synchronicity

I've just been told that Romanian composer Horatio Radulescu passed away a couple of weeks ago. September 25th, to be exact.

Strangely, this was just 2 days before our mega-flute-project Critical Mass, directed by Julian Day and myself, which was partially inspired by Radulescu's monumental work for 40 flutists: Byzantine Prayer. I remember hearing this work for the first time just a couple of years ago at the Bang on a Can Summer Festival in the USA. One of my composer friends from that course burned a few CDs with some interestingly awesome (or awesomely interesting!) flute works, of which BP was one. I'd never heard a flute ensemble sound so intense, fascinating and beautiful, and I knew I wanted to recreate that somehow.

After many enquiries, the original idea to perform BP itself went up in smoke. They wanted 1300 Euros for score hire! And they all but insisted that we fly Mr Radulescu out to Australia to conduct the performance. Pah!, we said. And we set our minds to coming up with our own massed flute performance project. 18 months later, Critical Mass was born. She was a lovely child, though rambunctious at times, but we loved her despite her faults.

Part of me wishes I'd had the chance to meet Radulescu, another part is satisfied in letting his music speak for him. Rock on, Radulescu.

fussy?

hmmm... am I just too picky? I've been to 2 gigs in the past 2 days, and both have left me feeling - on the whole - uninspired and unenergised. Is it just me? Are my expectations too high or too narrow and inflexible that I start to switch off as soon as I realise my musical needs aren't being met?

Both performances were lacklustre for different reasons. The first was one which I knew was going to be a challenge for me - it included elements of improv, electronica and complexity - these being three of the musical genres I struggle to identify with the most. And here they all were in one concert, agh! I gave it my best, most focussed attention though, and managed to find several moments of really stunningly beautiful sound. These were cluttered up with swarms of busyness and loudness, which perhaps made them all the more beautiful when they arrived. The music was difficult for me, but the performers were utterly engaged and to their huge credit communicated really well amongst themselves and to the audience. This was a big factor in getting me through it intact!

The second gig had music which was more in my preferred realm. Fantastically diverse and SO MANY exquisite moments. I often found myself transfixed by the simple, subtle beauty of several of these works. But in this case it was the performers themselves that let me down. Brilliantly talented, there is no doubt. But with looks of total disinterest, and avoiding eye contact with each other even when there were extended bars of rests. I found myself almost willing them to pleeeeeease look at each other! None of the ensembles configurations had any sense of unity of musical intent. I couldn't believe that there were so many moments of potential connection that just passed by as another crotchet or quaver. It was bordering on infuriating!

So, you see, even when there IS a strong visual element to a performance (as opposed to laptops - see below!), it's no guarantee that it'll make the music any more engaging!

Sigh.

late-night laptops

Wollongong – ¼ Inch @ Music Farmers (Peter Newman, Aaron Hull, Metalog)

After a day full of nephews, pilgrim-dodging and nausea-inducing rides at Luna Park, what better way to unwind than to hop on a train and head to the ‘Gong for an evening of improv, sound art and electronica?!

Stepping off the train into the chilly sea breeze, Wollongong was unfamiliar territory. I had expected a somewhat bustling town centre, but was surprised to discover a series of dark, empty streets leading to the main mall. Recently-abandoned shopfronts with “For Lease” signs stood alongside bridal shops, ??? and a sewing machine store which looked like it had been transplanted there from 1972. The “mall” wasn’t much better, with the piped muzak making us feel like we were trapped in the world’s biggest elevator...going nowhere...

Finally some signs of life greeted us, in the form of a small strip of cafes and restaurants. The welcome warmth of a latte was all we needed to keep us going, as we trekked on to seek out the venue.

Music Farmers is a real treat! An oddly-shaped corner warehouse space, it’s been converted into a mish-mash of hang-out lounge, café, music store and performance space. Racks of vintage clothing sat behind the well-worn pool table, and the walls were filled with posters from gigs and album releases from Wollongong and beyond.

Featuring some of the leading musicians of the genre, this gig certainly held a lot of promise. I am quite open about my difficulty with understanding laptop performers, but am also quite open about my desire to get to a point where I do understand and appreciate it more. Hence my attendance here - I really am trying!

