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Calling all Choreographers

Upcoming opportunities for MN Choreographers: 1. Momentum: New Dance Works 2013 We are pleased to announce the release of the Request for Proposals for Momentum: New Dance Works 2013. The Momentum: New Dance Works 2013 series is presented by the Walker Art Center at the Southern Theater, with support from the Jerome Foundation. The series [...]

Upcoming opportunities for MN Choreographers:

1. Momentum: New Dance Works 2013

We are pleased to announce the release of the Request for Proposals for Momentum: New Dance Works 2013.

The Momentum: New Dance Works 2013 series is presented by the Walker Art Center at the Southern Theater, with support from the Jerome Foundation. The series will run July 11-13 and July 18-20, 2013.

Purpose of the Series: The Momentum dance series was created to promote the work of an exciting new generation of dance and dance-theater creators in Minnesota. The series enables innovative, under-recognized choreographers to have their work presented by the Walker Art Center as well as provide professional development opportunities facilitated by Springboard for the Arts. Momentum seeks out applicants from a full range of styles, cultures, aesthetics, and approaches that represent contemporary dance in the world today.

For eligibility requirements, official guidelines with the complete RFP and application information, click here. Attend a public informational session on April 14 at 11:00 am in the Lecture Room at the Walker Art Center to answer all your questions.

Applications due: Thursday, April 26, 2012, by 4:00 pm.

2. Choreographers’ Evening auditions

The Walker Art Center is pleased to present the 40th Annual Choreographers’ Evening curated by Patrick Scully and Aparna Ramaswamy, November 24, 2012 at 7pm and 9:30pm.

SAVE THE DATE: Auditions will be held in the Walker Art Center’s McGuire Theater; August 2-4. We are not accepting audition requests right now but times will become available in early July. Check back after July 5th for specific dates and times.

Watch MN Original’s segment on 2010 Choreographers’ Evening auditions:

The Goofball Salon: The 802 Tour at the Walker

To spark discussion, the Walker invites local artists and critics to write overnight reviews of our performances. The ongoing Re:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Today, Filmmaker and Writer Justin Schell shares his perspective on Thursday’s performance by The 802 Tour. [...]

To spark discussion, the Walker invites local artists and critics to write overnight reviews of our performances. The ongoing Re:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Today, Filmmaker and Writer Justin Schell shares his perspective on Thursday’s performance by The 802 Tour. Agree or disagree? Feel free to share your thoughts in comments!

Nico Muhly, Nadia Sirota, Sam Amidon, and Thomas “Doveman” Bartlett, who collectively make up The 802 Tour, started a two-night set at the Walker Thursday night, and the disappointingly small crowd was treated to an incredible display of musical talent, friendship, and collaboration on stage. It wasn’t like a jam session or a rehearsal, but rather like watching four incredibly talented musicians get together and revel in what they’ve created, and in music itself. From their first entrance together to the McGuire stage, the four were bantering back and forth, as well as with the crowd. I’ve seen Muhly solo twice before, and this banter with the audience is a trademark, and he hasn’t seemed to change at all in the past few years. “You’re in the wrong key, Sam,” one of them needled Amidon as he started tuning up.

The 802 Tour. Photo: Justin Schell

For all their goofiness and banter, however, everyone has serious chops. Sirota displayed these on, among other pieces, two solo works written by Muhly which traversed the entire range of the viola and just about every bowing style you could come up with. While I found Doveman’s whisper-voice a bit off-putting, his compositional and piano skills are undeniable. Muhly performed his incredible and manic piano + prepared piano + electronics piece Skip Time, while Amidon performed a number of traditional folk songs. Amidon’s intonation, inflection, and rasp made me think I was listening to someone much older and wizened. And, in contrast to the other three musicians’ highly emotive playing styles, Amidon often looked vacantly straightforward as he played, letting his banjo, guitar, and above all his voice carry the song’s emotional weight.

Sam Amidon. Photo: Justin Schell

Many of the pieces, drawn from all of their repertoires, segued into each other, with each person contributing some element, whether it be viola, banjo, guitar, various keyboards/electronics, percussion, or harmonies. In what looked like some kind of post-minimalist Victor Borge routine, Muhly and Doveman would reach across, under, over, and behind each other as the hit different notes on the three keyboards (plus a laptop) that surrounded them. It was piano four hands, but with a whole lot more instruments.

Nico Muhly and Thomas "Doveman" Bartlett. Photo by Justin Schell.

