MATTHIJS VAN DIJK

Disclaimers & Contexts:

When I was asked if I was interested in writing a review of this album, I ummed and ahed about it for quite a few weeks. On paper, it seems like an easy fit:

I am a South African composer.
I like South African music (mostly).
I’ve spent a large chunk of my life listening to and promoting South African art music, either through my podcast The South African Composers Archive, the “Compilation Album” show of the same name on (the now defunct) Ham Shack Radio, or, the old fashioned way, by performing it.

I also came to the conclusion that, at the time of writing this, I’ve co-written compositions with five different Southern African musical bow players, so I guess it’s safe to say that I have some thoughts on this.

If I look at some of the composers on this disc, there are quite a few that I’d like to believe I get on well with. One of them I’ve been close friends with since I was a teenager, and one since varsity – both of which have been bandmates of mine in our group the ShhArt Ensemble/Night Light Collective. Another was an unofficial mentor of ours, whose work greatly inspired certain approaches to our music making. There are artists who I’ve collaborated with, or interviewed, or have spoken with in private, all who I like personally or whose work I respect greatly. My point is, to wrap this disclaimer up, with so many personal connections, it’s kinda tricky to review this album as objectively as possible, but I’ll give it a shot.

For context, I have very strong memories as a young composer in the early 2000s attending some of the first Bow Project concerts, as part of the New Music Indabas held at the National Arts Festivals in Makhanda. Spearheaded by composer Michael Blake, these performances consisted of various composers (mostly South African), such as Mokale Koapeng, Paul Hamner, Robert Fokkens, Blake himself, and Jürgen Bräuninger, either arranging archive recordings of uhadi bow songs by Mrs Nofinishi Dywili for string quartet, or writing short compositions as “responses” (or re-imaginings) to these songs. Later Indabas would include performances of new interpretations of Dywili’s music by bow-players Mantombi Matotiyana or Latozi Mpahleni (better known as Madosini), followed by the string quartet’s response.^{[1]I got to know a lot of these pieces pretty well as my brother, Xandi van Dijk, was part of the resident ensemble for the project at the time – the Sontonga quartet. Subsequently, the group would regularly rehearse them in our lounge, either for the Indabas themselves, or as part of their program for unrelated performances. Koapeng’s Komeng, as an example, is an absolute banger of a composition and one that should be on every South African string quartet’s repertoire list. As an aside, if you’re still reading this, I’m going to assume you like South African works, so keep an eye out for an upcoming “first in a series” album by Xandi’s new group, the Germany based Signum quartet, which will include Komeng amongst other South African compositions. Besides for this being a shameless plug, I mention it for a reason that will become apparent two sentences from this footnote…} According to Blake, the string quartet medium was the “perfect bridge between the world of traditional bow music and the world of new classical music”.^{[2]The Bow Project and liner notes for Bow Project 2.} Quite a few of these quartet works were later recorded by the Danish Nightingale String Quartet, on a 2010 double compilation album called The Bow Project, which also included the original archive recordings of Dywili performing her songs.Unfortunately, at the time of writing this, I haven’t been able to find the album anywhere online, tracking down only three or four of the pieces. One of the tracks off this album that I was however able to find is Jürgen Bräuninger‘s Tsiki’s Got A Headache.^{[3]“Wait!”, you may say, “This recording is clearly off Bow Project 2!” Read on…} Described by Bräuninger as a “bowscape”, the piece departs from the quartet medium, instead combining archival recordings of bow-song, synth (or organ), concrete elements (such as crowds talking), all accompanying a monologue performed by Ntombi Gasa.^{[4]According to the liner notes of Bow Project 2, the initial plan was to invite all the participating composers to create a short electronic tape piece along with the quartet response, with Bräuninger being the only one to do so.}

According to Blake^{[5]Again in the liner notes of Bow Project 2.}, the original Bow Project paid tribute to Dywili, who had passed away just before it was launched in 2002. A few years later, the first album was also dedicated to her memory. With Bräuninger having passed away in 2019, Blake, through the African Open Institute for Music, Research and Innovation, proposed, in this spirit, to use his “bowscape” track as the basis of a Bow Project sequel album, this time with South African composers who work within the electronic music medium. To honour Bräuninger, it was decided to include former students of his, as well as international composers who were friends or collaborators, or composers who admired his work and contributions to the South African New Music landscape.^{[6]I must confess, while I never met Bräuninger, he has always been spoken of in very high regard, and his impact and legacy is very visible within these circles.} In the end, over twenty composers contributed “bowscapes” to the album, with the first half being South African composers, and the second half (mostly) being allocated to the international composers. The aforementioned Tsiki’s Got A Headache returns as the disc’s opener, acting as a blueprint for the other works, and setting the tone for what is to come.

