This CD is a rich treasure-trove
of new and not-so new work for cello
and electronics. Only one of the pieces
here uses sounds other than David Pereira’s
cello as a source for the electronics,
but the character and diversity of the
pieces always kept me involved, and
sometimes left me jaw-droppingly impressed.
Carl Vine’s Inner
World is a very good opening track.
The electronic sounds which accompany
the solo part are, according to the
composer, entirely derived from Pereira’s
cello. This is sometimes clearly apparent;
at other times the sounds have been
treated so far beyond the cello sound
as to be unrecognisable as such. This
is not a criticism – in fact, the only
disadvantage of this is that the session
from which the samples have been taken
seem to lack some of the refinement
of the performed recording. Pereira’s
cello answers itself like a violin,
a plucked harp, like explosive drums,
like birds, laughing Hyenas or burning
trees. This is a remarkable soundtrack,
with some beautifully expressive cello
lines threading themselves between the
effects, leading up to a rhythmic and
ecstatic finale.
Roger Smalley’s Echo
II turns the solo part in three
cellos playing in canon, with delays
at 2.5 and 5 seconds. The first echo
is placed soundstage left, the other
to the right, and the solo part in the
centre. This placing clarifies the counterpoint,
and the clarity of David Pereira’s playing
further heightens the effectiveness
of this piece. The fact however remains
that its concept is based on the use
of antiquated electronics; and the essential
predictability of this treatment on
the cello line makes it a little grey
and old-fashioned sounding by comparison
with some of the more recent pieces.
Martin Wesley-Smith
is only a year or two younger than Smalley,
but, 22 years after the previous work
Welcome to the Hotel Turismo is
a case in point. This is the one piece
on this CD with an electronic backing
track which has been manufactured from
sounds other than the cello, and right
from the start we get ‘Timor’, the location
of this now derelict hotel, sung over
the sound of vandals’ stones crashing
through glass. The title is then wryly
and dryly sung and pronounced over a
Conlon Nancarrow-like bar piano and
cello Tango, ‘although we’re always
full, we will make you comfortable…’
and you just know you’re in for a good
time. Wesley-Smith’s notes on this piece
set the scene admirably, and our imaginations
are set alight by the music as if we
were reading an old colonial story by
Grahame Greene. There’s a little of
David Jaffe’s ‘Silicon Valley Breakdown’
world in this for me, in the sense of
humour, but also in the swift and unexpected,
but ultimately always logical and structured
twists and turns. The cello joins Nancarrow’s
bar piano in some wonderful nostalgic
wallowing (I spotted at least one quote
– is that ‘Feelings’?), and time
and place breathe over us like a sepia
picture in sound – all ticking clocks,
newsreel chanting and strange, echoing
voices, gunshots, a crowing cockerel.
This piece goes to show how it is
possible to create an effective
concrète tape accompaniment
to a live instrument. There are enough
musical clues and cues to integrate
the cello part, and plenty of emotional
movement – from surrealist cartoon soundtrack
humour, through sheer good music, political
statement and tragic irony – I love
it.
Andrew Ford’s Memorial
refers to the handing back of ‘Uluru’
(Ayers Rock) to its traditional guardians
(the booklet says ‘owners’, but that’s
another debate). Ford wrestled with
his reluctance to engage with Aboriginal
culture, but ultimately, seeing Uluru’s
physical presence as a kind of memorial,
almost a cenotaph in the middle of Australia,
expressed this partly as a lament, partly
as a celebration of the strength and
endurance of the Aboriginal people.
The cello is treated with a delay which
in fact makes it sound as if it is placed
in a vast acoustic. The echoes come
to us as if from the inside of caverns
measureless to man, and to me very movingly
express the loneliness and incredible
hugeness of the Australian outback.
Onomatopoeia by
Nigel Westlake was originally written
for bass clarinet and delay, and was
adapted for cello with the assistance
of David Pereira. This is not ‘just
another delay piece’ as I was fearing.
It uses the digital delay not only for
repeating the cello line, but for holding
musical moments in repeated ostinati
– a little like Terry Riley’s early
work, and with some similar sunshine
harmonies to complete the comparison.
The improvisatory nature of the music
works well over the rhythmic soundbed
of these delay patterns, and provide
a fitting conclusion to this marvellous
disc.
The freshness and energy
of this production leap at you from
your loudspeakers. While not all the
composers are Australian, to me the
whole thing exudes Australianness, providing
a sizeable window into the musical potential
there. I had my own little musical performing
tour of that land a year or so ago,
and the impressions I gained then have
been reinforced by this disc. If you
will excuse me quoting from one of my
own stories: "The greens are greener,
the skies seem blue beyond blueness,
and at night the moon and stars appear
watchful and friendly, as if they sense
a hope for the future which the northern
hemisphere has already wasted."
You want a little bit of that in your
own home, surely?
Dominy Clements
David Pereira (cello) 
