It's
hard not to believe sometimes that some of
the technological wizardry in projects labelled
multimedia music theatre is used to cover
up the paucity of a composer's ideas. Blind
the audience with live satellite links, the
World Wide Web and other modern-day hocus-pocus
and they won't notice the drabness of the
music. In addition, if you drop classically
trained opera singers for more pop or folk-orientated,
miked voices, you'll win a younger, trendier
audience. And if you spice things up to boot
with non-western sounds, say, from the Middle
East, then you have a sure-fire recipe for
some sort of trendy, cultural melting pot
or world music fusion guaranteed to earn you
brownie points among the politically correct
arts pages of many a newspaper, even if the
music itself is dross. On the face of it,
Andrea Molino's CREDO, which was given its
world premiere at the Staatstheater Karlsruhe
on April 30, looked as if it might be just
that.
"CREDO -- the Innocence of God. A multimedia
music theatre" is its full title. A co-production
between the Karlsruhe opera house and Fabrica,
a communications think-tank belonging to the
Benetton Group, the PR blurb described CREDO
as a "global project, focussing on the theme
of ethnic and religious conflict, in which
music, video, interactivity, editorial, design
and new technologies complement each other
to achieve an extraordinary new form of communication."
Oh dear.
A full symphony orchestra on stage, fronted
by experimental vocalist David Moss, a host
of other percussion players, and avant-garde
instrumental and vocal soloists from Iceland,
Switzerland, New Zealand, Germany and Italy,
direct satellite links from ethnic music groups
in Belfast, Istanbul and Jerusalem, all interspliced
with state-of-the-art video images. It was
enough to send any self-respecting music critic
running with relief to the latest revival
of La Boheme.
And in these complex, terror-ridden times,
the wide-eyed, heart-on-your-sleeve politics
of composer Andrea Molino, Fabrica's music
director, who told journalists ahead of the
premiere that CREDO aimed to "build bridges
between different nations, cultures and religions"
only fed the nagging scepticism.
However, Molino silenced any such misgivings
as soon as he strode on stage and gave Karlsruhe's
own house orchestra, the Badische Staatskapelle,
its opening down beat. Dark, brooding sonic
landscapes opened up, against which the phenomenal
David Moss babbled, gurgled, whimpered and
whooped his vocal acrobatics. He was joined
by a troupe of seven actors who recited and
declamed the libretto, a kaleidoscopic collage
of texts written and compiled by Molino and
Karlsruhe's "Generalintendant" Achim Thorwald.
Percussion and instrumental soloists were
placed on two raised podiums in the auditorium.
Swiss-Ghanian singer Joy Frempong and Iceland's
Gunnlaug Thorvaldsdottir took their place
on either side of the stage to contribute
their own, unique sounds.
Hanging over the orchestra were three screens
onto which were projected video clips, talking
heads of witnesses from the world's epicentres
of ethnic and religious violence. At precisely
timed moments, the screens also formed "windows"
to the venues thousands of miles away where
the three separate groups of handpicked Irish,
Turkish and Israeli musicians played their
own searingly beautiful compositions that
slotted heterogeneously, but perfectly, into
what was going on stage in Karlsruhe.
The Belfast contribution, with its traditional
Irish feel, was performed on fiddles, pipes,
harp and bohdran and was perhaps the most
immediately accessible to western ears. But
the contributions from Istanbul and Jerusalem
were equally stunning, performed on traditional
instruments such as the kanun, mey, darbuka,
and the kamanche, ney flute and Spanish flute.
This
was no patronising "crossover" project, using
"world music" as a way of spicing up a western
piece of culture, condescending to both audience
and performers alike. The ethnic music was
accepted on its own terms, given space and
time to develop and breathe and weave its
own spine-tingling spell. It was all about
learning how to listen to each other, Molino
said.
CREDO,
spanning 110 minutes without a break, certainly
went some way in teaching the first-night
audience how to do that. Divided into five
different sections, interwoven with the three
satellite broadcasts, among the work's most
moving and striking moments was a video testimony
of families of suicide bombers. And the fifth
and final section, entitled "The Bastards
and the Assembly of the Lord", was one of
the most powerful. It comprised interviews
of racial and religious "bastards", men and
women whose parents came from different and
often violently opposed religions or races:
the daughter of a Palestinian father and Jewish
mother, the son of a Hindu mother and Moslem
father, a man whose father was Protestant
and mother Catholic. A whole number of multi-coloured
and multi-cultural combinations, but every
one of them happily expounding the advantages
of coming from a mixed race or background.
In a dazzling piece of improvisation on stage,
a solo ‘cello (New Zealander Hugo Smit) exactly
matched the voice patterns of some the interviewees.
The sheer logistical and technological complexity
of CREDO means the work was performed only
twice in Karlsruhe, two days apart. Thank
goodness the performances, which received
standing ovations, were captured in audio
and video form, later to be released on DVD.
It remains to be seen whether the recorded
medium will be able to capture the energy
and power of the live performance. But next
year, CREDO is to be re-created at both the
Istanbul International Music Festival and
the Queensland Music Festival in Brisbane,
Australia. My advice: don't be sniffy. Go
and see it.
Simon Morgan