY experience Endurance, Mala and Mess deliver, but the importance of a coming together and comfort of a party where you are not only encouraged but can feel closer to yourself and the people you care for. Dotting the outskirts and the patio you catch that feeling and it feels. Both complimentary and refreshing to the mayhem inside.

Making my way with a small group of friends back to the main patio area as the hour hovers close to 5 the party is at its attendance peak. The crowds are thick and there is scarcely room for another person to make it past the doorman in a now very thick cue stretching a good length into the Refshaløen 185 parking lot. After contorting my way to an outdoor sink like a gecko to re-fill a used water bottle the familiar face of DJ Lucinee greets me by the fire pit as people struggle for space and all seating appears taken. After a brief chat about how insane the night is becoming we both agree to head back into the hangar for a bit of space by the booth and take in the ending of another cracking set from DJ AADJA and the beginning of a much anticipated solo set from DJ Tool representing Mala Junta proudly in the early hours. By this point the floor is completely packed and I have to keep my lens cap covered to avoid it fogging up to much and compromising my equipment in the low light of the heaving floor. The vibes are extremely high and the energy present in the now very packed room reaches past the half dome ceiling and extends in my imagination to somewhere far beyond the lights of the city glowing in the distance. Lucinee and I find a small spot to sit behind the decks as AADJA surrenders the controls to DJ Tool after a moving, fast tempo set and the evening begins to obtain a familiar and all to welcoming feel of all out bliss from collective and energetic induced transcendence. Known for his old school and vinyl dominated playing style DJ Tool without much hesitation begin to push the tempo into near overdrive. Enjoying what I have left of a generous helping of drinks accumulated throughout the evening I decide to venture out onto the floor for some speaker induced therapy. Much can be discussed when thinking about a dance environment. Most anywhere on the globe from posh cocktail bars to rare dives in far lands the centerpiece of night revelry normally centers on a DJ booth with a space for moving the body. It’s hard to describe the elation you can have from a proper techno floor in the right environment because each experience is normally very personal. More than most any other dance culture dancing by yourself is not only the norm but a nearsacred right as each individual can make up their mind as to exactly how they will relate to the sound and move on their own terms. This element makes for a curious phenomenon that has to be experienced to be understood. It’s together but separate, individual but filled with the energy of the crowd and if you cut the sound for one second everyone would immediately look quite silly. Sometimes you just have to slip in, close your eyes and see where your mind takes you. On this night for me it is directly in front of the booth with the full fire of the room at my back.

Relentless and hard as steel, DJ Tool has the fortune to command the speakers through the most intense section of the night. Smoke liberally spewing into the room and lights flashing and waning back into nothing it is the type of atmosphere that makes time accelerate and leaves your vanity in the dust. Each moment is accompanied by the feeling of energy from others in a full sensual range. Much to my joy I am dancing in a packed room with minimum interference. Normally in a party brimming at full capacity a certain courteous and informed dance ettiquete can be lost and you may find yourself assailed by bodies and random people pushing their way through a crowd effectively interrupting a fluid dance flow. On the evening this isn’t the vibe and if people aren’t dancing and maintaining a non-invasive flow of movement they are using the edges of the room to come in or out making the core of the dance environment easier to navigate and ultimately much more fun. With DJ Tool maintaining a blistering pace and the crowd at a simmer I move to the wardrobe to change out a camera battery and freshen up from the heat in the center of the floor.

“Hiiiii Papiii!” … You can’t unhear this salutation in your mind if you have in any way become acquainted with perennial scene volunteer, club mafia member and Endurance wardrobe queen Marie. It’s so entirely distinguishable, endearing and altogether a little piece of what makes her special. “Papiiiii, oh my gawdddd… I have to pee! Can you watch the room for me?” She says while crossing her legs frantically in an attempt to evade the unpleasant. I came to get a new shirt and battery and now I am collecting coats and bags for the large section of the crowd for whom the night has passed by. Many faces come by for their things and the pace is frantic giving me a new appreciation for how exhausting this must be if you attempt to do it like Marie for twelve hours! With a room completely filled and a tiny space for coats you spend most of your time with your head plowing through the undersides of garments looking for little numbers and then reminding people who are mostly still dazed to check the pockets to be sure they don’t lose or forget anything. After a few minutes I settle in and begin to actually quite enjoy it, saying goodbye occasionally to familiar faces while also running into many that are less familiar. It’s a huge carousel of mostly happy people and a sentiment of collective bliss and satisfaction is readily apparent. A good dance can leave you glowing, and watching face after face exhaustion is visible but sweetly paired with elation in most all demeanors. Marie eventually comes back with a drink in her hand and a look of approval for my efforts which is also my cue to return to the floor for the beginnings of Hyperaktivist in the true morning hours.

Exiting the wardrobe room, the crowd has certainly dissipated allowing for more room on the floor, more air in the hangar and a cooler more relaxed vibe without a lull in quality from the booth. As Mess founder Hyperaktivist pushes into the core of her set it is very fun and refreshing to see the breakfast crew of attendees who are only just arriving for the final hours of what is now truly a morning party to get their freak on at the start of their day rather then at the end of their night. The new influx of experienced ravers, community members and fellow musicians brings on a different dynamic with hugs and greetings. Although I am beginning to feel fatigued the additional people pep up the party. If new people brought new life, then this sequence is brought full circle by Ana Laura (Hyperaktivist) as she shows once again that she can both play and dance equally for a crowd with unmatched aplomb and enthusiasm. In this setting it’s severely fun to watch and recognize that after so many shows and events to fit into her overflowing schedule that the passion and purpose still feels stronger than ever. It’s a wonderful indicator for the state of DIY in the face of ever encroaching business interests and industry in many forms. People are responding, the community is expanding and it’s clearly visible that she is finding so much joy and positivity helping it take off and grow on an organic level.

Close to one hour later I am on my bike riding home across Inner Harbour Bridge with tired legs and a feeling of blissful satisfaction. I guess I fell asleep on one of the benches outside after my legs gave out dancing and upon waking shortly after decided to pack it in. At a red light I pull up alongside a fellow raver on bike and we both give each other a similar look. It’s the face of “fuck it, I need to sleep … but that was lit.” We ride along a few blocks before he hangs a right into a side street but before parting he only offers one sentence. “Yeah, that was a pretty good party.” I am sore and my mind is still dancing along to the beats from the last 8 hours and I don’t respond but keep moving after nodding my head and laughing a bit to myself. Oddly enough, after the first Endurance party in the spring of 2018 I ran into another person who would become a very close friend over the course of this year. We were sitting on the concrete blocks mentioned earlier which is where Endurance used to place the bathrooms before they were connected to the patio. That time the sun was out and we gave each other the same look I had just shared on my way home when a few moments later he also remarked, “Yeah, that was a pretty good party…” Sometimes that’s all that needs to be said, and in a way describes in full what the events are all about, giving you the right to say that and that alone.

