THE POETICS OF SPACE
By Silvia Bertolotti, published by DIGIMAG, March 2010
To read the article please click here

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INSTRUMENTALITY AND THE URBAN INSTRUMENTARIUM
By Juliana Hodkinson, published by Cambridge Architecture Journal SCROOPE, 2009
To read the article please click here

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KOPENHAGEN.DK INTERVIEW: JACOB KIRKEGAARD
af Louise Steiwer, Januar 2009

Den danske lydkunstner Jacob Kirkegaard, der nu præsenterer sin første soloudstilling, Motion...Matters på dansk jord, arbejder med en videnskabelig tilgang til reallyde. Hans audio-visuelle installationer og kompositioner vidner om en gennemgribende interesse for akustiske rum, og gennem teknologiske eksperimenter åbner han beskuerens øjne og øre for en verden af lyd, der ellers sjældent er tilgængelig.
På Helene Nyborg Contemporary kan man i øjeblikket opleve to nye værker af Kirkegaard, der begge beskæftiger sig med visualisering af lyde. Kopenhagen mødte kunstneren i udstillingen, og gik derfra klogere på både værkerne og på, hvordan lyd i det hele taget opstår.

Jacob Kirkegaard (f. 1975) er uddannet ved Akademiet for Mediekunst i Køln I 2006.
Han har tidligere udstillet på bl.a The Swiss Institute i New York og The National Center for Contemporary Art i Kaliningrad. Hans lydværker er blevet opført på bl.a. Museum of Jurassic Technology i Los Angeles, Casa de Musica i Porto og på Arken. Kirkegaard har desuden udgivet fem albums, primært på det britiske pladeselskab Touch.Jacob Kirkegaard bor og arbejder i Berlin.

Vil du introducere mig til din udstilling?

Udstillingen hedder Motion...Matters. I kombinationen af motion, bevægelse, og matter, materie, fremkommer som oftest en lyd, og det er egentlig dét min udstilling handler om.
Udstillingen består af en række fotos og tre metalplader. Pladerne har samme størrelse, 1 x 1 meter, og er én millimeter tykke. De bliver sat i svingninger med sig selv på en meget enkel måde: bag på pladen er der vedhæftet en kontaktmikrofon, som opfanger de her helt subtile vibrationer, som er i pladen. Det betyder, at hvis du lytter til pladen med et stetoskop, så ville du kunne høre rummet her, fordi den fungerer som en membran. Pladen er helt tynd, så den står faktisk og vibrerer med omgivelserne. De vibrationer bliver optaget og sendt ned i en forstærker, og derfra bliver signalet sendt direkte tilbage i pladen. På pladen sidder der også en kontakthøjtaler, dvs. en højtaler uden membran, hvilket betyder, at pladen kommer til at virke som højtaler. Det vil sige, at der er en slags kredsløb af feedback, hvor lyden hele tiden bliver optaget og sendt tilbage. Det vil sige, at den resonerer i sig selv og har sin egen tone.

De tre plader er lavet i forskellige materialer. Hvilken betydning har det for lyden?

Pladerne er af henholdsvis kobber, messing og jern. Det er jo alt sammen metaller, men kobber er det tungeste, og derfor vibrerer det langsommere, derefter kommer jernpladen, som er lidt lettere og blødere, og endelig messingpladen, som er helt blød. De har forskellige frekvenser, forskellige toner og forskellige måder at vibrere på.
 
Værket er inspireret af en jesuit, som hed Athanasius Kircher og levede i 1600-tallet. Han lavede en lang række forskellige forsøg med projektion, lyd, ekko og magnetisme, og skrev blandt andet en bog, som hed Phonurgia Nova (New ways of sound production, red.). Der beskrev han et forsøg med nogle glas, der indeholdte forskellige væsker. Han satte væskerne i svingninger ved at spille det samme musik til dem, og så observerede han, hvordan de forskellige væsker i deres forskellige tykkelser resonerede i forhold til den samme musik. Han var alkymist, og sammenlignede forsøget med, hvordan menneskers humør påvirkes. Man resonerer jo med omgivelserne, og nogle er mere modtagelige overfor de ting, der er i verden end andre. Jeg har prøvet at arbejde med den inspiration i pladerne, der er fuldstændig samme størrelse og bliver sat i vibration på helt samme vis, men som er lavet af forskelligt stof.

Hvordan forholder du dig til de alkymistiske undertoner, der ligger i Kirchers forsøg?

Det er noget jeg forholder mig til, men jeg er ikke ude i et projekt, hvor jeg vil "fornye alkymien" eller lignende. Jeg tror, at dét, der er alkymistisk ved mine værker eller min tankegang er, at jeg arbejder med lyd som noget spirituelt - uden at det bliver esoterisk. Jeg kan godt lide at tænke om lyd, at den lever i sig selv. At det er noget, som jeg kan være medspiller i forhold til, i stedet for noget, som jeg tager kontrol over. Jeg spiller også instrumenter, og dér skal tonen jo være præcis. Dér er det den, der spiller, som er i kontrol.
Jeg kan godt lide at arbejde med reallyd, fordi det har sit eget liv. Man kan lytte til det, forstærke det eller spejle det tilbage og se hvad der sker, men lyden er sin egen. Ud over det rent tekniske passer lyden i installationen sig selv, hvilket typisk er den måde, jeg arbejder på. Jeg går ikke ind og bestemmer, at der skal være en bestemt lyd, som en konventionel komponist ville gøre, når han fx analyserer sig frem til, at klimakset i et musikstykke skal ligge et bestemt sted. Jeg arbejder med den lyd, som er: Det er dén, jeg prøver at udfolde på forskellig vis i mine værker.
 
Jeg har tidligere lavet et værk i Tjernobyl, hvor jeg optog forladte rum. Jeg brugte en teknik, hvor jeg satte mikrofonen ind i de her forladte rum, satte den til at optage, og forlod rummet. Så kom jeg ind 13 minutter efter og stoppede optagelserne, og så spillede jeg optagelsen meget lavt tilbage i rummet via en højtaler som stod længere væk. Der er altid en lyd i et rum: vinduerne var smadrede og man kunne høre vinden suse i et træ udenfor eller der dryppede fugt ned fra loftet. Man opdager jo, at der altid er en lyd.
Lyden blev så spillet helt lavt tilbage i rummet, imens rummet blev optaget igen, og på den måde brugte jeg rummet som en resonanskrop. Det blev så gentaget og gentaget, og dét, der sker i ethvert rum er, at det begynder at synge i sine egne frekvenser. Når man har mange frekvenser på én gang så er der en masse forskydninger og vibrationer, og det kan rum godt have. Nogle har lange bløde rytmer, andre har en hurtigere puls. Der er en stemning i det, en blødhed eller et stress.

Udstillingen rummer også en række fotografier. Hvordan er sammenspillet imellem dem, og lydinstallationen?

I sidste måned var jeg i Oman, som ligger sydøst for Saudi Arabien, og dér er der noget sand, som synger - eller afgiver lyd, i hvert fald. Lyden kan opstå af sig selv, hvis der er vind på de steder i sandklitterne, hvor der er stejle skrænter og sandkornene har den rigtige karakter. Sandkornene skal være runde i formen og det skal være homogent, for så bevæger det sig på en bestemt måde når der sker et skred, men man ved ikke præcis hvor lyden kommer fra. Jeg var derfor med et fransk forskerhold nede for at undersøge det her fænomen og lave optagelser. Man kan sætte lyden i gang ved at kure ned af skrænterne, og jo mere sand man skubber foran sig, des mere vibrerer det, og des højere bliver lyden. Så man kan altså selv, også bare med hånden, skabe lyden og arbejde med den gennem bevægelse, og det er dét, jeg har fotograferet.
 
Jeg syntes, at det var en spændende udfordring i forhold til at arbejde i gallerirummet, at prøve at lave noget, som visualiserer lyd i stedet for at skabe det. Jeg fik fat i en hundrede år gammel bog, som indeholder en række beretninger om syngende sand. Det er et fænomen, som er blevet fortalt om igennem de sidste tusinde år af forskellige rejsende, bl.a. Marco Polo. De indeholder altid en beskrivelse af lyden, fordi man ikke kunne optage på det tidspunkt, hvor de er skrevet, og derfor har man været nødt til at forsøge at lave en beskrivelse. Man har typisk sammenlignet lyden med andre lyde, som man har kendt til. Det bliver fx sammenlignet med vindens susen i telefonmaster, torden eller de dybe strenge på en cello, ligesom der har været meget overtro forbundet med fænomenet. Nogle af de beretninger bliver hængt op i gallerirummet.

Tænker du værket som en oversættelsesproces?

Det kan man sige. Jeg prøver selv tage ud, ligesom fortidens rejsende har gjort, for at opleve fænomenet og afgive en beretning. Min beretning består så i fotografier. Her har jeg tænkt meget på begrebet lydmaleri: Hvad vil det sige? Er det muligt at se lyd? Man kan jo opleve lyd på flere forskellige måder, og jeg interesserer mig meget for at frigøre lyden fra højtalerne.

Du har en række cd-udgivelser bag dig. Hvordan oplever du forskellen på at arbejde i et pladeformat og med en mere installatorisk praksis?
Jeg tror, at det handler om min egen måde at putte ting i kasser på. Jeg har en baggrund i musik, men for mange år siden blev jeg træt af, at lave konventionel musik. Der er nogle af mine værker, som er egnet til udgivelse, og jeg synes stadig at der er noget spændende ved plademediet, fordi det har en fysisk tilstedeværelse. Generelt interesserer det mig, når lyden bliver materiel. På udstillingen her kan man se lyden, både i fotografierne og i pladerne, der vibrerer.

Link til interview: http://www.kopenhagen.dk/interviews/interviews/interview_jacob_kirkegaard/

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LYDENS SKJULTE VÆSEN
Af Matthias Hvass Borello, Januar 2009

Kan man se en lyd? Har et materiale en særlig lyd og dermed et særligt humør – en særlig identitet? Ja, er påstanden, når lydkunstneren Jacob Kirkegaard viser sin første soloudstilling herhjemme hos Helene Nyborg Contemporary

Han er lydkunstens danske ansigt, opvokset med et særligt forhold til optagebånd og lydene i tingene omkring ham. En lyd, selv i den mest kokrete form, har en særlig musikalitet. Og her ligger fascinationen. Der er musikalsk potentiale i selv den mindste ting.
"Jeg kommer oprindeligt fra musikken, og det gør også, at mine værker ofte har en musikalsk kvalitet i sig. Samtidig er der altid en relation til et bagvedliggende koncept, som ikke bare handler om lyd, men knytter lyden til en følelse, en ide, eller en historisk bevidsthed og sammenhæng," forklarer Jacob Kirkegaard, der til den aktuelle udstilling Motion... Matters (bevægelse... materier) undersøger forholdet mellem lyd og bevægelse, metallers musikalitet og et lydfænomen fra ørkenen i Oman, som har fascineret opdagelsesrejsende fra tidernes morgen.

FARS VINYLER OG SPOLEBÅND
"Jeg har altid optaget ting. Da jeg var 6 år, fik jeg en spolebåndoptager af min far. Det resulterede i en del indspillede fortællinger, som min meget fantasifulde legekammerat fortalte med lydside af mig på min fars vinylplader og spolebåndoptager, hvor uhyre og dyr blev illustreret via forskellige manipuleringer af lyden," fortæller Jacob Kirkegaard. Han hørte i 1994 et radioprogram om Pierre Schaeffer – pioneren bag musique concrete i Frankrig i 1950'erne – og pludselig stod det klart for ham: Du kan lave musik af lydene omkring dig!
Spolebåndet blev senere byttet ud med et accelerometer. Et lille yderst følsomt elektromagnetisk apparat, der normalt bruges af forskere, geologer og ingeniører blandt andet til at afmåle rystelser og anormaliteter i undergrunden. Med dette værktøj har Jacob Kirkegaard optaget lyden fra gelænderet langs Rhinen i Köln, vulkansk aktivitet på Island, resonansen fra trafikken i en bygning, klangen i det indre øre og nu altså syngende sand og plader i henholdsvis jern, kobber og messing.

I KLANG MED SIG SELV
Det er en form for spejlning, hvor Jacob Kirkegaard tager et objekts lyd og afspiller det tilbage i objektet.
"Det samme har jeg gjort for eksempel i et galleri i New York, hvor jeg optog fire smedejernssøjler som gik gennem bygningen. Disse søjler var hule inden i og blev sat i svingninger af sub-way'en et stykke derfra. Disse søjleoptagelser spillede jeg herefter tilbage i søjlerne, hvilket fik dem til at klinge eller resonere i samspillet med deres egen lyd. Hvis jeg var terapeut, ville jeg sikkert være en homøopat, der bruger tingenes egen kraft. Jeg arbejder med noget, der allerede er til stede. Her har jeg taget nogle metaller og undersøgt deres væsen," siger han.

LYDENS ARKÆOLOGI
Den tilgang har været en grundlæggende drivkraft for kunstneren, der startede sin karriere på mediekunstskole i Köln og pludselig fik en ide.
"Jeg kan huske, jeg stod nede i Köln ved det her gelænder langs Rhinen og tænkte: Der er en verden derinde, som vi ikke kan høre med det blotte øre. Det blev min indgang til det, jeg stadig undersøger. Lydene under overfladen, i sprækkerne, lydenes arkæologi. Hvor går lyden hen? Efterlader lyden spor? Det kan jeg godt lide at tænke på."

Og de her tanker, har åbnet for en masse research og projekter. For eksempel Jacob Kirkegaards underjordiske optagelser af vulkansk aktivitet på Island og nu 'det syngende sand' i ørkenen i Oman.
"Det her særlige sand er så sensitivt, at man kan skabe lyd blot ved at stryge en finger gennem det. Jeg var med fire forskere dernede, som forsker i syngende sand. Det er åbenbart utrolig svært at finde. Forskerne var dog hverken interesseret i det poetiske eller musikalske lag i fænomenet."

LYDENS VÆSEN
Det er på mange måder en meget lang videnskabelig tradition, man præsenteres for, når man træder ind i de hvide lokaler på Carl Jacobsens Vej i Valby. En af inspirationskilderne til denne uvante udstilling er blandt andet videnskabsmanden Athanasius Kircher fra 1600-tallet, der havde en teori omkring metallers forskellige humører, når de påvirkes af musiske vibrationer. Det iscenesættes af Kirkegaard med tre plader i jern, kobber og messing, som udsættes for svingninger og dermed afgiver deres unikke klang, der forstærkes og afspilles i metalpladerne igen.

