BY MARK BOSCH
Pop+up ii
Lost+Sound
San Telmo Photographic Studio, 27 October
This was only the second entry in Lost+sound’s pop+up series, but Saturday night’s gathering felt totally assured in its execution. Curated by emerging artists Josephine Macken, Sarah Elise Thompson, and Alexis Weaver, pop+up ii featured four diverse sets under dimmed lighting. We were struck with electroacoustic music featuring buzzing razors inside the bell of a gramophone horn, to Chinese classical music on the dizi (transverse bamboo flute), to cello with quartertone synthesiser accompaniment, to vigorous dual improvisation on bass and drums.
Besides the obvious, the thing that really connected these sets was that they were all delivered with great conviction; within seconds of each new set, my attention was arrested. I’m sure the intimacy factor played a part. Chippendale’s San Telmo Studios is a great fit for this sort of event: backstreet, recessed entry with a garden courtyard; narrow staircase, the kind that makes you wonder if you’ve just got lost; motley furniture (I sat in a comfy little pod resembling a Garden Egg chair).
But I’m equally sure the curators themselves played a huge role in engendering this sense of assuredness. I never doubted what they were doing, and neither did the performers. Their artistic intent was always clear and always integrated in the space. A CD player tucked against the wall was case in point, playing three short, very tasty, acousmatic miniatures by Weaver into a set of headphones. I’d probably have missed it if I hadn’t been directed to it.
Where the live performances are concerned, though, I’m frankly a bit overwhelmed by how much there is to talk about. There are probably 10,000 words that could be written about James Hazel’s electroacoustic set. Starting with the soporific resonances resulting from the aforementioned ritual of placing razors in a gramophone horn, Hazel then moved to two short, spoken word pieces. Many of the words were inaudible beneath the drone of the electronics, but those I did catch were convincing enough that I didn’t feel compelled to strain the ear. Hazel was assured in their delivery, so I was totally relaxed taking them in.
It was evocative poetry, if a bit too oblique. I’m not sure I really “got it” in the end, which seems like a facile thing to say, but worthwhile to consider if you’re purporting to introduce new audiences to new music, as Lost+sound is. New audience members may well think in terms of “getting it”; who hasn’t thought this way about a discipline they’re new to? It can be even more difficult with electronics involved, as I discussed briefly last week. Hearing sounds seemingly out of thin air, it can be hard to suppress the what exactly am I watching? impulse.
I still loved it enough that when the lights came up, I grimaced. Everybody did. This painful ritual would be repeated three more times.
Next was Chloe Chung, who played four pieces, three of them “from the teahouse” as she’d stated. Originating from the north and south of China, these pieces, she explained, are traditionally played with other instruments and vocalists. Extricated from their original contexts, it was pretty remarkable how well the pieces worked as solos on the dizi. Maybe it was simply because Chung commanded the stage with such grace, verve, and direction. The second piece in particular — after which Debussy’s classic Syrinx followed in perfect contrast— was a blistering, breathtaking exhibition of skill played in the uppermost register. Chung was focused and exacting; her approach always subtle and completely musical, never falling into unnecessary showmanship.
Chung’s phrasing across the four pieces was so convincing that I could hardly remember to breathe. It was only when she stopped to get a glass of water — the second piece had understandably taken the wind out of her — that I noticed how engrossed I had become. Such a powerful performance.
The lights came up. Within 10 minutes, they would come down again for cellist Chris Pidcock, joined for one piece by his colleague from the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, Ben Ward. There was great diversity here alone — Pidcock powered through what was basically torture for his third finger on the C string, with endless portamenti the conceit of the piece for which he was joined on quartertone synthesiser by Ward; for another it was variations (and vocalisations, no less) on The Lick; for another it was the iPad on the stand itself, which he would reach out and turn the page on after each stop-start iteration of the musical material.
The centrepiece of Pidcock’s set was a long but convincing piece called Tensions from a composer he met at Darmstadt. I wish I had the name of that composer for you, but neither Pidcock nor the program made much of an effort to name the works he played. With the exception of Debussy, I have no idea who any of the composers were for the inner two sets, which I think is an issue. Attribution is not just respectful but obligatory.
This was a non-issue for the closing set, though. Jacques Emery and Chloe Kim improvised, but they are so well matched as musicians that their improvisation is more coherent than many composers’ notation. Draped over his double bass, Emery scrubbed away with a vigorous tremolo, while Kim punctuated the din with rhythmic intensity. They communicated brilliantly and lined up on a number of superb climactic gestures, the thrill of which can’t really be captured in writing. All I can say is: see them live!
The lights came up one last time, and there was one last collective grimace thanks to the fluorescent lighting. Despite such a full evening, we still wanted more; I thought the format of 20-minute set, 10-minute break was ripe for infinite repeating, and would lend itself to a whole-day festival. Or I could just wait for the next one, I guess…
Image supplied.