That was April 2018, this was September 2019. It was only Endurance then, this time it was the whole super team with Mala Junta and Mess but that fact remains consistent and prevalent … these are some good parties. A couple years back this whole host of characters met and decided to do something they felt strongly about and have watched it grow and move rapidly from smaller beginnings to across borders and cities.

After another experience at Refshaløen with familiar characters and new ones it can feel like a real cultural shift is taking place not only in regards to community, but a full saturation of a new attitude of having an outstanding time and remaining safe while respecting each other. Times are moving and the scene needs more outlets for people to rage and let their inhibitions loose with a mutual understanding that there are lines that should be respected and minorities that deserve acknowledgement. It’s not so difficult, it’s just a new and more progressive way of doing things and enhancing a shared vision of not only the party atmosphere but everyday life. It’s taking activism and DIY values and placing them at the crossroads where what would traditionally be just a party meets something of more value. For many simply experiencing for the first time what it’s like to feel that communal warmth and raw quality with music and art is a huge catalyst to awareness and something that grows over time. It’s something that illuminates a feeling of freedom and respect that should be the norm, and at it’s finest expression helps each individual not only have a ton of fun but become more equipped to treat others better and live a more concious social life.

That’s all quite nice, and at the end of it, these three collectives really know how to make a party. It’s in Refshaløen 185 every two months as long as they can host it there. Stop by Endurance, Mala Junta or Mess if you can, they are going quite strong with much to look forward to in the near future!

Info: “Endurance x Mala Junta x Mess” was at Refshalevej 185 on the 7th of September, 2019.

Interview by Sandra S. Borch

“I get up early in the morning around 5:30 am, I go for a walk in nature, do some sound programming for a short while, take my son to preschool, and then I go to my office to work on my compositions,” Ata Ebtekar says. It sounds like a standard everyday but the results of those hours Ebtekar spends at his office is far beyond standard. Under the alias Sote, Ebtekar creates timeless pieces of music with advanced composition that blends crisis and harmony into sonic tales of vivid synthetic soundscapes.

For the past two decades he has published his work on a myriad of labels such as Opal Tapes, Morphine, Warp, Sub Rosa, Digitalis and Repitch among others. His works navigates somewhere between Xenakis, Actress and Lorenzo Senni and sparks of Autechre. His compositions are always thoughtful and structured resulting in some sort of techno quasi-noise delirium.

As much as it is a regional form of sound coming out of Tehran, it is also a cross-cultural tandem. Ebtekar’s childhood and youth has a lot of geographic roots. “I was born in Hamburg, but immediately after my birth, my parents went back to Tehran where I grew up until I was 11-year-old,” he explains and continues: “Then the Iranian revolution happened, followed by the Iraq/Iran war, at which point, my family decided to send me to Germany to live in a safer environment.” He then moved to California to study and later teach Sound Art at Berkeley University. When I asked him how the impact of globalization on one side and San Francisco as musical anchor on the other side has influenced him, he answer: “I have not had much contact in terms of electronic music with California in the last few years.”

“My main communication outside of Iran has been with Europe mostly, and it has been absolutely wonderful to be in direct dialog with other artists as well as promoters, journalists and/or music lovers in general. These days it is much easier to collaborate with like-minded people from all over the world and actually turn common ideas into reality.” and in conclusion he states: ”It has greatly influenced the realization of various projects of mine with non-Iranian organizations to promote cross-cultural events.”

Besides being a composer and sound artist Ebtekar is also one of the minds behind the SET-festival in Tehran. According to Ebtekar the SET festival was not only ment as a space to present music but a living sphere for the music to grow and a place that would tighten the community in Tehran.

“Since my project ‘Persian Electronic Music Yesterday and Today’ on the Sub Rosa label in 2006, I wanted to find ways to promote experimental electronic music and raise awareness of sound art within Iran. Unfortunately, during that period, I could not find like-minded folks to do such a thing, and the overall timing was just not right.” Ebtekar moved back to Iran from California in 2014 and that is where he met Siavash Amini. The two of them got together and expressed mutual feelings and thoughts about a common goal of expanding the experimental music scene and making it more accessible in Tehran. That is how they decided to join forces and began SET Experimental Art Events. Today not only the SET Festival but the entire scene for mixed media is growing rapidly in Tehran, and the SET Festival is collaborating and doing transmedia events with several different organizers from inside and outside Iran. It is a symptom of the collective dream that started out as an annual two-day festival but which now has events throughout the entire year. The latest edition of the CTM festival in Berlin featured a collaboration with SET Festival and since then many Europeans have been observing the festival with obsessives ears, however from a great geographic distance. “Having an international dialog with like-minded artists and festivals is of utmost importance to us as well,“ Ebtekar underlines.

As a one-man project Sote shows enough oomph to run an entire nation. His release Hardcore Sounds from Tehran, form 2016, is a polyrhythmic masterpiece. The music takes on different shapes throughout the entire album. In moments of peak the tempo reaches a far higher BPM than any rave anthem from the primo 1990s, the sound is rough and gritty and yet it is well composed. The rhythmic fluctuations of the release are notably constructed by mosaics of deconstructed traditional folklore and modern experimentation.

Ebtekar strongly believes that “at first, the boldest element is sound synthesis, which over the time of the composition process turns into pattern building of various shapes, forms and rhythmic characteristics,” Ebtakar says. “However, the most important factor is always the composition as a whole. All of the above mentioned points are achieved via the desire for creating pieces that I have not heard before and would like to listen to myself.“

”There is no political statement,” he declares.

Info: This interview with Ata Etbekar was first published in Passive/Aggressive ZINE #7 about music and activism (still available). Sote presents his latest album Parallel Persia (Diagonal Records, 2019) in Copenhagen today (RSVP).

Flawless Victory “Sometimes” (self-released, 2019) – Interview by Cameron Pagett

It’s been nearly three years since the Copenhagen-based band Flawless Victory took up instruments and started performing. In that time they have in many ways become everybody’s favorite band that never made recordings or released anything. Consisting of lead singer Jonathan Holst Bruus, synth-master Christopher Jørgensen, bass guitarist Magnus Holger Hjortlund and electric guitar-wizard Gustav Frich they have played live – in some cases with more established names like Communions and First Hate. Their shows have caught a splinter of wanderlust and a spirit of warmth, humor and fun necessary in the current soundscape of the city.

