Outside, Nuuk rages in wind and rain, but here under Atlantic Music’s store, the wrath of the weather is silenced.
There is silence in the soundproof basement room, only the sound of what is being created is found here.
Frederik Elsner moves through the basement and past two CD warehouses; a physical warehouse from a bygone era that still occupies space under the music store.
The smell is unmistakable. The basic smell is characterized by the hard polycarbonate plastic from which the discs themselves are molded. It has a dry, almost “crisp” smell, somewhat reminiscent of a new car, without the leather.
Elsner takes a seat in the production chair directly under the ceiling light, centered in the small room. The gaze is riveted to the screen, where the music program Logic lights up with wave-shaped traces of sound. He presses ‘play’ and the raw, unprocessed footage fills the room. No mixing, no mastering, just pure nerve.
Elsner impatiently grabs the phone and calls today’s vocalist, Nivi Pedersen. She will lend her voice to a short section of Inneruulat’s classic, Aasarissumi. It’s not just another recording; it is Frederik Elsner’s attempt to unite Greenland through one and the same song.
– The purpose of the project is to gather greater collaboration between artists to show community and inspiration. In the country, we must be able to show that musicians can collaborate on a popular project and show young people that anything is possible if you believe in it, says Frederik Elsner.
The role of father and sound architect
The door to the studio opens, and Frederik Elsner’s son enters. He carries an impatience that is neither dampened by the soundproof walls nor the pursuit of technical perfection. He appears behind the study window, where his gaze seeks his father’s inside the control room.
Frederik takes his eyes off the wavy tracks on the screen for a moment and sends his son a reassuring smile. He explains in a low voice that there is not long left; that the singer will arrive soon.
It is a balancing act between the role of father and the role of the architect behind a national gathering point, but in the basement under Nuuk there is room for both.
Soon after, there is movement at the door again, and this time it is Nivi Pedersen who steps into the heat.
Inside, the walls are wallpapered with newspaper clippings and articles – a physical archive of the countless artists who have had their way with Atlantic Music over the decades. This is where Greenland’s musical history hangs to dry, while the new one is created.
Nivi Pedersen shakes off her breath and apologizes for the delay with a tired but smiling look; an encounter dragged on and kept her trapped on the surface before she could dive into the basement darkness to the music.
Frederik Elsner presses ‘play’, and the raw tones flow out into the room again. He wants to give Nivi Pedersen a sense of the universe she is about to enter.
From the loudspeakers, Arnarissoq Bech Vetterlain’s voice rises above a dense weave of several choir voices, filling the basement with an almost otherworldly sound.
A puzzle of the greatest voices
Although the soundstage is already massive, there is still air. There is room for more voices, more nuances and the very special contribution that Nivi Pedersen will deliver. It’s a puzzle of the country’s biggest voices slowly taking shape in front of them.
Now you have to record. Nivi Pedersen puts on the headphones and gets ready, but when Frederik Elsner sends the sound through the cable, she splutters and exclaims a loud “Aah!”. The sound level is far too violent for the sensitive ears.
Frederik reacts promptly and turns down the lighted buttons, while apologetically nodding in understanding. He gets up, goes to the microphone and adjusts the height of the stand to fit her just right. He checks the distance, tightens the screw and goes back to the producer’s chair.
Now it’s quiet. Everything is adjusted and they are ready.
– Timmissat qallulaarpalunneri, soorlumi sinnassaalaaginnartut, sings Nivi Pedersen in a loud voice.
Her voice makes Elsner exclaim:
– ‘Shut up, you have the voice of an angel.
His voice quivers with excitement. The impatience from before is gone, and so is the awareness of the rain and wind raging against the basement wall outside.
For a while, everything else doesn’t matter, here in the dark under Atlantic Music, Greenland is being united in one note.
She is not entirely satisfied
The son appears in the field of vision again, and this time his patience has definitely run out.
To break the concentrated silence, he drops his hands on one of the drums at the studio.
The hollow drone from the drumhead propagates in the small room next to the studio.
However, he does not manage to strike another blow before Frederik reacts. In a voice that is elementally loving but also hoarse, he tells his son to be quiet.
It is not a shout, but a low and unmistakable message from a father to his son. The boy freezes with his hands raised over the drum, and the music and the work are again allowed to regain their sacred calm in the basement.
Frederik lets the still completely fresh recordings roll over the headphones. The sound is raw and unfiltered, just as it was captured by the microphone a moment ago. Nivi listens intently with her head tilted as she analyzes every phrasing. She is not entirely satisfied.
Before Frederik Elsner can give his verdict, she catches his eye and breaks the silence:
– We’ll take it just one more time, she asks.
There is no hesitation in her voice. Although the notes sounded beautiful in the room, she is looking for the very special nerve needed to lift the song from a good recording to a national rallying point. Frederik nods in understanding and gets ready for another take.
A smile of relief and recognition
Nivi Pedersen once again sends her vote. This time it feels as if the sound navigates effortlessly through the microphone’s cables, immerses itself in the technique and attaches itself exactly where it should on the computer’s hard drive.
Now it’s there. The atmosphere is tight, the notes are right in the cupboard, and the right nerve has found its way from Nivi’s chest to Frederik’s screen.
When Frederik presses stop, the sound dies immediately. The silence is deafening after her strong voice, which has just made the eardrums vibrate. It is the second when everything stands still; where the reverberation of Aasarissumi still hangs in the soundproof walls, even though the speakers are silent.
Frederik lets the mouse arrow slide across the screen and presses play. The recordings again fill the basement. Nivi leans against the microphone stand and listens as her own voice blends flawlessly into the universe of the song.
A slow, accepting smile spreads across her face. It is not just a smile of relief, but of recognition; the sound of everything falling into place.
– Now we just have to record a video for the music video, says Elsner and pulls his iPhone out of his pocket.
Frederik suggests that Nivi mime for the recording, but she flatly rejects him with a demonstrative look. She will not pretend; she will sing properly.
Able to receive criticism
Frederik surrenders. He knows that authenticity cannot be mimed, but makes one technical requirement: She must hit the exact same breath as on the tape. This is where the artistic stubbornness meets the studio’s precision.
Nivi Pedersen breathes deeply, and while she sings, image and sound merge in a perfect, synchronized movement.
– Tassa, says Elsner.
Pedersen smiles appreciatively and begins to pack. Frederik does the same.
While he is packing, the conversation turns to the craftsmanship behind the many tracks. His advice is clear: A producer must never stand too long in his own work.
– You have to be able to receive criticism, he states as he closes the project on the screen.
For him, the unfiltered counterplay from others is the prerequisite for delivering a high-quality end product. It’s not about ego, but about the song – and about ensuring that the Greenland he is trying to bring together can hear itself in the result.
