What do you hear when you die?

For this weekend’s artsy outing we caught the tram into town to avoid the debacles of last weekend. It was OK apart from having to contend with hoards of elated Richmond fans.

We were going to investigate the numerous offerings of The Russian Festival: Celebrating the Rite of Spring, but somehow it seemed more appropriate to laze around and drink nice warm Sake at Sake Restaurant  and Bar on such a beautiful Melbourne afternoon.

Dead Symphony by Saskia Moore, performed by Apartment House

Being led down to the secret location at the Arts Centre felt like being led into my own tomb. The narrow stairwell descended for an eternity. It’s twists and turns disoriented. The audience was seated around the perimeter of the drab rectangular prism of the Playhouse Rehearsal Room.  A small ensemble of harp, cello, percussion, keyboard and soprano sat in the centre facing each other. The only lighting was a a series of vertical fluorescent tubes surrounding the performers.

Dead Symphony consisted of a series of vignettes or miniature soundscapes, each representing the sound of an individual’s near death experience. Saskia Moore asked a variety of people from different cultures and religions from across the world what the cusp of death sound likes.

The sounds were quite beautiful and haunting. If death sounds like that, I want to die. The ensemble built each soundscape and it was sampled and played back through the surround sound system to seamlessly blend with the next…well sort of. The sampled sounds were at a considerably lower volume than the live sounds, making the transitions quite clunky. Perhaps if each instrumentalist stopped playing at different times rather than altogether it may have been more effective.

Well, what do you hear when you die? Answer: the Harry Potter soundtrack, Cold Play pop songs and lots of major triads in second inversion. If the sounds we hear when we die are largely based on memory, then we listen to to much happy pop music and watch too many films with music by John Williams. We need to listen to more depressing stuff.

Guerrilla Kindness, Hidden Spaces, Einstein, Debacles

August 3, 2013

Melbourne, Victoria

Arrived at the Arts Centre car park at bit early for our pre-Einstein Dafternoon Tea (dinner served at afternoon tea time). Catherine began pestering me about some journal thing while we were walking towards Hamer Hall to have a look at Hidden Space, Ready Stages, an installation in the Riverwalk space. She was not explaining herself clearly. I thought she was talking about a new Arts publication. I was forced to look up @sharing_ink on Twitter (she’s old skool and doesn’t have a smart phone). I’m glad I did because the pic of Journal #17 had just been posted and we recognised the background of the photo as a cane table just like the one we were standing next to. There it was, just a few tables away. We bought a biscuit and fed some crumbs to the expectant sparrows while admiring the find. My annoyance at Catherine’s whims instantly evaporated. What a beautiful thing! Beneficiaries of guerrilla kindness. Thank you Sayraphim Lothian.

On to Hidden Spaces, Ready Stages. An installation by Gabriella Mangano and Silana Mangano. Entering the Riverwalk space – an unadorned concrete chasm, spare electrical wire hanging, roller door banging in the wind. Stark, glary light penetrating via the open door. Surrounded by the sounds of deep throbbing, high whining, repetitive metallic clunks, wind, fluorescent light hum, buzzing. It’s like being in the bowels of a city building and hearing the gastronomic processes. Screens show footage of air conditioning ducts, concrete walls, dull brick spaces. I have the sense of a building as a machine or even an organic being.

The purpose of the day was to experience Robert Wilson and Philip Glass‘ Einstein on the Beach at the State Theatre. Wow! It was written in 1976 but is still so contemporary. I listen to this work constantly. It is probably my favourite music outside anything of Anton Webern. Over four hours of small repeated phrases is my idea of heaven. It was mesmerising and enthralling, grandiose and epic, intimate and approachable. I do not understand all of the staging and I don’t care. In my view Einstein is best experienced by just sitting back, observing, enjoying and letting the music wash over you. The performance had many flaws and there were some balance issues, but it really didn’t bother me. I’m just so grateful to have been able to see this in Melbourne. One question: does Michael Riesman ever smile?

The debacle. After waiting for the Cloak Room queue to subside, I ventured to the counter to find that my Popular Penguins umbrella had been claimed by an impostor. There was one umbrella left, larger and of a higher quality than mine, so I took that instead. Maybe I should have taken the Umbrella Incident as an omen of things to come. Having forgotten to bring cash with us, we thought we at least had enough on the card to retrieve the car from the carpark. We were mistaken. Exiting after 8pm attracts a higher fee. We found ourselves in a spot of bother. A trip home and then back into the city on the tram and the car was finally released from captivity, but the ransom had increased, again. Exit Arts Centre 10pm, arrive home 1am.