And now: A brief (yet somehow still very detailed) look at 20 compositions, almost in album order.

The South African component begins with two former students of Bräuninger’s – Njabulo Phungula and Miles Warrington. Phungula’s Montage was written as a direct response to Tsiki, and combines multiple field recordings with an umrhubhe (performed by Mantombi Matotiyana), and with what sounds like a bass-boosted mbira (or nyunga nyunga) to create a series of short musical scenes, or (in my head) “living oil-paintings”. Whistles combined with crowds give the illusion (possibly unintentionally) of train stations or places of transit. Voices, wedding music and wind chimes flow in and out of each other, as we, the listener pass through each vignette, observing and moving on before anything becomes too opaque. The three-dimensional moods Phungula creates are atmospheric, and I wish the work could have been longer. Warrington, in contrast, combines only three elements – uhadi and umrhubhe song with a cicada drone – with striking results. In his Three Ways To Resonate, Warrington blends the resonating chambers of the uhadi’s guard, the umrhubhe player’s body, and the cicada’s tymbal, the source of its sound. This combination creates a feeling of the wide, open spaces of the Karoo, with echoey voices highlighting the aridness of the landscape, while creating a dry and dusty base to build upon it. The moment an uncredited uhadi performer appears through the “fog of delay” is cinematic and a wonderful reminder upfront why bow-song is such a powerful art form.

Unfortunately, it isn’t always clear in the notes who is playing a bow when^{[7]More on this later…}, however, being very familiar with the works of Cara Stacey, I would be very surprised if it wasn’t her playing bow on her Rounds. As alluded to earlier, Stacey, as well as Galina Juritz, are long time collaborators of mine within the ShhArt Ensemble, and, openly showing my bias, I’m always excited and curious to hear what they produce. Both Stacey and Juritz are unapologetic in their writing and approach, with a slightly similar sound-world wholeheartedly embracing the stylistically eclecticism our group used to play around with. In Rounds Stacey plays various uhadi loops through an assortment of electric guitar pedals, while utilizing a few non-traditional extended technique effects (such as hitting or scraping the gourd itself). Ethereal chords are juxtaposed with deep ominous thuds, as an organic loop (in both timing and materials used to create it) build an uneasy and inescapable tension.

While placed a few tracks later, a similarly organic loop begins Juritz’s in tandem, almost like a record needle stuck in the inner groove, as pipe blasts float on the wind. As slow violin chords drift by, Stacey features again in sampled bow loops initially recorded in 2014 and 2017.^{[8]Such as the main groove of Stacey’s Sunbird, originally off her Things That Grow album.I have to add, this inclusion was an unexpected treat and sparked quite a lot of nostalgia on my side, having performed a version of it with ShhArt around that time.} The mood evolves into a dark and distorted rhythmic beat, one of my favourite moments on the disc – this being the first time (by this point, six tracks in) that the textures move away from slow, vast soundscapes, to something with a little more oomph. I’m not even going to pretend that I’m not a big fan of both of these pieces and the composers, but I do feel both works end just as the textures start getting very delicious, leaving me with a feeling of wanting more.

