An ensemble of seven women, dressed in various tones of red and pink, perform a seamless new circus/dance/song show.

The theme is feminism, very obviously, and it permeates everything from costumes to song lyrics. Cirkus Cirkör are never subtle about their messages. But unlike some previous shows, I thought this one didn’t rub its message in my face too strongly.

Organic, flowing movements, with circus numbers blending into dance and vice versa. There is rarely a “my number” and “your number” – some performers are more in focus during a particular number but others support, surround, carry, or push. There is a strong sense of togetherness. Beautiful, lyrical and physical.

Memorable fragments: An artist hanging by her hair, spinning, counterbalanced by a pile of plate armour. An artist in the centre, circled and besieged by two others who sing at the same time in different languages. An artist in a tangle of black swathes of fabric that the others weave into a plait. Three artists on two rope trapezes, close together, shifting and moving snake-like over each other.

(Not my photos.)

Irmelin is a trio of female singers, who mostly (or maybe only?) sing Swedish folk songs.

Black Sea Hotel is a trio of female singers, who mostly (or maybe only?) sing Bulgarian folk songs.

Today’s concert with both of them was wonderful.

Irmelin’s pure, sonorous voices sounded beautiful in this small and intimate venue. There isn’t much that beats the joy of listening to melodious unaccompanied human voices, singing simple songs that speak to the deepest part of me. I do not listen to that kind of music analytically, with my intellect. I listen with my body and soul. The wordless dances and wedding marches are especially hypnotizing.

The Swedish singing tradition is clear and natural. Bells and trickling water and tinkling icicles come to mind. Bulgarian singing has a very different sound. There is something sharp and nasal about it, which to my ears is verging on the unpleasant. This kind of music I can observe rather experience.

To my untrained ear, the rhythms and tones of Bulgarian folk songs seem very far from mainstream Western music. I wonder if it is possible at all to transcribe it using standard musical notation, and then perform it based on that transcription, and come anywhere near the original – or if it can only be truly passed down as a living, oral tradition.

Each act ended with all six singers performing a song together. Together, they sounded like what I imagine magic (of the fantasy book kind) might sound like. It swirls and billows, and then there is some tiny part that goes off on its own for a little while and then joins the main swell again.

I don’t actually know much about Lars Lerin or his works, but the little I’ve seen (including some postage stamps with winter motifs) has made me want to see more. The exhibition at Liljevalchs seemed like a great opportunity.

The exhibition was organized thematically. The winter landscapes were present, and were my favourite part of the exhibition. The light and especially twilight in them is both very real and somehow otherworldly in its soft luminosity. I wondered what I would have seen in that same place, at that same moment – would I have seen that same light in the real world, or was it only in his eyes? What would a photo of the same scene have looked like?



That same treatment applied to cityscapes from war-broken Syria was surreal. The combination of soft light and gaping holes in and between houses is jarring. Seen up close, they break down into squares of light and dark: painted from photographs, I’m pretty sure.

Other themes and topics were technically impressive but uninteresting. Especially his paintings of people felt impersonal, as if he was observing them clinically from a distance.

We went to see The Real Group in concert. I was thinking we would all love it, and instead we came home somewhat disappointed.

We saw/heard them live two years ago, together with The Swingles. That concert (which I now see I didn’t write about) was a mixed bag – some songs I really liked, others were unimpressive.

I was hoping we would this time get more of the good stuff. Unfortunately I feel that TRG has moved in the wrong direction since then.

The two best songs today, by far, were two folk songs, one Swedish “gångarlåt” and one Latvian. There was depth and emotion in them. The rest of the repertoire… less so. The songs newly written by members of TRG themselves were the lest interesting. Possibly they were technically impressive, but I don’t have the ear or the knowledge to appreciate that. To me, these songs just sounded light-weight, superficially cheery. Tra-la-la, and an hour later I’ve forgotten them already.


We attended Stockholm Chamber Choir’s advent concert at the German Church. Beautiful. My opinion is perhaps a bit partial because one of Eric’s sisters is a member of that choir, as well as her husband, but I stand by it.

I’m no expert so I have nothing particularly insightful to say… The singing was beautiful and moving. The programme was interesting and varied and contained both old and new works, ranging from Händel and traditional Swedish hymns to John Tavener and other “modern classical”. (The Tavener piece was my favourite.) The church has beautiful acoustics, and choir used the entire church hall with great effect for rounds songs.

Make sure to attend next year as well.


