As the dark of night began to creep in, folks from the Swarthmore community filled the Lang Music Concert Hall for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity: the world premiere of the musical collective Hans Lüdemann and the Atlantic Seven. Moment by moment, the seven instruments strewn across the hardwood floor gained voices, while seven artists slowly made their way onto the stage and into the light. The sound of the auditorium came alive as melodic rollercoasters emanated from these seven performers. Each member carefully but boldly molded with one another to push and pull the confines of musical expression.
On Friday, Feb. 28, at 8 p.m., seven musicians from around the world collaborated on a Cooper Series performance titled “Collisione Mondiale: Songs from Inner and Outer Space.” The experimental jazz project, created and directed by Hans Lüdemann, consisted of ten pieces and an encore. Each piece combined contemporary music making, improvisation, and traditional jazz techniques. In haunting beauty, cascades of notes rose and fell throughout the piano, violin, bass, drums, balafon, saxophone, and voice.
Former Cornell Visiting Professor Hans Lüdemann, the mastermind behind the performance, played the grand piano and keyboard. Swarthmore welcomed his return after two visiting professorships at the college. Drawing from decades of experience, German musical education, and international accolades, Lüdemann’s control of the piano was exceptional. As Lüdemann furrowed his brows in intense concentration, his fingers glided across the keys while he curled himself into the instrument, and the music ebbed and flowed. Lüdemann’s technique varied, from using only two index fingers, to brusquely pressing the keys with his hand, to, finally, reaching inside the piano and pulling the strings while he played.
Violinist Mark Feldman brought a heart-wrenching tone to the concert. Drawing on his experience in quartets, trios, orchestras, and other groups across the globe, his nuanced performance reflected his mastery of the violin. Feldman’s expressive tone brought out a rich pattern of notes, both gritty and smooth.
Nick Dunston incorporated the bass as a grounding force to the pieces. As he strummed and plucked along, the deep vibrations of the bass spread across the room. The expansive resonance flowed. Dunston’s performance incorporated elements of percussion and musicality throughout the concert.
Where to begin with Christian Thomé? In true Mary Poppins fashion, he took contraption after contraption out of seemingly nowhere. He produced almost alien noises from what otherwise appeared to be a typical drum set. From Thomé twisting a drum stick vertically on a cymbal, to sweeping a small broom across the surface of the floor tom, to ringing bells, to simply tracing his finger along the rim of a drum, he skillfully interweaved expert rhythm making and playful techniques for an incredibly engaging performance.
On the balafon, Aly Keïta brought a wonderful, melodic sound to the group. The balafon is a West African instrument similar to a xylophone or marimba. A recipient of the German Jazz Prize in 2022, Keïta’s decades of experience in jazz and West African music manifested in his masterful performance. Within each piece, the lovely round tones of the balafon glittered against the rest of the instruments.
Bobby Zankel’s saxophone performance was simultaneously bright and deeply emotional. His passion was clearly expressed through his tender intonation. He carefully harmonized with the other melodies, and delivered his few solos throughout, exhibiting the saxophone’s soulful sound.
Last, but certainly not least, Tamara Lukasheva’s voice was ethereal. As a vocalist who’s performed in venues across the globe, Lukasheva’s talent was awe-inspiring. Her vocal control created sound streams that washed over the room, twinkling against the backdrop of the other instruments, as her voice rang like an otherworldly siren.
All of these performers brought their instruments to life. Throughout the concert, the artists built on each other, actively shaping the fascinating structure of these compositions. The seven musicians created unique works that can never be performed the exact way again.
Reflecting on the concert, some outstanding pieces come to mind. The central song, “Collisione Mondiale,” moved from a catchy and repetitive strain into a loud mosaic of instruments, evoking disquiet and frustration. It began with a call-and-response between the balafon and the piano, later joined by a sorrowful, sweeping, high-pitched melody by the violin. During the middle of the piece, improv shattered the performance, with Thomé’s abrupt claps thrown, rattlesnake sounds, and unique cymbal techniques. After a quieter interlude with sharp percussion, the song regained its melodic footing. However, each instrument continued to intentionally clash against each other, with waxing and waning uneasiness. The song cultivated a fluid atmosphere, coloring the rest of the concert.
This piece contrasted starkly to the prior, upbeat piece, “Wusten-Maus,” or “Desert Mouse.” Lüdemann dedicated the song to a mouse he had seen running across the floor of Sharples. The tone of the piece matched this anecdote: it was somewhat joyful, but simultaneously fast-paced … and almost scary at times.
One of my favorite pieces was a song from the second act, “Erdfarben,” which roughly translates to “earth colors” or “ochre.” Without a formal introduction, the song sprung from the conclusion of the previous piece, “Monumenti.” It began with silence except for Lukasheva’s voice which enchanted the audience with her repeated tonal clarity. The music began to spiral, as Lukasheva’s vocals melted into saxophone, piano, and balafon. The music’s resonance permeated across the walls, ascending and declining, with moments of solemn piano and experimental percussion. “Erdfarben” matched the concert’s breadth of emotion.
Through music, Lüdemann wanted to express what many feel right now: uncertainty, depression, and anger over the current state of the world. The title of the concert, “Collisione Mondiale,” drew from the central piece of the performance, a song full of chaos. According to Lüdemann, the song expressed the mood of the time. He said, “I wasn’t sure if I should write a piece. There was kind of an urge to do it, to get rid of it, to express it, because you can’t change it.” He reflected on how it resonated with listeners, “People reacted to this piece in a similar kind of way, so it seemed to hit a certain nerve.” Lüdemann said, “It’s not a beautiful piece, not in a common sense. So I was kind of shy about it in the beginning, but then I found that people reacted to it, and I thought, ‘This is an important thing, this is what it’s about.’” He added that the core of the concert is, “really expressing this fear of the whole weird world.”
While Lüdemann calls his work “not beautiful,” many in the audience believed the opposite to be true. These seven artists pushed the boundaries of traditional music making. The concert, beyond its beauty, was an emotional experience. It is impossible to replicate their resonance by simply listening to the artists’ recordings on Spotify or watching previous performances on Youtube (though I would recommend you do so). Their collaborative compositions were singular in their magnificence as products of improvisational wonder which can never be exactly replicated again.
So, if you are wondering whether or not you should go to the next Swarthmore concert, take a chance. It might bring you on a journey through inner — and outer — space.
