Kjartan Sveinsson - Der Klang der Offenbarung des Göttlichen

A Closer Listen

We don’t review much opera ~ our last one was Colin Stetson’s Sorrow.  But Kjartan Sveinsson‘s Der Klang der Offenbarung des Göttlichen (The Explosive Sonics of Divinity) is too solid to ignore.  The former Sigur Rós member offers a gorgeous, heartfelt work on double vinyl that recalls ( ) while paving its own way.

Even those who don’t like opera may be moved to tears by the opening piece, which is all orchestra, no choir.  Listening is like enjoying an overture that never ends.  The emotion increases note by note, stanza by stanza, as the main theme increases in thickness and volume, inexorably moving toward a restrained, tear-stained conclusion.  End the album here, and it’s still worth the price.  But as they say in the commercials, “Wait, there’s more!  If you order now, you’ll also get …”

The next three parts mix orchestra and choir, and reflect their inspiration: Icelandic author Halldór Laxness’ novel World Light.  The novel follows the life of a young poet, whose life experiences seek to drain his imagination and murder his dreams.  Through it all, the poet yearns to experience the light breaking through the clouds, but often finds beauty only in retrospect:

“Was this perhaps life, then?—to have loved one summer in youth and not to have been aware of it until it was over, some sea-wet footprints on the floor and sand in the prints, the fragrance of a woman, soft loving lips in the dusk of a summer night, sea birds; and then nothing more; gone.”

The choir bears his almighty sadness like a cherished burden.  They sorrow and they sing; their faces are cast down, and yet they walk.  One imagines a nearly-deserted church, an old Icelandic priest, the comfort of knowing that one has borne the weight of the world through fire, water and stained glass, and has not shattered; that one’s only book, seemingly lost, lives through a memory.  This is not joy, but understanding; not hope, but perseverance; and through it all, transcendence.  Sveinsson, in conjunction with co-author Ragnar Kjartansson, has created an opera for the ages, a reminder of the nation’s artistic glories during a time of political turmoil.  This is the opera’s greatest triumph: that it finds grace in unexpected places, arriving far after the prayers have ended.

This past summer, Sigur Rós toured as a three-piece, with a bombastic set and expansive light show.  Admittedly, the pyrotechnics were amazing, but something was missing.  Listening to this album, one remembers the explosive sonics of divinity that drew us in, once upon a time.  On the one hand, we’re a bit saddened that Sveinsson is now on his own.  On the other, we’re overwhelmingly proud.  He’s spread his wings and flown toward the light, and the light has taken him in.  (Richard Allen)

Available here

Pitchfork 78

After spending fifteen years—nearly half of his life—writing, recording and touring with the Icelandic band Sigur Rós, composer Kjartan Sveinsson finally decided in 2013 that he was ready for something else. In his time with the band, Sveinsson was responsible for bringing classical elements to Sigur Rós’ music, but since branching out on his own he has leapt completely into the composing world. Beginning with an orchestral and choral piece performed (but never released) in 2010 called “Credo,” Sveinsson began to establish that he not only had an ear for beautiful melodies but also possessed the trickier skill of understanding of how to properly conjure grandeur. He followed that work with scores to two films by fellow Icelander Rúnar Rúnarsson, the austere Volcano (2011) and Sparrows (2015), as well as two collaborations with artist Ragnar Kjartansson, each of which showcased his ability to write for context and to match sight with sound.

Der Klang der Offenbarung des Göttlichen, with a title loosely translated from German to mean “The Explosive Sonics of Divinity,” is Sveinsson’s third collaboration with Kjartansson, and by far his most substantive work yet. Unlike “SS Hangover” and “Take Me Here By the Dishwasher,” each of which were conceptual art pieces for which Sveinsson composed a durational accompaniment, Der Klang is a complete work, one that stands majestically on its own.

Although structured as an opera, it diverges significantly from the form, featuring neither stage actors nor any kind of evident storytelling. Broken into four “acts” titled “Teil” I-IV, each piece was performed as an aural backdrop to a series of minimalistic, static sets designed by Kjartansson, with only subtle environmental changes to the set (flashing lights, burning fires, background colors changing) over the course of each’s running time. The sets’ visuals are elegantly designed but their simplicity belies the more complex beauty of the music itself.

While there are no actors onstage, there are vocals across the latter three compositions, which in performances were delivered by a chorus located in the orchestra pit. And there is, if not a libretto a connection to a story, apparently inspired by Nobel Laureate Halldór Laxness’ novel World Light, but it is entirely impressionistic. World Light is about the life of a young poet seeking greatness whose expectations for success aren’t ever met, causing him to seek solace and and beauty in his own failure.

“Teil I” stands out from the following three pieces, for being both the lone track without vocals as well as for its brooding and ominous mood. Kjartansson’s set for “Teil I” was a backdrop of a rocky sea bay on a dark gray night, with only waves moving across the screen, but the music adds its own suggested image to this tableau—a ghost ship approaching or departing slowly, perhaps. The seesawing string melodies slowly evolve into piercing glissandi so cacophonous it nearly shuts down the senses; its extreme simplicity only serves to enhance its power.

The following two compositions illuminate the grey skies with rays of sunlight, however faint. “Teil II” begins with a funereal choral piece reminiscent of “Orphic Hymn,” from Jóhann Jóhannsson’s Orphée earlier this year. The vocal intonations continue unaccompanied for three minutes before being joined by a sea of violins and cellos, which gently provide counterpoint by infusing a delicate sense of hope into the proceedings. Though not exactly sunny, on “Teil III,” another orchestral-choral work, Sveinsson turns tentatively towards more optimistic stirrings. It’s curious that Kjartansson’s set piece is just a frame of a house burning down in the darkness of night, because it’s easy to imagine an entirely different visual—a film scene of hard-earned epiphany, maybe, a broken character realizing their lot and resolving to improve it.

On the opera’s final evocative act, “Teil IV,” Sveinsson returns to this sense of human resolve of as our salvation. Beginning with a droning cello and wistful female alto, Der Klang’s closing piece speaks to the power of personal commitment in the face of struggles big or small. The chorus vocals soar as high as the strings themselves, surging like a tidal wave that mirrors the first piece, a wall of sound that is both crushing and somehow comforting.

Der Klang boasts all the qualities we tend to associate with sweeping modern neo-classical—it's beautiful, reflective, sad. But to slap the commonly used “ethereal” tag on it does it a disservice. Sveinsson has a light touch, but his work hits a deeper and more visceral level, permeating and lingering long after it’s subsided. Sveinsson has a preternatural sense of scale and pacing, and seeing how powerfully he can provide canvases for ephemeral pieces of art raises the question of how he would do trying his hand at something bigger: A traditional libretto-and-song opera, or to re-infuse his talents in the more open but anchored spaces of rock music. Whatever he does, he has already quietly announced himself as a major talent.