The spirit of Emily Dickinson, other powerful ingrediences of „Manafon Variations“, and more – ein Interview mit Jan Bang und Erik Honoré
Michael: You and Jan were only in parts involved in the making of „Manafon Variations“, but your impact on some tracks was very strong. How do you see the place of this album in David Sylvian‘s work?
Erik Honoré: Looking back on Died in the Wool – Manafon Variations, I see it as an extension and deepening of the world Manafon created – a work that retains the starkness and unpredictability of the original, but introduces new layers of texture, arrangement, and atmosphere. While Manafon was characterized by its raw, almost documentary-like approach to improvisation, Died in the Wool reshapes and recontextualizes those elements, offering a more sculpted and immersive listening experience. The album highlights David’s ongoing willingness to revisit and reinterpret his work, allowing new voices and techniques to subtly shift its meaning.
Michael: As I remember, you and Erik found a deep source of inspiration in David Sylvian‘s solo albums from start on. Do you still return to them every once in a while, or is it so much in your visceral memory that it is more a living presence in your unconscious? And do you have a favourite album? Mine was always „Brilliant Trees“…
Jan Bang: After a performance at Cafe OTO last summer, Nina, my wife and I had a coffee in London with Yuka Fujii, David’s long time creative partner. She mentioned her favorite track, the title track from Brilliant Trees. It builds heavily on Jon Hassell’s work around that time of Possible Musics , Dream Theory in Malaya and Aka Darbari Java. David told me about the recording process and meeting Jon who was 15-20 years his senior. Having the vision of how the combination of the organ chords and Jon’s trumpet would be intertwined. I guess vision combined with a great deal of stubbornness is needed to come out on the other end of a recording session with something interesting. I love that track and the unusual combinations. David has a unique way of finding the right people at the right time. Then make something out of it.
Erik: Brilliant Trees was important to me when it came, as a transition from pop and surface to something more profound, but his third solo album Secrets of the Beehive has always been a particular favourite. I feel it represents the essence of all of David’s approaches and influences up until that point, in a distilled form. Natural, seamless and free, both musically, lyrically, and sonically. There’s a clarity to it, a kind of effortless depth, that makes it feel timeless. I do return to his early solo albums from time to time, but in many ways, they’ve become more of a „living presence in my unconscious“, as you say. Their atmosphere, their emotional and sonic landscapes, are so deeply ingrained that they don’t need to be consciously revisited—they just exist as a reference point, a shared language, a sensibility that still can be drawn upon in new ways.
Michael: There was a change of direction in David’s work with „songs“ that started with „Blemish“ and its remix album. Free improvisation, so-called „free jazz“ and other aounds beyond the mainstream entered his work up to „Manafon“ and „Manafon Variations“. For many listeners this was a watershed, like the one of Talk Talk when they made „Spirit Of Eden“ and „Laughing Stock“. On „Manafon“ David inspired a group of improvisors to build the foundation of the album with a series of free improvs. Afterwards he sang over carefully assembled parts of it. On „Manafon Variations“ the process was the other way round. His singing already existed and was to a great extent the starting point for finding new surroundings for the voice. Was this quite a creative challenge?
Erik: I wouldn’t describe it as a challenge so much as an inspiration, a „roadmap“ – something that provided direction rather than resistance. It was a cross between producing and creating that felt both familiar and inspiring, something that we had already explored in other collaborations with David, where I was more strongly involved than on on Manafon Variations. The process was very much about finding new landscapes for his voice, building something around his existing vocal performances.
That approach—creating a sonic world in response to his voice—was something we also did on Do You Know Me Now, where we constructed the arrangement around his guitar/vocal demo, and on Uncommon Deities, which had a spoken-word foundation. You are of course right: David’s shift toward free improvisation and more abstract forms of music, starting with Blemish, was certainly a turning point, as significant as Talk Talk’s transition from The Colour of Spring to Spirit of Eden—a leap into something raw, instinctive, and far removed from traditional song structures.
But while Manafon built its foundation from collective improvisation, Manafon Variations flipped that approach: His voice was already there, and the task was to build an environment around it. That process wasn’t about overcoming obstacles; it was about discovery, about allowing the music to emerge in response to something that was already present.
Michael: Let‘s come to two pieces you were involved in. One example: „A certain slant of light“. How did you approach the piece? At the last passage, there was this beautiful instrumental coda with Arve‘s trumpet.
Jan: This part was created using existing samples of Arve, performed on my sampler in the Punkt Studio. I’ve long since moved the studio location, but thinking of this piece I can clearly visualize the recording space. Performing these trumpet samples, turning them around, the sampler is a shapeshifter. Something that could not necessarily have been done by recording Arve Henriksen´s trumpet directly. Different techniques create different results.
