Hailing from the archipelago of Orkney in Scotland, Erland Cooper explores the natural world of birds, landscape and place, manifesting in an immersive collection of music, words and imagery.
Erland Cooper is a Scottish composer, producer, and multi-instrumentalist; Freya Goldmark is a London-based violinist. Erland’s latest record, Carve the Runes Then Be Content With the Silence, was recorded in 2021, transferred to reel-to-reel tape, and then planted in the soil on the archipelago of Orkney, where he’s from. All digital files of the record were deleted, and the tape was left to be manipulated by the earth. Three years later, the record was unveiled at London’s Barbican Centre this past June, with a performance led by Freya. That same month, Erland was given special permission by English Heritage to enter Stonehenge at dusk and perform a song from the record, again with help from Freya, and cellist Sergio Serra Lopez. Here, Erland and Freya discuss the experience.
— Annie Fell, Editor-in-chief, Talkhouse Music
Erland Cooper: We’ve worked together for a year. Is that right?
Freya Goldmark: Yeah, like a year and one week.
Erland: And how did we meet? How did we start working together? What was the first thing we did?
Freya: So, I play with a brilliant British group called Scottish Ensemble, who you had made a record with. And you took that record on tour.
Erland: That’s right.
Freya: And I was leading the quartet in the Scottish Ensemble, so we had this mad tour around the UK with lots of driving, lots of chatting. It was good. I’m wondering — did you have Stonehenge in your mind then? I think you mentioned Stonehenge even then, a year ago.
Erland: It’s good to plant seeds of ideas in conversation with people that you trust. I remember on that tour how interested you were in not just the music, but the narrative — the sort of storytelling behind projects, the intent and the reason why projects exist. And I remember talking to you about Orkney, which is where I’m from, asking if you’d ever been and talking about the Neolithic stone circles that are quite similar to Stonehenge. And we performed there recently, didn’t we?
Freya: We did. Amazingly, we performed in Orkney two nights before we then performed in Stonehenge. You took me to the ring of Brodgar, which is the Neolithic stone circle in Orkney. And then 24 hours later, we were on our way to Stonehenge. So we’d gone from the top of Britain—
Erland: For context, for people in America: Orkney is the most northern island in Britain, and Stonehenge is in southern England. So it’s like traveling a thousand miles. [Laughs.] Not quite. Maybe, what, 800?
Freya: Erland likes to say a thousand miles, but it’s more like 850.
Erland: Do you know why I always say 1000 miles? Because of the The Proclaimers.
Freya: So from Orkney, we ended up in Stonehenge.
Erland: The project we did in Orkney was a project that is very dear to both of us, for a couple of different reasons. But in 2021, I recorded wrote my first violin concerto — or at least an attempt at that — and I recorded it onto magnetic tape. We’re surrounded by tapes here in the studio, and we’re both looking at the actual tape that I’m referencing. I deleted every digital file so that only one copy existed of this recording, and I traveled from England all the way to Orkney, and I dug a hole and I planted — not buried, but planted — this tape in the soil, to sort of get recomposed by nature for three years. Fast forward three years and we’re revealing it together to 2,000 people at London’s Barbican and Freya is the soloist. How did it feel to play a piece of music that nobody had heard, that could have been incredibly aleatoric, or could have been completely silent, erased to nothing, and having an audience staring at you in anticipation?
Freya: Very cool. [Laughs.] Well, it wasn’t just me on stage — I was surrounded by 14 other brilliant musicians. A violin concerto is only complete with your orchestra. So we played the tape to this hall of 2,000 people; Erland pressed play and they heard the beginning of the tape, and the beginning is just a hiss. You don’t know if there’s going to be music. And then these beautiful sounds emerged. Then over the next few minutes, we slowly came on stage all together, and I walked on last. I remember each foot, one after the other, and in my head I was like, Breathe, breathe. I was nervous — and I don’t usually get nervous.
Erland: But this was your debut in this giant concert hall.
Freya: Yeah, playing a solo that big. You can really feel a room when you are a performer — you can feel the people and you can feel them listening — and as soon as we all started playing, I could just feel how much the room was listening. The first movement is very uplifting and full of joy, and when the first movement finished, the audience started to clap straight away. And then I knew everyone was with us. It was amazing. It was very, very cool.
