BY STEPHANIE ESLAKE
Separation. Isolation. Waiting.
It may sound like this story will be about the pandemic. But in these familiar themes can be found an older story — one in which families, friends, and lovers were torn apart without knowing when or if they would be together again.
Emily Harrison’s new concept album Solitaire (The Virtue of Patience) explores these themes in connection to her grandparents, Arthur and Mirla, who were separated by the Second World War. Through a family archive of personal histories, letters, diaries, and recordings of her grandparents’ voices, Emily uncovers a story close to home: Australian lovers parted in circumstances beyond their control, waiting to be reunited.
Emily, a pianist and composer, produced Solitaire following her receipt of a 2018 Australian Guild of Screen Composers award. In this interview, she draws parallels between her grandparents’ story and the story of our time, bound together through distance, patience, and hope.
Emily, you have just released your debut modern classical instrumental album Solitaire (The Virtue of Patience). Before I ask you anything about this music, I want to know something first: what’s behind the album’s enigmatic name?!
The seed of Solitaire is a beautiful paragraph from the biography Arthur’s War by John Harman (Penguin Australia). It’s the story of my pop Arthur Bancroft and his remarkable exploits during the Second World War. It’s also a love story, between Arthur and my nana Mirla.
The paragraph uses a metaphor, a house of cards to express the fragility of hopefulness, experienced by those women who have waited for a loved one to return from war.
In addition to the card metaphor, ‘solitaire’ is from the Latin ‘solitarius’, meaning alone or isolated. Originally, a ‘solitaire’ meant to be a widow. So I use ‘solitaire’ to represent the album’s themes of isolation, separation, loss, of waiting, of not knowing, simply hoping, and the slow, quiet passage of time.
I have fond memories of playing cards with my nana as a young girl. She taught me the card game Patience. I realise now that during those quiet, intimate moments she was imparting stories, lessons, and wisdom. The other name for the well-known card game Patience is of course Solitaire.
This album really represents a personal story for you.
Pop’s survival story is remarkable, yet I’m more fascinated by Mirla’s experience of war. How could her love for Arthur survive those long months of waiting? With childlike wonder, I was amazed that one person could wait for another — separated as they were, by years, oceans, countries, and circumstance.
I loved listening to Nana tell their story. I was in awe of their love, their marriage. I also knew I had to find a love, as strong as theirs, for my own life.
I’m inspired by Mirla’s battle between her fears and counter-forces of hope, resilience, and patience. I explore the challenge of waiting for a loved one. I try to understand and celebrate the qualities that empowered her to overcome such desperate and uncertain times. Somehow, she was able to do so by skilfully balancing an unwavering hope with an iron stoicism.
At age 7, I lost my mum to cancer. Nana and I grew even closer. She was such a strong, female role model and, of course, a direct link to my mum. When she passed it felt like a double-blow. I was ill-equipped to process this second loss. There was a lot left unsaid. I still feel a huge guilt at the way I dealt, or failed to deal, with her dying. In all honesty, this album is an apology and expression of gratitude: a pathway to be closer to Nana and Mum.
In telling this story, you uncovered a family archive of letters, recordings, diaries, and other artefacts. What was the process of discovery, and how did you organise what you found into a form of source material for your compositions?
I’ve always known of these treasures. As a small girl, Nana would show me the chocolate box — a Nestle, HMAS Perth special edition — in which the letters were kept: a wondrous, little box of secrets and magic.
My uncle is involved in the HMAS Perth Memorial Foundation; as the family archivist, Colin helped me to access the material. It’s a rich collection: letters; a war diary Pop kept in the POW camp, at considerable risk of a beating or worse; sketches, poems, photographs, and medals.
Early in 2020, my husband and I were in Bali, just as the COVID-19 pandemic hit. We found ourselves locked down, unable to return home. Bali is where much of the album was composed. I’d pour over the archives, listen to my grandparents’ recorded voices, read Mirla’s story from the biography. I story-boarded the album, based on the actual timeline and psychology of events. I searched for content that expressed the album’s three distinct phases. I highlighted sentences and phrases and stuck them to my walls. I immersed myself in Mirla’s world and began to create the piano sketches, spoken-word and a sonic palette that would frame the album.
