Anders Hana & Morten Joh on the Norwegian folk music that inspired Naaljos Ljom

Ziúr’s “headstrong, mature” punk approach and love of sound manipulation make up major pillars of her work. When I ask her about her influences, at first she has difficulty coming up with an answer: “Well, not that noisy construction site outside, that’s for sure.” But just a little later, she comes up with a convincing reply: “My faithful salad bowl is for sure one of my influences, for years now. And I recently made some recordings with packing tape. It was the end of the roll and it made all kinds of nice, rhythmic ‘tshwop’ sounds when I pulled on it, also in the low frequencies.” The sound of strips of tape being ripped off a table comes through the Skype connection. “This roll of tape is the OG (Original Gangster).” It’s an organic sound that creates a whole sonic world of its own; a characteristic ingredient that corresponds to Ziúr’s surprising way of cooking: new alchemistic elements are constantly bubbling to the surface in her layered work full of distorted samples — at times hard and explosive, at others softer and more flowing. And the same applies to her working process. “I don’t really have a work routine. It goes in waves. Sometimes I’ll work for really long stretches, hours at a time during a short period; then I have normally have to spend a few weeks finding myself again. It ebbs and flows.” A similar dynamic characterises her collaborations. Her recent intensive cooperation with James Ginzburg (of Emptyset) under the name Myxomy — their first official collaborative performance will be at Rewire, with lighting design by Theresa Baumgartner — is built on mutual musical challenges. She knew Ginzburg already from previous collaborations, including through his Bristol- and Berlin-based label Subtext. Last year on their debut record Myxomy they created a mix of pop and experimental electronics by expanding on one another’s work.

It was also Ginzburg who introduced Ziúr to young Vietnamese multimedia collective Ră ’ n Cạp Đuôi Collective. She worked as a Thê ’ (2021), giving the world an insight into the experimental scene in Ho Chi Minh City.

Weightless So in recent times, Ziúr was forced to spend a lot of time in the studio, though rays of light appeared on those occasions when the lockdown rules were temporarily relaxed, allowing the stage goddess in her to get out and play. “I don’t make my music for people, but I give them an opportunity to understand what I do, and to enjoy it. I give myself completely at every show. There are moments when I lose myself in the music and there’s a connection with the audience: then we’ve come full circle. At moments like these, I feel weightless and free, and I feel an immense oneness.” One such moment came at her tribal performance in Kraftwerk Berlin with dancer Kianí del Valle and video artist Sander Houtkruijer last October, during Berlin audio-visual arts festival Atonal. “That was magical, the energy was good and I saw people grinning — just for a while they didn’t need to wear a mask. That was one of the highlights of my life.” This collaboration came about when Kianí del Valle invited Ziúr to attend dance rehearsals to see whether she could quickly come up with music for one of her pieces. This was the first time that Ziúr was moved by dance, and she clicked immediately with Del Valle. When Ziúr was then not given the assignment after all, the two of them decided to take the time to work together on a new project. They entered into a deeper emotional relationship that allowed them to create art with complete freedom; to feel instead of to think.

Sander Houtkruijer had known Ziúr for a while already. The basis for their current cooperation dates back ten years, to the time they met on the street and made a plan to make a video together. Now, finally, there is a video to accompany the perfor-

mance and Houtkruijer is working on new music videos, working — like the others —  with an obsessive eye for detail. For their performance at Rewire, the three artists will continue where they left off at the Atonal show.

Four-four time In her DJ sets, peerlessly and taking lots of risks, Ziúr threads together several audio streams. The Beat-Sync function makes it possible to synchronise the speed and pitch of up to four CDJ players. She likes to use this as it gives her the opportunity to focus more on other aspects of the music. “What I find more problematic, and what almost no one is talking about, is the quantize button, which forces you to work in four-four time. I find this limiting, because I want more rhythmic possibilities.” She also denounces the toxic atmosphere that can sometimes arise in discussions of what a good DJ is, and in the focus on how you should use the technology. “People think up all kinds of rules for how you should live your life, or for how you should DJ. The reason they do this is to exercise power over others, so a dynamic is set up where they know how to DJ and you don’t. This excludes other perspectives, while it is these in particular that are really valuable. There are probably loads of people who have tens of thousands of Euros ’worth of equipment and are condescending about a kid with a ripped version of Ableton who doesn’t know how to use the pre-sets, but who does make the sickest numbers. It’s like Daniel Johnston, who was able to write the most sublime songs with really simple guitar playing. Like those people in the ‘Make America Great Again’ caps, they are clinging to their position of power and are scared of change, which of course is inevitable.”

Diversity The urge to force a change can be heard in Ziúr’s music, which throws you from one emotion to another in a wild maelstrom. “I think it’s important not to stand still, to keep on looking for new boundaries. I want to be surprised, to enter into confrontation with new things. If I keep on hearing the same thing, I get bored. I want to listen to new things, and I actively go looking for them. I am not going to get comfortably entrenched in a safe position. For example, a while ago I listened to the new album by The Weeknd. A record that is smart and flawlessly produced and getting five-star reviews, but in my opinion lacks an emotional foundation that allows you to be transported.”

In the current hit parades, authentic musicians trying to capture the zeitgeist in their own way are hard to find. “These days, most artists want fame above all else, instead of to make art for art’s sake or to get something out of themselves. I think this is a sad and dangerous development. But I do understand that people want to belong and don’t want to be bullied for standing up for their own ideas and opinions.”

Ziúr then tackles the subject of how an attempt is being made in contemporary culture to be inclusive, to ensure that more diverse opinions and people from different communities are heard. “For example, diversity is a buzzword at the moment. Suddenly loads of people think diversity is important, but they don’t really know why they should be striving for it. They don’t realise how truly beautiful it is to bring people with different opinions and backgrounds together around the table and learn from one another’s differences.” The result of this interpersonal and emotional hybridisation and cross-pollination can be heard in Ziúr’s work; hopefully, this will mean that more people pick up an ear for change.

This article appeared in Gonzo (circus) #168

Anders Hana and Morten Joh on the Norwegian folk music that informed Naaljos Ljom

Diving into the seams of Norwegian folk music, Anders Hana and Morten Joh as Naaljos Ljom unlock the harmonious potential hidden in their source material. For their new musical project, they turned to archives of traditional Norwegian folk and stumbled upon a treasure trove of microtonal melodies, nearly forgotten instruments and intoxicating rhythms. “We found music we Context — 23had never heard before, with revelation-like astonishment.”