abandoned power station | may 2012

Location: the control room of a power station – a fated space cast into deterioration, but still beautiful, a mix of retro and sci-fi. The rehearsal period ended here in total swelter, with no ventilation or electricity, so we used candles and flashlights. We felt the soft dust from the 1960s on our sweaty skins and even in our throats, so we drank much water and inhaled like pearl-divers. Nobody fainted despite the long sustained notes.

Singing is an extreme sport, and we have an extreme repertoire – now in an extreme space. Our expedition led towards yet undiscovered galaxies, using a spaceship under the captaincy of a conductor secretly expecting a baby under her loose black dress. There were hundreds of space tourists on board.

The programme: a various set of crystallized moods with playful music challenges and well-tempered improvisation – a stodgy foretaste from the choral culture of the 21st century and of prehistorical times. We observed and listened to each other as if through telepathy.

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