SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

Thomas Adès, Steve Reich: Tal Rosner (visuals), Nicholas Hodges (piano), London Sinfonietta, Synergy Vocals. Thomas Adès (conductor),  Royal Festival Hall, South Bank, London 28.4.2008 (AO)


In Seven Days subtitled Piano concerto with moving image,  is the fruit of the partnership between Thomas Adés and Tal Rosner,  Significantly, the title gives the visuals equal billing to the music, so the point of the piece, perhaps, is the interaction with what’s heard and what’s seen.

It’s an interesting experiment.  Behind the orchestra is a large screen on which images are projected.  At first we see ocean waves, filmed in black and white.  Coincidentally that’s almost exactly the same film used in Birtwistle’s The Minotaur.

Musically, the treatment is completely different. Where Birtwistle’s music pulses with somnolent intensity, Adés’s music dances as playfully as a Schubert Bächlein.  In fact, the work was commissioned jointly by the South Bank and the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra and the images apparently relate to London and to LA. So maybe Adès’ rippling notes might have been better expressed with images on sunshine on the Thames or the intense glare of the Pacific sun ? That’s the paradox of trying to match sight with sound. Visual images are more explicit than abstract music, and they evoke different responses in different people. Thanks to Walt Disney’s Fantasia, thousands of children have thought that Ponchielli’s Dance of The Hours was about dancing crocodiles and hippos in tutus. Yet that’s no bad thing.  At least Fantasia made music exciting for children (and adults), and they could go on to further listening. There’s nothing wrong in principle about matching images and sound. Many great composers were artists, too, and visually aware.

Adès music was better served by abstract images, such as the exploding circle which accompanied Hodge’s vibrant attacca when the piano took on the orchestra, or the sparkling, white “ice flowers” that marked staccato chords.  Equally successful were the passages where clusters of small, rapid notes translated into tiny, twinkling lights on a dark screen, like stars in the universe, perhaps, or city lights at night – it doesn’t matter either way as both catch the fragmented, flickering mood of Adès’s music.  In contrast to the sparkling images, there were projections of large plain  shapes, like the 70’s Marimekko prints that are so fashionable once again.  These connected to solid bursts of angular sound, orchestral density against Hodge’s mercurial flurries across the keyboard.  In Seven Days refers to the seven days of Creation. Each “day” represents a stage in the formation of the universe, though perhaps it’s best not to be too literal. The final section, far less hectic than what went before, was rather cleaner, which makes one wonder how much clearer this might be without the visuals. However, as it was conceived as a joint venture it really ought to come out on DVD.

What a contrast it made to with Steve Reich’s Music for 18 musicians!This is a piece where there’s no ego, no conductor, no obvious programme. In fact, Reich didn’t formally notate it fully, as emerged out of performance. Reich learned a lot from gamelan and African drumming where each player takes his cue from other members of the group, passing changes between themselves without obvious plan.

Thus the basis of this piece is steady, repeating rhythm, varied almost imperceptibly by subtle changes.  It moves in plateaux, each new plane reached as if by communal consent, though it may be introduced by an individual player embarking on a slight variation.  In the centre is a type of marimba called a metallaphone which gives coherence, drawing the other players back to base, so to speak.  Different sequences have different textures. For example, almost half way through, two people shake maracas. The sound is simple and steady like a fast metronome, yet it’s slight off the beat. Then one player stands down, and the sound changes again. The interrelationship between different marimbas and keyboards gives the piece great texture. They’re all playing more or less the same sequences but each time in a slightly different way. Although Reich’s ideas derive from world music, there’s nothing amateur about this piece in performance. It requires an ensemble whose members listen acutely to one another, able to anticipate subtle gradations and intervals.  There’s no place here for self-indulgence.  From the Sinfonietta, of course, one can expect rigorous concentration.  All 18 players interact with a purposeful direction. There was a real sense here that they were creating a kind of kinetic energy, as if an electric charge were connecting them.  Excellent,tight playing. For all its ostensible simplicity Music for 18 musicians is a work that expresses more than many flashier pieces.

Anne Ozorio


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