Michael: Then there was this piece „I Should Not Dare“. The words by Emily Dickinson. In my review at the time i wrote, i could imagine this being a 20 minute track, it is so relaxed and condensed at the same time, rich in details and poetic impacts, „an index of pissibilites“ so to speak… Can you say something about the way this little thing grew to its kind of perfection…. And a memory of working on it (with the ghost of Emily Dickinson around…)?
Jan: We struck gold with that specific piece. Christian Fennesz had done a guitar overdub on David’s basic vocal/acoustic guitar recording and sent it to me. I added the surroundings: the sudden bass note, the synth sample I had from a concert with Ståle Storløkken, the strings etc that changed the harmonic structure in certain selected parts. It is very open in terms of „sound population» for the lack of a better word. It breathes.
Michael: Now „Manafon Variations“ received their first ever vinyl edition, as a double album. I think, what once was confusing the listeners‘ expectations (who wanted to listen more classic songs) today seems much more accessible, easier on the ear even for new listeners. It may be the last album of David, the singer, but it is surely not coming from the ivory tower. Do you agree?
Erik: I do agree. When Manafon and later Died in the Wool – Manafon Variations were first released, they challenged many listeners’ expectations. But over time, I think these albums have settled into a different place in his catalog, where their accessibility is no longer measured by traditional structures, but by the immersive quality of their soundworlds. Perhaps that’s a reflection of how our ears and expectations have changed, or maybe it’s just the natural way music finds its audience over time.
If this does turn out to be the last album of „David, the singer,“ it’s certainly not a work from an ivory tower. There’s too much humanity in it, too much presence and engagement with sound, with words, with the musicians he surrounded himself with. For me, the experience of collaborating with David Sylvian on various projects was never about making something remote or impenetrable—it was about responding to something deeply personal and expressive. And I think that’s why the music still resonates. It asks something of the listener, but it also rewards in ways that continue to unfold long after the first encounter.
Michael: Looking back, how was that teamwork with David going on in regards to the two pieces I asked you about? Fighting? Easy going?
Jan: Really easy going and given total freedom from David’s side to express ourselves. However, on a personal level I am most happy about the Emily Dickinson piece which is only based on small samples that form a mosaic of colors.Erik: The collaboration with David on Died in the Wool, and for me personally even more on Uncommon Deities, flowed very naturally. One of the things that made working with him so rewarding was the balance he struck between creative freedom and extremely precise feedback. He has this ability to provide razor-sharp, informed guidance—never imposing, but always illuminating. His comments are never vague; they are direct, insightful, and always about serving the essence of the music. That combination of trust and precision made the processes not just easy-going, but deeply inspiring. His approach isn’t about control, a „top-down“ approach, but about bringing clarity to the work—helping to shape and refine ideas without limiting their potential. That’s why these long-distance collaborations never felt like a struggle or a negotiation; they felt organic, like a conversation where each exchange moved the music forward in a meaningful way.
Michael: A last question. It is very impressive how David Sylvian explores the range between speaking and singing. I think, this adds to the magic very much. At one point, maybe on the last piece, he is even singing straight away, like in a song from the older days, but only two verses as a counterpoint…. On other tracks there is a very thin line between spoken word and singing….
Erik: David’s ability to explore the space between speaking and singing is one of the compelling aspects of his artistry. It’s a space where emotion is distilled, where meaning is heightened, and where the listener is drawn in by the sheer intimacy of his delivery. On Died in the Wool, there are moments where his voice almost slips into what we might call a “classic song” structure, only to pull back, reminding us of the deliberate tension he plays with. This ability to move fluidly between expressions adds to the magic, creating a sense of expectation and, at times, an almost ghostly presence. That same sensibility is something Jan and I have also encountered in our collaborations with Sidsel Endresen. We are so privileged. Sidsel, like David, has an unparalleled instinct for phrasing, tone, and texture—she can make a single, wordless syllable feel monumental. Both of them push the boundaries of what a voice can be, making every moment feel necessary.
Postscriptum: PARTS OF THIS INTERVIEW WILL FIND THEIR WAYS INTO KLANGHORIZONTE (DEUTSCHLANDFUNK) MARCH 27, 9.05 p.m. / That radio hour can be heard a week long after airplay at Deutschlandfunkfunk, and, at another place, forever and a day (but only, If the „5 hour production“ on March 26 will live up to my expectarions). Many thanks to Erik and Jan for entering memory lane and offering so much insights! Apart from this day within our blog diary, this conversation will be part of our monthly revelations in April. With a slightly changed sequence of photos and covers.