The Twin Cities’ own Laurels Quartet joined the Vermonters in the second half, as they played the string quartet arrangements Muhly wrote for songs from Doveman’s latest album, The Conformist. Mostly the Quartet provided a lush bed of strings, akin to that other Nico on songs like “These Days.”

The night ended with Muhly’s suite “The Only Tune,” a fractured folk song with vocals by Amidon, from Muhly’s album mothertongue. With echoes of maiden-death in songs like “Pretty Polly” and “Oh, My Darling Clementine,” Muhly’s piece tells the story of two sisters walking by a stream. The lyrics, however, are delivered in fragments, building anticipation for the next word with each repetition. One sister pushes the other in, who drowns. A miller downstream pulls her body from the water and, inexplicably, makes a fiddle out of her remains—a bow from her hair, pegs from her finger bones, and a bridge from the bridge of her nose. Though this fiddle could “melt a heart of stone,” the audience is left wondering about “The only tune that fiddle could play” as the sounds of the four musicians slowly faded away. A waltzing version of Amidon’s song “Saro,” with the Laurels Quartet joining the four on-stage, was the encore to close the evening.

The seats should’ve been filled for this concert, and I hope more people come for Friday night’s show.

The Laurels Quartet + The 802 Tour. Photo by Justin Schell

Backstage Haiku: Marc Bamuthi Joseph

The house is open! Audience onstage check out performers pre-show.  

The house is open!

Audience onstage check out

performers pre-show.

the audience is onstage for the first 20 min of the Marc Bamuthi Joseph performance

 

Nico Muhly’s Best Tweets

10,000 followers/nearly 8,000 tweets. If composer Nico Muhly sets any Twitter records they’re unconventional ones: sheer breadth of topics, perhaps, or best comedic delivery of esotery (“Ooh I actually got to use the phrase ‘etruscan lesbianism’ as part of natural conversation”). In celebration of his performance this week with the 802 Tour—featuring Sam Amidon, Thomas [...]

10,000 followers/nearly 8,000 tweets. If composer Nico Muhly sets any Twitter records they’re unconventional ones: sheer breadth of topics, perhaps, or best comedic delivery of esotery (“Ooh I actually got to use the phrase ‘etruscan lesbianism’ as part of natural conversation”).

In celebration of his performance this week with the 802 Tour—featuring Sam Amidon, Thomas “Doveman” Bartlett, and Nadia Sirota—here’s a selection of hilarious, puzzling, and flat-out brilliant tweets from the best reason to be on Twitter now that #OWS is cooling. And these are mostly from the past month or so (!):

“Without googling it who can tell me where Bemidji might be”

“Has nobody commissioned Dale Chihuly to make a Glass Cthulhu?”

“Why did you let me enter a mongolian dubstep wormhole”

“Is it franchise protocol to play loud house music at the TGI Fridays at six in the morning?”

“So by daylight it appears as if a wedge of parmesan met a grisly death by microplaner right here in the breakfast nook”

“Something v upsetting about the phrase Montezuma’s Yummy Mummy”

“Weird when people’s email signature is ‘You must do the thing you think you cannot do.’ – Eleanor Roosevelt”

“Is there a word for an erotic fixation on compressed air?”

“Open call for pictures of the ugliest sanctus bells”

“Is it a thing where people come over ur house & fix all the buttons on coats and busted seams? Am I thinking about literal Rumplestiltskin”

“I am in a very diacritical subdivision of alphabet city”

“If you make this concert happen, I will eat the meat-object of your choosing.”

“U know ur desperate when u google ‘best haemul pajun 52nd street’”

“Sometimes I aspire to that kind of manic focus a border collie has”

“I’m in that weird area of bed bath and beyond where it’s discount Bonne Maman preserves and nut milks”

“Envisioning a Jónsi/Beyoncé hybrid ‘Bjónsé’”

Stay Black: Kenna Cottman on “red, black & GREEN: a blues”

To spark discussion, the Walker invites local artists and critics to write overnight reviews of our performances. The ongoing Re:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Today, dancer and choreographer Kenna Cottman shares her perspective on Thursday’s performance of Marc [...]

To spark discussion, the Walker invites local artists and critics to write overnight reviews of our performances. The ongoing Re:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Today, dancer and choreographer Kenna Cottman shares her perspective on Thursday’s performance of Marc Bamuthi Joseph’s red, black & GREEN: a blues. Agree or disagree? Feel free to share your thoughts in comments!