Another composer to use the uhadi’s extended techniques to very good effect is Pierre-Henri Wicomb, in his powerful Hommage Mirage. Disjointed (but in a very good way) almost arhythmic “blips”, constructed out of short edits of Princess Magogo’s Uyephi na? envelope longer sections of the same song. There is a feeling of breathlessness, engulfed with a real darkness, allowing only brief glimpses of light (found in the human voice) to cut through – this is a world of inhales only. While I am fan of Wicomb’s work in general, this track took a few listens for me to truly appreciate it, and (according to my notes at any rate) reminds me a bit of Radiohead’s Fitter Happier, possibly due to the bleak, emotionally charged environment it creates. This comparison is made stronger, especially when placed next to Neo Muyanga’s haunting uNonto Uzavunywa, a reimagining of Matotiyana’s ‘akavunywa’. While still present, the uhadi elements here take a bit of a backseat, with more focus on a melancholic, glitchy piano chorale. The piece evokes a feeling of time standing still, while the restless undercurrent of life flows by, almost like the musical equivalent of a time-lapse video. It might partly be due to the length of the work, being one of the longer tracks on the disc, or the song-like nature of many of Muyanga’s compositions, but it comes across as one of the more “complete” and stronger pieces amongst the collection, even with a slightly abrupt ending,

Whereas Juritz and Muyanga’s pieces hint at musical worlds outside of soundscape drones, Warrick Sony takes it a step further in Live Grass for Udu, Bow and Radio. I love this track and the driving sound-world it creates. If not for the fact that it’s so different from the other compositions and therefore not really a good representation of the rest of the disc, it would almost feel like “The Single” (if it were that kind of album, of course…). There is a “rock orientation” in pulse and character, highlighted by emphasised beats within the polyrhythms created by the elements mentioned in the title. The only field recording used is of a cricket commentator discussing the green,^{[9]Har-har – “field” recording…} and instead of using an archival recording, Sony samples a Brazilian berimbau – a musical bow instrument similar to the uhadi – creating his own grooves with exhilarating results. While the conclusion of the piece has a satisfying ending, this is definitely another one that I would love to hear an “extended play” version of.

Further rock ideas are explored when two more of my collaborators meet, bow player Dizu Plaatjies and Maxim Starcke, on In The Valley Of Moonlight (for Ruben). Starcke revisits his personal archives, using umrhubhe samples of an unreleased recording he made with Plaatjies in 2013, and combines natural sounds together with a slow and beautifully melancholic synth part, enhanced with electric guitar. Dedicated to Ruben Mowszowski,^{[10]Author and poet with whom Starcke and Plaatjies formed the group Souls of Ancient Fish to perform works of a similar nature with a spoken word addition.} the blend of colours and textures (especially the keyboard patch combined with wave sounds, recorded by Lisa Bauer) creates an almost late Pink Floyd-ian quality.^{[11]Something circa Momentary Lapse Of Reason/The Division Bell, for those of you into that kind of thing.} The work evokes imagery of Muizenberg or Kalk Bay on a winter’s day, with the loops of stick scrapes/squeaks and extremely slowed down umrhubhe (almost like another worldly whale song) simultaneously creating a feeling of claustrophobia and timelessness.

In my experience, new art music, especially of this nature, very rarely exhibits a sense of humour. There is, however, an element of it in Roché van Tiddens‘ By a young woman from the Lumka Valley, which I simultaneously enjoy, while struggling to put my finger on it. I hesitate to call it “playful” while there are definitely moments that could be described as such. Equally, from some angles, the piece could be viewed as quite “biting” or even sardonic. Constructed by cutting up Dave Dargie’s Make And Play Your own Musical Bow^{[12]a “How To” on playing isiXhosa bow music.} and repeating everything from full phrases to individual clicks in words, my initial response (while listening to it on Spotify without program notes – and let’s be honest, probably the way most people will hear it) was to instantly be transported back to a world of the mid 1990s, forced to use instructional “Master Maths” tapes from the 1970s, while surrounded by beige carpeting in stuffy academic spaces. Without context, as I’m not familiar with Dargie’s work, it feels like it’s speaking truth to an older power of a few decades ago. My first response was one of “Oh, sweet, this is totally taking the piss of The Bad Old Days, and the potentially (to use an apparently contentious word)  ‘problematic’ way a lot of this information was presented and documented.” With the title (a phrase said by Dargie) calling attention to the anonymity of the bow player discussed, this, for me, emphasises the composer’s approach. However, as I was writing this, now with the composer’s notes in front of me and listening to it for the fourth or so time, I had to message an academic friend of mine and ask “What do we think of Dargie?” On all accounts his work is highly respected and he’s done a lot of very good things for academia, documenting, archiving, and discussing several hundred bow songs.^{[13] I would be curious, with Dargie now in his 80s, what his thoughts are on the work (or even the overall album).} Don’t get me wrong, this is possibly my favourite track on the disc, even if I’m not quite sure why. Is it commentary? Is the composer simply having fun with sounds? Does it matter? Whatever van Tiddens’ intentions are, (which, even with the notes, aren’t very clear), there is something manic about it, that I find very appealing.^{[14]Also, I laughed out loud at the almost “Goon Show”/Terry Gilliam moment of “And then the bow says…”.}