With an entire history of performances behind them, it’s been equally awaited and maybe also forgotten that they had yet to actually release anything they could all be proud of. “If you’re gonna release something it’s gonna stick to your name,” relays guitarist Frich. “None of us are about to drop dead, so why not wait it out a year or two and make something we value rather than just put something out there.”
Equally relaxed and critical of their output, the group has let things happen naturally amidst the pressure and expectation for a recording that people reference again and again.

The result of their first release is a five minute bite-sized sound climax of your favorite summer dreams encapsulating all the places you have been and want to be later. The new single “Sometimes” is in many ways a never ending shot glass containing the overarching spirit of possibility in the youthful heart. A super charged champagne glass full of endless cheer, campy nonsense and present nostalgia for the moment at hand turning to history in all its current splendor. Complete with a music video paying homage to the perks and simplistic pleasures of heightened bourgeoise bliss. The music and imagery take us into a mindset of extended childhood dreams, youthful trappings presented nearly like a moving greeting card to your future self and a set of accessible desires indulged in too little. “I think with the aesthetic it’s a little camp and fun,” remarks bass player Hjortlund, “that’s just who we are, you know.”
It’s a mild atmosphere of self deprecating indulgence with a wink. It feels fast, yet floats along below the speed limit and has its sharp moments tempered by an overall pillowed feel of an incoming warm night with friends and a small fire. “We did destroy Jonathan’s brother’s car though.” Frich intervenes, “so that was pretty rock and roll.”

“I think I like fun music, or music with humor,” remarks Jørgensen wistfully, when describing the charming and maximal wall of sounds creating the tracks atmosphere. “It can tend to be a bit boring if you take it too seriously.” A quiet master of the synth he slumps back into a sofa while enjoying a beer when Frich intervenes, “There’s a lot of minimal stuff out there in Copenhagen these days, right?” He pauses, and the point is made. Within the song is a large sampling of sound from drum samples to pinging noises akin to 90’s gameboy ambiance with soaring harmonies and even a disco charm. What unites it all is a certain attitude of wanting to include all the things that make them happy. It’s a feeling that within this increasingly demanding and at times ultra serious local and international music outlook there is still room for a group of people who want to smile, wink and sway a little. It’s music that you can fall in love to, finish the bottle of wine with and leave behind a full picnic on an exotic blanket in the imaginary lawn of your summer house-heaven. It’s cute, unbelievably catchy and colorful in the sense that it evokes a sensation of being caressed in your personal dance dreams by sound.

It might only be a single for now, but the band has plans from here to expand on their material and continue to create their universe for our enjoyment. With that expectation however comes a feeling of relaxation about when they will get to it and what form it will take. “When it comes to creating something super relevant or zeitgeist-y you are bound to lose, at least if you are us, so there’s no reason to overstretch ourselves now if we have fun,” Frich admits looking into the future.

With that expressed the group is both a familiar and new face in the local music scene making an impact and continuing to grow at their own pace. If opening single “Sometimes” is any indication of what we can look forward to, then the sonic future of Copenhagen just got a bit better. Stay tuned, warmth can exist outside of summer, if only in your headphones… sometimes.

Info: “Sometimes” was released on September 5.

By Mandus Ridefelt

When Charli XCX released “Charli” in September 2019, it was her third full-length album and her first after the 2016-17 mixtapes, “Vroom Vroom”, “Number 1 Angel” and “Pop 2″, that had defined her as an artist”. Particularly, the ingeniously titled “Pop 2”, which established Charli XCX as a central figure to what commonly was referred to as the “future of pop”. “Pop 2” featured a showcase of guesting producers and performers, with Charli XCX acting just as much as a curator as being the pop star. The sound which has become Chalie XCX’s signature was decided on “Pop 2” – autotuned vocal hooks performed with a slap-in-the-face-confidence, syncopated high-definition synths and norm-bending, expansive song structures. Together with the glossy, overtly sexy and deceptively superficial lyrics, this is the sound that made Charli XCX herself, her core fans and many critics cry out that the sound of the future had arrived. The buzz of having the future of pop in the palm of her hands has followed Charli XCX ever since and is, of course, the core thematic of the freshly released record. In what follows, I will attempt to sketch out how to engage with Charli XCX’s music as the “future of pop”, beyond its mystification and tokenism. 

The artistically trailblazing moment in the career of Charli XCX was actually not “Pop 2”, but the preceding 2016 release of “Vroom Vroom” – a four track mixtape produced by SOPHIE (the same SOPHIE who recently achieved  mainstream acclaim with Grammy nomination for her album, “OIL OF EVERY PEARL’S UN-INSIDES”).

The credo of “Vroom Vroom” and its eponymous opening track is presented immediately with the lyric, “Let’s ride”. It is a statement deliberately thrown, performed with the blinding confidence of a party Bolshevik and activated by throbbing, highly syncopated percussive synths and a minimalist four on the floor hi-hat. “Vroom Vroom” is, paradoxically, a banger almost devoid of a drum rack. Instead, the synth figure is enveloped in an effervescent, metallic frame, expounding an insistent rhythm of catchy quirkiness, pushing to the point where the slender hi-hat appears to be nothing but a timekeeper. The credo – “Let’s ride” – sets out, more as an onomatopoetic exclamation than a melodic hook, as something of more percussive energy than melodic or content-carrying.

Pretty

By reimagining the functions of the components of pop music, Charli XCX undermines the purported identity between compositional placement and function. Heard in conjunction with the percussive synths, the flat credo of performed confidence – “Let’s ride” – forms an aesthetic alliance with McKenzie Wark and her noting that “Perhaps what is pretty is instead displacing this whole idea of appearances as a cover for some essence. Perhaps what is pretty need not be seen as hiding something, as damaged goods, but as a gift, as offering the possibility of stepping outside of exchange value.” “Pretty” is an aesthetic that does not set out to hide anything. 

This is possibly quite counterintuitive. Interpretation of music is, generally, guided towards determining meanings and relations of a composition, of investigating what the sounds point towards that lies beyond its brute presentation, what emotions a melody might be connected to, how lyrics are manifested in sounds, sounds in lyrics etc. By introducing exchange value as a mode of aesthetic engagement, Wark identifies both the trouble and the political potential of “Pretty”, an analysis much interesting in the case of “Vroom Vroom”.

The Marxian concept of exchange value describes what a certain commodity is worth on a market. From this follows, according to Wark, a masculine logic obsessing about possessing and abusing, facilitated by treating appearance as a cover-up for essence. At the market, this manifests in a compulsion of making sure to get what you bought, to control that the appearance of the commodity is actually at par with what you are paying for it. As expected, a paranoia of always being at risk of deception follows. The “pretty” not only rejects this paranoid capitalist logic of extractive investigation, but more importantly, it sets out to preclude its very possibility. 

