New student landed in the middle of Greenland's cultural revolution

Then Christian Søgaard stood with the student cap in hand Sønderborg in 1976, he only knew one thing for sure: He wanted to go out into the world.

Experience something that extended beyond both high school and South Jutland. The family Lidegaard, whom he knew through a friendship, suggested Greenland - and soon after he stood in Nuuk with the suitcase in hand, equipped with a role that he later with a smile has described as "a kind of kiffaq" with a local family.

Then Christian Søgaard stood with the student cap in hand Sønderborg in 1976, he only knew one thing for sure: He wanted to go out into the world.

Experience something that extended beyond both high school and South Jutland. The family Lidegaard, whom he knew through a friendship, suggested Greenland - and soon after he stood in Nuuk with the suitcase in hand, equipped with a role that he later with a smile has described as "a kind of kiffaq" with a local family.

- The goal was to go on an adventure, and to that extent I did. I just plunged into a cultural and political revolution, it says adventurous student at the time.

It was the start of a lifelong relationship with Greenland in general – and to Greenlandic culture and music in particular. So strong, that today he still plays Greenlandic music at Danish venues, among second with Rasmus Lyberth, whom he has known for 50 years until next year. Together they have, among other things, performed at the Royal Albert Hall in London, and in November mourned he for the musical touch when Lyberth was inducted into the Hall of Fame at Tønder Festival - together with Lyberth's other musicians and Aviaaja Lomholt.

In addition, Christian Søgaard lectures about Greenland music history - at the latest on a Thursday in November in Svendborg, where he also lives and works, among other things, as a church organist. He tells:

- I am talking about three thousand years of music history. From the first drums, over the colonial era encounters between European and Greenlandic tone language, for the modern identity struggle in rock, pop and folk. The music is one history book in itself – and you understand Greenland better when you hear how it has sounded.

A city in disarray – and a young musical life in liberation

Nuuk in 1976 was a place where nothing stood still. The home rule negotiations rumbled in the background, the youth organised new, Greenlandic-speaking communities, and a whole new wave of musical self-awareness was taking shape.

As a new arrival, Christian did the only logical thing: He threw himself into it all. He lived with a journalist at KNR and quickly became part of the radio program Ungforum together with, among others, Minik Rosing and Bo Lidegaard. In addition, he learned the Greenlandic polkas - kalattuut - by sit close to older musicians and write down the melodies, note for note, in it semi-dark winter light. He learned a little Greenlandic, enough to be able to understand the jokes and sing along to the fast dances.

- It dawned on me that music was the language we all share could, he remembers.

- When you played, you were equal to each other. So simple and so powerful.

Aasivik – where a people spoke for themselves

In the late 1970s, Christian became a permanent part of The Aasivik rallies at Aasiaat – large cultural political summer camps where Greenland for the first time discussed its future in Greenlandic, and where alcohol was forbidden. The atmosphere was intense, innovative and euphoric.

- There was a feeling that something completely new was being created. And it was great to be a part of - as a Dane, 20 years old.

Here he met, among others, Kuupik Kleist, Malik Høegh and Juaaka Lyberth and a number of other musicians and activists who were to come to to play central roles in Greenland's modern cultural history. He played on the campfires, recorded songs and made new friends that he would follow for decades.

ULO – and the encounter with a musical awakening

Even after he moved back to Denmark in 1978 to walk at the music conservatory, Greenland never let him go. He was assigned record company ULO, and from the head office in Copenhagen he participated in a long a number of projects that are today part of Greenland's modern music canon.

He helped record the album, The Flying Kayak, where children from Uummannaq told stories which were turned into songs. He got to know Karsten Sommer and Anders Dohn - and together they created recordings, which is still played in Greenlandic homes.

- The incredible thing was that everything was played, says Christian.

- There was an explosive hunger for Greenlandic music. People wanted to hear themselves, their language, their stories. It was a great one experience.

South Greenland - and the music that hid in the settlements

One of the most memorable projects was a trip to South Greenland together with Kuupik Kleist and Anders Dohn to record fiddler's music in the villages. From living room to assembly hall, from accordion to drum dance.

- It was a goldmine, he says.

- Each settlement had its own musical tone.

The journey became both a book and a CD - and for Christian it was a strong reminder that music is not just entertainment, but cultural heritage.

Rosa Ville – and an evening you won't forget

Even after he became part of Tukaq Teatret's ensemble in West Jutland, continued his Greenlandic trail. When he played one of the evenings The Rosa Ville melodies – popular Greenlandic dance numbers – something happened unexpectedly.

- Suddenly someone tugs at my shirt sleeve and says: 'It's my music you're playing.'

It turned out to be Rosa Ville herself. She had not performed for many years and the audience stopped dancing, stared up at her and whispered, "Where have we heard her before?"

There were both laughs and tears that night.

When the throat song sounded in Nuuk for the first time

Another memorable moment occurred in the Nuuk hall below recordings for an ICC concert in which Inuit musicians from Canada and Alaska participated. Christian sat in the sound box with Karsten Sommer, when throat singing - katajjaq – sounded for the first time.

- It was completely incomprehensible, he says.

Karsten went outside to hear how it sounded in the hall, and came back laughing:

“It sounds the same outside!”

A line through a life

When Christian Søgaard looks back on the two years in Nuuk and on its long association with Greenlandic culture, it is clear that the stay changed everything: his music, his life path, his identity.

- I thought I should get to know a new place, says he continues:

- But it turned out that it was the music that taught me something about people. It opened all doors.

And perhaps that is the explanation of how a young man from Sønderborg ended up being one of the few Danes who have played it safe into the heart of Greenland's modern musical life - without people necessarily knowing that the tone of their old cassette tape also bore his hand.