The House of Bedlam with Juliet Fraser (soprano)

Soprano Juliet Fraser has a repertoire dominated by the very old and the very new. Specialising in the gnarly edges of contemporary classical music, Juliet is an active commissioner of new repertoire and has worked particularly closely with composers Pascale Criton, Michael Finnissy, Bernhard Lang, Cassandra Miller and Rebecca Saunders. Recent festival highlights include Aldeburgh Festival, Huddersfield Contemporary Music Festival, ManiFeste (Paris), Milano Musica, Musikfest Berlin, November Music and TIME:SPANS (NYC).

She regularly performs as a guest soloist with ensembles such as MusikFabrik, Klangforum Wien, Ensemble Modern, Plus-Minus and Talea, with Quatuor Bozzini, and as a duo with pianist Mark Knoop. Much of her commissioning focuses on creating a body of new work for voice and tape/electronics or for voice and piano. She has recently commissioned pieces from Lara Agar, Laurence Crane, Nwando Ebizie and Newton Armstrong. Juliet is also known for breathing new life into existing repertoire such as Schoenberg’s Second String Quartet, Babbitt’s Philomel, Vivier’s Bouchara, Feldman’s Three Voices and Grisey’s Quatre chants pour franchir le seuil.

In 2015 she released her debut disc, Feldman’s Three Voices (on Hat Hut); she has since released recordings of Andrew Hamilton’s To the People (NMC), Bernhard Lang’s The Cold Trip, part 2 (Kairos), Michael Finnissy’s Andersen-Liederkreis (Hat Hut), a binaural capturing of Babbitt’s Philomel (all that dust) and portrait discs of Cassandra Miller (all that dust) and Frank Denyer (Another Timbre). In 2020 she released her album ‘spilled out from tangles…’ (HCR), which features works written for her by Lisa Illean, Sivan Eldar, Nomi Epstein and Lawrence Dunn. Her latest album (NEOS) presents music by Chaya Czernowin, Beat Furrer, Enno Poppe and Rebecca Saunders.

Juliet is a core member of EXAUDI vocal ensemble, which she co-founded with composer/conductor James Weeks in 2002. With EXAUDI she performs a broad repertoire, from ars subtilior and Renaissance madrigals to the most complex contemporary scores. Her discography includes acclaimed recordings of Renaissance polyphony by Lassus, Vitoria and Byrd with Collegium Vocale Gent (directed by Philippe Herreweghe), Bach cantatas with Gli Angeli Genève and, most recently, the late madrigals of Carlo Gesualdo with EXAUDI.

Alongside her work on stage, Juliet enjoys writing words about being a performing artist. Recent essays have been commissioned by Cheltenham Festival, Britten Pears Arts, MaerzMusik – Festival for Time Issues and the Fragility of Sounds lecture series, and published in TEMPO and by Wolke. She has delivered masterclasses or short courses on contemporary vocal repertoire or collaborative composition at Royaumont Foundation, Britten Pears Young Artist Programme, Dartington Music Summer School, Southampton University and Leeds College of Music. She is also in increasing demand as a panellist or presenter and has served on juries for The Arts Foundation, NCH/Sounding the Feminists, the Ivors Composer Awards and Royal Philharmonic Society.

Juliet is the founder and artistic director of eavesdropping, a festival for experimental musics in East London, and co-director with Mark Knoop and Newton Armstrong of All That Dust, a little independent label for new music.

One

From a low, broken branch,
on the unmown slopes,
around an oval pool;

In the soil
beneath the earth,
from a tuft of dry grass,
when the rain erodes the stones;

At the edge of the village
from the edge of the beck
above a sloping meadow
and at the hilltop;

With the motion of the crows
and deep in negotiation;

In paper wrappers
and from a doughy loaf;

Out loud
and blown away;

In the morning mist,
in the evening sunlight
and out into the air;

From the valley
and at the hilltop
and towards its own shadow.

*

The grass grows tufty
the stone wall slopes
things become other things.

The seed of something specific grows into something we will not name.
the worms swim slow
the shallow beck trickles by

Imagine a line where everything connects.
The tufts of grass ruffle. Nobody comes.
The stones will recompose,
the new trees grow,
the sunlight becomes specific

We trudge and trudge and our hunger takes shape.
We fill the hollows molecules of thoughts with sandwiches and apples.

The oaks creak , the breezes fizzle,
blue flowers flutter.

A slow train echoes,
the light lingers hard.

*

The crows that were gathered gather again,
here comes the call of the crows.

A troubling thought mumbles,
the crows gather close.

Nothing resembles the motion of the crows
more than the call of the crows.

The waves of wind send the crows to the meadow,
and won’t our worries echo.

The sharp light shifts,
the crows swoop low.

The wind accommodates the weight of the crows
A crow swoops low.

Two

the crows call, the crows grow tufty, the crows slope
the crows become other things
the crows gather around

the crows grow into something
the crows swim
the crows call

the crows trickle by
the crows imagine everything connects
the crows gather close

the crows ruffle
the crows erode, the crows recompose

the crows grow new
the crows call

the crows become specific
the crows trudge to the top, the crows takes shape.
the crows negotiate
the crows in paper wrappers; the crows in a doughy loaf.
the crows creak; the crows fizzle
the crows swoop
the crows won’t blow our worries away.
the crows echo

the crows blow away, the crows lift into the air;
the crows become sharp, the crows swoop low

the crows flutter
the crows accommodate the wind

the crows echo
the crows shadow
the crows linger
the crows swoop

Three

From a low, broken branch comes the call of a crow
The grass grows tufty
The stone wall slopes

Things become other things, we sometimes think:
The crows that were gathered on the unmown slopes gather again around an oval pool

In the soil the seed of something specific grows into something we will not name.
Beneath the earth the worms swim slow
From a tuft of dry grass comes the call of a crow

The shallow beck trickles by
Imagine a line where everything connects: there the crows gather close.

The tufts of grass ruffle. Nobody comes.
When the rain erodes the stones, the stones will recompose as crows.

At the edge of the village the new trees grow
From the edge of the beck comes the call of the crow

Four

The sunlight becomes specific to the motion of the crows above a sloping meadow.
We trudge to the hilltop and our hunger takes shape.

We fill the hollows molecules of our thoughts with the notion that the crows are deep in negotiation.
Apples in paper wrappers; sandwiches cut from a doughy loaf.

The creak of the oaks; a fizzle of breeze.
Nothing resembles the swoop of a crow more than a troubling thought mumbled out loud.

The waves of wind send the crows to the meadow, but won’t blow our worries away.
The crows’ call echoes.

Five

As the morning mist blows away, the crows lift into the air;
As the evening sunlight becomes sharp, the crows swoop low

blue flowers flutter
the crow shifts its weight to accommodate the blunt blustery winds

From the valley comes the echo of a train
A crow swoops towards its own shadow

At the hilltop, the light lingers hard.
A crow swoops low.

Six

in the low, broken stones
something specific grows

crows gather close
the rain will recompose

in the meadow the motion
of the sloping oaks

a shadow is an echo
a crow swoops low.

Seven

the crows become the stones
the worms become the rain
the oak becomes a meadow
the flowers become the sunlight
the morning becomes a crow

Eight

a crow swoops