The Party Bolshevism of Charli XCX and SOPIHE on “Vroom Vroom” is a study in the composition of “pretty” music. One could say that this music is composed in such a pretty way that it excludes and wryly shrugs it off when anything attempts to impose a logic of exchange value onto it, or treats it  as if it were hiding something – treating it as if the appearance were a camouflage for an essence or meaning. Whole swathes of music criticism have made themselves dependent on arguments based on the unfolding of “hidden” meanings. But such criticism is often ignorant of the work at hand and heedlessly applies an intrusive, standardized questionnaire.

There is simply no way to engage with the lyrics “Let’s ride” as something other than a percussive slogan of confidence. Any textual interpretations are condemned to end up shadow boxing with a straw man, probably quite aware of the fact that there is nothing much to decipher, yet committed to extract meaning. Of course, the exclamation as such does not call for a listening along “pretty” lines, but in the composition of the track it does. In “Vroom Vroom”, when the credo is coupled with the reimagined functionalities of the arrangement, the pretty is our tool in the first instance. However, because we can see that the lyrics are nothing but percussive propulsion and an explicit vocal power pose, anyone trying to frame the conjoined arrangement of voice, synth and the faint hi-hats as a deconstruction of their functionalities would be shadowboxing as well. Indeed, “Let’s ride” is a statement too sparse, too performative to be held in isolation.

Following from this, to speak about how certain strands of pop challenges notions of the assigned functions and essences of instrumental arrangement in the same sentence as “Let’s Ride” is to detach the lyrics from the musical composition and vice versa. “Let’s Ride” is not about contrasting sparse lyrical content to maximalist, syncopated synths, but wielded in the same form of overtness.

In both of these examples, a projection of an exchange value logic implicitly holds the appearance that some essence is hidden in the song. What marks the compositional ingenuity of “Vroom Vroom” is that such accounts can never accurately describe what is going on in this track. The song will shrug away, leaving such interpellation alone with its unidirectional and intrusive quest for what the track actually was getting at and, if none is found, calling it out as a deception. To paraphrase Wark’s discussion of “pretty” in relation to self-presentation by transgender people – for the intrusive gaze, the lyrics might hide percussion and the synth might hide lyrics, but in fact, nothing is hidden.

A similarly pretty arrangement is yet again employed in “Next Level Charli”, the first track of the recent record “Charli”. The sweeping introductory synths map out an open, harmonic space of deceptive cadences, perfectly in line with major parts of contemporary pop harmony. Charli’s tonal rap trips in continuous staccato lines above. The prettiness of the song is here to be found in the song structure – no verse, no chorus, no bridge can be found. Or perhaps all of them can be found everywhere. The track blazes onwards, not towards catharsis but round and round in an extended space of ecstasy. The extroversion of the introductory lines (“I go hard, I go fast and I never look back”) are, like “Vroom Vroom”, not setting out to hide anything. There are no hints of an interior to be probed by the analytic tools of the gaze of exchange value – it operates on what could, misleadingly, be called the surface. The introductory lines of “Next Level Charli” echoes throughout the rest of the song, where a futurity of snappy decadence is formulated. The song is infused with a credo comparable to that of “Vroom Vroom” and subsequently unfolds into an upheaval of the commonplace pop logic of katharsis, that of tension and release, of chorus and verse. From this point of entry, the song provides no narrative arch, no lyrical content to be probed for meaning, no confessions, no synthesis. This preclusion, based on the composition of the track, is, as Wark would describe it, so so “pretty” and I will attempt to phrase what this pretty actually offer the listener a later in this text.

Throughout the critical reception of the recent record, “Charli”, it has often been remarked that the album exposes an as yet unseen vulnerability and a willingness to express what purportedly reaches beyond the previously encountered Party Bolshevism. This is very true – “Charli” boasts material of more confessional and emotionally interior nature, both lyrically, as well as in performance and production. Here, Pitchfork critic, Michelle Kim, take note of what seems to be a split in the desires of Charli XCX as conveyed in interviews. She has often lamented the apparent incompatibility of nurturing the forward thrust of creativity and garnering the kind of mainstream recognition her co-authored tracks did (Icona Pop, “I Love it”; Camilla Cabello and Shawn Mendes, “Kiss”; Iggy Azalea, “Fancy”). This split perfectly aligns with an almost unavoidable trait of the “pretty”.  Success in mainstream markets will inevitably indebt itself to the suspicions of an exchange value logic, whereas the “Avant-pop” audience, with strongholds in LGBT-circles, is less prone to carry out this paranoid move of intrusion and instead joyously endorses the pretty pop-supremacism of “Vroom Vroom”.

Entering a Pretty Nihilism

The question that lingers now is: what then? How do we actually engage with “Vroom Vroom” outside this persistent and oppressive logic? What is it that actually becomes accessible when assuming these tracks to be hiding nothing? As for now, the pretty might appear completely flat, any musical gesture could be any other when the preclusion is successful. By turning to a specific contemporary account of nihilism, we might find a beginning to an answer that does not fall prey of a flat and stale musical ontology.

In Nihil Unbound (2007, chap 7), Ray Brassier poses a determining question to the long tradition of nihilism: how can nihilism hold the world to be devoid of anything to believe in and still believe in this negation? By holding on to the belief this becomes a reprise of how unbearable the world would be without belief. In one of the notorious accounts of nihilism, the Nietzschean, the point-zero meaninglessness becomes a site of existential determination through “eternal recurrence” and affirmation of “joy” and “will to power”. Such a nihilism seems, perhaps counterintuitively, more geared towards saving the human from meaninglessness, than accepting it. Brassier resolves this by considering the world and its philosophies as being grounded on not the negation of meaning and life, but the assertion of non-meaning and non-life. This is, thus, not an attempt to save the world, its life and philosophies from the “threat” of nihilism but uses nihilism to shape a “speculative opportunity” that arises when the world is no longer seen as founded on life or philosophical vitalism. When rejecting the exceptionality of life, the attempt of recuperating something humanly exceptional from the nihilist point zero is not needed. Any politico-philosophical landscape would be significantly rebuilt if we were to lose the idea that some kind of life or meaning is the driving force in the world (Nihil Unbound, 2007, p. xi). 

For the present purposes, the crucial point of this type of nihilism is how life and meaning are no longer of exceptional ontological or libidinal status. When the world is predicated upon its pointlessness and lack of meaning, there is no way any life form (yes, humans too) can claim exceptionality since the long held defining traits (life, meaning, purposefulness etc.) have exactly no place in the nihilism as  explored here. Which is to say, a nihilism based on the assertion of a non-life, non-meaning.

Without dwelling in the vast philosophical topology opening up here, I want to investigate this specific notion of nihilism in relation to Charli XCX and the “pretty” pop aesthetics of “Vroom Vroom” and “Charli Next Level”. 

