Composer and multi-keyboard artist Nils Frahm (photo credit: drownedinsound.com)
I was positioned three rows in, towards the front of the stage on the ground floor and situated facing the television screens that had been set up for the visual component of opening act Lost Score. Frahm began his set by playing the church organ somewhere in the rafters overhead. The sound was incredibly deep and powerful, an introduction that exposed the performer’s delight as he charged down the steps, ran through the crowd and created an instantaneous boom with his electronics. The energy Frahm conveyed was immediately at odds with what I had imagined; the shock and awe of his opening piece was so gracious and full, where the bounds of his synth keys were balanced against an ambient improvisation on the smaller piano. Bass tones cradled the gentle notes of his acoustics as he switched effortlessly between instruments to the backdrop of two spotlights and the stained glass painting that slowly disappeared as the sun set. Tension was built by increasing the loop tempo, and as opposed to the tender piano music I had been expecting, the textures were scuffed and rugged, performed in a way that resembled Vladislav Delay’s Kuopio. As the loops faded out and the audience seemingly regained their composure, beads of sweat started to drip across the musician’s face as he struck the piano just in front of where I was sitting. The acoustic power of Frahm’s instrument of choice laid waste to the power of any electronics that had come before it, as he continued with a hard-hitting, emotive selection of chords.
The force Frahm threw behind this second piece was incredible. The notes he played were triumphant and sustained, with a resonance that was completely captivating. As the track reached its dramatic close, he stood up and addressed the audience: “this is something I got from my mother,” he said, “this sweating from the face.” It’s probably not even intentional, but Frahm just comes across as being wonderfully funny and down to earth. His comments bind an alternate link between the audience and their performer, which in the throes of the following minimal piano sequences, made for an exceptionally emotive connection. “It took us over an hour to figure out how we should set up,” Frahm added while mopping his brow, “so you guys to my right will get to see the piano hammers going wild and you guys…” he announced, pointing to the people on his left, who probably saw rather little of what was happening onstage, “you guys are going to have fun too,” he declared jokingly to a round of applause.
Composer and multi-keyboardist Nils Frahm (photo credit: spacesfm.com)
The succeeding music brought a hollow, empty feeling in my chest. It was a strange sensation and an instinctual response to how I felt myself completely at the mercy of these exquisite melodies. No outpouring of adjectives will do it justice. Frahm’s playing was unlike anything I have experienced before. He made the most of the instruments that were available to him, presenting a mixed range of styles that retained a connect with their audience. His music oscillated within the bounds of tempo and pitch amidst deep solos set in lower and minor keys, while he flitted back to the Rhodes piano on his deck and grafted stretched drone sequences from acoustic loops. “It must be very hard for you all to keep so quiet,” he said after finishing another delightful ambient piece. “With those wooden chairs, you find that if you move around a bit to get comfy, then you kick over the beer bottle next to you and it makes a noise!” The audience laughed at his reference to an incident that took place during one of his quieter numbers, “but you know what,” he added, “I don’t give a shit.”
It’s difficult to think of another musician who is so aware of what is happening around him in the throes of performance, as even the accidental sounds that occurred outside of the music were somehow laced deep within each piece. By the time he came to the closing number though, that seemed almost irrelevant. The composition was fast-paced, adventurous and employed the use of both electronics and percussion instruments, which he used to play the soundboard and bass strings of the piano. Frahm built up rhythms before responding to them with an acoustic melody, which he recorded, looped and played as a living, breathing combination of sonic layers. The audience respond with a standing ovation, to which Frahm stood on his piano stool and bowed. The atmosphere was electric, and the clapping continued until the vibrant young German returned to play another piece. “I need to calm you all down” he said, before approaching his smaller piano for the final time to play gorgeous exit music that sent the audience into a second ovation, giddy and ecstatic in the warm summer air.