Tag Archives: Gian Slater

ENLIGHTENED BY PURE AWARENESS

Invenio

Vocal ensemble Invenio performs at White Night Melbourne in 2016 in St Paul’s Cathedral.

REVIEW

Invenio Singers — Luminesce, Thursday May 18, 7pm, Salon, Melbourne Recital Centre

Not so long ago it was common to hear the word “narrative” in complaints about our political parties, but not because of its presence. The term was overused and became irritating, in the vein of “going forward”, but initially it was apt for two reasons: our political leaders had given up trying to carry us with them in pursuit of one vision or another (although the Institute of Public Affairs’ free market agenda seemed omnipresent at times) and we generally like it when there is a story to follow.

As a journalist I’m always looking for the story, whether in an interview with a musician or in a live concert that I’m reviewing. But, like melody in a musical work, it can be a tempting morsel that is not always needed and can be refreshingly challenging to do without.

Invenio in St Paul's Cathedral 2016

Invenio in St Paul’s Cathedral 2016

During Melbourne’s White Night in 2016 I made a point of heading from the station to St Paul’s Cathedral to see and hear Gian Slater‘s inventive vocalists Invenio, who were giving the four-hour performance Sun in a collaboration with video artist Robert Jarvis. This must have been most challenging. Between the singers — variously lit or in darkness and at times flooded with colour at the far end of this enormous, vaulted space — and the crowded entrance doors was an ever-moving bustle of people either looking for seats, filing in or out, or arising from their seats to move out into the streets. How the ensemble members concentrated amid this unrest, I’m not sure, but it was not ideal for audience members content to spend more time and take it all in.

What a contrast, then, to hear and see the new work Luminesce in the superb, small space of the MRC Salon. I have never been to a concert “in this space” (to use another overused phrase) that I did not love.

But before the concert I was, of course, unsettled about what was to come. I wanted to gain some idea of what to expect. I wanted a narrative.

I read that Luminesce would explore light and darkness, sound and silence; that it would vary visual patterns along with sound, geometry with pitch and colour with dynamics. I read that singing is an energy, an act, an initiation of beauty.

Invenio 2016

Invenio in St Paul’s Cathedral 2016

But questions were bustling through my mind just as White Night patrons moved in and out of St Paul’s Cathedral. In this performance, will silence be valued? Will darkness be used, as it is so often, to convey or create uncertainty, fear or horror? Will the experience of Luminesce be enhanced by knowing how it is meant to work, knowing what happens when a singer sings high or low, loud or soft? Or will it be more like a meditation, to be received and accepted, but not puzzled over?

The way it happened in the end was that Luminesce began for me well before the performance, as I became more aware of lights and darkness around me  — in gardens, in traffic, in signs, on buildings and the floodlit Arts Centre fountain, moving but not changing.

Then, in the Salon, Luminesce heightened my awareness while gradually wrestling into submission my dogged determination to analyse. I tried to record my impressions, taking fragmented notes, then gave in to the patterns, the sounds, the rhythms and the shapes.

Changes were a constant, some evolutionary, some sudden. Notes were sustained and sibilant. Voices were invoking, commanding, appealing — mostly without words, but at times to great effect with them. Sequences of notes matched sequences of projected colours. Voices and light had synchronicity, sequentiality and yet differentiation.

The lighting effects were truly amazing, but for me the vocals held sway. These were voices carefully crafted, with such definition and precision, such power and also fragility, engaging in interjections and conversations, sometimes percussive, sometimes burbling, always so superbly controlled and ultimately beautiful to behold.

At the close I felt as if all analysis had been swept away in a tide of pure awareness. This was an experience best left hanging, not described, simply felt.

I turned to a couple of women in the front row who told me they did not know of Invenio or Robert Jarvis or Gian Slater, but came along because it sounded like something different. They were blown away.

ROGER MITCHELL

For those interested, here is an extract from Invenio’s website about Luminesce. It may help explain the mechanics and intent:

“Invenio’s latest work is a new collaboration with video artist Robert Jarvis that uses voices as triggers for lighting events.

