What happens when an artist used to building worlds through sound is handed the keys to one of the biggest, most important institutions in Italy (and Europe)? For her second year as artistic director of Biennale Musica, Caterina Barbieri has approached the role less as an exercise in authority than as an invitation to listen differently. Under the title A Child of Sound, this year’s programme looks beyond established hierarchies, bringing experimental and underground practices into conversation with the history and machinery of the Biennale itself. It’s an ambitious balancing act: opening doors without flattening what makes these scenes disruptive in the first place. The result is convincing, successful, and proof that a decades-old institution can be avant-garde.
That tension runs through our conversation. Barbieri discusses the freedoms and limits of working within an institution, the importance of collective listening and music’s capacity to create spaces of care, transformation and genuine encounter. She also reflects on what it means to temporarily step away from her own practice in order to make room for others—and why, after two intense years, she is ready to return to making music. Bureaucracy may not sound especially punk, but perhaps learning how to hack it is.
Let’s discuss this year’s theme, A Child of Sound. Children are very honest about music: either they like something or they dislike it. There are no politics or strategies; it comes from the heart. Did that idea speak to you?
Yes, definitely. Childhood brings up this idea of honesty and freedom. In my curatorial choices, I was also guided by this openness and by the desire to present a rich and varied representation of what the music of the present is. People might not like everything, but for me the most important part was almost this statement of freedom, which is artistic but also political.
I think the Golden Lion is a good example of this because, until two days before, we didn’t know what he [Keiji Haino] was going to do. I think that freedom should always be preserved for artists. Nowadays, as artists, we have to face more and more of the commercial dynamics of the music industry. Festivals ask you to frame your performance, and there’s a whole cycle of promoting and marketing an album. It’s nice to give freedom to artists who genuinely experiment and bring up something really new, which they don’t necessarily have to frame.
I think the Golden Lion is a good example of this because, until two days before, we didn’t know what he [Keiji Haino] was going to do. I think that freedom should always be preserved for artists. Nowadays, as artists, we have to face more and more of the commercial dynamics of the music industry. Festivals ask you to frame your performance, and there’s a whole cycle of promoting and marketing an album. It’s nice to give freedom to artists who genuinely experiment and bring up something really new, which they don’t necessarily have to frame.
Last year’s theme was The Star Within, which was more related to the cosmos and the outside. A child seems to return to the inside, or to something more primordial. Had you already thought about this contrast, or did one theme lead to the other?
One thing led to another. In general, I like to keep the themes quite open. Last year’s was abstract, and this year’s is too because there are different notions of childhood. This abstract quality gives me the opportunity to be free in my curation. I don’t have to be too sectarian in the way I present music because that would go against my idea of music.
The theme of A Child of Sound came up quite organically from last year’s edition. I was having a conversation with William Basinski, and he was telling me that he was a blue child, a child with melancholy and sadness, and that music was a salvation for him. I resonated so much with this idea because it’s also very true for me. Then I discovered that it’s a shared feeling among many artists, so I thought, I like this idea of a child of sound.
When we held the Golden Lion ceremony with Meredith Monk last year, a middle-school class came to the ceremony. They went onstage and flooded it, and Meredith looked like a child among the children. I liked that image because institutions can sometimes be so strict and fixed, and young people bring an energy that breaks down the institution’s walls. I wanted to have a bit of that punk energy.
The theme of A Child of Sound came up quite organically from last year’s edition. I was having a conversation with William Basinski, and he was telling me that he was a blue child, a child with melancholy and sadness, and that music was a salvation for him. I resonated so much with this idea because it’s also very true for me. Then I discovered that it’s a shared feeling among many artists, so I thought, I like this idea of a child of sound.
When we held the Golden Lion ceremony with Meredith Monk last year, a middle-school class came to the ceremony. They went onstage and flooded it, and Meredith looked like a child among the children. I liked that image because institutions can sometimes be so strict and fixed, and young people bring an energy that breaks down the institution’s walls. I wanted to have a bit of that punk energy.
“Institutions can sometimes be so strict and fixed, and young people bring an energy that breaks down the institution’s walls. I wanted to have a bit of that punk energy.”
Speaking of punk energy: in our last interview, you said that, now you understood how the Biennale works as an institution, you wanted to “push further,” “be more radical” and perhaps “hack the bureaucracy”. Did you manage to do that this year? Were you able to reach places you couldn't before, or convince people of things that would’ve seemed impossible last year?
A little bit, yes. It isn’t easy because it’s a big institution, and there are many rules we have to work with. For example, one of the challenges we face is accessibility to concerts. They mostly take place in historical venues and, in general, Venice is a difficult city, so capacity is always limited. I think the Biennale should try to be very accessible rather than an elitist cultural manifestation. For this reason, I wanted to do more outdoor events. Yesterday’s concert in the park in Santa Elena was an attempt to do something in a free public space, where life keeps going on around it: there are boats and children playing, and people can simply discover something new without necessarily going through the whole ticketing process, because getting tickets is not so easy.
This week we’re also opening an audiovisual installation at the Arsenale, with instruments that people are free to play and use to record music. It’s a sort of studio where children can also come, because the Biennale has many educational activities. That is another attempt to bring more people into the creative process and make it more open.
