First up is 'three songs for alto voice and chamber orchestra', which commences once the giant conductor Oliver Knussen heaves his way onto the stage. The three pieces are constantly at odds with themselves, jerking and flowing, evoking an air of dread one moment and goofy frolics the next. The effect is enhanced by the alto whose resolutely no nonsense voice is offset by her zany facial contortions, all inquisitive and laughing and frighteningly stern as if in the throes of a particularly strong microdot experiment. She looks so confused whilst perfectly fronting the sinfonietta you imagine she might have been bestowed with this incredible vocal power minutes before being thrust on to the stage. Perhaps it comes from the magnificent green velvet dress she's stuffed her toad-like german bosom into, like the singing equivalent of football's Billy's boots.
In fact much of the enjoyment is garnered from watching the various personalities evident within the Sinfonietta, an activity at least as entertaining as the music itself. The nimble fingertips of the hulking conductor and the intense concentration of the barely used xylophonist are two particular highlights, and so it is that when the second section is presented, completely pre-recorded, with the lights out and nothing but the suggestion of a full moon (one spotlight) left on stage, that events become significantly less delightful. 'Urantia' is a great swirling mass of electronically manipulated string sounds with a lone soprano emitting drone notes over the top as it all gets panned around in glorious surround sound in the dark. The result is nausea, plain and simple, followed by a sense of admiration for the effectiveness and tenacity of the piece, followed by a premature desire for the interval. It comes eventually.
For the last section a different iteration of the Sinfonietta appears on stage, sans German lung muscle, and play (for the first time in the UK!) 'Zodiac', which is fine and dandy and suddenly becomes elevated to highlight of the night status when from out of nowhere (stage left) a ruddled man appears with a tuba and deep farts in the silence. The tubby tubist then proceeds to plod about the stage, stopping intermittently to deliver another preposterous pomp, much to the crowd's amusement. After a circuit he's done, he bows, he leaves and the Sinfonietta finish off the piece.
A pleasant, if somewhat accidentally amusing, evening.
Showing posts with label Southbank Centre. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Southbank Centre. Show all posts
Monday, 10 November 2008
Friday, 18 July 2008
Mark E. Smith - Southbank Centre 16/07/08
Not a gig, a talk. Well, a conversation. Well it was supposed to be a conversation but actually it was just a complete shambles. I don't know what they expected. Let's get Mark E. Smith at the London Literature Festival, sit him down and talk to him seriously about his official biography. That'll work. Oh wait, no it won't. There's not a chance that'll work at all.
A pissed M.E.S. saunters on stage and immediately snaps the top off his chat show mic so he's just a distorted rumbling mess until eventually they give him a new one which he only remembers to use about half the time, treating the audience to the tail ends of a load of slurred mutterings. The journalist he's supposed to be in conversation with spends the entire thing being smirked at and getting his questions mocked and the whole embarrassing farce ends after about thirty minutes when M.E.S decides he's had enough and pulls apart part of the stage railings to get out because he can't remember where the door is he came in through.
Highlights include:
A pissed M.E.S. saunters on stage and immediately snaps the top off his chat show mic so he's just a distorted rumbling mess until eventually they give him a new one which he only remembers to use about half the time, treating the audience to the tail ends of a load of slurred mutterings. The journalist he's supposed to be in conversation with spends the entire thing being smirked at and getting his questions mocked and the whole embarrassing farce ends after about thirty minutes when M.E.S decides he's had enough and pulls apart part of the stage railings to get out because he can't remember where the door is he came in through.
Highlights include:
- Answering one of the first questions about the book by simply saying 'I dunno I ain't read it'.
- When asked to elaborate on what was written about his father and grandfather, responding 'Is that what it says? Pfff I dunno man, you know these things, you've got a certain amount of words to fill so you just have to make stuff up'.
- When asked what the time is by the journalist, replying 'Time you got a watch mate innit'.
words:
Mark E. Smith,
Southbank Centre,
The Fall
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