"Kobber lyder anderledes end jern, og kan man overføre det til forskellige mennesker og vores opfattelser af lyd? Vi hører ikke det samme, og vi lyder jo også forskelligt. Hvorfor det? Det er det, jeg undersøger. Jeg besvarer ikke spørgsmålene selv. Det er op til folk selv at føre den videre," understreger Jacob Kirkegaard

FAKTA:
Jacob Kirkegaard (f. 1975) er uddannet ved Akademiet for Mediekunst i Køln og bor og arbejder i Berlin. Han har tidligere udstillet på bl.a The Swiss Institute i New York og The National Center for Contemporary Art i Kaliningrad. Hans lydværker er blevet opført på bl.a. Museum of Jurassic Technology i Los Angeles, Casa de Musica i Porto og på ARKEN i Ishøj.
Værkerne i udstillingen Motion... Matters er udover musique concrete-genren inspireret af to centrale figurer i studiet af lydens historie – Athanasius Kircher og Ernst Chladni – og deres eksperimentelle tilgang til at udforske og visuelt manifestere frembringelsen af lyd gennem materiale i bevægelse.
I bogen Phonurgia Nova (= nye måder for lydproduktion), analyserer og illustrerer Jesuitter-lægen og videnskabsmanden Athanasius Kircher (1602 - 1680) bl.a., hvordan forskellige ‘humører’ eller temperamenter påvirkes af musiske vibrationer: Hvert materiale og hver person ‘bevæges’ forskelligt af den samme musik afhængigt af deres fysiske resonanskarakteristika. Kircher “beviste” dette ved et eksperiment med fem glas på stilk med væsker af forskellig konsistens. Disse væsker repræsenterede således fem forskellige ’humører’. Når en fugtig finger blev gnedet lang glassenes kant og frembragte glassets tone, bevægede væsken sig som følge af sit individuelle ‘humør’ (sin konsistens).
Vibrerende metalplader blev også benyttet af Ernst Chladni (1756-1827), en tysk fysiker, som ofte omtales som 'akustikkens fader'. Chladni observerede, at når en metalplade strøet med sand blev sat i vibration ved at stryge en violinbue langs dens kant, formede sandet sig i mønstre på pladen i forhold til vibrationerne. På denne måde beviste Chladni, hvordan lyd kan påvirke fysisk materiale, på en målbar og videnskabeligt påviselig måde. Han skabte desuden en visualisering af lyd. Udstillingen er støttet af Statens Kunstfond.

Link til interview http://www.kunsten.nu/artikler/artikel.php?lydens+vaesen

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LABYRINTHITIS MAKES YOU HEAR YOUR EAR
Tobias Fischer, Tokafi.com, November 2008

Even though science seems unable to deliver irrefutable evidence for it, we are all aware of the phenomenon that just by looking at at a particular person we can garner his or her attention. The eye apparently has an ingoing and an outgoing function, processing data from the world around us and sending out streams of information in return. Hardly anyone, however, seems to be aware of an astounding analogy to this story on the acoustic level, even though its details have been analysed much more thoroughly. Otoacoustic emissions and Tartini Tones are all around us and Danish artist Jacob Kirkegaard has found a striking way of demonstrating their power.

Kirkegaard was already familiar with the basic concept of the ear's inner resonance, when the Medical Museion of Copenhagen approached him with the commission for a work which was to be premiered at the "Art & Biomedicine" conference in September of last year. The idea of listening to his own ears in action seemed a perfect paradox to him and he gladly accepted. Only a short while later, tiny microphones were inserted into his own ears at the DTU in Denmark, recording discreet frequencies and working on "Labyrinthitis", a composition which combined psychoacoustic effects with artistic inventiveness.

Even though the concept of "Labyrinthitis" seems revolutionary, Kirkegaard made use of basic discoveries and theories formulated centuries ago. Italian composer and musicologist Giuseppe Tartini was officially the first to stumble upon otoacoustic emissions. Tartini was also a famed Violinist and Teacher and while tuning his instrument, he discovered that by playing two strings in a certain ratio, a third tone would magically manifest itself. "To this day, Tartini's application of this acoustical phenomenon is useful for players of string instruments", he explains, "since the tuning as well as the intonation of double-stops can best be judged by careful listening to the so-called difference tone."

A similar process can be observed in our ears. When two tones enter the cochlea, they cause its hairs to vibrate, resulting in the perception of these tones in our mind. In particular instances these vibrations will also lead to movement of the connected basilar membranes. Subsequently, the ear starts producing and emitting sounds itself (in turn called "distortion product otoacoustic emission" or DPOAE's) - not just as a byproduct of the brain, but as "real", physical waves. Whenever this happens, our ear is not only hearing, but "singing" as well and its "music" can be picked up by microphones, ampflified and played back to others. This, then, is the concept at the heart of "Labyrinthitis".

"A little tube with two speakers and a microphone was inserted into my left ear. It sent in two tones of a ratio of 1 - 1.2. This frequency combination made the hair cells inside my cochlea generate a tone in response. That tone was recorded by the microphone and the two tones generating it was filtered away", Jacob Kirkegaard tells me about the recording process for the basic source material of the piece, "For the composition I used the same principle but now only using the tones generated by my own ears. I tuned them into the ratio of 1 - 1.2 and played them out of the speakers and into the listeners ears. In that way the tones of my ears generate tones in those of the listener."

"Labyrinthitis" is marked by an interlocking architecture: Opening with his own DPOAE's, he sends his frequencies into the audience, allowing their ears to react with these frequencies and producing various inner-ear events on a subjective level. This is then followed by the public reproduction of the third frequency in his own ear, which again causes new sonic phenomena. Like a landslide, the 38-minute track picks up pace and eventually causes the entire body to vibrate - in my case resulting in a hypnotic transfixation, a slightly stiff neck and a tingling sensation in my back, which slowly moved towards my belly and back again. Meanwhile, the room and the objects inside of it seemed to oscillate as well. Just like a Sunn O)) performance, it is an intense experience evoking both exciting and rather frightening feelings.

Experience from public performances confirm the immediate and undeniable impact of Kirkegaard's piece. "The audience have often been very talkative afterwards", he agrees, "Many people have expressed experiences in new ways of hearing, hearing themselves hearing, hearing different things in the left and right ear, sounds passing through the head, that they could move between the tones, that their skull resonated or that their 'ears were at work'." For some, as he remembers, the drastic nature of the composition was actually its main benefit: "An old man with only 10% hearing told me that he heard my tones clearer than he had heard anything for many years."

Subjective and objective - these are important terms with regards to "Labyrinthitis". So, as a final question, has Kirkegaard become more tolerant of other people's perceptions of music after going through the compositional process? "Not necessarily. I think that sound art and conventional music often are being listened to in different ways. When people come to my shows, I often present it and afterwards we discuss about the concept. Before playing Labyrinthitis I ask people to 'listen' to their own ears. This makes them more open just to 'listen' to the sounds I created. And of course less focussed on whether they like it, as they like the music they listen to as music."
"Labyrinthitis" is out now on Touch Records

Tobias Fischer
http://www.tokafi.com/news/jacob-kirkegaard-labyrinthitis-makes-you-hear-your-ear/

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OTOACOUSTIC EMISSION
Anne Kockelkorn (June 08)

The works of the soundartist Jacob Kirkegaard emerge in between composition, recording techniques and spatial installations; actually he uses rather unorthodox recording techniques like accelerometer, hydrophones or home-built equipment. We met Jacob in a cafe in Görlitzer Park and talked about is works Eldfjall, Aion/ 4 Rooms and Labyrinthitis: Eldfjall is an album using the recordings of the seismic movement of volcanic earth, Aion/ 4 Rooms works with the playback-recording of four spaces in the isolated zone of Chernobyl and the most recent work Labyrinthitis plays with the otoacoustic emissions of the human ear.

You refer to Labyrinthitis as “the infection of the inner ear”. As I listened to the piece for the first time this year, I had that feeling of sounds going literally through my head – even without using stereo headphones.

The piece activates the hair cells in the cochlea liquid to generate tones. So you don’t only hear sounds coming from outside your body, but you also hear sounds coming from inside your ear. It’s a paradox: the movement of the hair cells is responsible for our hearing, but it’s also the hair cells that produce tones by themselves.

I have tinnitus and the pitch in my head is changing the whole time. When I enter a room and hear unexpectedly a continuous pitch of high frequency, I often don’t know whether it’s a radiator, a printer on hold, or a tone in my head. After listening to Labyrinthitis, I was quite disturbed.

I have tinnitus as well, but my tones are of a very high-pitch and constant. They don’t disturb me. But tinnitus is not a real tone.

The tones in Labyrinthitis are real?

It is a simple physical or anatomical process. Just imagine the liquid of the cochlea like a basin with water. If you have any sound entering the ear, the water vibrates. And according to the frequency, you will have a standing wave with a certain frequency in the water, which makes the hair cells oscillate and send neuro-signals to the brain. But if you send two tones of a certain ratio into the water – into the inner ear – you not only have two standing waves in the water, but also several others, the frequency of which can be exactly calculated.
Labyrinthitis is composed in the frequency ratio of 1:1.2. It starts off with two tones at 3199.2 and 2666 Hertz which create a slightly deeper tone in the ear. Since I know it is exactly at the frequency of 2132.8 Hertz, I fade that tone in and add another tone in the ratio of 1:1.2 on top, which creates another tone in the ear, again slightly deeper, and so forth. The combination tones are always slightly deeper, that’s why the composition is descending.

You are composing with a place inside the body of the listener. In terms of anatomical structure, the cochlea is one of the most “architectural” parts of the body considering its stability, resistance and spatiality. It’s the hardest piece of bone of the human body next to the teeth.

That’s why you feel that the piece is taking place at different locations in your head. The composition is literally going through most of the cochlear spectrum; the lower the frequency, the deeper inside the cochlea the response of the hair cells happens. You have to listen to the piece in order to make it happen. Half of the piece is created inside you.

Aion/ 4 Rooms is based on a montage of time: you record a situation and play it back – but on CD you just hear a very strong, atmospheric groan. Labyrinthitis has a very strong physical effect – but if you don’t know much about the anatomy of the inner ear, you don’t understand what is going on. How important is the listener’s previous knowledge, either anatomical or conceptual?

If I exhibit or if I release work on CD, there is always an explanatory text. That’s an offer to the listener. On the other hand, I like the idea that you don’t know exactly what’s going on. Labyrinthitis is not a scientific work about the ear. I want people to get lost in the end.

What triggers your curiosity to discover and tap unknown territories by acoustic means – like the contaminated area of Chernobyl, volcanic vibrations or the human cochlea?

When I started to do recordings of the city environment about 13 years ago, I thought, ok, I don’t want to play instruments any more, I want to investigate the world as an instrument. Inspirations were artistic movements like Musique Concrète and the works of Pierre Schaefer, but also the film week-end: Walter Ruttman presented a black screen to his audiences and played a montage of city sounds to them as a Hörfilm – as early as 1930. But I guess my interest in the unknown or hidden sound environment really started when I studied at the Academy for Media Arts in Cologne where I could experiment with different recording techniques. One of the most important things to discover was the fact that sound is not what it seems to be. It is more like a human being. Recording techniques make it possible to dive underneath the surface of a human being. You can listen to my shoulder whilst I am speaking and you can hear the sound through my skin.

I understand your position in some respect as a “mediator” between new techniques, scientific research and the way these techniques clarify the mechanisms of certain phenomena. What about your role as an author?

I have often been asked: “What impact does the equipment have? Would it change if the loudspeaker was larger?” Of course, it would change. Maybe the term “interaction” would be correct. The technical equipment is important and each place has a life of its own. But without me, there wouldn’t be a piece: I decide on the day and the place to go to, I determine the equipment, and so on.

I would like to understand the point where your intentions come into play.

I don’t know if I have any. I have a concept. An idea. But that changes. For Aion I only knew that I was gonna go to Chernobyl and do these recordings, inspired by Alvin Lucier’s playback-recordings of space and voice. But I don’t know in advance what it is going to sound like. I don’t work at all with the intentions of a classical composer. I am more interested in unfolding the sound by a method than by intention.

There are certainly differences between your work and a piece of classical music, but I also see some analogies in terms of composition techniques. The mathematical construction of Labyrinthitis and a baroque counterpoint are not totally alien to each other.

When my idea for Labyrinthitis first appeared I actually had Bach’s “Musikalisches Opfer” in mind; that’s a piece which ascends continuously and eventually ends where it came from. And I had hoped, that the combination tones in the ear would ascend – even though that’s a very Christian idea. As it is, it goes in the other direction, downwards – inwards, into the cochlea.

Medical apparati can record body-sounds and noises and turn them inside out, like the heartbeat or metabolism noises. In Labyrinthitis you are composing with a body area that is forever out of reach for the listener – and you manipulate it. How do you deal with that position of power?

I think, my pieces trigger something on a rather physical level. Once, I was working in a sound installation in Kaliningrad, in a circular space within an old military fortress, which was fantastic for acoustic playback-recording of the space. I used a similar principle as in Aion, but here you could experience the piece in the room where it had been recorded. The spatial setup created very powerful vibrations, which in fact don’t disturb the ear, but are transmitted through the body. By accident these vibrations were felt very strongly below the waistline.

That was no intention of yours?

No. Sound can touch our senses physically and evoke something emotional. But I don’t intentionally create a situation which evokes a certain emotion. I want the people to invent their own story.
And yet the sounds you compose enter the listener’s intimate space without asking them. You create a state of mind, which “touches” you in a similar way as if you were listening to classical or popular music.

What’s the idea behind the freedom of the listener?

It’s all a suggestion. You can leave the room. Emotional music or aggressive music – these things are incredibly predictable. It’s all tricks: keys, tonal changes, rhythm, doesn’t matter if it is techno or classical music. I hope that my pieces leave enough space for listener’s individual intimacy – a space which might appear in the method itself, somewhere in the gap between technique and intention. I completely agree on McLuhan, but on the other hand, technique is nothing unless we put a message in it.


Combination tones are one among several other forms of otoacoustic emissions; tones produced by the human ear itself. The phenomena was discovered in the 18th century by Georg Andreas Sorge and Giuseppe Tartini. Combination tones can be calculated according to different frequency relations, the two most prominent being the "cubic" distortion tone, most commonly used for hearing screening (fdp = 2f1 - f2) and the "quadratic" distortion tone, or simple
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Difference_tone"difference tone (fdp = f2 - f1).
Walter Ruttman ("http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/1887"1887 & http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/1941) was trained as an architect and is most commonly known as the filmmaker of „Berlin, Sinfonie der Großstadt“ (1927). The Hörfilm or Soundcollage „week-end“ created in 1930 isn’t as popular as the famous movie, except among radio professionals.


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THE SOUND OF THE WHITE COLUMNS
Marie Kølbæk Iversen (February 2007)

In March this year Swiss Institute had the great pleasure of presenting the extensive solo-project called ‘Broadway’, which had been created specifically for the institute by Danish artist, Jacob Kirkegaard. Not only is the piece conceptually challenging, it also functions as a manifestation and an investigation of the structure and historical location of the Swiss Institute that is situated on Broadway in SoHo, New York. As it has also been the case in previous works of Kirkegaard, he uses the hidden sound-resources of an already exiting location, which in this case is the sound of Broadway as it is mediated by the hollow, structural columns that run through the building’s eight storeys.
The five columns - that are a visible part of the exhibition space - are the protagonists of the piece, and it is their subtle vibrations, recorded by means of a contact microphone and played back into each column through exciters, that constitute the core of the sound installation. An exciter is a sort of electro-acoustic vibrator capable of turning almost any kind of substance into a loudspeaker, when it is attached to it. In the installation at Swiss Institute, 12 exciters were attached to each of the five columns, making the columns play their own sound, which is the sound of Broadway, year 2007.

Kirkegaard’s methodology is interesting, as what actually constitutes the piece is the exhibition space itself; in Broadway, it is the source, the method, the scene, and ultimately: the piece. This, of course, contradicts popular conception of the objective White Cube, which is thought of as a neutral framing for the art exhibited in it. To Kirkegaard the art space is just a specific a space as any other space, and thus, a possible subject to critical and artistic investigation; because, just as all other parts of the world the art space is instrumental in the framing of our experiences in this world and therefore worthy of a discussion reflecting on the validity of its constitutional terminologies.

