Anna Thorvaldsdottir sits on a stool with wheels but no back. The hum of electric garden equipment underscores our conversation in her composing studio, and it’s funny to think that the heavyweight harmonic frameworks of one of today’s most sought-after composers might be influenced, on a subconscious level, by the drones of suburban lawnmowers. “I don’t want to shut anything out, because I want to be so open,” she says. That description applies to her studio too: Quiet and minimal—but intentionally unisolated—its big glass doors look out into her neighbors’ gardens.
A heavy filter guards Thorvaldsdottir’s sound world, though. Her music is supreme in its focus; slow-moving layers of differing density flow into each other, with little excess and certainly no filigree. She returns to the word “organic” frequently, and it’s unsurprising that her music is associated with nature even if, compositionally speaking, it’s got more in common with natural processes (growth, decay, movement, stasis) than descriptions of topographies. Where organic metaphors crystallize most clearly is in a 2019 performance of “AIŌN” (which receives its UK premiere at the Aldeburgh Festival in June and appears alongside “ARCHORA” on a new recording by Iceland Symphony Orchestra, released last week) with the Iceland Dance Company. Choreographed by Erna Ómarsdóttir, the orchestra appears on stage and is integrated into the dance piece; strings bow their heads, a sea of brass instruments rises up, and fluid shapes are created by the bodies of musicians, dancers, and instruments. Gestures spread through the assembled ensemble like ink through water.
The white walls of Thorvaldsdottir’s studio are currently empty: A piece for flutist Claire Chase’s Density series recently came down, and there are further orchestral pieces waiting to start. We sit at her composing table, where there’s an imposing pile of thick, blank paper, a mechanical pencil, and an eraser.
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