…operate not as an urban planner or as an architect but operate based on my beliefs… belief is BLACK

I have to admit that I don’t think about “the question,” meaning the green question, at all really. I mean, I recycle, I use reusable bags at the store, I turn off the water when I brush my teeth, I even have a composter in my yard. But I never really think about the environment, sustainable living, fresh food and all that stuff in the context of Black people, and in the context of my art. So Marc Bamuthi Joseph really brought a new topic to my eye, to my mind, and that was tight!  Because he put it in the context of BLACK PEOPLE (well that’s how I interpreted it). Growing up in Minnesota, I realize that I’m actually pretty close to the earth, growing gardens and community gardens and all that shit. But red, black & GREEN: a blues made me remember that boyfriend I had in college from Mississippi. When he took me home for Christmas I found out that people still live in those shotgun houses, and there is a Black side of town and a white side of town, and I don’t think we ate any veg that wasn’t out of a can or cooked to grey death.

…His skin was the brown of soil you want to sow…

Traci Tolmaire. I loved her voice from the top of the stairs.  She was sitting at the top of the tallest part of the environment and she was speaking and singing and then she began moving and I really fell in love then! I loved her movement style – grounded, sexy, powerful, and totally in control. There was no abandon, but I didn’t miss it. Her eyes sparkled with intent. She inhabited these people: the bougie project manager, the busybody community woman, the old ex-wino turned installation artist. I guess I feel sad that I didn’t get to see as much of her, Traci – but she was there and present in her movement. The footworkin’ section, the Lindy hop section, the Dindada section, the anguish of a mother with a lost child – her movement was too tight! That moment when she went to comfort and was thrown off two times before her comfort was accepted – damn!

I WAS SO HAPPY that we got to walk on the stage and be inside the set, but I didn’t really see the beauty in the shotgun houses until I took my seat and viewed it from a distance. It wasn’t a set to me, it was an environment. I think that Theaster Gates intended for us to get all up in that environment, and we were too scared and Minnesota to really go there. That’s why I’m going again on Saturday night and best believe, it’s ON!  I saw a kid with a watermelon rind in his hand walking around. Yes. I didn’t believe that we were supposed to stand still and quiet and just watch – I KNEW we were supposed to walk around and see people, greet people, join in the songs and rhythms and just get all over it. I’m proud that I clapped, sang, danced, and stomped, hugged my homies and kept on changing spots. Even though my 13-year old is going to be mortified, when I go again I am going to:

• eat some watermelon and lemon
• sit in the chair and mess with the dominoes
• stand in weird places and look straight up or peek around corners
• try to engage Bamuthi in some capoeira or contact improv type thang
• ask if I can play the cajón and then play it if MC Soulati says yes
• this time I WILL BE THE LAST PERSON TO LEAVE THE ENVIRONMENT (homegirl was trying to be the last one so I let her have it)

…the church that you smell in his voice is grief…

Theaster Gates‘ voice had so many tears inside it. He took me straight to church and to the jook joint after. He’s the type of performer who manages to make eye contact with me several times when he’s performing, and I feel like he’s really seeing me, talking to me, singing to me.  What a beautiful lament.

Beats and rhythms are the way I process life, making MC Soulati‘s contributions to the piece super important to me. He manifested this idea that I have that everything has an accompanying rhythm. Bamming bones, fingers on the light pole, the subversion of the cajón that looks like an innocent box – those things represent the rhythm that “they” tried to take away from us, proving it’s power! Stomps, claps and snaps — the church clap – praise break — djembe solo, tama waye! Soulati was the heartbeat of the piece, essential. Like how if you watch Boyz In The Hood with good sound, you can hear the bass of a booming system somewhere in every scene, sometimes buried way underneath but still essential, still kickin’. Stay.

…if you’re gonna be in this garden you can’t just be pretty; you have to put out…

Bamuthi moves like a man, not a dancer, and that’s a good thing to me. Gestures have so much meaning. He’s fusing all of our traditions – West African, Haitian, Black American. There’s a solidness to his footfalls, not stomping or heavy, but dependable. This is what we mean by grounded. There’s a fluidity of torso, not that he’s tworking or popping, but I feel the oceans and rivers in there. These things are also powerful and dependable. Everything is really clear and clean, and though I see the work required, he doesn’t look like its that taxing. Especially when he speaks and moves or busts a major phrase and then starts talking immediately after. Breath control, breath control, breath control styleeeee!  My favorite favorite, after the capoeira-like way that he cut through the crowd when we were all on stage, was when he was at the window and I could only see his upper body. Like looking at a pic that stops at the waist, you know the legs are still there even though you can’t see them.  He did one particular twist of his hips, just beneath the threshold of the windowsill. Aw man, that was so tight!