PERCEPTION AND HIDDEN SOUNDS

Jacob Kirkegaard is an artist whose focus it is to dive into the phenomena and spaces of interest to him and let each space ‘speak for itself’. His tools are many and a lot of them related to science (accelerometers, hydrophones, electro-magnetic receivers, ultra-sound detectors and acoustical microphones) – they are all used to detect certain sounds that normally remain inaudible to the naked ear, but still exist hidden in the ground, deep within the nucleus of a nuclear power plant, in the silent spaces of abandoned houses and blowing in the wind around us.

Kirkegaard, born 1975, received his MFA in 2006 after having studied at the Academy of Media Arts in Cologne, Germany under the direct supervision of professor Siegfried Zielinski and professor Anthony Moore. Furthermore, he has been taught to play classic cello by Niels Erik Clausen for a period spanning from 1995 – 2000. The initial interest in sound and music was inspired by the guitar his father gave him when Jacob was only 12. This guitar along with the oriental instruments his father had collected on his many journeys, became the early starting point for Kirkegaard’s musical and acoustical ventures that were soon to develop into an actual practice founded in a never- ending curiosity to become more than just acquiantant with the core of the phenomenology of sound. This soon led him to carry out his research outside the domain of composed music rather than inside it. Because, just as one can generate other sounds with a guitar than those of the strings - and those sounds can be perceived as pretty, even though one would probably hesitate to define them as ‘guitar- play’ – other phenomena of the world we live in, can be perceived and enjoyed through the sense of hearing, even if they, conventionally speaking, are known as phenomena of either visual character or just random sounds generated by other activity - e.g. speeding up a car, which is rarely done with the purpose of generating sound but rather just to get going.

It was when Kirkegaard coincidentally came across early experimentalists like Pierre Schaeffer and the film-maker Walter Ruttmann that he found the conceptual precursors for his practice; a practice inspired by the world and the potential of this world to function as a source of sound that can be used directly as it is: rough, clean and unedited.

Schaeffer is known as the inventor of the term ‘concrete music’ (La Musique Concrète), while Ruttmann was carrying out his experiments in sound and (no) image 20 years before Schaeffer, and is especially known for his ‘hörfilm’ “Weekend”, which simply consists of sound recordings made on a weekend in urban Berlin, year 1930.

MUSICAL OBJECTS

In my research I came across an interview with Pierre Schaeffer1, where he explains the
differences marking out the line between ‘music’ and ‘sound’. Since Kirkegaard has placed himself conveniently in the centre of this discussion he is at the same time interesting to the European etablissement de la musique, but also hard for them to deal with, because it is difficult to label his pieces consisting of relatively unedited sound-recordings of various natural phenomena as ‘music’.

In conducting his musical theory Schaeffer was pre-occupied with what he called ‘musical objects’ (objets sonores) that enable us to perceive and decode music – and also categorise what we have heard as ‘music’ rather than just random sound. Those musical objects are, according to Schaeffer, based upon inherited conventions describing the circumstances that constitute a musical piece; how it is composed and what makes it appear harmonic. This is highly relevant to Kirkegaard’s practice, as e.g. his album Eldfjall2 consists of nothing else than the mere recordings of Icelandic soil and the sound that is audible when recorded by a contact microphone placed within this soil, close to the Icelandic geysers that emit sounds of volcanic activity right under the surface of the earth. As described by Daniella Cascella3: “Kirkegaard's album is an absolutely effective portrait of the chaos that generated everything, a meeting point for vital and destructive forces, threatening and regenerating at the same time".

Over time, different members of the international music press have uttered that an album like Eldfjall was hard to describe as music, since Kirkegaard had stepped aside as the artistic creator to in stead take the position of the medium transmitting the sounds of hidden acoustic spheres. What is subtly expressed through a critique like this is that Kirkegaard is possibly compromising his own position as an artist – a position based upon the individual fundamentally wanting to add something new to the world s/he is living in.

Critics will say that Kirkegaard’s release does not fit within the musical conventions because it is Nature, not Kirkegaard, who is the real creator of the music for Eldfjall.

What is not included, and not perceived, in such a critique, is the possibility that Kirkegaard is not interested in the position of the author. His agenda is rather to inspire his audience to be open to perceive the general relevance of the album – because, it is one thing to create something new (is it possible?), but it is something completely different to focus on and discuss something interesting. That music as a term is based on inherited conventions, as Schaeffer suggests, is obviously compromising the overall idea that music can ever be new and groundbreaking, because it simply cannot be perceived if it does not correspond with musical tradition. This should be the final disarmament of the myth of the artist genius, since the very thought of it is based upon the artist’s unique ability to create something new; hence, a logical consequence of this problem would be to detach the artist from the genius and reconsider the expectations we, the audience, meet the art with.

It is true that once an artist chooses to let the sound stand alone, unedited and clear, the audience and the critics are challenged if they expect themselves to be able judge the quality of the musical piece from the artist’s creativity as a composer. But, it is now clear to us that the essence of Kirkegaard’s creativity is stored elsewhere - that is: not in composition as such. It is rather his sensitivity towards the high potential of the earth and the world as sound-resources; his unique ability to conceptualize the mediation of those hidden sound-resources in a way that makes the listener feel included and inspired to carry on the search for hidden sound-spheres her-/himself, making everyday-life seem less mundane.

THE SPECIFIC SPACE AND THE GALLERY

In November 2006, when I was invited to curate a project for the Swiss Institute in New York, I was very concerned with parallel- systems in the art-world that can be understood in analogy with Schaeffer’s distinction between ‘music’ and ‘sound’ – also in the art-world there is a sort of filtering taking place determining whether the sensations one is subject to in the exhibition space are intended (art) or random phenomena irrelevant to the purpose of one’s visit. While your ear catches the sound of steps in the hallway, you smell the citrus-soap the cleaning lady has used to clean the floors – all the while you are looking at a photography hanging on the gallery wall – which sensation is the most important? – The photographic representation of a situation hanging on the wall? Or, the first-hand experience of the smells and sounds of the gallery space?

The 5 senses are our alarming system helping us to decide whether we are in danger or not – for this reason it is a sort of luxury, but also potentially confusing that we stimulate our senses to the extent it is seen with impressions serving an entertaining, exciting and/or pleasing purpose, because it blurs the differentiation we, human beings, have to make to be sure that we are safe. Our highly developed ability to differentiate helps us defining what is important and what is irrelevant to us, and our existence: the surrounding world is important as it serves as the framework of our lives and presents us to people of similar and of different interests. The art object is important because someone said so – it was created with a purpose and a thought in mind and carries its justification within its shape and medium. But, the random phenomena such as sounds of speeding cars, objects in the street, shifts in weather and the like are possibly meaningless – or, it is up to every one of us to interpret them, experience them – provide them with meaningfulness.

As I interpret the ideas of La Musique Concrete, its precursors and descendants, and like-minded people within the field of visual art, their interest is to encourage the listener/viewer to be equally awake when meeting the world as when experiencing art, which in the concept of La Musique Concrete is a selection of already existing phenomena rather than a newly designed piece developed for presentation within a neutral framing: in the art space.

The convention of the White Cube renders the actual space almost super-natural as it is thought of as an invisible ‘non-space’ transformable into an ‘any-kind-of-space’ by the installation of art-projects. But, just as it happened to witchcraft in fairy-tales and the hills of elves that were invisible and impossible to escape once one had entered, the neutral art space (the White Cube) is a mythical heritage from the past that has to stand the test against contemporary pragmatism to prove its validity and existence.

Thus, Jacob Kirkegaard was asked not to mediate sound from other acoustic sphere to the Swiss Institute’s audience, but in stead to focus on the space in which the piece would be exhibited: the actual physical space of the Swiss Institute gallery. This was done in an attempt to reveal an underlying nothingness by means of his acoustical exorcism – to see if the gallery-space behind all the sounds resonating in it, would be only this: a neutral, silent and objective space for exhibiting and experiencing art?

MYTHICAL NEW YORK AND THE STATE OF THE ART

The gallery-space at Swiss Institute is similar to other SoHo spaces that have undergone thorough restoration: it is a typical NYC-loft with high ceilings and large windows, the floor seems to be the original floor, and the space as a whole comes across as rough, but also elegant, with the white walls that at the ceilings leaves space for the naked brick walls to show. By designing the space this way, it seems that the architects have wished to tell us that there is no way a space with that location (495 Broadway, SoHo, NYC) will come across as neutral – New York is in your eyes, ears and mind when you walk in from the street and will without a doubt influence on the experience you will get in the space. So, why bother, why not just walk the line and let New York shine through in all aspects of the interior architecture as well?

The gallery is split along the middle by a line of white columns running through the 8 storeys of the building. Since it is mainly made and carried by cast iron the building clearly transmits the sounds of its surroundings, and especially of Broadway running at its feet with the subway-lines N,Q,R & W rumbling underground. This was the discovery that Jacob Kirkegaard made while going through the specifications of the space in November 2006: when listening to the columns he could easily hear how the building resonated with its surrounding: i.e. the capital of the Western world, New York, and its main street: Broadway! And, the idea for the sound-installation, Broadway, was conceived, as a reflection on the dubious objectivity of the exhibition space exemplified by the gallery at the Swiss Institute.

Our working thesis was that ‘every space is a space of its own, a specific space with its own characteristics, pros and cons’ and the aim was to let the characteristics of the Swiss Institute gallery
shine through, as exorcised by Kirkegaard’s advanced method. His idea was simple but brilliant: to use a contact microphone to make a recording of the resonance transmitted by the columns and then amplify this resonance by means of exciters, making the columns play their own sound, which is the sound of Broadway and Soho and ultimately: the sound of New York.

SoHo, which is the abbreviation for the neighbourhood situated South of Houston Street in the lower part of Manhattan, is widely known to be the home of a line of underground - to be overground - artists of the 70s and 80s; and, it is the memory of those days that has provided the area with its bohemian reputation: the place to live out the American Dream within an artistic context.

The idea of New York as an embracing refuge for cutting-edge art and artists is still recycled, even though the rent in SoHo - just as in the rest of NYC - has reached heights that make it impossible for anyone to live there unless s/he has a generous sponsor or is out of a rich family. Today the city and its development are governed by commercial interests, but it is still thought of as artistic, cutting-edge and bohemian.

It is therefore no surprise, but still striking that what you hear when you listen to the sound of the columns running through the Swiss Institute gallery, is not the audible reminiscent of past times’ glamour, but in stead the well-known noise of an urban commercial district. And, it is the very essence of this, which underlines how times keep changing: the popularity and gentrification of the district has caused the move-out of the artists, who initially caused the area’s popularity to rise. What is now left is the tale and the memory of a reality belonging to the past, where SoHo was a place driven by artists’ initiatives.

BROADWAY

For his project at the Swiss Institute, Jacob Kirkegaard chose to focus his piece on the acoustics of the space: that it is singing in resonance with its surroundings. As mentioned earlier, he recorded the resonance as conducted by the columns only to play these recordings back into the space through the columns on which he had attached a total of 60 exciters, 12 on each column, to make them oscillate, and thus amplify the recorded sound: the sound of Broadway. When you listen to the columns, you hear the sound of accelerating cars and the underground subway-traffic, and when recording these sounds you will get two very different gamuts of frequency: one that is very low at 0-100 Hz and a high-range one of 800-100 Hz.

Since the piece, Broadway, is focusing on the columns and their mediation of the sounds of their surroundings, Kirkegaard chose to work with the gamut in the high end of the scale, as it would enable him to intensify this phenomenon and let the hollow columns fill the space with their metallic sound. Would he have chosen to work with the low frequencies, it would have applied a different angle to the piece and given it other connotations, as it would have affected the body quite violently making you feel the bass in your chest and stomach. Furthermore, it would have endangered the building that could ultimately collapse from the low frequency oscillations.

As the piece, Broadway, turned out, the columns sing their own resonance out loud pointing at the fact that both the columns and the space are hollow; empty spaces to be filled by what is going on around them. The piece that was exhibited at the Swiss Institute is nothing but a reflection on itself and the space that generated it. This makes it extremely site-specific, as the concept would come across remarkably different if it was to be carried out and exhibited elsewhere. This disarms the myth of the completely neutral exhibition space, since what was exhibited was an enforcement of the gallery space’s own characteristics – if it was a neutral space there would be no sound to record and amplify! Hence, it is not only, as in La Musique Concrete, an abstraction of an actual sound-resource, but rather an enforcement of this sound- resource in its own surroundings.

Broadway is singing metallically and beautifully as the intensity of each column rises and falls independently of the others, and generally the installation comes across as rather distinct from the known sounds of a machine-driven metropolis like New York.

Maybe we succeeded after all – but only through the filter of the arts – to reach the essence of the exhibition space, which is not a space of nothingness, but a specific space defined by the art that inhabits it. The sound of the singing columns is generated by the specific location of the Swiss Institute, and their song is the sound of the exhibition space – because, without the art in the space, their song would not be directly audible. So, Kirkegaard succeeded in defining the character of the art space through his piece that illustrates the essence of a gallery as such: an art space that communicates its art flexibly but not neutrally.

This leads me to think that the neutral, objective art space is a virtual space rather than a physical one; a potential of our awareness that might be awakened by the right stimuli: visual art, books, music, news – of which the most important ones are exactly the ones, we ourselves think of as valuable, since this virtual space is our own space and located somewhere between perception and the act of taking a stand.

This is the fact that Broadway and Kirkegaard’s other pieces become an emphasis of: that the greatest of all wonders is the fact that we exist, and that we are capable of experiencing and perceiving the world we are a part of; just as Kirkegaard perceives and documents the sound of a gallery with his recording equipment, all and every one of us capture and store certain memories and experiences of value to us that become important when forming an opinion and taking a stand in life. And, I guess this is when art is at its best; when the viewer becomes more than just an extra in the piece, when s/he is actually inspired to become an actively perceiving user of art- pieces, but most importantly: an active user of the world.

1. Recommended Records Quarterly magazine, volume 2, number 1, 1987 by Tim Hodgkinson
2. Touch, 2005
3. 'Blind Sound' by Daniela Cascella. 'Sound Art', Resonance Magazine, London, June 2005


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ET REMIX AF VIRKELIGHEDEN - KONKRET MUSIK FØR OG NU -
Hans Sydow

”Else Marie Pades Symphonie magnétophonique (1958) åbner med lyden af en havmåges klagende skrig – eller lyden af et storby-pendlertogs hvinende bremser ... eller lyden af et tigeragtigt rovdyr i angreb? Et voldsomt komplekst billede med skiftende motiver formet til et komplementært erfaringsudtryk på en måde, som ingen anden kunstform ville kunne det”, skriver Paul Shoemaker, kritiker på Internet-musikmagasinet MusicWeb, i bogen Livet i et glasperlespil om EMPs hovedværk inden for konkretmusikken.
”Hvad vil der ske med Symphonie magnétophonique, når pendlertog får lydløse bremser, når havnefronter og gyder er så rene, at havmåger og hjemløse katte kun findes i dyrehaver?”, fortsætter Shoemaker med at spørge, og han svarer selv på spørgsmålet: ”Vi vil studere og erindre lyden af det tyvende århundredes byer for at kunne værdsætte Symphonie magnétophonique. Stor kunst inspirerer os til at holde historien levende.”

