Electric Fields — ancient mysticism in contemporary trance
Soprano Barbara Hannigan is no stranger to musical adventure. With more than a hundred world premieres to her name, often of seemingly 'unsingable' contemporary compositions, she has earned her place as an unstoppable pioneer. Yet her latest project Electric Fields — does not surprise through the unknown, but rather through anchoring in the very ancient. Together with French piano duo Katia and Marielle Labèque and composer-electronic virtuoso David Chalmin, she dives into the visionary world of 12th-century German abbess and composer Hildegard von Bingen (1098–1179). The journey that emerges is both ethereal and hallucinatory — as if you fall asleep in a time machine.
The music on Electric Fields is a kaleidoscope of centuries and styles, where medieval mysticism, baroque expression, and experimental sonic explorations collide and merge. At the center stands the oeuvre and spirit of Hildegard von Bingen. Her hymns, more than 900 years old, are not simply reconstructed here, but reinvented through a 21st-century lens: Hannigan's voice — drenched in reverb, echoes, and distortion — floats above electronic drones, minimalist piano passages, and processed field recordings. Right from the opening number O virga mediatrix (12th century) it becomes clear that this is no historical interpretation, but a poetic sound laboratory.
The project, which was in development for a full decade, is infused with textual and musical references to female composers from ages past. So alongside Hildegard von Bingen (1098–1179) we find works (and reworkings) by Barbara Strozzi (1619–1677) and Francesca Caccini (1587–ca. 1645), two key figures from the early baroque. Their music is not merely cited but transformed — like echoes through an electronic dream. In Che t'ho fatt'io?, after Caccini, melodic fragments are mixed with breaths, multi-voiced samples, and pulsing club beats. The result is a steamy blend of baroque and glitch-pop that covers an almost cinematic journey from chaos to hushed lyricism in less than five minutes.
Bryce Dessner too, known from The National but also active as a contemporary composer, contributes two new works: O orchis Ecclesia and O nobilissima viriditas. He bases himself on Hildegard's own 'secret' language that she developed for her convent sisters — a unique detail that underscores the connection between religious devotion and artistic imagination. Musically, the Labèque sisters create in these pieces an enchanting texture of minimalist arpeggios, where Hannigan's voice floats through like a whispering priestess.
Notable is the variety in vocal use: Hannigan switches effortlessly between plainchant without vibrato, intimate whispers, processed echoes, and overdubs. In the two versions of What can be done (Strozzi), we get both a relatively traditional reading — which gradually devolves into a storm of synths and driving pianos — and a radical improvisation where the original work almost entirely disappears into a haze of electronic effects. Especially this latter version, with its overdubbed voices and piercing piano bells, is both unsettling and fascinating.
The album's closing piece, O vis aeternitatis (Hildegard von Bingen (1098–1179), at nearly 14 minutes, is the most contemplative moment. Chalmins' arrangement shows remarkable restraint, with sparse piano accompaniment, rare electronic touches, and an almost archaic vocal line. Yet the simplicity is deceptive — the piece radiates a sacred intensity that burrows deep under your skin. The finale, a 19-second, crystal-clear high C from Hannigan, is both literally and figuratively a peak that lets the album end on the boundary between earthly and celestial realms.
The technical execution also deserves mention. Electric Fields was recorded in 2022–2023 at La Fabrique des Ondes (Saint-Pée-sur-Nivelle), and although available only in stereo, the sonic palette is remarkably rich — especially when listened to through headphones. Layers of sound slide over each other like thin glazes, subtle noise transforms into rhythmic texture, and breath becomes music.
What makes this record so special is not just the musical imagination, but the coherent aesthetic that Hannigan and her collaborators manage to evoke. Despite the great stylistic and temporal breadth — from 12th-century mysticism to 21st-century electronics — Electric Fields feels like one long trance, a sonorous vision where history and present merge.
For those already familiar with Hannigan as a tireless explorer of new music, this project is a logical, if surprisingly spiritual, next step. For listeners with an open ear for the unusual, the sensual, and the sublime, Electric Fields is nothing short of a revelation.
Recommended for those who crave music that erases boundaries, suspends time, and elevates the voice.