Erland: I have to say — I mean, it was a bold leap of faith for the audience, but also for you and the rest of the musicians that you put together around me in this project, because you agreed to perform a concerto without hearing a note. I think we talked about it on the tour bus when we started, and you were sort of invested in the project, in the idea of it
Freya: Yeah.
Erland: I then played you the first digitization and before we got to the end, I think you just said, “Yep, I’ll do it.” The rest of the ensemble didn’t get to hear it. They’re only just hearing it now with the rest of the world. I have so much respect for you and for all the musicians involved. It’s pretty magic.
Freya: Yeah. I’ve learned that being game for things is pretty integral to building a career. You’ve got to say yes. And also, you had said they were going to be weird noises, and I specialize in making weird noises. Beautiful noises, too, but I can make really weird ones.
Erland: Yeah. Incredible articulations. I’ve heard them.
Freya: So that was amazing. That was the beginning of June, and by the end of June, we were in Orkney, and we played a special, smaller version of the piece.
Erland: So we took it home, basically. We did a Scottish premiere, and I took you around the very famous Neolithic stone circle called Ring of Brodgar, which is as old as the Egyptian pyramids.
Freya: We went straight there from the ferry.
Erland: Yeah. It was sunset, wasn’t it? It’s a magical place. And we took my dog, who’s behind us — Morricone — and he got to run free, and he loved it. But I remember we performed there, and then we traveled the whole distance of the country. Wait, no — you had another show somewhere, so you popped off. But I traveled a thousand miles to Stonehenge, and we all met there. And it was dusk, wasn’t it?
Freya: Yeah.
Erland: It was really special. We arrived there and we were greeted by security and the English Heritage, and they had a clear list of things we should and should not do.
Freya: We arrived at, what, half five? Six? And there’s not much near Stonehenge. It’s kind of by itself. We were really hungry, and Erland went and bought everything that was left in the cafe. He had this big box full of random food, like sausage rolls, soup… Anyway, I had a sausage roll and I was eating it while we were waiting. Then they said, “OK, you can walk into the stones now,” so we walked into the middle of the stones, and I had my sausage roll in this little brown paper bag. And then the very nice lady from English Heritage said, “You can hold that sausage roll, but you can’t eat it when you’re in the stone circle, because it’s a sacred, special place.”
Erland: And this is a reminder to everybody: doing that performance in Stonehenge isn’t something you do every day. In fact, I think we may have been the first, and possibly last, group of classical musicians — I don’t count myself as one, but Sergio [Serra Lopez, cellist] and Freya are. We had to go through a strict permissions process, and I’m so grateful for the whole team at Stonehenge and English Heritage for permitting it to happen. We filmed this in one take on 16mm Kodak film, and the idea was to record at dusk rather than the sort of traditional, cliche midsummer sunset kind of thing. We did it at dusk, and Simon Lane, the director, and the team brought all their equipment and we had four rolls of film, so we had four takes to get it right. But actually before we started filming, I remember there was this real sense of occasion, and quite seriousness and nervousness, and then we all got in the circle and we ran around like children. Just absolutely silly. I’ll never forget that. And then the composed nature of our professionalism kicked in, and we started work.
Freya: Yeah. It took quite a long time to figure out; they had to be pretty careful that they knew what they were going to do in this one take, because they only had so much film. So we did a couple of rehearsal shots like, “OK, Freya, you start there, and once you’ve played this line, you need to run over there while the camera’s not looking at you and get into your new position.” We were practicing those things, which was very cool as it got colder. It was really lucky because it wasn’t raining — that was amazing.
Erland: There was no plan B if it rained.
Freya: And no second date.
Erland: Because if it rains, these incredibly expensive instruments that cost more than a house — if I can say that.
Freya: You can.
Erland: You can’t get them wet. So the team had really planned with the moisture levels, the weather.
Freya: But it was cold.
Erland: Again, it was a leap of faith, wasn’t it?
Freya: Yeah, it was. But it was so amazing just to play an acoustic instrument.
Erland: I remember you warming up — both figuratively and literally — but you were playing…
Freya: “Ashokan Farewell,” by Jay Ungar. He’s a fiddler.
Erland: I remember the whole crew were really struck by how the sound resonated around the circle. But the audience wasn’t just made up of the security and the staff and the film crew — there was a celebration of the natural world. The birds arrived. Crows started to gather on top of the giant stones, and they just started to sort of say, “OK, what’s going on? We’ve got a bit of a party.”