By the way, the last albums by or with Jan Bang and Erik Honoré can be found on Bandcamp and PUNKT EDITIONS incl. Erik‘s „Triage“, Jan‘s „Reading The Ear“, his duo album with Eivind Aarset titled „Last Two Inches of Sky“ (HERE an old radio hour with the two!) Sidsel Endresen‘s „Punkt Live Remixes, Vol. 2“ (LISTEN NOW!) or „The Bow Make“, a collaboration of Jan Bang and Daj Fujikura, the Japanese composer strongly involved in „Manafon Variations“. And HERE an old hour of Klanghorizonte with Erik‘s Triage album!
Auch der Horizont hat seine Grenzen
„Even without the knowledge of Jeck’s passing, the music would sound elegiac. The artist’s work with turntables – the slowing down, the vinyl crackle, the flutter and pop – speak simultaneously of demise and continuance. The record ends, but through its grooves, the composer lives on.“
In memory of Philip JeckEin paar Auszüge aus der lesenswerten Beprechung von Philip Jecks „rpm“ in „A Closer Listen“, eines der Alben, die noch vom Ausklang des letzten Jahres stammen, aber wahrscheinlich, und mit guten Gründen, in meinen „Märzhorizonten“ Platz finden. Interessant, dass die elegischen Sphären, die In-Sich-Gekehrtheit des Doppelalbums keinen Widerspruch bilden zu der immensen Zahl der beteiligten Musiker. Das gilt gleichermassen für das so leise wir raumgreifende Werk von Lawrence English, mit einem Titel, der wie für die „Klanghorizonte“ erfunden scheint: „Even The Horizon Knows Its Bounds“.
Stranger things
Passagen aus meinen „virtuellen“ Interviews mit Alabaster DePlume, Tommy Perman und Jon Balke werden ebenso Platz finden in dieser Radiostunde am 27. März um 21.05 Uhr. Mit dem norwegischen Pianisten ist es schon fast eine Tradition, ihn zu jedem seiner neuen Arbeiten zu befragen. Angefangen hatte es mit dem exzellenten Werk „Diverted Travels“ seines Magnetic North Orchestra.
Und nun dann „Skrifum“, Jon Balkes viertes Solopianoalbum – einmal mehr reichert er den reinen Klaviersound an, in diesem Fall ist ein „Spektrafon“ im Spiel, das auf eigenartige Weise Sounds aus dem Innenleben des Flügels „herausholt“, wie immer das funktioniert – aber genau dafür sind ja Interviews da. Mir ist dieser „Transfer“ noch ein Rätsel, was nichts daran ändert, dass „Skritum“ am Ende des Jahres zu meinen neuen „desert island albums“ zählen wird. Beim Hören von „Skrifum“ kam mir einmal auch Paul Bleys „Open, to love“ in den Sinn (das in Kürze in der „luminessence“-Reihe von ECM als Schallplatte neu aufgelegt wird):„…. interesting to listen to „Scrifum“ with its discreetly electronic textures, along with Paul Bley‘s „Open, to love“, who once told me he was thinking – in moments of creating that album – of the „decay lines“ (he maybe used another expression) of those early synthesizers and even trying to follow their vibes.“ M.
oh, that album is one of my all time favourites:-) J.
A propos Jon Balke
Das Interview zu „Siwan“ & „Say And Play“
„Als ich mit dem Wagen in El Golfo angekommen war – zuende gehört hatte ich die Musik von „Siwan“ an den berüchtigten Vulkanklippen der Westküste Lanzarotes, deren Name mir gerade entfallen ist – nahm ich Platz im Fischrestaurant meines Vertrauens. Und dann passierte einer dieser sonderbaren Zufälle, wenn man die richtige Musik zur richtigen Zeit am richtigen Ort hört: ich las die beiliegenden Texte der Cd und musste schmunzeln, als ich folgende Zeilen las:
“A serene evening
We spent it drinking wine.