…she spits out a seed, looks at me, and asks “the question”

…Panther Blue Seeds, can’t just be pretty, strange fruit,Dindada, church that you smell, spits out a seed, Mekhi, Tupac, china straight, stay. Black panthers, still here, dangling earpiece, “cray,” shaking left hand extended, hella, belief is BLACK, my skin is brown, nobody knows, won’t let me breathe, yeaaaah, well…

Backstage Haiku: Marc Bamuthi Joseph

Empty loading dock. It’s 9:45 a.m… late company truck     Crew chief’s watchful eye keeps tech rehearsals on task. Rocking a headset  

Empty loading dock.

It’s 9:45 a.m…

late company truck

 

Walker loading dock - bay 1

 

Crew chief’s watchful eye

keeps tech rehearsals on task.

Rocking a headset

Christian at tech rehearsal for Marc Bamuthi Joseph

 

Marc Bamuthi Joseph Past, Present, Future: An Interview

Marc Bamuthi Joseph is a thinking man’s activist, and to have a conversation with him is to walk away with the conviction that— as he says— “there’s something about the world of ideas that needs nurturing and help.” Starting with his grounding in hip-hop, this interview proceeds to his new directions — career and performance [...]

Marc Bamuthi Joseph (center). Photo: Bethanie Hines

Marc Bamuthi Joseph is a thinking man’s activist, and to have a conversation with him is to walk away with the conviction that— as he says— “there’s something about the world of ideas that needs nurturing and help.” Starting with his grounding in hip-hop, this interview proceeds to his new directions — career and performance work-wise— including curatorial intentions at his new post at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, how his current roles at Youth Speaks and Living Word Project are changing, and concluding with general thoughts on institutions/institutionality. Definitely an interview for MBJ fans, arts administrators, and the performing arts-heads!

Jesse Leaneagh:

I feel like your interest and grounding in hip-hop is well known, with your piece the break/s based on Jeff Chang’s history of hip-hop, Can’t Stop Won’t Stop. Chang has said that “hip-hop is a medium …rooted in the idea of movement.” Can you talk about how hip-hop as movement has influenced your work? Or is that idea inseparable from hip-hop as music?

Marc Bamuthi Joseph:

Unfortunately, it’s getting easier and easier to make the division between movement and music, as corporate culture enacts greater influence over how people make the music, or what dominant culture hears. At the same time, that doesn’t obscure the logical connection between what we do and the kind of music that we make. So in terms of the social trajectory and social history, there’s no denying that hip-hop was important in defining an aesthetic of both youth and political vocabulary for a generation coming of age during AIDS and Reaganomics, during the abolition of Apartheid, during the fall of the Berlin Wall. I would even include President Clinton’s administration, out of that 12 years of “culture war.” So it’s impossible to strip away that history from the world events, knowing that this is the music that provided the soundtrack for urban America and multicultural America… this music that soundtracked an awakening of these folks. And physiologically, I think that the low-end theory, the way that the body responds to the low-end of the frequency, the low-end of the register, the way that the body responds to bass, is undeniable. So between the social history and the physics of the body’s reaction to the low-end, there’s no denying that there is movement in hip-hop.

Leaneagh:

Right. I’m intrigued by your idea of “energetic reciprocity,” which you’ve said is an element of the hip-hop generation. I’m wondering if there are other places, sources of inspiration, or forms of artistic practice besides hip-hop that you see “energetic reciprocity” in action?

Joseph:

I think you see it in the martial art of Tai Chi. I think you get it in the best educational practices, in terms of populist education — made most famous perhaps in Paulo Freire’s work Pedagogy of the Oppressed. I think when democracy is working well it’s a product of energetic reciprocity. I think good romantic relationships have a high quotient of energetic reciprocity present. So there’s something about the “yes, yes, y’all ”— the call and response ethic in hip-hop — that is both metaphysical and formulaic, in terms of the cultural instruction. I think we see these things in nature, the give and take of nature. My son told me last night about a presentation he did about volcanoes, and he was really enthusiastic about geothermal energy, and how the same warming-up of gases below the earth is the phenomenon that triggers earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, you know what I mean? [Laughs]. All these things are present in our ecosystem, in nature, that also exist in the physical manifestations of the martial arts — tai chi — and in academia; it’s just that hip-hop does it with more flavor.

