London Cult.: Did we catch you in the middle of a tour?

Alexei Aigui: I’m currently on a small two-part tour. The first part took place in the Baltic countries with a new program we developed about a year ago. I performed two concerts in Estonia and Latvia, and I hope things will go just as well in London on 1 December at the Music Saves the World festival.

LC: Will you bring the same program to London? It’s called Tender Strings, right?

AA: It’s almost the same program. Though not Tender Strings—in French, Les Cordes Sensibles means both “the strings of the soul” and “sensitive strings,” as the program is written for a quintet of string instruments. It’s a bit of a play on words that sounds beautiful in French, though it might come across as slightly pretentious in English.

LC: Do you work with different teams of musicians in each city and country?

AA: Yes. In France, I played with local musicians found by my friends, while in Tallinn and Riga, we performed with Estonian musicians. I arrived early, rehearsed with them for several days, then we performed in Tallinn and took the same group to Riga. Learning the entire program with two separate groups from scratch would have been maddening. This kind of project is already quite complex since the music isn’t classical—much of it isn’t written out precisely, requiring explanations and emotional intuition. Not all musicians can connect with, play, or enjoy this kind of music. You really need to find like-minded individuals for it to work.

LC: Are these classical musicians?

AA: They have classical training, yes! But they’re open-minded and interested in jazz or improvisation. They don’t necessarily have to improvise, but I like it when musicians contribute something of their own.

LC: Who will perform with you in London?

AA: It will be a quartet assembled by the wonderful violinist Yuri Zhislin. I’m a bit nervous about meeting him. I don’t yet know who he’s gathered for the group—I’ll meet the musicians when I arrive. I’ve sent them the music we’ll play and will arrive a bit early for rehearsals, though we don’t yet know how many we’ll need.

LC: Will the London program feature only new music, or will there be older pieces too?

AA: There are some older pieces, of course. This is a new program, but it includes a mix of everything. Some music is from theatre productions I wrote 25 years ago. I’m amazed that this music still feels alive and interesting to play. There will also be some film music. For instance, Alvis Hermanis’ play Land of the Mute is currently running in Riga with Chulpan Khamatova, so naturally, I played a segment from the Land of the Deaf soundtrack at my concert. I’m not sure yet what we’ll play in London, but that piece is one of my most famous compositions, so we might include it. I’m still finalizing the program—it changes slightly each time.

LC: Why do you change the program? Is it more interesting for you, or does it depend on the city?

AA: Sometimes certain pieces resonate better with some musicians than others. For example, in Tallinn, we rehearsed more pieces than we ended up performing, and then adjusted the program for Riga. The venue also plays a big role. In Tallinn and Riga, we performed in churches, but in London, it will be a club. In a church, you can play more transparent, quiet music. In a club, that’s harder—people come for the bar, it’s likely to be noisier, and this won’t be a solo concert since other musicians will perform after us. So, the program will be slightly revised and shorter.

LC: That sounds like a dramaturgical, almost directorial approach!

AA: Absolutely. Even the tempo can depend on the venue. One church we played in had a ‘churchy’ acoustic with long echoes, while another was much drier. In a space with long echoes, you want to play slower with longer pauses to give the sound more breathing room. In the club, we’ll adjust and make decisions accordingly. For me, the venue always influences the program.

LC: Does it matter to you whether you’re composing for film, theatre, or as standalone music? Is there a difference for you?

AA: Of course, when composing for film or theatre, you have guidance from the director or the work itself, which might lead you to create music you wouldn’t write for yourself. For dance productions or plays, for example, you might need to leave more space for dialogue or write in a specific rhythm to suit choreography. There are always details that influence the process, but I don’t categorize my music as “one type for myself, another for theatre, and yet another for film.” It’s all my music, and I value it equally.

That said, some film music—especially if written for a large orchestra—is impossible to perform live. For instance, the Horde soundtrack required Eastern instruments, morin khuur, and the voice of the magnificent Buryat singer Namgar. So some works live independently of concert life. Others are more personal and suited for live performance, regardless of their original purpose.

LC: Our lives split into ‘before’ and ‘after’ in 2022. Has your approach to music changed? Have the themes or content evolved?