The sun, going down,
Lays its cheek against the earth, to restNun, ich war allein, aber ein Glas Wein stand auf meinem Tisch, und die Sonne bereitete sich gerade auf ihren first-class-„westcoast“-Untergang vor. Ich blieb, bis es kühl wurde, stieg ins Auto und liess „Siwan“ ein weiteres Mal laufen.“ (Blogtagebuch Manafonistas, Mai 2011)
The pops and crackle still remain
Zurück auf Anfang, zu Philip Jecks „rpm“: „One of the most heartrending facets of the release is that “Pilots,” in which Jeck incorporates recordings of pilot whales sent by Jana Winderen, was completed in March of 2022. Philip Jeck passed away on March 25 of that year. One can imagine the composer lying in bed, buoyed by the sounds so ancient and wondrous and everlasting, the deep mystery conveyed by the giant ocean creatures, whose indecipherable stories and songs seem to bear such deep emotional weight.“
Auftakt und Finale
Eigentlich ist das „sequencing“ der Klanghorizonte so gut wie abgeschlossen: Spielraum gibt es vor allem beim ersten und letzten Song der Stunde: aber wenn da noch ein Lied auftaucht, das ein perfekteres Finale bildet als der „slow soul burner“, das Titelstück von Eddie Chacons „Lay Low“, sollte es mich wundern.
“Ash Grey And The Gull Glides On“ – moments of a little conversation about falling in love with this and that
Listening to this album from the label „Clay Pipe Music“, I fell in love with it on first sight and sound. I sent Tommy Perman some questions, he sent them to Andrew Wasylyk. And what you read now are some of their written answers. I skipped my questions and edited the stuff a little bit. At the end Tommy added the lyrics from the only song of the album, „Be The Hammer“, the closer, the final piece, written and performed by Aidan John Moffatt. Now this little talk starts with the lyrics. My proposal: read them carefully before listening to the whole album in a row.
We sign our names on walls, across grand hall and malls; we shout in silence, we whisper loud. We fight our foes unseen, well-mannered and well mean; we are not precious, we’re not proud. With all this noise around us, no one has seen or found us. They scoff, and scorn and fear us; we just want some ears to hear us. We steal your time, your air; you wash us out your hair. We are the dead, the disavowed. We live in cracks and corners, we are the merry mourners. We are the raindrops, not the cloud.
Tommy: „Ash Grey And The Gull Glides On“ is centred around the upright piano in Andrew’s studio. The first project that Andrew and I collaborated on was a music video for his song “Mariner’s Hymn” some years ago. The simple idea for the video was to beam footage of the North Sea and the East Coast of Scotland onto the piano as Andrew played. During the making of the video I became quite fascinated with the mechanical workings of the upright piano. Slowly an idea for a musical collaboration began to form in my head. I started thinking of the prepared piano of John Cage but also the more contemporary uses by German composer Hauscka where he makes electronic-sounding music from a prepared piano. I thought of these inspirations as starting points. At the time I was experimenting with unusual electronic production techniques, searching for ways of fusing Andrew’s piano-playing with unconventional sounds. Then just before the first coronavirus lockdown in the UK I designed a set of recording instruction cards for Andrew and mailed them to him.
Andrew: Given half the chance, Tommy overflows with great ideas. Early on in our collaboration he designed some beautiful instruction cards and posted them to me. Sets of ‘Recording Instructions’, ‘Chord’ and ‘Tempo’ cards. On them printed instructions, like: “Slap the back of the piano with the palm of your hand. Repeat 10 times in different places.” And “If it’s dark outside: 130bpm. If it’s light: 90 bpm.” I found them inspiring and ended up with a load of recordings with a wide range of noises from my upright; knocks, clangs, creeks and scrapes of the piano strings. Tommy manipulated these, diced them up, passing them through numerous effects and processes to shape our approach for the album.
Tommy: I think both of us had lots of different inspirations for each track on the album. But a few artists who frequently come to mind for me are Arthur Russell, Charles Stepney and Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith. All three I admire for their playfulness and studio innovations but also because their music is catchy and accessible.
Andrew: Balearic, Suzanne Ciani, ‘Pet Sounds’, and everything in between.
Tommy: I love that you are hearing these references to Cluster, to Moebius and Roedelius on our album. It’s an honour to be compared to such great musicians but they weren’t consciously on my mind while working on this collaboration. I particularly enjoy the „Cluster & Eno“ album and „Zuckerzeit“. I don’t know much about the solo albums of Moebius and Roedelius – can you recommend some things for me to listen to? Where is a good place to start?
Michael: My first choice would be Roedelius‘ „Durch die Wüste“, and „Rastakraut Pasta“ by Moebius & Plank, both with the magic of Conny Plank in it.
Tommy: Andrew’s willingness to experiment musically! It has been such a fun musical conversation. I approached our collaboration in quite a playful manner and created some pretty weird music sketches to share with Andrew and I’m so in awe of how he responded. It was always such a treat to hear his ideas.
