Maya Shenfeld - Under a Grey Sun

Maya Shenfeld is a young composer born in Jerusalem but based in Berlin, who has recently become one of the leading figures of the increasingly vital Berlin experimental scene known as new classical music or simply new music, which differs from the modern classical of Max Richter or Jóhann Jóhannsson through a stronger avant-garde spirit, a looser bond with melody, and less interest in creating potentially cinematic atmospheres.

What exactly lies behind such a generic term isn't easy to explain, but listening to Maya Shenfeld's albums certainly helps clarify things. The Israeli composer comes from a classical background (she holds degrees from the Jerusalem Academy of Music and Dance and the Berlin University of the Arts, where she completed a Master's in classical guitar and contemporary music composition), but she moves far away from traditional classical music toward a decidedly experimental and innovative approach, using electronic instruments to create minimalist compositions of short to medium length, enriched by baroque flourishes that seem to link the synthetic revolution of Wendy Carlos to the recent developments of avant-garde music (Kali Malone, Caterina Barbieri), to contemporary experimental electronics (Fennesz, Tim Hecker, Rafael Anton Irisarri) and the ambient music of Brian Eno (particularly the cosmic strain of “Apollo: Atmospheres And Soundtracks”).

She debuted in 2020 with Sine Wave Meditations – a self-produced work recorded live in 2016. These two meditations on sine waves can be described as an evolution of the minimalism of La Monte Young, with long drones that attempt to create different frequency ranges linked to alpha and theta brainwaves, associated with various states of thought or experience. A very demanding, not particularly interesting work, which gives almost no hint of what Maya Shenfeld's future would hold.

Meanwhile, her studies continue, and she moves from classical to electric guitar, from Jerusalem to Berlin, and begins to take an interest (with pessimism) in social and environmental issues. These changes lead to the release of her first proper LP, In Free Fall, which brings her decisively closer to the recent avant-garde developments of artists of her generation such as Kali Malone or Caterina Barbieri. The title, inspired by writer Hito Steyerl, immediately speaks to the pessimism that pervades Shenfeld's view of the world.
It opens with “Cataphora”, eight minutes of synths and horns evolving with extreme slowness, almost like a premonition of unimaginable events. This slowness has nothing to do with ambient music; it seems instead to be a device that uses change to build constant tension, as does the twin closing track “Anaphora”. The closeness to 1970s electronic music is present in the tracks nearest to Brian Eno, such as “Voyager” – which sounds as if torn straight out of “Music For Films” (1978) – or “Body, Electric”, deliciously vintage video-game music. The remaining compositions split between attempts at orchestral electronics close to the poetics of Tim Hecker's “Love Streams” (“Mountain Larkspur”) and the symphonic drone music of “Sadder Than Water”.

If In Free Fall finds a meeting point between the electronics of early pioneers and contemporary experimental music, Maya Shenfeld does even better with Under The Sun, an album that – despite an overall coldness and austerity – delivers harmonies of great evocative power without ever drifting toward the usual melodies of modern classical. “Sedek”, for instance, is something that's hard to pin to any genre, even sounding psychedelic with Eastern influences, yet the final result is an alienating atmosphere that for Shenfeld represents a meditation on nature (the record was partly recorded in Portugal, in one of the deepest marble mines in the world) grappling with the constant threats posed by human presence and the laws of the market. This is the theme of Under The Sun, and the organ intro (from Berlin's St. Matthew's Church) of “A Guide For The Perplexed” sounds like a dark omen. The industrial beats of “Tehom”, the ambient ripples of “Geist”, and the cosmic electronics of “Interstellar” each elaborate different musical grammars with real personality.
The most evocative moments are reached in “Light, Refracted” and above all in “Analemma”, seven minutes of angelic voices and religious trance (in the secular sense of the term) that become a prayer to ward off the dark omens evoked earlier. Whether there is hope for nature, and therefore for humanity itself, remains unknown to us; Maya Shenfeld's music, with its originality, is a tool that opens us up to new reflection.

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