When Brassier founds his nihilism on a completed dethroning of the exceptionality of the human, life and meaning, Wark’s makes a parallel move when she concludes that the pretty does not hide anything. Both these ideas share an insistence on being non-intrusive, non-paranoid (and, as follows, non-cynical) to the point of the very preclusion of these concepts. Brassier grounds his nihilism in the world as predicated on non-life/meaning with the corollary being that the unearthing of meaning is replaced by the empowerment of a “corrosive truth”, which allegedly no longer reinforces destructive human narcissism. In such a nihilism, the paranoid order where appearance hides essence is ruled out – no such opposition can exist, no hidden essence, no hidden meaning can be disclosed because its negation is the fundamental ontological assumption. 

Wark’s inversion of Marx’s exchange value leads to a similar position but reaches  it by means of aesthetics. Within late capitalist societies, the paranoid logic of exchange value is pretty much omnipresent. One of the few tools at hand for the fugitive is, obviously, aesthetics as a constructible space. Being an aesthetic device, the “pretty” does not imply allegiance to nihilist philosophy. It’s raison d’étre is to preclude and, as Wark has it, form the utopian potentials of the pretty minor gestures happening throughout the preclusion and after. Still, “Vroom Vroom” is hardly utopian.

“Vroom Vroom” hides nothing because its composition is founded on a musical nihilism of the kind above described and constructed as a “pretty” track. 

“Vroom Vroom” is emerges from a vitalist point zero, where nothing can possibly be disclosed, no essence lying under appearance, no meaning behind the words and structures. As discussed, the song refrains so adamantly from offering anything that could pass as a credible story. Here also, Wark’s characterization of the pretty in in the cinematic context is of great use. Starting from the premise that cinema is deeply entrenched in cis-patriarchal investigation in how the eye of the camera functions as the eye of an order of sexualized control, Wark wonders how cinema could be made where that function of the camera is ruled out. The cinematic pretty, as in Jessie Jeffrey Dunn Rovinelli’s “So Pretty”, is, in very short, about having the camera to picture relations and never objects or bodies in isolation. Relations are bound to bore that gaze of sexualized control and preclude it. As a direct consequence, she notes that “the pretty isn’t egalitarian, as it has to remain rare.” And Charli XCX makes, by no means, egalitarian music. It is for these reasons that the pretty is politically exclusive. It is not made to be investigated. The listener yearning for nimble confession and interiority will be excluded, there is no credible story of a life to be disclosed.

Against this backdrop of Charli XCX, as heard through the pretty and the nihilist, the reimagined instrumentalization previously described is, not a move of deconstruction, but of its false opposite: a move to construction. We are wryly cornered into thinking “Vroom Vroom” as an emergent speculative musical form. It is, in a nihilist way, emerging from the grounds where any meaning and the commodifying projections of interiorities are destroyed. What could be devoured as superficiality is actually what rises from an aesthetic device that has fool-proofed itself from the suspicion that it is  hiding something and has ridiculed the attempts of harvesting meaning from its political vector. Instead, Charli XCX engages in the calculated construction of something pretty. 

At the moment when the exchange value listening-mode is precluded, we are listening to something that hides nothing. This pretty aesthetics of hiding nothing must not be confused with calling the song out for being “naked” or “authentic”. Wark neatly singles this out when discussing “pretty” as a transgender-aesthetics, or “pretty as a trap” (“trap” pointing to the homo and transphobic fear of being deceived when appearance and viciously assumed gender essences does not match up). The trap of “Vroom Vroom” is obviously a very different case but compares in how both functions as triggers of intrusive acts of investigation. In the case of Charli XCX, these are often posed as allegations of irony or elitism.

“The Future hides that it hides nothing”

(quote originally from Danish poet Inger Christensen and encountered by author as an exhibition title by Primer, Copenhagen, 2019)

Coming back to the concept of “future” – it is in urgent need of reformulation or of being simply crossed out. The frequent equation of “future” and a development of the sonic character of pop towards higher levels of artificiality is a reiteration of the retrograde mythology of modernist progression as a movement displacing an assumed human essence along the axis of complexifying technological interventions. When Charli XCX is knighted the “future of pop” by a more or less unanimous cadre of critics on the basis of the glossy, high-definition production, what is being reproduced is that same retro-futurist position which heralds a false, toxic household pseudo-dialectical tension between an othered artifice and a narcissist human essence as its sole referent.

“embrace the synthetic and shiny” – Pitchfork
“bizzare blend of robotic sounds” – Status Mag
“what the fanfare at a robot’s funeral would sound like” – Vulture

Mark Fisher diagnoses this still prevailing condition as the “the slow cancellation of the future”, where the promises made by early digital revolutions are perpetually postponed. But the overall techno-capitalist landscape has darkened even further since Fisher’s diagnose. Already when Fisher made his diagnosis there were only a few who still found an untainted emancipatory potential in the exploration of the axis between a purported human essence and artificiality. Today, such a position should be impossible to hold. Yet it is striking how much of mainstream music criticism that still seems invested in approaching pop through this lens. Charli XCX, “Vroom Vroom” and “Charli Next Level” does indeed employ these tools tied to the retro-futurist conception of what is to come. But that simple fact does not vindicate a stale and depoliticized discourse around how pop can or cannot be a site of bootstrapping into whatever less distressed condition than the contemporary. Particularly the nihilist account above suggests a demythologized notion of future, where “Vroom Vroom” and “Next Level Charli” might be two of the devices that can activate this notion in a wider context.

Instead of wanting us to engage with the capitalized Future, I would regard Charli XCX’s musical prompt to be a shift in focus, from the expansion of the discussed exchange value logics into novel realms, to its preclusion and a speculative music geared towards the construction of musical socialites with zero patience for human narcissism or paranoia. By the pretty and the unbound nihilism, we can get a hint of on which grounds such practices might be build.

Info: Charli XCX plays VEGA on November 7. (RSVP) 

Percy x Knife Fest, October 24th at Mayhem, Copenhagen – live report by Ivna Franić, photo by Jakub Jezný

A few days before Halloween Percy Records and Knife Magazine joined forces with Alice for a night potentially dark and full of terrors, with a heavy bill featuring Puce Mary, Drew McDowall, Kali Malone and Manisdron. (The second part of their mini festival was set to take place at Basement the following night, with sets by Alpha Tracks, CORIN, Mana, Yen Towers and Yuri).

As both Knife Magazine and Percy Records have been throwing parties and events in various incarnations and combinations over the past few years, this recent collaboration on a small two-day “fest” hardly came off as unusual. And despite the excellent lineup and both Percy’s and Knife’s reliable audience, the event didn’t feel as (over–)hyped as some other nights hosted by either party, which was probably for the better.