AA: Of course. I think I’ve become a different person—it’s impossible to go back. I probably didn’t smile for a year; I just couldn’t. I’ve also started weighing every word carefully. Irony used to be a big part of my expression, but jokes feel out of place now. Life has changed so drastically that returning to the old ways isn’t possible—for me, at least.

As for music: yes, I still get commissions for lighthearted, emotional pieces. I treat it as a job and write what’s needed. But everything else I compose… you know, when something breaks inside you, you keep moving forward, but the fracture remains. A tree may break, but new shoots emerge—that’s how I live and work now.

LC: Is it possible or difficult to perform your earlier music, such as what you played with 4’33”?

AA: In London, we plan to perform some compositions from my time with 4’33”. There are pieces I’ll likely never play again, but others have taken on new meaning. We never played purely entertaining or cheerful music, though we did include ironic pieces. Our concerts were lively because the musicians had fun on stage. The group as it was probably can’t exist anymore—but time will tell.

LC: If everything were to miraculously heal, would you play together again?

AA: I hope we’ll meet again. The group turned 30 this year. We didn’t celebrate; there was talk of meeting and performing, but it didn’t happen. Still, I’m optimistic—this group was a huge part of my life.

LC: What are you working on now?

AA: My group used to include at least seven musicians, sometimes ten, but I can’t manage that now. I live in France, where music that doesn’t fit into strict categories struggles. Our style was unique—not jazz, not rock, not classical—and in Moscow, we operated independently. In France, it’s like Alice in Wonderland: you have to run fast just to stay in place. I wasn’t running fast for a while, so I drifted into a “pond” where it’s tough to survive.

I’ve started smaller projects: a duet with my guitarist neighbour, a short-lived trio that managed to record one album, and another trio called FAR (a Frenchman, an Argentine, and a Russian). FAR performs music by all three members.

LC: You once collaborated with German pianist Dietmar Bonnen…

AA: That’s a long-standing project, which also turned 30 this year! We performed in Berlin this year and in France last year. We’re recording two albums: one with our own compositions and another with reimagined film music by Morricone, Rota, and myself.

LC: Has writing or recording music helped you navigate difficult times, or is it just your way of life?

AA: Honestly, I can’t imagine doing anything else. Working has been my salvation. During a period of inactivity, I began recording a home album at my neighbour’s place. It’s not fast—sometimes a cat wanders in, or the church bell rings, or the priest’s door slams. But it’s been a lifeline.

LC: Does recording or composing help you cope with challenging times, or is it just a natural part of your life that you can’t imagine living without?

AA: Honestly, I don’t know how to do anything else besides music. I can hardly imagine myself working in an office.

LC: May we never have to imagine that, as your listeners!

AA: Work saves us from everything. Without it, I think I would’ve gone crazy. There was a period when I had nothing going on for months—that’s when I started working on this home album. I knew that on Tuesday, when the kids went to school, I could go to my neighbour’s place and try to record something. That kept me going.

Cinema has been a salvation too, though the projects I’ve been working on recently have been very heavy. Last year, I composed the score for Raoul Peck’s film Ernest Cole: Lost and Found, which premiered at the Cannes Film Festival. The film’s subtitle is “To All Artists in Exile.” It tells the story of South African photographer Ernest Cole, who fled apartheid to the U.S., failed to find his place there, and tragically died forgotten just as apartheid fell. It’s a deeply moving story. The film will be released in the U.S. at the end of November, in France at the end of December, and it was featured at BFI in London in October.

Now I’ve nearly finished scoring Raoul Peck’s next film, Orwell, about George Orwell and our modern reality. I spent four months staring at a screen filled with the world’s horrors. As is typical of Peck, this film explores totalitarian societies and violence, prompting viewers to reflect on both historical and contemporary issues. That’s the kind of work I’m doing right now.

In fact, when we recorded the music in Paris, we decided not to show the film to the orchestra to avoid traumatizing the musicians. It’s not that the film shows anything unseen before, but watching such visuals repeatedly while recording music can be overwhelming. The film will be completed soon and should appear at festivals next year.