rhys chatham at islington mill 22 march
It was amazing to see Rhys Chatham at Islington Mill on Tuesday night.
With nine mainly local guitarists (including one of the support musicians) he played his Guitar Trio.
There's not a lot to say about the music that hasn't been written in the 34 years since it debuted, and the influence of the original participants is unarguable. You can track down the music on Spotify, YouTube, iTunes and elsewhere.
I will discuss the music and the performance, particularly in relation to a couple of thoughts that occurred to me on the night.
To start with what's probably been said before I like the fact the piece doesn't sound awkward or forced. As a synthesis of the influence of minimalism and the influence of punk/new wave it's successful. To my untrained ear there are relationships also to what Steve Reich did in his Drumming and other phasing pieces.
Not an exact match - in Chatham's piece the guitars match each other and mesh together closely, whereas with Reich the percussionists play the same figure but at different tempos phasing in and out of sync (source - teh wiki). But the effect of a number of instruments playing a strongly
rhythmic figure where it's hard (not to say impossible) for the listener to pick out an individual element is similar.
The group played a rendition of the original 1977 piece. Then a 'special Manchester' version. To me I quite liked the way this sounded. The drums were heavier, and there was a kind of brown buzzing to the sound that made me think of engines. Finally there was a third piece with guitars retuned.
It was hard not to enjoy Chatham's enthusiasm as he bounced up and down on the spot and came forward off the stage, often opening his mouth in a silent yell. At one point he even (with some care) went down on his knees.
It was this coming forward off the stage with a silent yell during a particularly loud section that prompted both the thoughts I want to discuss.
Firstly, because he was playing an electric guitar, and because the sound from the musicians was so loud and tricky to pull apart, you couldn't hear a sound coming from his guitar. I was at the front, and had it been a semi acoustic I would have heard something. This made me speculate that in this piece with this number of musicians there must be a degree of faith on their part. What I mean is that unless they do something wrong it must be close to impossible to pick out their own contribution.
They will be aware that if their sound drops out, or they play a wrong note, or lose the tempo, they will be able to hear it. But at the same time there is really nothing to tell them that they, individually, are actually making any sound at all. I can imagine it causing the odd moment of vertigo where a musician simply has to concentrate hard and carry on.
Secondly, and arising from the same moment, it highlighted the inherent absurdity of rock theatrics. How conscious this was isn't something I want to speculate on. Especially given my propensity for unconscious mic poncery (link coming soon).
But the frenetic playing in conjunction with the silent yell constituted a kind of silent mime wholly separated from the noise coming out of the speakers. They became familiar gestures almost completely decontextualised and transformed into an absurd pantomime in the process.
This is something that interests me a lot, and I often find myself getting annnoyed with performers acting impassioned and sincere when their music may be anything but. Especially if it's anodyne, vanilla indie/singer-songwriter slop. But even where the performance could subjectively seem to be more justified I'm always aware of a degree of oddness about it.
This is part of a wider awareness of how peculiar and arbitrary the making of any art can seem to be. Especially felt because I can't help but make work, and love to be exposed to new art. And as I've already noted, not only do I enjoy performance, but I'm given to peculiar gestural flourishes myself.
But, but, but. This wasn't just about the head. It was about the body too. About the pleasure in rhythm and volume. Whatever else this music is it's also music to bounce up and down to (if not dance). There wasn't a lot of room on stage for most of the musicians to move about, but it was evident from Rhys Chatham and the drummer that the music is definitely physically intoxicating at least as much as it's intellectually stimulating.
So there.
With nine mainly local guitarists (including one of the support musicians) he played his Guitar Trio.
There's not a lot to say about the music that hasn't been written in the 34 years since it debuted, and the influence of the original participants is unarguable. You can track down the music on Spotify, YouTube, iTunes and elsewhere.
I will discuss the music and the performance, particularly in relation to a couple of thoughts that occurred to me on the night.
To start with what's probably been said before I like the fact the piece doesn't sound awkward or forced. As a synthesis of the influence of minimalism and the influence of punk/new wave it's successful. To my untrained ear there are relationships also to what Steve Reich did in his Drumming and other phasing pieces.
Not an exact match - in Chatham's piece the guitars match each other and mesh together closely, whereas with Reich the percussionists play the same figure but at different tempos phasing in and out of sync (source - teh wiki). But the effect of a number of instruments playing a strongly
rhythmic figure where it's hard (not to say impossible) for the listener to pick out an individual element is similar.
The group played a rendition of the original 1977 piece. Then a 'special Manchester' version. To me I quite liked the way this sounded. The drums were heavier, and there was a kind of brown buzzing to the sound that made me think of engines. Finally there was a third piece with guitars retuned.
It was hard not to enjoy Chatham's enthusiasm as he bounced up and down on the spot and came forward off the stage, often opening his mouth in a silent yell. At one point he even (with some care) went down on his knees.
It was this coming forward off the stage with a silent yell during a particularly loud section that prompted both the thoughts I want to discuss.
Firstly, because he was playing an electric guitar, and because the sound from the musicians was so loud and tricky to pull apart, you couldn't hear a sound coming from his guitar. I was at the front, and had it been a semi acoustic I would have heard something. This made me speculate that in this piece with this number of musicians there must be a degree of faith on their part. What I mean is that unless they do something wrong it must be close to impossible to pick out their own contribution.
They will be aware that if their sound drops out, or they play a wrong note, or lose the tempo, they will be able to hear it. But at the same time there is really nothing to tell them that they, individually, are actually making any sound at all. I can imagine it causing the odd moment of vertigo where a musician simply has to concentrate hard and carry on.
Secondly, and arising from the same moment, it highlighted the inherent absurdity of rock theatrics. How conscious this was isn't something I want to speculate on. Especially given my propensity for unconscious mic poncery (link coming soon).
But the frenetic playing in conjunction with the silent yell constituted a kind of silent mime wholly separated from the noise coming out of the speakers. They became familiar gestures almost completely decontextualised and transformed into an absurd pantomime in the process.
This is something that interests me a lot, and I often find myself getting annnoyed with performers acting impassioned and sincere when their music may be anything but. Especially if it's anodyne, vanilla indie/singer-songwriter slop. But even where the performance could subjectively seem to be more justified I'm always aware of a degree of oddness about it.
This is part of a wider awareness of how peculiar and arbitrary the making of any art can seem to be. Especially felt because I can't help but make work, and love to be exposed to new art. And as I've already noted, not only do I enjoy performance, but I'm given to peculiar gestural flourishes myself.
But, but, but. This wasn't just about the head. It was about the body too. About the pleasure in rhythm and volume. Whatever else this music is it's also music to bounce up and down to (if not dance). There wasn't a lot of room on stage for most of the musicians to move about, but it was evident from Rhys Chatham and the drummer that the music is definitely physically intoxicating at least as much as it's intellectually stimulating.
So there.
Comments