Interspecies Artistic Collaboration
Saturday, April 23rd, 2005 01:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tamaranthor, Come On Down, Dr Johnson.*
It's a rainy Saturday and I'm feeling remarkably cheerful after a solid night's sleep. Wonderful thing, sleep: must do more of it.
Werk has been hideous this week (in ways to do with Vanished Manager, who didn't give me enough info and is now off on long-term sick leave), until I found the Magic Mantra: "I wouldn't have taken the contract if I'd known [X]." I am trying to think of a more flattering metaphor for their reaction than 'cockroaches scuttling from a kitchen light'. Things should improve now.
Have just spent the morning in bed finishing River of Gods. Am awed. Captivating plot + characters so real I almost wept for them. Still thinking about what to write in capsule review.
On to actual subject of post, Inter-species Collaboration. I was listening to Thursday's Late Junction, themed around birdsong -- Rautavaara's Cantus Arcticus (he cheated) and so on -- and came across a fascinating piece: the Lyrebird Suite, by David Rothenburg.
Well, actually, by David Rothenburg (clarinet) and George (voice).
George is a wild Albert's lyrebird who lives in the Australian bush. He likes singing along with musicians. Earlier composers like Rautavaara (who recorded Arctic birdsong and then sampled it and played with speed and tone) have used birdsong as part of their compositions -- there's a whole slew of them on Thursday's Late Junction broadcast (which is available for listening here until next Thursday). But this may be the first time that a bird has actually duetted, if that's the right word, with a human.
I have to say I don't much care for it. It sounds like lots of other modern jazz to me, all squeaky and tuneless and indulgent. (Sorry: I just don't like modern jazz.) But I marvel at it. And I can hear the call-and-response, the communication, that is a vital part of any music performed by more than one individual -- and perhaps, in a different way, solo music, which may contain its own responses or expect a response from its audience.
David Rothenburg has a very informative website, with sound samples. He also discusses other composers' use of birdsong. He's just published a book too.
My sense of wonder is fully engaged. And sensawunda is the best cure I know for misery.
*"a woman's preaching is like a dog walking on its hind legs. It is not done well but one is surprised to see it done at all". Nasty man. But this line is paraphrased much more frequently than it's quoted in its original form.
It's a rainy Saturday and I'm feeling remarkably cheerful after a solid night's sleep. Wonderful thing, sleep: must do more of it.
Werk has been hideous this week (in ways to do with Vanished Manager, who didn't give me enough info and is now off on long-term sick leave), until I found the Magic Mantra: "I wouldn't have taken the contract if I'd known [X]." I am trying to think of a more flattering metaphor for their reaction than 'cockroaches scuttling from a kitchen light'. Things should improve now.
Have just spent the morning in bed finishing River of Gods. Am awed. Captivating plot + characters so real I almost wept for them. Still thinking about what to write in capsule review.
On to actual subject of post, Inter-species Collaboration. I was listening to Thursday's Late Junction, themed around birdsong -- Rautavaara's Cantus Arcticus (he cheated) and so on -- and came across a fascinating piece: the Lyrebird Suite, by David Rothenburg.
Well, actually, by David Rothenburg (clarinet) and George (voice).
George is a wild Albert's lyrebird who lives in the Australian bush. He likes singing along with musicians. Earlier composers like Rautavaara (who recorded Arctic birdsong and then sampled it and played with speed and tone) have used birdsong as part of their compositions -- there's a whole slew of them on Thursday's Late Junction broadcast (which is available for listening here until next Thursday). But this may be the first time that a bird has actually duetted, if that's the right word, with a human.
I have to say I don't much care for it. It sounds like lots of other modern jazz to me, all squeaky and tuneless and indulgent. (Sorry: I just don't like modern jazz.) But I marvel at it. And I can hear the call-and-response, the communication, that is a vital part of any music performed by more than one individual -- and perhaps, in a different way, solo music, which may contain its own responses or expect a response from its audience.
David Rothenburg has a very informative website, with sound samples. He also discusses other composers' use of birdsong. He's just published a book too.
My sense of wonder is fully engaged. And sensawunda is the best cure I know for misery.
*"a woman's preaching is like a dog walking on its hind legs. It is not done well but one is surprised to see it done at all". Nasty man. But this line is paraphrased much more frequently than it's quoted in its original form.