Freya: Yeah, it was totally amazing. They were really big as well. They were chunky. They all flocked in — they were, I don’t know, nine, 12, more than that.
Erland: Well, they kept coming, didn’t they?
Freya: They kept coming. And then the ladies who work at Stonehenge, English Heritage, said, “Oh, yeah, they’re really inquisitive. If we ever do anything out of the ordinary up here, they arrive.” But the mad thing was that they were really watching, they were really concentrating on what was going on, and then as soon as we finished and we put the instruments away and it was over, they all flew off straight away. And in the tape that was chosen, you can see them sitting on top of the henges.
Erland: Did I imagine that they brought you gifts? What gifts did they bring?
Freya: [Laughs.] Well, on top of the stones, there’s a lot of moss and lichen that’s grown for a long, long time, and they pick at it, I think, to get insects and stuff. I don’t know if it was the same one, but it felt like it was the same one — one of the birds was picking bits of moss, and then it would fly down really near me, and it would drop the pieces at my feet. It happened, like, five or six times.
Erland: They were giving you presents to say thank you.
Freya: Yeah. My mom was telling me that’s a thing.
Erland: Really? Did you know that they’re the only family of birds that mourn the passing of the other birds? Apparently, when one of the family passes away or is killed, they stomp on the ground and they sort of dance in ceremony. You can see why maybe the Vikings and Norse sagas used them as a way to talk about warriors and kings and queens.
Freya: Yeah, they’re very special. They’re very intelligent. That was amazing, seeing them there.
Erland: So, we shot it four times. The themes of Carve the Runes — it’s a meditation on value. Having less of something somehow makes it more valuable. So shooting on tape is a reminder of a limited resource that makes you plan ahead. It’s like slow planning and fast execution. How did you find working with director, Simon Lane?
Freya: Simon and his whole team are the loveliest people ever. I was a bit… not nervous, but I’ve never done anything like that before. I’ve done a lot of recording — classical recordings, pop recordings — but I’ve never had a camera zooming around me. And also, I really didn’t want to get it wrong because I was well aware of the fragility. The time was going away because it was getting dark and we were shooting on film, so you’ve only got so long. But I think the wonderful thing was, Simon and his team were also so excited to be there. I mean, they were very cool and professional, but also—
Erland: Everyone was giddy.
Freya: Yeah. It’s very cool.
Erland: Everybody knew that whatever they shoot now will be viewed in 10, 20, 30, 50, 100 years as a moment. I think there was that sense of ceremony. In fact, there’s a book on the table, of Tarkovsky’s stills and prints from his movies, and that was actually a reference that Simon and I talked about a lot. We’d worked together before, and he would do a lot of single-take shots, and I remember there was a sort of great worry about light — because obviously film requires light exposure, and if it gets too dark, then the tape’s going to be ruined. And we’re getting closer and closer and closer to basically 9 PM. When was sunset?
Freya: Oh, I don’t remember, but this was midsummer time. And there was no glaring, beautiful sunset. It was quite—
Freya: Gray.
Erland: Quite typically British. Overcast, moody. It was really moody.
Freya: Yeah. I just remembered, as well: because Stonehenge, you can’t just walk up to it, but there is a footpath not that far from it. And as soon as we turned up after visiting hours, with obviously a film crew and some instruments, quite a few people started gathering.
Erland: I think I shouted, “We’re filming Downton Abbey!”
Freya: We were thinking, because they were in the shot, “What if the whole thing can’t happen because we can’t get rid of these people?” But they were all very lovely, and they all moved out of shot. They watched all the rehearsals.
Erland: They left and the crows arrived.
Freya: How did you find it? Because I don’t know how long you had been thinking that it would be a cool thing to do. But I do know that, until it was the day before, you still believed it might not happen.
Erland: Chance is a prominent factor in my work; leaving some things up to chance. Quincy Jones had said he “leaves the door open for a bit of magic to come in.” I love doing that in every part of the creative process — to a point. As I said, it’s sort of slow planning, fast execution. It doesn’t mean that everything’s a giant risk. It just means you’re leaving some things up to the Nordic gods. Doing so many projects in Orkney, where the weather changes five times a day, I’m used to, “I will find a way to make this work, whether it’s umbrellas or whatever.” If we had to put the instruments away, I think we would have probably still come up with some creative solution. I don’t know what that would have been. But my lasting memory of it was the penultimate take, which was the take that you see in the film, and just how great it felt. And you’ll know from recording — in fact, we spent the day recording a very intense piece today — you know when you get the take, that the take that comes after is comfortable. It’s called a “comfort take” for a reason. So I knew that the filming take after the penultimate one would be really enjoyable. I think I sort of let go and forgot that we had cameras, and actually imagined, Gosh, this is how it must feel to be in film.