Leaneagh:

Switching topics, I’m also interested in the many hats you wear — the modalities within which you operate — among them now a very high-profile curator position as Director of Performing Arts at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts (YBCA). Can you talk a little bit about what drew you to YBCA? I mean, I personally think it is one of the most exciting arts centers in the country, but I’d love to hear your perspective and first impressions of being there. You started in February?

Joseph:

I did. I basically have Philip Bither’s job but at Yerba Buena Center. Philip Bither, very honestly, along with Mark Russell [PS122's first artistic director], is one of my heroes in the world of curation. I think that he is one of the most dynamic and innovative and imaginative and knowledgeable curators that we have in the Unites States of America, for sure. Getting the opportunity to work with him as an artist has been one of the inspirations behind my pursuing the job as an administrator at Yerba Buena, simply because watching what he’d done in the Twin Cities with the McGuire [Theater] and at the Walker — those things are truly foundational in terms of my thinking and the kind of curator I’d like to be. So I can’t give him enough praise for what he’s meant to me.

Leaneagh:

He’s definitely an inspiring person to work with.

Joseph:

I believe it. And I think one of the things that he does very well, that I’d like to emulate, is reflecting his local environment back to itself through a local prism of performance. I’m living and working in the San Francisco Bay Area, one of the most diverse and politically progressive sectors of the country… For example, any time Newt Gingrich wants to make a point, he invokes Nancy Pelosi, who is our congresswoman. Nancy Pelosi represents Yerba Buena Center; literally, we’re in her congressional district. And Barbara Lee, who is the one congressperson that opposed unilateral powers in Iraq, she’s my congressperson. So that’s where I live. So reflecting those politics back but also the elegy of a time gone by, a projection of what our dissident futures may be like, an understanding of soul as reflective of intellect and not just blood and marrow: these are the things that I’m charged to do with this building, to reflect the community back to itself and also continue to make San Francisco a destination place for thought leaders across the planet. The last thing is that this too is part of my arts practice, not just putting theories on stage but creating environments; intentional community design is my arts practice, and so I look forward to making that happen at Yerba Buena.

Leaneagh:

In looking at the Life is Living festival, which brings contemporary art, performance, ecology, and community events together in public parks, you’ve said that “presenting can actually happen anywhere; we can take our ideologies and aesthetics and locate them where people are, without undermining the aesthetic quality of what we choose to present.” Are you interested in exploring something similar with Yerba Buena, in regards to off-site work?

Joseph:

Absolutely. I’m instituting a program called YBCAway, which is essentially is a micro-granting, micro-commissioning program where we seed 25 projects around the Bay Area that were going to happen anyway; small amounts of money, or relatively small amounts of money—somewhere between five hundred to one thousand dollars—pay for a week of rehearsal, or a week of studio rental for rehearsals, or one dancer, twenty hours of musicians’ time, etc. So part of the responsibility and accountability of the cultural ethic I’d like to institute at Yerba Buena is going to be setting aside a fairly large pool of money to make sure that the work that happens outside of our walls also gets supported: sometimes on small levels, sometimes on big levels.

Leaneagh:

That’s awesome.

Joseph:

The other thing too, which I’ve learned from when I do residency work in a city, is that I’m also looking for artists to have more protracted and deeper relationships with social services, youth services, and political agencies around the city. So that I think that is a self-imposed mandate as well.

Leaneagh:

Have your roles with Youth Speaks, the Living Word Project, or the Life is Living Festival changed at all now that you are full-time at YBCA? Or will they be changing?

Joseph:

They will be changing. I’m going to be a consultant with Youth Speaks, maybe for the next three or four months until they finish their strategic plan, but my art lives at the Living Word Project, so when I choose — and I believe it will be some years — when I choose to create a piece of scale again, it will be with the Living Word Project. And in the meantime, there are young playwrights: Rafael Casal, Dahlak Brathwaite, Chinaka Hodge, Dennis Kim, whose work I’m still interested in nurturing through the Living Word Project. And then Life is Living Festival is my baby and means probably more in the city of Oakland than it ever has, it’s on the rise, and so as much as I can contribute formally and informally I will. I won’t be at the center of the project, but I’ll offer as much as I can.