“Composed by Gian Slater, Luminesce explores a pattern orientated musical landscape derived from a visual perspective through Jarvis’ software program, Voxstripe. Within the parameters of symmetry, form and velocity, the music ranges from intensely rhythmic to lush harmonic clusters, creating a different vocal ensemble landscape and performative environment.

“Out of the darkness, sheets of colour and geometric shapes are projected on to each of the seven performers, activated and deactivated through every sound and every silence. Groupings of the performers emerge together as waves of light mirror the musical form, whilst always returning to the solo or unison voice, the spotlight or the blanket of illumination.”

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FINDING CONSOLATION IN SADNESS

Still Night: Music in Poetry

Still Night: Music in Poetry                                      Image: Natasha Blankfield

REVIEW

Still Night: Music in Poetry, Salon, Melbourne Recital Centre, Friday 25 November 2016, 7pm

There is a gradually growing section in our hallway book shelves that contains poetry, yet it is all too rarely visited. In that respect it is like death, which we too often avoid confronting until it is thrust upon us.

So much can be conveyed in poetry if we give it the time to reflect upon it that it deserves. So much can be conveyed in music if we give it the attention it deserves, by listening.

In Still Night composer and pianist Andrea Keller gave us the opportunity to hear the music in poetry as well as the time to reflect on the many strands of thought expressed in 10 carefully chosen and very different poems that deal with death, grief and loss.

Keller (piano) joined Julien Wilson (tenor saxophone, bass clarinet), Stephen Magnusson (guitars) and vocalists Gian Slater and Vince Jones in an hour-long set in the acoustically rich Salon space that was totally absorbing.

Keller’s program notes explain that this project arose out of a realisation that her isolated experiences of death, grief and loss, as well as the inadequacy of Anglo-Australian culture to deal with the emotions of such realities, differed sharply from the life evident in a Copenhagen cemetery she visited in 2007, where people enjoyed picnics, admired the beauty of the gardens and paid respect to loved ones.

Still Night: Music in Poetry

Still Night: Music in Poetry                             Image: Natasha Blankfield

This concert worked on many levels, but I found myself slipping easily between momentary explorations of the ideas conveyed by the words and the pure joy of experiencing voice and other instruments.

From the opening poem, Listen, Listen by Izumi Shikibu, it was clear we would be given time to reflect on the words and to feel their meanings conveyed on surges of sound, as if ocean waves washed them to us.

In E.E. Cummings’ Finis, the power of piano contrasted with the fragility and purity of the voices, which were undulating, rocking, ebbing and flowing, Slater’s notes bending with great agility.

One of the most effective of the night’s poems was Proust’s bleak So Tired of Having Suffered, Slater’s voice beginning as a whisper and gaining strength, drama coming from Keller and Wilson, and Jones adding a kind of mantra with a jazz feel.

The chemistry between Wilson and Slater in Yeats’ Where My Books Go was given additional synergy by Magnusson and Keller.

Anyone familiar with Jeannie Lewis’s rendition of Thomas’ Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night will understand that I have long associated those lyrics with power, but Jones’s gentle vocals made this more of an appeal than an exhortation. Magnusson’s guitar journey in this was superb.

The words of Richard James Allen’s poem Hamlet’s Reply convey loss and emptiness in a powerful way, especially the last lines: “Alone, with nothing but the night. Alone. And soon, just the night.” I thought that Jones’s voice was vying with the sax in this, so those lyrics were a little lost at a crucial point.

Slater’s voice — ethereal and boundless — was eminently suited to Whitman’s Darest Thou O Soul, floating over the strong piano patterns created by Keller. And Magnusson’s spindly, fine tendrils of sound were ideal for Teasdale’s optimistic If Death is Kind, in which the vocalists blended and crossed beautifully.

Julien Wilson’s work on tenor sax and bass clarinet was an absolute delight during this concert.