The centerpiece of the album, The Walking Song, is the largest work, both in track length and personnel. With an isiZulu text by play-write Ari Sitas, an adaptation of a poem by Alfred Temba Qabula^{[15]I’m assuming as it’s not clear in the notes…} (a Nguni writer and friend of Bräuninger, who passed away in 2003), Sazi Dlamini performs a dialogue between He and She (or Owesilisa and Owezifazane), playing both rolls, while accompanying himself on makhweyana bow. After a brief overture performed by the unmistakable sound of hadedas, Dutch composer Luc Houtkamp underscores the scene with very theatrical electronic punctuations (almost operatic in nature – the opening chords of Puccini’s Tosca spring to mind) as a conversation of “Where have you been?” transpires. Ending as it began with sound of birds, this brief “Gesamtkunstwerk” is captivating, and, with the meeting of sound-worlds, acts as a good bridge between the South African composers and the international component to follow.

American Christina Viola Oorebeek and Venezuelan Adina Izarra return the album back to soundscapes with so far, so near (dedicated to Jürgen Bräuninger) and BOW respectively. Both composers choose to create “walls of sound”, as it were, constructed from fast repetitions of the percussive element created by the stick hitting either the uhadi’s or umrhubhe’s string. Oorebeek’s approach is that of an incredibly light but dense storm cloud-like high pitch texture which surrounds and engulfs us. We, the listener, sense glimpses of a musical phrase (or presence) on the other side, which eventually morphs its way through the almost imperceptible cracks to join us. Izarra’s wall is a little more defined, like a fence with thick bars.^{[16] I am again reminded a bit of Radiohead, but this time their Like Spinning Plates.} An intense drone acts as a carpet for sequenced uhadi string-hits at various speeds, like simultaneous dances all happening at once on different planes of existence, before all of them return to our own at the end. I hesitate to use the phrase “ritualistic”, but there is a mood of something magical (or vaguely spiritual) that both tracks evoke.

Mexican composer Rodrigo Sigal’s Touch a snake and you ask for trouble is a haunting tribute to his friendship with Bräuninger – “he did not know if I was a snake that would cause trouble or someone who would be grateful to him for many years to come.” Uncredited singers and (what sounds like) an electronically manipulated uhadi are accompanied with cinematic synth drones (possibly enhanced with a tampura) to create a very moving and hypnotic listening experience. Similarly, Danish composer Kristian Blak^{[17]Who also appears on the first Bow Project album.} also superimposes a larger unedited excerpt of an uhadi song (performed, again, by an uncredited musician) together with electronically manipulated aquatic birds and ocean sounds in his work Birds & Bows. Described in the liner note as an “overseas conversation” between birds from the North Atlantic and voice and bow, the result is incredibly intimate while simultaneously evoking a large scale scene of windswept coastlines. In contrast to Blak’s wide-screen airy imagery, Rødd á Strongi (Voice On String) by Heðin Ziska Davidsen of the Faroe Islands, sets the scene with an ominous, almost primordial drone before fading to silence. An anonymous bow player’s voice appears through an echoey mist with a greeting: “Molweni.” Davidsen’s intention is to make it sound like the voice is playing the instrument, but the electronic wind and drones make it feel like something much bigger, and music of a different time. As the sound-world is very appealing, part of me wishes the work could be longer, however, the structure is focused, with a good sense of timing and drama.

