A Closer Listen
Rutger Zuydervelt has been extremely active this season, releasing a series of solo and collaborative works across multiple genres. FLUX sees the artist returning to the fruitful collaboration with the circus / dance duo Marta & Kim (Marta Alstadsæter and Kim-Jomi Fischer), but with a twist. This time Zuydervelt enlisted the aid of cellist Lucija Gregov, to whom he provided inspirational prompts (our favorite prompt: “Morton Feldman, drunk”) leading to a large file of source material. The earliest cuts went to the dance troupe, the dancers started to dance, the composer continued to compose, and FLUX was born: a living document for living dancers. The listener can sense the movement in the music; the title is well-matched to the performance, and vice versa.
The album and performance start humbly, with cracks of percussion and snippets of cello, echoing and receding. Toward the end of “(Not) Not Three High,” all of the parts awaken, sinews stretched to maximum capacity. The cello is often used as drone, and not simply in the excerpt of that name; in “Vertigo,” the drone contributes a an exploratory, wondering tone that snaps as it revolves like a spinning plate, increasing in velocity until it settles. (We’d love to see what the dancers are doing during this segment!) Moments of near-silence are inserted throughout: space for contemplation, or the pause before the shift. In “Corridors and Memories,” staccato strings signal an encroaching tension. “Marie’s Memory” extends the unease with a creaking door and filtered laughter. “Lava Lamp” restores a sense of peace, an aural reflection of its name.
“Mandala” is the album peak, the track to which the entire set builds. But one doesn’t hear it coming, as it rises directly from the long, sedate “Conversation.” The early part of the piece is fraught with yearning, the latter part with triumph. The mandala represents the universe, and in his selection of Gregov’s cello lines, Zuydervelt makes the album’s musical universe expand. As the percussion enters, it contributes a ritualistic, spiritual aspect. And then the brass, surprising and welcome, offering a transcendent fanfare, followed by a brief electronic denouement. One can imagine the lights sparkling, the dancers lifting their hands, the audience rising to its feet.
A circus expands the imagination, daring attendees to dream. When one thinks of circus music, one likely pictures a template that was once exciting, but has since fallen into cliché. Zuydervelt and Gregov’s original score for FLUX is as unpredictable as that first circus, rolling into a wagon town, restoring a sense of wonder to dancer and audience alike. (Richard Allen)
Sat Nov 22 00:01:43 GMT 2025