In considering how Still Night: Music in Poetry might contribute to our responses to death, Andrea Keller quotes Robert White that “meditating on a beautiful expression of sadness can help to provide a thoroughly uplifting sense of consolation”.

Each member of the sold-out Salon audience will know whether this work succeeded, but I can say that to me it was a journey to places that I needed to explore.

ROGER MITCHELL

PS: Ode to a Nightingale is my favourite Keats poem, and I love these lines:

Darkling I listen; and for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call’d him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.

Andrea Keller

Andrea Keller performs at Wangaratta Festival of Jazz & Blues 2016

IN SUPPORT OF SUPPORT ACTS

Johnny Tedesco

Johnny Tedesco and Chris Hale perform Sylvan Coda

REFLECTION:

Christopher Hale’s Sylvan Coda opens for Jorge Pardo “Huellas” at Melbourne Recital Centre, Saturday 31 May at 7.30pm

Here and Now opens for Larry Carlton Quartet at Melbourne Recital Centre, Wednesday 4 June at 7.30pm

In any international festival the established practice is for the visiting performers, as the main drawcards, to be on stage for much longer and to be preceded by support bands from Australia. This is a good way for our home-grown musicians to share in the festival limelight and potentially gain a following from the larger audiences who appear out of the woodwork.

I am always disappointed to notice how many seats that are vacant during the opening set and yet are filled when the main performers come on stage. It is a pity not only because it shows disrespect for Australian musicians, but also because the patrons who arrive late are likely to miss hearing some very talented and inventive artists.

The opening sets at MRC this year seem to be way too short. I have not heard any complaints from our “local” musicians — possibly they are glad to have even such limited exposure in such a large festival — but the balance does seem to have swung too much towards the main acts on the bill.

In the case of Christopher Hale’s Sylvan Coda, which opened for Jorge Pardo‘s flamenco jazz, what the audience heard and saw was a tiny taste or fragment of the original suite. I’m sure Johnny Tedesco‘s fantastic flamenco footwork was a highlight for many in the audience — I was struck by how his feet called to mind the fluttering of butterfly wings and the feather-light, incredibly rapid work by some drummers I’ve heard — but it would have been impossible to convey the way in which the original suite changed and developed.

Anyone who liked the snippet provided in this opener should watch for another performance of the full Sylvan Coda.

Sylvan Coda

Johnny Tedesco, Chris Hale, Nathan Slater and Ben Vanderwal in Sylvan Coda at Melbourne Recital Centre

Sylvan Coda

Jacq Gawler, Hannah Cameron, Gian Slater and Julian Banks

Chris Hale

Chris Hale

The other short opening set deserving special mention at MRC so far this year was the performance by Here and Now before the Larry Carlton Quartet.

I left a little early from Carlton’s set — to get to another festival gig and also because the music being played did not excite me. But a clear standout for me was the work of Andrea Keller on piano, Nilusha Dassenaike on vocals, Alex Pertout on percussion, Evripides Evripidou on bass and David Jones on drums.

I should confess that on this rainy evening I was tempted to arrive at 8.15pm to catch the main act, but decided I should respect the artists performing first. I am so glad I did.

Although this set was short, I felt that it took us to quite a special place. Each member of the ensemble contributed significantly, but Evripidou on bass was inventive and I found Keller’s solo, without needing to be loud, filling the auditorium as well as my being. I believed it would be one of the best piano solos of the festival. Her notes seemed to be drawing the audience into a state of total absorption. Dassenaike’s voice was integral to this meditative set.

Here and Now plays Melbourne Recital Centre

Here and Now plays Melbourne Recital Centre

Andrea Keller

Andrea Keller

Alex Pertout, Nilusha Dassenaike and Evripides Evripidou

Alex Pertout, Nilusha Dassenaike and Evripides Evripidou

Here and Now musicians take a bow.

Here and Now musicians take a bow.

I’d like to see opening acts given a fairer allocation of time in future festivals. But one thing is certain — it is never wise to come late and miss out on what comes first. It could well be what you appreciate most.

ROGER MITCHELL