About two songs into Colombian composer and singer Lucrecia Dalt’s performance of A Danger to Ourselves at the Santa Fe Institute of Contemporary Art (ICA), I knew it would be a memorable night. Art—through music—was palpably present. Accompanied by Jonah Minkus on drums, percussion, and bass, and by Cyrus Campbell on bass and contrabass, Dalt offered a performance at once haunting and earthen, sparse yet resplendent. Every moment was stunning.
Lucrecia Dalt. Photo: Louie Perera
The ICA proved an inspired setting, a space where frequencies took form. A similar sense of convergence came to mind from an event I covered years ago, at another Santa Fe arts venue, the CCA, when I found myself seated near Nobel Prize–winning physicist Murray Gell-Mann for a screening of The Road by Cormac McCarthy, followed by a lecture from Dr. Ole Peters. Science and art embraced. Here again, at the ICA, something analogous occurred: Art and aural diffusion converged in radiant alignment.
And through it all, Dalt charted her own path through the performance—introspective yet assured—conjuring a kind of alchemy.
Campbell/Dalt/Minkus. Photo: DescribeTheFauna
But let me step back.
Dalt’s newest album, A Danger to Ourselves, is an inward gaze—music that, as The New York Times noted, “makes its own reality.” The reality she creates is one of desire, tenderness, and vulnerability. Across its fourteen tracks, the music marks some of her finest work yet. As one who found Ay! (2022) dazzling, I can say this collection ascends even higher, carrying the listener into greater emotional complexity.
Much of the October 24 set drew from A Danger to Ourselves, with select interludes from Ay!. The main set comprised twelve songs, followed by an encore of two compositions: “No Tiempo” and “acéphale.” The performance shifted gracefully between electronic and acoustic textures—each finely performed and deeply engaging.
Roughly twenty minutes into the set, Dalt remarked, “It’s been a couple of years without doing this [performing live], so it’s really fun to be back.” The packed audience cheered as she introduced the musical “wizards,” Cyrus and Jonah.
Jonah Minkus, a gifted young drummer from Albuquerque—whose tone and touch evoked Steve Jansen—cast a rhythmic spell. Santa Fe–based bassist Cyrus Campbell kept the music focused and furtive, moving between bass and contrabass and offering evocative, tasteful solos throughout.
When Dalt picked up her classical guitar, the atmosphere shifted. Singing in Spanish, she transformed the room into a tertulia—a kind of Colombian café gathering where sound and song intertwine.
The dimly lit space suited Dalt perfectly. A coral-pink light bathed the crowd, who sat, stood, and stared—transfixed by the petite figure singing, “You were not afraid of the mess I made,” a line that felt both confessional and declarative.
One of the evening’s highlights was “divinia,” among the most striking pieces on the album and, in many ways, a summary of the night. Sung in both English and Spanish, Dalt intoned, “You are the only one I can fool death with (in this world),” then, “En sus lágrimas de mercurio.” Like the mercury she sings of, the evening shimmered—silver and white—a beautiful effervescence of sound and emotion. A triumph!
Renowned for her genre-defying soundscapes and conceptual precision, Dalt’s performance wove modular electronics, poetic voicework, and complex rhythms into an intricate sonic architecture. The evening was a celebration.
Opening the concert was Public Erotic, a fusion of folk-noise, devotional singing, and experimental auditory loom work, “where sound shapes strain toward language—a place where undoing becomes testimony.”
Lucrecia Dalt. Photo: DescribeTheFauna
Learn more about Dalt’s upcoming shows at lucreciadalt.com/shows.
For upcoming ICA events, visit icasantafe.org/events.
Brian C. Nixon, Ph.D., is Chief Academic Officer and professor at Veritas International University in Albuquerque. As a writer, musician, and artist, his interests surround the philosophical transcendentals: truth, beauty, and goodness. You can contact Brian via his Bandcamp email address: https://briancharlesnixon.bandcamp.com