After three months, a cosmic twist occurred: we were repatriated to Perth, the very birthplace of this story! I visited the Subiaco house and streets where Nana had lived during this time. I met family, held the letters in my hands, and listened to stories. My husband did field recordings: of storms, waves, birdsong, the metallic and nautical sounds at Fremantle, adding authenticity to the geography and the story’s spiritual heart
In Nihon Sun the birdsong is from the final resting place of my Mum, Nana, and Pop. All the while, absorbing materials and atmosphere, I composed under the watchful eyes of Nana and Pop’s portraits and his sailor hat, positioned on my Auntie’s piano.
What did exploring your family’s wartime history teach you about the present day?
COVID has led to isolation, separation, and restrictions. There are parallels to Mirla’s story. Inquiry into the nature of resilience is pertinent as Australia experiences the frustrations of pandemic.
Nana’s lesson of war was to recognise the importance of the sustaining of hope during difficult times.
The story shows me the value of playing a long game — not to expect too much, too soon, but to focus on the end goal. In modern society, we are used to immediacy. How easy it is to over react when a text is not returned! Relationships feel more disposable. I’ve learned that sacrifices, now, build a better future.
It’s interesting to reflect on the extreme depravations of wartime. Can we perhaps find some perspective on our pandemic situation? Can we be resilient, patient, stay together, and carry on?
Mirla and Arthur’s love story represents an enduring form of passion, a passion that necessarily evolved over time but was sustained, within a lasting relationship. I have come to understand that Mirla’s two years of waiting may have been the easier part of 60 years of marriage!
Stories of strong women can inspire other women. The predominance of a ‘male’ war stories distorts reality and under-values the contribution of women. Solitaire offers a positive representation of femininity, and celebrates women’s contribution to give a fresh cultural perspective.
It’s a story to tell our young women, to inspire and build identities, for the sake of our whole society.
Emily, you also describe yourself as an emerging screen composer. Can we hear this influence in your music, whether it’s through your reliance on a strong narrative with such incredible characters, or through the imagery you create in your soundworld?
I’m fascinated by the relationship between music and image. When I compose, it’s like a movie reel going on in my head.
At 9 or 10, I’d play piano and compose to TV images – the sound turned down.
As a teenager, I loved Rachmaninoff’s complex and romantic music — it’s all I would play.
My sound retains a Romantic influence, along with the lyricism of folk and pop music. It’s shaped by a passion for cinematic music and honed by my screen work.
Mirla and Arthur’s story is just so epic, romantic and cinematic. The intellectual weight of the themes and psychology gave me a framework on which to create a soundworld that articulates the drama and complex emotions.
The solo piano pieces express the longing, fragility and isolation of Mirla’s situation. They flit between melancholic, romantic and hesitant feelings. They’ve a haunting quality, an intimate atmosphere of hushed piano notes, creaks, footsteps, a ticking clock.
When the drama intensifies, the soundscapes expand to emote the foreboding and anxiety of the situation. I introduce elemental forces of storm and oceans. Strings are distorted, a church bell tolls, there’s a lot of ambient textures, subtle rhythm, ethereal vocals, crackles, hisses, and all sorts of layers to build tension and support the narrative arc.
The album begins to resolve with a key change from G-minor to G-Major and many of the earlier sounds of nature, previously presented as ominous and portentous, are re-presented as nurturing and optimistic: a metaphor of Mirla’s acceptance, resolve, and recovery, and ultimately the return of Arthur.
Before we go, do you have any parting words for the Australian music industry in light of your debut release, released in this time of isolation?
Don’t ever lose hope!
Hear Mirla’s lesson of war. It may all seem futile and almost impossible at the moment, but I would suggest that our artists play a critical role to interpret and seek understanding during these times. Channel this lifetime event called COVID and use the heightened emotion, the excess of time and space, to create.
Our gigs may be lost, job opportunities may be diminished, but it’s not permanent. Don’t lose hope, and don’t ever stop creating — no one can take that away from you. Nurture and protect your house of cards with everything you have.
Visit Emily Harrison’s website to learn more about her music and debut album.
Images supplied.