The first performer was Peter Newman, presenting a laptop piece accompanied by visuals. These were projected onto a side wall, making it a tad difficult to see easily. Admittedly I closed my eyes for much of the performance. What I did see of the visuals was interesting, but for me they didn’t seem to have much of an effect (positive or negative) on the music itself. I was drawn in by some of the sounds emanating from the speakers, but once again was left feeling a sense of needing more. I’m not sure exactly what the “more” should be, but it has been a common element in almost every laptop performance I’ve seen. And I think that might be the key word – “seen”. I miss the tangible sense of performer interacting with instrument. I don’t understand how the sounds are created, blended, performed. I don’t get any clues as to the origin of the sound and how it might then be manipulated. I was challenged on this point by my gig-partner – let’s just call him JD – who asked whether I felt the same when watching, say, a cellist or a trombonist? I don’t play either of these instruments, but I have a fundamental knowledge of how a performer produces the bulk of sounds, and can easily see how this happens in a live performance. It was then proposed by JD that maybe I had the same feeling when listening to a CD as when I’m at a laptop gig. Hmmm, yes I guess in some ways I do. I miss the interaction of human to instrument, and the physicality of performance. So there doesn’t seem to be much point in being at a live laptop gig when nothing would be lost by listening on my own stereo at home.

The second performer, Aaron Hull, was another laptop artist though this time without the visual element. At least in terms of projections. I did find this performance slightly more engaging, as I could actually see Hull moving knobs on his effects panel during the piece. There was an interesting sequence of sounds, particularly towards the end when a sudden crescendo dropped off to nothing. I was actually hoping that this was the end of the piece – not because I didn’t want to hear more, but because it would have been a fantastic and unexpected ending point! Another of my gripes with improv/laptop performances is the seeming need to always start softly, crescendo into a more assertive and ‘busy’ mid section, and die away slowly at the end. How about finishing with a ‘bang’?! The formulaic and predictable nature of much of this genre seems to also be inhibiting my ability to bond with it...

After another short interval break the final ensemble ‘Metalog’ gathered on stage – Natasha Anderson with her customary array of massive recorder, laptop and various mics, pedals and other gadgets; Jim Denley with sax and flute; Amanda Stewart on voice; Ben Byrne on live effects; Dale Gorfinkel on percussion; Robbie Avenaim on drumset (with his fabulous collection of bits’n’pieces and robotic drumsticks). What a wealth of improv talent! I was looking forward to hearing what they came up with – after hearing most of the players in various other incarnations (as soloists, or performing in other ensembles) it was fascinating to hear them all together.

The sounds which struck me the most were the vocal utterances from Stewart. Un-vocalised clicks, smacks and slurps added a surprising and refreshing layer of sound to the ensemble. They fit perfectly with the delicate smatterings of sound brought forth by Robbie Avenaim and his instruments. Anderson and Denley are undoubtedly masters of improv, however I didn’t really get anything new from them this time. Gorfinkel made his way through a swag of instruments, big and small, including vibraphone and a kind of ‘extended trumpet’ replete with clear hose tubing to extend both the physical and tonal range of the instrument. Initially this was an intriguing concept, but as the session wore on it became too much of a cliché to have any profound musical effect.

Again I felt that there were several opportunities for a natural ending to this work, but just as the moments arrived they were snapped back into action by one ensemble member or another. It seemed mostly to be Jim and Dale who would take one of these endings and force it into a new direction. I felt myself becoming more and more impatient with the work, shuffling in my seat and letting my thoughts wander, so was actually a bit relieved when JD mentioned that we had to leave to get to the train on time.

A short jog downhill and we were a few minutes early for that late night train, hurrah. It would have been another hour until the next one. The broken coffee machine on the platform was a disappointment, but plenty of crosswords made the long dark journey home seem not so long, nor so dark.

Thanks to JD for having the sense of spontaneity to propose this little adventure, and for having the patience to help me understand more about all this stuff!

asking the big questions

What is not art?

Is there actually a boundary to what can be categorised as art or music? An ordinary object may be transformed into an artistic one simply by an intention to do so.
Photographs of mandarins or cows, percussive sounds created from bowls, paper, food, all of these items in their original context would not be considered art, but placed into the hands of an artist suddenly take on a new life.

So, is art merely a matter of perception? Context?