Tommy: The album is largely instrumental but many of the tracks feature subtle vocalisations, wordless sung choruses and words used as almost ritualistic chants. To me it felt like the album was building towards a finale that should include a full vocal. While Andrew and I are both huge fans of instrumental music we also share a love of poetry and spoken word. We are huge fans of Aidan Moffat from the band Arab Strap. I have been lucky enough to get to work with Aidan a few times before, but it was Andrew’s idea to send the instrumental of Be The Hammer to him…
Andrew: It was a real thrill collaborating with Aidan and Tommy on this. I’ve followed Arab Strap since about „Monday At The Hug And Pint“. Aidan’s record with Bill Wells, „Everything’s Getting Older“, is really special. As the melodic structure grew for this track, I began to imagine a story weaving through it and thought I’d chance my luck and knock on Aidan’s door. I think he may have partly written the lyrics while away on tour with Arab Strap.
Andrew: To me it feels like the label Clay Pipe have created a world you can consistently invest your emotions in. Much of that stems from the identity and magic in Frances Castle’s artwork (the Clay Pipe founder), as well as her generosity, support and encouragement. In a very male-dominated industry it’s important to acknowledge how female leadership, such as Frances’, is successfully making a culture of creativity and a change for good.
Tommy: Frances Castle runs the label on her own and does such an amazing job. She has built up such a distinctive character for the record label through her careful curation of music and her individual visual style across all the album covers. I’m so happy that our album is part of the Clay Pipe catalogue! The cover for this one… it’s a memorable and eye-catching design. I love the bold geometric cover she created. It works great digitally but even better printed as a 12” album sleeve.
Michael: Indeed. The cover of Andrew’s last solo album on Clay Pipe Music looks promising, too. Waiting now for the music inside of „Hearing The Water Before Seeing The Falls“. A freshly pulsating, new English underground, kind of. Some call it „Grassroots Electronica“.Tommy: Recently fell in love with Daisy Rickman‘s „Howl“. Daisy’s songs have the right mix of catchy vocal hooks and transcendental arrangements to get lost in. Her music is reminiscent of many of my favourite artists but with a freshness that really appeals to me. The entire album is written, performed and produced by Rickman at home. She even did the cover artwork, designed the sleeve and released the vinyl herself. It’s a very impressive piece of work. And then there was „My Noise Is Nothing“ by Lord Of The Isles & Ellen Renton. Although this came out at the end of 2023 I didn’t properly listen to it until quite recently. „Lord of the Isles“ is the moniker of Scottish electronic producer Neil McDonald. His collaboration with Edinburgh-based poet Ellen Renton works so well. Ellen’s words and delivery are a perfect match for Neil’s soundscapes and electronic rhythms.
Tommy: Speaking of three desert island albums, there is, at first, Nina Simone’s „Tell Me More“. My mum used to review records for a newspaper and so I grew up with lots of great albums in our house. This album really caught my attention as a moody teenager and I often listened to Sinnerman and Strange Fruit before going to sleep. I know lots of people prefer Billie Holliday’s version of Strange Fruit but the way Nina Simone sings it sends shivers down my spine. I find her voice so full of emotion, it affects me deeply.
Tommy: Then John Martyn’s „Solid Air“. I can’t even guess at how many times I’ve listened to this album and I don’t think I’ll ever tire of it. Everything about it, the songwriting, John’s liquid vocal performance, the combination of instruments and incredible musicianship make it a near perfect record for me. Danny Thompson’s double-bass and Tristan Fry’s vibraphone are so good. I find it a deeply comforting album to listen to.
Tommy: As number three William Onyeabor‘s „Who is William Onyeabor?“ pops up. If these really are my only three albums to listen to on a desert island then I need something uptempo to stop me from wallowing. I discovered William Onyeabor’s music shortly before this compilation on Luaka Bop was released. All of the music is so joyful and the grooves are so infectious that it never fails to brighten my mood.
Julia, the fluidity, and the power of song (1/5)
Finally I got the fine double vinyl version of Julia Holter‘s bewitching new album „Something In The Room She Moves“. And I felt confirmed: it‘s a very different experience to listen to this work in its entirety than to splice it up in single pieces (as Olaf and I did when reviewing the tracks one after the other). Finally I could let fall myself into the music, float with it, and go much deeper than the analytic approach allowed me (and us) to do. And finally, Julia answered my questions, and did that not in a hurry, but with a calm flow of thoughts. She takes her time. More will follow, a radio appearance, too, and her first answer may be another invitation for some listeners to dive into the album. My first question was:
Some moments of the album seem to be influenced, soundwise, by Kate Bush, and, from a distance, mirroring moods of Joni Mitchell‘s HEJIIRA. The Jaco Pastorius bass memories, the fluidity of the atmospheres…. Joni deliberately looked for a special sound of constant movement as a means for reflecting a long journey across the U.S.A. Devin Hoff does an excellent job here with the fretless bass.