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Sammen med Søren Bigum og Søren Poulsen. 2018–2020.

Jeg var lige trådt ud af min gamle musikalske identitet. Tomrum. Ingen idé om, hvem jeg var på vej til at blive. Jeg søgte nye samarbejder. En anden måde at skabe på—mere legende, mere intuitiv.

Efter en lang søgen landede jeg i et bindingsværkshus i Ry. Hjemmet og studiet til Søren Bigum (Johan Blacksmith, Peter Sommer). Der startede en intens periode. Ekspanderende. Vild. Jeg kom i kontakt med sider af min kreativitet, jeg ikke anede fandtes. Mere fri. Mere abstrakt.

Men også: spændinger. Udfordringer. Vi trak i hver sin retning. Visionerne var for forskellige. Vi kom aldrig helt i mål. Det gjorde ondt. Og det efterlod mig i et tomrum det næste år—indtil jeg fandt mit loop-univers og en ny måde at skabe på. (Den historie tager vi en anden dag.)

Men jeg lærte mere om min musikalitet dér end nogen andet sted. Og jeg skylder Søren og Søren en stor tak.

I den periode skrev jeg sange, der stadig sidder fast i mig. De fik aldrig lov at finde jer. Det skal være løgn.

Så her kommer den første.

Poem fra Ry.

Et kærlighedspostkort til min gamle ensomhedsven “sad song”—fra et nyt, udfoldet sted i mig selv.

Vi indspillede midt i stuen. Kabler, rod og toner overalt. Det var en lykkelig tid.

Jeg spiller selv alle de små guitarflader og nød at lege med Sørens mange instrumenter.

00:00

Poem fra Ry 106 2019

05:14

Today we had rehearsals.

Just me, Cæcilie Balling on violin, and Bilal Irshed on oud. And already it feels like something sacred is forming. Tomorrow it all begins—soundcheck at dawn, costumes, tuning every detail until it rings true.

Tomorrow is both the concert, the pilgrimage, and the day I release my piece Om Nahmah Shivaya exclusively here on Sleeve. You can access it with a one-time purchase, or by becoming a monthly paying member. If you choose the membership, you’ll receive it as part of that. Otherwise, it’ll be available for around $7.

I share this not to push—but to invite.

Membership allows me to keep working this way: slow, deep, present. And in return, I offer early access to the experiences I care most about.

Like the upcoming masquerade ball on September 6th in the Court Theatre at Christiansborg. Only 150 tickets will be sold. It’s a music-dramatic performance honoring Caroline Mathilde’s anniversary—with Sara Hjort and others. I’ll be calling Caroline Mathilde's spirit into the space. Members will hear about it first and make sure they can get tickets before the sale opens.

Also, here I wanted to share glimpses from today’s rehearsal:

Thank you for listening.

For walking with me.

For being part of this.

Hello all,

and welcome to the newcomers to Girls in Airports on Sleeve!

We enjoy sharing with you—more stuff coming up!

If you want to hear songs from our upcoming album, you can get access to them and read descriptions about the songs exclusively here on Sleeve. The only thing is: you back us with $2, as this platform supports our work.

Last fall, we did a tour in the northern part of Germany, naturally bringing us to the music city of Berlin. This time, it was in a beautifully built wooden amphitheater located inside the Tempelhof Airport Park.

Despite the very bad September weather—heavy rain and temperatures dropping to 12 degrees Celsius—we were met by an enthusiastic crowd of 120 people who stayed, listened, and cheered us through the evening. Looking back now, this mix of struggling uphill and being cheered at the same time definitely brought something special to the performance.

Skilled German photographer Beat caught half of it on camera. Enjoy and share it with your friends.

Thanks for following and sharing your thoughts.

—Anders, Martin, Mathias, and Victor

I dream that this evening will touch as many hearts as possible. That it will reach somewhere deeper. That it, in real time, can become a gathering of love. You’ll know: this is a spiritual shower. Of energy. Of care. Of the values that actually matter.

It’s a pause from yourself—and also a meeting with yourself. A space where everything is allowed to unfold.

We begin in Trinitatis Church. As people arrive, they’ll receive a small light. They’ll walk from the Round Tower into the church and be invited to light it—for someone they love, for peace, or simply for whatever is needed. Bilal Irshad will play oud. Stine Cicoria Rehnholdt will read aloud.

Then I’ll come in and sing shanti—peace—and everyone will be given a small booklet with the light. I’ll invite us to sing together. To let the word shanti move through us.

Then we walk. A slow pilgrimage up the tower, chanting. Gathering the energy in sound. At the top, we arrive. We drink a glass of water—because it’s a long climb. And then, Cæcilie will stand with her violin, and I’ll sit at the grand piano.

We begin with a prayer.

And then: the concert. A set of re-arranged earlier works, shaped especially for this space. The sound will be more atmospheric, more open. Round Tower asks for that.

This world, right now—it’s out of rhythm. I feel it deeply. We need peace. Especially in Palestine. In Ukraine. We need to stop these wars. But we also need peace inside. Inner peace. The kind that doesn’t look away.

In Bhutan, prayer is part of the school day. There’s a reverence for life there—and it walks hand in hand with gratitude. And when you live in gratitude, there’s no room left for fear. It burns off.

Gratitude is like a golden umbrella in full sunlight.

And honestly—who doesn’t want to live under that?