Performing at Aviva Studios Manchester, UK on 15,16 and 20-24 November, 2024.
After posting about an impressive installation work in London, and a new play in Australia, I was fascinated to learn about Laurie Anderson’s newest work, ARK: United States Part 5, which includes a collaboration with shape-note singers. Premiering in Manchester last week, and ending Nov. 24th, the show is a multimedia exploration of America’s identity in the 21st century. Anderson’s avant-garde approach, blending music, performance art, and cutting-edge technology, feels like an unusual yet intriguing match for the raw, unvarnished sound of Sacred Harp singing.
Sacred Harp, a participatory tradition of shape-note singing that dates back to the 18th century, is deeply rooted in American history. Its full-bodied harmonies and unapologetically communal ethos are rarely found outside church halls and local singings. For Anderson to pull this music into a contemporary performance setting feels bold and unexpected—exactly what you’d expect from an artist who has spent her career pushing artistic boundaries.
Laurie Anderson is a groundbreaking artist known for her innovative work in music, performance, and multimedia. She gained fame with her 1981 hit O Superman and has created notable projects such as the performance epic United States and the VR experience Chalkroom. Her experimental use of technology and storytelling has made her a notable figure in contemporary art. Anderson was married to the late Lou Reed, whose influence and collaboration further shaped her creative journey.
Reviews of ARK describe a sprawling production, one that the Guardian calls “a whirlwind of poetry, protest, and performance.” The show weaves together AI-generated visuals, beat poetry, and even a communal scream, which the Times notes is inspired by Yoko Ono. Amid the chaos, Sacred Harp makes its entrance as part of the finale. The Guardian describes the effect as “soul-stirring,” while the Times observes that the inclusion of a 20-member Sacred Harp group is “unexpectedly grounding in a piece that sometimes spirals into abstraction.”
A summary by The Arts Desk reads: “ARK is in a similar format to United States Parts 1-4. Anderson moves around the stage playing keyboard and violin, singing songs and telling stories in a voice electronically modified to transform her into characters including a Russian troll, a naive young man, a Trump devotee, Lou Reed and even God. But if its predecessor held up an ironic mirror to America in the early 1980s, ARK is both more universal (climate change affects us all) and more personal (this time many of the stories are autobiographical).”
This mix of chaotic creativity and rooted tradition has me curious about the role Sacred Harp plays within the work. Does it act as a counterbalance to the more frenetic elements? A moment of clarity amidst the noise? Or perhaps it’s a commentary on America’s own layered, contradictory identity. The Arts Desk suggests that Anderson uses these juxtapositions deliberately, writing that “she steers the viewer into the emotional power of collective voices—an act of rebellion in a fractured time.”
Sacred Harp’s raw sound and its participatory nature feel like a natural metaphor for Anderson’s broader themes. The singing itself is communal by design; you sit in a square and sing for the joy of it, without a traditional audience or soloist. To see it brought into a production that embraces the experimental and the multimedia is thrilling—and, admittedly, a bit nerve-wracking. Will it feel authentic, or will it be reduced to a decorative echo of Americana?
Interestingly, the inclusion of Thom Metzger’s book Strong Songs of the Dead in the gift shop alongside Anderson’s albums and books underscores the care the production has taken to respect the role of shape-note singing in ARK. Metzger’s book is a recent release, and while not as wildly eclectic as Anderson’s show, it treats Sacred Harp singing not as a preserved relic but as a living, powerful artistic expression within a larger cultural landscape. Metzger gives full credit to the Southern roots of the tradition while shifting focus to the singers themselves, emphasizing that the heart of Sacred Harp lies in the body and voice of each participant. This perspective reinforces the idea that the tradition can authentically flourish anywhere, even as its diaspora spreads. The inclusion of this book demonstrates the producers’ effort to support both the singers and the broader tradition, presenting Sacred Harp as an integral, evolving art form rather than a static historical curiosity.
Unfortunately, I won’t be able to experience ARK in person. But I’ll be eagerly following the conversations that emerge, especially from the Sacred Harp singers involved. Their reflections will no doubt offer insight into what it was like to bring this centuries-old tradition into such an innovative and ambitious context.
For now, I’m simply heartened to see Sacred Harp making an appearance in a work as high-profile and daring as ARK. It’s a reminder that this music, which has been sustained through grassroots efforts for generations, can resonate just as powerfully in a cutting-edge performance as it does in a humble church hall.