It was very inspiring to work with Haino-san this year because he’s genuinely an outsider in this sense. When we invited him to receive the Golden Lion, the institution naturally had to present a cultural message to a wider audience. But institutions often have to digest an original message, frame it, label it and put it in a box. Some artists don’t like that process and suffer from it, because digesting an original message can change its nature if you don't respect it. It was interesting to work with Haino because he was really saying, ‘No, I'm not going to accept this process.’ Even getting a text from him was difficult, but then he came here, gave this speech and read this poem. I was very inspired by how radical and uncompromising he is in his artistry. It’s increasingly rare to find artists who are so true to their nature.
This week we’re also opening an audiovisual installation at the Arsenale, with instruments that people are free to play and use to record music. It’s a sort of studio where children can also come, because the Biennale has many educational activities. That is another attempt to bring more people into the creative process and make it more open.
It was very inspiring to work with Haino-san this year because he’s genuinely an outsider in this sense. When we invited him to receive the Golden Lion, the institution naturally had to present a cultural message to a wider audience. But institutions often have to digest an original message, frame it, label it and put it in a box. Some artists don’t like that process and suffer from it, because digesting an original message can change its nature if you don't respect it. It was interesting to work with Haino because he was really saying, ‘No, I'm not going to accept this process.’ Even getting a text from him was difficult, but then he came here, gave this speech and read this poem. I was very inspired by how radical and uncompromising he is in his artistry. It’s increasingly rare to find artists who are so true to their nature.
Another public activity you organised was the baloeiros, the Brazilian balloon artists. I didn't know that this culture is so underground that it’s even forbidden in Brazil. Yet it was presented at the Biennale, where there’s considerable investment and where wealthy nations invest money. Is there a contradiction in presenting such a genuinely underground culture in that context?
That is a good example. I hadn’t thought about it in those terms, but it may be the most explicit example of how challenging it is to bring an underground culture that is illegal in Brazil into the Biennale. They are two opposites. It wasn’t easy at all. The crew from Brazil are amazing, and they came here full of ideas and last-minute decisions. It was very inspiring to work with them, but also difficult because the Biennale has to define things in advance. Harmonising these different worlds wasn’t easy, but I think it’s a worthwhile challenge because they bring such strong energy. It was so important to them, and they were very emotional when they managed to do it. For them, it was a big deal.
When you have an important platform like the Biennale, it’s good to give space to voices that wouldn’t normally have access to this more institutional world. I hope they didn’t feel that the nature of their project was changed or compromised in the process. We tried to be supportive, and they were happy in the end.
I wasn't familiar with this culture either, but I was very impressed by it and by the way the music is connected to these moments. DJ Anderson do Paraíso played last night. It was really cool and full of energy; he made people dance and stand up, which doesn’t always seem easy for the Biennale audience.
When you have an important platform like the Biennale, it’s good to give space to voices that wouldn’t normally have access to this more institutional world. I hope they didn’t feel that the nature of their project was changed or compromised in the process. We tried to be supportive, and they were happy in the end.
I wasn't familiar with this culture either, but I was very impressed by it and by the way the music is connected to these moments. DJ Anderson do Paraíso played last night. It was really cool and full of energy; he made people dance and stand up, which doesn’t always seem easy for the Biennale audience.
Participation, movement and collective listening have been central to both editions. Have you discovered anything unexpected about how audiences want to gather around experimental music once the conventional seated concert format is removed? Seeing people lying down with their eyes closed feels very different from sitting and watching a concert. How have audiences responded to this new way of listening?
I think it’s challenging because the audience is very mixed. Previous editions of the Biennale were perhaps more closely connected to contemporary classical music, so there was an older audience accustomed to sitting down and having a more traditional, frontal experience. Since last year, my idea has been to create a more hybrid format, with collective listening experiences that are less passive or frontal and more active. We have continued that this year, but it’s challenging because older people want to sit, and that’s fine. I also sometimes want to sit to enjoy a concert. We try to offer both seating and the possibility of lying down. With some music, such as Kara-Lis Coverdale’s, it was wonderful to lie down and close your eyes. But when you’re seated, you’re less likely to stand up and enjoy the more physical side of it.
I think there’s a strong crowd in Venice that is thirsty for clubbing because there aren't many clubs here. What impressed me last year was how crowded the nights at Forte Marghera, the mainland club we use, were. There is clearly a lot of interest in that. We also have Origine, which was the LSD Centre last year. It is an in-between venue with concerts, DJ sets and listening experiences. Yesterday, for example, we held Laraaji's workshop based on laughter meditation.
I think there’s a strong crowd in Venice that is thirsty for clubbing because there aren't many clubs here. What impressed me last year was how crowded the nights at Forte Marghera, the mainland club we use, were. There is clearly a lot of interest in that. We also have Origine, which was the LSD Centre last year. It is an in-between venue with concerts, DJ sets and listening experiences. Yesterday, for example, we held Laraaji's workshop based on laughter meditation.
“When you have an important platform like the Biennale, it’s good to give space to voices that wouldn’t normally have access to this more institutional world.”
