That’s a remarkable circumstance, with the theme of the artistic project turning out to be prophetic. I don’t think of your music as containing, or being engaged with, any kind of social commentary, but in this case do you think that the sense of societal crisis did affect the music you were writing in some way (other than the pieces it uses as its source)?

No, I’m generally quite sceptical and doubtful when it comes to musics need or even ability to convey or subordinate to these kinds of extramusical concerns in a time where at least I have a hard time seeing that there would be anything even close to a general agreement on the literal meaning or effect of certain musical notes, modes, tropes, gestures or structures etc, as compared to, say, the Affektenlehre of the Baroque era or the philosophy and aesthetics of North Indian music, for example. From my perspective I think any social or political implications perhaps rather would be found in how the music itself works; how it is organised, what the relations are between composers, conductors and musicians and the position of the music and its practitioners within a wider social context. And from an ecological perspective I guess that perhaps quite simply would translate to how music making in all its various aspects relates to nature and to the use of natural resources, for example.

The line-up for Skogen in this piece is slightly smaller than in other pieces you have written for the ensemble. Is that simply an effect of the Covid pandemic, or are you now more interested in smaller groups developing your music?

Yes, the pandemic did affect our work in various ways. Inviting any of our international friends didn’t seem like an option for obvious reasons and in the end we also had to postpone the recording twice due to various incidents and restrictions pertaining to the pandemic, we also ended up being a smaller ensemble on the recording than initially planned. But it was also a great joy to get the possibility to invite Swedish violinist Eva Lindal and harpist Stina Hellberg Agback to the ensemble, something which resulted in a very fruitful and slightly different dynamic, I think.

Aside from this particular project, how has the pandemic affected you as a musician and composer?

In terms of economy, the pandemic hasn’t affected me too badly, there has been some governmental support for the arts and I have also been able to go to my day job (in an antiquarian bookstore) as usual. But I guess the pandemic definitely has made me abstain from planning too many and too extensive projects and many (most) of the projects that have been planned have also been postponed, canceled or changed in various ways and multiple times. But I have at least been trying to think, compose, play and record as much as the circumstances have allowed, and I do hope and think that these circumstances eventually may help us reflect upon and reconsider our work in ways that might turn out quite productive in the long run.

Your music, and the titles of your pieces, always evoke a mood of melancholy. I'm also very drawn to that, and the Another Timbre catalogue is full of melancholic music. Do you have any ideas as to what the pull of melancholy in music is?

Melancholy is a very old concept with shifting meanings and connotations throughout the ages, and I guess what might evoke a feeling of melancholy in one individual may as well stir feelings of sentimentality or irritation in others. But if we choose to look upon melancholy as an expression or response to loss (as in Freud, for example), I think Rúmí captures the pull of melancholy in music (and its dual and paradoxical capacity of on the one hand stirring pain while at the same time relieving it) very well in his introduction to the Mathnawí, here in Reynold Nicholson’s translation:

”Listen to the reed how it tells a tale, complaining of separations - Saying, ”Ever since I was parted from the reed-bed, my lament hath caused man and woman to moan.” And: ”The reed is the comrade of everyone who has been parted from a friend: its strains pierced our hearts. Who ever saw a poison and antidote like the reed?”

And I think the concept of ekstasis, of standing outside oneself, of forgetting oneself and, so to say, revert to the reed-bed, is quite closely related to the concept of melancholy, at least in Rúmí. And in a way I guess that’s very much how music might work as well: at best it makes you forget about yourself and helps you become part of larger, more encompassing and selfless experience, in consequence relieving you of a sense of loss and melancholy. And the act of playing and the playfulness involved in the collective music making is essentially a very joyful experience, I think.

Reviews:

“How lonely sits the city that was full of people,” begins the book of Lamentations. In 2019, the ever-resourceful Magnus Granberg accepted the challenge of writing music concerning issues of world crisis. Little did he or anyone else suspect the challenges of 2020 and beyond which would shape the piece now on offer, performed by a modified version of his malleable Skogen ensemble. While the piece is loosely based on Messiaen’s Quartet for the End of Time, that’s only a metaphysical grounding for music that is, typically, nothing more or less than Granberg’s own. To suggest that is not to diminish his work in any way, merely to state the originality of his voice. Return to 2017’s Ist Gefallen in den Schnee to hear not so much a progenitor as the continuum along which his music had been developing. Point and line are his gateways, and they can be easily confused as they intersect. Lonely is somewhat louder than the two pieces on that earlier album, but even that is a relative pronouncement concerning a dynamic world of crystalline gentleness rendering the moments of transgression, as at the 20-minute mark, even more poignant. I wonder about the actual debt paid to Messiaen. Could it be the repetition, which, beyond the stages of dynamic intrigue as the nearly hour-long piece develops, drives the music forward? Messiaen’s own language is rife with it, even as it incorporates various levels of Darmstadt influence along the way. Repetition isn’t even a good descriptor, as it prescribes some sort of regularity. These are returns in continuous and cellular modification, dots forming constantly evolving shapes of increasing familiarity. They’re complemented by the subtle timbre shifts that are Skogen’s prerogative. One generalized description might involve a gradual motion toward sustains over points as the music progresses, but even that fails to capture the spatial counterpoint that is a hallmark of Granberg’s work. The fluid sound world eventually provides a backdrop for beautifully executed passages of solo strings, most notably near the work’s conclusion. What emerges, when all is added and subtracted, is a kind of fluid tableau. Just like the title suggests, we are placed above a moving panorama, a bustle as viewed from Brucknerian heights that can be heard either as serene or as continually self-agitating, depending on perspective and choice. As usual, the superb recording ensures that such a choice can easily be made without the effort of ear-straining. Like the label that houses so much of his work, Granberg moves from strength to strength, and this newest disc is no exception.