SAMTIDSMUSIK AF SAMTIDENS LYD
 
På denne måde slår Shoemaker hovedet på sømmet i forhold til den enkle og geniale pointe, som har ligget bag konkretmusikken, siden Pierre Schaeffer i 1948 afholdt verdens første højttalerkoncert i Paris. Målet med konkretmusikken er dengang som nu at skabe samtidsmusik af samtidens lyd. Det var et umådeligt vigtigt vendepunkt, der på denne måde fandt sted i musikken efter 2. verdenskrig, hvor de gamle akustiske instrumenter indimellem lød som om de blev tvunget til at gengive lyden af den moderne verden. Nu kunne man med båndoptageren, mikrofonen og højttaleren som instrumenter pludseligt gengive verden, sådan som den lød, ved at anvende hverdagens lyd som et musikalsk instrument.
Her på Open Space kan Symphonie magnétophonique eller Båndsymfonien, som den også kaldes på dansk, opleves i uddrag som en multimediepræsentation, hvor EMPs klassiker akkompagneres af Lisbeth Damgaards smukke lyttepartitur fra 2005. En nutidig hyldest til et evigt-ungt værk, selvom det næsten kunne lyde som om, Shoemaker i sin tekst om EMP rister en rune over konkretmusikken, ved at beskrive den som noget, man i fremtiden virkelig skal tage luppen frem for at studere.
Men idéen såvel som udtrykket i konkretmusikken er netop evergreen, ikke i populærmusikalsk forstand, men som en idé og et udtryk der kan gentages og blive nyt til nye tider. En slags remix af historien, hvor hver generation genfortæller historien på sin måde. Ligesom Pierre Schaeffer og hans lærling Else Marie Pade var optaget af at samle og sample industri-kulturens affald og omsætte det musikalsk, arbejder nutidens generation af konkretmusikere med computeralderens digitale fejl og kortslutninger som lydkilder i deres kompositioner.Jacob Kirkegaard går i sit seneste værk Broadway (2007) skridtet videre. På Swiss Institute i New York lavede han i marts måned i år en installation, hvor lyden af rummet er værket – og det afspilles ikke bare i rummet, men med rummet som højttaler. Jacob Kirkegaard optog lyden af bygningens fem bærende smedejernssøjler og afspillede dem efterfølgende gennem en række vibratorer, som omdannede de fem søjler til højttalere, der gengav deres egen lyd: lyden af Broadway 2007.
Værket er typisk for Jacob Kirkegaard, som har skiftet den musikhistoriske rolle som guddommelig komponist ud, med en mere ydmyg position som medie, igennem hvem et givet lydmateriale afspilles, og gennemspilles – og ligeså typisk er diskussionen om, hvorvidt det er musik. For dengang som nu kaster konkretmusikken diskussion af sig: er lyd virkelig musik, og er Kirkegaard virkelig komponist, når han blot optager og gengiver verdens lyd?
For 50 år siden stod EMP ret alene med sine musikalske visioner i kunstmusikmiljøet, men fandt plads for dem på DR efter lukketid. I dag finder en Jacob Kirkegaard i højere grad rum for sine eksperimenter på kunst- snarere end på musikscenen. Således er han uddannet fra Akademiet for Mediekunst i Köln, og herhjemme er det da også Museet for Samtidskunst, der siden sin oprettelse i 1991 har sat fokus på lydkunsten.

NYE GAMLE TEKNIKKER
 
Men i populærkulturen har konkretmusikken siden Beatles albummet Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band (1968) været en naturlig del af det lydlige udtryk, på lige fod med klaver, bas og trommer, og det er som om populærkulturen har været mere villig til at indoptage disse avantgardistiske landevindinger og mangfoldiggøre dem, som en naturlig del af en eksperimenterende massekultur.
Morten Riis har på sin (endnu ikke udgivne) debut-cd (lyt på uddrag her) valgt både at søge tilbage i historien og samtidig søgt at skubbe den videre frem. Han arbejder med akustiske optagelser af elektroniske apparater og bruger ikke effekter, men lægger lydene oveni hinanden, lag på lag. ”Udtrykket bliver komplekst ligesom virkeligheden”, siger han selv og understreger dermed en pointe i forhold til diskussionen om, hvorvidt lyd er musik og konkretmusikeren en rigtig komponist. For virkeligheden kan godt selv – det handler blot om at lytte og genfortælle.
”Da dette er min første udgivelse af båndværker, synes jeg, at man bliver nødt til at forholde sig til den tradition, man er en del af”, siger Morten Riis og uddyber: ”Den digitale klang var ved at udvikle sig til en musikalsk løgn, og den fejl-æstetik, min musik udspringer af, er ikke mere et udtryk for musikalske fejl. Disse fejl er blevet til konventioner, fx udgives der i dag sample cd'er med fejl-lyde. Jeg følte mig derfor nødsaget til at finde helt nye teknikker frem – eller meget gamle.”

KONKRETMUSIK PÅ SKOLESKEMAET
 
Morten Riis går på E-musikuddannelsen på Det Jyske Musikkonservatorium, der som den første konservatorieuddannelse herhjemme åbnede døren for computermusikken. Men, som den svenske lydkunster og skribent Mikael Strömberg i 2001 bemærkede i bogen Soundart - the Swedish Scene, kan man i Sverige endnu ikke blive optaget på konservatoriet med makulator som hovedinstrument. Det kan man så til gengæld herhjemme nu med oprettelsen af musikformidlingsuddannelsen TONESPACE på VMK - konservatoriet for Musik og Formidling i Esbjerg, der sætter såvel lydkunst som konkretmusik på skemaet.
Og mens vi venter på at musikskolerne tager sig sammen til at tage næste skridt ved at tilbyde konkretmusik på undervisningsprogrammet sammen med den akustiske musik, kan næste generation heldigvis allerede nu boltre sig på bibliotekernes fortræffelige musiksite for børn Funky Frida hvor de selv kan lege sig til erfaringer med at bruge lyd som udtryksmiddel. Og vi andre kan tage på tur i lydlandskaberne her på Open Space. Lad der blive lyd!

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THE SOUND OF SILENCE
Roger Batty, Musique Machine, July 06

Jacob Kirkegaard is a sound artist, who has thus far released two albums on UK's Touch label, along with a collaboration with Philip Jeck. His first album Eldfjall (2005) investigated the sounds made by the geothermal vibrations of Iceland's volcanic geyser regions. His more recent release has been 'Four Rooms', which was recorded within the isolated zone around the Chernobyl area. Here he investigates if radiation has a sound, I reviewed the album here. Jacob kindly agreed to give me an email interview, talking about the fascinating project 'Four Rooms' and his future work.

How did you first come about with the idea for Four Rooms?

The idea partly derived from a workshop that I did at the Danish Academy of Architecture in 2004. The idea for this workshop was to explore ways to listen to rooms and to explore time related to architecture. Another idea, came from a room. He recorded his voice in a room and played this recording back into the room, while recording it again and again. Lucier's piece does also bear an architectural aspect, as his voice changes according to the space he is located in. I thought it would be interesting to carry out this process in abandoned rooms, but without speaking like Lucier did, simply just to place a microphone in a room and to leave it alone.
Lastly, the most important motivation for 4 Rooms was my interest in radiation and the time-aspects attached to it. As we all know, some radiation in Chernobyl will be there for thousands of years to come, it is an incredible amount of time to imagine. By travelling to this zone and placing a microphone inside some of these radiating rooms, would I be able to record something of this time? If I then layered this on top of each other, would I then be able to listen to a longer span of time in a shorter time?

How did you go about getting permission to get in to the isolated zone?

It took a good amount of time on the internet untill I found out that there was an administrative office for the so-called 'zone of exclusion'. There I got in contact with a guide, who explained to me that I would have to write a letter explaining the purpose of my visit, including info about myself (passport number etc), and for how long I wanted to stay. After a couple of weeks I received an email from my guide, who told me that everything was alright and that I was welcome to come. I never received any official invitation, only an e-mail. It was actually not so difficult to get in as I had thought in the first place. I basically started my research, without any knowledge of how to enter, so it was of course very exciting to find out that I could now go. Once it became clear that I was actually going, I was so thrilled and nervous at the same time. I imagined that I was going to outer space, to hell or to paradise. Some no-space for sure.

Did you find yourself effected by the radiation?

well, during this whole project, the planning, the actual stay and now, I have gone through various states of feeling mentally effected. I have felt no signs of physical effect. As we know, the physical effects show later on, if at all. I will never know for sure. Before going, I spent at least 6 month's researching on radiation and the risks of going there. After reading articles and talking to radiation scientists etc. I arrived at the decision that it would be OK for me to go. Or else I wouldn't have gone.

Visiting the zone was undoubtedly the most interesting journey, I have ever been on. I spent three days travelling around in this wasteland, Surrounded by an outermost astonishing nature. The air seems so incredibly fresh. Of course you don't smell or see radiation, you just know that it is there, and this makes everything seem very artificial. Nature all of a sudden looks and sounds so artificial, or 'unnatural'. Very much like Tarkowski's landscape in Stalker. It was very filmic in fact. The effect that 'something is wrong here', but it hasn't revealed itself yet. Even the silence sounded strange. Radiation has added another dimension to what we know, something transcendent and mystical. Travelling for hours in an extremely lonely, but colourful and overwhelming landscape in an October autumn, knowing that there is something in the soil, something around me that I cannot see, evoked a feeling, that is very difficult to describe. I have never found myself feeling outside reality (literally alienated from the world that I understand). There is a different spirit inhabiting the place, it is divine, but devilish. Something that eats you slowly, but there is no monster to see, only wild nature. It is like a spell.
So it is an extremely interesting place, and it reached beyond myself. Experiencing Chernobyl is like entering another zone in myself.

How did you go about choosing the four rooms? And where exactly are they? Are they near each other?

I was interested in finding rooms, which had once been active meeting points for people. The rooms should contain a good resonance. The rooms should also bear a visual strength, since another part of this Chernobyl project involves video. This is now an installation entitled AION.
My guide around the zone was a fantastic person, she understood my project very well. Without her brilliant insight and knowledge of the zone, this project would have been very different. I explained to her about the project, she proposed some rooms, that she found interesting.
The three rooms were the swimming pool, the gym and the auditorium, all located in Pripyat city. The church is located in an abandoned village named Krasno. There are no churches in Pripyat, because Pripyat was built strictly on communistic ideas . So the 3 rooms are all located inside Pripyat, which inhabited 50.000 people. I don't know how far Krasno is located from Pripyat, but it took more than an hour to drive there, as the road was very bumpy and there were also trees to lift off the road on our way...

Explain in detail how the tracks were created? Over what period of time was each track completed etc?

Each track on the CD is the sound recorded in the respective rooms. For example, Swimming Pool is the sound of the swimming pool. The drones, tones and overtones that are heard on the track are the last sound layers I recorded there. At this point the room had started to sing. Creating the track, I didn't do much mixing or any processing of pitch or reverb, or anything like that. The sounds stand, purely as they were created on the spot. It is the technical approach in how to obtain this kind of sound that interests me, rather than to work with processing at home on my computer. I equalizing the sound file in order to let the already existing frequencies appear clearer. With some equalization, the dense layer of evoked overtones unfold.

How did you first become interested in sound art, this form of working?

I started creating music when I was around 12 years old, trying out all sorts of instruments, starting out with guitar and finding sounds inside my dad's oriental instruments that he had collected. I've studied classical cello as well, Bach and such. I was 19 years old, when I stumbled over Walter Ruttmann and also Pierre Schaeffer and they completely opened my horizon. They inspired me to think about 'the world' as being an instrument, contrary to all the obvious instruments, which were created with the intension of being an instrument. So I started recording the world and putting it together to my own puzzle... later on, studying at the academy of media arts in Cologne, Germany, I was introduced to exciting recording tools, aside from the normal acoustical microphone.
The accelerometer (a super sensitive contact microphone normally used for scientific purposes), inspired me to 'listen behind the surface' of things and this opened a very large world for me. Imagining that things dont sound as they immediately seem to. I could dive into them and listen from behind or below the sound. The quality of sound would only sound according to our perception or according to the tools we would use. The medium is of course always the message, but then I guess the less obvious, or hidden messages are the more exciting to explore.

What are your future plans for sound art work?

I have a whole lot of different projects for the rest of this year; After my stay in St. Petersburg, where I'm now enjoying a NIFCA residence. I will go to Italy, to set up work for the Eco e Narcio project curated by Daniela Cascella. My contribution for this project concentrates on a similar method, as the one I carried out in Chernobyl, namely to evoke a sounding space by layering the sound of a space. In Italy I found spaces with echo inside and outside astonishing landscapes.
In August I will create a work at the west coast of Jutland in Denmark, it will be a 16-channel sound tunnel right on the tidal sea, sand, and in the water. I will also present AION, at the Waves festival in Riga and do concerts in Sweden, London and Rotterdam. In the next issue of Leonardo Music Journal (MIT press) I will appear with a previously unreleased track from my Chernobyl trip entitled Concert Room.

Thanks to Jacob for the interview, Jacob's site can be found here here and here. Both albums can be ordered direct from here. All pictures were taken with permission from Jacob's own site.
[ Roger Batty ]

MUSIQUE MACHINE. Multi-Genre Music Magazine http://www.musiquemachine.com/
Review of '4 ROOMS' http://www.musiquemachine.com/reviews/reviews_template.php?id=773
INTERVIEW by Roger Batty (July 2006) http://www.musiquemachine.com/articles/articles_template.php?id=80

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ENTRETIEN AVEC JACOB KIRKEGAARD

Artiste danois vivant en Allemagne, Jacob Kirkegaard explore, dans son album 4 rooms sorti chez Touch music, l’héritage sonore d’une des pires catastrophes produites par l’humanité : l’explosion de la centrale nucléaire de Tchernobyl, qui eut lieu le 26 avril 1986.

Peux-tu nous expliquer comment est né ce projet ?

L’idée était de visiter un lieu abandonné. Trouver un lieu où les gens ont vécu et qui en sont subitement partis. L’idée était d’enregistrer des bâtiments dépourvus d’activité humaine. Je m’intéresse au passage de l’activité au silence soudain. Une autre motivation était le temps et comment nous le percevons. Nous avons une idée de ce que représente une centaine d’année mais je ne suis pas sûr qu’on comprenne vraiment la durée des radiations. J’appréhende Tchernobyl comme une zone où un autre temps existe, ce n’est pas notre temps mais un temps très spécial qui dépasse notre entendement.

Comment est cette région aujourd’hui et as-tu eu des difficultés avec les autorités pendant ton voyage à travers l’Ukraine par rapport à ton projet ?

Non, la demande a pris du temps mais il n’y a pas eu de problèmes pour entrer dans la zone. Evidemment, les vérifications y sont nombreuses. La zone aujourd’hui… c’est une longue histoire. La nature sauvage existe vraiment là-bas. C’est une expérience remarquable de voyager dans cette nature. Les villages sont pratiquement ensevelis dans la terre et cachés par des arbres. Visiter la ville de Pripyat, d’où 50.000 personnes furent évacuées, fut étonnant et très désolant.

Comment as-tu procédé techniquement pour concevoir cet album ?

