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Elaine Mitchener presents the then + the now = now time at Festival d’Automne

David Sanson

“This discourse highlighted the erasure—both national and institutional—of Black citizens. This was the primary motivation behind the creation of this work and what shaped its form.”

What was the starting point for the then + the now = now time, and how did you and your long-time collaborator, choreographer Dam Van Huynh, go about constructing it—weaving together voice, movement, and a pre-recorded soundtrack that you can trigger live?

Elaine Mitchener (EM) — Although I have a “classical” background—I studied singing and orchestration, and I play the flute—I am always searching for new modes of expression that do not necessarily rely on Western classical notation. I have chosen to use a blend of traditional notation, graphic notation, and open scores; this approach not only allows me to flourish, but it also encourages the instrumentalists, sound artists, and choreographers I work with to explore the full extent of their capabilities beyond the written score. Furthermore, free improvisation offers me greater latitude to bring to life the specific musical ideas I hear in my head.

For this piece, I drew upon the concept of “Eingedenken”—coined by Walter Benjamin—which can be defined as “remembering the act of remembering” as an expression of responsibility. I first encountered this concept during a lecture unrelated to music, which focused on decolonization and critical historical thought; it resonated with me deeply and enduringly. I allowed the idea to mature for a long time before deciding to develop it into a musical work. Between the initial commission in 2018 and the premiere in 2019 at the MaerzMusik Festival in Berlin, several social upheavals took place—most notably the “Windrush scandal” [a controversy surrounding the UK immigration office’s mistreatment of the “Windrush generation”—immigrants who arrived from the Caribbean to help rebuild the country after the Second World War—which ultimately led to the resignation of the Home Secretary, Ed.]. More specifically, the catalyst for my reflection on Walter Benjamin’s concept was a speech delivered in Parliament by David Lammy, a Member of Parliament for North London (now Deputy Prime Minister), in which he denounced the clandestine deportation of migrants from the “Windrush generation.”

This discourse highlighted the erasure—both national and institutional—of Black citizens. This was the primary motivation behind the creation of this work and what shaped its form; I used it to reaffirm not only my own cultural heritage as a Black Briton—my parents are both from Jamaica—but also to underscore the contributions of Afro-Caribbean populations to British culture and society. Drawing on this, I brought together various historical sources, texts, and pieces of music that, while seemingly unrelated, converge and harmonize through the themes they explore: writings by James Baldwin, Walter Benjamin, bell hooks, Sojourner Truth, and Abel Meeropol—the author of the song “Strange Fruit,” made famous by Billie Holiday. Each of these individuals confronted the inequalities of their own society and era. I wanted to show that this common thread persists: the work carries us from the past into the present and toward the future… Together with Dam Van Huynh—who himself has a very compelling personal history—we then sifted through a vast amount of material, seeking the best way to embody and present it.

You once stated that the practice of free improvisation allows you to work without a pre-established plan when composing a new piece—that the creative process itself gives it form…

Absolutely. For instance, in this piece, I felt there needed to be a reference to “drum and bass” culture. So, together with Neil Charles—the show’s sound engineer, who is also a fantastic musician—we created a drum and bass track, which features at the end of the piece. It wasn’t until the premiere that I truly understood why I needed it: it echoes the remarks by David Lammy heard at the beginning, regarding the contribution of Afro-Caribbean communities to British culture—since drum and bass, much like dub, is a part of that. You see, it was truly through the act of doing—through the performance itself—that the entire structure of the piece found its meaning.

How did you weave together the collage of voices and sounds in the soundtrack with the texts and sounds you produce yourself?

What interests me most is how we use what we hear to interpret what we see or what is unfolding before us. One of the first things you hear, for instance, sounds simultaneously like a song, a carnival, and a protest. In reality, it is the sound of two demonstrations: one in Barcelona, ​​protesting the treatment of the homeless, and another in Nuremberg—a city heavy with historical connotations—which was part of the global anti-capitalist protest movement of that time. In the moment, you find yourself wondering what is happening, as the atmosphere is incredibly intense—almost aggressive to the ear. Yet, it is also a display of strength: the strength of a collective, a united group demanding change. It is compelling to look back at these marches in light of today’s global situation: people take to the streets to demand change, but it seems to have no impact—governments are even attempting to curtail the right to protest…

Revisiting this piece today, with the perspective gained through age and the evolution of the world, I am struck by how relevant it remains. The text begins with the question, “Am I not a woman?” It speaks to the power of truth—which ultimately triumphs—and the idea that it is the spirit that shapes the body. The last time I performed it was in 2021, as we were emerging from the pandemic… In 2026, this exploration—of what it means to be a woman today, of challenging the “manosphere,” and of the inclusion of trans and non-binary individuals—goes much further than it did before.

Do you mean that you haven’t performed this work again since 2021?

No. There are several reasons for that. Some are very pragmatic: the fact that audiences crave something new, and that my own practice has led me toward other areas. I am delighted to revisit it today, with a different mindset and a greater maturity—not just emotional or musical, but also physical and vocal. In any case, the very notion of a “finished” or “complete” work strikes me as problematic; there is so much pressure on people to bring their work to a conclusion… But work is never truly finished. It is constantly being refined, polished, and altered. In fact, the score for this piece is labeled a “working score,” to leave the door open for potential changes.

It feels as though things are finally evolving—that so-called “contemporary” music is at last opening up to less “conventional” profiles…

I think so, too. This is due both to the emergence of a new type of performer and to the trust placed in them by those who curate programs. An artist like Jennifer Walshe—with whom I am very close—has truly helped redefine contemporary music. I hope to do the same, in my own modest way. There is also the fact that I wear two hats: alongside my work as a performer and creator, I also work as a programmer—a role that requires identifying gaps and needs. For instance, in my programming work for the Deep Time festival in Scotland, I brought together Jean-Michel Basquiat and John Cage. These juxtapositions are also a source of learning for me. Take my concert at Wigmore Hall: it featured Robert Johnson—the Tudor-era composer—alongside Robert Johnson, the blues musician. We played blues on a theorbo and sang Bob Marley while accompanying ourselves on the lute… These works are robust enough to sustain such combinations. It’s all a matter of imagination and a desire to shake things up; I believe the audience is ready to embrace this, and that there is a place for this repertoire.

However, people from the African or Caribbean diaspora remain quite underrepresented in the audiences for these concerts. Do you think that is changing?

Yes, it will change. I believe this white predominance is linked to education. When the educational system creates barriers to learning and experience, you end up with much more homogeneous audiences. It is therefore essential to take action very early on—from childhood: if you see yourself represented on stage, you realize that it is possible for you, too… This is, in fact, the spirit behind the project “Always, Already There”—an “incubator for new Afrodiasporic music” initiated by George Lewis. I am delighted to be presenting its first UK edition this autumn; it will take place at the end of October at the Barbican, in partnership with the Barbican and Guildhall School of Music and Drama… All the music featured will be the work of Afrodiasporic artists.