Freya: Yeah.
Erland: Because — well, it’s different for you and Sergio, [because] you’re performing. All I’m doing is pressing play on a tape machine. I didn’t do anything other than write the music. So, yeah, it’s sort of a surreal experience.
Freya: My violin teacher — I don’t know if I’ve told you this — I had the same teacher from when I was 10 to 22. And in my lessons when I was practicing, doing really slow, quiet bows, he would pretend to hold a camera and he’d come really, really near me and he’d put his hands near my face and move around me and distract me. And then he’d say, “This is what it would be like, and you’re going to keep your cool and not be distracted.” I did think of that, because not only was there a camera really near me in Stonehenge, it was also in this massive gimbal to steady it. So it’s not just someone holding a camera, it’s a guy with a huge piece of equipment coming towards you, and then you’re playing so delicately.
Erland: The camera is up your nose. That’s good training.
Freya: In my head, I’m like, OK, don’t get a double chin. Because on violin, you’ll often lean your chin in. So I was thinking all of that. And then I was like, Also, I need to play really nicely.
Erland: Not to be that person that talks about wardrobe, but you had you thought about your wardrobe. Because that dress you wore meant something to you, and it felt quite fitting to not wear shoes, for example. Can we talk about that?
Freya: Not wearing shoes?
Erland: Yeah, your reason for that.
Freya: Yeah, I don’t have any shoes on in the video. But actually, in real life, I often don’t have any shoes on. So it’s not just an artistic decision, it’s a grounded decision. As a violinist, I have spent thousands of hours practicing my instrument and honing my craft, and I’ve done that always in bare feet and standing and being grounded. Then you go on stage and you put these heels on, and you wonder why you feel maybe a bit nervous or your rhythm is not as good or whatever. Over the years, I’ve on and off not worn shoes when I perform, and then put them back on. Then over the last year, year-and-a-half, I’ve just gone, “Actually, I’m not wearing shoes anymore.” So at the Barbican, at the Carved the Runes premiere, I did not wear any shoes.
Erland: I’d like to think it’s all the projects that celebrate the natural world.
Freya: Yeah. My dad didn’t wear shoes when I was a little girl, until I was about eight.
Erland: What? To work?
Freya: No, he never wore shoes, ever.
Erland: So he would walk around London—
Freya: Yeah, anywhere. Wherever he was, he was barefoot. So that was quite normal to me.
Erland: So this is a sort of ode to your father as well. Going back to Stonehenge: I might get in trouble, but my colleague and I, who was the photographer, when everybody was leaving at the end and it was cold and we’d also had enough — which is a funny thing to say, but it’s a bit like if you’re given all the sweets in the world, eventually you’re gonna go, “OK, I’ve had enough ice cream, I’ve had enough Haribo.”
Freya: We were, like, four to five hours in.
Erland: I remember thinking to myself, Wait: we’re cold. We’ve got what we needed. It’s blue and dusky and really dark. My lower back is tight. I looked at my friend and everybody was sort of carrying their stuff back, and Alex and I took our shoes off. We got to experience what you had done, but I have to say, one of the fallen stones — and I didn’t push it over, it was one of these famous stones that are laid horizontal in the grass — I stood on it with Alex. I might get in trouble for saying that. Just on the tip. It was warm because it had been heated by the sun. I’ll never forget that experience. I’ve got a photo of it, but I just stood there and got a sense of true grounding, in a remarkable place with 5,000 years [of history], at least. Just this whole timeline felt like it shot up your hamstrings to the tips of your ears.
Freya: To me, it just felt like an utter privilege, to be allowed to stand there and then to get a violin out and play.
Erland: It was captivating, though, to everybody. Not just the filmmakers, but even the security guards and English Heritage — they felt that sense of occasion, too.
Freya: And the crows.
Erland: And the crows. They were like this, “This is not bad!”