For the first time in decades, I went to a song festival. It’s an Estonian tradition going back almost 150 years, and an amazing experience. This year’s event was not the “full” festival but the youth festival, with a particular focus on young composers, conductors and performers. (The full one is a bit larger.) Even so, there was a choir of 10,000+ singers and 50,000 people in the audience. Awe-inspiring, quite literally.

We were a bit late to the venue so we ended up sitting further back that I had hoped, among the trees at the top of the slope, and didn’t quite get the full impact of the ten thousand voices. So we’ll have to attend the next one again and be there earlier, to get an even better experience.

I have vague, distant memories of attending the festival as a small child. Somewhat more strongly I remember the extraordinary (in all senses of the word) “Song of Estonia” festival in 1988, attended according to some claims by a quarter of the population of Estonia. I was a callow child, uninterested in current affairs, but even I could feel history being made on that day.


We went to see the Miro exhibition at Waldemarsudde. Nice weather, nice walk, nice lunch at the café, another nice walk to a nice fika afterwards at Rosendal – but the exhibition itself was underwhelming. “Yep, Miro, black squiggles” was what I got out of it. I don’t know what was lacking – perhaps Miro himself is old news now, or perhaps the works just weren’t presented the right way.

Olivier Dubois – De l’origine

A dark scene. Two barely visible figures, in a field of indistinguishable black objects. With time we see that the objects are floppy and roughly human in shape. Dead bodies perhaps?

The two perform movements that I would barely describe as dance – more like crawling. This is accompanied by rumbling droning sound, somewhere in the borderland between music and industrial noise.

I’m no stranger to modern dance, and I don’t mind dark themes. But when I simply cannot see what it happening on the scene, I don’t find it “intensively mystifying and anguish-filled” (as a reviewer put it) but boring, plain and simple. The music, the lighting, the movements, the decor for this piece were all designed to give me a minimum of input, which is the definition of boring.

I can’t quite say it was contentless. There was definitely content and ideas and a message of some kind. It might be described as performance art perhaps, a philosophical commentary on life (or mostly death). But it was not dance, and it was not interesting.


The couple sitting next to us was so disappointed by the first piece that they left during the interval – so they missed the good part of tonight’s show.

Sharon Eyal – Half Life

A man and a woman near the front of the scene dance in one place. Their movements that are monotonous and strict, but also forceful and entrancing.

A group enters from the side of the scene. With minimal movements, barely moving forward, they approach the couple. When the group arrives, it encloses them and they become part of the group.

They are swallowed, but they survive. The rest of the piece is about the balance/opposition between the individual and the group.

The group and its movements swell and flow. One figure – a head taller than the rest – appears to be leading and subtly influencing them. Other dancers sometimes do something different but then return to the main flow. Are they forced to conformity by the group? Or are they experimenting and then returning to the comfort of the familiar?

The techno music is akin to the soundtrack for the first act, but this clearly actually music, and much more interesting. The dancers wear minimal skin-coloured costumes, which exposes their bodies as well as each distinct movement in Eyal’s exact, twisting choreography.

Half Life is absorbing and intense. Every moment is rich and beautiful. I can’t look away. I wish there was more of it


(Both photos are from the marketing material published by the Royal Opera.)



There is a travelling Tutankhamun exhibition in town, with replicas of all the contents of his grave.

Beautiful and interesting, especially the parts where the treasures were presented in heaps and piles just as they were found in the burial chamber. But it was all so bright and shiny and clean that it truly felt as fake as it was. It definitely did not feel thousands of years old.

I knew that pharaohs were buried with all sorts of treasures for the afterlife, as well as figurines to act as their servants. And I guess almost everybody is familiar with Tutankhamun’s burial mask. I was not aware, though, of just how many layers of coffins and shrines there were protecting his mummified remains. Inside the tomb were four shrines inside each other, then a stone sarcophagus, and finally three nested coffins. The coffins are iconic and often photographed, but the shrines were new to me.


We went to the theatre yesterday and saw Mio, min Mio at Stadsteatern. It’s been about 30 years since I last read the book so I watched it with fresh eyes.

The previous children’s/family theatre shows at Stadsteatern have been well worth seeing – we’ve seen Ronja Rövardotter as well as Momo (which apparently I never wrote about). This one was no exception.

The scenography was simple – a lot was achieved with simply light and shadow. The Faraway Land was a bit bland, perhaps, and so was the acting during the first half of the play, with more reciting than true feeling. The real focus was on the dark places that Mio traveled through, and those were truly dark and dreary. An intense and serious version of this story, rather than an adventurous one.