Far away from mystical soundscapes and haunting imagery is Austrian-American Lukas Ligeti‘s Never Finish [short version]. Described in his note as “a collage, superimposition, and sonic reconstructions” based on recordings by bow player Nofinishi Dywili, Ligeti creates a relentless, mechanical texture of loops and phases, like being inside an uhadi’s gourd placed inside a tumble-dryer. Frantic and meticulous phrases are interrupted by pillars of accentuated silence, with one in particular feeling like a false ending before the machine starts up again. While dramatic and well-timed, part of me wonders if this was always part the plan or if this moment is the result of it being an edited down version of a larger composition, as the title implies. Of course, the “short version” addendum to a work called Never Finish can obviously also be seen as a joke, especially in tandem with the implied play-on-words on Dywili’s name – but I might be overthinking.^{[18]I guess what I’m writing here is called “Covering your bases”.} Either way, the work demands your attention and is very effective.

Along the lines of “composer’s intentions”, due to the nature of electronic compositions, quite a few of the pieces on this disc can feel very “controlled” or (and not at all meant in a derogatory way) “clinical – not much is left to chance, and there are not a lot of the serendipitous moments that can come from a “live” performance. However, on the other end of the sound-world spectrum, there is something about Nigerian Chidi Obijiaku‘s Midnight Voices that sparks a strong memory of the free-improv concerts I attended during the mid to late 2010s, either as a listener or a performer. It feels like one is in the room with a group of sensitive musicians following each other, with the arch and structure of the work building fluidly, but knowing exactly when to end. This being said, the liner notes are not clear if all the instruments are “live” or simply programmed in, or even if they’re all performed by Obijiaku himself. However, with an umrhubhe bow being flanked by drum kit, electric piano, and voice, there is a freeness in the performance that stands out from the other tracks that I find charming and very engaging.

Another track to pay direct homage to Bräuninger is Mozambican composer Estêvão Filipe Chissano‘s wutomi – life. Worth noting, but as far as I can tell, besides for a percussive element that could possibly be someone tapping their fingers along the uhadi’s gourd,^{[19]It could also be a membrane of sorts or even electronic.} there is no use of a bow instrument in this piece. Instead Chissano uses the Xiquitsi Youth Choir to repeat the words “Life! Wutomi! Vida!”, either in succession while gradually speeding up, or sometimes talking over each other, while a wordless chorale ebbs and flows through it. The piece is placed through a distorted/static filter, which according to the composer, is meant to illustrate the feeling of “losing someone who has meant a lot to us”. While the repetition of the words is intentionally anxiety inducing, the textures are warm and fluid, offering a good break for the ear after (by this point) seventeen tracks of mostly percussive sounds.

The second to last track, and last track to include bow, is Michael Blake’s Ukuhalisa Umrhubhe Fragment. The title translates to “to play the umrhubhe”, or literally “to make the umrhubhe cry”. Originally workshopped and constructed in 2013 as part of a longer electronic-tape work, this three minute excerpt features, as the title implies, an extended umrhubhe song performed by Mantombi Matotiyana. Blake’s writing is mostly understated and supportive, with a piano and (slightly uneasy-making, but never overpowering) drones being utilised sparsely. The most movement in contrast to the bow-song is a brief marimba groove that passes by gently. This way of writing allows the overtones of the umrhubhe to speak clearly as Matotiyana delivers a beautiful and delicate performance. This leads us into the last track …anywhere far, a collaboration between Bräuninger and German composer Ulrich Süsse. With the album having begun with Bräuninger’s Tsiki’s Got A Headache, …anywhere far,^{[20]Created in 1991, with a 2022 version included on this album.} in this context, feels like a brief coda, and one last nod to the man and reason the other composers joined together to do this in the first place. Based on a speech made by Nise Mhlange at the first cultural congress in KwaZulu-Natal in 1991, combined with bird noises and other concrete elements, the album’s unofficial theme of “Africa versus Europe” and “Africa plus Europe” is highlighted one last time with a short snippet of Mozart, before sluggishly fading to silence.

Yeah, okay, but did you like it?