Marc Medwin, Dusted Magazine

How Lonely Sits The City? is new long form work from Stockholm based improviser/composer Magnus Granberg. It’s a haunting, at the same time moodily taut example of modern composition for string, wind, keys, percussion, and objects- with the nearing hour work creating a spellbindingly eerier feel of shadowy unease fed through with moments spiritly disquiet. The CD release appears on Sheffield based Another Timbre- who have a good history of releasing Mr Granberg’s work. It comes presented in the labels house style plain white gatefold- this features a sparse and crude line drawing of a near-empty city street- the work was recorded during the Covid pandemic, so it’s clear what the key theme/ subject is here.  To pick up a copy of this direct, drop by here.  The single self-title track comes in at the 54.52 mark, with it being played by Granberg’s group Skogen- which takes in: Anna and Eva Lidal- Violins, Stina Hellberg-Harp, Magnus Granberg- Prepared Piano, John Erikson- Vibraphone, Glockenspiel and  Whistling. Henrik Olsson-objects, friction, and piezo. Erik Carlsson- percussion. The work manages to be both skeletal, yet detailed, and at points busy in its make-up. It’s built a slowly tolling, at points barely moving piano base- around this the other elements shift, flit, and at points gather. If I was to try and describe the piece, I’d say think a gloomier Miles Davis Electric period track played by Tom Waits acoustic junkyard band, who just happen to be on downers. The whole thing slowly bobs and ebbs along with such a tangible feeling of both fear of the unknown, personal and social uncertainly, and a general feeling of lulling /sour dread. The collective play the work with such forlorn wonder- moving between dragged out and lightly darting tones, to more greyly flighty darts, tense rumbles, taut chimes, and unease knocks or drags  How Lonely Sits The City? is a truly masterful example of hauntingly tense and moodily involving modern composition from Granberg and Skogen. Probably one of the most grimly enchanting things I’ve heard quite in some time, and easily an early highlight of 2022!

Roger Batty, Musique Machine

Ever since his first release on the label, Ist gefallen in den Schnee (Another Timbre, 2012), Swedish composer, leader & performer Magnus Granberg and Another Timbre have been intertwined. Even though Granberg released albums on other labels, such as Skogen (Bombax Bombax, 2008) and two versions of Come Down to Earth Where Sorrow Dwelleth (Meenna, 2020), his Another Timbre releases have to be regarded as his main body of work over this period, to the extent that a new Granberg release on the label can be enough to trigger a frisson of anticipation in his devotees. One of the characteristics of Granberg's compositions is that they have often been inspired by (but not copied or borrowed from) older compositions; for example, his 2015 piece "How Deep is the Ocean, How High is the Sky" derived its title from Irving Berlin's 1932 song "How Deep is the Ocean" while much of its rhythmic material was inspired by Erik Satie's "Deuxième Préludes du Nazaréen." In a similar fashion, Granberg has alluded to others' past compositions as sources for some of the music here, notably a recurring melody played by the flugelhorn in Stravinsky's Threni (1958). As ever, any such source material is used so subtly as to be undetectable even by the most ardent Stravinsky trainspotter. Although the current piece was initially requested of Granberg in September 2019 by cellist Leo Svensson Sander and harpist Stina Hellberg Agback, when work on it was about to start, the arrival of Covid and the lockdown led to a rethink. The piece that initially emerged was for a quartet comprising violinist Eva Lindal, Sander on cello, Agback on harp and Granberg himself on piano; however, as he wanted to do something during lockdown with his group Skogen, Granberg wrote additional parts to expand the piece to seven players — two violins, harp, prepared piano, vibraphone or glockenspiel, objects, and percussion. Recorded in Stockholm in June 2021, this is the fifty-four-minute title recording which comprises this album. If the title "How Lonely Sits the City?" sounds somewhat melancholy, particularly given the Covid situation at the time, Granberg is keen to dispel any such notion; he says that the act of playing and the playfulness involved in collective music making is essentially a very joyful experience. His view is supported by the music itself (the current piece and his past releases on Another Timbre); throughout its duration, the music positively radiates the musicians' positivity and enjoyment, a feeling which listeners cannot fail to share and relish. In a nutshell, yet another Granberg triumph. Highly recommended.

John Eyles, The Squid’s Ear

The latest Magnus Granberg release reunites him with Skogen, here as an ensemble of seven musicians recorded last June. How Lonely Sits the City? wends its way around Granberg’s prepared piano, joined by harp, tuned and untuned percussion and amplified objects. A pair of violins complete the ensemble. The predominance of plucked and struck instruments here gives the piece the sparsest texture I’ve yet heard in Granberg’s compositions, even more so than in his quartet Nattens skogar. Allowing for finer shades of dark and light, it’s a cold and spiky piece, with soft but short sounds played in denuded textures. Occasional bursts of electronic noise add to the alienating experience. While recorded in summer, the piece sounds empty and wintry, largely it seems as an effect of Covid; a reflection on the world shutting down and doors closing for musicians everywhere. Interestingly, the piece also began as a quartet, but while Granberg added parts for a larger ensemble, the prevailing mood remained small and sparse, with each musician adding to the overall work as sparingly as possible, making each individual sound count.

Ben Harper, Boring Like a Drill