“if you listen, you can hear music in a school bell” – Michael Franti

What parameters do we work within when we define music? Is music as a whole definable? Of course each genre of music has its own set of boundaries and characteristics, so on this more detailed level music may be more easily categorised (though of course with some degree of flexibility). I’ve heard music defined as ‘organised sound’, but this somehow falls short of encapsulating the essence of musical art.

Maybe art and music are actually ways of perceiving things, rather than the things themselves?

a railway overtone (truly random)

1/4 of an abandoned sausage roll sitting silent teenager snoozing on her mother's lap 2 girls in front same age excitedly spotting sheep playing cards sitting crosslegged cogh cough grandma on left sun disappears makes already chilly carriage seem colder still clouds seem to take on an ever more fluffy snow-like look cough cough as we head south 2 chimneys water tank HAHA cough cough toilet engaged 3 people with snacks a line of pines about 4 or 5 deep now ends at the drop of a hill banks of orangey dirt wobbling with the speed curve speed white ute travelling opposite brake slightly another station tarago followed by bungendore mother spreads shawl over teenage child girls in front see another sheep tractor green roof that's good isn't it men on laddres fixing the roof orage vested warm hooded red sticker scaffold step step step step cap and sunnies look around thunk thunk thunk hammer on tin roof kchhhhh-click soft drink can being opened games book games book rattle of tools being carelessly dropped cough cough toilet engaged stationary train hum air con hush oh thanks now it's gonna be awkward crunch the sound of chip eating snack people a few rows back HA HA HA HA HA indian lady with baby looks stressed power drills cherry picker chugging away slowly annoying singing boy sleeps pink bucket 3 bedrooms cough cough power lines drop below the windows white dot cockatoos black block cows 8154 diesel engine shipping containers cough cough cough cough cough barbed wire sprawling eucalypts rock spindly rocky smooth curved hills triangle train sign moving slowly not far cough cough to next station on the right smooth hills dip into shadowy sunlight left yellow tufty grass see the line of the hill under the tree canopy woody broken branches crunch crunch crunch cough cough rusty barbed wire hehehehehehe

overtone #2

One of the ways I hope to address some of my artistic goals is to move away from using 'conventional' performance spaces, and taking music to where people are... rather than the other way around. Maybe this won't be a hard and fast rule, but it's at least a way to start thinking about how music is perceived and embraced when it's outside the confines of a more traditional concert hall type venue.

I'm planning to start with art galleries, as I've had some fantastic experiences performing in this type of space. I think the way that music and art can reflect, complement, challenge and enhance each other is pretty cool - for audience as much for performer. I'm really looking forward to the "Clocked Out" gig next weekend, at the Judith Wright Centre for Contemporary Arts - in an interview last night one of the members of the Clocked Out duo was talking about how the performance would work. From what I gleaned, it's going to be more of an 'installation' style performance, where the 'audience' is encouraged to move freely during the performance, giving listeners the opportunity to experience the works from whatever perspective they choose. My good friend Julian has also talked about wanting to move ahead with a similar idea for a performance event, with different performers in different rooms, and the audience moving between them as and when they desire.

Along these same lines of thought, I was recently thinking about the different experiences and roles of various people involved in a performance, and discovered a posting to a bulletin board which I'd written some months ago. I'm really glad I found it, as I really think it's worth thinking about why so many audiences may be resistant to 'new music'. Here's the post:

"The way I see it there are 3 levels of interpretation: the composer, the performer, and the audience. The composer spends weeks, months, maybe even years, creating the work. They have an intimate bond with it and a clear vision of what they want to say through their work. The performer gets a few weeks (or months if they're lucky) to delve into the score, usually without any help from the composer, and has to then communicate the ideas to the audience. The audience then has to digest the work in real-time, they only get one chance to hear the music and piece it all together in their minds. Whether they "get it" is beside the point. Whether they are moved in some way (positive or negative) is entirely the point.

The beauty of music is that it is an essentially personal expression. Yes, the composer may have had a specific intention in mind, but it's what each individual gains from the music that really counts. Were they disturbed by it? Excellent! Were they uplifted? Great! Did it make them sad, angry, confused, joyful, reflective? Then we have done our job. "

What are your thoughts?

j*

the first overtone

greetings, and welcome to my new blog! Over the next few weeks I hope to make this a place full of visions, ideas, hopes and musings on what "random overtones" is destined to be. Feel free to chime in!

j*