J’ai choisi quatre endroits : une piscine, un gymnase, une salle de concert et une église. Je plaçais un micro dans la pièce, quittais le bâtiment et enregistrais pendant dix minutes. Après dix minutes, je revenais, arrêtais l’enregistrement qui était ensuite rejoué dans la salle, grâce à une enceinte. Le micro enregistrait à nouveau le son de la pièce, mais cette fois-ci avec l’enceinte qui jouait l’enregistrement précédent, etc. J’ai ainsi fait des couches de sons. Les premières couches créèrent un bruit blanc, et après plusieurs couches, des tons et des nuances émergèrent. 4 rooms a quatre plages qui correspondent à une documentation sonore pour chaque pièce. Enregistrer ces couches de sons, c’était enregistrer le temps. Evoquer ces subtiles vibrations qui existent dans les pièces. En faisant des couches pour les amplifier, je voulais peut-être faire entendre quelque chose d’inaudible.

Le résultat me fait penser que cette région est habitée par des ombres du passé qui se déplacent lentement dans les lieux où elles vivaient. Pourrais-tu dire que ces fantômes sonores sont le reflet métaphorique des victimes d’un régime politique qui n’avait que faire de l’environnement et des personnes qui vivaient là ?

Non, je ne veux pas particulièrement évoquer quelque chose de directement politique par ce travail. Je sais que Tchernobyl est un sujet énorme à traiter et de nombreux faits confus, des mensonges y sont liés. En l’étudiant et en y allant, j’ai réalisé que ce lieu va peut-être rester à jamais un mystère dans beaucoup de sens. En tant qu’artiste, je suis intéressé par créer un travail sonore qui a une histoire ou au moins une relation à quelque chose. Sur ce cd, c’est Tchernobyl. Mais c’est aussi le temps. Et ce temps est transcendantal. De plus, ce travail est lié à celui du compositeur américain Alvin Lucier (I am sitting in a room). Alors non, je ne dirais pas que ce travail est le reflet métaphorique d’un système politique. Je veux que ce soit entièrement l’auditeur-trice qui juge et qui entende ce qu'il-elle veut entendre.
Propos recueillis et traduits par Yann.  www.fonik.dk / www.touchmusic.org.uk

[English translation]:

Could you explain us how was born this project about Chernobyl and what was the artistic purpose of it?

The idea was to visit one of the places on earth that had been abandoned. To find a place where people had lived, for then all of a sudden to leave. It was partly a motivation rooted in an architectural idea for recording rooms/buildings, rooms cleaned for human activity. I am interested in this switch between activity and then the sudden silence.
Another motivation was time and how we perceive it. I guess we have an idea what a hundred years feel like. But I am not sure if we really understand the time of radiation. So I understand Chernobyl as a zone where another time exists, it is not our time but a very very special time, a time that reaches beyond our understanding.
 
How is this area nowadays and did you experienced any difficulties with the authorities during your journey through Ukraine regarding your project of creation?

No, the application took time, but there were no difficulties to enter the zone. They of course have to check you many times and there are many check points inside the zone. 
The zone today... It is a longer story. Wild nature is existing there. It is indeed an outstanding nature experience to travel around there. The area is very large. The villages are almost sunken in the earth and hidden behind big trees. The city of Pripyat where 50.000 people was evacuated is at one hand very monumental and astonishing but on the other hand a very sad visit. 
 
How did you proceed technically to conceive this album?

I chose four rooms; a swimming pool, a gymnasium, a concert room and a church. I placed a microphone in the room, left the building and the mic recorded 10 minutes. After ten minutes I returned and stopped the recording where after playing this recording silently out into the room from a loudspeaker. The microphone then recorded the room again, but this time while the speaker was playing the previous recording. After another 10 minutes this recording was played back into the room etc etc. In this way I layered the sound of the room. The first layers created a dense white noise-like sound and after some more layers tones and overtones emerged. The CD '4 Rooms' has four tracks and each track is a sonic documentation for each room. 
To record these sound layers was to record the time. To layer this particular time with another 10 minutes again and again. To evoke these very subtle vibrations existing in the rooms. If I layer it and in this way amplify it, I could perhaps open a gate and listen to something unheard.

The result makes me imagine that all this area is now inhabited by shadows of the past moving slowly in the places there used to live in. What is your feeling about this? Would you say that these sonic ghosts are the metaphoric reflection of all the victims of a political regime that did not care about the environmenent and the people living there?

No, I am not particularly interested in stating anything directly political with this work. I know that Chernobyl is a very heavy subject to be dealing with and there are so many confusing facts, lies
attached to it. The more I studied Chernobyl and after being there myself I have realized that this place perhaps forever will remain a mystery in many ways. As an artist, I am interested in creating a sound work that has a story or at least a relation to something. On this CD it is Chernobyl. But it is also time. And this time is transcendental. And this work furthermore relates to the work by the American composer Alvin Lucier; "I am sitting in a Room". So, no I would never state that this work is a metaphorical reflection of some political system. I want it to be entirely up to the listener herself to judge and to hear what she wants to hear. 

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ATOMERNES SUMMENDE STILHED
SIMON LUND ANDERSEN. POLITIKEN 31TH OF MARCH 2006 http://politiken.dk
 
Den danske lydkunstner Jacob Kirkegaard har besøgt atomkraftværket i Tjernobyl for at optage den stilhed, der hersker. I 20 år har mennesker ikke kunne bo i zonen rundt om den nedsmeltede reaktor 4, men med sine mikrofoner har Jacob Kirkegaard fået de efterladte bygninger til at synge.
 
Klokken 01:23 den 26. april, 1986 indtræffer ulykken. Den fjerde og nyeste reaktor på atomkraftværket Tjernobyl ved byen Pripyat eksploderer under et rutinetjek og blæser et enormt hul i det flere hundrede tons tunge tag. De første store eksplosioner fører til flere mindre eksplosioner og anstifter adskillige voldsomme brande rundt om på kraftværket.
 
Brandmænd og soldater kæmper med livet som indsats de følgende dage for at slukke 50 meter høje flammer og indkapsle den radioaktive stråling fra den nedsmeltede reaktor. Omkring 200.000 mennesker bliver evakueret fra det, der historisk set er den værste katastrofe i menneskets omgang med civil kernekraft.
 
I Ribe sidder den 11-årige Jacob Kirkegaard og ser billederne af Pripyat, der bliver rømmet for mennesker. Hans far fortæller ham om en katastrofe, og Jacob ser en tom hovedgade i Pripyat på den sort-hvide tv-skærm. Han kommer til at tænke på ’Palle alene i verden’ og undrer sig over, hvem der skal redde kameramanden.
 
Den 26. oktober 2005 står Jacob Kirkegaard på hovedgaden i Pripyat. Den er lige så forladt, som han så den i fjernsynet næste tyve år tidligere. Forskellen er forfaldet. Husene er krakelerede, det høje græs står og svajer i lange linjer mellem fliserne. Og der stille. Dødsens stille.
 
Det er denne stilhed Jacob Kirkegaard er kommet til Tjernobyl for at finde.

JAGTEN PÅ SKJULTE LYDE
 
Lydkunstneren Jacob Kirkegaard rejser rundt i verden for at lede efter lyde. Med forskellige mikrofoner og kunstneriske strategier søger Jacob Kirkegaard efter de lyde og fortællinger, der gemmer sig i verden rundt om os. I sin kunstværker gengiver han verden i lyd, ligesom en skulptør eller billedkunstner ville gøre det i deres materialer.
 
Tidligere har han med kontaktmikrofoner optaget et gelænder langs Rhinen, der summede i forhold til de forbisejlende skibe, og sammen med kunstnerkollegaen Tobias Kirstein har han optaget lydene af det svenske atomkraftværk Barsebäck. Sidste år udkom den kritikerroste cd ’Eldfjall’, hvor Jacob Kirkegaard havde indfanget den buldrende lyd af islandsk vulkanjord.
 
»Jeg er optaget af skjulte lyde. Hvor går lyd egentlig hen, når den bliver kastet ud? Fra fysikken ved vi, at lyd forsvinder. At det bare er energi, der bliver til varm luft og så til kold luft. Men jeg kan godt lide at forestille mig, at der faktisk bliver lagret lyd i et rum eller i luften i et rum. Selv om jeg godt ved, at det fysisk ikke forholder sig sådan«, fortæller Jacob Kirkegaard over telefonen fra Køln, hvor han har boet i de sidste fire år og netop har gjort sin mastergrad på Academy of Media Arts færdig.
Da Jacob Kirkegaard stødte på fotografen Robert Polidoris billeder af Pripyats forladte bygninger, gik det op for ham, at det var i skyggen af Tjernobyl-katastrofen, han skulle fortsætte sin jagt på skjulte lyde.
 
»Jeg er fascineret af de steder i verden, hvor der har været masser af menneskelig aktivitet og liv, som så pludselig er forsvundet, og hvor der kun er efterladte rum tilbage. Jeg havde lyst til at undersøge sådan et sted. Et sted, hvor der er blevet bygget nogle rum, og levet noget liv. Hvor folk har elsket og grinet og gjort de ting, man gør, når man lever«, siger Jacob Kirkegaard og fortsætter:
 
»Fra den ene dag til den anden er alle folk væk. Og så tænkte jeg: er der noget, der er blevet tilbage? Efterlader mennesket sig spor af lyd? Ligesom en fotograf fortæller historier, når de tager billeder af tomme bygninger eller forladte steder, tog jeg til Tjernobyl for at lytte til stedet og indfange det med min mikrofon, på samme måde som en fotograf ville have gjort med sit kamera«.
 
DEN STORSLÅEDE UKRAINSKE NATUR
 
Med en højsensitiv mikrofon og en batteridreven højtaler tager Jacob Kirkegaard til Tjernobyl-kraftværket i Ukraine. Han har fået forbindelse til kvinden Rimma Kiselitsa, der arrangerer guidede ture ind i zonen – som det 30 kvadratkilometer store sikkerhedsområde kaldes i dag. I tre oktoberdage viser Rimma Kiselitsa den danske lydkunstner rundt i zonen, der er delt op i den ydre zone med lavstråling og en indre 10 km zone med højere stråling omkring ulykkens centrum.
 
Det første, der slår Jacob Kirkegaard, er den uberørte natur, der siden ulykken har groet uhindret i de store områder mellem de menneskeskabte steder i zonen.
 
»Der er en fantastisk natur, der stortrives. Der må ikke flyve fly henover og på nogle af de steder vi besøgte, havde der ikke været mennesker i mange år. Når du rejser gennem den storslåede natur uden at møde et eneste menneske, så lægger du ikke mærke til, at du er i zonen. Det er helt absurd. Luften føles så utrolig ren, og der er helt stille, så man kun kan høre vinden i træerne. Vi var hele tiden meget klar over, at alt var radioaktivt, men det forekommer uvirkeligt, fordi man ikke kan se eller lugte strålingen,« fortæller Jacob Kirkegaard.
Virkeligheden melder sig hurtigt igen, da Jacob Kirkegaard ankommer til den mennesketomme Pripyat. Den sovjetiske mønsterby blev bygget i 1970 og efter kun 16 år blev den forladt, så den i dag står som et enormt museum over den stort anlagte og firkantfunktionelle sovjetiske arkitektur. Forladte og eroderede højhuse, der langsomt synker ned i naturen, væggene skræller, det drypper og alt forfalder. Med sin rungende tomhed minder byen Pripyat om det liv, der ikke er der mere.
 
VEDLIGEHOLDELSEN AF SARKOFAGEN
 
Rimma Kiselitsa tager Jacob Kirkegaard med videre til sarkofagen. Det har man døbt den skal af beton og bly, der forskanser den nedsmeltede. Han stod i et lille informationslokale, hvor en stor geigertæller tikkende gjorde opmærksom på den unaturligt høje stråling.
 
»Pludselig blev det meget ubehageligt. Man har slet ikke begreb om, hvad der er af stråling og aktivitet inde i sarkofaget. Man ved ikke hvor meget, der ligger derinde. Man ved bare, at det hele er smeltet sammen til en stor plamage«, siger Jacob Kirkegaard.
 
Mens Jacob Kirkegaard står i det klaustrofobiske lille rum, fortæller guiden om ulykken. Om den nærliggende skov, der blev helt rød af strålingen og sammen med en hel landsby måtte begraves i jord, for at indkapsle strålingen. Om helikopterne, der kastede sand og bly ned over den eksploderende reaktor, og om de hundredtusindvis af soldater, brandmænd og frivillige, der hjalp til med at rydde op efter ulykken. Af Sovjetstaten fik de en særlig status og blev kaldt likvidators, hvor af nogle døde og blev begravet i blykister, for at inddæmme den stråling, der stadig vil være i de tilbageværende jordiske rester, hvis de blev gravet op om tusind år.
 
Jacob Kirkegaard står i kernen af det enorme skovatom, zonen danner, og fornemmer den ubegribelige tid, der hersker her.
 
Selv om en FN rapport netop har fastslået, at skaderne efter ulykken nok ikke er så voldsomme, som først frygtet, er der i dag 5000 mennesker ansat i zonen. I de tilrådelige 14 dage bor de på skift i den ydre zone for at vedligeholde hele området.
 
De reparerer på den krakelerende sarkofag, holder øje med digerne, der forhindrer den radioaktive Pripyatflod i at blande sig med andre floder og så er de hele tiden på vagt overfor ildbrande i de store skovområder, der øjeblikkeligt ville få radioaktiviteten til at brede sig. Det skal mennesker blive ved med i mange hundrede år endnu.
 
ATOMERNES UDSTRAKTE TID
 
Tidsperspektivet i zonen har andre dimensioner, end dem, man navigere efter på en ganske almindelig dansk hverdag, hvor børnene skal hentes og indkøbet nås inden lukketid. Plutonium-239, der blev udledt meget af, har en halveringstid på 24.110 år, og selv om man måske kan bebo den ydre zone om små hundrede år, så vil der være stråling i 10 km zonen rundt om sarkofagen i tusindvis af år frem i tiden..
 
»Transformationen på stedet, hvor der før var mennesker, var ét af mine udgangspunkter for optagelserne, men det overordnede mål var at oversætte tiden til lyd. Det helt bestemte tid, der eksisterer i Tjernobyl. Strålingens og atomernes tid. Hvordan kan jeg forstå den her udstrakte tid? Kan jeg høre den? Næh. Kan jeg se den? Næh. Men hvad nu, hvis jeg tager et lille minimalt fragment af den her tid, ti minutter af den, som jeg så lægger i lag. Så kan jeg komprimere tiden og måske komme til at forstå den bedre«, siger Jacob Kirkegaard.
 
Med hjælp fra guiden udvælger lydjægeren Jacob Kirkegaard fire rum i Tjernobyl , der alle har summet af liv og musik. Et auditorium, en svømmehal, en gymnastiksal og en kirke.
Han placerer sin mikrofon i det tavse rum, forlader rummet og lader den optage stilheden i ti minutter. Derefter afspiller han de ti minutter på sin medbragte højtaler og optager det igen. Sådan fortsætter han med at afspille atomernes summende stilhed, og langsomt begynder rummene at synge i forhold til de frekvenser som er i et hvert rum.
 
