Australian composer and performer Lisa Lerkenfeldt investigates electroacoustic music through piano, tape loops and digital processing. Her work combines traditional instrumentation with experimental techniques, emphasising sound’s physicality and cyclical structures. At her residencies in Paris and Melbourne, the latter At The Above, she integrates historical and contemporary influences, working with restored pianos, analogue hardware, and modern technology. In this conversation, she reflects on her creative process, the role of improvisation, and her tendency to “burn things” as a way of shifting a space—sonically and subliminally—through warmth, ritual and sound.

How did your experience in Melbourne shape the outcome of your residency, and how does it compare to your previous experiences in Paris and Berlin?

My recent residency in Paris was at INA GRM, a pioneering sound studio for concrete, electroacoustic, and experimental music. It was highly resourced and very technical with an ambitious policy of music creation and concerts. This summer, I returned to Australia to continue my practices in electroacoustic music At The Above, an open form gallery space in Fitzroy, Melbourne. They set up a bed, and I worked with a restorer to bring a century-old German piano into the space to explore the acoustics of the gallery and improvise at any hour. There is very little infrastructure for electroacoustic music in Australia. I had to build it with people as I went along. Each residency differs. In all my encounters, being offered time and space is a gift. 

Who are your greatest inspirations and do you attempt to extend or challenge their work in your practice?

I am inspired by artisanal techniques, contemporary software, analogue hardware, 100-year-old acoustic instruments, friends, texture, taste, cyclic events in nature, like the seasons and the reliability of the fall of evening. Musically, I have been listening at length to two French composers following my visit last year. The first is Bérangerie Maxim at her back catalogue of electroacoustic music, and the second is the century-old dinner music of Erik Satie. I’m working on a new album. I hope to bring spatial details to music that you could cook dinner to.

Your practice exists at the intersection between rehearsal and recital, traditional craft, and digital artistry. Is this space an integral part of your experimental approach?

Yes, there is a new language between worlds. I live here.

Can you tell us more about the restored 1920s C. Bechstein piano hired for the At the Above residency? Does it symbolise the idea of making an intimate object more accessible to audiences, or is it more about bringing the past into the present? 

Moving from the accuracy of the digital world to the vulnerability of the acoustic instrument is inspiring. It’s about the intimate quality of sound and the way it inhabits a room. I work with a 1970s tape machine, in this case a 1920s piano and 2020s software on my laptop. I like tracing the origins of things to have a detailed understanding of the instruments I compose with. I also work this way as an ethical consideration. I’m dedicated to reuse and restoration over sourcing new objects. I take care of things and find value in what is abandoned or obsolete. I appreciate people across other fields that do too. It also helps me understand the mechanics of sound and how it is produced.

I’m also very physical, and I need to touch and feel things to understand them. When it comes to acoustic instruments, every one is different, especially with age. Navigating the inner workings of a restored 1920s German piano that came over by boat at a time when the upper classes were entertained by pianists on cruise ships was complex, though not without its problems. It was restored in detail by Lachlan at Pianos Victoria, who had over seventy European pianos in a warehouse. We had a shared affinity for the tone of German models. They are gentle, warm, and intoxicating in the room. To stay in tune, it had to remain at a constant temperature all summer. This was a language of care itself, which was adopted by At The Above staff. 

Initially, it was about granting myself access to a historically exclusive instrument. I needed time to explore contemporary uses of this century-old machine. Only by partnering with the gallery and restorer was I able to bring one into the room.

The sound created through hand-cut tape loops, digitally processed, and drawing on the traditions of French musique concrète, has been described as “gently intoxicating.” Do you think musical expertise is necessary to fully appreciate the sound?

The less you know, the better. Music is for everyone.

Do you think a curator can also be considered a composer, and vice versa? Are these roles interchangeable for you, or do you see them as separate?

Yes and no. There are curated musics, i.e., all sample-driven compositions. In my case, my music comes from an original place, a personal language between tradition and experimentation. I write open form composition by ear through improvisation. I also sample myself to build into contemporary forms of polyphony.

Can you describe the transition from making improvised music to your current deconstructionist, modern classical sound?

My primary practice is improvisation with piano. These works are recorded to tape reels and cut up arbitrarily into loops and samples, then processed digitally to accompany me live.

As you create music, do you find your process to be more intuitive as opposed to methodical?

I am all intuition.

Some artists practice rituals when making their music, whether through an attachment to certain instruments or the production process. Can you tell us about any personal habits you have that inform the way you create music technically?

I’m a burner. I always burn incense or scent in some form while I work. It shifts the atmosphere of the room, in a way I hope to with music.

Were there any moments in your life that drastically altered the way you approach your practice? Perhaps exposure to a certain method of art making or an internal change? 

Yes, reading Pauline Oliveros's Deep Listening, which I received as a gift years ago. The album refined my ear, formally introduced a listening practice and revealed that I can hear a whole spectrum of sounds that many people can’t hear. Another gift.

With the GRM, my work was put in context with over seventy years of French music history. The musique concrète tradition values the physicality of sound, like I do. I performed on the Acousmonium, an iconic 48-channel loudspeaker array, and with recent spatialisation software developed for Ableton, GRM Tools. This experience will change how I imagine and produce music for life. Come to the Australian premiere of this work at the Art Gallery of New South Wales on March 19.

Do you find that music allows us to engage with the world in a way other art forms don’t?

Yes, it hits deeper, beyond logic.