Leaneagh:

I think Life is Living is such a powerful idea; I would love to attend one of the festivals sometime because—even just from what I’ve heard about it at Walker—it’s been a reminder that there are so many different ways to approach the “environmental question.” I know I’ve sometimes felt personally disqualified to participate in environmental activism or activism in general because of the ways that it seems to require a special knowledge. It doesn’t seem allow for much on-the-job-learning. I know you’ve said part of your “message” with Life is Living and the new piece red, black & GREEN: a blues (rbGb) “is about creating a safe space for learning, which has been a problem for the Green movement.” So I was wondering if you could talk about whether you see the initial half hour of rbGb as a pedagogical moment, when you invite the audience onstage, or moreover what you’re hoping to create for your audiences at that moment or perhaps with the piece in general?

Joseph:

I think part of what I’m hoping to achieve with the first half hour relates to a visual art sensibility, what happens to the body and how we are prepared for viewing and absorbing in a visual art space. In a theater, you walk in and sit in the audience and find yourself in the dark until the performance is over, and it’s much more about the content, whereas I feel in the visual arts world the experience is relative and multivalent and you come into the gallery at your leisure. Maybe one object really piques your interest and that’s it; you keep going from there. So I wanted to create that kind of viewing sensibility that is present in the visual art world and take that as the softening, or preparatory agent, for getting involved or invested in the performance in a different kind of way. Also, demystifying the process of the physical architecture of performance by gaining a closer proximity: eliminating the fourth wall immediately by giving our entire audience access to it. These are things that I think make the performance that much richer.

Leaneagh:

Last question: I feel like you’re an artist with a unique relationship to institutions and the concept of institutionality because you’re invested in institutions but you also do larger work outside of them. I was wondering if you could talk a bit about what you think the role of arts institutions are and what you believe is the most or best that they can hope to accomplish?

Joseph:

Well, I still believe in the ritual of people gathering, in both well-lit and dark spaces, to share thoughts. Part of what you see being shared in the Republican primary season is this crazy anti-intellectual fervor. You have someone like Rick Perry or Rick Santorum or even Mitt Romney refuting the reality of climate change, the climate crisis.

When you can come this close to being the most powerful person in the world and you deny the most basic and agreed-upon science, the most critical and climactic scientific moment of our time, then really there’s something about the world of ideas that needs nurturing and help. And I think that’s what art centers do; they promote the creative intellect and the world of thought in a way that certainly isn’t being shared on the level of presidential discourse, so it has to happen somewhere.

Julianna Barwick’s Digital Cathedral

To spark discussion, the Walker invites local artists and critics to write overnight reviews of our performances. The ongoing Re:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Today, Filmmaker and Writer Justin Schell shares his perspective on Thursday’s performance by Julianna Barwick. Agree [...]

To spark discussion, the Walker invites local artists and critics to write overnight reviews of our performances. The ongoing Re:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Today, Filmmaker and Writer Justin Schell shares his perspective on Thursday’s performance by Julianna Barwick. Agree or disagree? Feel free to share your thoughts in comments!

Julianna Barwick. Photo: Justin Schell

The Walked kicked off this year’s “Sound Horizon” series, which combines live sound and visual art, with Julianna Barwick, whose overlaid vocal loops turned the Perlman Gallery into a digital cathedral. With Ernesto Neto’s giant, globulous otheranimal suspended above her, and a crowd of people collected around her at the room’s edges, Barwick took full advantage of the gallery space. Over the course of four songs, she wove a pitch-perfect tapestry of sound; as each piece developed, it was nearly impossible to tell what she was doing “live” and what was reverberating around the room as a loop.

I was reminded of both Alvin Lucier and Phill Niblock’s work as I sat on the ground, though her music doesn’t have the more direct lingustic element of Lucier’s I Am Sitting in a Room or the density of one of Niblock’s microtonal complexes of sound. Rather, Barwick’s “compositions” are incredibly light, with lines of head voice seeming to drift above the often swirling lines of sound beneath. The changing harmonies and interwoven vocal lines (as well as a few piano and guitar lines) were complemented nicely by the slowly changing lights that illuminated both her and the Neto installation, a nice visual tying together of sound and space.

While Barwick’s skill is undeniable—to sing that many parts together, in one take, and through such an immense range, takes an incredible sense of more-than-perfect pitch—the four pieces she chose for her first performance (the only one I saw) lacked any amount of tension or dissonance. Though very meditative and relaxing (even if it seemed to overwhelm the sound system a few times), they all tended to blend together. Perhaps with more time than 30 minutes she would bring in greater harmonic complexity to her set. Regardless, her music certainly was a great start to the Walker’s series exploring the links between sound, space, light, and music.