Med denne særlige teknik og kunstneriske strategi tager Jacob Kirkegaard en række lydprint af Tjernobyl med sig ud af zonen. Tilbage i Køln bliver de lagrede optagelser bearbejdet med en equalizer. De brummende toner og overtoner, der melder sig med stigende og faldende intensitet, bliver skærpet i det portræt Jacob Kirkegaard skaber med sin kunst. En lydskulptur over et sted, hvor der var genkendeligt menneskeligt liv, og hvor strålingen nu råder i atomernes udstrakte tidsperspektiv.
 
Resultatet af Jacob Kirkegaards nysgerrige rejse til Tjernobyl bliver tre forskellige værker. På det respekterede engelske pladeselskab Touch udkommer ’4 Rooms’ med de messende toner fra zonen, på Museet for Samtidskunst i Roskilde, bliver de auditive aftapninger suppleret af en lignende visuel udfoldning af de fire rum, og til sidst kan optagelserne høres live den 25. april ved en midnatsmesse i Marmorkirken. På den måde ender en rejse gennem atomernes summende tavshed præcist 20 år efter, at reaktor 4 i Tjernobyl blev krænget åben af en indre eksplosion.
 

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MED MIKROFONEN SOM PENSEL
TOM HERMANSEN J.P. December 3rd 2005

Vore omgivelser er fyldt med musik, siger lydkunstneren Jacob Kirkegaard, der rejser rundt i verden
på evig jagt efter fascinerende lydfænomener. Lyden af boblende danskvand, islandske vulkaner og atomreaktorer interesserer Jacob Kirkegaard, og på det seneste har den radioaktive spøgelsesby Pripyat i Tjernobyl taget den 29-årige lydkunstners tid.
Det er næsten 20 år siden, at atomreaktorerne ved det ukrainske kraftværk krakelerede og sendte de dødelige stråler ud over landskabet. I dag er egnen øde, kun befolket af videnskabsmænd og vagter, der passer på, at det radioaktive affald ikke spreder sig. De har netop haft selskab af en enkelt dansker, som listede rundt i området med sit optagegrej for at fange områdets lyde.
»Egnen vil være menneskeforladt 1.000 år frem i tiden, men naturen har rejst sig igen, og det er et
vanvittigt interessant udgangspunkt for at optage lyd,« forklarer Jacob Kirkegaard.
De russiske optagelser bliver præsenteret på Museet for Samtidskunst i Roskilde til foråret, men det
københavnske publikum kan netop nu få en smagsprøve på Jacob Kirkegaards arbejdsmetode.
Han er blandt 30 deltagere på den internationale lydkunstudstilling "Teknisk uheld", der finder sted
ved fire lytteposter forskellige steder i hovedstaden.

SLÅ ØRENE UD

Jacob Kirkegaard undersøger de skjulte lyde, vi ikke hører i dagligdagen. For at fange lydfrekvenser,
som det menneskelige øre ikke registrerer, benytter han en avanceret og særdeles følsom kontaktmikrofon.
Det er som at lægge øret tæt ind til en genstand, så man kan høre dens summen, forklarer han.
»Alle ting laver lyde. Eksempelvis afsender computerskærme store lydstrømme, og de påvirker os,
også selv om vi ikke kan høre dem. Jeg synes, at vi er alt for visuelt orienterede i dag og glemmer at bruge ørerne. Lyden er ganske enkelt en anden måde at forstå verden, og der mener jeg, at lydkunsten kan være med til at forbedre folks lytteevne. Jeg er glad for, at "Teknisk uheld"-projektet er stablet på benene. Det er et tiltrængt tiltag i Danmark, for lyd som kunstform er på vej frem.«
Jacob Kirkegaard forlod Vesterbro for fire år siden for at studere på Akademiet for Kunst og Medier i Köln.
Her fik han hurtigt en masse visdom, som han ikke kunne finde herhjemme på det tidspunkt:
»Lydkunst var ikke så defineret en kunstform dengang. I København kunne jeg kun uddanne mig på
musikkonservatoriet eller kunstakademiet, men i Tyskland var der mulighed for at kombinere tingene. I dag er der imidlertid langt større mulighed for at uddanne sig tværfagligt i Danmark: Kunstakademiet har fået medieskolen, og musikkonservatoriet i Esbjerg har startet den såkaldte Tonespaceuddannelse.«
Han erklærer, at hans eget arbejde bevæger sig et sted mellem lyd og billedkunst. »Min kategori er udefinerbar, og det har jeg det fint med. Så kan jeg gøre, hvad jeg vil.«

KUNSTNER PÅ LUR

I 2004 pakkede Jacob Kirkegaard sit udstyr og rejste til Island. Her blev han med det samme opslugt af øens varme kilder, gejserne, der slynger kaskader af vand højt op i luften, når varmen fra jordens indre bliver for kraftig. Liggende på knæ med hovedet og kontaktmikrofonen nede i de boblende kilder optog den danske kunstner vibrationerne under jordoverfladen. Det ihærdige arbejde blev udgivet på albummet "Eldfjall" tidligere på året.
»Jeg er ikke naturfreak. Men jeg nyder at ligge på lur, optage omgivelsernes lyde og præsentere dem for publikum på udstillinger, album eller til koncerter,« siger han.
»Før i tiden lavede jeg musik, hvor jeg var meget synlig. Nu træder jeg i baggrunden og lader de selvgenererende lyde træde frem, de lyde, der ikke er bestemt af menneskets eksistens. Jeg bliver dog mere og mere klar over, at jeg endnu er komponist, for formidlingen går stadig gennem mig.«
Kunstneren spiller ofte sine optagelser for begejstrede tilhørere i europæiske koncertsale, og herhjemme blev han nomineret til den danske musikpris Steppeulven i 2004.
»Men jeg åbner en dør til en uhørt verden, en verden, jeg synliggør for alle mennesker, der lytter til mit arbejde.«
Tidligere på året afslørede han eksempelvis lydene fra et langt metalgelænder langs Rhinen i Köln. Her kunne forbipasserende se ham lytte til gelænderet langs flodens bredder med kontaktmikrofonen i hånden. Jacob Kirkegaard forklarer, at sætter man øret til metalstykkerne ved floden, kan man høre en hemmelig verden af svingninger og melodier, der hele tiden skifter karakter i takt med omgivelsernes forandring. »Når et skib sejler forbi, afslører gelænderets lyde det med det samme i forskellige overtoner.«

Er du glad for, at du forlod Danmark?

»I dag er det ikke så vigtigt, hvor jeg bor, og du får mig ikke til at sige noget dårligt om Danmark, selv om jeg sagtens kunne, i hvert tilfælde hvis vi taler politik. Men jeg tror, at det var positivt, at jeg tog ud. Så kommer jeg hjem med et frisk pust, og jeg må konstatere, at der større interesse omkring mit arbejde, efter at jeg er flyttet, men det kan jo også bare skyldes, at jeg er blevet bedre med årene. Men jeg er glad for at bo i udlandet. Der føler jeg mig ikke så begrænset.«

Er dit projekt ikke også lidt nørdet?

»Det er vist blevet sagt om mig før, men jeg tror slet ikke, at jeg ved, hvad det ord betyder. Hvis det er én, der laver noget, der er lidt for meget, kan det godt være, at jeg er en nørd.«

[BY TOM HERMANSEN J.P. December 3rd 2005]

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NATURES UNDERGROUND MUSIC
Bruel & Kjaer magazine November 2005 (http://www.bksv.com/4000.asp)

For Jacob Kirkegaard, an accomplished musician turned sound artist, the natural world is filled with music, hidden and unedited deep within the earths surface or caught in the current of an urban waterway. Equipped with a Brüel& Kjær accelerometer on his latest project, Jacob was able to uncover and capture the raw harmonies of a rumbling volcano, spewing geysers and crackling ice to create organic symphonies.

MORE ART THAN SCIENCE

The causes and effects of environmental sound have been explored for centuries with specific theories, mathematical equations, methods and instruments devised to gather, measure, analyse, explain and compensate for the sonic phenomena that surround us.
While most commercial and industrial studies are focused on man-made noise sources and resolving their effects on the environment, Jacob Kirkegaards investigations tend to be more art than science.
In his earliest work with natural elements, Jacob used a microphone to capture the sound of water dripping from his kitchen tap. Realising the natural rhythm and tonal beat hidden in a single water drop, he incorporated the recording samples into his compositions and played them at concerts and exhibitions. Today, he travels the world documenting hidden music in the environment and composing them into sound art.

A SOUND ARTIST

Jacobs career in sound exploration began with musical instruments. He began studying guitar from the age of 12, continuing on to the cello, and ending his studies with an intense five-year programme in Classical Cello under the expert guidance of renowned cellist Niels Erik Clausen. But it was a radio programme showcasing concrete music, which truly captured his imagination. Inspired, he and a colleague researched and collected the sonic rhythm of Europes cities, and exhibited these diverse urban sounds in a multimedia project between 1996 and 2001.
He has since been involved in a number of sound installations at various world institutes, museums and festivals; created performance pieces for the Danish Broadcasting Corporation; and, recorded an array of collaborative and solo music CDs. He is currently finishing his Masters at the Academy of Media Art in Cologne, Germany and teaching, concurrently, the archeology of sound at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts, School of Architecture in Copenhagen, Denmark.
Being part of the sound department at the Academy of Media Arts, he was introduced to accelerometers and hydrophones. That introduction opened a whole new world for him from recording city noise with acoustical microphones to documenting the volatile pitches and drones of lifes vibrations using an accelerometer attached to a bridge railing. I am not especially interested in the technology behind the discoveries I make, but rather the possibilities the technology permits me, says Jacob. "Everywhere in the cosmos, there are such things as sound cells...if I can put my ear to their membrane, to the vibrating skin of such a cell, in order to record what is going on in there then I am very happy."
According to Jacob, sound membranes can be found wherever things melt and divide, such as the ice layers of a frozen lake, the fission centre of an atomic reactor, or the volatile landscape surrounding an active volcano. The accelerometer allows him to dive into the earth, go between layers and discover sounds known perhaps only to scientists, but which are normally hidden from everyday society. The natural tones and resonances that emerge, transforms what might normally be a basic scientific investigation, into an exploration in environmental art. As Jacob puts it, I am creating sound art, with a scientific approach.

DIVING IN WITH A BRUEL & KJAER ACCELEROMETER

In his latest project, Jacob travelled to Iceland and stumbled across the sonically rich wastelands around Krisuvik, which bubble and explode with volcanic activity. Equipped with a general purpose DeltaTron Accelerometer Type 4514-002 in his bag, Jacob mounted the accelerometer on a sharp- tipped probe and dived in to have a listen. With titanium housing and unique design, Type 4514-002 provides high seismic resonance and ruggedness, and is capable of operating at extreme temperatures.
Powered by Delta Tron Power Supply WB1372, the accelerometer converted the geothermal vibrations to electronic signals as the earth heaved, constricted, bubbled and spewed, and Jacob recorded every rumble, rattle, murmur and roar transmitted through the accelerometer. The earth has an incredibly interesting sound, because there is such a large spectrum in it, with the deep warm tones, high frequencies on top and a movement that gives associations to rhythm and music it is ideal for playing at home or performing at concerts, a statement that Jacob meant quite literally. In 2004, he released a music CD with recordings from the expedition. The unmanipulated sound tracks may not be what most people would consider dance music, but the pure sounds and high resolution allow the listener to journey into an underground world, which, for most of us, is beyond our reach.

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BREAKS IN THE CODE
Chris Toenes, POPMATTERS.COM, May 2005

Where is electronic music today? Some would say it is everywhere, seeping between the cracks of a porous society that supposedly has no use for blips and beeps; "it all sounds the same" seems invalid now. This column will address shifts in the landscape of electronic music, in its permutations as dance music, artistic computer constructions, and reflections of the past. The "where" of electronic music presents a modern question of how digital compositions work in contemporary art today, how computer musicians are partnering with visual artists, dance choreographers and using field recordings in different contexts to bridge the gap between conceptual art and "new" music. Although the synthesis of installation work and environmental recordings is not a recent development by any means, technological strides and the sheer saturation of artists working together ratchets up the interplay between these forms. As with any art form presented on a semi-large scale, these productions can be costly, so financial issues are also a mitigating factor, whether determining the details of a project, or encouraging the work as a paying job by the artists. Examining this cross-pollination through some of its practitioners and recent projects, I hope to explore the current reverberations bouncing through electronic music culture and the art world.
By incorporating all aspects of a project into the musical or audio composition, i.e., the structure, be it minimal sound-scapes, constructions of samples or digital patchworks, the site itself is used as an input or source of reflection. These works play on the idea that works of electronic nature can aptly mirror their surroundings.
Since recorded sound was available to artists, the mixture of mediums fascinated. With the tape collage experiments of the Fifties and Sixties, sound poetry and visual art were conjoined. Bruce Nauman, an artist always fascinated with language in his work, recently turned heads with his "Raw Materials", an aural collage at the Tate Modern. Arranging "bands of sound" across the width of the museum's Turbine Hall, Nauman sets up a living space with audio representations of people, so that the digitally reproduced audio becomes sculpture itself. From Tate curator Emma Dexter's notes, "The Turbine Hall is filled with voices, some clearly audible, others indistinct, which merge with new, 'found' sound from the voices of visitors. In Raw Materials, Nauman has transformed this cavernous space into a metaphor for the world, echoing to the endless sound of jokes, poems, pleas, greetings, statements and propositions".

In site-specific works, location is everything. In the case of the recentSpire project, an ancient cathedral provided the backdrop, music and informed the compositions. Reinterpretations of classic organ music by performances of classical composers' work paralleled new digital reconstructions. The live event was held at St. Pierre Cathedral, Geneva, considered the crucible of the Reformation in 1534. The audience rotated between three separate venues within the cathedral area. Since the cathedral was the focal point of Jean Calvin's faith during the Reformation, spirituality is the common thread. The three distinct spaces provided individual contexts for the works. The main cathedral hall housed the actual organ works, with Charles Matthews and Marcus Davidson playing, via computer-controlled organ, five modern classical pieces in the pristine acoustic setting. In the second phase, BJ Nilsen and Philip Jeck performed on both organ and used manipulation. Nilsen's work was playing a duet by himself, between his electronics and the gigantic baffles of the organ for "Rues Basses". Jeck's appearance in the archeological site beneath the cathedral, appropriately called "The Crypt", shifted from the organ source to rock guitar samples, and cultural detritus from old records, in a way reflecting on the organ and traveling with it through time constructed by his various examples and inputs; a version of his own sonic archaeology. Christian Fennesz tied it together in the small Macchabees chapel, in a long-form passage of recombination, using the old and new sounds in a final statement of purpose within the stained-glassed walls of the giant cathedral.
Terre Thaemlitz works against the grain of most typical electronic music while retaining a deep love of its dance floor beginnings in disco and house music. His complex theories on music, transgender issues and critical theory, often included as texts with his recorded work, move with a searing sense of humor and wit. "Roller discos in the 70s were probably where I was first exposed to electronic music on a regular basis, although largely through disco with a bit of new wave crossover (Gary Numan, Devo...). Of course, rock was the dominant music, and within that I was drawn to groups like Styx (synth solo to "Come Sail Away", etc.). As I wrote about in "Replicas Rubato" (http://www.comatonse.com/writings/replicas.html), Gary Numan's "The Pleasure Principle" was the first record I ever bought". Even as a child, Thaemlitz "played" with how sound interacts with environment. "I started manipulating tapes during recording, by using weak batteries to record at a slow speed, which would result in fast playback with good batteries; or to only partially press the record button, causing the tape to start and stop, distorting the input signal... very basic, but there are somehow still parallels to how I produce music today. I played with this similarity of sound on "The Opposite of Genius or Chance" record I did for the EN/OF art-record label, including a recording I made at age 10 on one side, and a minimally altered digital "remix" on the other side".

