“This Abstract, which I now publish, must necessarily be imperfect.”
This quote, taken from the introduction to On the Origin of the Species… by Charles Darwin, shows a humility on the part of the author, one that is generally forgotten as the decades have venerated him higher and higher to the role of the supreme, anti-biblical, humanist-loving patriarch of evolution. Yet his magnum opus is, in his up front opinion, unfinished and vulnerable to its opposition. By allowing him to replace the monotheistic God of the Judaeo-Christian scriptures, we’ve turned him into just another version of a long-bearded know-it-all.
Now, one hundred and fifty years later, a new electropera titled Tomorrow, In A Year, composed by The Knife, Mt. Sims, and Planningtorock, sets out to laud the out-of-this-world earth-tome, while at the same time grounding us in the eclipsed humanity of Charles. At times, like the author’s above claim, the opera is abstract and imperfect, but in such a way that captures the essence of what it means to evolve - to strive for form-perfection knowing it will always be mortally out of our reach.
A quick note: this review will mainly focus on the auditory aspects of the opera, forgoing the performance that goes along with the composition. Mainly, this is because one is far more likely to hear this than see it. But, since TSB readers are more than accustomed to listening to long-form compositions without mentioning those heinous words, “this would make a great soundtrack,” then this shouldn’t be a problem.
The explanation of how this project came to be is lofty, wordy, and interesting, but, since the main event is the music, here are the Cliffs Notes: Swedish theatre company Hotel Pro Forma commissioned The Knife to write the score and libretto for an opera dedicated to the anniversary of Origins. After teaming up with Mt. Sims and Planningtorock to share the writing duties, singers and actors were recruited to perform the piece. The voices you hear on the album itself include mezzo-soprano Kristina Wahlin Momme, Jonathan Johansson, Laerke Winther, Matt Simms (of Mt. Sims), Janine Rostron (of Planningtorock), and Karin Dreijer Andersson (of The Knife and Fever Ray).
In essence, the combination of talent is diverse and a bit unprecedented, the ingredients of an experiment in sonic evolution. Olof Dreijer of The Knife has stated that his knowledge of opera was non-existent before the commission, and thus the process can also be seen as evolutionary for the Swedish masters of dark electro-pop. To prepare, Olof and Janine spent weeks capturing field recordings in the Amazon Jungle and Iceland, and they dug into all-things-Darwin, from his theories to his personal letters.
The introduction is as sparse as it comes: four-and-a-half minutes of soft pings, some of which are barely audible. The result sets up a contrast of wavering proximity, a dialogue of echoes that flit through the skull. It is as close to ex nihilo as it gets - this species isn’t just going to appear fully-formed, but, like the listener, will need time to adapt to its surroundings. “Epochs” builds from the ether with warm synth modulation and the panning clanging of cymbals until we hear our first line: “An intersection of the plain.” The delivery is as operatic as one should expect of a mezza-soprano. But, due to the lack of opera knowledge the general music culture retains, the sheer timbre of Wahlin Momme’s voice could potentially be off-putting, or at least pose as a stumbling block for the average listener expecting a follow-up to Silent Shout or Fever Ray.
So, I beg you, reader, as one who is still cutting his opera teeth, do not pass this off as the fat-lady-singing. The word ‘epoch’ itself suggests the beginning of a new, unformed era, and the listener is as embryonic as the music itself. The absence of context is actually a strength, here.
“Geology” takes a liquid step forward, marrying Wahlin Momme’s vocals about lava and ancient rock with the most defined melodic accompaniment thus far. While the narrative is minimal, the images are crisply carved. The flowing heat of a synth continues the conversation between text and instrument, something that is furthered in the stuttering, plate-shifting metronome of “Upheaved,” as Winther’s androgynous voice joins in and brings to mind the overlapping time-signature chants of Philip Glass’s seminal synth-opera Einstein on the Beach.
Following a piece about mountain-moving earthquakes, “Minerals” is a short, but tense, elemental tone poem. Wahlin Momme’s delivery is at its shrillest and most violent here, suggestive of the need for chaos to create a discernible order. Up until this point, the lyrics have been virtually indecipherable, whether through the high register they’re sung in or in the rhythmic breakdown of their syllables. So, out of “Minerals” echoes the word “examine” as “Ebb Tide Explorer” opens. Johansson’s breathy, Jim Moray-like delivery is stark in comparison to Wahlin Momme, but even in his deliberate enunciations, the words fold like clay, embracing a linguistic free-play befitting to its adolescent role in the opera. For example, his “frame of mind / in following / changes / during / fall of sea,” can easily morph into “free your mind / in Fall wind / changes / enduring / falsely,” and the overall impressions of the piece do not lose their vitality. In fact, this could be the most important message not just of the opera, but Darwin’s theorizing: do not fear change.
On the double CD version, the first disc ends with “Variation of Birds,” described by Olof as akin to a bird learning to sing as it repeats one note over and over until learning to add layers of pitch. Over the course of the track, the primal feedback is smoothed by the slow addition of Johannson, Wahlin Momme, Rostron, and Winther, ending the disc in chorus, and thus marking a transition from the collage of natural lyrics to the more personal exploration to come in disc two’s “Annie’s Box,” “Colouring of Pigeons,” “Tomorrow, in a Year,” and the closing “Height of Summer.”
Perhaps the greatest melodic pay-off of the opera is in the progression of “Tumult” into “Colouring of Pigeons,” for it is here that the most fully-formed beat develops, paving the way for a four-chord cello structure that opens the door for the unmistakable emotion of Dreijer Andersson’s vocal depth. All the patience and attention to avant-garde conventions is validated as we realize how far we’ve come in this ongoing formation. From here, each song’s rhythm and melody are effortless, making space for the larger ideas of the fluidity of time and change to make their impression. In the title track, the concept of ‘future’ swirls in the repetition of “tomorrow in a year / tomorrow in a million years.” And this idea is reprised in “The Height of Summer” as Winther wistfully asks, “How is Charles / I haven’t heard from him for a long, long time / a thousand years seem to pass / so quickly.”
In the end, questions of what this piece will do for the future of opera, pop, or The Knife should be stifled, save the fact that it will deepen all of it in varying, unpredictable degrees. Rather, the power of a commissioned piece is in its willingness to embrace the experiment so that the experiment may embrace the artist and the audience, moving and shaping us in ways we’ll never quite understand. “It is,” Dreijer Andersson says, “very interesting to realize that you can create a new imaginary world by just reading and discussing a new subject.” Her words are a fog-clearing reminder that Darwin did not set up creation and evolution as opponents, but as whirling voices designed to interact and move us forward. It is a challenge, but that is the root of change.
-Bryan Parys