Manisdron – the solo project of Japanese artist and Goat drummer Takafumi Okada (listen) – provided an intro to the evening that was all but slow and gentle. Using drums, synths and voice Okada created a highly charged set that wouldn’t have been out of place at a more dance-oriented event. While it might have seemed unusual to kick things off with probably the most energetic act on the bill, it actually made a lot of sense to sort of get it out of the way so as not to disrupt the more or less impeccable flow between the subsequent sets.

Kali Malone and Puce Mary have toured together before, Puce Mary and Drew McDowall have performed in tandem, and McDowall has been known to express his admiration for Malone’s music, so seeing these three together on the bill made perfect sense from the get-go. The lineup materialized in practice worked just as well as it looked on paper, and it wasn’t difficult to imagine this combo going on tour together somewhere down the line.

Hot on the heels of this year’s equal parts monolithic and gorgeous album “The Sacrifical Code”, and following her performance at a church for The Organ Sound Festival a few months back, Kali Malone was back in Copenhagen with an underground venue-friendly setup. And well, as it turns out, this variant of her live performance feels no less epic than the one including a church organ. Sounding perhaps somewhat less dramatic than on her records, Malone slowly but assuredly built up a set that showed just how delicate and emotive drone music can be at its finest.

Drew McDowall took on where Malone left off with his highly immersive performance mostly resting on his latest album, “The Third Helix”, released late last year. Although both McDowall’s solo material and his work with Coil is usually described in the context of dark ambient music, this set actually didn’t feel that all that gloomy. The dense, lush ambient sound mostly came off as radiant rather than ominous, helping flow the overall mood of the night in a slightly lighter direction than expected. Almost a regular guest in Denmark, this evening McDowall delivered one of the better sets we have had an opportunity to experience so far.

Known for intense live performances with her Puce Mary project, Frederikke Hoffmeier showed once again that exerting control does not necessarily diminish the harrowing effects of a power electronics show. Puce Mary has been much more than a belligerent tape noise project for a while now, as confirmed by her exquisite latest solo record, “The Drought”, which saw her introduce clearer vocal delivery, among other things.

This translates to the live show, taming the tension between visceral quality typical for her live performances and the more refined approach displayed on record. Interestingly, this method does not in any way make Puce Mary sound detached. In fact, her music seems to grow in an ever more empathetic direction – something that is often found to be lacking in noise music (as well as in the Nordic environment). Despite all the harsh elements, her set never felt like an assault on the senses, but more like an invitation to her bold sound that is captivating rather than simply confrontational.

All three aforementioned artists share a similar sensibility and a certain depth to the sound they explore within drone and noise genres. A delightful evening without a single uninteresting performance, the first part of Percy x Knife Fest casually proved that a strong – if somewhat safe – lineup and good sequencing go a long way.

Essay af Oliver Laumann, redigeret af Nils Bloch

Oliver Laumann er trommeslager og har været medlem af den aktitivistiske musikgruppe GP&PLS. De seneste år har bandet opereret i grænselandet mellem aktivisme og musik ved at benytte musikkens finansielle, kulturelle og sociale strukturer som et middel til at støtte og involvere flygtninge i og udenfor Europa. Læs også Passive/Aggressives interview med GP&PLS fra Serbien.

Nedenstående essay er oprindeligt udgivet i Victor B. Andersens Maskinfabrik #68, kurateret og redigeret af GP&PLS.
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Inden GP&PLS i 2017 indspillede og udgav politiske sange med albummet “Pro Monarkistisk Extratone”, turnerede orkestret, faktisk i flere år, primært med islandsk animeret notation: en genre bestående af bevægelige videopartiturer, bl.a. af komponisterne Páll Ivan Pállson, Guðmundur Steinn Gunnarsson og Jesper Pedersen. Selvom de animerede scores, allerede inden de siden hen lod sig transformere til et politisk værktøj, havde en utvivlsom berettigelse som en banebrydende form inden for kompositionsmusikken, skønt mangel på bredere popularitet, som fx de såkaldte “grafiske”, men stadig statiske partiturer har nydt, revitaliseres de animerede scores ved deres politiske anvendelighed.

De mest umiddelbare kvaliteter ved animeret notation, i forhold til traditionel vestlig notation, ses bl.a. ved, hvordan de så utvungent kan afstedkomme en ekstrem grad af uegale tonevarigheder og mikrorytmik, især i forhold til hvor nemme de er at afkode, netop fordi de bevæger sig. Kort sagt: Man kan opnå komplekse resultater via et simpelt interaktivt og letforståeligt interface. De fleste kompositioner i genren kræver minimal instruktion, i forhold til hvor meget de opnår ved dem, især taget de gængse normer for musikalsk prøve-/øve-/indstuderingstid i betragtning.

Disse forcer er oftest ignoreret i kritikken af animeret notation, da videoerne som regel meget tidligere afskrives som useriøse, på grund af deres, for nogle, grænseoverskridende eller for farverige iklædning, hvilket som det ses nedenfor ikke er en regel. Videopartituret skal ikke ses som en udelukkende æstetisk udforskning af partituret, men også som én, der afsøger partiturets funktionalitet.

Animeret notation udmærker sig herudover bl.a. ved at appellere til andre skill sets end de traditionelt musikalske, som ofte er dybt forankret i instrumentalisme. Den måske mest afgørende faktor, når man spiller animeret notation, er, HVORNÅR man spiller, hvilket kan være med til at frisætte én fra valg og tankevirksomhed om, hvad man dog skal finde på at spille. Det mest åbenlyse er ligheden med computerspil eller sport, hvor en udøvers reaktionstid er noget af det mest afgørende (hermed ikke sagt, at man kan eller nødvendigvis skal forsøge at “vinde” animeret notation, da “fejlslagne” eller upræcise forsøg på at spille kompositionerne ofte er lige så spændende at lytte til/opleve). Endnu en lighed med computerspil er selvfølgelig, hvordan man ved at spille animeret notation træder ind i en på forhånd konstrueret visuel verden, og her kommer det: som kan være med til at præge, hvordan du spiller kompositionen, på et intuitivt plan og mere detaljeret, end der overhovedet er plads til at notere i et traditionelt partitur, hvis det skal være til at læse. Jeg taler om stemningen i partiturets visuelle verden, som på det intuitive plan påvirker den, der spiller kompositionen – ofte på måder, som det ville være svært at planlægge for komponisten. En væsentlig forskel er, hvordan publikum træder med dig ind i denne verden, idet partituret også opleves af dem, hvilket igen adskiller sig fra brug af det klassiske partitur, som – i øjeblikket, musikken spilles – primært eksisterer for musikerens øjne.