Syzygy Ensemble – Games, Riddles & Puzzles

Wednesday July 31

Salon, Melbourne Recital Centre

Syzygy Ensemble specialise in the performance of contemporary music. They consistently present high quality performances mostly of the sort of stuff that I like to listen to. Their shows are meticulously and academically prepared and they perform with humour and grace. This ‘Games, Riddles & Puzzles’ concert was a showcase of virtuosity, absurdity and sublimity.

This concert began with Catch (1991) by Thomas Adès, the only piece on the program that I was vaguely familiar with. It is fiendishly difficult, featuring extremes of register for the violin, cello and clarinet. The performers made it look easy. They wouldn’t have been happy with some of the ensemble but guest artist Ashley Smith on clarinet was a standout. I don’t know if the theatrical element of this performance is scored or not, but it certainly helped achieve the compositional objective. Ashley, henceforth referred to as ‘The Peacock’, paraded around like an egomaniac (complete with sparkly silver pants) before eventually  being persuaded to adhere to the norm, follow the crowd, submit to convention, reject individuality and join the rest of the ensemble for a lovely sing-a-long around the piano. How sad. This piece really should have been written backwards. Maybe if Syzygy record this they could release a B-side of the backward-masked version.

I found Mirrors (1977) by Kaija Saariaho quite gimmicky. This is scored for flute and cello and consists of constantly mirrored versions of musical elements. Unfortunately I didn’t notice much of this because the breathy speaking over the flute mouthpiece reminded me of phone sex (not that I would know anything about that).

The Danish piece Die Wanderin (2007) by Neils Rønsholdt was exquisite. I could have quite happily listened to the violin scratching away at those glissandi for hours. I was told that while the previous piece was being performed that Jenny had been scrubbing ferociously at her violin strings with alcohol wipes to get the rosin off. The result was a truly mesmerising, etherial sound. The bow was just scraping across the strings with no purchase whatsoever, producing a beautifully random array of harmonics. A soundtrack of footsteps provided the beat while the piano occasionally punctuated the soundscape with cool jazz chords for extra ‘ahhh’ moments. We were told that this is supposed to be performed with an accompanying visual display, but due to lack of funding, the screen was absent. I’m glad it was. I liked the sounds and wanted them to go on forever.

Hi Bill! (2005) by Iris ter Schiphorst. Bleh. Flashy crowd pleasing number from ‘The Peacock’ on the bass clarinet. A worthwhile time to explain why ‘The Peacock’. For this little ditty Ashley wore a small peacock headdress (along with the silver sparkly pants). That’s not the main reason though. Smith is the peacock of clarinet playing. A complete show off. But he can be as arrogant and brash as he likes because he’s bloody good. He plays with wild abandon and looses little technique in the process. Hi Bill! would have been super fun to perform with all the poppy tunes and synth bass lines played with slap tonguing and multiphonics. Not so much fun to listen to. Why do audiences cheer and clap the loudest for this sort of stuff? Filler.

Architectonics VII (1992) by Erki-Sven Tüür consisted of some lovely cannon-like interplay between the bass clarinet and flute. Microtonal fluctuations caused some pretty groovy sub-harmonics in the space. As soon as that happens I forget that I’m supposed to listen to what the musicians are playing and not the resultant frequencies resonating in the room. Has any composer written a work for two instruments where the primary melody is contained in the resulting sub-harmonics? If not, there’s a commission on offer. I’ll pay by cooking you dinner.

Dust (2009) by Sean Shepherd was dusty, rusty and a little loose. Schmultzy programmatic mush appealing to the romantics in the audience. I would have rathered this work be left off the program and the conservative members of the audience be invited to get off to some Rachmaninov in the privacy of their own home.

Sounds and Shapes (2003) by Takuma Itoh was the least challenging work on the program to listen to, hence last on the bill. This was the chance for all ensemble members and guest artists to take to the stage on a rousing finale. A flashy, crowd pleasing number that was warmly and over-enthusiastically applauded. Nice, but I would have liked the show to finish with some repetitive scratchy violin.

Welcome to reviews…sort of

I am writing this because I want to rant about concerts and other arts events that I patronise. I am writing this because the programming of major arts companies such as the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra and the Australian Opera bores me to tears. I like going to see things that I may not get to see again in my lifetime. Rarities, I guess. Not bloody Mahler Symphonies year after year. I want to write about that weird shit that’s so good there’s only a handful of people in the audience.

Some things to ponder. Why do audiences always clap at the wrong bits? I’m not talking about in between movements of a concerto or a string quartet. Rather, the crap bits, the bits that are performed below par. They seem to love the flashy virtuosic bits even if they are played poorly. Would they listen to flashy virtuosic music at home to relax? Many times the slow soft bits are the best bits, that is if they are not ruined by incessant coughing. I think subtlety and transparency are too often underrated.

I’m not weird and I believe more people should subscribe to my world view and appreciate good music, not shit music, good performances, not shit ones.