Sound Horizon continues with Elliot Sharp on April 5 and Colin Stetson on May 10.

8-Ball: Composer-vocalist Julianna Barwick

Julianna Barwick‘s multi-track looped vocal harmonies have been described as having the “oddball allure of Björk or Yoko Ono” (New York Times) and characterized as “a digital update on sacred hymns” that still feels “feels human, imperfect, and intimate” (Pitchfork). This Thursday night, Barwick brings her soaringly beautiful voice to an unusual space, the Walker’s [...]

Julianna Barwick Photo: Jody Rognac

Julianna Barwick‘s multi-track looped vocal harmonies have been described as having the “oddball allure of Björk or Yoko Ono” (New York Times) and characterized as “a digital update on sacred hymns” that still feels “feels human, imperfect, and intimate” (Pitchfork). This Thursday night, Barwick brings her soaringly beautiful voice to an unusual space, the Walker’s Perlman Gallery, where she’ll perform three times beneath Ernesto Neto’s otheranimal, a piece the artist created for a 2004 performance by the Merce Cunningham Dance Company. In advance of her performances as part of the ongoing Sound Horizon in-gallery series, we posed a few questions to Barwick. Here, her answers to eight of life’s most–and possibly least–pressing questions.

If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what would it be?
A falcon.

What artist turned your world upside-down as a teenager?
Björk.

What is your least favorite sound?
Subway or bus brake screeching.

What have you been reading lately?
Sylvia Plath’s journals.

Whom would you like to spend three hours in an elevator with?
Bill Murray.

What artists would you like to collaborate with?
Visual artists Bruce Nauman, Janet Cardiff, Lindsey White, and Peter Coffin; musicians Liz Harris, Noah Lennox, and John Williams; and filmmakers Wes Anderson, Michel Gondry, and Sofia Coppola.

What type of gear/instrumentation are you currently performing with?
I use a mic going into an effects pedal (TC-Helicon VoiceTone Create) and then that goes into my loop station (a Roland RC50). I use a Roland 404 for samples.

What enters your mind when you begin to sing?
I definitely do the typical “go into my own world” thing when performing, I’m not really thinking about anything too deliberately. Sometimes I’ll just have good thoughts — usually a stream of recent wonderful memories involving my loved ones.

Barwick performs as part of Target Free Thursday Night this Thursday at 6, 7, and 8 pm in the Walker’s Perlman Gallery. Sound Horizon continues with Elliot Sharp on April 5 and Colin Stetson on May 10.

Keep Reaching: Vijay Iyer at the Walker (Part 2)

To spark discussion, the Walker invites local artists and critics to write overnight reviews of our performances. The ongoing Re:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Today, Filmmaker and Writer Justin Schell shares his perspective on Friday’s night’s concert by Vijay Iyer. Agree [...]

To spark discussion, the Walker invites local artists and critics to write overnight reviews of our performances. The ongoing Re:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Today, Filmmaker and Writer Justin Schell shares his perspective on Friday’s night’s concert by Vijay Iyer. Agree or disagree? Feel free to share your thoughts in comments!

Walker Performing Arts curator Philip Bither opened his introduction with an anecdote about the “sound of someone reaching” as a way to explain pianist Vijay Iyer’s motivations for making music. While “reaching” usually connotes over-reaching, taking yourself into some place that you’re not familiar with, that you don’t have the evidence or chops to belong, Friday night’s music offered a different idea of it: trying to explore something new, something beyond what’s normally done. This was certainly on display Thursday night, but it was even more so Friday night, the second night of this two-night mini-festival of Vijay Iyer at the Walker.

