«Think about a song you loved as a teenager. Try and remember. How it loved you back.» You can read Ronja Svaneborg’s score-based work Do I need to move my lips to be part of the choir? like a poem. Or you can perform it. With me, with yourself, with those people over there, or with a collective body stretching across time, distance, and environments. How would the voices interact, attune, resonate? And is my listening itself the performance?
Come, listen, find out.

We join a small gathering of friends on a balcony: Fran to your left, Sid and Moon to your right. It’s an early summer evening; the air is filled with birdsong and the sound piece Fuengu (2021) by Hong-Kai Wang. For this project, the artist explored the musical heritage of the family of Tsou Taiwanese composer Uong e Yatauyungana, using listening as a way to get to know the Psoseongana landscape. How can we listen in a non-extractive way? Can I hear without interest? Listen without taking anything away? And is there a way of hearing that is better – or worse? Who decides?

Hearing the grass grow, the drought, the flickering of a heat wave; listening to the melting of ice and the rise of sea levels. How does climate change sound? Where should I listen first, and how? Do I need suitable recording devices, or just a vivid imagination? Let us listen to a sound piece that may bring light to the dark, or rather: sound to silence – Water-Drought Patterns by Eleni-Ira Panourgia, created in 2023.

For 43 minutes, professional cellist Melody Giron plays Johann Sebastian Bach’s Cello Suite No.1 in G Major. Or rather – she plays parts of its prelude, over and over, searching for her tone. The ending never arrives. The beginning returns again and again, maintaining a state of perpetual preparation. Listen with us to Cally Spooner’s DEAD TIME (Melody’s Warm Up), 2022. Will you unlearn the melody? Can you listen like a beginner?