When the source material is the earth itself, things can get really interesting. Jacob Kirkegaard is a sound artist working with geothermal recordings. His recent collection of field recordings, Eldfjall, captures sounds emitted around the area of Krisuvik, Geysir and Myvatn in Iceland. Kirkegaard uses accelerometers, vibration sensor microphones, to map the sounds of the geysers, producing rich layers of grumbling volcanic activity at the surface of the earth. "After using specific tools for capturing a sound, I naturally became more interested in its source, element and indeed also their space. Before, what I captured, was the sound from my immediate surroundings, something I desired to form and re-arrange, like when a poet picks up words and re-arranges them. Now I was all of a sudden able to explore gates to underworlds of sound, with the use of recording tools, enabling me to capture sound differently from the obvious acoustic way of hearing. I believe, that just because sound is invisible and abstract matter, it doesn´t necessarily lack space, movement or even the visual in it".
For many electronic musicians who integrate their work with site-specific work or collaborate with visual artists, their origins are in more traditional forms, like techno, breakbeats and dance-oriented genres. Thaemlitz's experience shows another angle. "In my case, it's rather the opposite. I started doing site-specific projects while still going to art college, then worked my way into DJ-ing (which is also a kind of site-specific performance, and that was in tranny clubs which also involved a kind of collaboration with drag queens, playing their show tunes, etc), and ultimately creating my own studio and working by myself. So, I guess DJ-ing was really the transition point". For Kirkegaard it was always about how to capture "that sound" in the best way possible. He adds, "It was the rich possibilities I found, when starting using electronic equipment for modulating the real sounds from my surroundings, which got me into this field. My first revelation into this world began when I heard a radio program on the pioneers of musique concrete, Pierre Schaeffer and Pierre Henry, which motivated me to capture and modulate the sounds that fascinated me. Experimenting with old broken 78 records versus samplers I found a world where these fluent, invisible and abstract audible airwaves from my surroundings suddenly became within reach".
Asked if there is a favorite project over the years, Thaemlitz responds with an act of art prankishness and subversion. "My favorite collaboration would still have to be John Consigli and my unauthorized installation of beeping devices under gallery benches at the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) in New York. That was back in 1989. We didn't really consider it an audio project - it was more of a "guerilla art" tactic to make museum-goers more aware of the industrial sounds and institutional environment around them (emphasizing the gallery space over the artworks on the walls). It was really fun and secretive. The beepers were all eventually found, and removed when we looked for them a few weeks later".
The implications of some of the artist's works in this field are historic, as in the spelunking in the cathedral at the Spire event, or, as in Kirkegaard's case, approach the mythological. He elaborates, "The vibrating earth recordings are not only rich, but they also come right out of the cooking earth, like if it was the earth mother herself, breathing". Recreating this in another space, like his surround concert of the Eldfjallrecordings can be a difficult goal. "I often present these earthly vibrations through multi-channel systems, in order to relocate this living event into another context and in this way enabling a new experience of sound".
A distinct reality for these projects is their appeal to artists as paying gigs, supporting the community of artists who cannot typically survive on the sales of their works. Thaemlitz adds, "These attempts are generally conditioned by budgets, whether the collaborators are actually able to physically work in the same space, whether that space is the actual final location, etc... I think it's really important not to get too starry-eyed about the heights of an art-form without also being pragmatic about the financial, political and social lows. I think one large factor for the sudden "interest in audio art" is the ongoing collapse of the commercial audio marketplace (such as the distributor EFA's closure, which forced many labels out of business, etc), which leaves a lot of producers like myself scattering for alternative income and taking it on like part-time work. A lot of musicians and artists don't like to talk about economics, but in the end, it's funding that drives this stuff, even if we're still talking about low-pay and even pro-bono work".
The converging of location into sound art continues and progresses at a rapid rate. With digital technology leading music in ten different directions, the manipulation of sound and its pathway into art presents an intriguing outlook on the future of electronic music and its offspring, leading to the ultimate: a complete sensory experience processed with infinite detail, individual to its place.
[Chris Toenes] POPMATTERS.COM, May 2005 (http://popmatters.com/music/columns/toenes/050516.shtml)

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JACOB KIRKEGAARD - ER DET MUSIK?
Emil Kragh-Schwarz, Soundvenue.com April 2005

Fra højtalerne lyder Leif Inges udgave af Beethovens 9. Symfoni, trukket ud over 24 timer.
»Det får mig til at tænke på tid. Hvornår gør musik ellers det?«, spørger han retorisk. Jacob
Kirkegaard har for nylig stukket en mikrofon i jorden, optaget lyden og udgivet det.

Alle, der kender bare lidt til Kirkegaards katalog vil vide, at han ikke er en mand, der er bange for eksperimenter, eller for utraditionel tankegang, om man vil. Han har været vidt omkring og kommer det stadig. Som 12-årig tog han på egen hånd til København for at overvære en Slayer-koncert, og senere begyndte han at spille i et punkband. Som 19-årig opdagede han og blev betaget af konkretmusikken, og netop den blev vigtig for hans senere kunstneriske udfoldelser. I 2002 udgav han sammen med englænderen Philip Jeck det anmelderroste album 'Soaked' på det toneangivende engelske pladeselskab Touch, og året efter udgav selskabet Bottrop-Boy hans andet album '01.02'.
Nu er Jacob Kirkegaard så endnu engang albumaktuel. Denne gang med et aldeles utraditionelt værk. Det nye album, 'Eldfjall', består af en række avancerede optagelser af vulkansk aktivitet på Island.

Det er imidlertid langt fra kun albums Kirkegaards karriere har kastet af sig. Sideløbende har han stået for lydsiden til utallige udstillinger, og i øvrigt arbejdet med adskillige andre projekter. For nylig uropførte han på Danmarks Radios P2 et stykke konkretmusik bestående af lyden fra den motor, som får restauranten i tv-tårnet i Berlin til at dreje rundt. Projekter som det, eller da han havde optaget lyde fra Barsebäck, og ved hjælp af dem jammede med en kunstnerkollega bevæbnet med californiske han-cikaders parringssang, har fascineret verden over.

ET RENT TILFÆLDE

Forskellen på projekter som de nævnte og 'Eldfjall' er, at Kirkegaard på sidstnævnte har ladet optagelserne fremstå uberørte. De er hverken blevet efterbehandlet eller smeltet sammen. Hvert enkelt af albummets 9 numre, der alle har fået navn efter forskellige kulturers jordgudinder, består af de nøgne optagelser af den vulkanske aktivitet på Island. Jacob Kirkegaard fortæller at det faktisk var et tilfælde, at han opdagede kvaliteten i netop disse lyde. Oprindelig var han på Island for at optage lyden af nordlys, da han fik ideen til at optage de lyde, som skulle vise sig at være så rige, at han altså valgte at udgive dem. Det er imidlertid ikke en almindelig mikrofon, men en mere avanceret og meget følsom kontaktmikrofon, et accelerometer, der gør projektet muligt. Han viser glad den umiddelbart simpelt udseende mikrofon frem og forklarer: »Det er ikke fordi jeg er specielt interesseret i teknik.
Det er de muligheder den giver mig, der er interessante«. Mikrofonen gør det muligt, at optage lyden indefra. Den blev stukket ned i jorden i områder med vulkansk aktivitet, og de bedste optagelser kom med på pladen. At Kirkegaard i netop dette tilfælde, har valgt ikke at efterbehandle lydene skyldes den enorme rigdom, de indeholder. Den selv samme rigdom som ifølge ham selv legitimerer at udgive dem.

HVAD ER DET EGENTLIG HAN LAVER?

Med 'Eldfjall' er der tale om et værk, der ikke indeholder nogen umiddelbar rytme. Den dikteres ikke for lytteren, der selv må definere den. I det hele taget må man unægtelig sige, at det er et album, der bryder en hel del gængse rammer, og spørgsmålet er, om der overhovedet er tale om musik. End ikke bagmanden selv er sikker: »Måske er det snarere lydkunst, eller hvad man skal kalde det«. Han pointerer imidlertid, at han kommer fra musikmiljøet og vel er en slags musiker, »men jeg er ligeglad. Jeg vil egentlig gerne have, at der bare bliver fokuseret på lyd. Der jo er grundlaget for musik. Det vigtigste er, at jeg laver, det jeg tror på«.
»Det vigtigste er, at det lyder godt, og derfor er det vel også musik på et eller andet plan. Jeg kan for eksempel også godt lide, at lytte til bands som Rhythm & Sound, og jeg kunne sagtens forestille mig igen at spille et instrument og lave mere dikterende musik, men man må prioritere - og jeg synes det jeg laver er interessant«.
Trods det, at lytteren selv må begive sig ind i værket, og definere dets rytme, ser Kirkegaard ikke 'Elfjall' som et vanskeligt værk.
»Det gælder mere om at være åben. Hvis man går ind til det med en forudindtaget mening om, hvad man skal høre, fungerer det ikke. Men sådan er det jo med al musik. Jeg synes, man altid bør forsøge at være åben. Alt andet vil være synd for musikken. Regner man med at høre en bestemt genre, vil man ofte blive skuffet. Sådan mener jeg også det er med mennesker, man børe altid være åben«.

KIRKEGAARDS FORTÆLLINGER

»Jeg vil gerne undersøge skjulte lyde. De lyde, som er hemmelige, som vi ikke hører normalt«,
fortæller han. Og det er i den forbindelse, at accelerometeret kommer ind i billedet. »Det er ligesom, hvis man lægger øret helt tæt til noget. For eksempel et bord eller en væg, så vil man høre dets summen. Man tænker jo ellers ikke normalt på, at de ting laver lyde«. Heri får vi også forklaringen på, hvorfor eksempelvis Barsebäck-projektet havde sin berettigelse. »Jeg synes, det er interessant, at Barsebäck står og synger for os«.

Et andet godt eksempel på det interessante ved de skjulte lyde er et af Jacob Kirkegaards næste projekter, hvortil han introducerer begrebet 'sonic mapping'. Han har, med sin kontaktmikrofon, optaget vibrationerne i et langt metalgelænder ved Rhinen. Begrebet skal forstås på den måde, at når noget ændrer sig på Rhinen, ja, så vil gelænderets vibrationer også gøre det. Hver gang et skib kommer forbi, vil gelænderets lyde altså viderebringe det til os. Endnu engang parrer han altså musik med noget andet.

Hvad det andet så er, kan man diskutere længe. I hvert fald kan man konstatere at Jacob Kirkegaard
laver lyde. Han er ikke en musiker i traditionel forstand, og alene det faktum, at han udfordrer vores
opfattelse af, hvad musik kan være, gør ham interessant. Om man kan lide hans musik eller ej, skal
være op til den enkelte, men at han bidrager med noget, som alle musikelskere kunne få noget ud af
at tænke over. Man bør give ham en chance, og gør man det, ja, så bør man være åben.

[Emil Kragh-Schwarz] Soundvenue.com 8. April 2005

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PÅ JAGT EFTER LYD
Peter Albrechtsen, CITADEL April 2005


Jacob Kirkegaard rejser konstant kloden rundt for at optage eller optræde med sine unikke lyde. I
anledning af det aktuelle album "Eldfjall" fortæller den ukendte verdensstjerne om de fascinerende lyde, der gemmer sig i alt fra danskvand til vulkaner.

Jacob Kirkegaard er lige vendt hjem fra Berlin, da CITADEL fanger ham i København, inden han et par dage efter drager videre til Køln. Den 29-årige globetrotter er forlængst blevet en efterspurgt herre på den internationale lydkunst-scene og er nærmest altid på farten enten for at give koncerter eller for at finde flere fortryllende lyde, han kan optage. Han fortæller entusiastisk om et sted, han netop har besøgt i det tyske:
”Jeg var på en bullermørk restaurant i Berlin, hvor kun blinde arbejder. Udover at maden smagte meget mere intenst, så begyndte jeg at høre ting så højt, at danskvandens brusen var som stikkende nåle i mit højre øre. Det var ikke just sød musik for ørene, selv om jeg normalt elsker lyden af vand og bobler – jeg har faktisk før komponeret med de lyde.”
Anekdoten siger alt om, at Kirkegaard konstant har ørene på stilke. Som han selv udtrykker det: ”Jeg
kan fordybe mig i verdens støjhelveder og lade dem åbne den øverste lem i mit hoved, så jeg kan flyve frit”. En poetisk måde at forklare på, hvorfor og hvordan han finder frem til fascinerende lyde allevegne. Eksempelvis blandt islandske vulkaner, hvor han har optaget det aktuelle album "Eldfjall" ved at stikke mikrofoner ned i undergrunden og derved forevige ”jordens musik”. En oplevelse, der har gjort dybt indtryk:
”Dét at rejse så langt for lydens skyld, dét at ligge på knæ i isnende kulde dag efter dag med ørene
nede i jorden, og numsen stikkende op i gudernes himmel, dét at bringe et usynligt stykke lyd hjem til
finpudsning for derefter at udfolde det i et 18 kanals højtalersystem med subwoofere, og så få en
stakkels klub i København eller New York til at ryste i bukserne over naturens ophøjede helvede. Det er altså slet ikke værst...”

Jacob opdagede magien ved lyd, da han som ”8-10-årig” skruede rundt i frekvenserne på en
ghettoblaster med kortbølgeradio og opdagede, at der henne for enden af skalaen pludselig skete ting og sager i højttalerne. ”Der gemte sig en fjern underverden af arabiske toner og slidte morsesignaler, som dykkede ind og ud af et mudret hav af tyk elektrisk vind og radiostøj. Jeg forestillede mig, at lyd var noget, der rejste rejste igennem kabler, usynlige netværk eller dybt nede i jorden. Hver gang, lyden forsvandt under støjen, tænkte jeg, at et vildt blæsevejr et sted imellem Saudi Arabien og Danmark ruskede så vildt i lyden, at den blev blæst omkuld.”
Lyder det nørdet? Det er det også. Men det er samtidig udtryk for et unikt forhold til lyd, der har gjort
Jacob Kirkegaard til et verdensnavn. Han bliver dog boende her, hvor det desværre er de færreste, der kender ham.”I dag er det ligemeget, hvor man bor i min branche. Når jeg er i Island, Tyskland eller Frankrig, så bor jeg dér og indånder stedet. Men det er da altid rart at komme tilbage til Vesterbro igen. Også selvom det regner, og folk råber ad én, når man cykler i den forkerte retning på cykelstien. Jeg er rejst fra Danmark for længe siden. Det gør jeg, hver gang jeg tager på lydekskursioner eller ud for at studere. Og det er dejligt at trække vejret. Men det er forhåbentligt også dejligt for Danmark, når jeg kommer hjem med en ny vind.”

[Peter Albrechtsen] CITADEL, København April 2005

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LYDEN AF JORDKLODEN INDEFRA
Lotte Folke Kaarsholm, DAGBLADET INFORMATION March 2005

Lydkunstneren Jacob Kirkegaard afslører verdens hemmelige lyde med accelerometre og
elektromagnetiske antenner og får hver dag mere respekt for sit materiale.