Formen åbner altså op for alle mulige typer bidrag, og man kan nok snarere sammenligne den magi, der kan opstå, med den, der findes i en hengiven, indforstået improvisation. En af de første gange, vi spillede en af mine animerede scores, som på daværende tidspunkt ikke havde et navn, valgte en af dem, som spillede scoret, at hans lydlige (og i det her tilfælde også sproglige) bidrag, da scoret bad ham om at spille, skulle være at råbe “Croatian Jungle, Croatian Jungle”, da dette var hans association til den visuelle verden, som til trods for at være filmet i Skotland, mindede ham om hans farlige hverdag som flygtning i de kroatiske skove.

De animerede notationer er blevet brugt og har vist sig ekstremt effektive i en lang række sammenhænge: Når man skal indstudere musik med mennesker, man ikke kan tale samme sprog som, med børn, eller når man er i en situation, hvor folks forudsætninger for at spille musik er så forskellige, eller hvis man slet ikke kender hinanden, og det næsten vil være enten eller både absurd, diskriminerende, udleverende at bede de andre gøre noget meget specifikt (så som at synge/spille inden for en bestemt type tonalitet eller rytmik), hvis fx man har et begrænset kendskab til deres evner, kultur, traditioner, musikforståelse, etc. Så forudsat, at man kan se og på en eller anden måde kan reagere fysisk, kan man spille animeret notation (og hvis nu man ikke skulle kunne se, ville man stadig kunne reagere på dem, der reagerer på partituret).

Det Levende Partitur
Ud fra idéen om et animeret partitur (forstået som levende eller bragt til live) og ud fra et ønske om at lave en analog og skærmløs version af de animerede notationer, udsprang idéen til, hvad jeg siden har kaldt Det Levende Partitur. Bevægelser på en scene aflæses, ligesom bevægelserne på skærmen i de animerede notationer, eller som noder i et musikalsk partitur; et partitur, som svarer musikeren, når vedkommende læser det, og som kan fornemme et lydligt rum ligesom den spillende og publikum.
Forholdet mellem det visuelle og lydlige skaber en radikalt anderledes oplevelse af det overordnede sceniske, hvor der som oftest er et kendt forhold mellem, hvad der foregår på scenen og en musik, der, måske lig scenografien, skal være opbakkende for, hvad der er i centrum, skuespillerne og handlingen. Her er der snarere tale om, at scenen er et instrument at forme musikken ud fra og ved hjælp af, end den er et visuelt aspekt, som musikken skal akkompagnere.

Ved at “oversætte” fra en scenes fysiske bevægelser, og altså ikke en scenes (og i den, karakterernes) følelsesmæssige indhold, omgår man overdrevet klichéfyldt iscenesættelse af følelserne, som vi fx kender sørgelig musik, når der grædes. Samtidig undgår man, heldigvis, ikke helt humør og temperament, da man helt gratis får dette foræret i kraft af den spillende musikers reaktion på og oversættelse af karakterens/partiturets følelsesmæssige kropssprog, hvis nuancer igen ville være nærmest umulige at notere fyldestgørende.

Er det snarere en form for styret eller vejledning for improvisation end komposition? Man undgår i hvert fald nogle af de sociale problemer, der kan opstå, idet man beder folk om bare at improvisere helt frit. Hvis de ikke er vant til det, kan det være grænseoverskridende, og der kan indtræde mentale blokeringer hos improvisatoren, som ellers skulle være “fri” til at gøre, hvad vedkommende vil.
Samtidig er det muligt, i følgende eksempel, at aflæse en hvilken som helst scenisk plan (med eller uden dertil hørende replikker, scenografi, etc.), om det så er en Strindberg-forestilling eller en simpel, aftalt eller improviseret koreografi, som et partitur:

← Alle legemer, i bevægelse eller stille stående (i partituret  indikeret ved den røde prik), på scenen kan altså oversættes til musik, når man tildeler akserne musikalske parametre. På samme måde kunne man lade de musikalske parametre styres af andre spektre end de fysiske, fx karakterernes temperament, sådan så man eksempelvis ville spille højere, jo vredere eller jo mere desperat en karakter spillede.

↑ Ovenfor Mija Milovic’ levende partitur: Karaktererne på scenen bevæger sig omkring, bagved et nodegitter. Deres hoveder agerer noder inden for gitteret, her resulterende i en rubato melodi: B, C, E, A, C.

← I modellen til højre ser vi, hvordan man via farvede felter, placeret foran en hvilken som helst scene, kan omdanne bevægelserne på scenen til musik. Den, der spiller, vælger en farvet boks og reagerer med sit instrument når der er bevægelse i feltet.

I Amandas forhindringsbane ser vi seks opdelte baner, hvor der i hver af dem kravler en person, som samtidig konstant synger. Sangens volumen er afgjort af banens bredde, og sangens karakter og klang afgøres ved det materiale-underlag, man kravler på, her indikeret med farvede felter.

Tingenes musik – det døde partitur?
Mentalitet, bevidsthed, sensibilitet; disse er nogle af tingenes, for mennesket, potentielt uopnåelige horisonter, så hvis det fx er musik, vi forestiller os, at tingene udøver, kan man altså tale om en umenneskelig musik. At forestille sig en verden og en musik ikke givet for en bevidsthed. Vi kan fantasere om, hvordan ting, størrelser umiddelbart uden for vores forståelse og empatis rækkevidde, interagerer, forbinder sig med og påvirker hinanden. “Død” er egentlig ikke (i denne sammenhæng) aktuelt eller præcist, da det jo er de “levende” kvaliteter ved tingene, som gør dem til en form for partitur. Idéen opstod ikke desto mindre som en slags modsætning til det levende partitur, hvor levende mennesker spiller efter et partitur udgjort af andre levende mennesker, resulterende i forestillingen om “døde” eller i hvert fald umenneskelige objekter, der spiller musik vejledt af andre umenneskelige objekter. Dette, menneskelig-umenneskelig-forhold, er nok mere præcist end død-levende.

Spekulativ realisme:
Selvom der er uenighed om, hvad dette begreb helt præcist dækker over, kredser de spekulative realister om en objekt-orientering, en reaktion på det antropocentriske, mennesket i centrum. Hvordan man realiserer dette som en lydlig oplevelse, eller for den sags skyld om man skal, er herfra et åbent spørgsmål, men idéen initierer foreløbig et stræk, man kan hengive sig til i fantasien og forestillingen. Her et par tekst- og billedeksempler:

Jordens musik, efter vi, menneskene, er uddøde eller har forladt planeten til fordel for et nyt bosted. De på planeten efterladne bilers rusten og de faldne, uspiste frugters forrådnelse er en posthuman symfoni. En mere moralsk musik end den, som kun er lavet for mennesker? En anti-antropocentrisk musik, hvor væren ikke er forbeholdt kun en privilegeret skare af mennesker, end ikke kun er forbeholdt mennesker eller biologiske væsener i det hele taget!