Do I like the music that is presented on this compilation album? Yes, absolutely. There are some fantastic pieces to be found here, with a large variety of musical voices being showcased. The tracks demonstrate many different compositional styles, choices, and approaches in contemporary composition, all while creating some very atmospheric music and thought-provoking works of art. If my radio show still existed, I would 1000% include almost every work here on a playlist. Do I like the album as a whole? Er…

We live in an era where many music consumers will quite happily buy, or listen to, only one track off an album. Subsequently, it’s perfectly acceptable (especially in the pop world) to create and structure an album accordingly – “Here is a box full of these pieces; engage with the one you want to, when you want to.” However, gauging by the overall structure of this disc, it feels like its intended to be listened to in one sitting – a Concept Compilation Tribute Album, as it were – or a longer work with shorter movements, with Bräuninger’s pieces bookending the disc and acting as a Conceptual Reprise. While I don’t know what the exact commission brief was, I suspect a time limitation on the works would have been advised. I’m also sure most composers can agree, writing a satisfying “miniature” is difficult, no matter the medium, and subsequently there are a handful of works that, for me, feel incomplete. With each piece being between a minute and a half to four minutes long, new musical ideas and styles come at one hard and fast,^{[21]Or slow and spacey.} with a lot of information jammed together across 21 tracks and 51 minutes of play-time. Although quite a few of the compositions follow the formula of “archival recording + x”, there’s thankfully enough variety between the works to keep the ear interested. However, I must confess that during the first few listen-throughs, purely due to the sheer volume of material, I ran out of steam around three-quarters of the way each time. This is not at all a critique of the quality of work, mind you. By themselves, many of these pieces are fantastic.^{[22]I am reminded of a concert I attended as a student in which the piano department joined forces to play the entirety of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier Book 1, something I was initially very excited about, but then started eyeing the exits by around “D-minor”.} Like any new composition, the more I listened to Bowscapes, the more it grew on me, but part of me wonders if all this information would be easier to digest by potentially rethinking the track order.^{[23]Maybe this is taboo to suggest, but if one were to lean in to the approach of thinking of the disc as a larger work, one could overlap some of tracks, allowing them to flow in to each other, creating a much more organic “whole” and removing the frequent feeling of “Stop/Start”.} This all being said, while I’m certain anyone who worked on this doesn’t give a fig about how it could be “improved” just to keep me happy, my point is, that there is a very, very good album here, and our differing ideas on flow and pacing aside, for my taste, I would have preferred fewer but longer works, to give some of the stronger pieces a bit more breathing room and space to develop.

To momentarily be “That Guy”, without pointing fingers, conversations about “Power Balance” with the phrase “Cultural Appropriation” do sit just outside of peripheral vision of this disc, which is a thesis-in-the-making for someone who is way more clued up about it than I to go into more detail about.^{[24]I do think, going by the content in the art created and what is discussed in the booklet, at least most of, if not all of the composers treated the source material with respect and care.} As mentioned a few times, the bow songs themselves that some of the tracks are based on, and the performances there of, are beautiful and wonderfully intimate, an aspect of the medium that, I think, greatly enhances a few of the compositions. One could argue that in some cases these songs are used as a compositional short-hand to evoke certain moods, kind of like having a pure major chord after bars and bars of dissonance to create a moment of “release”. Most of the time, the bow players in these recordings are credited by the composers, with a few instances of them being acknowledged as collaborators. However, some times the crediting in the booklet is inconsistent, with performers not being mentioned in the liner notes of individual works at all.^{[25]I’ve scanned the booklet a couple of times to make sure that I’m not putting my foot in it by stating this. I can’t find anything, but please correct me if I’m wrong. This also doesn’t only apply to the bow players, as an aside. I would love to know who the musicians are in Chissano’s work, as an example.} Unfortunately, in a post “Fees Must Fall” world, this doesn’t sit well. If the composer doesn’t mention who is playing in their notes, this is easily fixed with either a mention in the credits with the sound engineers, or somewhere in the introduction explaining where most of the archive recordings come from.