I’d love to discuss your sound installation at the Holy See Pavilion as well, which also includes sound pieces by artists like Jim Jarmusch, Patti Smith, Kali Malone, or FKA twigs. Each of them is associated with a particular crop or plant (rosemary, begonias, etc.). Could you tell us more about your approach to it, and to Hildegard von Bingen?
My piece is the last one, in the final part of the garden. I didn’t have a chance to visit the space beforehand, so I composed specifically for it while thinking about Hildegard von Bingen. I knew it was a garden and had seen pictures, but I hadn't visited it and didn't know where in the garden they would place my piece. I think it works as an ending because it is quite long.
I later visited the garden in different seasons, and I like that you can experience the passing of time there. I went for the opening in spring, when it was just about to bloom; I returned in summer, when it was in bloom; and now the leaves are falling and the garden is about to close. It’s quite a humble garden, but it’s right next to the station and offers a moment of contemplation in which the music is truly at the centre. I think that’s very special for Biennale Arte. I enjoyed working with them.
I later visited the garden in different seasons, and I like that you can experience the passing of time there. I went for the opening in spring, when it was just about to bloom; I returned in summer, when it was in bloom; and now the leaves are falling and the garden is about to close. It’s quite a humble garden, but it’s right next to the station and offers a moment of contemplation in which the music is truly at the centre. I think that’s very special for Biennale Arte. I enjoyed working with them.
Let’s continue with your work. This year, you released At Source, a four-track EP with Bendik Giske, whom you invited to Biennale Musica last year. How did the record come about?
I have known Bendik for many years. Our first encounter came after I released the album Ecstatic Computation, perhaps in 2019. We met at a concert, and he later sent me a sketch of a saxophone rework he had made of the piece Fantas. I began developing the idea of reinterpretations of Fantas and invited him to make one. That was the first time we collaborated. When I started my label, I organised a series of hybrid shows featuring other artists, with collaborative and solo moments. My solo show had a specific concept that I wanted to present to launch the label. I invited Bendik, Lyra Pramuk and M.E.S.H., among others.
Bendik and I developed our music simply by playing together. The EP only came out this year, but we had been working on the music for a few years. Because we are both busy, recording sometimes takes time. I’m very happy with the music, especially because it developed live, which made the process very organic. We had already played this music even though we weren’t presenting it as an album. We have received many requests to perform it live, but we’re both working on new solo albums. We might do some specific shows, but not a full tour.
Bendik and I developed our music simply by playing together. The EP only came out this year, but we had been working on the music for a few years. Because we are both busy, recording sometimes takes time. I’m very happy with the music, especially because it developed live, which made the process very organic. We had already played this music even though we weren’t presenting it as an album. We have received many requests to perform it live, but we’re both working on new solo albums. We might do some specific shows, but not a full tour.
Music is often described as the healing force of the universe. Would you agree?
For me, yes. Music can be very healing, and we sometimes forget that. In particular, the moment of a collective, shared experience such as a concert can have a very profound impact. As Laraaji was saying, laughter is like a massage for the belly. I feel that music can reconfigure your consciousness. It’s also a universal and accessible experience because it goes beyond language: everyone can access it, across different generations and geographies. This transformative force can be seen spiritually, but it’s also political: music can bring a community together and challenge perceptions. For me, as an institution, it’s important to remember that and try to offer this experience to people.
Have we forgotten the directness of music amid all its politics and commercial pressures? Sometimes it feels that way.
I don’t think we have forgotten it, but it’s true that in daily life music has increasingly become a commodity, something in the background. We access it so easily through platforms such as Spotify, but everything is shaped by algorithms and already digested for us. I'm not talking about myself, but I think many people no longer have an active relationship with searching for music. Music becomes something you simply consume. One positive side of electronic music is that rave movements have been expressions of community, just as rock music was. I think we still experience that a lot in Berlin, which is great, but we also have to protect it.
Now that this two-year chapter is coming to an end, how do you assess Biennale Musica and your role within it? Are you happy with what you achieved, frustrated by anything you couldn't accomplish, or would you like two more years to take it further?
I'm happy. Today I feel more relaxed because everything is moving. It was a very formative experience, but also a challenging one. As an artist, I didn't have experience working in such a public role, bringing together so many different voices. The public and political side of the job has been intense, but I’m very happy. Of course, it takes time to bring change to such a strong institution. At the same time, I’m very grateful because it’s one of the few powerful cultural infrastructures we still have in Italy and in Europe, and I think it has great potential.
I decided not to extend my appointment. It was originally for two years, and they asked me to stay for another two. It was a difficult decision, but I want to make music; that is my main goal. It isn't easy to harmonise both things, and I need silence to make music. I’m grateful for these two years, and I hope the next director will continue and carry forward a certain direction. Let’s see.
I decided not to extend my appointment. It was originally for two years, and they asked me to stay for another two. It was a difficult decision, but I want to make music; that is my main goal. It isn't easy to harmonise both things, and I need silence to make music. I’m grateful for these two years, and I hope the next director will continue and carry forward a certain direction. Let’s see.