As one of the UK singers involved, it was an amazing experience. We had the opportunity to sing in the square during the interval, just as we normally do, but surrounded by the audience for the show.
We ended (or almost ended) the show each night singing David’s Lamentation, with shapes, with Laurie introducing it as reflecting on the various apologies between father and son throughout the show. For practical reasons we sang in a horseshoe/arc/rainbow formation rather than the square.
I was one of the singers. There was a group of about seventy of us from around the country (as well as Germany and the Netherlands!), with twenty or so on stage each night and singing in the interval too. There was lots of interest from the audience!
I have only been singing sacred harp for a year or so but have followed Laurie Anderson since the late 80s. It was thrilling to meet her and be on stage with her. Our entry to the stage came after three hours of her music, stories, films, images…. And then the words ‘we don’t know where we come from, we don’t know what we are…’. Suddenly the only audible thing was the human voice, the sound of someone keying, then us singing the shapes. As an audience member I found it powerful. After the shapes Laurie explained why she’d chosen the song — it’s about forgiveness, she says. To me it felt like an affirmation of humanity over technology, and saying that the solutions to our global problems lie in our hands, and rely on us developing ourselves into better, kinder human beings. We then sang the song, and Laurie stood aside, crouching or kneeling. How generous of her, to make herself more or less invisible, and not centre stage. I felt very humbled by that.
We had hours together backstage to talk, much on snacks, sing, read…. I got to know some of the other singers a lot better, and share in the excitement and pleasure of the show. Let’s see if our monthly sessions singing in the art gallery grow… I suspect they might, though that wasn’t why we did this.
All in all, a really fantastic experience, I think we all agreed. What an honour!
Another Sacred ARK singer here!
Although I kept telling friends who were coming to see ARK that we’d only be on for five minutes at the end, our role was more complicated than that.
At the end of the first half, eight of us appeared briefly on a platform at the back of the stage, holding our books and beating time to Lou Reed’s Junior Dad, a song about his difficult relationship with his father – as if we were singing Junior Dad from the book. Although this was not Sacred Harp music, most of my friends commented on it as a powerful image in a moving scene, which closed with lines from Laurie’s World Without End, projected on a screen: “When my father died we put him in the ground. When my father died it was like a whole library had burned down.”
This appearance was a late addition to the show, intended to underline the connection with the finale: the first half ended with a son addressing his father, the second with a father addressing his son, and Sacred Harp singers present both times.
Then, as the lights went down for the interval, the eight Junior Dads had to rush to the foyer to join the rest of us sitting on a raised platform, where we held something like a normal singing, except that we were allotted only 13 minutes (so the audience milling around and listening had time to get back to their seats), we had a list of 23 songs voted on in advance (so that no one was confronted by a completely unfamiliar song), and we agreed a list of leaders before going on; to maintain some element of surprise, the leaders didn’t tell us which of the 23 they had chosen, though we always finished with 448t Consecration, which we belted out before an enthusiastic round of applause (and, at least once, whooping).
This procedure was devised so that we could have a quick turnaround between songs and fit in as many as possible in the time available – usually seven, but our record was nine! There was a notice near the platform explaining what Sacred Harp is and mentioning our regular singings.
Our final appearance came at the end of the show, when we walked on, with books, at the end of Laurie’s last piece of music, formed the horseshoe shape others have mentioned (a square was impractical on a proscenium stage), took the key and sang the shape notes of 268 David’s Lamentation, beating time.
There was a pause while Laurie explained what the song meant to her, as an apology not just from a father to his son, but from an older generation to the young people left with the mess we’ve made of the world.
Then she invited us to sing it again, with the words (I think at one time she considered adapting the words, but eventually she chose to respect the power of the original). And that ended our formal role, though we remained on stage as she gave the audience her final thoughts, and we joined her in taking a bow.
Although I saw the show once, I’m probably too close to it to say how this came across, and the feedback from my friends who came to watch is also likely to be biased. But they said they were very impressed, by the show overall and especially our role in it.
Many commented on the fact that the rest of the evening was highly technological, both visually and aurally: our appearance was the one moment featuring human voices without any modification, and they thought we represented humanity and the power of emotion. I think Laurie said something about our being the soul of the show, but I can’t remember her precise words.
All of the singers I’ve spoken to found taking part a thrilling and moving experience, and we hope a few of the audience will have been sufficiently captivated to come and find us!