• Koncerter

    – se under kalender for fuldt program

  • Vendsyssel Kunstmuseum

    -lørdag 18/12 2021 kl 1430

    Solokoncert – med et lille strejf af jul..
  • Skt Olai sognegård

    Lørdag 11/9-21 kl 15

    Sange, Salmer og små skævheder i fri fortolkning
  • Klaverstemmeren , Aalborg

    9/9 -21 kl 1930

    Solokoncert- jazz, impro og latin
  • Lønstrup Cafebio

    Søndag 5/9-21 kl 15

    Solokoncert -Den personlige fortælling

soloklaver

En fortælling der afspejler hele bredden i mit musikalske univers:

Først og fremmest improvisationen, den evige mulige forandring, bevægelsen, dansen, tilstedeværelsen i det der er.

Nysgerrigheden efter hele verdens forskellighed af udtryk, fra Brasiliens varme eksplosion af kreativitet, til de nordiske afstemte, melankolske, æstetiske meditationer

…Afrika, Indien, Cuba -drømmene om det fremmede og det nære udfoldet side om side.

Den dybe beundring for de enere der viser vejen lige fra Bach til Bartok og Ligeti.

En bredt favnende musikalsk palet, der samles i et meget personligt univers.

“There is a love that equals in its power the love of man for woman and reaches inwards as deeply.
It is the love of a man or a woman for their world. For the world of their center where their lives burn genuinely and with a free flame. The love of the diver for his world of wavering light. His world of pearls and tendrils and his breath at his breast. Born as a plunger into the deeps he is at one with every swarm of lime-green fish, with every colored sponge. As he holds himself to the ocean’s faery floor, one hand clasped to a bedded whale’s rib, he is complete and infinite. Pulse, power and universe sway in his body. He is in love.
The love of the painter standing alone and staring, staring at the great colored surface he is making. Standing with him in the room the rearing canvas stares back with tentative shapes halted in their growth, moving in a new rhythm from floor to ceiling. The twisted tubes, the fresh paint squeezed and smeared across the dry on his palette. The dust beneath the easel. The paint has edged along the brushes’ handles. The white light in a northern sky is silent. The window gapes as he inhales his world. His world: a rented room, and turpentine. He moves towards his half-born. He is in Love.
The rich soil crumbles through the yeoman’s fingers. As the pearl diver murmurs, ‘I am home’ as he moves dimly in strange water-lights, and as the painter mutters, ‘I am me’ on his lone raft of floorboards, so the slow landsman on his acre’d marl – says with dark Fuchsia on her twisting staircase, ‘I am home.”
― Mervyn Peake, Titus Groan
Kær Musik – Med Carsten Kær