← Den tænkende hjerne er også en musik. Hjernen her tænkt som en autonom substans. Hør dens skvulp og knagen.

Musikken opstår mellem lilletrommen og de trommestikker, der ligger på den, i et mennesketomt musiklokale på en forladt musikskole, efter at alle mennesker er døde. Trommestikkernes tyngde på lilletrommens skind og metalkant. Intimitet i mødet mellem hele trommestikkens længdes og skindets overflade. Hvordan føles denne vægt, stikkens taktile karakteristika, skulle den være håndskåret og nubret, fabriksfilet, pudset og blank, og hvordan læner dens overflade sig og enten med sine overfladeudsving stikker i, eller kærtegner plastik- eller “natur”skindets let formelige, modtagelige overflade, da det er slapt og ikke er blevet opspændt. Er stikkerne fremstillet, så der er balance i deres krop, så de hviler med dødvægt, eller er de skåret ud af et uharmonisk, anspændt stykke træ, som ville resultere i stikkens tilbageholdte og uafstemte liggen – og kan alt dette overhovedet regnes for musik, når nu støvet længe har belagt både stik og trommeskind, og intet menneske har rørt dem?

Man kan argumentere for, at det ikke er en umenneskelig musik, så snart vi mennesker har forestillet os den. Men i Emil Månssons indlæg i Trappetusind om den spekulative realisme er trykt et Kathrine Hayles-citat om det paradoksale i, at det menneskelige sind netop er værktøjet som, så at sige, skal fjerne sig selv fra ligningen:

This leads to a strong paradox: human imagination is the best way, and perhaps the only way, to move beyond anthropocentrism into a more nuanced understanding of the world as comprised of a multitude of world views, including those of other biological organisms, humanmade artifacts, and inanimate objects.

Men hvad sker der i det stretch, man skal gøre sig for at forestille sig den umenneskelige musik? Kan man fremøve endnu uopnåede grader af empati, som går beyond den mellemmenneskelige? Man kan forestille sig utallige afarter, fra antropomorfer og dyr, til det helt umenneskelige objekt, hvilket tilsammen indikerer et flydende spektrum fra det menneskelige til det umenneskelige:

←Stenens liv er en musik -Time, timing eller tidsfornemmelse: Vi kender alverdens variationer af tidsbegrebet i forbindelse med musikken, som fx at have god (præcis? levende? egenrådig?) time, idet man spiller musik, og fornemmelse for effektfuld levering af musikalsk materiale (en joke, en sætning, en sang). Ligesom at éns tidsfornemmelse ville ændre sig radikalt, hvis man spillede musik på en anden planet med en anden tyngdekraft (dette diskuteres af Kresten Osgood og Søren Kjærgaard i Mads Parsums film “Nattens Riddere” fra 2001).

At forestille sig træets eller stenens tidsfornemmelse kan give et indblik i en meget fremmed musik. Én, der strækker sig over lange perioder af tid, længder som den menneskelige tidsfornemmelse slet ikke kan overskue. Tingenes bar væren, opførsel og rejser som en slags musik. Forestil dig en sten eller en kvists vilkårlige rejser rundt i verden, idet de udsættes for andre naturkræfter, vind, vand, eller menneskelige kræfter som ikke tilsigter deres påvirken af tingen som en musik. For ikke at tale om alle de lyde, der opstår i stenen og kvistens øvrige møder med omverdenen.

Her en sidste, i dette tilfælde politisk, antropomorf: Mr. Peanut. Mr. Peanut er en performance af kunstneren Vincent Trasov, fra 1974-75, hvor reklamefiguren Mr. Peanut approprieres og omformes til en politisk karakter, bl.a. ved at stille op til borgmestervalg i Vancouver.
Selvom performancen primært består af symbolske handlinger, er der dog tidspunkter, hvor den resulterer i noget, der reelt minder om infiltrering af en politisk scene: De 2.684 stemmer, han modtog, var der i hvert fald en anden politiker, som ikke fik. Langsomt er der også flere, der viser deres support for Mr. Peanut, bl.a. borgmesteren af Kansas City, samt William Burroughs, noget som potentielt kunne føre til, at Mr. Peanut kunne få egentlig politisk indflydelse. Mr. Peanut blev kendt for sin interaktion med byen Vancouvers gadeplan, ved at stepdanse, spille violin og synge muterede jazz-standards (Peanuts from Heaven) offentligt, hvilket har en direkte smittende følelsesmæssig effekt på omverdenen. Performancen er ikke gemt væk i en kunstinstitution, hvor man skal opsøge ham, men er mere konfronterende, kontaktsøgende, noget sværere at vælge fra og tager ansvar for det offentlige rum. Herudover har han også et politisk program, både inkluderende byplanlægning og uddannelse, men i sidste ende opfordrer han primært den potentielle vælger til den symbolske, politiske handling at sætte kryds ved kunsten, som ikke udmøntede sig i et direkte, konkret politisk resultat, da han i sidste ende ikke blev valgt ind, selvom det i teorien kunne have gjort det.

Som afslutning tilbage til musikken: Det har længe været en interesse, en tolkning og et ønske til musikken, det at smelte sammen med musikkens ånd, at kommunikere med, simulere og endda fantasere om, eller lykkes med, helt at blive til det umenneskelige objekt. Måske så længe som musikken selv. For den udøvende kan et skridt derimellem være at smelte sammen med instrumentet, som f.eks. i det traditionelle indiske ritual Chilla Katna, hvor musikeren i aspirationen efter at blive mesterlig på sit instrument lader sig isolere for kun at spille på sit instrument i alle sine vågne timer. Her har det været almindeligt, at musikeren hører instrumentet tale til dem som med en menneskelig stemme, måske frembragt af dem selv, måske ikke.
Ønsket og aspirationen efter sammensmeltningen lever i nutidige musikalske sammenhænge, at lære af og tilegne sig det umenneskelige: Dalins Waldos fornemmelse for og interaktion med synthesizerens åndsliv, Arthur Calanders syntetiserende stemmeøvelser, Holger Hartvig talemagiske stemmeøvelser (Worldline Vowel Exercise), som forvandler en del af det fysiske legeme, stemmen, til en tidsmasskine.

Info: Victor B. Andersens Maskinfabrik no. 68 udkom i september 2019. GP&PLS er i øjeblikket aktuelle med pladen “DET BETYDER IKKE NOGET”. For mere spekulativ realisme, se “Turbulens” af Mikkel Thykier (Monsiuer Antipyrine, 2014). For mere animeret notation, klik her.