Forbipasserende kan observere ham koncentreret kravlende på et gelænder langs Rhinen i Köln.
Liggende med hovedet helt nede i Islands boblende varme kilder. Eller siddende med øret klinet op ad vandrøret i dagligstuen, en reaktor på Barsebäck, eller bare en helt almindelig klippe. Jacob Kirkegaard, 29-årig kunstner, musiker og studerende ved Akademiet for Kunst og Medier i Köln, har gjort det til sin opgave at afsløre verdens hemmelige lyde. På torsdag udgiver han værket Eldfjall med nogle af sine resultater: lydene af de boblende øverste lag i Islands vulkaniske jord, optaget indefra med Kirkegaards helt egen teknik og sammensat i lydstykker med deres helt egen musik.
Spørger man Kirkegaard selv, hvordan han graver de hemmelige lyde frem, er det lidt som at tale med Georg Gearløs eller Storm P: ”Ideen til Eldfjall opstod, da jeg var i Island for at optage nordlys med en radiomodtager jeg havde bygget, som opfanger elektromagnetiske svingninger i det meget lave spektrum, nordlysenes bølger ligger i. Hvis man tænder sådan en modtager herinde midt i byen, kan man næsten ikke høre andet end elektrisk støj. Men hvis man kommer væk fra civilisationen og op nordpå, hvor nordlysene er, så kan man opfange bølgerne fra de her solvinde. Jeg havde også taget mit accelerometer med for at optage noget is – jeg kan godt lide isoverflader, fordi de er sådan nogle midlertidige landområder, som opstår og forsvinder igen. Men så fandt jeg de her varme kilder, der boblede op overalt, og det var bare så oplagt at stikke accelerometeret ned i dem – og der åbnede sig en helt fantastisk verden.”
Accelerometeret, et af Kirkegaards foretrukne arbejdsredskaber, er en slags kontaktmikrofon – altså en mikrofon, som er i kontakt med sit materiale i stedet for at optage det på afstand. Det bliver mest brugt på kraftværker eller fly- og bilfabrikker til at sætte på skroget for at høre, om alt fungerer som det skal. I Island stak Kirkegaard en lille pind skruet fast til accelerometeret ned i de spruttende, kogende og boblende jordlag, så vibrationerne kom direkte op i mikrofonen.
”Jorden havde en utrolig interessant lyd, fordi der er så stort et spektrum i den med dybe varme toner, høje frekvenser ovenover og en bevægelse der gav associationer til rytmer og musik – det var helt oplagt, at man kunne bruge den til at sætte den på som musik derhjemme eller spille til koncerter. Og så kom jeg helt direkte i kontakt med elementerne. Når jeg lå derude på knæ, og det var iskoldt, og kiggede med hovedet helt ned i de her spruttende ting der kom op - der følte jeg, at jeg skulle kigge væk. Fordi det var at kigge ind i jordens intime sprækker. Det er også derfor, jeg har opkaldte mine tracks efter jordgudinder: Det er en hyldest til det feminine og en anerkendelse af min oplevelse af, at der var sjæl i jorden.”

Kirkegaard har tidligere blandt andet udgivet lp’en Luftantenner sammen med Gry Bagøien i ensemblet Æter, soloalbummet 01.02 og Soaked med britiske Philip Jeck. Han er musiker, men han har med tiden trukket sig mere og mere tilbage fra at manipulere sine lyde. Når tracksene på Eldfjall træder frem som ild, lava, vand og liv i vekslende og dynamiske forløb, er det ikke fordi Kirkegaard har siddet og bearbejdet dem.

- Hvorfor skal man sidde og høre på lyden af noget varm jord?

”Jeg synes det er interessant at skabe en åbning ind til lyduniverser, der eksisterer og genererer sig selv helt uafhængigt af os. Tidligere arbejdede jeg mere kompositorisk med mine lyde og var heller ikke så konceptuel med, hvordan de skulle optages; jeg brugte almindelige mikrofoner og lakplader der gik i hak og sådan noget. Men med de nye projekter med kontaktmikrofonerne handler det om noget helt andet: Jeg åbner en port ind til en anden, uhørt verden – afslører den og bringer den ud af sit element, så man kan få øje for den. Det er en helt anden type lyd, fordi den kommer indefra; jeg penetrerer så at sige lyden. Der er et langt gelænder langs Rhinen nede i Köln. Det gelænder er sådan et grænseland, ligesom membranen i en højttaler. Og det står altså bare og synger. Af vinden, Rhinen og den kæmpemæssige strøm af skibe, der glider forbi. Og når jeg så sætter øret helt ned til det, så finder jeg jo en hemmelig verden derinde, af susen og syngen og svingninger.”
Jacob Kirkegaard er ved at lave et værk ud af gelænderet ved Rhinen til tysk radio. I sidste uge var han i Berlin med DR og optage lyden af fjernsynstårnets maskineri til en konkretmusik-koncert, der blev sendt live i programmet Radium, og forude venter et projekt med at optage lyden af døde og forladte steder. Undervejs har han fået mere og mere respekt for sit materiale: ”Når man har siddet en hel dag i Barsebäck 100 meter under jorden ved en reaktor og lyttet, mens man bliver mere og mere svedig i hænderne, går man ikke bare ind og smider rundt med sine optagelser i computeren bagefter. Hvem er jeg til at blande mig i de lyde? Jeg peger. Lyden af dig der går ude på gaden er ikke bare nogle skridt på en overflade. Trinene lyder også inde i jordkloden. Dén anden bevidsthed kan jeg godt lide.”

[Lotte Folke Kaarsholm] DAGBLADET INFORMATION Marts 2005

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TRACKING DOWN THE SOUND CELLS
Sarah Schulze, Stadt Revue, Cologne Germany. March 2005

Jacob Kirkegaard gets vibes off the hidden places

Music, from the inside of things: a rhythmical clattering that blends into a chord of buzzing signals and then dissolves again; a distant drone that comes closer until your skull and your intestines start to hum quietly. The acoustic spheres of sound artist Jacob Kirkegaard originate from resonant spaces hitherto unheard and undreamt of - deep in the earth and high above the arctic horizon. On the occasion of his CD release "Eldfjall" on London-based label "Touch", the 29-year old Dane presents a sound installation at the Kölner Kunstverein in Cologne, Germany. His recent spatial-acoustic compositions involve natural phenomena that the artist discovered himself. For the tones that sing and rustle on Kirkegaard's tracks would not be audible, let alone admirable for their musical potential, if he had not fished them out of the silence. If these tones existed at all as long as there was nobody to listen to them?  An interesting question, but none that matters much to Kirkegaard.  After all, he is not an "Eksistensfilosof" occupied with ontological matters but quite practically employed with the excavation of sound material. 
Kirkegaard knows how to approach Being and Time in Nothingness without taking a leap of faith: by diving right into it with a measuring instrument.  
Accelometers and hydrophones have become indispensable working tools for the artist. He was first introduced to them at the Academy of Media Art in Cologne where he immatriculated in 2001 to study with Anthony Moore and other renowned artists and media theorists.  Beside his own work and musical collaborations - e.g. with Philip Jeck for the CD "Soaked", also released on Touch - Kirkegaard is now involved in a wide variety of artistic projects. In Cologne, he compiled a sound collage for the award- winning experimental documentary film "Visit Iraq" by Kamal Aljafari. Also, Yoshie Shibahara's dance performance "ISA - Ultima Thule" with ice sounds of Jacob Kirkegaard won the Cologne Dance Award in 2004.
 
Most of the time, however, Kirkegaard is out sound-hunting: chasing after volatile sounds in the ether and after locked resonance spaces in which he suspects a hidden music. His hunting equipment consists of a bag full of complicated contact microphones - small spears and antennas and magnets that he uses to impale the prey and apply leeches to it.  Thus he captures noises that have never reached the ear: in the nuclear fission center of an atomic power plant, in the crystal tears of an ice block, in the fire craters of geysirs and volcanos. The volcanic earth sounds of the "Eldfjall"-project, for example, Kirkegaard brought home from a trip to Iceland in 2004 when he was translating the frequency of the northern polar light into the acoustical. With the spheric "solar wind" he arranged an installation, which is presently exhibited at Kiasma in Helsinki. The trained musician and performer understands his expeditions as research excursions into phenomena that have been explained scientifically but hitherto remained inaccessible to everyday experience.
"Everywhere in the cosmos there are such things as sound cells, with their own interior lives", Kirkegaard explains. "They are independent, autopoetic organisms without any direct relation to us, but nevertheless indirectly formed by our existence. If I can put my ear to their membrane, to the vibrating skin of such a cell, in order to record what is going on in there - then I am very happy." 
His artistic and artificial way of sound documentation represents a challenge to the claim to objectivity of any  "true to life" acoustical recording. For Kirkegaard's work proves that if we listen to things from another perspective, nothing sounds - naturally! - as it sounds to the ear:
"It's as though I can climb into it. And the listeners are no longer kept outside, either, but they can enter and feel the darkness. The sounds in there are so much denser, and more compressed."  By presenting these sounds in an art context in clubs, museums and at festivals throughout the world, Kirkegaard wants to offer to his audience not simply music but also "make their brains fly" with a concept:  "After all, this here is not just a guitar solo. It is nature speaking its own language."  Kirkegaard particularly emphasizes the importance to leave a free space in which everyone can find their own access to this language. In fact, the recordings he made of the earth are in themselves so multi-faceted and expressive that the artist decided not to manipulate them - out of respect for their overwhelming natural strength and beauty.

During his latest explorations of natural forces, Kirkegaard has also come across the Rhine, which he calls " the most powerful resonant body in Cologne". Presently he is working on a "sound-mapping" project that concentrates particularly on the river and its acoustic environment and is to be presented as a radio piece by the "Studio für akustische Kunst" at WDR. "The Rhine has a lot to offer, sound-wise", says Kirkegaard contently, "above all those long metal railings along the riverbank promenades. And the bridges. There is so much volatile movement in it, and a lot of secrets."  If, as the German philosopher Sloterdijk once said, the world is not sound but the space of its possibility - then the Danish namesake of a philosopher has a great eavesdropping potential awaiting him there.

[Sarah Schulze] Stadt Revue, Cologne Germany. March 2005

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JEG VIL SÆTTE MENNESKET FRI
Ralf Christensen, Politiken July 2003


Jacob Kirkegaard
Blev født 25. maj 1975 i Esbjerg og voksede op i Ribe. Han begyndte at spille musik som 12 årig i to paralelle forløb. Punk, siden experimenterende rock på guitar og balkanmusik på percussion - en genre hans far selv betvinger harmonikaen indenfor. "Når vi tog opvasken eller lavede mad, så hørte vi tit balkanmusik. Og min far sagde meget tidligt til mig: Prøv at finde takten. Så jeg lærte meget hurtigt de skæve taktarter, fortæller Kirkegaard. Hjemmet havde tidligere været beboet at Rued Langgaard, dengang han var domorganist i i 1940´erne i byen. Ja, Jacob havde sågar værelse i den ærværdige komponists musikrum.
Som 18 årig flyttede han til København, og året efter havde han sin store elektroniske musikåbenbaring, da han på P1 hørte konkretmusik fra genrenes opfindere Pierre Schaeffer og Pierre Henry. "Dét havde jeg lyst til at udforske på min egen måde". Og det gjorde han.
I ´95 dannede han sammen med Gry Bagøien det nu opløste experimenterende electronica/ hiphop band Æter. Og sideløbende tog han undervisning i klassisk Cello. I oktober 2001 rejste han til Köln for at studere i det såkaldte Sound Department på Academy of Media Arts. Han har to år tilbage af sin uddannelse.

Vind, gelændre, klaver, støj og knitrende electronica i dramatiske blandinger. Danske, koncertaktuelle Jacob Kirkegaard forsøger at berige elektronisk avantgarde med publikumsappeal.

I baggrunden hvisker noget, der lyder som en brise forvildet i et hav af løv. Måske er det bare telefonforbindelsen, måske er det faktisk nynnen fra den vindhave på den franske vestkyst, som Jacob Kirkegaard sidder i. Den 28-årige elektroniske musiker er på besøg for at lave musik til en installation under en såkaldt vindfestival. Under næste semester på Academy of Media Arts i Köln vil han konstruere et instrument, der sender midi-signaler til en computer under påvirkning af netop vind. Hans midtvejsprojekt samme sted er inkorporeringen af en nisporssampler i en gammel drejeskivetelefon. Og sidste år lavede han optagelser med kontaktmikrofoner af "et flere kilometer langt jerngelænder, som står og vibrerer ved Rhinen - simpelthen på grund af kraften i floden. Et instrument, som lever sit
eget liv".
Nej, Jacob Kirkegaard er ikke bare en gennemsnitlig elektronisk nørd begravet i sin laptop computer, og det gennemsyrer hans debutalbum '01.02'. Ganske vist er her masser af mikroskopiske nørklerier, men ikke så meget med digitalt genererede klange som med virkelighedens lyde, med opklippede sangstemmer og loopede traditionelle instrumenter i både dissonante dramatiske, lyrisk subtile og ambient perspektivrige kompositioner.
"Jeg kan lide at skabe noget, der appelerer til det underbevidste. Og det er vigtigt at lave noget, som ikke er defineret. Uhørte underverdener af lyd. Jeg vil da gerne lave en melodi, men vil lige så gerne holde musikken på et plan, hvor jeg ikke siger for meget. Hvor jeg ikke siger: 'her er melodien, du skal høre, eller her er rytmen, du skal høre'. Du må selv mærke den, du må selv kravle derind"

Men du skal vel også undgå at komme for langt ud, hvis du vil have publikum med?

"Ja, og der mener jeg, at der er noget, der hedder undersøgelse, og noget, der hedder musik. Jeg synes, der er for mange laptopmusikere, som sidder og fortaber sig i undersøgelsen. Det bliver tit et uinteressant laboratorium. Det er vigtigt for mig at fastholde publikum, at lave noget som har musikaspekter i sig".

Det må være et svært sted at befinde sig: Imellem avantgarde og kommunikation.

"Jeg synes ikke, det er svært. Og jeg synes folk tager det pænt. Der er sjældent at folk siger: Hvad er det her for noget hat?"

Kirkegaard bruger gerne virkelighedens lyde og stemninger som afsæt for sin musik, live såvel som på albummet '01.02', der rummer soniske snapshots og samplinger fra de byer, hvor albummet er optaget og komponeret: København, Paris, Köln, Bourgogne.

"Essenesen i at lave musik, er at kunne finde ud af at transmittere det, der kommer ind i en. Det som kommer ovenfra. Eller udefra. Jeg skal ikke lyde religiøs. Udefra. Indtryk giver udtryk. Og når musik igangsætter verdener inden i dig, som ikke er konkret funderede, så er det kunst. For musik er også er flugt fra den verden, vi lever i, synes jeg. Samtidig med at det er en anden måde at anskue verden på, som er fri. Politisk kunst interesserer mig ikke et hak, for politik har et sted, den vil hen. Det har jeg ikke. Jeg vil sige: Her har du et helle. Her kan du komme, og du kan lytte og få nogle billeder eller inspirationer eller tanker. Blive sexuelt ophidset. Eller hvad der nu sker. Jeg vil sætte mennesket fri", siger Jacob Kirkegaard, mens vinden eller telefonlinjen hvisker forunderlige uforståeligheder under hans stemme.

[Ralf Christensen] Dagbladet Politiken 18 Juli 2003.