How classical music said thank you to the Queen in 2022


In classical music, as in all the arts, 2022 was supposed to be a new dawn, a joyous surging back to life after the dismalness of two lockdown years. In the event, it was – but only up to a point. 

Numerous events were curtailed or hampered because of illness, and the Proms lost two headline artists, Jonas Kaufmann and Freddie De Tommaso, to bouts of Covid. And the return of audiences to live events has been tentative. Only for the biggest names have venues been able to fill every seat, and most orchestras report audiences are still about 15 per cent down on pre-pandemic figures. 

Brexit continues to exert a huge drag, imposing maddening bureaucratic delays and costs on anyone who wants to travel to the EU to perform – and vice versa. The ­Russian invasion of Ukraine was another blow, as organisations rushed to disinvite Russian soloists, give back tainted Russian money, and cancel concerts with Russian music (though there was also an upside, in the rush to programme fine Ukrainian composers we’d never heard of).

These headwinds were expected. What was not expected, and came as a nasty shock, was the sharp dec­line in listeners to the BBC’s classical music station, Radio 3, which lost one in six of its listeners in the third quarter of 2022. Commercial stations Classic FM and Scala Radio were also sharply down, by 6.5 per cent and 9.5 per cent respectively. There was much anxious speculation that just as listeners were losing the habit of going to concerts, they were also losing the habit of turning on the radio, as well.

Underneath the temporary choppy seas of rising costs and falling revenues run deeper, less vis­ible currents of social and cultural change, to which musicians and organisations must adapt. Classic FM now offers playlists organised by “mood”. In a nod to younger listeners’ preference for spiritually “immersive” music, Radio 3, once the home of strenuous high-mindedness, has invited Icelandic musician Ólafur Arnalds to curate his own series, Ultimate Calm, which explores “how classical, contemporary and ambient music can soothe the soul”. The fact that some musicians still talk in terms of musical experience as a effortful “going on a journey”, whereas others now see it as a lucid, thoroughly wide-awake process of following the unfolding logic of a piece, shows that there are competing visions of what classical music is or should be.

Weyes Blood is the voice of her generation, Nickelback sound heinous – the week’s albums


Weyes Blood, And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow ★★★★★

Natalie Mering, who goes by the name Weyes Blood, laments that “we have all become strangers, even to ourselves” on the opening track of her beautiful new album, And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow – a woozy daydream from a hauntingly romantic balladeer whose music offers comfort to the loneliest souls.

At 34, with songs about solitude, the natural world, the power and fragility of women and how technology has shaped modern romance, Mering become a critical darling with a cult following. Sitting somewhere between Joan Baez’s 70s social justice-fuelled folk and Olivia Newton-John’s hyper-feminine 80s pop, Mering’s exquisite, timeless voice and hymnal harmonies hold a nostalgic appeal that unites the Spotify generation and their parents alike. She describes herself as a “nostalgic futurist”.

Mering grew up within a staunchly Pentecostal Christian family in Santa Monica and began making music as a teen – adopting the moniker Wise Blood in reference to Flannery O’Connor’s 1952 collection of stories. She may not have observed the strict morality of her God-fearing parents, both musicians, but her voice and compositions pay homage to the songs she heard in childhood: gospel and hymnal paeans.

Since then, Mering’s compositions have leaned into glorious baroque madrigals, tenderly layering melodies and harmonies as if she were adorning a human body with pearls, coats and scarves.

In the Darkness, Heart Aglow is Mering’s fifth album, and the second in a trilogy dedicated to the fallout from climate change (beginning with 2019 album Titanic Rising). Her lyrics pine for the natural world, with Mering believing that our collective destruction of forests, land and sources of water have fostered division and alienation. Titanic Rising was met with rave reviews, but this record – which spans steely indie-rock and strummed country ballads – might just be her magnum opus.

On the epic, multi-layered harmonies of Children of the Empire, she reimagines a Beach Boys/Shangri Las doo-wop fantasy that is gorgeous when it could have so easily become overwrought. The luscious orchestral compositions (tuba, sax, organ, multiple violins and cellos), riddled with brief interludes of manic keyboards, stormy strings and thundering piano chords, build empires and shatter them within minutes.

Titanic Rising addressed the transient beauty of nature, doomed to human sabotage. It troubles her still, and there is an existential fear and surrender within her lyrics, clear on the ambient beauty of God Turn Me Into a Flower, which puts Mering’s angelic voice under the spotlight.

The song examines how our desire to appear as the flawless creature we curate on social media fights a higher power. What if, in our imperfect present, we are exactly as God intended us? “You see the reflection/ And you want it more than the truth/ You yearn to be that dream you could never get to,” Mering sings. “Cause the person on the other side has always just been you/ Oh, God, turn me into a flower”. Like our planet, this album is a rare thing of wonder. Cat Woods



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How white noise took over the music industry – and put musicians out of pocket


It’s the fuzz of a TV tuned to the wrong channel; aural static, flat and monotonous, with no peaks or falls to puncture the sound. Welcome to the white noise machine – where algorithmically-created tracks designed to sound like nothingness have become streaming platforms’ biggest moneymaker. Downloaded by the near-billion – “Clean White Noise – Loopable with no fade” has been played 847m times, worth around $2.5m in royalties – chart success is now more likely for computer programmers than pop stars.

The tracks are “not super complicated to create,” admits Nick Schwab, CEO of Sleep Jar, which supplies ambient sounds to over 6m people each month. “They’re very easy, if you have the right software.” Primarily sought out by those trying to block out background sound while sleeping, or looking to focus during the day, the market is ballooning: the most popular ‘artists’ can reach hundreds of thousands or even millions of views daily, easily earning revenue over $1m each year.

Sleep Jar works primarily through Amazon’s Alexa, connected to Amazon’s smart home devices, offering noises white (“like TV static”), the growingly popular brown (“more bassy”) and pink (“kind of inbetween”). Schwab “accidentally created this business” after being lumped with a noisy neighbour six years ago, and began using a startup development kit to customise his Echo Dot smart device to play ambient sound. He published the results of his experiment online in 2016, and Sleep Jar became a hit; just the thing, seemingly, for our loud, distracted times.

The service now offers over 102 tracks, from multi-frequency static to crackling fireplaces, fans and babbling brooks. “We spend a lot of time mastering our sounds,” Schwab says. Making downloadable ambient noise is a two-part formula: the first objective is “making sure that the looping is seamless, or as seamless as we can make it” – that is to say that the point at which the track repeats appears imperceptible. The second is “making sure that our volume levels are consistent across all the sounds we offer; it’s super important.” And that’s pretty much that; there are no star producers that industry insiders are fighting over themselves to work with (“I wouldn’t say there’s one composer of white noise who really stands out”), or impromptu jam sessions seeking to hash out ambient magic.

Perhaps a lack of star power goes with the territory – standing out is the opposite of white noise’s modus operandi. Musical development is also not part of the plan: the goal here is for the ambient tracks of today “to remain a constant,” Schwab says, rather than trying to push genre boundaries. They vary so little, in fact, that one’s hearing is the only thing setting them apart; lower frequency sounds become more appealing as we age, as the higher register becomes out of reach. If we all had the same hearing ability, there could effectively be one white noise track for all, Schwab says, so indistinct are each from the other.



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