Entering the Barbican Hall: Nil’s equipment is grouped into one central treasure trove in the middle of the stage. Moogs and keyboards stacked on top of each other so that they can be used simultaneously: Jean Michelle Jaar style. It builds anticipation for what is to come but there is also a beautiful sparseness to the rest of the stage. Nils enters, takes a bow, and puts some gloves on in a very knowingly exaggerated way, as if sharing a private joke with the audience.
He then shakes some water off them towards the audience – as if anointing them. We have already been admitted into his inner world.He takes his place amongst his instruments. The only light, coming from an instrument that looks like a giant glass vase on its side with flickering candle under it, a “Hydrocrystalophone”, also known as a glass Harmonium. He crouches over it with a concentrated reverence and elongates piercingly beautiful, sustained notes.
They cut through all pretence and have an immediate beauty that could bring you to tears. Augmented by the room he gives the notes to breathe: the silence is an equally important part of it. In the light you see a supersized silhouette of him on the wall as he does this, adding to the sense of intimacy.“Harmonium in the Well” builds on this, with the rhythm of the Harmonium mimicking an emerging snowy dawn.After setting this beautiful mood, Nils engages the audience to let them know that they will be part of the next track. He asks them to mimic animal noises in a jungle.
I am lucky enough to attend a couple of the Barbican performances and over both nights the first try is noisy and sounds like a Chimpanzee enclosure.The audience overeager. Like a kind parent, Nils informs them. that he is looking for a more nocturnal loop like “Crickets at night”, more ambient. They deliver on the second attempt.