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.