Related, something that came to mind once or twice is how The Bow Project may in some regards have been more successful in a “responding to the music” kind of way. While this might not have been the aim of Bowscapes, by initially using a string quartet and writing for a different medium, even the most basic of arrangement would, by design, “force” composers to put their own stamp on it. While it’s obviously a great idea to include these archive recordings within these “responses”, and thus introduce these musicians and this way of music making to a new audience, it does raise the question “Where does an original work begin, and where does it start becoming an arrangement of someone else’s music?”.^{[26]This is something I’ve had to ask myself quite a few times when collaborating with bow players like Zanele Ndlovu, or Lungiswa and Dizu Plaatjies.} I of course realize that this is a conversation one could have about sound collages or works of a Musique concrète-ish nature in general, or how since the “Dawn of Music” composers have taken folk songs and slapped their own name on it, but, in some cases, on this disc, one could argue that how these songs are incorporated could almost warrant a co-composer credit.^{[27]Or, at least “Co-arranger”. I will admit that my knowledge on how bow-music is credited is limited, but from what I understand it’s not uncommon for a song to be credited as “[song title] how it was taught to me by my teacher, [name]”.}

Lastly (and here comes “That Guy” again), while there is undoubtably a feminine thread running through the works, with many of the bow songs being performed or written by women artists, on a collection with twenty-three officially named composers, only four of them are women. While obviously I don’t know who was approached and who declined, while listening to the disc, I instantly thought of other South African artists who regularly work in the electronic and experimental music field, such as Meryl van Noie, Denise Onen, or Gugulethu Duma (better known as Dumama), two of which who have already done stellar work in incorporating the musical bow within their compositions.^{[28]That I’m aware of…} I would have loved to have heard what they would have done with this project.

Also, as someone who trumpets South African composers as much as I do, a minor niggle of mine is that, as great as the international composers are on the disc, and as valid as their work is in the context of this tribute, it could have been nice to have more local voices featured. While it’s interesting as an academic exercise to see how composers from around the world approach a traditionally Southern African instrument, I think these albums can be a perfect opportunity to have the “Proudly South African” stamp boldly displayed on it. Hopefully there is a next time.^{[29]Since the initial Bow Project, it’s interesting to note that there have been a few ensembles appearing on the scene that incorporate bow together with “classical” or new art music elements, ranging from the very experimental to very accessible. If you’re reading this, take a gander at groups and productions like The uHadi Experience, The Khoi Khonnexion, and Ancient Voices}

Overall, Bowscapes is a fantastic collection of very high-standard musical experiments and experimental music. For me, the individual parts are much greater than the whole, and while it’s not an album I would regularly return to, or necessarily just throw on in the background, there are definitely moments that warrant multiple listens. As a tribute to one of our more influential, but sadly, not as widely-known composers, it acts as a solid compendium of artists locally and abroad who have been inspired by Bräuninger’s work, both directly and indirectly.^{[30]It would be remiss of me to not mention another musical tribute made for Bräuninger in the middle of lockdown, an eighteen minute collection of very short films and compositions, mostly for clarinet and saxophone, called 11 short movies for Jürgen 0 social contact. Initiated by Sounding Cities and written by a different group of South African and international composers, it can be found here.} Equally, it pays tribute, in no small way, to our often overlooked musical bow musicians and composers, acknowledging how their work has inspired many composers in the South African art music scene, and how the tradition has evolved since 2002.^{[31]I think of the recent passing of Madosini, someone I feel a tribute of this nature is long overdue.}

Like the original Bow Project concept,^{[32]I really hope the first album becomes easier to get a hold of, as an aside.} Blake has something very special here, and I would love to hear further volumes down the line.^{[33]Bows and orchestra, maybe? Chamber music of different shapes and sizes written in collaboration with bow players, instead of responding to existing songs? From what I understand, the South African Strings Foundation has recently stipulated that a few works of this nature be written for an upcoming composer competition, so the repertoire is about to grow…} A dense experience that grows on one with every listen, this is a recital that every young (and old, mind you) South African (composer or not) should have a listen to. I’m pretty certain that some of these works will act as a spark of inspiration to younger voices (similarly as the original Bow Project concerts in the early 2000s did to me), and encourage them to explore some fascinating sound-worlds off the beaten path (electronic or not), while acting as a gateway drug into the still (sadly) under-appreciated but incredible art form that is South African bow music.