Vijay Iyer. Photo by Justin Schell

The night opened with Iyer and Mike Ladd, Iyer on the same set-up of Thursday night (piano, Rhodes, laptop, and various controllers) and Ladd on the microphone and what looked to be a homemade contraption of a mini version of the Big keyboard and an immense box of dials and knobs. These two have collaborated for a decade, and they performed pieces from their latest project, Holding It Down, which draws on the poetry and memories of dreams by US soldiers who were in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Mike Ladd. Photo by Justin Schell

Surprisingly, the music that Iyer wrote, be it for the piano or the electronic landscapes that joined his piano, was often upbeat, and sometimes startlingly beautiful. There were certainly darker moments in the music and poetry that reflected the horrors of combat and war, whether it be the stark image of “blood-soaked sheets” or, in a different yet no less stark vein the image of a soldier circling his mother’s geraniums in razor wire to protect against the onslaught of his dream world by Nazis. These words and images were made all the more sharp with Ladd’s delivery, his gruff voice and the body it emanated from seeming to channel the lives of those whose words they come from. The duo ended the night with “Plastic Bag,” a piece about a Senegalese street vendor from their collaboration In What Language?  The piece describes the vendor as he’s waiting for a flight, a package of jollof rice providing sustenance, and the words and music deftly blend the man’s identity with that of his plastic “Dreampot” bag, filled with wares to take back to Senegal. Ladd’s words reveal a much larger scope to this man’s life as he passes from one airport to another: “Parts of this bag are older than our history.”

Like Thursday night, the second section of the program featured Iyer on solo piano. When he walked out to the applause, his face betrayed a somewhat schoolboyish excitement. “I never get to do this, so I’m going to play some standards.” Of course, there was nothing standard about how he played “Darn That Dream,” “Somewhere,” “Epistrophy,” “Giant Steps,” “Imagine,” and “Black and Tan Fantasy.”

Iyer played most of these songs like Coltrane’s live performances at the end the saxophonist’s career, with a long introduction that took elements of the melody and harmony, but in a way that the audience wasn’t quite sure what they were listening to until the melody itself came in. For “Epistrophy” and “Giant Steps,” both with instantly recognizable melodies and chord structures to Monk and Coltrane fans, he broke apart the songs to what seemed like their atomic level, moving their elements through different textures and styles as he explored the nuances of both song and instrument.

“Imagine,” though, was the most startling selection of the set. When he introduced it by saying “this is a song that everyone probably knows, written by John Lennon and Yoko Ono,” I figured it was “Imagine,” and I was ready to grumble and grouse for his selection of what has become a thoroughly clichéd and hackneyed song, voided of whatever political impact it once held. While Iyer did indeed play “Imagine,” I should’ve known that it would’ve been different than any other version I’d ever heard. A roiling left hand in the lower registers of the piano started it off, and when the familiar melodic elements came in, they were in a minor key, lending a much darker cast to the song. It was almost as if Iyer wanted to symbolize the darkness of the world we need to imagine ourselves out of, rather than what it’s used normally used for, a toothless celebration of the world we have now.

Nitin Mitta. Photo by Justin Schell

The last set of the evening featured Tirtha, Iyer’s trio with tabla player Nitin Mitta and guitarist Prasanna. Before the group took the stage, I heard one audience member behind me say, “Let’s see what his Indian side has to offer.” Of course, it wasn’t this simple. Iyer has expressed in a variety of contexts that this is not “Indian jazz” or any other type of fusion-y endeavor. It was, of course, full of Indian, and specifically South Indian Carnatic elements, as Prasanna has innovatively transferred the Carnatic playing style to the electric guitar. (He was aided by spraying lubricant on his strings between songs to help facilitate the rapid movements across the fret board.) Both Prasanna and Mitta are clearly masters of their craft, with Mitta’s fast-as-light fingers nearly bringing the audience to their feet after his solos. While one of Iyer’s compositions was based on a specific raga, his playing was in his own style, and not necessarily “emulating” a specific style of “Indian music.”

Prasanna. Photo by Justin Schell

On songs like “Tribal Wisdom,” “Abundance,” and “Entropy and Time,” the three musicians merged their elements together organically, though not seamlessly. You can still hear the differences in their backgrounds, be it from New York (like Iyer) or India (like Mitta and Prasanna). The music of Tirtha, named after a Sanskrit word meaning to cross over from reality to nirvana, resists easy categorization in this era of “world music,” and is just one of the many sides of Iyer’s incredible body of work displayed—and celebrated—at the Walker.

Repeatedly over the two-night festival, Iyer expressed his gratitude to the Walker for providing this opportunity, and it was clear that he didn’t want it to end. The audience got two encores, pushing the concert to over three hours: the first a “rock song” called “Gauntlet” with the trio, and then joining with Mike Ladd for something “they didn’t know.” It was one last example of reaching beyond for the evening and, as the guitar, tabla, and piano began to mesh with the words of Ladd’s “Planet 10,” it was clear that everyone on stage not only reached beyond, but also leapt beyond, with everything they had.

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