Max Richter’s SLEEP experience provides solace in a restless world

In the decade since, Richter has taken his concert-cum-art installation across the globe; soundtracking the dreams of slumbering audiences at iconic landmarks from the Great Wall of China to the Sydney Opera House. For the acclaimed composer, the ambient, classical composition is a “lullaby for a frenetic world,” his masterful protest against a rat race that prioritises corporate hustle over basic human needs. Now returning to London for a two night stint marking the tenth anniversary, Richter’s invitation to rest feels just as vitally relevant.

As guests arrive at Alexandra Palace for the night’s proceedings, each element of the experience appears carefully curated. An illuminated sculpture of the moon glows in the foyer, a shop sells apparel emblazoned with the lunar phases, and a recommended reading list displays an array of titles – spanning Maggie O’Farrell’s ‘Hamnet’ to Mary Ruefle’s poetry. A large table holds a number of Richter’s recorded works, including his newest album Sleep Circle released mere hours ago. Draped over tall wooden frames lining the corridor into the performance space, an installation of sheet music offers a brief insight into the project’s ambitious nature: ‘At 90 pages long, every note you see here will be played by Max this evening’.

Inside, under the grey haze of dimmed lamps, the atmosphere within the Great Hall is peaceful yet strangely unnerving. There’s a dystopian air to the sight of 700+ beds stretched wall to wall in the dusky gloom. “There are really no rules for the SLEEP performance,” Richter shares in his concise, opening speech. “You can stay awake all night listening, you can sleep, you can do a bit of both as you like. There’s no rules really.” He gives thanks to his partner Yulia Mahr and the musicians poised to begin on the small, circular stage, and with a final “we’ll see you on the other side,” the composer takes his seat at the grand piano, letting the first low, rhythmic note of the 8-hour performance ring out.

The room is hushed, interspersed only by the occasional creak of metal bed frames as the audience sink into their duvets ahead of a long night. There’s a creeping sense of vulnerability in preparing to sleep beside hundreds of strangers in a low-lit room, and for the first hour it feels safest to just sit and observe. Under an overhead spotlight, Richter’s keys are echoed and elongated by viola, violin, and a pair of cellos as the epic lullaby takes form. As time passes, achingly slowly, the mood starts to shift and soprano Grace Davidson's hauntingly clear voice, devoid of discernible words, adds a human touch to the burgeoning dreamscape as it reverberates and fills the hall.

Midnight comes and goes and the small cast of rotating performers leave and return to the stage as each movement calls. A group of strangers, lit only by faint, blue-tinged lights, rise from their beds to form a small crowd – their silhouettes resembling sleepwalkers as they congregate in the centre of the room like moths to a flame. Initial apprehensions seem to lift, leaving a welcoming sense of camaraderie in its wake. Some return to their beds while new faces join the hypnotised group, their gazes transfixed on the musicians as they move silently, careful not to wake or disturb the quiet dreamers in their midst.

When Richter repeats his opening melody, underlined with low, electronic discordance, the familiarity of his refrain is imbued with a sense of newfound safety; hundreds of strangers letting down their guards to soak in the shared experience of drifting strings and shifting harmonics like a collective meditation. As the composer plays, he plucks page after page from the reams of sheet music balanced on the piano and lets them fall one by one as time marches steadily on; their moment gone. From the stage, Richter occasionally turns to glance over the audience, overseeing the uninhibited dreamers and the attentive, sleepwalker-esque devotees who linger nearby. The textured soundscape grows, fades and dances towards dawn.

In its entirety, the recital is a life-affirming experience, maybe best described through intermittent, waking snapshots: a couple stand arm-in-arm in matching pyjamas, a lone man sways side to side at the foot of his bed, a girl doomscrolls on TikTok, a lady’s heavy breathing turns to snores, a stranger warmly smiles at another, and the violin dances while the soprano’s voice soars. When the lights take on the pink hues of daybreak and the orchestra reaches towards an awakening crescendo, the hypnotic spell of SLEEP is broken and morning arrives all too soon.